The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Becca heard the door open again, and stuck her head out from the kitchen. Another nerd arrives for the weekly ritual, she snickered, and turned her focus back to the frozen pizza aromatically resolving itself in the oven. Her dinner held her attention until Callie stepped in, crumpling a soda can in one hand.

“A watched pizza-pie never bakes,” Callie misquoted, flipping her brown-with-streaks-of-blonde hair out of her eyes, one of her few completely feminine habits. Callie was a tomboy; she’d dated a few boys that Becca knew of, giving lie to the occasional lesbian rumor, but growing up with six brothers and no sisters had left an indelible mark on her psyche. Once the initial awkwardness of meeting her new roommate had passed (a stranger’s going to be living in my apartment? For years?), Becca had taught Callie how to properly apply makeup (and not just use a brush here and there whenever she remembered), how to dance (Callie had yet to do it in public, though), and helped upgrade her wardrobe to include something beyond t-shirts and jeans. In return, Callie had tutored Becca in Calc, taught her how to drive a stick shift and change her own oil, and even introduced Becca to yoga and meditation, a lifesaver when midterms came.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you see in all this,” Becca said, fingers sweeping to indicate the boys settling in at the dining room table. Marcus, who’d probably never worked out a day in his skinny life, was pulling book after heavy book from his industrial-strength bag, most of them decorated with fanciful pictures of mythological beasts. Charlie was fiddling with a stack of dice in about a hundred different shapes, sorting them by some scheme only he knew of. “I mean, role playing? Isn’t that, like, a sex thing?”

Callie sighed dramatically. She’d explained it to Becca early on, but the dark-haired beauty liked to razz her about her hobby. “Yes, Becca, some people do role-play for sexual purposes,” she said, assuming a bored, clinical air. “Popular themes include cheerleading, domestic animals, superheroes, and even domestic servants… as I believe you’re aware.”

Becca flushed; she’d been a French Maid for Halloween last year, and she’d let her boyfriend at the time talk her into wearing the costume to bed a few times afterwards. Which wouldn’t have been bad, except for that he’d bragged about it afterwards to his asshole friends. “So what’s the theme here? Dorks on parade?”

“It’s a mythological medieval adventure, like I’ve told you damn near every week for like, a year and a half,” Callie said, pulling a cold six-pack out of the fridge. “Honestly, don’t you listen?”

“I listen, I just like hearing you defend it.” She grinned disarmingly and took her pizza out of the oven with a towel, sucking her fingers where they’d overheated. “And,” she admitted, “It’s weird to me. I mean, what do you see in it?”

“There’s a lot to it,” Callie told her. “It’s like modern-day storytelling. No hack Hollywood screenwriter contriving yet another teen horror sex comedy for mass consumption. Think of it as a story that involves the listeners, so dynamic even the author doesn’t know how it goes.”

Becca fumbled in the drawer for a pizza cutter, came up empty, and started hunting for a clean knife instead. “So you’ve got three boys all to yourself for hours on end, on a Friday night, and the best thing you can think of to do is to sit around talking about what your alter egos are doing?” She found a knife, wiped it on a dishtowel, and started cutting away. “Sounds like a date-killer to me.”

“Oh,” Callie said, “not as much as you’d think.”

Princess Gwedhiel peered out of the open window for what had to have been the hundredth time. He has to come, she thought to herself. The foretelling said he’d not be a full day in Midessa without visiting this… place.

The shame burned through her like a falling star, an arcing streak of humility that seemed to leave a reddening welt across her purity. That she should be reduced to this! But the Redthorn Plague ravaged her nation, and the Goddess had foreseen that only she could find the cure in time, so the Princess had donned common clothes and made her way to the human town of Midessa to lay in wait. Her people needed her, and her Goddess trusted her ability to overcome the adversity she would surely find in her quest. To whine of discomfort, to complain of circumstance… those weaknesses were unworthy of Gwedhiel’s station, anathema to her bearing. Had not her father commanded the Elvish legions against the Broken Tooth horde? Had not her mother quested long ago to discover the Chalice of the Winds? Noble by birth and descended of great adventurers, Princess Gwedhiel was twice-destined for greatness.

No one said it would be easy, she mused, carefully adjusting her gartered stocking. She was accustomed to wealth, but silk stockings were an outrageous luxury for those around her, so she took care to maintain them as the treasure they were to most. They caressed her pale skin, highlighting her smooth calves and firm thighs to their maximum advantage, drawing the eyes of males inexorably to them, and then upwards… Quite the reverse. I just never thought I’d be… that I would…

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her mounting horror. Jalphar was a powerful mage, it was said, a stalwart defender of good and clever in the arcane ways. His mastery of magic, it was rumored, surpassed that of all but the eldest of elvish spell-weavers, and they all had agreed that he would know where to find the lost alchemical formula for the cure. They spoke with begrudging respect for his acumen, his practical knowledge born of a lifetime of wayfaring, his bravery in battle with the Dark Ones. But none had mentioned his dark side, his less-public proclivities. No, that unhappy task was left to her Goddess, who appeared in a vision and told her how and where to find him.

“Powerful and wise he is,” She had said, her radiance overwhelming her servant Princess even in a dream. Gwedhiel had fallen to her knees, unable to bear more than a glimpse of her Lady. “Skilled and knowledgeable, he has the information you seek. But the road is long, and trials await that will test your patience, your resolve… perhaps even your very self. Are you truly willing to undertake this quest?”

Gwedhiel had cried yes, praising the wisdom of the Goddess and pleading for Her protection on her journey. “You have it,” She had replied simply, bidding Gwedhiel rise and take counsel. “Go then with stealth and cunning; no one must know of the Elves’ plight. Enemies lie in wait: waylayers, bandits, all manner of fiends who prey on the unwary traveler. But with a steady hand and a prepared mind, you will overcome all adversaries.” And she had; with bow and wit and magic the Princess had dispatched one obstacle after another. Some nobles idled their lives away in luxury unearned, but Gwedhiel was the daughter of heroes, and had been raised strong and resourceful. Less than a moon after she’d left the safe borders of her realm, the Princess had arrived in a city of Men to await Jalphar.

But the Goddess was kind, and had further instructed Gwedhiel. “Jalphar has won his knowledge hard, through daring and skill, and he will not easily part with it, no matter what your station or suit. Come as a haughty princess, and he will stride on, unmoved by wealth and birth. Guile must be employed, or all your efforts will come to naught.”

“But how may I receive from him what he will not give?” Gwedhiel had faith in her Lady; She would not lower Herself to visit Her servant without excellent cause. “If neither riches nor the gratitude of a nation will sway him, what then?”

She looked kindly at Her servant, stroking Gwedhiel’s arm with a tenderness that threatened to overcome her senses. Touched by the Goddess! “I tell you now that you may be prepared, sweet child. Jalphar has…tastes, no doubt acquired from a life of hardship. In battle is valiant, and in counsel, wise. But when he removes the robe of his profession and seeks to rest from his travails, it is kind company he seeks. Warm comfort of a common variety, seeking surcease of care in the embrace of a beautiful woman.”

Gwedhiel’s brow furrowed. She understood that anything living had needs, and some had needs more coarse than others. “This… should be no great thing, my Lady,” she replied cautiously. “Once arrived in this town, I shall secure for him the finest whore to be had, at whatever price, and present her as a gift to him, for his efforts on my people’s behalf.” It troubled Gwedhiel to say this, envisioning herself a procurer, but lesser sins would be forgiven in service of the greater good. “Should none exist there to meet his standards – whatever they are – I shall travel further afield, searching the –”

“No, dear girl.” Her Lady smiled sadly, and Gwedhiel wanted nothing more than to return that beatific smile to Her lips. “No common streetwalker will suffice for his appetites. His tastes are for the exotic loveliness, for uncommon splendor. Too experienced is he, too jaded, to be drawn to the throngs of hussies who infest the back alleys and taverns. No, Jalphar will seek out a true beauty, one whose rare looks and exceptional demeanor set her far apart. And twixt here and there, only one such woman exists, Gwedhiel. My loyal servant, my brave warrior princess… He will settle for no less than you. Know that, and decide now the fate of your people.”

Gwedhiel had awoke then, shivering despite the sheen of sweat that covered her body. She was no stranger to bed-play, but this… to become unchaste, to offer herself up for a low-born human’s pleasure… could she? Could she submit to his pawings, his coarse fingers wresting her guarded treasures from her? Could she give him leave to trespass where so few had been invited, to invade her most treasured sanctum in trade for what he knew?

Could I not?, she had responded to herself. My people depend on me. My family looks to me to prevail, to bring back the cure that threatens our lands. And my Goddess… my Goddess believes I can.

“I will, my Lady,” she had whispered into the clean night air. “For my people, for my quest, for You… no sacrifice is too great, and no task is too odious, not even this. Nothing will turn me aside from my task.”

Brave words, they were, Gwedhiel mused. I meant them with full sincerity. How easy to speak then, and how easy now to quail at their consequences! It had taken but a few coins to persuade the local madam to admit Gwedhiel to the brothel, the safest place for her to lie in wait. Many more coins had gone to obtain vestments suitable for her role; if a princess was to play the part of the most expensive of doxies, she must look the part as well as act it.

Established, Gwedhiel had set her cost high – too high for any but Jalphar, she’d hoped. The madam had grumbled and cast aspersions, but her cut of Gwedhiel’s earnings was such that she had no real cause to complain; one hour’s visit to the elven beauty would easily pay for her room and board for a fortnight. The other girls were jealous, spit barbs behind her back and impugned her to their clients – but what did she care? She cared not for the opinions of a pack of shameless alley cats, and wanted the attentions of no man but one. She ignored the imprecations and waited impatiently, anxious to be done with this most shameful chapter of her story.

But word had gotten out, and men flocked to gaze in awe at the newcomer. Her price was high, it was true, but not unattainable by all. Gwedhiel’s pure elven blood lent her an air of seduction and sensual mystery that no slattern could match and no man could long resist. Only one night had passed before one summoned the courage and resources to purchase her time, arriving unannounced while Gwedhiel looked out her window in vain for the magician’s arrival. She’d stood dumbly as her suitor introduced himself, sweatily praising her many charms at length. So taken aback was she that the Princess hadn’t realized the reason for his appearance until he’d placed a clinking velvet bag on her dresser, heavy-laden with the price she’d set for herself.

With a sinking heart, she’d realized it had not been high enough, as the merchant’s son stammered his way through a wretched poem he’d composed to her beauty. It was by far the most awkward foreplay she’d ever sat through, but she bore through it, pasting a false smile on her regal face that held until after he’d withdrawn from her body and chambers. Sobbing, the Princess had bathed herself for an hour before falling into a dreamless sleep, rising early the next morning to instruct the madam of the house to double her price.

It wasn’t enough. That evening saw her alone, ignoring the madam who carried the bitter complaints of her admirers. But the next night saw her with a paying guest: the nephew of a merchant baron who wished his protégé to have nothing but the best for his induction into manhood, price be damned. Gwedhiel half-hoped that his speedy culmination would lessen her reputation for amorous skill, but instead it had enhanced it. Ashamed of his performance, the young man’s tale of the superhumanly-skilled seductress spread like wildfire throughout the shire.

On the sixth evening, her fee thrice doubled, Gwedhiel despaired at the jowly merchant baron who’d arrived to investigate her talents in person, with cash to command her services for the greater part of the night. She gave up any pretence of eagerness or warmth to her supplicant and serviced him without a word, hoping to turn away further seekers with an icy demeanor. Briefly, she believed her tactic to have worked, as she was left alone the seventh eve, only to have that notion shattered on the eighth by the appearance of the mayor himself, attracted by tales of the alien beauty who could bewitch and beguile without a word, whose cold aloofness could inspire a man to perform over and over, then rave about it afterwards to any who would listen.

Please, Jalphar… come tonight. Nearly two weeks had passed since she’d arrived in Midessa, and she’d lain with five men in that time. Five men had spent themselves in her womb; five men had found release in the loins of a princess without knowing it. Five base, common, human men…

A knock came at the door, a hasty, commanding knock that heralded the madam’s impatience. Is it to be six, now? Goddess, no! Gwedhiel strode to the door, petticoats swirling in her wake, and flung open the door. As expected, the aging whore’s lined face greeted her, frowning up at the high-born girl.

“You’ve a caller,” she said, fairly cackling in her glee. Gwedhiel was making her rich; each time her price rose, her fame and popularity soared. “He’s paid for an hour’s time, with an option for more if he’s of a mind.”

Such arrogance! Were I not in disguise, the wretch’d be slain for rank impudence! Gwedhiel smothered her ire and brought her wrist to her fair forehead, eyelids fluttering. “Alas, I’ll not see him,” she announced loudly, should her paramour be lurking in the shadows somewhere. “My head fair swoons with a headache. Mayhap tomorrow I—“

“Tomorrow, nothing,” the matron hissed, startling the Princess. “Have you not heard the news? Know you not who seeks your favor, silly strumpet? ‘Tis no less than Jalphar himself, the mighty magician!”

Gwedhiel nearly did swoon, in relief and dread. Finally! Her durance was over; one last humiliation, one last performance, and she would have the information a whole nation waited on. Jaded, my Lady said, and exotic in taste. I must be utterly convincing, show no sign of revulsion or contempt. Though an outcast from her sisters in work, she’d gleaned some idea of how best to please a man from their stories, intelligence that would now be well-used. I must please him sufficient to give me what I ask, else…

She shook the thought away, realizing the aged harridan was still speaking. “…beyond your wildest dreams and mine! So you’ll do as he asks and smile brightly, you brainless bob-tail!”

“I understand,” Gwedhiel told her, seeking to stop the torrent of abuse. “He’ll not leave hungry; this I promise on my name.”

“’Tis well, then,” the madam gruffed, mollified. “Succeed in this, my girl, and we’ll have wealth past our imaginings. Fail, and I’ll strip the skin from your back with my dullest shears.” Muttering to herself, the old whore retreated, leaving the Princess to her thoughts for the moment.

’Exotic’… what can that mean? What would he want? Hurriedly, she went over her limited repertoire in her mind. A man could be brought to fruition between her thighs, or in her hand… some girls specialized, claiming the mouth was a superior organ of arousal, though few countenanced the taste. Or perhaps he wished darker pleasures still, a knowledge of her most forbidden orifice… Lady preserve me! Should he request, I’ve no choice but to… to…

“M’lady.”

The figure seemed to have materialized from the shadows themselves, coalescing into the shape and form of a man. Gwedhiel stifled a squeak of surprise, flawless nails covering her rouged lips in alarm. Such was her fright that Gwedhiel stood mutely, like a mannequin, until the man, sensing she was unable to answer, spoke again.

“So the stories are true,” he said, nodding to himself as if he was merely confirming what he’d been nearly sure of. “An elven maiden of surpassing beauty, lodged within these rustic walls. A marvel.”

Princess Gwedhiel recovered sufficiently to make an attempt at demurring. “Not quite a maiden, m’lord,” she said quietly.

“But quite rude to mention, were I boor enough to think of it. And I note you don’t deny my other charges.”

Gwedhiel blushed ferociously, and invited him in as graciously as she could to cover it. “Please, m’lord, do enter and be welcome within.”

Jalphar ducked his head gratefully and accepted, sweeping in with the grace of a king. He moved ably, confidently, and his tailoring bespoke a largesse unknown to the majority of the world’s inhabitants. The Princess abandoned her previous plans as ill-conceived. This man would follow no script and accept no overheard tricks of her tawdry experience. He knew exactly what he wanted, in the field and in the bedroom, and could only be charmed by her complete and unhesitating willingness to do whatsoever he desired. She shivered, suddenly warm and cold at the same time.

“You shiver,” he noted, eyebrows lifting in concern. “May I offer you a blanket, or a glass of mead?”

So lost had she been that she’d failed to notice his burden: two fine glasses and a carafe of honey mead, no doubt heated and spiced. She accepted the proffered glass gratefully, and smiled as the liquor slid down her throat. It was an excellent draught – but she’d expected no less, from him. “My thanks, my lord,” she said. “You see to my comforts so readily.”

“As I may,” he shrugged modestly. “From a lifetime of hardship I’ve learned to accept nothing but the very finest when times of leisure come.”

“I believe you,” she whispered sincerely. “You possess the finest wine, the finest clothes…”

“And the attentions of the finest whore money can buy,” he finished, sipping his drink. Gwedhiel flushed hotly, barely remembering in time that he was, as far as he knew, correct. And should she dissuade him from that notion, her subterfuge would be discovered and her mission at an end.

“The finest,” she replied, and rotated back her shoulders, letting her brocaded robe fall to the floor. In the flickering orange-red firelight, she gave him three breaths to behold her in all her finery: delicate breasts rising beneath a green-ribbed whalebone corset, patterned silk stockings held up by two beribboned garters, high heels polished to a mirror-like sheen, and a wispy length of gauze sufficing as covering for her cleft.

“Do I please you, my lord,” she asked huskily, in that seductive tone the other girls sometimes used to close a deal.

“Magnificent,” he breathed, nearly dropping his glass in trying to set it on the dresser. “You’ve the face of a princess and the body of an angel.”

Gwedhiel nearly bolted, but quickly realized that Jalphar had not uncovered her ruse. No, his eyes darted here and there, vainly trying to memorize every inch of her flawless body, senses registering the erotic deliciousness of an aristocratic elf offering herself so plainly up to him, to do with as he wished.

“You’re most observant, my lord,” she told him, casting false modesty aside. “Allow me to show you what this divine body is capable of invoking in your own.” Taking his hand, she led him to the silk-sheeted bed, down-stuffed and warm. Her hands plucked at buttons and laces, removing his clothing with a speed calculated to make every touch a caress, every peeling layer an intimate act. When he finally stood naked before her, large and needful, he was like putty in her milk-white hands.

“A moment, ere we begin, my lord,” she said, taking hold of his root to insure his attention. “I have a request, if I may be bold.”

“Ah… be as bold as you like, girl,” he said, sighing with her gentle ministrations. “I’m not of a mind to refuse such a compelling ambassador.”

The Princess almost giggled, remembering how many times she’d treated with emissaries from far-off realms. The stilted language and painful self-consciousness of such engagements was a stark contrast to this negotiation, and she momentarily pictured receiving all future diplomats in the present manner. She stifled her amusement, turning it to a throaty whisper.

“Very well, my lord. Know you of the ancient text of Althos?”

“Althos? The ancient text of herbs? Of course, of course… ohh, I beg you, do continue that… yes. That volume… I unearthed some years back… in a library half-buried by volcanic ash half a world away from this benighted place. I’ve a copy or two in my archive now, should your interest be more than simple curiosity…”

Success! Jalphar was, by all accounts, a man of his word; all she had to do was complete her end of the bargain and he would give her what she desired. Later he might become curious as to how his doxy came to know of such a tome, or why she would ask for it, but now he was bound by his word. “More than simple curiosity, my lord. Such is my interest that I would happily take such a copy from you in lieu of any payment for tonight’s… activities…”

“Ohh… your skin is as smooth as the silk you grace, my lady… Very well, we have a bargain struck, and I’m the better for it. A crime, it must be, to set a price of mere gold against your heavenly favors…”

“Your words could charm a princess from her chastity,” she chuckled happily, and drew him onto her. They fell together onto the bed, his mouth seeking hers, his hands caressing her north and south, inflaming her desire unexpectedly. She would require no artificial aids to make herself ready tonight, she realized with satisfaction; Jalphar would find her ready to accommodate him as soon as he wished. To make love to a man, and take pleasure from it, she marveled, cooing as his teeth nibbled on her earlobe. Compared to elven men, humans were awkward, hairy, noisy brutes, sometimes seemingly closer to orcs than to elves. But his musk was a delight, and his strength was gentle, tamed by his will and her touch. The flame he’d ignited flared higher, and Gwedhiel groaned in approval. Who would have dared guess it would be so?

Soon, after much pleasurable exploration of each other, he positioned himself atop her, taking up a stance to finally enter her and end their mutual anticipation. But he paused at the entrance, his hand brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face.

“A request of you, my lady… if I may be bold,” he said, echoing her words just half an hour before.

“Be as bold as you like, my sweet lord,” she replied, parroting his earlier response with a giggle. “I’m not of a mind to refuse such a compelling ambassador.”

“As clever as you are beautiful; a deadly combination. Very well. I… what are you called, my lady? In such haste did I track down the rumor of you that I neglected to ask your guardian downstairs.”

“Gwedhiel,” she told him, omitting the honorifics. “I am called Gwedhiel, my lord.”

“Gweth-ee-elle?” he tried, sounding the unfamiliar vowels out.

“Almost,” she sighed, rocking her hips in an attempt to lure him inside. The head parted her lips, but he withstood her attempt to sidetrack him further for the moment. “In the high tongue, it would be pronounced ‘Gweh-thee-ell’.”

“I see.” He withdrew himself, then slid his length across her dampness, sending a roil of pleasure arcing through her body. “And what does it mean, sweet lady?”

“In the common tongue, the closest translation would be ‘bound’,” she told him, suppressing reluctance. “But—“

“Shh,” he told her, and gripped her wrists with his hands. “Not another word, my bound beauty, not in the common tongue. Let every word you speak to me henceforth be in that beautiful liquid tongue of yours; I beg of you to use it as we finish what we have started.”

“I… Ehuel, arohliel. Alaiten, alaitel…” she breathed, nodding her assent. What was one last indignation, coupled with all the rest? That any human should hear the High Tongue spoken in passion, breathed as he took her in her bed… but it was her destiny to do so. As the magician plunged into her, she chanted her gratitude and submission in the language of her ancestors, urging him onwards as he held her down and brought her to climax twice before his hot, sticky seed despoiled her all-too-willing body.

At dawn, freshly bathed and fed, the Princess purchased a mount and rode out of Midessa, never to return. In the stupor of satiation, Jalphar hadn’t voiced any questions of her request, handing the tome over without comment. It was now securely bundled in a saddlebag, and Gwedhiel rode out, seeking the next part of her request. Puzzling through the ingredients required, she saw several that were rare, and at least one was considered a myth, but with small quantities, a potion could be brewed to save an entire nation. Raising her chin resolutely, she turned her horse north, towards the far snow-capped mountains, where the Black Rose was reputed to grow. It’s never easy… but I can do it. The Princess rode with a confidence born of experience, knowing the worst was surely behind her now.

Becca switched off the TV and yawned; Friday night television seemed to be even worse than afternoon programming, somehow. She looked at the clock on the VCR: five minutes past ten, so just under two hours to kill; the nightclubs never really got hopping until at least midnight. She stretched and stood, making her way towards the kitchen.

The game was in full swing, the whole troupe caught up in the excitement of make-believe. Charlie was feverishly writing something down, Marcus and Steve were talking animatedly about geese (or something), and Callie was pouring over a complicated-looking table of something-or-other. She looked up and gave Becca a wink.

“Hey sexy. Big night?”

Three pairs of eyes joined Callie’s and Becca felt her face inexplicably growing hot. Why do I care what a bunch of nerds think about my sex life? “Hope so,” she said lightly, tossing her head. “Got a new outfit I’ve been dying to try out.” Then quickly, to forestall further comment, she headed for the kitchen, just off of the occupied dining room. “Anybody want a drink while I’m in here?”

A chorus of ‘yes’s followed her, and she smirked as she pulled another six-pack out of the refrigerator while the microwave popped corn for her. Callie and her Friday boys went through caffeine like a stripper went through coke. She carried the soda in, dangling from two fingers, and set it unceremonially down in the middle of the table, carefully tugging open her bag of popcorn.

“Thanks, Bec, you’re a lifesaver,” Steven told her, opening one gratefully. He sipped it loudly, smacking his lips, then looked up at her, a hopeful look on his face. “Say, you’re not going out for a while yet, are you? You could join us for a while, if you wanted.”

All conversation stopped, and Becca was aware of all eyes on her again. Steve had obviously made some faux pas, but hell if she knew what it was. “That’s… sweet, Steve,” she told him, hoping she’d gotten his name right. “But I’m all right, I think. You guys have a good time; I think I’m gonna watch a movie for a while. Yell at me if it’s too loud, okay?”

That was weird. What had made him think she’d want to play some silly pretend game with a bunch of CS majors? Unbidden, she remembered how good her new outfit had looked on her when she’d first tried it out, and she smiled to think of the effect it would have later on. When Callie had dragged her to the Renaissance Festival weeks ago, Becca had been ready to write the day off as a loss until she’d spotted the outfit hanging in an out-of-the-way shop. I’ll be unforgettable tonight! And a lot more fun than wishing I could kill goblins or something. I’ve got all the fantasy action I need every Friday, thanks. She popped a random DVD into the player and settled in with her snack to watch… well, whatever.

“That was stupid,” Callie said, glaring. “What the hell were you trying to do there, mess everything up?”

Steve held up his hands defensively; he knew he’d screwed up. “I just… I dunno Callie, I’m sorry. She leaned over right in front of me and I just forgot. I thought she saw me, so… I just said the first thing that popped into my head.”

“God you’re so immature, sometimes.” Callie sighed loudly. “Try to keep your brain in gear next time you get an eyeful of her tits, okay? Remember the rules: Becca is off-limits, and stays that way if you want to keep playing.”

“All right, all right,” Steve surrendered. “Don’t bite my head off; won’t happen again. I just thought—“

“We know what you were thinking,” Marcus interrupted, taking a handful of dice. “Keep it in your pants.” He looked across the table at Becca and nodded. “It’s Vanya’s turn.”

Princess Gwedhiel started awake, roused from an exhausted sleep by a crash that seemed to reverberate through the very stone of the cavern. She sat up with a jerk, remembering too late the heavy collar that held her prisoner, choking as the rusty chain drew taut.

The low hall was deserted; no warriors, no guards, not even one of the cooks who’d sharpened their knives and grinned just before she’d passed out. Odd; from the moment she’d been captured – days ago, surely, perhaps a week – she had never been without some kind of guard. Orcs and elves had been enemies since time immemorial, and her captors were unwilling to take the slightest chance at losing their valued prey, even a frail-looking female. So where…?

Another rumbling crash came from without, and Gwedhiel looked in vain for some clue as to its source. The great cauldron boiled unattended, as it had since before she’d been dragged into the chamber and shackled to the wall. A huge splintery table, set with crude plates, goblets, and knives waited to support the banquet mean for forty or more raiders. And the turning spit… the Princess shuddered. She and the orcs shared no language, but she was made to understand with gestures that her unexpected presence meant a celebratory feast, with her own body providing her captors both entertainment and meal.

But now…another crash rang out, this one closer, followed by the ring of metal on metal. Hoarse war cries echoed from somewhere behind the thick oaken door, and muffled screams of the dying carried faintly to her sensitive ears.

Gwedhiel dared hope. A rescue! Elven rangers, mayhap, or a dwarven war party! She renewed her abandoned efforts to pull the chain free of the wall, heaving the whole of her weight against the iron bracket and grunting through the filthy gag knotted in her mouth.

Time passed, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, and not the hours it seemed to the struggling Princess. Time and again she would quit, lungs overworked, muscles aching, only to begin again on hearing the fight outside continue unabated. But finally she halted, laboring for breath, and no sound waited to spur her to another attempt. The cauldron bubbled, the logs crackled in the fire, and her breath hissed through her nostrils, but silence flooded in.

Someone had won. But who? Why the stillness? Would she be left here, to starve alone in some best-forgotten cave in an icy mountain range? Or had the orcs repelled the intruder, postponing Gwedhiel’s death for a few short hours, changing nothing ultimately? It was absurd to be so much more terrified of not knowing than of a terrible something, but there she was, afraid to make the smallest noise lest… lest…

Long minutes passed, and nothing happened. Princess Gwedhiel called upon her training in the mystical arts to calm herself as much as possible, easing her ragged breathing before she hyperventilated. More time passed, then the door opened, and a man stepped through.

He was enormous, with broad muscles like a horse, and tall enough to have to duck under the orc-sized door frame. A broadsword was strapped to his bare back, and either hand held a war axe dripping with gore. He wore a metal helm, a high pair of boots, thick gauntlets, and a loincloth made of the pelt of some golden-furred beast. But for that, he was unclothed despite the cold air outside, almost as naked as the captive Princess was herself.

A barbarian? As he turned in the orange-red firelight, she took in the extensive tattoos crisscrossing his body. A Nord, Lady help me! Goddess protect me!

His gaze swept the room. Noting her, he brought a finger to his lips, pantomiming silence, and resumed his careful scanning. Seeing nothing overtly dangerous, he made his way over to her, carefully skirting those areas an ambusher might spring from. Satisfied that the room was secure, he sat himself on a rude bench opposite her and removed his helm, setting it down with a clank.

“I’ll remove the gag in a moment,” he told her, running a callused hand through damp blond hair. “But first, a word or two.” He arched his back until it cracked, winced, and hunched forward, seemingly weary. “Once your speech is returned, you’ll no doubt inform me that I’ve rescued a wealthy merchant’s daughter, or perhaps a princess of some far-off realm. My fortuitous arrival has saved you from a fate worse than death and being eaten, and you’re forever grateful. You’ve been held long, but not so long as they’ve actually perpetrated any harm beyond a bruise or two.”

He sighed wearily. “So by simple luck I managed to arrive quite in time, and now – having defeated the many orcs that infest this place – I am meant, by common decency, to release you at once.” He shook his head, slapping one knee. “This part of the story I’ve lived more times than I care to remember. Sometimes you are an illusion, concealing a trap or some danger fetchingly presented. Sometimes, you are a creature of darkness, seeking to catch me unawares by taking such a pleasing shape. Sometimes you are in sooth a captive, but a fiend in human form best left bound, or a prisoner driven insane by your durance, and biding time until your mad strength may seek to kill me.”

He leaned forward, his eyes capturing hers. “And only once in a great while, lady, are you what you appear to be: a captive of surpassing loveliness, mishandled by fate and delivered to me for freeing. In all my time of adventuring, in all my journeys and trials, only twice has this rarity occurred to me.”

He stood, replaced his helm, and strode towards her, placing one axe-head at her cowed neck. “So if you are the last variety, gentle lady, I implore your forgiveness; ‘tis only the vast number of the other sort that bids me slow my hand to free you.”

Princess Gwedhiel sat in shock, blankly returning the stare of the unexpectedly articulate Nord. His serene resignation, his calm experience… What will he do with me? What will become of me now? I… His casual self-mastery was compelling; she felt, not fear, but something else, something she dare not admit to herself.

The Nord stood and placed the blade of the axe between her pale skin and the cloth tied in her mouth. “Scream, and I’ll slay you before a blink passes. Attack me, and we’ll see how many limbs you can lose and still live to beg for mercy. Understand?” She nodded once, jerkily, and he twisted the axe once. The coarse threads of the gag parted and split easily over the sharp edge. Gwedhiel worked her sore jaw clumsily, then looked at her odd rescuer, who’d retaken his place on the bench to watch her disinterestedly.

For a long moment they simply looked at each other, captive lady and her barbarian liberator. His casualness was some feigned, she gradually saw; under his seemingly-relaxed pose, his muscles were alert, catlike. Finally she worked up the nerve to speak.

“My gratitude,” she said, some taken aback by how husky her disused voice had become. “What now becomes of me…”

“Karek,” he supplied. “The Nord.”

“Karek,” she echoed, nodding. “What now becomes of me? I am disadvantaged still, and you admit to distrust of my helplessness…” Up close, his musculature was even more impressive than when he’d first entered the room. His legs seemed like oak trees, massive and knotted with muscles; and his arms looked as if they could lift a carthorse without visible strain.

“Were you a man, I might weaken your bonds so that you’d escape after I’d left,” Karek explained, apparently not noticing her scrutiny of his person. “But a such a gentle-looking woman – if indeed that is what you are – such a pretty flower would not likely survive long in this country. Many dangers exist for the beautiful here…”

He trailed off, following her gaze to the prominent bulge under his furred loincloth. “Ah, yes,” he sighed, seemingly a touch embarrassed. “The violence excites me, sometimes. Good of you to notice.”

Gwedhiel lowered her head quickly, mortified to have been caught wondering. The links tinkled with the motion, betraying her shame. “Difficult to not notice,” she admitted quietly. “If proportions serve to tell, you saw much violence recently.”

Karek appeared to be at a loss for words for a moment. Then: “You are perceptive. In sooth, ‘tis not the past violence that excites me now.” He paused, seemed to change what he’d been about to say. “But if you are no threat, you need fear nothing from me, there or otherwise.”

“Then I need not fear,” she answered, sounding braver than she felt. “I am called Gwedhiel.” Only by a conscious exertion of will did she keep her eyes from straying to the prominence under his loincloth. But while dressed only in a torn shift and the tattered remains of her underwear from her time under cover in Midessa, she made no attempt to cover her near-nakedness before Karek.

“Well met, Gwedhiel. How came you here?”

The Princess hesitated, not wanting to feed his paranoia. “I came adventuring,” she said at last. “On a quest for reagents; a medicine is needed in my home lands. From the mountains I required the Black Rose, should it exist.”

“It does indeed.” Karek nodded. “One girl against the hordes and unknown? Unlikely or foolish, I cannot say. Elves are wise by reputation, though.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Unlikely and foolish, in my case,” Gwedhiel sighed. “I’ve a fair hand with sword and bow, and some smattering of magic besides, but nothing sufficient when the raiders discovered my camp.” She straightened, and saw Karek’s eyes follow her with interest. Her new straight-backed posture brought her feminine charms forward, she realized belatedly, but to slouch again would draw too much attention to the fact.

“I’d be surprised if it were sufficient,” Karek said. “Adventuring is best left to experts and the suicidal.” He nodded, appearing to make up his mind. “You’re no creature of darkness, I’ll warrant. I’ll release you, lady, and accompany you to the nearest settlement.”

“You’ll have my thanks,” she said. Why am I responding so? He is no sleek knight of the realm, no composer of poetry to my honor. He’s all muscle; what lady would desire a beast in human form? But something about him was awakening something within her, undeniable now, responding to his own unselfconscious lust. Gwedhiel rubbed her inner thighs together, shifting her balance as a pretext, but it did nothing to sate the growing warmth. “But what of the Black Rose? My quest must not fail.”

Karek chuckled. “Your devotion to your quest is admirable,” he said. “But not practical. Alone, you’ll find yourself dead short of your goal, even once we restore your belongings to you.”

An idea came to the Princess. “Then escort me! Surely with your aid I will not fail! ‘Best left to experts’, you said. Will you undertake a commission for this? I’ve means of payment, of course.”

The Nord seemed to consider. “I’ve treasure and jewels enough for this day, lady. To transport you home I’ll be forced to leave the lesser coins behind, lest my mare’s legs give out in three steps under your combined weight. Riches do not tempt me at this point.”

He’d not said ‘no’, either, the Princess realized, nor had he moved to release her. I’ve a means of payment that cannot be minted, she mused, if I’m willing to pay it. Perhaps a more worthy vessel of her Goddess would have hesitated to tarnish her honor, but Gwedhiel had already made up her mind. “Not all payment is coin, Nord.”

The barbarian said nothing for a few seconds. Then: “But are you willing to pay the price? If I understand your offer…”

Gwedhiel swallowed, and summoned reserves of boldness she hadn’t realized she possessed. “I will offer myself freely to you,” he announced haughtily, and stifled a smile as she saw his member stir under the fur. “A bargain, I should think.”

“Once a day until we find it,” Karek bargained, knuckles whitening on the haft of his axe.

Gwedhiel considered. “Once a day for a week’s time or until we find the Black Rose, whichever comes last.” Her dampening cleft had begun to trickle out of its bounds.

Karek straightened. “Very well,” he agreed, “But I take you in the manner I prefer, and you acquiesce without complaint.”

“A bargain, then,” Gwedhiel smiled. “Now release me and we may begin.”

But the Nord did not move at once. “I shall take my first installment now, I think,” he said, rising slowly. “If we begin today and now, I’d best not be distracted.”

No! I don’t… do I want this? “Now? I—”

“Now,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “And here. Lady Gwedhiel, I mean to ravish you even as the bodies of our enemies grow cool.”

Goddess… I do want it. I want him. This brawn, rough-hewn, uncivilized man… I want him. Lady forgive me, I want him. “But my bonds,” she said weakly, holding up the chain linking her collar to the wall. “I’ll not…”

“You will,” Karek said, removing his loincloth. It was lovely, enormous and tumescent and throbbing with his need. “In the manner I prefer, remember?” He drew the Princess up by one hand, then spun her around and pushed her against the wall easily. In no time at all he was pressing against her, his body flush with hers, and Gwedhiel felt his hot breath on her neck.

“I’ve rescued more damsels in distress than I can even remember,” he hissed, and she felt his hands spreading her legs apart. Her thighs parted with a willing suddenness she could no longer conceal even as she squeaked in alarm. “Some offer nothing at all, seeing their rescue as their due. Some offer treasure or information. Others offer a brief dalliance, a thrill not to be admitted to before their high-born peers.”

He was positioned at her gates now, the huge knob pressing against her sanctum. One hand wrapped around her hips, pulling her to him, and the other snaked to grip her nearly-bare breast fiercely. Gwedhiel hissed at the roughness, but leaned forward at his urging, body all too willing. To be taken like this, against a wall in chains, like an animal, like a slave….

“Most I pity, or despise,” he breathed. “But in the night, before I begin to dream, I wonder how it would be were I to take advantage of their bondage, just once. To not be the hero for a span, just to be a man.” And with the last word he plunged into her, pulling her body back onto him, his manhood pushing aside tender flesh in its path to her inner nexus. Gwedhiel gasped and struck the wall with her hands, looking for support to push back, to admit him as deeply as she could. The Nord grunted in approval, withdrew, and thrust again, this time twice as deeply, touching the Princess where she had never before been touched, what no gentle lover’s timid advances could have discovered…

“Yes,” she moaned. “Conquer me, Karek! Take me as savagely… as you need… make me yours! Make me… ah, ah! Make me cry out your name…”

Becca yawned and stretched, aborting the maneuver when she caught sight of the time. Past eleven! I must have slept through the whole movie! Just enough time for a quick shower before I get ready.

She stood and grinned, feeling the tension and stiffness of the week melting away from her muscles. Callie’s breathing exercises came in handy; by now, Becca slipped into them by habit whenever she was at ease, and always felt better afterward. She felt composed and excited at the same time, ready for the night. A cat on the prowl, a vampish vixen vexing her victims… oh, it’s gonna be a good night!

As she walked through the dining room, the gamers were still happily immersed in their game, fretting about how to handle a troll bearing down on them. Callie seemed bent on using magic to defeat it, but Steve wanted to take it down in hand-to-hand for bragging rights.

Fire’d work best, Becca thought. That’d distract it and keep it from healing, too… uh, what? She stopped mid-stride, a pace or two into the kitchen before she caught herself. Now how in the hell do I know that? Great, geekiness is contagious; I know how to play just by overhearing! She chuckled at herself and poured a glass of water.

Callie caught her eye on her way back out. “Almost time, huh?”

“Almost,” Becca said. “Hey, could you fill me in on something? What… if the answer’s not too complicated… what happened to the geese?”

Blank stares answered her, and Becca began to think she’d crossed some taboo line when Steve answered her. “Geese? Why do you ask?”

“Oh… you and Marcus were talking about it earlier.” She shrugged, a little embarrassed about asking now. “Something about being under geese.”

“Oh!” Steve laughed, and answering chuckles came from around the table. “Not geese… gease. It’s a magical enchantment, something that obligates you for some act. Like undergo a quest, or do something, you know? It’s a compulsion beyond your power to ignore, usually foisted off on you by a cleric or god or something. Kind of inconvenient for whoever’s under it, but it’s usually good for a story. And it’s all taken care of, thanks.”

“Oh,” Becca said, feeling a little foolish. “Well, I gotta go get ready.”

“Have fun,” Callie told her, flashing a patented smile. “Be a good girl for once in your life, ok?”

Becca tried not to be too conscious of the boys now pretending not to overhear. “Hell, no,” she said, returning the smile. “I feel like an all-nighter!”

“Well, tell me how it goes,” Callie returned the smile. “Have a good time, Gwedhiel.”

“I will,” Becca promised.

Closing her bedroom door securely behind her (can’t be too careful with those horny guys in the next room, she thought darkly), Becca laid out her outfit for the evening on the bed and eyed it carefully. As good as it had looked hanging up, it looked even better now… right somehow. Perfect for her, perfect for the evening.

But a little revealing, she judged. Leaving me with the traditional dilemma – if I wear panties, it’ll show and look bad. But if I don’t, I run the risk of crossing into ‘slutty’ territory. What to do, what to do…

She held the pieces up to her body in the mirror, surprised at how cold it was. She bit her lip, turned this way and that, imagining herself in it. I think… I’ll risk going without. It’ll be warm, and it’ll definitely look stupid with lines showing. And if anyone notices… well, so much the better. She set the outfit carefully back on the bed and began to undress, grinning impishly. Plus, if I get lucky, there’s that much less time wasted!

Back in the dining room, the conversation had resumed after a long silence. “An all-nighter, huh? Lucky bitch,” Marcus commented.

“Jealous. Just roll,” Callie ordered. “Don’t fault a girl for wanting to have a good time.”

One by one, Gwedhiel had collected the reagents called for by the formula described in the text of Althos. Compared to the difficulty involved in obtaining the grimoire and later, the Black Rose, most of the rest had been easy. She’d been able to purchase the Karesh root from a disreputable herb-seller in Aliss, and a few days’ wandering in the Mist Woods had netted her plenty of wehtl bark. The wyvern feather she’d gotten for nothing from a trader who kept exotic animals, and she’d actually enjoyed haggling with the desert-dwelling Harid nomads who had traded a pouch full of red salt in exchange for a few loose gems.

In the week she’d had since she’d left the peculiar company of the Nord Karek, she’d gathered every ingredient but one without suffering any further assaults on her wayward chastity. And the final requirement she’d contracted out to an expert, judging that a professional thief would be better equipped than she to acquire the Arian rubies needed to complete her task.

This is more like it, Gwedhiel thought, relaxing in the luxury of a private room in the most opulent inn the city of Gatewend had to offer. A fire to ward the night’s chill, fresh food and clothing, a decent bottle of cloverberry wine… I would that all my adventures were like this!

Eventually, a light double tap on the door signaled an end to her comfortable wait. The inn-keeper had strict orders not to disturb her (and by extension, any clandestine guests), so the polite noise could only mean that her hireling had returned. She rose gracefully, wrapping the embroidered velvet robe about her as she went to answer. After so many days in riding garb – and sometimes less, a dark voice muttered – the soft, familiar elegance of fine clothing made her heart smile.

Minutes after she’d settled into the inn, the Princess had taken sybaritic joy in drawing a hot bath, drawing the experience out until the water cooled. And under the velvet… her furtive secret, a memento of her time incognito in Midessa. The silken undergarments would’ve shocked and scandalized her few peers were they to know, a far cry from the traditional rigidly conservative dress affected by the lofty High Elves. Princess Gwedhiel herself would be hard pressed to explain why she’d kept them, or why she took such secret delight in donning them under her finery. That some darkened corner of her mind might embrace the impositions she’d endured, or worse, had sought them out… eagerly becoming Jalphar’s whore and luxuriating in his unabashed carnality… reveling in the strange excitement of being Karek’s sex-slave, if only for a time…

Enough. You are a Princess of the Elven Lands, not some dazed schoolchild with a crush! Control your animal impulses and see to the task at hand, girl! Gwedhiel took a deep breath and opened the door, impatient to be done with her quest.

“M’lady.” Her expected visitor was a slight man with a wiry build and a nondescript face, no doubt an asset in his trade. Gwedhiel ushered him in and bade him sit, graciously offering him a goblet of wine before speaking further.

“You’ve good news for me, master Dalnir?” she asked hopefully, sipping her drink delicately. How does one address a hired thief? “Investigator”?

“I’ve news, aye,” he said cautiously, not drinking yet. His eyes seemed to glitter at her as he chose his words. “T’was more dangerous than I was told, lady.”

The princess waved that aside, wanting the news she’d been waiting for. “Surely you’re used to that. I had little information on the temple, other than its location.”

“Even so,” he said, “Twas far from easy, even in my long experience. I wasted much time in research and planning, and did not escape entirely unscathed.”

Meaning he’d succeeded, at least, and probably not been recognized. Gwedhiel relaxed, and prepared for him to mark up his asking price for his troubles. “Go on,” she bade him, wondering how much this would end up costing her.

“After obtaining a layout of the place and estimating their defenses, I asked some friends whether the rubies might be found at a less-guarded locale. To my surprise, my source knew of only a few uses for Arian rubies: magnification of a curative spell. And one small one would suffice for a small village, so the handful you requested would be sufficient, I am informed, for a plagued nation. My good friend Jalphar was most curious. You’ve met, I understand.”

“I… I…” All the blood had left Gwedhiel’s face and she suddenly felt cold, in shock.

Dalnir noticed and nodded, continuing. “Good. Let us not waste each other’s times with false protests, then. Given the temple’s unusual martial emphasis, I sought out the advice of another old friend of mine, who was most helpful. And strangely, he’d word of you as well! Karek happened to mention that he’d assisted you recently in obtaining some Black Roses, an almost-useless rarity… unless you intend to work magic on the elvenkind, whose normal resistance to magic is well-known.”

Gwedhiel sat mute, unable to speak.

“So I have an uncommonly beautiful elf maid asking for rare ingredients, whose only real use could be that of warding or halting a plague, one of which the world at large is unaware. So secrecy is paramount, it seems, as much as speed and success. No ordinary girl would be trusted for such a delicate and important mission… am I correct, Princess Gwedhiel?”

“Yes,” she croaked, unable to make eye contact. “How…”

Dalnir stood and stretched. “Simple deduction, as I’ve demonstrated. Gwedhiel is not a common name, even among elves, and it was but the work of a few minutes in a library of diplomats to discover your identity.”

The princess stood unsteadily, afraid. “But you know… if you know my mission, you must understand its import! I must not fail!” She swallowed, making an effort to control the squeak her rising voice was becoming. “If it’s more money you wish, I can–”

“Not money, princess.” Dalnir was against her in two strides, gripping the princess tightly by the arms. “I am a thief of my word, and you bought my services fairly, if cheaply. But my secrecy is not so cheap, and not to be bought by silver or gold.”

“What do you want?” Gwedhiel whispered, hardly daring to breathe. And what do I want him to want?

Dalnir released one of her arms and brought his hand up between Gwedhiel’s thighs before she could close them. The princess stifled a shriek as the robe parted before his hand, and his fingers sought out her nexus. “The elven realm is but two days ride from here,” he said, gloating in his eyes. “I’ve arranged for a carriage and driver to be at our disposal tomorrow at sunrise. I’ll accompany you to insure your safe journey along the way.”

He paused as his invading fingers touched fine silk, and he lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “And while we travel, you’ll pleasure me as only a princess can: gracefully, shamefully, unreservedly, and often.” His fingers brushed the cool silk aside, burrowing into her heating wetness, bringing a gasp from her lips. “Refuse, and the rubies are yours… and I tell the gossip-mongers what I know of an elven princess whoring her way through a secret quest.” He released her abruptly, and Gwedhiel’s eyelids fluttered in distress and excitement. “Accept, and you arrive safe and well in your homeland, rubies in tow, secret kept. A little wiser for the trip, perhaps, and a good deal more experienced in the arts of pleasing men.”

“But why… why do you ask this of me?” Gwedhiel said thickly. Her robe had come open, and she flushed as his eyes eagerly roamed her half-naked body, but she made no move to anger him. He doesn’t mean… he doesn’t mean to…

Dalnir grinned wolfishly. “Because you are lovely, lady. Because I can. But mostly… because I have listened to elven condescension more times than I can count. Swallowed snobbery and effrontery and sneers of your kin, who think themselves superior from birth to any being that walks the earth.” He placed his hand on her bared shoulder, pressing down firmly but not hard, and Gwedhiel felt her knees giving way.

He unbuckled his trousers and drew forth his erect cock; Gwedhiel, choking, extended a delicate hand and brought it to her lips. “While we are in the carriage, you’ll swallow my seed each time it comes, and thank me for letting you,” he told her. “But this one time, here in our privacy…” he paused to moan as he passed through her lips. “This time, you’ll accept my offering wheresoever it lands, and only lick it away once I grant you permission. And from now on, whenever I am made to sit and smile as another leaf-eater dissembles, or nod and play along when some noble-born twit takes it into his inbred mind to lie to me… I will think of you, princess. I’ll see your perfect aristocratic face, defiant and resigned, see your impeccable face painted with my come… and I’ll smile.”

Her mouth full, Princess Gwedhiel could not reply.

“Well, that’s it for tonight,” Carl announced. “Good game, gentlemen… lady.”

The group nodded to each other and began to pack up their belongings, tired but satisfied at the evening’s progress. Carl’s thief had discovered a hidden room replete with treasure for the party, Marcus’s mage had learned two new spells, Steve’s barbarian had earned enough points to upgrade several skills, and Callie’s priestess had gone up a notch in her organization’s hierarchy.

“Way to go with the demon-dog,” Callie told Marcus, nodding approvingly. “It would’ve gone badly for us without your plan.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the compliment. “But I feel a little bad for you; your priestess didn’t get nearly as much out of tonight as the rest of us did. It doesn’t seem fair…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Callie told him, smiling. “It all balances out. After all, it’s my turn with Gwedhiel this weekend, so—”

“My Lady Vanya,” Becca said quietly from the door. She looked excited but nervous, leaning against the door frame, back arched gracefully. Her new chain mail bikini glinted in the light, purchased just this week from an online store specializing in historical and fantasy reproductions. It was as impractical as the black high-heeled leather boots she wore, improbable protection against anything, and probably cold to boot… but it looked sexy as hell. “I answer your summons.”

Callie licked her lips as she took in her roommate’s new costume. But for the bikini and boots, the only other thing she wore was a metal choker with a lock, something Marcus had given her a few weeks back. Her eyes were lined and shadowed to perfection, giving an exotic, otherworldly look to her face. Her plump lips, pursed in anxiety, were as rose-red and shiny with a new lipstick guaranteed not to smear off without drastic chemical help. Her flowing blonde hair was pulled into a French queue, easily set free with a tug on the ornamental pin that held it up. Her runner’s legs seemed to race to her hips, where the linked bikini bottom unnecessarily delineated her smooth thighs, her full hips, and her supple heart-shaped ass.

And as usual, her ears swept up into delicate points, latex tips so cunningly-applied that you could pull them without fear of them coming loose, as Callie knew from experience. Becca had gotten a lot of practice in her role, and had the look – and act – down to a science by now. Behind her, Callie could hear someone swearing under his breath in admiration.

“Good evening and fare ye well, gentlemen,” she said, bright eyes not leaving Becca’s. “Gwedhiel and I have things to discuss.”

“My Lady Vanya,” Gwedhiel said quietly from the door. The Priestess was concluding some business with several men, in the process of packing away documents. Rude to interrupt, but her instructions were to arrive at the stroke of midnight. “I answer your summons.”

Vanya turned her elegant gaze to the Princess, and Gwedhiel felt her knees tremble and her heart melt, not for the first time. She was so lovely! Exotic brown hair streaked with blonde; a regal, calm demeanor that commanded the respect and attention her station demanded; a low, husky voice that alternatively rumbled and purred; tranquil, liquid eyes that seemed to draw one in of their own volition…

Her gaze continued a long moment, as if Vanya meant to uncover Gwedhiel’s sins by mere regard alone. “Good evening and fare ye well, gentlemen,” she intoned finally, dismissing the meeting. “Gwedhiel and I have things to discuss.” They nodded their goodbyes and left without a word, and soon the Priestess and the Princess were alone in the meeting hall.

“I’ve read your report to the Council,” Vanya began, motioning the Princess to an antechamber. “An unqualified success; the sages say your formula will halt the Redthorn Plague before it even takes root in our people.”

“And the Council has already rewarded me. Few earn the honor of elven mail so young, I’m told,” Gwedhiel replied apprehensively, touching her newly-forged form-fitting chain mail with one finger. “Truth be told, I’m a little embarrassed, Lady.”

“Unworthy of you. The armor becomes you, and you do your ancestors proud,” Vanya told her. “Do you mind if I change out of my formal wear? I’ve been with diplomats all day.”

“Not at all,” Gwedhiel said, a little flattered. As Princess, she outranked all but a few dozen members of the Royal family, but Vanya, in her role as Royal Priestess, technically outranked all but the High Priestess and the Empress herself. That she’d summoned Gwedhiel personally had been as notable as her informality now was. Perhaps I truly am coming up in the world. A good thing, and yet…

And yet it would make what she had to do that much harder. Vanya had retreated behind a dressing screen in the antechamber; seeing the room for the first time, the Princess noticed a bed, a fireplace, a dresser and other comfortable touches, elegant but not opulent. Her personal chambers, Gwedhiel realized. Or one of them, anyway. I am honored, indeed. “Had you not called for me, I had planned to see you at length, my Lady.”

“Oh?” A rustling came from behind the screen; Gwedhiel could make out the High Priestess’s form dimly silhouetted as she changed. “I wished to congratulate you and take your confession, nothing more. What did you wish of me?”

“Ah… the latter, my Lady.” Vanya emerged, and her appearance took Gwedhiel’s breath away. Even in her more functional robes, she was a gorgeous woman, full of figure and lush of form. She was young for her station, not much older than Gwedhiel herself, and her eyes held a mischievous sparkle that contrasted sharply with her graceful demeanor and formal makeup. Palace rumor had it that Vanya had turned away many a suitor, but was far from being above an occasional dalliance with one or more lovers; seeing her now at ease, the Princess could see the attraction. Her eyes finally meeting Vanya’s cool gaze, Gwedhiel realized she’d been staring again. “You anticipate my needs,” she stammered, looking away.

“Hardly,” the Priestess said, strolling gracefully to a divan and settling herself in with a swirl of robes. “Most find confession a comfort after a long adventure. Moral clarity is difficult to find outside of monastic walls; the Church understands that. Take a seat.” She gestured with one hand. “Begin wherever you think you ought. And keep in mind,” she added with twinkling eyes, “The killing of monsters is not a sin. No need to confess to murdering a bugbear or something.”

“Thank you.” The Princess Gwedhiel smiled gratefully, took a deep breath and began, starting with the Bright Lady. She hesitated when she reached the part about Jalphar and the brothel, then plunged in, cheeks reddening. Her meeting with Karek was easier, if longer in the telling, and by the time she’d recounted her sordid return trip with Dalnir, it seemed more a risqué tale than something she’d lived personally.

“I see,” the Priestess said mildly, a minute or so after Gwedhiel had finished. “Your orders came from the Goddess Herself, but the price…”

“Yes,” the Princess said, looking down. “T’was for the quest, and for the Lady, but I lay with so many men, and I…” Her fists clenched in frustration, unable to summon the words to speak further.

“True,” Vanya said, hands steepling under her chin. “The other sins are small by comparison, excusable without another thought. But you seduced the mage, then offered your body for a warrior’s aid, then bartered what modesty you had left for a rogue’s silence. These transgressions are… not trivial.”

Gwedhiel nodded in shame, biting back a sob.

A long moment passed. Then: “When you were… with these men. Did you enjoy it? Did you… did you achieve your climax, when they took you at their will?”

The princess tried to speak twice before the words would come forth. “I… I…” She gulped, tried again. “I did, Lady. I enjoyed it. Near every time, I arrived, with a force of passion no elven man has ever awoken in me.”

She looked up, saw only encouragement in Vanya’s eyes. “Jalphar was gentle, light and caring. He… took great pleasure in pleasing me. I think he wanted to impress me, and it was… it was like a first love. Were things otherwise, even though he were human, I might have been tempted to stay.”

“I see. But that was not the case with the barbarian, was it?”

“No. The Nord was different: primal, lustful, and… oh, Lady, he was so large! He stretched me every time he took me, and I grew to ache for the lack of him.”

“But he held you in bondage, correct?”

“He did… but not because he truly wished me a captive. I was a fantasy to him, a rescued captive he could take advantage of without coming afoul his own strange code of morals. I traveled with him as a slave of my own volition. Sometimes my hands were shackled, or my legs; sometimes he bound me tightly, or gagged me when my cries grew too great. And as long as I was with him, I wore his collar, symbol of my submission to him.”

Even now, the memory was as clear as if it’d been but a short time ago. “He took me roughly, savagely, with no thought as to tender caresses or whispered lies of love. His body desired mine, and… and mine desired his. We rutted, mated, fucked… and he made me come, almost every time.”

Vanya nodded, but did not comment. “And Dalnir?”

“Dalnir… I honestly don’t know what to think, Lady. He blackmailed me, but would’ve given me the gems I’d hired him for whatever my choice; I could tell just by looking at him. A curious sense of honor, but one existent, none the less.” She began to shake with the memory of that long carriage ride. “We traveled for two days over country, in a covered carriage driven, I later learned, but a deaf-mute. As it rolled over hill and dale, Dalnir had me pleasure him in whatever manner most struck his fancy. He cared not one whit for my needs, but it sometimes amused him to watch me pleasure himself, if for no other reason than to rouse him to another bout.”

Princess Gwedhiel shook her head, but the image remained. “So I rode on to the end of my journey, hearing birds overhead and streams trickle outside as I brought myself to orgasm, his seed matting my hair and the only taste in my mouth. While peasants whispered and pointed at the fine conveyance rolling by their village, I was splay-legged and impaled, riding him with my fist in my mouth lest I scream out my pleasure. And at night, when we took lodging, he sampled what few charms he could not readily access in the carriage. I danced for him, removing clothing at his bidding until I stood naked and perspiring in the shabby room. He had me stretch myself in all manner of ways, seeking to find the limits of my elven-born limberness before taking me, grunting and pawing and…” She trailed off.

“And this too, you enjoyed.”

“Yes. This too, I enjoyed. I was for his sexual use, his toy, payment for his discretion, nothing more. His selfish, callous use of me… it excited me so! At first, I bit my lip and bore through it, but somehow… at some point, I grew to like it. Then to enjoy it, and then… to look forward to it.”

She raised her head, not proudly, but not quite ashamed, either. “And Lady Vanya… but for the last, not one of these men knew me for who I was. Not one saw an alliance to a great House, or a rich lady with power and prestige in her future. All of them desired me as they saw me, as they knew me… as a woman.”

“So, we come to it at last. Not a sin of the body, but of the mind… pride. Let me think, girl.” Vanya closed her eyes in thought, for so long that the Princess began to fear some terrible pronouncement when she reopened them.

“Whatsoever you do in my name, by my design, is no transgression!”

Princess Gwedhiel dropped from the chair to her knees in shock at the new voice. It was a voice of power: rich, melodic, divine. “Goddess!” she whispered, and knelt, bowing her head reverentially. “You honor me!”

“You employed your body in My service, yes. As a warrior bends his arms, or a wizard employs his mind, so you too used what talents you possessed for My ends. You lay with men, aye. And you fought, recited spells, outwitted merchants, and hid from patrols. Ignorant, you seduced to help others. Disarmed, you found coin to purchase your needs. Threatened, you sacrificed your shame to cure your people. This is noble action, Princess Gwedhiel. If you enjoyed some or all of it in My name, so much the better. Do your penance and be absolved, My girl. My blessings are with you.”

When at last the Princess dared raise her head, Vanya had returned to her body, no longer a vessel for the Bright Lady. Her lips quirked in amusement. “Well, I would say that settles that issue, does it not?” she asked wryly.

“Almost,” said Gwedhiel, rising to her knees. “She commanded me do penance first, Lady. And for such generosity from Her, I’d not vie for a lessened penalty.”

“Wise of you.” Vanya fumbled at the belt of her robe, then folded it open, displaying her naked body beneath to her kneeling supplicant. “Two days obeisance, Princess Gwedhiel. You will serve me hand and foot without complaint, and take no pleasure but what I allow you in that time. We’ll see if taking pleasure from men so long has caused you to forget how to make love.”

“Oh, thank you, Lady Vanya! Thank you!” Gwedhiel shuffled forward on her knees, the cold chainmail clinking against itself on her bare skin, until she came to a stop before the Lady’s spreading knees. With a triumphant smile of joy, she dove her face between her Lady’s thighs, seeking the beginnings of her forgiveness in the woman’s loins.

“You’re welcome, princess,” Vanya/Callie said.