The Road's a Dangerous Place for a Lady (Shiva x MaidenSeeker)

[Shiva the Cat]

It was a waste of a perfectly good new moon.

The belleflax would be just coming into bloom in the dells below Umberhill, but no doubt they'd be withered and black by morning. Luckily the witch had a hearty enough supply of the plant at home, both powdered and dried, but one never knew when one might need to fully paralyze someone while keeping them painfully conscious of their situation. Besides, when blended with cutleaf yellowcress, which neutralized the toxins of the flowers, they made a very nice, sharp-tasting tea, perfect for breakfast.

Unfortunately the Witch of Umberhill had other business tonight, and would have to leave the belleflax to bloom and die unwitnessed. Tiare, as she called herself, needed the darkness of the shadowed moon to keep her hidden as she wound her way through the Thieves' Wood, as the dense forest was known in that part of the country (although surely the King had a different, more formal name for it in his far-off palace). Hooded and cloaked in a robe that seemed the color of night itself, if a lonely traveler were to spot the witch by lantern or torchlight, they would see nothing more than a tall, thin figure gliding between the trees. If they got close enough, they might notice a pair of glowing green eyes peering out from beneath the hood, and if a particularly strong gust of wind came up, they might also notice that the figure was completely naked underneath the cloak, and that her flawless white skin was etched with tattooed lines resembling vines and leaves, glowing just as brightly as her eyes.

But woe to any who drew so close to the witch uninvited, for it was unlikely they would live to see morning.

Luckily, there were no observers in the woods tonight, and not even a wind to caress Tiare's bare skin. It was still early summer, and warm enough that she didn't need any layers besides the shadowy cloak. Besides, considering the business ahead of her, wearing anything more than that would just be a nuisance. The outlaw was easily distracted, as all men seemed to her, and she needed him entirely focused on herself, and the favor she needed to ask of him. The sooner his eyes were on her, the sooner he would be hers to command.

It wouldn't be long now. Tiare had easily avoided the outer defenses of the camp, recalling their locations either from previous visits or from what she had scried out in her lair beneath Umberhill. It was probably unnecessary at this point, considering the men of the camp knew “Grey's woman” by sight, and some a bit more intimately than that (chastity was not one of the witch's strong points). If the matter weren't so pressing, she might have amused herself by allowing them to “catch” and “interrogate” her, but there was no time to waste with foolish little boys tonight. Her business was with Grey, and Grey alone. For now, at least.

There was a more lively atmosphere in the tents of the inner camp. A raid had gone well, most likely. Beneath the hood, Tiare's small, sensual mouth curved into a frown. If Grey was too drunk to parley with her...well, she knew ways around that too, but he probably wouldn't be too pleased with her when all was said and done. Powders and potions were the witch's preferred methods of working her magic, but there were other methods as well, though many were a bit too violent for her taste. Strangely enough though, when she entered the cabin at the center of the camp, it was completely empty, although she could hear movements in the cellar below, and there was a fire burning in the hearth to give light to the cramped dwelling.

Very well then, he'll be along shortly, the witch thought, removing her cloak and standing fully naked before the fire, reveling in the delicious warmth that crept across her skin. Her long, thin fingers made a sign in the air, and she felt that almost orgasmic quiver of energy that signified the presence of magic wash over her body. Should anyone but the leader enter the dwelling now, they would see only and empty room, but nonetheless have an undeniable urge to depart it.

Only Grey himself would be able to see the thick mane of dark silver waves cascading down the witch's back, stopping just above her small, but firm and round buttocks. More lines of tattoo wound around her long, shapely legs all the way to her bare feet, although their glow seemed somewhat diminished. The lines were also intricately traced along her flat stomach and curled artistically around her pert breasts, spiraling towards her small pink nipples. Although her face was beautiful and strangely ageless, with its small chin, high cheekbones, and straight, narrow nose, it did not wear the expression of one about to rendezvous with a lover. Her mouth was still set in a thin, firm line, and her large, slightly angled emerald eyes were calculating something in the depths of the fire, not sparkling with joy as they might have been. All in all her position was completely still as she lost herself in her thoughts, but the long pointed ears on either side of her head did occasionally twitch at some sound from below or outside.

After only perhaps a minute or so of waiting, Tiare began to half-sing, half-whisper something under her breath, in a language very few of the living understood. It was a song of calling, sung in such a way that only the desired listener would hear. Now the witch finally allowed herself to smile slightly as she sang. Would he fight her, or follow the song to her feet? In truth either outcome would please her. If he came right away they could get down to business. If not...well, he could fight as long as he might. But she was almost as strong under a new moon as a full one, and she had not been out raiding tonight. The witch had plenty of power to spare.

How long, she wondered silently as she turned her head in the direction she expected him to appear. Until he comes through that door?

 

[SinAndDebauchery]

Not particularly long, as it turned out. "Sir" Henry Grey announced his presence by pushing open the basement trapdoor, an unassuming rectangular cutout of wooden floor situated across the cabin from the hearth, and poking his head out warily. Truth be told, the outlaw noble hadn't entirely known what to expect when the surreal melody had begun to flow through his mind, but he had known exactly where he was wanted, and certainly suspected by whom. His perpetual, thin-lipped smirk deepened as his slate-hued eyes followed the silver road down Tiare's back and fixed themselves on her all-too familiar bottom.

Suspicion validated, Grey wordlessly hauled hauled himself out of the basement and closed the trapdoor softly. Then, he retrieved a key from his belt and locked in the lad still down there, a relatively new blood named Hilton. It wasn't that Grey was concerned with privacy, or prudish about sex. Outlaws bathed together for safety, huddled together for warmth in the winter, and shared women by necessity. If the lad walked in on Grey and a woman, Grey would be perfectly happy to let him go about his intended business, or watch if he had nothing better to do (he knew the lad was fond of that). If he felt the lad's envy might become a problem, or fancied to see a woman really work, he might even invite him to join the fuck. But with this particular woman, for the lad's own safety, it was best he keep clear. At least 'till Grey could verify the situation anyway. Grey had long suspected that men who'd caught he and Tiare at sensitive moments, moments more often relating to scheming than lovemaking, had been turned into worms or toads or met a somehow worse fate.

Grey wore a simple faded-red tunic rolled up to his elbows, his belt, his britches, and his boots. He ran a hand through his cropped dark hair as he strolled over to the table that sat at the foot of his bed. He unbuckled the scabbard in which his trusty longsword snugly rested from his belt and placed it down on the rough surface with practised reverence. He reached for the jug of ale standing a solitary vigil over the various crude maps and disassembled bits of armour, and poured a full cup, which he promptly drained. The battered metal thing clunked on the table when he was done, and Grey wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist and set about pouring more. His eyes groped at the tangled yet somehow artfully patterned tattooed thicket that encompassed Tiare's nude body, climbing with it up and down her shapely legs. A familiar, pulsating tautness began to manifest in his manhood as it stirred from its rest against his left thigh.

"Beautiful song, Tiare. Reminds me of my lovely mother, Goddess guard her soul from the rapacious whims of my father in Hell. Can I get you a drink?" For all intent and purpose, Grey was indistinguishable from most of the other men in his camp, at least in broad terms. He was physically imposing and built with muscle, certainly, but men who killed for a living had a tendency to be that way. He was undeniably ruggedly handsome, his prominent jaw always teetering just on the precipice of being clean shaven, his nose having healed from its inevitable breakages well enough to come off as flatteringly tough and not deformed. Yet not all men of his camp lacked these gifts, no matter their rough demeanour. There were two things that distinguished him from his men; the way he stood, and the way he spoke.

Grey talked like a noble. It was impossible for him not to. Ever since he was born he was endlessly tutored to speak clearly, efficiently when necessary, romantically when not. He pronounced every syllable of every word, and every letter that he was supposed to. His words rang with an accent that couldn't help but be distinctively noble. An accent which danced evenly over vowels and consonants in an almost musical fashion, and fell upon punctuation with effortlessly perfect inflection. Any time he tried to make it not the case, he could feel the calloused palm of the grouchy old priestess who'd occupied so much of his childhood stinging his left cheek, just at the corner of his smirk.

More importantly, however, he held himself like a leader. Shoulders back. Chest forward; not puffed like a drunken commoner shaping up for a brawl over who held to the right to climb between a whore's legs first, but staunch as a shield in a battleline. Hands neutral by his side, or crossed over his chest. His eyes did the work, and they always seemed to find a way to look down, yet in looking down find a way to be fatherly and not arrogant. Not one other man in the camp knew how to convey authority in such a manner, and Grey did it effortlessly. Along with his revered reputation, it was a trait that cancelled any ill-will his men felt towards the abandoned station of his birth.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The witch slowly turned at the sound of the trapdoor opening, and was pleased to see Grey emerging like a particularly handsome jackrabbit. She was a bit concerned at the continued sounds of movement below--clearly he hadn't been alone--and yet he locked the poor soul down there anyways. Oh well. Tiare had learned long ago not to interfere with the gang's hierarchy. If Grey wanted to lock his men up in a cellar, that was his business. She could keep her voice low enough for discussion now, and if she got louder later on, as was her habit, that was the mens' business too.

As the witch's eyes drifted over the outlaw's well-sculpted torso, she didn't need a scrying glass to see how their conversation was likely to end, and felt a delightful little quiver between her legs at the idea of him taking her roughly before the fire. It really had been too long since she'd visited the camp. While she could take or leave Grey when it came to conversation, he certainly knew his way around a woman. Unlike most men, she never even bothered to charge him for the opportunity of fucking her anymore, though looking around the cabin, he could probably afford it. It's a blessing he gave up his title, Tiare thought to herself. A man with looks, money, and position was likely to make a slave out of a woman, and that was the last thing she needed.

For herself, at least.

Still, she smiled at him like one wholly in love, then crossed the room to sit near him on the bed. "Separated for months, and that's what I remind you of?" her voice was low and almost purring as she stretched her arms over her head and laid back on the bed. "I don't know who would be more offended: your goddess, or your mother. It seems there's at least one sin nestled in that comparison. I'm sure your father would be proud." The witch rolled onto her side and propped her head up with one hand, allowing her hair to fall forward over her chest. "No drink, thank you. Unless...do you have any more of that Tolche Red left?"

The wine was one of her favorites, but that wasn't the only reason she had mentioned it. "If you've wasted it all on those lads of yours, I do know of a way you can get more. And not just wine either. That is, if you don't mind putting a bit of work into it. Interested?" Tiare stretched a hand out towards the outlaw, silently begging him to come closer. It wasn't just that she wanted him nearer to her; if unfriendly or uncooperative ears were to hear the plan she had in mind, it could destroy everything.

"There's gold to be had. Jewels too," the witch continued, dropping her voice to a sensual whisper. "And Duke Vezio's most precious treasure, if a man...or men...have the spirit to take her."

 

[SinAndDebauchery]

Grey lifted the cup to his lips a second time, draining it in a more measured fashion than its forebear as he half-listened to her spiel, half-watched every engrossing inch of her as she traversed the room and took possession of his bed.

It was enough to unsettle any man, to have a siren's song call to him and not the man beside him, to feel the soul-tugging waves of a powerful individual bending and channelling the fundamental magical firmament of the world to realise their will no matter how subtly. Grey was not an academic enough man to entirely separate himself from the innate caution, bordering on anxiety, he and virtually every other soul in the realm had been instilled with regarding magic-users. Despite that, Tiare had always managed to put him at ease. The pang of adrenaline caused by the esoteric sensation of her attentions always seemed to find itself diverged into other thrills.

As tender and perversely gratifying as those thrills were, however, Grey made a point to himself of keeping a kernel of awareness in his mind at all times of what her will could achieve. But for now, he let himself embrace the moment as it settled upon him.

"Vezio..." Grey murmured, setting his cup down and leaving it be. He didn't have any Tolche Red left, of course; alcohol had a ruinously brief life expectancy in a camp of rowdy outlaws. His face was pensive as it disappeared into the neck of his tunic. He shrugged it over his commanding, chiselled shoulders and left in on the floor with indifference. "Ah! Palladino family, right? Red bunch of grapes, green field, gold border. Or something gentle like that. Surprised his wife hasn't poisoned him, from what I hear." He kicked his boots off and drew his belt out of his britches, leaving it draped over the footboard of the bed as he slunk onto the bedding like a predatory beast. His imprint in the soft feather mattress created the sensation of being drawn into the disarming knowingness of his smile and into the silent hunger of his grey gaze. Of being pulled towards the intimidating baton now dangling free of his britches, growing inexorably to longsword hilt-length and causing the air to grow imperceptibly tinged with the heady aroma of cock.

It was an admission of exactly how much he'd missed her that was more honest than anything words might convey.

"Question is," Grey rumbled, his calloused hands moving to slip themselves around Tiare's ankles and hold them firmly, "how do my humble band and I get our hands on Duke Vezio's coin, wine and daughter? As much as I'd like to march a grand outlaw's crusade of a few dozen men a few hundred leagues South to rob him blind, drink his wineries dry and rape his women, I've never been the mobile sort. Nor the kind to make such an obvious enemy of he and all his vassals. I suspect you have a scheme for me, dear lover."

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Although she never would have admitted it, Tiare's heart beat a little faster at the sight of the outlaw's naked body. She was able to keep her expression placid enough, but it would have required more effort than she liked to hide the blush from her skin, or the growing heat and moisture between her legs. Business first, she told herself, although the voice in her head was annoyingly similar to her late mother's. The old witch wouldn't necessarily have been disappointed at the way her daughter was throwing herself at the man; it was, in most witches' opinion, the most effective way to deal with the more brutish sex. But just like you controlled a horse with the reins, you needed to control a man with his cock, and if you allowed yourself to lose your grip, you were likely to get thrown.

Tiare didn't fight his grip, but her smile grew and her eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the room as she playfully stretched her legs towards the corners of the bed, tempting him to move in closer. "I would have thought your merry band was bolder than that, but regardless, you may be in luck." The witch sat up suddenly, leaning forward to bring her face nearer to Grey's. "I take it, Sir Henry, you're unaware of the last gossip among the circles of nobility," she continued, more than a little cynicism in her voice at the mentions of titles and higher ranks. Despite the coin she was willing to take from them, for everything from love potions to songs to trysts behind the stables, the witch had no love for the nobility, and certainly no love for Duke Vezio or his family.

"If you weren't aware, Vezio's only daughter--Rosalia," Tiare practically spat the name out. "Is to be married to none other than Count Phillip Le Mechant. The wedding's scheduled to take place in a couple weeks, and the little bitch will be traveling through this very forest in one week, accompanied by her dowry, a guard of twenty mercenaries, and one wandering minstrel." For one brief moment, the witch's appearance changed entirely. Her skin darkened to a rich golden tone, all trace of the vines vanished. The wavy silver hair darkened to a straight chestnut mane, and the glowing eyes dimmed until they were a gentle, friendly brown. Lastly, the pointed ears shrunk and rounded until they were barely visible beneath her hair, and while the witch's beauty was by no means diminished, all etherealness was gone, and she might have been any other lovely human woman.

"This is how they know me in Vezio's estate in Mirador. Poor Tia, singing for her supper and the particular friend of the Duke's lonely little girl. What do you think, my darling? Do you like me better this way?" Tiare's face was achingly close to Grey's now, her lips only a hair's breadth from his. But with a laugh, she fell back on the bed, resuming her normal form just before hitting the mattress and causing her breasts to jiggle roughly with the impact. "I can arrange for the convoy to come within striking range of your territory. If you and your men can kill all twenty of the guards--and I suppose I could help you, if you don't have the capability to handle them yourself--the rest is yours for the taking. I only have one request in return."

Her face was focused on the ceiling now, and all mirth had suddenly vanished, leaving in its place cold, bitter hatred. "I want you to ruin Lady Rosalia. You can take her, your men can take her, the damned dogs can take her for all I care. But by the end of it, she needs to be brought so low that no man of noble birth will even think of taking her as his mistress, let alone his wife. And you are not to kill her. I want her to know how far she's fallen, and suffer knowing it." Very slowly, Tiare's smile returned, but the rage and bitterness did not abate.

"From daddy's little princess, to the whore of a gang of outlaws," the witch murmured, more to herself than to Grey. "Yes, that's a very fitting fate for the little bitch..."

The very idea made her even wetter, and Tiare let out a little sigh of pleasure before looking back towards the outlaw leader. "Will you do it? For me?" She allowed a soft, begging note to creep into her voice, and shifted her hips in longing expectation.

 

[SinAndDebauchery]

It wasn't the first time Grey had seen Tiare's little visage-altering trick, but it never ceased to unnerve him in a most fundamental manner. He'd guided her legs around his body as he advanced between them, and found himself meeting the unfamiliar eyes of a Southern woman he'd never seen before. She was attractive, to be sure - even gorgeous. But it was not the woman who'd occupied that space only the briefest of moments ago. He momentarily lost track of Tiare's words as he watched the movement of the woman's lips, and rise and fall of her bare chest. His loins tugged at him to continue his actions, but his mind was deadlocked as he forced it to come to terms with what his eyes reported. Then, the illusion was gone, and Tiare's normal visage returned to see off Grey's moment of trepidation. "Well met, Poor Tia," Grey had drawled, regaining his momentum as Tiare's mirth washed over him.

As he listened to Tiare's scheme, his chin between to drift between her thighs, even as he used his affectionate grip on her ankles to rest her legs on his broad shoulders. Undoubtedly, it was a dangerous ploy. No matter how distant their domains might be, slights against high nobles had a way of returning in bombastic fashion down the road to haunt their perpetrators. The world was big, and justice was slow moving. But it was also tireless, and men like him usually came to realise that the nature of their existence was a balancing act, an eternal dance away from the vengeful grasp of the Goddess and towards the lure of greater feats of debauchery and greed.

As desirable as the prize might be, there was no escaping the fact that this task was the vengeance of a witch. It was one thing to work alongside one in enriching oneself, but it was entirely another to help her fulfil her hateful personal grievances. There was rape, and then there was raping a noblewoman on the whims of powerful and fickle unsanctioned magic-user. It was a dark pact, and no mistake - even simple peasants educated their children on the dangers of dark pacts, of cavorting with the unnatural.

But Grey had been cavorting with Tiare for a very long time, and he had long suspected that whatever happened, their fates would be tied.

"We can kill a few Southern fops, Tiare," Grey said, eyeing what lay between her thighs with relish. It was an old game, this. What had begun as uncharacteristically good bedroom manners from a startled outlaw had grown into a ritual, one of the few times Grey allowed himself to feel the illusion of control in Tiare's presence. His coarse hair and hot right ear brushed ticklishly against the inside of her left thigh as he drew his tongue around the outer fortifications of her cunt. His teasing motions were focused around the cradle of what chivalric poets might describe as the bud of her womanly flower, but what squires and stableboys spoke of in hushed whispers as a clit. The motions left warm, wet residue on the outer reaches of her womanhood to complement her own, elevating the sensitivity of her skin to ensure the she felt his every exhalation.

After a few seconds of this, he finally broke off and continued his thought. "And I needn't ask my men to tell you we're more than capable of giving your little princess an exciting new place in the world. Though the dogs might have some difficulty breaking through the pack of scoundrels. What I do ask of you is that you make damn sure that her disappearance is just that - nothing left that could indicate where we are, or even who we are. Mechant men have been scouring the Thieves' Wood for years, and they've yet to come close. I don't want that to change." He locked eyes with Tiare, even as his lips met her southern ones in a thoroughly devilish momentary press. "If you can do that, we'll handle the rest."

His assault resumed in full-force - this time he applied enough pressure to dive into her, bringing his tongue into direct contact with her clit in circular, agile motions. Occasionally he would drift southwards, mingling with her inner petals, before falling into a lapping rhythm. Things started to get a little messy as eager saliva and womanly nectar began to accumulate, his head rolling backwards and forwards in the embrace of her thighs.

Goddess, it was making him hard. He had to lie on his knees to avoid bending himself at an uncomfortable angle - he could feels dots of moisture accumulate wherever the head of his member rested for more then a few moments.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

A slow, wicked smiled crossed Tiare's lips as she saw Grey's head moving between her legs, and with a pleased sigh she laid back and let her eyes drift up to the ceiling to watch the shadows of the fire flick back and forth. Whatever else his faults might have been, the witch could appreciate that the outlaw knew how to eat pussy, and follow orders. One long-fingered hand drifted downward to stroke his hair gently, almost affectionately, and she did not deny him the the little gasps and moans she knew he was expecting. Nor were they feigned, but in between maintaining and releasing her control on herself, she allowed a few additional reassurances.

"If the slut disappears in the Thieves' Wood, the only person you can blame for anyone finding her is yourself, Henry. This is your domain just as much as Tolche belongs to Duke Vezio, isn't it?" She raised her hips and twined her fingers a little tighter in his hair as she pressed his face deeper into her cunt. "If you can't ensure a missing girl stays missing in your woods, I can always arrange to have her sold to a foreign slave ship, and I promise you I will not lose one second of sleep at night worrying that she might ever set foot on these shores again, and I'd get a nice little profit out of the matter at that. But..."

Tiare removed her hand from his head and let it rest gently on her stomach, occasionally teasing her thumb absentmindedly against the underside of her breast. "I wanted to give you the opportunity to have your way with her. Out of respect for our long...partnership. I hope you appreciate that. I would hate to think I mean so little to you...oh!" She groaned suddenly and her body jerked a little, feeling his tongue on her clit. It was getting harder for her to stay focused on the matter at hand, but she couldn't give herself up to the pleasure just yet, no matter how much she might want to.

"There's something else..." she forced herself to continue after taking a quick, shuddery breath. "You'll need to make sure the men take care of 'the minstrel' as well. Do not tell them it is me. I know I make a few of them...nervous, and I'd hate to think they'd be unable to perform at the crucial moment. Rosalia might be naive, but she isn't an idiot. If a band of outlaws ravishes her, but leaves her servant alone, she's going to get suspicious. The little bitch knows nothing about who or what I am, and I intend to keep it that way as long as possible. You need to take care of both of us, but if I might make a request," The witch let out a soft giggle. "Keep that weaselly fellow away from me. Or at least throw him in a river first if he finds me so irresistible. Otherwise I might accidentally break off one of his crucial bits."

Tilting her head up again, Tiare could see how desperate Grey was getting for her. And despite his very accomplished tongue, she had to admit it could scarcely hold a candle to his impressive cock. No longer able to hide her own craving for him, she grabbed at his hair again and gently, but firmly, pulled up his head, clearing a path to take his shaft in her free hand. "One last request, sweetheart," the witch continued, her voice suddenly quite soft and even a little loving. One hand began to stroke his cock rhythmically, while the other ran through his hair to push against his shoulder, urging him onto his back (she always did prefer to ride a man when possible).

"Try not to cum in her nasty little cunt, okay? Don't get me wrong, I don't care if she gets pregnant. In fact, I'm hoping she does, and that so many of your men use her that she'll never be able to figure out who the father is. I just don't want it to be you." Leaning forward, Tiare pressed her mouth to his, slipping her tongue between his lips teasingly. When she pulled away, her eyes were glowing slightly. "I might still decide to carry your son one of these days, and I wouldn't want my child to share any more blood with that spoiled little whore's brat than is absolutely necessary."

Of course, the offer was probably an empty one. Any witch worth her salt knew how to keep from conceiving a child, and no man yet had managed to get his bastard on Tiare. And she certainly had no intention of having a son, ever. But eventually she would need a daughter to carry on the name of Goody Ivey, and at least a child fathered by Henry Grey would be good-looking. If Tiare's heir was going to be half-sibling to any child of Rosalia Palladino's though, she would rather die and end the long line of Umberhill altogether.

 

[SinAndDebauchery]

That rocked Grey for a moment. It was, on the face of it, quite a hefty admission on Tiare's part, delivered oh-so casually. Grey thought about it for a split second, a split second during which his eyes went slightly unfocused. Granted, most men's eyes probably went a little unfocused with a woman like Tiare jerking them off, but it was unusual for an alert soul like Grey. He visualised that, Tiare with a child of his conception, nursing it, raising it. Teaching it to be a scary little witch like herself. He wondered if he'd ever get to meet the thing. If he'd serve any kind of role as a kind of big, evil father. Certainly a worthwhile use for the riches he was sitting on.

Grey had oft wondered in the past whether he'd sired a child he didn't know of. He'd resolved it to be unlikely. He knew many of his men had, but a noble upbringing had left him a little more aware of what went into a child, both in terms of creating one and caring for them. Generally, he liked to have women finished him off with their hands, lips and tongues after he'd enjoyed ravished their southern regions, at knifepoint if necessary. Part of it was the somewhat primal satisfaction of plastering a pretty girl's face in goop from his cock. It was a destructive kind of pleasure. He'd come to accept that part of it was probably making them work for him, particularly if they didn't want to. You didn't lead his sort of life for as long as he had without picking up some cruel pet-pleasures. But he was also a little put off by the notion of leaving behind a trail of bastards - it just wasn't something that felt like him. That said, he had no doubt that he'd carelessly shot rope up the odd fanny when he'd been drunk, absentminded or enamoured, so the possibility did exist, and it was a possibility he never wanted to face.

It was a normal thing with Tiare, though he knew she knew how to control the outcome, so all it had produced till now was a vaguely compelling sense of lover-ness that a giggling whore or sobbing peasant girl couldn't quite capture with cum dripping of their nose. But he became aware that all she had to do was stop doing whatever it was she was doing, and he'd squirt a kid into her. And in that case, it did bother him slightly that he might never even know.

Still, it was the kind of worrisome thought that made a man harder, despite the odds, and harder he grew as she whacked him off like a peasant girl looking to make a husband out of a young farmhand, but with the skill of a painted whore-matriarch from one of the Merchant Cities. His heart beat through his cock as its flesh solidified into the consistency of steel, albeit affixed in a wobbly fashion to his body. It began to drool on her - clear, warm, watery precum running with only the slightest tickle over her knuckle as she busily pumped him. His cock was as ready as it was going to be, the smooth, bloated tip practically pulsating with the potential energy of a powerful ejaculation. It wasn't there yet, though - it demanded more attention before it could be plied to give Tiare the privilege of receiving Grey's bountiful load. It stood defiant in her grasp.

It was an arrogant sort of cock.

"Alright," he said, submitting to the push of her hand on his shoulder, feigning playful resistance as he went, still partially occupied with savouring the taste of her tongue. God, it was glorious when her eyes did that. "No cum in her cunt. I can do that." There was something surreal that even he recognised about such filthy words being uttered with such dignified solidarity, but he said it anyway, and lay back. His hands slid up her body as they exchanged positions, his calloused fingers stroking her skin steadily before finding purchase on her hips and urging them over him. "And we can throw Hilton in the river if you wish."

Hilton's hand's journey from the tip of his cock to the base slowed as he caught wind of that part. Most of the Boss and his woman's conversation had been hazy murmurs to him, the words of a man and a woman about to fuck each other, which as all he needed. But the mention of his name caught his attention, and he sniffed under his left arm as he continued to stroke himself with his right. He didn't think he smelled that bad. He was wedged with his feet in the rungs of the ladder, his back against the packed earth of the vertical tunnel, and his ear as close to parallel with the trapdoor as he could get it. He began to listen intently from that moment forward, even as his mind conjured the image of Grey ploughing the witch to the tune of the dull noises that met his ears. He sent a silent prayer to the Goddess that they'd get real dirty.

"Come then, fair Queen. Sit upon your throne." Grey's light-hearted tone returned as he began to say sweet little meaningless things to urge her on.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

With the grace and ease of a juggler, Tiare easily switched hands without missing a beat, continuing to rhythmically jerk his shaft as she raised her glistening hand to her mouth. Her eyes remained locked with his as she languidly licked the precum from her knuckles, looking very much like a cat that had just dipped a paw into a dish of cream. She would never admit it to Grey himself, but she rather enjoyed the taste and scent of him. Of course living in the woods she didn't exactly expect him to bathe in perfume of like some of the noblemen of Duke Vezio's court, but in her opinion at least, the outlaw had been blessed with a rather pleasant natural musk that was making him impossible to resist.

Hilton though was another matter. The witch couldn't help but roll her eyes at the mention of his name, and her fingernails rather cruelly grazed the tip of Grey's cock in displeasure. "Throw him at the little redheaded bitch, I'm sure he'll have a wonderful time. Perhaps he'll even work up the nerve to lick her pussy, after the others have had their turn. But if I were in the mood to fuck someone with all the appeal--and odor--of a mangy ferret, I would turn him into one and be done with it. In the meantime..." Her hand finally dropped from his cock, and she allowed herself to luxuriate at his touch for a moment before rolling over and straddling his hips.

Although her eyes were still flashing with a mixture of mischief and danger, the smile she gave him as her dripping pussy brushed his cock was genuinely sweet. "If I wanted a throne, my dear, I wouldn't look for it in the Thieves' Wood." That search would come later, once Rosalia was out of the way. "For now, I just want a man..." She poised her hips directly above his manhood, teasing the head against her clit and making herself moan softly. "With a great cock..." Very slowly, she began to lower herself onto him, her walls tight but slick as they admitted him inch by inch. "And I want him deep inside me."

With a sudden drop like a trap being sprung, Tiare forced herself all the way down and buried him to the hilt. She could practically feel him piercing her core, and for a moment the witch simply held him inside, squeezing him with the same slow, regular rhythm she had used to jerk him off. Then when she had adjusted to his size (by the stars, had he always been so huge, or had it just been that long?) she began to rise again, her movements still unhurried. As she began to ride him more regularly, she leaned forward slightly and rested her weight on one hand, stroking his cheek and neck delicately with the other, although her nails were rather close to his jugular. Her breasts seemed to swell slightly as they hung beneath her, and a heavy flush began to wash over her pale skin.

Now her hips began to move faster, not just up and down his length, but in well-practiced thrusts and twists that forced his cock against those deeply hidden spots that made her cry out softly. The green light of her eyes was suddenly hidden behind her long lashes, and with little concern with the man beneath her the witch continued to speed up her movements, intent only on her own pleasure now as she rode him even harder.