Charlie and the Convent of Oblivion
By J. Dumas
(3)
It was two months into her novitiate in the Covenant of Whispered Inspiration that Sarah began to pay attention to the stranger aspects of life on the blood sinners’ ward. In those two months, she had learned the ins and outs of life on the ward. She was more attuned to patterns and rhythms less apparent to untrained eyes.
The first aspect was that the novices were for all intents and purposes given extremely wide latitude in their behavior towards the blood sinners. Supervision amounted to a single sister holding office in a small room adjoining the main hall. Said supervision varied widely given which of the rotating roster of sisters was in charge. Sister Myrna, for instance, patrolled the ward as if she were a sergeant on soldiering duties and kept a close eye on every novice. Sister Agnes, on the other hand, wasted no time to lock herself in her office and never came out until the first evening prayers.
The second aspect of life on the ward that Sarah discerned was that High Novice Gertrude was essentially in charge, except when Sister Myrna was on duty. Anything out of the ordinary was reported to Gertrude, anything requiring confirmation was confirmed by Gertrude, anything requiring authorization was authorized by Gertrude. Once in a while, she would convey a question or a request to the Sister in charge, but in general she would take full responsibility. She clearly relished her power over the other novices in the ward. Sarah was beginning to understand why Gertrude seemed to have no real drive to complete her novitiate and move on to become a full-fledged sister of the Covenant of Whispered Inspiration.
Gertrude also took it up herself to care for the blood sinner that Sarah had taken to calling her Fallen Warrior, the brunette that had so captivated her. For Gertrude watched over Charlie like a wild sand-dweller over her eggs, preventing any novice from caring for her, going so far as personally administering the quieting draught that ensured that Charlie remained in her dreamless sleep.
On those rare occasions where Gertrude was not on the ward when Sarah was, Sarah would sneak a peek through the drawn sheet, watching her Fallen Warrior, who looked powerful even in her slumber, her face restful. Sarah dreamt—impossible thoughts and impossible acts stirred her loins stir in disturbing and pleasant ways. Sarah was not unknowing of the facts of love, having witnessed animals under her family’s care rut and mate and having heard tales from Fawn of what happened between man and wife, and of course, having heard of the tales of depravity of the pleasure girls at the court of Lord Charnia. But none of it explained or assuaged the desires that burned in Sarah’s breast as she ran her eyes over the supine form of Charlie, the Fallen Warrior.
For Sarah’s fantasies were taking a disturbing turn. Sarah had discovered, as all novices discovered upon spending a few months in the blood sinners’ ward, that the quieting draught given to said blood sinners to quench the blood fever that forever threatened to overpower their senses left them in an accommodating and suggestible frame of mind. They could be easily swayed, easily convinced of even things they would have normally rejected. This side effect of the quieting draught was helpful in managing the ward, but preventing abuses of such power was one reason why a sister was chosen to supervise the novices.
While Sarah, like most novices, did her best not to take advantage of the blood sinners’ plight, she also keenly aware that were Charlie to wake up under the effect of the quieting draught, she would be in an accommodating and influenceable spirit. Such a thought was enough to make Sarah’s sex grown warm and wet, a feeling she distrusted but could not help herself enjoy. She knew her urges were carnal and immoral, but her womanly juices still flowed like the Northern River when the mountain snows receded.
Sarah suspected that Gertrude was keeping an eye on her, watching her, assessing her. Despite her best attempts at keeping a low profile, and restricting the times she peeked behind the sheet to look at Charlie, Sarah knew that Gertrude’s sycophants, those younger novices in the thrall of the older craftier woman, reported her every action to Gertrude.
The rising tension broke one hot and humid summer day when Gertrude stopped by Sarah’s side as she was dressing the fresh wounds on one of the blood sinners, a middle-aged woman whose blood fever led her to lacerate her own hands with her teeth in the throes of unquenchable passion.
“This is your lucky day, Sarah,” Gertrude whispered, looking at the blood sinner’s hands, their ripped skin exposing tendons and nerves.
“How so?”
“You’ll see. Meet me in the fire room downstairs tonight, an hour after the midnight prayers.”
Before Sarah could ask further questions, Gertrude left, an undecipherable smile on her face.
That night, after the last prayer before the sisters of the Covenant adjourned for the night’s rest, Sarah found the ward darkened and nearly empty, save for three novices keeping an eye on the blood sinners that remained awake. Sister Agnes was the supervising sister, and as was her habit she was locked off in her office, with nary a sound emerging from behind the heavy door.
Sarah walked down the damp set of stairs that ran alongside the eastern wall of the ward and that led to the kitchens underneath the ward. These kitchens prepared special meals for the blood sinners—since common wisdom held that spices and other hot condiments should be withheld from blood fever victims lest their symptoms flare out—and also prepared the quieting draught, the recipe of which was a closely guarded secret of the Covenant. Even the novices in the kitchen were not told of the main ingredient of this most powerful concoction, a sister every week delivering a pouch containing a powdered flour concocted elsewhere in the cloister. The novices diluted the flour in a herbal broth and cooked it carefully for several hours, sending bowls of the mixture upstairs, at suitable doses, twice a day.
Next to the kitchens was the fire room, where a large fire whose heat served to not only feed the kitchens but also to warm the entire ward during the long winter nights burned. On this already warm night, the heat in the fire room was oppressive, and Sarah was drenched in sweat.
Sarah looked around and saw no one, and for a moment wondered whether she had counted the minutes incorrectly since the midnight prayers. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she let out a yelp of surprise. She turned to find Gertrude behind her. The older novice put a finger on her lips.
Gertrude led Sarah to the wall on the left side of the hearth and reached down to press an indistinguishable rock. A click rang out, and to Sarah’s astonishment, a pan of the wall pivoted, revealing a passageway. Gertrude gestured for Sarah to follow her inside.
They walked down the slanting passageway for what seemed to Sarah like an interminable time, so dazzled she was by the strange surroundings, the flickering light of the torch, and the waves of heat coming from behind her.
The passageway led to a door that Gertrude opened. On the other side, a large room, carved out of reddish rocks, was filled with people. Sarah blinked in the light of the several torches that were hanging on the walls. There was a pleasant smell in the air—incense?—and laughter and conversation was abundant.
She watched many of the novices mingling about, holding pitchers of colored liquids with strong scents. Sarah was shocked to see men in the room, all of them well dressed—they were not of the nobility, but of the lower bourgeoisie, merchants and investors, as she could tell as soon as she concentrated on the conversations around her. Their presence made Sarah uncomfortable, and she had to fight the reflex to cover herself up.
The men were not only talking to the novices, but they were also talking to some of the blood sinners. When she walked through the ward earlier, she had not noticed that so many of the beds had been empty. Those blood sinners were dressed in loose fitting short robes cut so as to expose tantalizing flesh, so much so that Sarah blushed for them. And she could not help but notice that those blood sinners were also the prettiest ones. They seemed to be walking around, touching the men, flirting with them, smiling at them. All of them moved with a slow, almost tentative gait, as if they were walking on a cloud, as if the air around them was an oil through which they swam; all of them with a cloudy expression in their eyes that betrayed a small dose of quieting draught.
Sarah watched with fascination, and in silence. One of the blood sinners, a petite young woman with long fair hair and a voluptuous body that the white robe she wore could not conceal, pressed herself against a man that must have been at least twice as large as she was who leaned down to roughly kiss her neck and make her giggle in a slow languorous way. One of the novices approached the couple and, after exchanging a few words with the man, gently guided them to one of several doors on one side of the large room. The novice bid the couple enter, closing the door behind them and standing in front of it as if to guard it.
Sarah was getting an inkling of what was happening. She sneaked a glance at Gertrude, who stood next to her, and was not surprise to see the older novice watching her carefully.
“You understand?” was all Gertrude said. Her voice, now that she was not whispering, sounded rough.
“I think so. The quieting draught. It makes them...”
“Malleable. Very malleable. You noticed.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes going back to the room, then to the door through which the blood sinner had disappeared with the man. She shivered upon imagining what was going on behind the door.
Gertrude read the frown that marred Sarah’s face correctly. “And you disapprove.” She bore a little smile.
Sarah clenched her teeth, and did not reply. This was no better than what she had heard of the household of Lord Charnia, and in many ways worse. There might not have been any of the physical abuse and torture and dismemberment of the sort that she had heard Lord Charnia liked to inflict, but here the abuse was mental, and perpetrated on women who could not even acquiesce to the requests made of them. To Sarah, this was slavery, of the most servile and revolting kind.
Before she could verbalize any of that, before she even realized that she was willing to go find the sisters and reveal what she had just learned, Gertrude chuckled. “You’re such a moral stanchion, Sarah. But I know how to make you bend. Come. They must be finished by now.”
Gertrude grabbed Sarah’s elbow with a firm grip and pulled her to the side, towards a small door guarded by a tall novice that Sarah had seen before but rarely whispered to. The novice glanced at Gertrude.
“Are they done?” asked Gertrude.
“Just now. He should be out shortly.”
As if on cue, the door opened, and a large powerful man emerged, fastening his breeches. He lifted his head and grinned at Gertrude. “Gertie! I must have missed you before, when I arrived.” He turned his head and noticed Sarah standing near, and his eyes traveled down her body and back up.
“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here?” He had a thick Southern Realms accent. He took a step towards Sarah, whose eyes went wide. “This is one pretty little thing you brought with you. Where do you find these girls, Gertie?” His eyes trailed down Sarah’s body once more. “Can you get me some time with this one next time? She’s positively delectable!”
Sarah felt her face heat up, whether in embarrassment or in anger she would have been hard pressed to elaborate. The man was eyeing her hungrily, openly, the way Lord Charnia used to do.
“Down, boy,” grinned Gertrude, and the man laughed in response. “Our Sarah here is a new novice, and not available for your lechery.”
“A shame that,” replied the man, who bowed his head towards Sarah. “Should you ever reevaluate your desire to join Orders, my dear, I dearly hope you shall find it in your heart to send for me, Signore Pasquale di Viroli.”
“And how was your evening, Signore Pasquale?” asked Gertrude, amused at Sarah’s embarrassment.
“Delightful as always, Gertie. Your girl drained me raw.” His smile was so wide it threatened to tear his face in two.
“I imagine she did.”
“I need to absent myself for the next fortnight, much to my displeasure, but I trust I shall be able to come and visit my bella ragazza upon my return?”
“Of course, Signore. She will be here, waiting for you, hungry for more, as usual.”
The man groaned, and shook his head. “If it weren’t for a fear of my heart giving way, I would go back inside and take her once again...” He looked genuinely dispirited that he could not.
Gertrude laughed good-naturedly, and took the man by the elbow, like she had done Sarah earlier, but more gently. “She will be here waiting for you, Signore Pasquale. She is not going anywhere.”
“You should know, Gertie, that I’m very much thinking of purchasing her from you. I’m sure I can put together an attractive offer.”
Gertrude laughed again, more nervously this time. “Signore Pasquale, surely you jest.”
“Never when discussing love.”
“Let me think of it, will you?”
“Thank you.” He pulled a clanging pouch from his belt, and handed it to Gertrude. “I shall be in touch upon my return.”
“Happy huntings, Signore.”
When the man had disappeared down the long room, Gertrude turned back to Sarah, hefting the pouch before opening it. She pulled out a handful of gold coins glittering in the flickering lights.
Sarah gave Gertrude with a dark glance. “This is despicable,” she whispered.
Gertrude smiled once more. “No need to whisper, Sarah. And no need to be so judgmental either. Come with me, I want to show you something.”
She grabbed Sarah’s elbow, and brought her to the door from which Di Viroli had emerged a few minutes earlier. She opened it, and invited Sarah to enter. Following her, Gertrude closed the door behind them.
Inside, there was a single small torch slipped into a ring on the wall lightly illuminating a room that had been carved directly into the rock. Near the door lay a water spigot with a large bucket and a few towels. A large fur rug gave the floor a soft feel underneath Sarah’s sandals. But Sarah barely noticed, for her attention was drawn to a moaning figure twisting and turning on the bed in the corner of the room.
When Sarah’s eyes adjusted to the lesser illumination in the small room, she saw Charlie on the bed, writhing in a way that Sarah could only describe as delightful, gloriously naked, her perfect body oiled and reflecting the shimmering light of the wall torch.
As Sarah watched, transfixed, Charlie moaned and flailed on the bed, her hands roaming over her body, grasping her large round breasts, diving between her legs, between her thighs, pressing and squeezing and rubbing, as grunts and moans and yelps escaped her lips.
Sarah almost jumped out of her skin when Gertrude touched her arm.
“You can have her,” Gertrude said, in the voice that the Dark Trickster might use to tempt men and women into selling their souls. “She’s special, you know. No quieting draught for her tonight. No need for her to be malleable, or agreeable. Just pure blood fever, with no effects except unquenchable lust. What do you say? You can have her.”
Gertrude’s statement struck her like a lightning bolt. You can have her. The disconcerting fire that had been burning between Sarah’s legs since she had realized what the blood sinners were forced to do down here had blossomed into a raging inferno that threatened to obliterate her very being.
You can have her.
The gentle push on her lower back that Gertrude gave her would probably have been unnecessary. There was no reasonable way that Sarah could resist the urges that were slowly but assuredly overcoming her. Something she had dimly discerned just beneath the surface of her identity was emerging to the light, and the full extent of that realization would have certainly dazzled her were it not for the spectacle of Charlie abusing her own body right there in front of Sarah on a cheap cot in a damp cave deep beneath the world.
Sarah took two steps towards Charlie, not knowing what she would do once she reached the tall brunette, only knowing it would be fantastic. On getting nearer, Sarah noticed that her initial sense that her Fallen Warrior was simply caressing herself, albeit violently, was incorrect. Charlie was in fact thrusting something in and out of her pussy, a large dark polished bulbous shaft clearly shaped to reproduce a male organ, as Sarah noted with fascination. The shaft was much larger than she believed male organs had a right to be.
Charlie did not seem to mind the size, as she thrust the shaft in and out of her pussy, oblivious to the world, her mind caught in the whirlwind that was her blood fever. Sarah had seen sinners in the throes of a blood fever, but nothing quite like what she was seeing then. Charlie’s body, her mind, her soul, sought to assuage a craving that had no chance of getting quenched, but she did not—could not—prevent herself from seeking that satisfaction, however futile, however hopeless, the way a man shivering from consumption and longing to catch his breath cannot avoid coughing to clear his lungs.
Gertrude watched Charlie on the bed trying to satisfy herself, her gorgeous body racked with spasms, her skin flushed, her large breasts quivering, her legs spread, the evidence of Signore di Viroli’s use of her body evident to Gertrude’s practiced eye, from the bruises lining the brunette’s inner thighs to the bite marks on her breast, from her swollen lips to the streaks of semen marring one side of her face and her hair.
Gertrude also watched Sarah, whose eyes were glued to the brunette on the bed, her mouth slightly open, sweat dripping down her brow. Gertrude smiled, congratulating herself at having confirmed her intuition and found a crack through which to corrupt the fair-haired novice. For Gertrude had a gift, that of finding weaknesses in the moral armor of people, and she derived from it a pleasure that rivaled the pleasure her clients sucked out of the sinners they bedded in these blood gatherings she organized four times per lunar cycle.
When Gertrude saw Sarah lick her lips and saw her hands twitch—whether to caress herself or to reach over and touch the squirming woman on the bed—she stepped up to Charlie, grabbed the ebony shaft, and pulled it out of her.
Charlie groaned and cried out and her opened and sought Gertrude. “Please...” Her voice was scratchy, tired, drowned out. “Please,” she moaned again, her hands reaching for the phallus that Gertrude kept away from her.
“So thirsty...” Charlie growled, her eyes unfocused.
“My friend Sarah here,” Gertrude smiled, nodding towards Sarah, “can feed you, dear. Like your last visitor. She is sweet and tasty.”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide again. “Wait...” She was not ready for this.
Gertrude pulled a vial from beneath her robe, and in a swift movement uncorked it and tossed its content towards Sarah, splashing the front of Sarah’s robe and her face with the sticky liquid.
“What are you—” Sarah did not have time to finish, for Charlie, who had smelled the mixture of semen and water with which Gertrude had just splashed Sarah, reacted to the presence of male seed in uncontrollable fashion. All thoughts of begging for the ebony shaft were forgotten as she jumped off the bed in a movement full of grace that betrayed her physical prowess, and she rushed to Sarah, her naked body glittering in the torchlight.
Sarah never noticed Gertrude grinning to herself and leaving the room, as Charlie embraced her and pressed her body against hers and licked Sarah’s chin and mouth before leading the fair-haired novice into her first kiss with a woman.
Charlie kissed Sarah with all the passion her blood fever mustered, her lips biting the fair-haired novice, her hands running down the novice’s tunic, sending shivers into Sarah’s quickly overloading nervous system.
Sarah barely resisted when Charlie unfastened her tunic and pulled it down to her waist, and she moaned in unexpected lust as she felt the damp air of the room lick the tip of her nipples.
Her moans turned to groans when Charlie abandoned her lips to latch on to her breasts, hefting them in her strong hands and kissing and licking and biting one and then the other.
Sarah had touched herself before, it went without saying, since that first night during her early womanhood years when she discovered that pinching her nipples would send a spasm of pleasure between her legs, pleasure that only increased when she ran her fingers through the rapidly dampening folds of her pussy. But Charlie worshipping her breasts and bathing them with her lips went beyond anything Sarah had ever felt before.
Sarah arched her back to give Charlie better access, clutching the hair of the brunette crouching before her, her hips moving of their own accord, gyrating in a futile attempt to find some flesh against which to press themselves.
When Charlie released Sarah’s breasts and straightened only to attack Sarah’s mouth anew, lips pressing hard against lips, tongue wrestling to conquer tongue, teeth biting and drawing blood, Sarah surrendered to all of those feelings that were battering against her resolve, and sank into the embrace of her Fallen Warrior and for the first time in her short life gave herself to another, opening her soul and her body.
Charlie, as a trained warrior, as a knight having subdued and destroyed many an enemy in her years serving King Altobar, knew at once that her prey had rolled onto her figurative back and was exposing her vulnerable belly in a show of submission. And despite the fog induced by the magical blood fever, despite the curse that compelled her to seek unachievable sexual release, her training took over and her dominating nature took over and her kiss became more aggressive, her hands on the novice’s nubile body became more insistent.
Charlie pulled Sarah to herself in an irresistible grip, and ground her thigh between the fair-haired girl’s legs, causing Sarah to moan in her mouth. Meanwhile, Charlie’s other hand was grasping Sarah’s ass, kneading the soft flesh through the coarse underthings that had remained her last item of clothing.
Quite suddenly, Charlie stopped and let Sarah go, and the novice stood stunned for a few seconds, unable to comprehend the messages from her body or her mind.
Charlie pushed Sarah onto the bed, and in the same smooth movement ripped Sarah’s underthings and threw them away. Before Sarah could react Charlie was lying on top of her.
Charlie growled as she straddled Sarah and leaned down, her breasts pressing into Sarah’s, one leg between Sarah’s and pressing in her burning pussy, and she kissed Sarah again, hungrily, rocking her body back and forth, sending shivers running through Sarah’s body every time nipples rubbed against nipples, every time thigh pressed into pussy.
That love could feel so good had never once crossed Sarah’s mind, and she was making up for lost time, sinking deeper into the sensations flooding into her. She racked her nails over the brunette’s back, and arched her back to increase contact.
“You little cunt,” Charlie growled as she let go of Sarah’s mouth. She wrapped her mouth around one of Sarah’s nipples and sucked hard, and Sarah yelped in shock and pleasure. Sarah had barely enough time to grasp Charlie’ hair and clutch it tight before Charlie trailed hard kisses and toothy nips down Sarah’s soft stomach.
When Charlie slipped her head between Sarah’s legs and put her hands on her thighs to push them roughly apart, Sarah let out a whimper but did not resist.
Charlie pressed Sarah’s legs back, forcing the novice’s knees up to her heaving breasts, exposing Sarah’s crotch like it never had been before, opening her up like she had never been opened. Sarah felt her skin flush with heat, felt her nipples tighten, felt her juices gush out of her wide open pussy.
If Sarah had thought that Charlie’s sucking on her nipples had been the paroxysm of sensual pleasures, the wave of raging fire that blasted through every single nerve of her body when Charlie ran her tongue up the whole length of Sarah’s dripping slit, parting the engorged lips and teasing the inviting hole that lay beyond, was not unlike a mountain adventurer discovering upon reaching a high peak that it is but the first step in a range of ever higher colossuses dominating the sky. Sarah screamed and clutched at Charlie’s head again, pressing the knight’s face harder against her crotch.
“I’m going to drink you up, you little cunt,” Charlie growled, after running her tongue up and down Sarah’s pussy, her eyes crazed with lust, her mouth and chin wet with Sarah’s juices. “I’m going to suck you dry till you can’t walk anymore.”
Sarah had no words with which to respond, and Charlie pressed hard against Sarah’s thighs to keep the novice’s legs up and apart and out of the way before licking Sarah’s wide open pussy with a vengeance, sucking hard on the aroused clitoris, driving her tongue deep into Sarah’s pussy, intent on feeding on every drop of moisture she could find, sucking selfishly and assiduously, driving poor Sarah insane with continuous pleasure.
Sarah orgasmed for the first time in her life, explosively, loudly, when Charlie went from digging her tongue deep insider her to sucking on her clitoris while thrusting two fingers in the novice’s hungry pussy.
Charlie gave Sarah no respite, and Sarah kept coming as Charlie alternated between tonguing her and thrusting two and then three fingers inside her. Sarah’s finger where intertwined with the knight’s dark locks, and her hips kept pushing up to press her crotch into Charlie’s face.
Sarah was drenched in sweat and mumbling incoherently when Charlie, her eyes wild from the unchecked blood fever and frenzied by by the taste and feel of Sarah’s body squirming in pleasure against hers, reached over to the small table by the bed and picked up the ebony shaft that Gertrude had left there.
Charlie leaned into the back of Sarah’s thighs, pressing on her legs and forcing the novice’s knees to dig into her breasts, the strain on Sarah mingling with the raging blaze coursing through her body. Charlie drove the hard shaft deep into Sarah’s pussy in one swift stroke as effective as a killing blow.
Sarah exploded, coming again with a scream that must have been heard by everyone in the caves where Gertrude held her blood gatherings.
Sarah’s orgasms were like rolling thunder, and she clutched at Charlie when the brunette released her legs and slid on top of the novice, straddling one of her thighs, thrusting the ebony shaft in and out with a punishing rhythm. Sarah did not know whether she felt pain or pleasure any longer; her pussy was on fire, and her mind was barely coherent.
Charlie sucked and bit on one of Sarah’s reddened nipples before facing the fair-haired girl.
“You like this, you little cunt? You like being fucked like the hungry bitch you are?” Charlie sneered, and without giving Sarah an opportunity to answer, not that Sarah could have conjured up an answer in her state, kissed her roughly, never letting up the abuse on Sarah’s pussy.
“Look at you,” Charlie continue, her hand pushing the ebony shaft in and out faster and harder. “You’re drooling like a pleasure girl about to service an entire soldiers’ platoon. And that cunt of yours is gripping this cock for dear life, begging it to fuck you harder, to fuck you blind, to fuck you dumb. Come for me, you stupid little cunt!”
Charlie had no control over her actions or her words, no sense of anything she was saying. A sage conversant in the ways of the mind would have wisely asserted that the abuse Charlie was directing towards Sarah was abuse she was directing at herself, aware but unable to disregard her own vile and immoral needs, however magically induced they might have been.
Sarah did not know any of this, and did not care. Because at that point Charlie pulled out the ebony shaft completely out of her pussy only to ram it in to the hilt with her considerable strength, sending the tip banging into the depth of Sarah’s womb, eliciting the biggest orgasm yet from the poor novice who wailed as spasms of pleasure rippled through her exhausted body.
As Sarah came down from her wild high, Charlie, her eyes still mad with lust, in a fast series of motions that betrayed once more her physical prowess, pulled the hard shaft from the depths of the fair-haired novice and straddled one of the girl’s legs.
Sarah leaned back with heavy-lidded eyes, barely able to move, her limbs sprawled about the bed, her breasts heaving. Even through her post-orgasmic haze, she shivered as she felt the press of Charlie’s body against hers, the caress of the brunette’s hair on her stomach, the brush of Charlie’s breath on her sensitive nipples. Almost reflexively, she pushed her thigh upwards against Charlie’s crotch, and a renewed wave of lust hit her when she realized that Charlie was just as wet as she herself had been and still was.
Charlie started rubbing her pussy against Sarah’s thigh, trying to scratch the itch that had been growing since she first licked up the young novice, in the thrall of her blood fever, unable to resist the dictates of her body, of her pussy, a slave to her magical curse. All Charlie could do was press her hungry pussy against Sarah’s thigh and rub up and down. She brought the ebony shaft covered with Sarah’s honeyed juices to her mouth, and she slipped it between her lips, tasting the womanly nectar from a male shaft, sucking and savoring the flavor, memories of all the other men and women she had so serviced jumbling in her mind, from the laborers on the road during her escape from the castle of late King Altobar to the large Southern Realms man who had just visited her and had used her roughly and fucked her mouth like a cunt and come all over her and all inside her and made her come so hard she saw stars.
Charlie sucked on the ebony shaft and rubbed her pussy against Sarah’s thigh, her eyes closed, dreaming of rigid cocks fucking her over and over again in every orifice she had available, some hard, some soft, some fast, some slow, spurting their seed all over her body, her face, her tits, deep in her mouth or deep in her cunt or deep in her ass, cum submerging her, drowning her, obliterating her.
Charlie came, her thighs clenching in a vise grip that would the next day leave a mark on Sarah’s inner thigh, her hands unwittingly pushing the shaft into her throat, gagging her and choking her. She collapsed onto Sarah, who was herself just coming out of her haze, and watched in rapt fascination and a burgeoning arousal her Fallen Warrior bring herself off with her body. Sarah enlaced the shivering knight and held her, feeling the warmth and the strength of her body.
As Charlie kept shivering, moaning softly, Sarah held her tighter, and caressed the brunette’s back with gentle hands. As the shivers grew strong, Sarah worried that she had done something wrong, that she had angered the One God.
When Sarah looked up from the bed, she saw that Gertrude was standing by the bed, watching silently. Startled, Sarah scrambled to pick up her novice’s robe and get dressed.
Gertrude was paying no attention to the frazzled novice. She was carrying a bowl filled with what Sarah recognized as the quieting draught, and sat down on the bed next to Charlie to feed her the draught. Charlie drank it without resisting, as if she were a lamb suckling at her mother’s teat.
The draught seemed to have an almost immediate effect, and Charlie relaxed visibly after a few swallows. Soon, she would be asleep, Sarah knew.
“Fun, isn’t she?” said Gertrude, watching Sarah with a smile on her face that Sarah could only describe as mocking.
Sarah blushed but said nothing in response. Sarah looked from her to Charlie, and what she saw startled her even more than Gertrude’s appearance a moment before. Without a word, the novice left the room, shaken.
For Charlie’s eyes had locked on Sarah’s, and for an instant those eyes were full of a frightening lucidity, and Charlie’s lips mouthed words that would haunt the remainder of Sarah’s night. Help me.