The Bell of tenebraurea did not simply ring. It sung with empyrean clarity. Its divine song beat a rhythm of thoughtless devotion throughout her body and tugged at the idle thoughts that swam within her muggy consciousness until only one need, one purpose, one will remained there. Something tight burst behind her eyes, sending a strobing kaleidoscope of twisted color across her vision. Blacks became reds and reds morphed into tainted golds with shades of green struck through the center, before pinks and devouring ambers took their place. For a brief petrifying moment, she was nothing, insignificant and scattered and oh so small amongst greater vibrancy. There was no ‘Theodora’. No sense of ‘I’ or ‘me’. No self-identifying needs or noble purpose. Only scalding heat and the thrum of pounding demand.
The vibrations of the sound punished the cobblestone about her, and in some small faraway place she could hear the rattle of the dais shake from the force of it. But the song had grabbed her core, that something left behind once she’d forgotten she was flesh, person, and anything other than pussy and Order. Her mind struggled to comprehend, couldn’t beyond the beat of the song and the Potterian conditioning bred in her blood—
i must go to the square, i must go to the Bells, i must—
But she was already at the Bells, held in place—cannot move, cannot kneel, cannot worship or kiss or—by the Will of another.
She wanted to writhe and scream, driven by the human urge for movement and the joy of her frozen compliance, but the notions were fleeting, barely recognizable amongst intense colors and song. She simply was. Empty, waiting, and ready for the ring to tell her what more to be. Yet, she still could not fully understand it, only experience it with a craving to become the message, to hold it in every aspect of her being—
—then the weight of it eased and the colors shifted. Mind shattering brilliance was exchanged for sudden and painful normality. The taste of salt and copper mingled uneasily at the back of her throat, overpowering despite the ache of her lower lip, held and bitten between her teeth. Her weakened legs buckled, but the threat of the fall never came. She remained upright, trapped against something hard and unmoving (a warbled shape that held her in the corner of her blurred vision) as her blissfully empty mind and body hummed with the wail of the song. Her head rolled, heavy across the front of foreign shoulders and for a time, she scarcely noticed anything else. Her ears were still ringing, and her thoughts were fractured concepts, lacking self, lacking direction…
Before the buzz in her brain twisted until it became ominous laughter, a deep raspy cackle, eerie and wild. Her head rolled toward the sound, found beauty in its haunting nature, and she trembled, shaken and lost—
And it reminded her, briefly, of the cry of the beast, the wail that seemed childlike and grotesquely wicked as it lured her forward. Come to me, come to me, come to me…!
“Yes… yes that was very good.” The Dominae’s voice swept through the haze, massaged her mind and drew her focus. Her hearing, warped but returning, soon forced that laughter—the Lanius, it’s the Lanius—to the background as the Dominae’s voice addressed her. “It’s alright, the first time is always… intense.”
There was another sound then, a soft keening… her own. She parted her lips, tried to speak, but had yet to recover the knowledge of words. She was still nothing, small and weak and powerless without the strength of even language to ground her.
“Shhh,” The Dominae hushed with a blurred face that came into focus when she cupped the back of her neck, infusing theodora with the sense of warmth and flesh. Yes, she had… hands too. Feet, legs, arms, and a sensitive neck that was squeezed as she arched it back, “that’s it. It’s so good isn’t it? So good. The Bell? Her Gifts…”
theodora could not find the words to bring life to her agreement, though something burned fervent within her. The Dominae’s touch was electric, strong and sure where she was not. Had she ever been anything other than this? Than just desire and submission? Had there ever been a time before the ring?
The warbled shape of darkness cleared, revealing Hel as the one who’d kept her from collapse with muscular arms wrapped beneath her chest. Her feet clumsily found purchase beneath her body and she tried to straighten despite her want to swoon. The Dominae allowed her, if only so she could switch her hold from the back of her neck to the front, to deliver a firm squeeze—and theodora couldn’t help but gasp at the strength in that grasp, in the casual dominant display of the power she held over her—before she released her.
But another hand replaced it, one of Hel’s own, which cupped her chin from behind and directed her glassy gaze to the Square before them. There, sprawled on the cobblestone ground, were several of the Lords, including the haughty Duluth. Within her chest bubbled a sound of euphoria, a soft grounding laugh of strange delight. Something within her rejoiced at their… disarrangement. Something hungry and primal that knocked at her skull…
But she did not move, held in Hel’s grasp, chin forward as she licked her lips and noticed some of the other Lords and gathered Pride attempting to wrestle their thoughts and bodies. They rose up on trembling knees, wheezing and disorientated. A Prideswoman was helped from her bent over posture by a shaken and flushed Commander. Lord Franklin twitched on his belly, eyes rolled in the back of his head, until Lord Shire awkwardly tried to get him on his feet. Junior tumbled from beneath the Bell and rolled off the dais. He landed on his back, gaze sightlessly turned to the sky…
Then he blinked and sat up, if only to stare at his hands as if seeing them for the first time.
Still, of all the Lords to gather themselves Duluth did so first. He drew himself to his feet without assistance, stood straight, and scrutinized those around him with flushed cheeks. From beneath his fringe of damp black hair bewildered eyes moved from Lord to Lord, until they landed squarely upon her. For an endless moment she could do little else but keep his gaze of beady black with what must have been her fog-damp green and there, within the depths, she saw the thickening shadow of terror and a single budding question—
What have I done?
—But then his gaze moved elsewhere, to those who hovered around her, the women of Ashwyn who stood with poise. Collected, amused, and divine. She watched them dilated then, his fear struck eyes, right before they returned to their normal haughty shimmer. Whatever he’d felt, whatever he’d seen in her or had known in that one moment, was gone.
And without that terror in the connection of his gaze she soon forgot it had existed at all.
“Did you hear that?” He croaked, throat tight and raspy, as if he’d drunken sand and little else. “That… power?”
The Lanius’ laughter, her haunted cackle, ebbed until it was a simple chortle, “Oh yes, a clear representation—”
“—of Saltpotter’s might.” The Dominae finished, and together in prolific harmony they spoke—
“For Valor. For Saltpotter.”
Duluth trembled then, his smile too wide and strained, as if his entire world—his entire being—were little else than those spoken words. He missed the cruel curl of honeyed poison that coated their unified speech, but theodora smiled, drunk and knowing.
For Valor and Saltpotter indeed.
Alphonse was the first to arrive at the Square, disheveled with untucked shirt and unbuttoned vest hastily tugged over tousled hair. Her skin still glistened, shiny and red-flushed from her work in the stables, and she hadn’t bothered changing out of her thick riding boots despite how they clashed with her wrinkled kourt wear. The Bell had rung, and Alphonse had obeyed. That much was clear in her hastily assembled appearance, done less out of the superiority of high society and more out of necessity. It was enough to make theodora wonder if she’d still been topless when Junior had rung the black Bell. If she’d crumbled to the hay strewn floor of the barn, writhing and out of her mind until her sense of self, fractured and softened, had pulled itself together only because her body had been conditioned to move her elsewhere. Theodora could see it clearly in the slicker part of her mind, could see clenching muscles and strong shoulders bowed by sound alone… and suddenly some mad craving within her wished she’d been able to see Alphonse succumb. But it was fleeting, an idle notion with little power to drive it. After all, if she’d been at the barn with enough sense to keep herself steady, she would have missed the mind shattering glory of the ring up close, no matter how terrifying.
The thought of missing it felt like a crime.
And didn’t that mean something was wrong with her? With how she slouched so heavily in the arms of a stranger? With how she swooned from each nuzzle to her neck and each squeeze of the arms around her waist? She should have cared more, should have looked to those who stumbled forward—lesser and lower nobles alike, middling and bewildered, dazed and confused—in similar states of manic dress or sudden disgruntlement. All held similar expressions of muted panic and leery suspicion, knowing that the Bells did not ring unless they were rung for distress or importance. Yet, here they were, standing before a crowd of fallen and half-hunched Lords.
For a time, Alphonse remained among the populous, expression just as dreamy as she searched pinched and dazzled faces. She’s looking for… me, theodora thought, though she wondered if there enough of herself to be found rolling about her soft head. There did dwell a small and curled portion of her being, one that rippled with pleasant excitement when Alphonse looked off and away from the Junior-sat dais with only the slightest linger of her gaze on the Bell there. But it quieted when Alphonse finally pulled her heavy-lidded vision to her own. There was something there, something theodora couldn’t quite comprehend…
But a gentle touch to her forehead by the Dominae sent the thought fluttering down to her belly where eagerness twisted, stirred by the phantom memory of Alphonse sex-wet fingers and stronger thighs.
“i... i think i’m…” she whispered, pushing out words she could finally remember between numb lips until she forgot midway what she wanted to say.
“And that’s the issue isn’t it?” The Dominae drawled with sly smile and crinkled eyes as Alphonse approached. “All that thinking?”
theodora looked within her mind for the answer and tried to find it across the endless fog that settled there, heavy and warm. Thinking was… good. She wanted to think… didn’t she? The issue was the throb between her thighs and the piercing ache of her tormented nipples further driven by the sweltering heat that hadn’t left her since… since…
Since the pelt.
Slowly she lifted her clumsy hands, fingers flexing. She wanted to know if Hel’s pelt, the one about her waist, reflective and shimmering, would feel the same as the one in her room. Soft. Wet. And hot. She needed to know if they were one and the same for a reason that tickled the back of her skull, an important reason that just wouldn’t crest over the horizon of her slowed awareness—
“My Lord?” Alphonse croaked, rod-straight before their small collection, with her eyes leveled on the tight arms wound beneath her chest. Her brow furrowed then, a small sign of her displeasure, but when those eyes met her own again there was a… chilling intensity swaddled in something theodora might have called unsettling.
“Lord Moryet,” The Dominae interjected with a three fingered greeting that Alphonse smoothly returned.
Hel released her thereafter with motions tinged with humming reluctance, though without the strength at her back commanding her body to stand she nearly crumbled. Mindlessly, Alphonse reached out to take her with hands around her biceps—controlling, with harsh grip—and theodora could not repress a groan when heated weakness filled her limbs.
This isn’t me…
“Ally,” she croaked, head still swimming, “i’m…”
Alphonse held her a bit closer, unaware of her struggle or the ideals that floated without anchor throughout her head. “Theo?”
Yes, that’s right. She was Theo (Theodora), she had self, evolved and strong (wet and swollen, hungry and drowsy). She just needed to carefully fit crumbling pieces back into their proper place without falling back to the addicting bliss of emptiness, where she’d been little else than the words and touch of another and—ngh… yes.
She cleared her throat and tried again, already missing the more… lightweight feel of being… less. It scared her on a level that was dulled by her newfound desire, by a want to succumb much stronger than it had been before, when it’d tested and tingled her body instead of conquered it. It hovered at the edge of her mentality, a gentle probing in her own voice, dark and seductive—i want, i need.... And she flushed, embarrassed by her own shaken tone as that otherness pressed upon her. “i…” she shivered, “I need to see the Deaconess.”
Duluth had yet to speak his reasoning, and the recovered Lord’s moved uneasily but closer to his person. The lesser now crowded the Square, mingling among the middling Lords and those within the gentry but not as high or wealthy. Windows on shoppes in the nearby Market were cracked open with whole families now hanging from their sills, and still he kept them waiting. The gathering impatience was nearly tangible, contaminated only by the attention pulling Bells of black. A proper distraction, since were it not for that, the populous may have swarmed him with demand. Maybe he knew that, more so than the nervous Lords that glanced with wavering confidence at the growing crowd but stood tall in his defense. Theodora and Alphonse were the only Lords that stood separately—a part of the gathering and yet not at the same time—with those of Ashwyn by their taken tree of the Wodd.
So, when Alphonse pulled her closer by her taken arms—both ignored and unseen by the crowd—Theodora did nothing to resist it, could do nothing to resist it. I… I am Owner… her mind whispered, but it was Alphonse who tugged her close, unyielding in posture despite the glassiness of her shadowed gaze. “Why, Theo?”
Her back spasmed, recalling claws of wicked porcelain and saliva slick fangs. Her eyes fluttered, “I… think I’ve been afflicted by hysteria.”
Alphonse leaned forward, lips against her ear, “Hysteria?”
Theodora shivered and pressed against her. If anyone happened to spare them a glance, she hoped they’d think they were sharing a secret. “Yes. Maybe from infection from the wounds at my back. I do feel feverish—”
“That can’t be so...” Alphonse interrupted. “You’d have gone mad by now.”
“I feel mad,” She whispered in return, muscles flexing beneath Alphonse grip, if only so she could feel the undeniable tightness of the grip there—
—And the vision swept over her abruptly, of Alphonse pinning her down, of a shaven sex set to hover over her parted lips, coaxing with silent command for her to lick as the shadows of the room gurgled around her, whispering hissed and perverse encouragement—
Theodora shook her head then, heart pounding, “I am mad.”
Those of Ashwyn hovered nearby, the Lanius with her visible lips twisted in pleasure. The Dominae—her name was… what was her name?—balanced on the tips of her boots as she peered over the crowd like an eager child, and Hel… Hel whose stare she could feel upon her twitching back, whose heat her body had not forgotten.
“—the Deaconess is here.” Alphonse said, “And when Duluth—was it Duluth who rung the Bells, again?—is finished, they will undoubtedly be swamped by their morning labors. I will attend to you, I’ve advanced in supportship since Springhammer.”
“You… it’s not entirely needed, if we simply stop the Deaconess—”
Theodora grunted, nose wrinkled and gaze somewhat narrowed, “Al,” She hissed. “The Deaconess cannot be so busy they’d find cause to ignore a summons from me. If not this morning, then this afternoon would be fine—”
And, perhaps, had she not been so focused on bickering with Alphonse and the anxiety of her stuttering mind she would have noticed Hel was no longer a hovering presence at her back. Instead, quite suddenly, Hel stood behind her companion and with executed practice stroked invasive fingertips along a startled Alphonse neck. She flowed quietly into eerie attention as those pointed nails caught onto the gleaming silver of a chain buried beneath her blouse. When Hel tugged lightly on her captured prize to reveal the chain in its entirety, she didn’t object, nor even react.
And Theodora was left holding her breath as the concealed necklace chain revealed its trinket.
No, it wasn’t a trinket… it was Alphonse’s bell.
Words died on the tip of her tongue as it came into view, small and compact but still smooth as it glistened from the yet cooled sweat of Alphonse earlier excursion. Color danced across her vision and radiated across her burdened mentality. It pulled at something indisputably her, that fuzzed idea of self, until she heard the softer seductive ring of it echo in her ears. She couldn’t help but inhale deeply, bottom lip pulled between her teeth until she exhaled it in a soft sound of surrender.
Hearing Alphonse do the same, knowing her gaze was just as trapped and hearing her sighing moan as their minds coiled tightly around the image of the smaller bell only dragged her deeper into the pulsing heat that stabbed her twitching clit. Irritation melted into quivering ideals that hovered around thoughts of flesh and using her own curious fingers—and how… scandalous that thought was, so alien and unrefined—before they focused elsewhere, on Alphonse dream-heated voice and parted lips.
Fogged sky-blue became inky ocean as they focused upon her and she wondered what her own gaze must reflect in that moment… until slow-spoken words swept through her stunted mind, “You’re being… fussy.”
Theodora’s lips moved before she realized they were capable, “I’m… I’m being…”
Alphonse straightened as Hel continued to hold the bell before their gaze. She became infused with a mesmerizing sense of dreamy confidence, as if purpose had planted itself between her eyes and supplied the words she’d needed. “You’re being fussy.”
The voice at the back of her head whispered, yes.
Theodora replied, drawn in by this truth. “I’m being… fussy.”
Alphonse inhaled sharply, “I am your vassal.”
Yes, the voice encouraged, and Theodora repeated, “You are my vassal.”
A curious flush crawled across Alphonse features, a red tint that blossomed beneath her cheeks. She rasped, “My n-noble purpose… is to serve you.”
Theodora’s eyes widened and her lower lip trembled. “Yess...” She gasped, as the absolute truth of that statement raked across her mind.
“Your noble purpose,” Alphonse said, “is to be served by me.”
“T-to be… served by you.”
From one blink to the next Alphonse released her, a slow reluctant movement that ended with her arms at her sides even as her fingers twitched, “You… you are not allowing me to serve you. You are denying our purpose.”
Theodora swallowed harshly, shook her head as if to clear the pressure that tightened between her ears, “N-no, I… I would not… deny—”
“—I am your vassal.”
The pressure eased but did not dissipate, a looming presence as Theodora swayed, “You are my vassal.”
“My purpose is to serve you.”
“Your purpose is to serve me.”
“You are not allowing me to serve you. To care for you.”
Alphonse’s truth beat at her with relentless conviction. Her tone was a steady drum, despite how it dripped with an odd desire. It was difficult to hold onto her observations when they did nothing to lessen the swelling discomfort and sense of wrongness that crawled across her skin. She could not deny their shared purpose. They’d been born to it, bred for it, and the voice demanded as much, gurgling in notions and half affirmations—
The vassal must—
We serve by allowing ourselves to be served.
And it felt as if her thoughts were a cycle upon themselves, ends eating ends until one major ideal remained.
“I… t-the Deaconess—”
“—Is not your vassal. To serve is to obey. To obey is to know. I know what you need. I am attuned to serve. You need me to care for you. To care for you is to serve you. To do otherwise is to deny our dual purpose. One cannot exist without the other.”
To serve was to obey. To obey was to know...
She was being fussy, causing worry without due cause, this she now knew.
“A-alphonse.” She gasped.
“You will allow this vassal to care for you.” Alphonse pressed, pupils dilated and glistening. She did not ask in that dreamy yet dominant tone. She did not request. She commanded her with the reflection of the bell in her gaze.
“I...” She moaned, lightheaded and entranced as she tried to hold to the balance she’d managed to build among the docility that urged her to give into something darker, to be served while… serving. To give into Alphonse demand while maintaining the dominance of her position and yet… nothing about the flutter that assaulted her belly made her feel… dominant or in command.
She needed to be cared for, guided… controlled, until she was herself again. Until her mind could untangle itself and react with the swift urgency it’d held before… before this. Before bells and visions and fractured perceptions.
She could trust Alphonse to do that. She needed Alphonse to do that.
Beyond them Duluth called for silence, and slowly Hel lowered the bell until it no longer remained before their shared gaze. Instead it now rested, innocuously, between Alphonse heaving breasts. Still, though she hadn’t followed it’s placement with her eyes, it’s vision haunted and softened her—had been doing that whenever her mind wandered to it. Whether it was the Bell in the Square, Alphonse’s, or her own.
She was in so much trouble.
A tightness she hadn’t known she’d carried eased, tension along her back and shoulders. It flowed out of her from one breath to the next as Alphonse placed a heavy hand upon her shoulder. Already the bulk of attention, including Hel’s own, had returned to Duluth and though their small exchange felt like a… hot and strange eternity it had only been a moment. Alphonse positioned herself at her side, leaving her front open and her view of Duluth undisturbed.
But her attention was on her vassal, on the way her lips brushed against her ear and how it… tingled pleasantly when she whispered, “Thank you for allowing me to serve. I’ll… look at your back.”
Some portion of her, confused and a bit overheated, wanted to be petulant about the exchange. Her hysteria had… had allowed Alphonse to expertly manipulate her. Though, she’d never been much to push back against her before. If anything, her befuddled state had only made it easier for her to take control… by reminding her of the control she had?
With a shudder she reached out and took Alphonse hand, and the other willingly gave it with a pleased coo.
“Junior…” Theodora muttered then, just as Duluth motioned to the Bells with wild exclamation in performance for the lesser populous.
Alphonse gaze lowered to the man hunched and settled on the dais, head in his hands as his pater pointed around him to the Bell at his back. “Junior…?”
A lesser stepped cautiously forward, and Theodora swallowed a soft pleased sigh when she noticed how they struggled—they don’t want to go to the Bell, but they can’t help it. They can’t… fight the pull. But… why would she think that? Why would she want that…?
“J-junior,” Theodora shifted focus elsewhere, away from the confusing heat and wetness that moistened her thighs and kept her off balance. “Junior convinced Duluth to ring the Bell… then he rung it personally.”
It had been against his wishes but only due to his sense of value. There was little need to explain his reluctance and there was something oddly good about watching Alphonse’s expression twist, to see sleepy satisfaction morph into lips pressed thin in disdain. It was… darkly satisfying, omitting that information, knowing it would only sharpen Alphonse displeasure.
Did that make it wrong?
The heady throb between her legs said otherwise, even as Alphonse’s grip about her hand tightened, a near possessive thoughtless squeeze that inspired her to squirm.
There was nothing else to say after that.
“So, what do you think?” Duluth twisted toward their grouping, a grand performer attempting to sway a disgruntled crowd. They’d stood together during Duluth’s little speech, a rehashed mix of what he’d told the noble collective. It had done little to move the lesser, those who had shaken off the impact of the devious ring. Still, there was a strangeness in the air, a tension now created. Duluth sought the approval of Ashwyn instead of the populous, and the Dominae remained impassive, rocking from heel to toe at Alphonse’s open side. “Is Saltpotter not your greatest friend?”
The Lanius tapped her quill within her book with an aura of impatience. She did not speak. Hel, beside her, was also impassive. Bored, Theodora thought. She looked bored. It was the Dominae who answered instead, with musical tones and gentle laughter.
“Our greatest friend?” She questioned.
“Your strongest friend? Your most valuable friend?” Duluth prodded, “Are we not grander than Springhammer? Have we not shown you how much more we can offer?”
“What have you offered?” The Lanius interjected in a tone that chilled her.
Duluth gaped, mouth open and closed like a suffocating fish. “W-what? Why we’ve—”
The Dominae interrupted, swift and practiced. “We are grateful, that much is certain. Saltpotter has been gracious with its hosting.” Though she paused thereafter, as if to ponder. “However, we are concerned about our lack of progress within the Wodd.”
Duluth sucked in a breath, “W-well, it could be that there is nothing to be found in our Wodd…”
“It’s difficult to know,” She sighed, “when assistance has not been offered.”
Theodora swallowed the impulse to offer, dizzied by her readiness to do so.
“Well then!” Duluth barked, near manic in his desire to be better than their neighbor. “How rude of us to do so! Of course, we will help, we’ve nothing to hide!”
His gaze swung to Theodora and Alphonse tensed, “Lord Havelock—”
“—Lord Havelock has lessers in the Wodd already, “The Dominae wrestled focused, “she is attending her… purpose.”
Theodora strangled a moan and Alphonse made a similar sound.
“T-then…” Duluth stuttered, “the entire Board should assist! Including Lord Havelock herself!”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Shire barked, speaking with temper before Theodora could.
“You heard me,” Duluth snarled in response, his posture tight as he whipped around to face him. “You will fit your horses and ride beside them as soon as possible—”
“But the revel! The preparations! We’ve already been delayed! With Havelock’s entire estate in the Wodd searching for… for what might not even exist the Board has had little time to discuss even the Opening Hunt—”
Lord Franklin choked on the rest of his statement, he stumbled back in his tight trousers and vest as Duluth rounded upon him, fist clenched and spittle flying. “You will do as I say and when I say it. You will ready your horses—all of you—and be ready to ride no later than tomorrow morn! Who am I, Franklin?!”
The youthful Lord swallowed audibly and those of the gentry and beyond it stared, entranced and drawn. She heard the Dominae—Artorius, her mind finally supplied—giggle girlishly, followed by the Lanius harsh hiss of ‘quiet’ in the resulting strained silence.
“Y-you… You are—”
“Who Franklin?” Duluth snarled without title, “Who am I?”
“You are Lord Duke!” Franklin cried out, despair thick on his tone.
“I am Lord Duke! I am in control. It was me and mine who brought Saltpotter from its self-imposed darkness and into the light.” He hissed. “I am Lord of the Lords and you are my servant! You will do as I say, you will obey me!”
“Y-yes, of course Lord Duke! I meant no disrespect, my Lord Duke!”
Harsh breathing and quaked whispers swept through the Square and Theodora watched enraptured as Duluth spat and screeched but…
If he were a King, there would be no question.
Only kneeling and begging to be the one to serve first.
Her breath quickened at the rightness of that thought, no matter how taboo or treacherous.
Duluth adjusted his clothing and nodded to himself, red-faced and shaking. “That’s right, my boy!” Then he puffed out his chest, an action that intentionally brought attention to his black-rimmed koin and turned to face them. Though his face held no patience, and his glare simmered, Theodora felt no fear of it, no urging desire to obey with urgency… no bliss yet undiscovered in his gaze. Only the usual sense of duty. Greyed and colorless.
She almost whined with her need for something more.
“Will we have an issue, Lord Havelock?” Duluth said, as if his words held weight and thunder.
“No, my Lord.” She answered with practiced precision, a phrase she’d repeated a thousand times, but only now realized lacked… something.
Admiration and worship.
“Good.” He croaked before he turned to the people, “Dismissed.”
But they lingered… shaken—
“I said dismissed!” He yelled before he turned with a flourish, the tails of his taken coat flapping behind him like upset wings as he stalked through the crowd. If it took a little more effort to get them to part, nobody seemed to notice.
They didn’t linger after that. Not the women of Ashwyn, who’d gathered themselves with sly smiles and unspoken judgements nor the surrounding populous, those who trudged past with pinched expressions and clear reluctance. Only the Commander seemed willing to remain, a silent disinterested presence that watched a hunched and sniveling Lord Franklin turn to conveyed with an irritated Board. She and a few Prideswoman took point around the Bell and the still sitting Junior, who peeked up from his hands with a grimace at their intrusion.
With the bulk of the Lordship dispersed, or cowed, and the Square settled, Alphonse was quick to place a hand lightly at the small of her back, “Come on.”
Across the way, Junior finally noticed their lack of company and rose stiffly, as if to approach with his pursed lips and narrowed gaze. Perhaps, he wished to confront her for her presence among the Ashwyn women when he’d been so desperately denied the honor. The way he squared his shoulders and tugged on his jacket seemed to belay as much. The ring of the Bell had done nothing to humble him, no matter how bedraggled he appeared to be.
There must have been no song for him.
And maybe he sought to punish her for that, for the favor she hadn’t asked for and the disrespect he’d clearly earned himself.
Nonetheless the suddenly lifted arm of the Commander kept him in place, a physical blockade that his reactive and aghast expression did little to move. It was an oddity that grasped Theodora’s notice, for the Commander wasn’t one to impede a Duluth-made action, but she was being carefully manipulated from the Square, led by the strength of her vassal. There would be no time for confrontation or questions, and Theodora found she had no desire to make it. Alphonse could do their combined thinking for now.
The only pause they made as they left was when Alphonse delivered that three fingered greeting to the Commander—an action she returned immediately thereafter—but she gave Junior nothing. Not even a glance, as they strode by.
So, he turned instead to his acknowledged captor, a demand on the tip of his tongue set to dance with an ill-conceived threat. But as they swept from the Market, his attention twisted sharply. Back to them, or rather to the high-headed Alphonse.
He spat something at their back, “Springfilth.”
The only indication that Alphonse had heard him was in the twitch of her cheek, but she didn’t stop their stride. The comment flew overhead, its impact hidden, but Theodora knew the exclusionary word had done little to uplift the other in their shared opinion.
Beneath her breath Alphonse hissed with haunted certainty, “A falseblood’s blades are not sharp forever.”
Theodora shivered from the chilling bite of it.
The pelt had been moved to the parlor settee.
It caught her gaze immediately, a startling unexpected contrast in a space otherwise occupied by rich browns and dark greens. It was like a physical shadow, suckling at the light from the nearby oil lamp in a way that wasn’t reflective. It pulled everything, her gaze, her attention, and her fear despite its innocuous appearance and limp unmoving state. But more than that, it pulled at her memory, at the thick curl of terror that had once pulsed through her belly and the tight tension that had accompanied it. She swayed from the power of her recollection, pulled in a sharp breath from between chattering teeth and found herself, for one terrifying endless moment, back in the Wodd, on her belly, crawling to the sound of her clockwork machination and the monstrous clap snapping jowls.
Alphonse’s voice was a faint echo in the backdrop of her vision, and Theodora clung to it, shivering as she drew trembling hands through her hair. She stuttered, “W-what is the pelt doing in the… parlor?”
Behind her echoed the smart click of polished shoes, and Alphonse’s matter-of-fact tone, “It’s about done, isn’t it?” There was a pause in speech, interrupted by the sound of shifting cloth and leather, before hands pressed against her shoulders and began to relieve her of her jacket. “No need to have it back there now, cluttering the archive, when we should really figure out what to do with it.”
Theodora swallowed past a tight throat and pushed at the invasive weight of her memories, at the heavy weakness that tried to turn her legs to jelly. “I... I would have attended it.”
“Nonsense,” Alphonse replied, “best to get it out in the open anyway. It has a… strange scent. Wouldn’t want it on the records.”
Theodora finally managed to rip her gaze from the sight of it, as if the pelt were offensive and her nerves weren’t frazzled. There was no need for her to feel so… consumed by it. After all, it had been conquered by her prowess. She was there, able to feel the thud of her nervous heart and it was… well, it was wherever a beast went upon defeat. Oblivion, she suspected. But, with each breath she took to reaffirm herself of this, she… too noticed the smell it carried. That strange mixture of musk and something other. Woodsy. Salty… but also sweet? She couldn’t be sure, but each inhale the fear in her belly twisted into something a little… foreign.
“It’s not… unpleasant.” Alphonse husked, “just different.”
Theodora agreed, “Y-yes. I just… if you had told me first.” No, no that’s not right. “You should have… asked me first.”
Alphonse stalked away, their coats in hand. “Is it bothersome to you?”
She wasn’t sure what it was to her and she wasn’t given the time to ponder it. Alphonse returned quickly, a white cow-skin sack in hand with the embroidered image of a serpent tangled around a sickle upon it. A supportship bag.
She set it on the nearby tea table with a hearty clunk before motioning for Theodora to sit beside it, back exposed in her direction. “Besides, that cat you’ve decided to keep kept bothering it. Picked open the door and everything, clever bugger! Couldn’t figure out how they’d done it but once I moved it out here the thing seemed interested in other mischief.”
“My cat?” Theodora risked a glance over shoulder, but Alphonse motioned for her to face forward, back to the fireplace and the crackling blaze within it. “I don’t… have a…”
She stiffened as something inside her reacted to the quiet strength in Alphonse’s tone. Thoughts of mischievous cats melted away, replaced by gentle wave of warm exhaustion. Her eyes fluttered as she moved to comply, undoing buttons with mindless efficiency until her upper torso was nude before her vassal.
Alphonse sucked in a breath between her teeth before she pressed warm fingertips against her skin.
Theodora jerked from the pressure and hissed as a warning flicker of pain licked at the tight flesh there. “A-alphonse! Careful!”
But her companion only softened her explorative touch instead of removing it completely, tongue clicking against the back of her teeth. “You do look a little swollen here.”
“Just swollen?” She jerked again and ignored Alphonse’s huff behind her. Her touch hurt and her skin was crawling, red, hot, and flushed as those hands continued their callous examination. It took everything in her not to leap from the table.
“Red too, around the raised skin. It doesn’t look bad, just notright.”
“I can tell.” Theodora gnashed out between clenched teeth.
“The muscle is tight here too. Your back is twitching.”
“Thank you for the analysis.” Theodora snarked.
Something in her tone must have been disagreeable for soon enough Alphonse found cause to lean forward, to press just a bit onto one of her raised scars as her voice tickled an ear, soft and low and chilling. “Enough of that. Stand up.”
She rose without thought, quick to escape the weight of those fingers and to… obey the order. She rubbed at her eyes with a groan, uneasy about the wild flutter that kicked up in her belly, even though her back felt inflamed. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe she should find a way to see the Deaconess before she—
She blinked between spread fingers and found that Alphonse now stood before the fireplace. The supportship bag was open, its effects settled by Alphonse’s makeshift station. The colored glass of several fat-bottomed and small cruets gleamed ominously beside the pelt now spread at her sock covered feet. The intensity of its darkness was only heightened in the glare of the firelight, and immediately she was reminded of the pelt worn by Azul and Hel, and her anxious desire to… touch them, to see if they’d felt the same, were the same—
The order—so simple, so compelling—beat across her mind with a dizzying intensity. She blinked rapidly as one foot moved then the other and she made her way around the table to the pelt that still looked slick. Alphonse pointed, finger settled over the pelt and she… she wanted her at the center, she wanted her to lay down after being commanded like a hound before the fire at her feet—
“Theodora,” Alphonse said again with a voice that tugged at her body, “here, my Lord. Down.” And there was something wicked and sly in that tone despite the words of reverence. It was something that should have frightened her but all she could think of was how good it felt to finally kneel on something so warm and soft…
And the smell was so intense from here, cloying her senses and numbing her tongue before she could even speak words of dissention. She… she didn’t want Alphonse to speak to her that way, let alone to make her come near the… skin. Yet, as Alphonse applied pressure to her shoulders until she felt her bare chest press against the soft warmth of the short tickling fur, she forgot why she’d wanted to avoid it.
“It’ll be… easier this way,” Alphonse soothed with sonorous words. “If you’re on your belly, I can…”
Her words trailed off and Theodora realized there was something dreamy in the quality of her tone too, as if she were just as wrapped around her orders as Theodora remained.
“We should just call the… um…” Theodora muttered, cheek pressed against the pelt as her gaze aligned on the snapping flame of the fireplace. “The… um…”
Why can’t I… remember?
Hands tugged at her trousers and began to pull them off, revealing the small clothes beneath, but those too were then removed, leaving her bare before the fire and Alphonse’s gaze. It did nothing to ease the strange anticipatory feeling within her. As if she’d been nude before Alphonse before, wrapped in her sight.
My body remembers something, my body—
“We don’t need them,” Alphonse whispered, “I’m here. I’m ready.” But the way she’d gasped that word, as if it held another meaning concerned her.
Theodora squirmed, “Ally…” She tried to gather her thoughts, tried to think past the thick scent of the pelt, and the soft feel of its embrace—and Great Olde Ones it was so… soft, so warm and a little… a little damp, heated in a liquid sort of way that left her feeling bewildered and her skin feeling tight. On edge, restless.
She felt more than saw Alphonse settle at her side, leaving her gaze unimpeded as she continued to lazily stare into the fire. “Settle.” She said, a warm hand upon her twitching back.
Her breathing deepened, pulling more of that sweet musky smell into her lungs as the soft clink of glass echoed across her mind. She made a low sound, an odd rumble as fingers ghosted across her back, testing and seeking her most sensitive aching parts.
“Don’t growl at me,” Alphonse murmured, though she seemed distracted. “Tell me… tell me how you’ve been feeling. Why do you want to see the Deaconess?”
“Hysteria,” Theodora whispered with a drowsy sigh, “I’m not feeling well.”
“Stress, maybe.” Alphonse replied, “Duluth hasn’t been kind since the s-strangers… arrived.”
Theodora shivered as Alphonse voice hitched, “No… no, not stress.”
She felt something, warm smooth wetness trickling onto her twitching skin. She gasped when fingers followed, gentle and pressing, leaving tingling flames in their indents. A sharp ache pulsed out from the touch and she recoiled from the beat of it, but there was nowhere for her to go. She could only sink, sink deeper into the pelt that seemed plusher than it should have been.
“But you’re so tight here…” Alphonse teased her flexing muscle, pressed slickness against the edge of raised skin. “Right under the scarring… So tender.”
“Al… Al…” She whispered her name, trying to pull the other from her dreamy exploration. Those fingers were growing bold, covering her entire back in a light film of what must have been warmed oils. It carried its own distinctive scent, faint and not as heady as the pelt against her cheek, and yet it reminded her of the Wodd all the same, something earthy… almost like metal.
Those hands slid wetly, up and down… back and forth, kneading and pressing with increasing pressure. “What is it then?” Alphonse asked with fingers hooked to drag over her raised flesh.
And oh, oh! The pain that should have followed in the wake of that action sparked across her flesh, but left behind a dull pounding thereafter, something that made her tight body feel heavier, so tired, so exhausted… as if her inflamed nerves were drained just keeping her alert. The warmth clawing at her back began to twist, pulsing out in waves across arms and legs, stirring other deeper heats.
“H-hot… so hot.” She moaned.
“You feel hot?” Alphonse prodded, rubbing thumbs on either side of her spine at the small of her back. Up and down… in tight circular motions that made tender pain pulse deliciously.
“O-oh...oh...yes.” She sighed, flexing beneath the heat as Alphonse poured more of that oil as it trailed in rivulets across her skin. “Hot. Always hot.”
Palms pushed up and down into her skin and the muscles beneath, and it was starting to feel… good. The initial press whipped fire across her sore back, but the ache left behind—the relief—was so corruptive. But more than that, the soft vulnerability, her inability to escape those massaging hands, made her head swim. The shadows that leapt and danced from the fire looked more like wisps and reaching tendrils…
“A slight fever.” Words tickled an exposed ear, “Nothing to be worried about. Worry only leads to exhaustion. Have you been sleeping properly?”
She swallowed a groan and practically arched when those hands grew firm, squeezing her sides while pushing thumbs inward, searching… looking for something but… but what... “S-sleep… sleeping?”
“Sleeping properly,” Alphonse repeated. “You look tired, so sleepy and dazed. Even now you’ve got this… glazed look in your eyes, like you just want to close them. Like you don’t have a choice but to close them.”
The pain in her body had eased, the ache little more than heavy heat. Her eyes were… glazed? She did feel tired. Her body was tired. Seeking, looking for something… more. It was there, in the back of her mind, an ideal… no, no a feeling. Something she’d tasted before, something she was learning to want. It had to do with the sensual movement of hands at her back, hands that… that slipped lower, down to her ass to squeeze and cup and anointed. Hands that touched, spreading her cheeks so that oils slipped down, pooling below to mix with… with…
“Wet,” she gasped out, squirming as Alphonse kept her parted so that fingers could… could gently press and brush against the now oiled and twitching flesh of her untouched opening.
“Wet…?” Alphonse seemed bewitched by the sight of her, by the trembles that ravished her spine as she explored that part of her body. “Yes… that makes sense. You aren’t sleeping properly. That manifests as stress and the stress is exhausting to combat and maintain. So, you’re tired and dazed. It makes you feel warm and heavy and… and wet.”
They moaned together after that. Alphonse, from the ring of the bell as it slipped, as if by magic, from within her shirt to hang over between them, and Theodora from her fingers, as they pushed and teased, pressing just the tip of a thumb against that taboo part of her, sending a slick heated thrill through her belly. The foreign and wicked sensation of pressure at her arse buzzed across her mind. It took her sluggish thoughts and squeezed them, kneading until they were as limp and relaxed as her legs and arms. She sucked in deep breath, rubbed her cheek against the pelt and felt a dull tugging at her breasts as nipples hardened into that softness, taunt and throbbing.
“Yesss…” Alphonse hissed above her, fueled by confidence in dreamy words. “All that stress is inside of you. Burning you up. Making you… drip. I know what this is. That restlessness. I know just what to do, how to calm your body. I will serve you. I m-must serve you.”
Nooo… Theodora pleaded inside her head. This… that can’t be.
But her clouded mind stumbled. Her body cried out sweetly and clenched when Alphonse’s hands slipped lower, down toward her aching center. She hadn’t realized how eager she’d been, how loudly heart beat across the expanse of her own mind, driven to sing at the temptation of her touch. Yes… her body whispered, just like before. Please… again and again. She was too relaxed to tighten up when fingers probed at wetness and oil, pressing the mixture against her swollen lips, encouraging her sex to blossom under that touch—controlled… conditioned to obey.
To pull at her thoughts until she was swept away.
“I…” Alphonse gasped out, “I know what to do.”
As if they’d both done this before. Touched and teased. And hadn’t they? It felt so familiar, so good, to have those fingers tease and stroke along her folds with confident acquaintance. It was there, hidden in hazy lustthought, the scent of Alphonse’s heat, the feel of her thigh between her legs, and gurgling black—
Yes, yes! The thick undeniable taste of submission, a taste she’d had so… so often. A taste she felt stained with, as if she were being trained to always crave it. And yet her mind scarcely remembered it, only her body, only her throbbing clit and clenching inner walls. She was being manipulated, controlled by the substantial thought pulling pulse of her sex and the melodious ring of the bell that swung overhead. They both were.
And the realization just pulled her that much deeper, back to docility and the euphoria of the pelt. The way the fur brushed against her skin as if it were hugging her, squeezing and molding to her flesh as the hearth-kept flame swayed to the beat of need at the back of her mind.
“No…” She cried out sweetly as she felt the first traitorous touch of Alphonse fingers rub lightly at her engorged clit, coaxing it from its hood and her from her mind. What if Cook were to see them like this? Theodora writhing beneath her vassal, her mind on her pussy, open and dripping? Tingling hot oil was massaged into her clit and, goodness she could practically feel it twitching beneath that touch, sending electric ecstasy straight to her head. “C-can’t… think.”
Alphonse leaned over her, nuzzled the back of her neck, and inhaled deeply before she spoke—”Don’t need to think.” Her voice seemed raw, infused and strengthened by her need, by whatever order she’d driven into her own head, into their heads by the ring of the bell. “Only need release. You need release. You must sleep.”
Fingers pinched her oil-tingling clit and pleasure seared in the words. Must release. Must sleep. Her pussy dripped at the thought of it, of closing her heavy eyes, shutting out the sight of the flame, and locking the heat within her body, allowing it to remember while her mind absorbed—blank, docile, open, and ready. Each time she sunk, drowning beneath the weight of her yearning, she knew it would be that much easier to be swept away again. She was so tired, so tight and needy and wet. She… wanted to close her eyes, to feel the pleasure of Alphonse touch, to hear the bell as it drowned out her thought and left her feeling breathless and… and hungry.
She growled and bucked when Alphonse drew her fingers down, tugging gently at the curly and soft tuft of hair upon her sex, before she pressed a finger to her slit. Teasing. Tormenting. Coaxing slickness from her quivering body but not easing the twisting wall throbbing tension within. Oh, it hurts so good, so much more than the fire that licked at her back, and so different. So intense.
It tames you, a voice hissed across her mind. Weakens you. Opens you. And holding onto that heat has exhausted you too.
Alphonse sunk teeth into the sensitive skin of neck and shoulder and drew a cry from Theodora’s lips for doing so. “Don’t. Growl. At. Me.”
Fingers pierced her, first one, flexing and twisting then another, before they both took up a steady rhythm, curling and rubbing against her writhing inner walls, stirring her toward something with dark urgency.
So close, so close—and she wasn’t sure to what, but the voice within her mind with her own softened tone wanted the tightness between her legs and eyes to burst, even as fear heightened it, pumping twisted dominating euphoria through her being with a dizzying speed. Alphonse sought to conquer her, to send her spiraling back to that edge, to the dark gaping maw that wanted to devour and drown her and she… she knew that every time she got close, that whenever she fell, it was that much harder to return without feeling the needling prickling want to be controlled.
Which only made her hotter.
And that heat only twisted what little thoughts she had.
That’s it… the voice said, so good. It’s so good to fight, to hold on, knowing that I can’t, that my pussy won’t let me.
My body needs to be tamed. My pussy needs to be touched.
Needs to release.
But only a docile pussy will be touched. Only a tamed body can be given release.
Existence was heat and restless need. Warmth that softened, consumed, and distracted. Submitting felt so good, no matter if she wanted it. It was so hard to deny it when it was in her very nature to obey. Her mind was already conditioned, now it just needed to be opened.
And she couldn’t prevent it, not when her mind would forget and her body would remember, craving more than she alone could give it. Which, in turn, would… would make her docile—
Make her sleepy and dizzy, wet and dripping. More eager to submit to the truth and heat that would seal in her purpose.
Continuing the cycle until… until… she just wasn’t sure!
And the sound of Alphonse panting against her ear was so distracting, tugging her away from realizations and plummeting her back toward pleasure, heat, and the slick feeling of Alphonse’s oiled body sliding against her own. Her legs were on either side of her, bare as she rocked into her own hand, pumping it harder within her hungry sex. She was taking her, moving them to a sensual yet firm and deep rhythm while pressed tightly against her tender back, infusing Theodora with wicked delirium as Alphonse’s other hand reached beneath her belly to tug at her clit—
Then something vibrant shot across her mentality, scalding and nearly transcendent, releasing a deep aching pressure throughout her body until light pushed behind her eyes and seemed to evaporate anything else, leaving only darkness behind.
And with it, silence.
When Theodora opened her eyes there was no gleaming flicker from a nearby fire. It left the parlor shrouded in a blanket of darkness, one that seemed to be wiggling, alive in a way her mind could hardly fathom. Yet, it was difficult to fathom anything at all, difficult to think past the blissful emptiness that filled her mind with a strange and weighted cotton. Words floated on the edge of her mentality, soft utterances of curiosity—what… happened?—but they were so… fleeting, only reminders of what wasn’t. To think wasn’t to feel this potent weight. To think would take effort…
She sighed softly instead, stretched arms above her head and wiggled her toes. She was on her back now, and still tingling somewhat, body buzzing… warm and still so wet. She could feel a taunt tugging at her sex, her clit, awake and crying out for touch even as she pondered at a deeper ache. Something deep within had been tormented and worked, pushed to its limit again and again and yet… new hunger still clawed at her belly.
Then, she sighed again as even that notion slipped away, back to the backdrop of a hazy mind that was still stirring, bobbing up and down, teasing at awareness.
Did she want to be aware?
Softness at her back pushed even that away and she inhaled deeply, moaning softly at the sensation that brushed against her skin with unnatural warmth and the scent that greeted her. She couldn’t help but squirm across it, writhing sensually to the rhythm in her head that seemed eerily like an abnormal heartbeat, dark and primal. It was certainly enough to inspire a flush across her skin as she tried to… think of why that wasn’t normal. Why she shouldn’t want to wrap herself up and stretch beneath the pelt, let it drape across her with its weight, let it… become her.
She shuddered then, blinking rapidly. She pressed her thighs together, as if that would relieve the sudden wicked thrill that throbbed through her swollen clit. Yes… she wanted to feel it on more than just her back. She wanted to feel it everywhere, consuming her, changing her—
Then a moan, soft and eager, broke across her mentality. Not her own, but a near shy mewl of pleasure that tugged at her attention. She couldn’t see what it was, couldn’t tell if she’d imagined it… there was only an abnormal shadow in the space, shadow that writhed over windows and vague shapes that were presumed pieces of furniture… until she turned her heavy head to look at the table.
And there, with back exposed to her, sat Alphonse, nude and trembling as her lips moved and soft sibilant words spilled from them. There was another shape too, a bobbing head, controlled by a firm touch and pearly fingers that held onto duskier muscular thighs. Their sweat-slick forms were illuminated by the nearby oil lamp, the only provided light in the dark eerie space, and she recognized them both, one by the bow of her arched back as hips rocked sensually forward, and the other by the plumpness of her body—so soft.
She wet her lips as the woman between Alphonse’s legs moaned again, shivering from fingers drawn through long blonde hair, then brushed with maddening lightness over exposed ears. Her pearly skin was flushed a deep red, her thighs clenching as she knelt.
And Alphonse rasped her pleasure, muscle rippling as she drew the other closer. Theodora couldn’t understand what fell past her lips, the strange sounds and syllables that made the woman between her legs keen and squirm. But those words pulled at something low within her too, made her own thighs clench with… craving—familiar and stained into her being.
She wasn’t sure why she’d tried to sit up, but her body was just too heavy, too relaxed… and sleep still tempted her, pulling on sluggish mind. “Ally…”
The soft hissing ceased, and for a moment there was uncanny stillness, a silence infused only by the sound of lips and moving tongue. Theodora was left to ponder if Alphonse had heard her at all, but then the other shifted slightly to toss a glance over shoulder.
And what reflected off the lamp light was the gleam of a two pupiled eye.
Her heart thudded, her body jerked, and she began to pant from an infusion of terror. She squirmed in place, incapable of real movement as her vassal gently pulled the head between her thighs away. She couldn’t help but whimper, unsettled even as her sex sent nervous flutters of anticipation to her belly, as if she should know this gaze, submit to it—
“You’re awake…” Alphonse voice had taken on a near melodic tone. Hushed and interested… curious. She lowered her gaze and Theodora felt its intensity as it swept across her body, invasive and hungry. She felt vulnerable before it, more than just naked, but incredibly bare, stripped of her secrets until nothing remained but the sight of her nature—wet and dripping.
No… no that’s not all that I am. She was more than the eager throb between her legs. More than the lustfog that gently coaxed her to settle…
“And thinking more than you should be.” Alphonse continued, rising to stand with a posture that seemed unnaturally imperial. Her entire being radiated a sense of casual nobility, more so than she’d ever seen her wield before. She whimpered before it, the glow of her gaze and the unspoken strength in her being. Those terrifyingly chilling eyes and the twisted pervasive madness within them… only gave her an ethereal sort of beauty.
Her pussy spasmed, enthralled, and so ready.
She crooked her finger toward her, and Theodora gasped as her clenching thighs began to open, pushed apart by the darkened shadows. It was difficult to comprehend but the pressure was undeniable, she was parting, displaying herself for her vassal, for those eyes…
And then Alphonse did the same motion, a simple curl of finger toward the kneeling woman, who rose on wobbling legs and moaned, swooning before the unspoken order. She took one step forward, then another, tense and reluctant as she chewed on her bottom lip with her own hazy eyes. She couldn’t help it, no more than Theodora could help her building desire.
“Perhaps the stress woke you up.” Alphonse stated as Cook stumbled into sight, chest heaving and nipples tight. “That’s what we’ve decided, isn’t it? Stress…” Her tone was somewhat playful, thickened with her Hammerian accent, true and undeniable, but… something wasn’t right.
But it was so hard to think on it when Cook was on her knees between her legs, legs that she couldn’t close as the other woman licked her lips and began to lower her head. She inhaled deeply, blew hot breath over her pussy and Theodora struggled to remember why… why she didn’t want tongue on her clit or fingers massaging her slick walls.
“Let’s put you back to sleep, shall we?”
Then Cook moaned into her sex, gasping as she hovered, hesitant for but a moment… before she sighed and wrapped plump soft lips around her clit, pressed them tight and sucked.
And Theodora cried out, arched, held, and spread as the shadows converged, devouring shapes and lamps and perhaps Alphonse too.
Leaving only the soft mouth, probing tongue, and endless pleasure behind.