Jack woke up with a start, the searing pain from his shoulder and head chasing him from the dream world to the waking world.

Judging by the angle of green-tinted daylight that shone through the Alchemist’s bedroom, it was late morning. He tried to pull himself to sit up, his body screaming as it made him extremely aware of every injury it had endured in the past 36 hours.

“Good morning. Oh, don’t try to get up.” His lovely host appeared in the doorway. She wore the same oversized tunic as last night, showing off her shapely legs, and her freshly combed, wine-colored hair cascaded around her curved horns to frame her soft, lavender face. She strode over to grasp him by the hand, guiding him to sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better, been worse. Thanks.” He replied, accepting a cup of mysterious liquid she had gently placed in his hand. “What time is it?”

“Half past ten.” Marina sat next to him on the bed.

Jack coughed up his bitter drink in surprise. “That late?!” By his estimation, he had slept for nearly twelve hours. “Gods, I’m sorry if I kept you.” There was still one more day of Alyssim’s Annual Fuck Festival, and Marina had emphasized how busy this time was for the village’s healers.

She shrugged. “You needed the rest. And really, I should be thanking you for giving me an excuse to avoid work right now.” He was half-listening, distracted by his horrifying reflection in the floor-length mirror at the foot of the bed.

He still couldn’t see out of his right eye. The globe was still an orb of blood, however, the flesh around it was now blackened and swollen, creating a monstrous, asymmetrical visage cascading down from the base of his right horn. His right shoulder was still well-bandaged from the previous evening, but a ring of dark bruising decorated around and down his arm. Every spot that hinted at discomfort yesterday, was now visibly marred with swelling, sores, or scuffs across his rust-colored skin.

“It will look worse for a bit before it looks better.” Marina touched his arm reassuringly. “That tea will help with the pain.” She nodded to the mug in his other hand. “Just some ginger, mint, poppy, and a few other proprietary herbs.” She said proudly.

“Thank you.” Jack managed to choke down the rest of the strong, spicy liquid. “For… everything.” He said quietly, letting his eyes wander about the curiosities of personal and professional décor that covered his host’s bedroom walls. “I honestly don’t know why you’re doing all of this for me…”

“All of what?”

“Well, the care, opening up your home, everything last night…”

“Jack.” She spoke calmly but firmly, in a way that drew his eye to meet hers. “First off, I am Alyssim’s Alchemist. A healer. I am morally obligated to tend the wounded to the best of my abilities and in the least painful way possible. Secondly, upon finding out who you were, I did feel somewhat guilty on behalf of my sister, seeing as she left you too penniless to even afford a room at the inn. I think offering you a place to sleep was the least I could do. Even if it was the couch. Third,” Marina said, cutting off Jack’s attempt to protest. “Like I said last night: I find you intriguing and attractive and I enjoy your company. Is that really so hard to believe?” She rested her head on his good shoulder and looked at him through the mirror.

Jack looked at the Tiefling who awaited his answer. She looked even more beautiful than she did last night, as certain small details were now visible in the muted rays of sunshine. Her lavender cheeks and nose were dotted with soft, adorable freckles that emphasized anytime she barely crinkled her nose. Her silver eyes were actually streaks of white, pale blue, and black, which caused them to slightly change color whenever she glanced in a different direction. She had an aura of warmth, and trust, about her.

“I mean, yes.” Jack finally replied and continued before Marina could argue. “But thanks for the reassurance. And patience.” He sighed. He lifted her hand and gently kissed to tops of her fingers, the way he’d seen noble gentlemen greet their ladies. Marina giggled at the chivalrous gesture, cuddling in tighter under his arm.

“So, what were your plans today?” She asked, after some time.

“I didn’t really have any.” He shrugged, happy to find the pain-relieving tea had kicked in. “You?”

“Well, I would love to just stay here in bed with you.” Marina bit her lip as her fingers danced above the quilt, slowly tracing the curvature of his lower abdomen.

“Oh really?” Jack answered coyly.

“Yeah,” She sighed, softly bringing her lips to his. “But unfortunately, I do have to get to work now.” She pouted as she pulled away from the brief kiss.

“Well, shit.” Jack said, less playfully than he intended. He laid back against the headboard to catch his breath.

“You are welcome to join me, if you’d like. The clinic could really use the extra hand, even if it’s just for basic tasks. Of course, escort taksim you’d be paid too, and the after party can be a lot of fun. Oh, but please don’t feel obligated, if you wanted to go out and enjoy the Festival.”

Jack was sure the festivities were in full swing back at the village square. Although feeling worlds better than yesterday, opting to go back into the Fuck Festival still bruised and nearly penniless seemed… horrifying.

“You had me at ‘paid.'” He said, squeezing her hand and hoping his excitement to spend the day together wasn’t too obvious.

***

The two made their way over to the clinic. Although Alyssim was quieter than the previous afternoon, there was still plenty of ale and public fornication scattered across the village square. Marina insisted they dart between the stand-alone buildings that lined the plaza, lest she be recognized and swarmed with requests to remedy whatever problems that may plague one three days into a non-stop orgy.

Marina led Jack into the rear entrance of the stout, stone building, avoiding the handful of Tieflings milling about the front.

Upon entering, it was clear Alyssim’s infirmary was not a religious organization, as it had only a mural of Ilmater’s hands painted on the stone doors, the universal sigil for any house of medicine, regardless of the menders’ spiritual beliefs.

They snuck in through a cramped hallway and grabbed Jack an extra black worker’s robe from one of the supply cupboards. Turning onto a wider and rug-lined walkway, Marina immediately gave away their position as she saw her Apothecary door dotted with bits of scrawled parchment.

“What in the hells is all this?!” She snapped, ripping one of the notes off of its tack.

A door opened from the far end of the hall. A silhouette of a man finished wringing his hands with a handkerchief before crossing the threshold. From a distance, he could easily be mistaken for a Human, as he had no evidence of horns poking from under his salt-and-pepper hair, nor tail trailing behind him. However, once closer, it was clear he had the same sharp fangs and whiteless eyes as any other Tiefling. “Oh, there she is! Bright eyed and bushy tailed at the early hour of eleven A.M! Long night, Chippy?” The man said with a half smirk and brief glance towards Jack.

“Are these… delivery requests?!” Marina gasped, frantically pulling down the dozens of notes off her door.

“Yes. You weren’t here, and no one knew when you would be back. This seemed like an elegant solution that got the people off our backs.” He rubbed the stress lines under his eyes.

“Can’t stay hard… Vaginal soreness… Jaw cramps…” Marina read the notes as she robotically handed them off to Jack. “Zander, I made a back stock for all these. You could have just passed them out as they came in.”

“No one had time to vet them for you. You know how it is during The Festival: no staff and just so many patients. I just had two show up with a bottle stuck up their ass this morning. Like the same bottle. At the same time. Like two dogs fighting over a bone. But with rectums, and extreme risk of perforation. Amazingly Silas and I got everything apart in one piece. I have the bottle in my office if you want to see it, might get a little placard for it.” Zander said, almost dreamily.

Marina had finished clearing her door. “I really, really don’t. Look, please just send people right in. No more damn notes.” She said before ushering Jack into her office and closing the door behind them.

It was a comfortable, but purposeful room, lined with shelves nearly overflowing with bottles and ingredients collected from every corner of the world. An examination chair upholstered in padded leather served as the chamber’s centerpiece. Marina spread the bits of paper across one of the several worktables that jutted out from the shelves and pressed her weight into her hands as she stared down at the orders.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, seeing her lower lip quiver.

“What am I going to do?” She shook her head, surveying each slip. “More patients are going to come knocking any minute now. How am I supposed to get these all delivered all over the village? Not to mention the ongoing brews, and forget the people who are actually sick…”

“You said you had a back stock of most of these?” Jack flipped through his short stack of parchment slips, each one noted with a name, ailment, and likely delivery location.

“Yes! Which is why it’s so maddening that no one could grab them as people came in! I swear they’re just punishing me for taking a morning off…”

“Okay, so I’ll just deliver them.” Jack said calmly, grabbing an empty satchel he spotted under a work bench. “It’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.” She swiveled towards him. “You’re injured! Never mind trying to navigate this big village you hardly know.”

“Marina, with all due respect, escort topkapı I’ve made a career out of tracking people down who didn’t want to be found. This is nothing.” He half smiled and boastfully thumbed the papers. “Plus I offered to help today, didn’t I?”

Marina eyed him skeptically, as if searching for a reason to protest. “Very well.” She finally submitted. “But keep in mind, people are probably expecting me to hand deliver these.”

“I’ll be sure to apologize for the disappointment.”

They spent the next several minutes meticulously preparing any orders they could, and it wasn’t long before the satchel was full.

“Deliver the ones for the Town Hall first! I would not want to keep the Aldermen waiting.” Marina instructed. Jack nodded, but before he could turn to leave, Marina wrapped her arms around his midsection, pressing an ear against his chest. “And thank you.” She said quietly. Suddenly, Jack felt a nervousness that usually only precluded the most dangerous of life-or-death assignments.

***

It was an odd feeling for the mercenary; focusing as he does when given a job, while being completely unarmed and unarmored. While logically Jack knew there was very little chance he would need to resort to violence while navigating through the celebrations of Alyssim, he found himself instinctually checking for the hilt of a non-existent dagger on his hip.

The thought of the two men back in the spiders’ lair still weighed heavy in his mind. Those men were looking for the village for some nefarious reason, and they had been dangerously close to finding it. There could be other seeking this place as well.

The handful of guards Jack passed did little to ease his thoughts. Their leather armor was worn and ill-fitted, and their short swords were flaked with rust. They seemed extremely relaxed, some just as inebriated as the celebrants. As Jack overheard a drunken pair of guards taking bets on whether one could shoot an apple off another head, a temptation to just start robbing the merchant stands one by one crossed his mind. Hells, maybe the village deserved it if this is what they offered when it came to their own security.

The thought was fleeting. He was headed to the Town Hall for the first of his potion deliveries and would hopefully be able to relay his account of Dritver and Garrett to whoever is managing these fools.

Alyssim’s Town Hall was not difficult to locate. It was the largest of the few two-story buildings in the village and could easily be followed from the square via a short footpath and simple directions. Comprised of stone blocks that paused to allow only for small windows, Jack would have mistaken it for a prison, if it weren’t for the huge open doorway facing the footpath and the familiar smell of beer.

Once he entered, it became clear the Town Hall was at one point, or still was, a church. The far wall was made of stained glass in the shape of fire and stars, bathing the entire chapel, and its occupants, in an insinuating shade of red. Jack estimated about a half-dozen people near the altar, not counting the black-robed staff managing the large keg, playing music, or mopping up the constant mess left by the unclothed celebrants.

Between the doorway and the altar were a dozen or so rows of solid stone pews, seemingly built up from the floor. They were empty, save for a woman in the last pew. She glanced up at Jack as he entered.

Jack tried to look away before the woman could notice him eying her, but he was a fraction of a second too late. Their eyes met, and she slowly approached him with a smile. She was nude, with the exception of a black lace choker around her delicate neck and black lace garters holding matching stockings high onto each attractive thigh. The scant bits of fabric seemed to accentuate the exposed areas of crimson skin; including breasts that seemed impossibly perky and the smooth, warm area between her thighs, which she wasted no time in pressing against Jack’s rapidly growing erection.

“Hi there. You look like you’ve been working so hard. I take it you’re here to relieve some… tension?” She reached down and gave his stiffening cock a gentle squeeze through his robes.

She locked him in place: one leg hooked around the back of his knee, one hand massaging his shoulder, and the other reaching up to gently stroke his hair.

Jack took a long time to answer, suddenly finding it difficult to remember why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing. The mysterious woman closed her eyes, seemingly getting immense pleasure from slowly rubbing his member through his clothing.

The weight from the full satchel reminded him of the task he still hadn’t started. “I can’t…”

“Aw, luv, if you’re shy, we’ll go into one of the side rooms.” She nodded her head towards an alcove that seemed to lead into a stone hall. “It’s very private. We could put out the lamps, close the doors.” She bit her lower escort şirinevler lip, waiting his answer. “Why don’t we start by you telling me your name. I like to know what I’ll be moaning later.”

“I’m Jack…” He was trying to think. There had to be a catch, but why? What if something happened to the satchel or its contents after he followed this woman? How could he possibly explain that to Marina? Also, who the hells was this person and should he even care at this point?

“Look, Jack,” The mystery woman interrupted his thoughts, his name sounding smoother than melted gold in her voice. “The Aldermen aren’t changing staff this late. I know why you’re here, darling, and there’s no need to be coy.”

He suddenly realized what this woman’s job was, and why she had bombarded him on sight. He couldn’t help but to feel a bit relieved at the clarification, regardless of his slightly bruised ego.

“I’m just here to deliver potions.” He stammered, hoping it would be enough to convince the courtesan he was not here for her services, as tempting as they were.

“Oh.” She took a step back from him, dropping her sex-starved demeanor. “Is Marina okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. Just really busy, so I’m delivering her orders.”

“Hm, lucky girl to have such a thoughtful assistant.” She leaned back against the pew, letting her shoulders hunch and body relax out of its stringent posture. “Is there one for Lilly in there?” Jack sifted through the satchel, and sure enough, found the requested bottle, for which Lilly graciously traded several silver coins. “Thank the Gods. Bit of advice, don’t eat the fish today. It must have turned. Please let Marina know I am very grateful.”

“I will.” Jack continued to look through the bag. “By the way, do you know where I could find ‘Remus’ and ‘Voletta?'” He asked, reading off the tags of the remaining two bottles destined for Town Hall.

“Voletta and Remus are going to be up there.” Lilly pointed out two of the celebrants at the Town Hall’s altar.

“Thanks.” Jack replied.

“You are so very welcome, Jack.” Lilly said, her voice once again filled with desire. “And should you need any relaxation once your task is completed, you know where to find me.”

He simply nodded, reminding himself that Lilly’s interest would likely fizzle once finding out he had no coin to spare. Nevertheless, he considered asking what time her shift ended as he took a final look at her fantastic figure before turning towards the altar.

Voletta, a powerful wisp of a woman, sat in an ornate stone chair, its seat and back upholstered with detailed leather. She was at least a generation older than Jack, if not two. Her body, which was likely one of a quick fighter many years ago, was covered in only a sash of sheer silk, draped gracefully around her back and across her arms. Behind her stood a man; large, grizzled, and scarred. He gently kneaded his knuckles into Voletta’s long neck as she brought a stone goblet up to her pursed lips before she spoke.

“Look Friza, we can’t just make gold and iron fall from the sky. If you want more resources, you’ll have to find them.”

Voletta was addressing another Tiefling woman, who was lounging on a chaise that seemed to be dragged in from some other location. Like the other near-by celebrants, she was nude. Her legs were spread, and the face of the rotund man that Lilly had described to be Remus was fixated between them.

Friza scoffed, but did not move. “I’m not asking you to create a miracle. I’m just asking you to sign off that it needs attention. My scouts are stretched thinner than pixie skin on a hand drum right now. Hells, just ask Lukas how the last unit faired, having to use hand carved arrows just one week in.”

“Fuckin’ disastrous.” Chimed in the man massaging Voletta.

Remus came up for air from between Friza’s legs. “Oh, this shit again? How many times do I need to assure you? Our diplomats report no serious threats within Cormanthor. Hells, we could probably cut the scouts in half if we need foragers, seeing as the Wood Elves have already offered eyes.”

At this point, Jack had been standing at the base of the altar, unacknowledged, for an uncomfortably long amount of time. He loudly cleared his throat.

Voletta glanced over at him. “Can we help you?” She sighed in a way that suggested she had no intention of helping him.

Given his line of work, intimidation, whether political or physical, was a rare state for Jack. However, watching these village leaders benignly discuss statesmanship while openly pleasuring each other made him feel quite small.

“I have potions to deliver, from the clinic.” Jack fished through the satchel for the two appropriate bottles.

“Bah! What is this?!” Remus pulled himself to his feet. “You’re not the Alchemist!” He strode over to Jack at a pace surprising for a man of his weight and age.

“Yes, Marina is-“

He cut him off, snatching both bottles out of Jack’s hand. “Hells, I don’t think it will even work unless it’s administered by that tasty little tart with the massive knockers!”

“You’re disgusting, Remus.” The woman who previously had her thighs on either side of Remus’ head crossed them and sat up. “Now pay the nice man so he can get on with his day.”

Author’s foreword:

This is a stand-alone story (submitted for the Geek Pride event) set in the same narrative world as the story series, Every Man’s Fantasy. The events occur about 15 years before the start of chapter 1 of Every Man’s Fantasy and feature events in the earlier life of two characters from the series.

Erinaceous.

1 Murder on Capella Space Station

Arthur Jeffries smiled.

The report said ‘murder’. Murder on Capella Space Station.

Arthur smiled because the idea was ridiculous. As the Constable of Capella Space Station, he was the only professional law officer on a jurisdiction known for its lack of crime. His incredulity at the report was understandable. It was also understandable (though less excusable) that he was excited because there would be a corpse, witnesses, clues and suspects.

In his two years as Constable, after five years on the beat in New York, one of Earth’s over-populated crime-ridden cities, the most serious incidents Arthur had so far dealt with were drunken freighter crews fighting in the seedy pubs on the East Causeway.

Now there was a real crime to solve. And what a crime: the very worst. Murder! Its horror couldn’t be properly appreciated until it occurred in a community that had never known a murder in the whole of its existence.

Commissioned ninety-eight years ago, in Earth-year 2441, Capella Space Station was forty-two light-years from Earth. On a complex orbit about the four stars of the Capella system, it looked like a giant gyroscope, with a spindle ten miles long and a wheel with four spokes three miles across, turning at a sedate pace to create an Earth-normal artificial gravitation for those on the inside edge of the great wheel’s rim.

Most of the population of the station lived and worked on the rim, which was divided into four causeways. The West Causeway had posh shops and good hotels. The North Causeway had the homes of the permanent residents, a school and a hospital. The South Causeway had food halls and workshops for craftsmen who could repair any machine. The East Causeway had rowdy bars, casinos, pawn-brokers and brothels.

The East Causeway also had the police station, squeezed between a pawn-shop and a launderette, with Arthur’s flat above. Despite the unwholesome reputation of the East Causeway, Capella Space Station was the most law-abiding place Arthur had ever lived. There were ten-thousand permanent residents: mechanics, shop-keepers, bankers, teachers, cooks, hydroponics farmers, gardeners and Entertainers (that is, prostitutes, who were legal, licensed and guaranteed disease-free).

There was also a transient population of space riggers, miners, freighter crews, military personnel on furlough and Planetary Prospectors (who risked their lives finding new planets for Earth to colonise). They all visited Capella for supplies, to look for work, to feel some gravitation (albeit artificial) underfoot or to gamble, drink, shop, trade and spend time with a friendly Entertainer.

Added to this diverse humanity were about a million settlers a year from Earth, who came to Capella to embark on giant hyperspace transports to distant planets. They spent their fortunes leaving an old, dirty and over-crowded planet for the chance of a new life in a pristine Outworld colony.

Now twenty-eight years old, Arthur Jeffries was of middle height, with an athletic build, a long face, fair hair, fleshy nose and naturally hangdog eyes. Wearing his clean and pressed police uniform proudly, with shiny shoes and shiny buttons on his tunic, he felt a thrill as he hopped onto the lift to the West Causeway and the Excelsior Hotel, in one of whose rooms was a corpse and a mystery to solve.

******

The dead man was called Ashmore Raleigh. He was well known as a rich and important industrialist. Born in America but with businesses across the Anglosphere, he lived mainly in the Caribbean with his wife and family. Raleigh was visiting Capella to start a long business trip to some Outworld colonies. He checked into the hotel with a female companion but the hotel didn’t record her name and she wasn’t in the hotel now.

The victim had severe bruising to his throat and ribs. Some of his ribs showed sharp edges through the skin, where they’d been broken. There was no other bruising or skin damage. Semen on the bed sheets showed that Raleigh was murdered in bed during or after having sex.

Arthur took photographs and bagged up the evidence, including a pair of skimpy women’s panties and a bathroom towel with makeup stains. He released the body to orderlies of the space station’s small hospital, where a doctor would verify the cause of death.

The evidence was ambiguous. Circumstantial evidence (the makeup stains, knickers and semen) made Arthur suspect the missing female companion, but Raleigh was fit and strong-looking. It would have been hard for a man his own strength to strangle him. There were no signs of a fight or any weapons. So how were his ribs broken? The breaks were where a woman’s thighs might have been during sex in the missionary position.

When şişli escort the video from the hotel lobby was relayed to Arthur’s communicator, it showed Mr. Raleigh checking in with a young woman. Aged about eighteen or twenty, slender but curvy, elegant, amazingly good-looking, with deep-red chestnut hair, the woman wore a sombre knee-length brown dress and dark-grey high heels with ankle straps. Arthur doubted that this woman had the hand-strength to crush Raleigh’s windpipe or the thigh strength to break his ribs.

The lobby video showed the same woman leaving the hotel alone about an hour later at 12.30. She was rushing and hadn’t brushed her hair. It was possible that the death was an accident, after which she panicked.

A moment later there was a result from face-recognition. The woman was identified as Sharon Smith, aged nineteen, recently arrived from Earth, working as a licensed Entertainer and living on the East Causeway.

Arthur felt no need to hurry over to Sharon Smith’s apartment to question her. If she was the culprit, then she would be on the run, though there was nowhere to run to on the space station. In any case, she would be found when she used her credit stick or her communicator.

Capella Space Station had strict privacy laws but, with a serious crime to investigate, the part-time Justice of the Peace granted Arthur a warrant to access Sharon’s personal data. A licensed Entertainer would be easy to trace.

Arthur also requested to see video recordings from the businesses along the West Causeway. Shop-front video footage and street cameras might show where Sharon Smith had run to.

2 Coincidences

While Arthur waited for the videos to download and the doctor’s report to arrive, he took the bag of evidence to a laboratory on the South Causeway for analysis. Then he returned to the police station because his communicator showed a message that someone was waiting for him.

It was three o’clock and his visitor had been waiting for some time. She was a woman in her middle twenties: middle height, middle weight with mid-brown hair of a middle length and mid-blue eyes. She was pale, homely and a little dowdy. A pointed chin and a ski-jump nose were the only distinctive features of her face. A handkerchief stuffed up the sleeve of her light-blue woollen cardigan reminded Arthur of one of his schoolteachers.

“Constable Jeffries?” the woman asked as he arrived at the station and opened the door to let her in.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“My name is Mary Wetherall. I’d like to report a crime.”

“Very well, Ma’am. What’s the crime?”

“My suitcase was stolen. A woman bumped into me in the street, knocking me down. When I got up, I saw my suitcase was gone and that she was carrying it away. I chased after her but she was too quick and I lost her.”

“Was there anything of value in the suitcase?”

“Yes, my spare clothes. What has their value got to do with it?”

“I have to prioritise my time, Ma’am. Although thefts are very rare here, if it’s only clothes, which you can replace easily, then I have a more important crime to solve.”

“More important? I arrived on Capella Space Station today to start a new job. Except for my suitcase, all my belongings are in a container in the docks. But before I could check into a hotel, the only spare clothes I have were stolen from me. Doubtless your lost puppy or jay-walker is important to you, but allow me to think my suitcase is important to me.”

(Definitely a teacher, Arthur thought to himself.)

“I beg your pardon, Ma’am, your clothes are important to me, and I will certainly make them my priority after I’ve solved the murder that was committed about three hours ago.”

“Murder?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Mary was shocked. The frustration of waiting outside the police station had made her irritable. She was about to apologise for her brusque attitude when another young woman came into the police station with a bright happy step and a cheerful smile.

“Constable Jeffries?”

“Yes, Miss?” Arthur answered, staring at her.

“I’ve received a message on my communicator to say that face-recognition has been used on me, against my right to privacy. It told me to report it to the police, so here I am, reporting it.”

The young woman was between eighteen and twenty, slender but also curvy, elegant and amazingly good-looking, with deep-red chestnut hair, large dark-green eyes, high cheekbones, a bow-shaped mouth, straight nose and a perfect complexion.

Arthur was still staring when Mary broke the silence.

“It’s her!” she exclaimed. “The woman who stole my suitcase.”

“What suitcase?” asked the girl.

“You know very well what suitcase. You knocked me over and ran off with it. Where is it? I want it back.”

“I’m sorry about your suitcase, Ma’am, but I know nothing of it. What I want to know myself is why Constable Jeffries is staring at me with his mouth open.”

That jogged Arthur back into the world.

“Excuse my staring, Miss. Can I ask you some questions?”

“Ask away, Constable.”

“What’s bağcılar escort your name?”

“Hestia de L’Amour.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He typed with one finger on his desk keypad.

“No one of that name is currently on Capella.”

“It’s my professional name as an Entertainer. I recently changed it. Maybe your records are out of date,” Hestia explained cheerfully.

“So what was your previous name?”

“Sharon Smith. You can see why I changed it.”

“Second question: Is this you?”

Arthur projected the video from the hotel lobby camera onto a wall-screen opposite his desk. It showed Hestia entering the hotel with Ashmore Raleigh and rushing out an hour later.

“Well, bugger me!” Hestia said, showing her Northern English roots. “It certainly looks like me, but it’s not me. I wouldn’t wear a dress like that. Nice shoes, though.”

The woman in the video dressed in a style as if she were about ten years older than Hestia, who was in a tight black jumper, black woollen stockings and a short red skirt.

“And look at her hair?” Hestia added. “I’d never leave a hotel room with my hair in a mess. Besides, I’ve only been here a month. I haven’t had a customer in the Excelsior yet.”

While the video played, Arthur surreptitiously manoeuvred himself between Hestia and the door, concealing a pair of handcuffs behind his back. When Hestia turned to him, he slipped the handcuffs over her delicate wrists.

“Ooh! Kinky!” she said with a laugh.

“What?” asked Arthur, feeling himself losing control of the situation.

“I charge double for bondage, you know.”

Arthur asserted himself.

“Sharon Smith, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murdering Ashmore Raleigh in the Excelsior Hotel on the West Causeway between 11:30am and 12.30pm today.”

“And stealing my suitcase!” Mary insisted.

Arthur plonked Hestia into a chair opposite his desk and set out his computer tab to make an official record of the arrest. Hestia made herself comfortable in the seat, more amused than offended.

“Between 11:30 and 12:30, you say? Then I can prove I wasn’t there. Ask the barman at The Goat. Tom will vouch for me.”

The Goat and Chariot pub, eight blocks clockwise on the East Causeway, was famous, as was Tom, the slow barman. It was a popular bar, though it was better to arrive after the evening staff started their shifts, or wait twenty minutes to be served. It was also where the prettiest Entertainers on Capella hung out, waiting for customers.

On the chance of avoiding detestable paperwork, Arthur placed the video call. Tom answered in his own sweet time.

“Yes?”

“Constable Jeffries here.”

“What do you want?”

“Some civility first, and, secondly, do you know Hestia de L’Amour?”

“Never heard of her,” Tom said and ended the video call.

Arthur stared at his communicator for a second in disbelief.

“He’s a moron,” Arthur said, shaking his head.

“Oh no, Tom’s a sweetie. He’s just being protective. Let me speak to him, please?”

Arthur opened the call again and held his communicator in front of Hestia.

“Tom, it’s me,” Hestia said gaily from her chair.

“Are you all right, Hestia? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. Constable Jeffries is being a gentleman (except for the handcuffs). You don’t have to protect me. I’m not in trouble. You can tell him the truth.”

“If you say so.”

Arthur took the communicator and said to Tom:

“When was the last time you saw Hestia?”

“About 1pm today. She came into the pub at about 11 this morning and helped me set out the tables. …”

“Helped you?” Hestia protested. “I did all the work!”

“… There wasn’t much going on until 12,” Tom blithely continued, “when customers started coming in. Hestia danced with a couple of men and left with one of them at about 1 o’clock.”

“Did anyone else see her there?”

“Three or four of the girls, plus the bloke she went out with.”

“All right, thanks.”

“You can check the concierge in my apartment building, as well,” Hestia cheerfully added. “She checked me in at 5 past 1 and out again at about 3. I came straight here.”

“That’s all right,” Arthur said, undoing Hestia’s handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

“But it’s definitely her,” Mary insisted. “You saw the video. How can it be anyone else?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’re mistaken,” Hestia said sweetly.

“I’m not mistaken. I’m a teacher!” Mary said, which was a non sequitur that made Hestia stare at her and Arthur smile, congratulating himself on making at least one valid deduction today.

“I mean that I’m trained to notice things,” Mary explained. “If it wasn’t you who stole my suitcase, then it was your doppelganger.”

“And I think her doppelganger murdered Mr. Raleigh,” Arthur added. “I can guess why she stole your suitcase, Miss Wetherall. She needed a change of clothes to evade the cameras. I don’t think the killing was an accident at all.”

3 Deputies

Arthur would have liked to be chasing down the suspect escort zeytinburnu but the trail was cold even before he was alerted to the crime. He needed to see the West Causeway videos to know where the woman ran. While he waited for the videos and the doctor’s report, Arthur brewed up a round of hot drinks. The three of them sat at his desk, sipping mugs of coffee and thinking over the puzzling crime.

“How come Miss de L’Amour has a doppelganger?” Mary asked.

“I’ve been pondering that question myself, Ma’am,” Arthur said.

“Do you have an identical twin sister?” Mary asked Hestia.

“No.”

“What about a clone?”

“Why would anyone clone a human being?”

“Could your identical twin have been adopted at birth?” Arthur asked.

“And ended up on the same small space station as me, when there are a hundred Homeworld colonies and a dozen Outworld colonies to choose from? It seems unlikely.”

“All the world comes through Capella Space Station at some time, Miss,” Arthur said.

“Constable Jeffries,” Hestia queried: “Why do you call me ‘Miss’ and you call her ‘Ma’am’?”

“I’m sorry. What should I call you?”

“Hestia.”

“And you can call me Mary. We may as well be on first-name terms if we’re going to be working together.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

“I mean I’m joining your investigation. I want my suitcase back and I don’t trust you to consider it a priority.”

“Why would I take you with me?”

“Because you need my help. For some reason, you seem to be the only policeman here.”

“There are six men who volunteer as deputies. I call on them as I need to.”

“Six men? Can’t women be deputies?” Hestia asked.

“They can but, so far, no woman has volunteered.”

“Well, one has now,” Mary said in a firm voice.

“Two,” said Hestia, holding up two elegant fingers.

“It might be dangerous,” Arthur cautioned. “The victim was strangled and his ribs were crushed.”

These grisly details didn’t put the women off, so Arthur swore them in as deputies. It was less trouble than the fuss they’d have made if he’d refused. Besides, three pairs of eyes were better than one when searching for a face in a crowd.

The doctor’s report came in saying that Raleigh died of asphyxiation caused by a crushed windpipe. The only marks on his throat were from human hands whose size indicated a woman. With the shop videos downloaded at last, the three investigators left together to track the suspect, who dashed out of the Excelsior Hotel, bumped into Mary, stole her suitcase and disappeared somewhere on the West Causeway.

******

Arthur led the way to the lift that went straight up through the roof of the East Causeway into one of the spokes of the great wheel and across the spindle to the West Causeway. He pressed the button to summon a cubicle. Hestia hopped daintily onto the perspex cylinder and braced herself by linking an arm around the hand-rail, excited to be involved in a criminal investigation.

Mary and Arthur followed, but Mary was new to this form of travel and didn’t hold on tightly. When the lift shot up toward the centre of the gyroscope, the reduction in artificial gravity and the Coriolis effect threw her off-balance.

Mary stumbled to her knees. Hestia bent to assist her but Arthur was oblivious, watching a shop video on his communicator.

“Chivalry is alive and well and its name is Arthur Jeffries,” Hestia said.

“Umm, what?”

Then Arthur noticed.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I should have warned you.”

He offered her his hand.

“I can manage,” she said, but from then on Arthur remembered his manners and warned Mary of changes in gravitation, especially when the cubicle span around in the centre of the spindle, so they would descend to the West Causeway feet first. The three-mile journey took about five minutes. By the time they reached the West Causeway, Arthur had viewed enough of the videos to know that the woman ran anti-clockwise from outside the hotel and didn’t double back.

The West Causeway, home to posh hotels, banks and expensive shops, was clean and bright under strong white artificial lights. There were flower baskets and small trees for ambience. The shoppers who strolled unhurried by were stylishly well-dressed.

Arthur started outside the hotel where Mary had been knocked down by pseudo-Hestia and followed the video trail of the woman along the causeway, leading his new deputies.

“What subject do you teach, Mary?” Hestia asked as she skipped along behind the Constable.

“Mathematics,” Mary replied. “Do you really have sex with men for money?”

“Oh, yes,” Hestia answered happily, completely unashamed.

“Why?”

“Because I’m no good at maths. … I like your skirt. Is it Spontini?”

Under her frumpy light-blue cardigan, Mary had on a beautifully-cut knee-length pleated fawn skirt.

“It’s a knockoff,” she admitted. “I can’t buy Madame Spontini on a teacher’s salary.”

“It’s a good knockoff.”

“I like your boots,” Mary said in return, unable to resist Hestia’s naturally cheerful charm.

Hestia did a spin as they walked, twirling up her short skirt to give a glimpse of bare thigh at the tops of her thick black stockings. She had amazing legs, long, lean and shapely. Her cute little ankle boots were shiny black leather, with laces and two silver buckles.

All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older. Thanks for reading!

*

“What’s your day look like, dear?” Ezra swiped away the news feed, sipped some coffee, and regarded his wife. She wore a neat, crisp uniform, her hair was back in a perfect bun, and her face was clean and bright. She looked every bit the station’s inspector general. Ezra certainly wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of the law at Tigov 19.

“An unscheduled docking is underway. The Errand into the Wilderness is connecting to slip seven. One of those ships from the Fourth Wave zealots.” Tabitha’s smile stretched a bit thin. There were so many angles to consider with the new arrival. “They say they’re low on fuel and are willing to purchase more from the station.”

“But?” Ezra arched his eyebrows.

“But a Fourth Wave ship wouldn’t have stellarcoin. They abhor the Outer Republic. Nor would they barter parts of their ship. Their colony missions are sacred to the religion.” She poured herself some coffee and sipped. She winced at the taste. It would do better with some milk and sugar. But shortages would keep their coffee bitter for a while.

“But that’s not all that concerns you.” Ezra could see the vertical groove form on his wife’s forehead. After so many years, he could read her like a book.

“It takes only a little nudge to send our station off kilter. We’re running on a thin wire. And the Hendersons are aboard that ship. That news has already created a bit of a frenzy. People are lining up at slip seven to meet them and get an autograph.” Tabitha frowned. “And then our resident Sagittarius Mormons will want to proselytize to the Fourth Wave crew. And probably vice versa. It’s going to be a mess.”

“And knowing you, you’re already coming up with solutions.” Ezra stood and stretched. It was just about time he started the work day. Those mining drones weren’t going to pilot themselves.

“Well, I’ll keep the crew of the Errand confined to their ship while they’re here. But I can’t limit people from visiting the ship without an order for quarantine. And I don’t have one of those.” She gulped the rest of her coffee and kissed her husband on the cheek. “I’ll go take a look around the ship today. Maybe I’ll turn something up. I have a strange feeling about the Errand.”

“Well, if something’s amiss, I’m sure you’ll sniff it out.” Ezra put down his mug and gave Tabitha a deep kiss. When they broke the kiss, they were both breathless. “I love the way you look in your inspector’s uniform.”

“I know.” Tabitha laughed. “I’ll see you tonight. Good luck at the mines.”

“Good luck with the ship.” They made their way to the front door, gave each other one last hug, and then trotted off on their separate ways.

~~

“I want to use the holopark while that ship is here, James.” Gail regarded her young husband carefully. She knew bartering with the Fourth Wave zealots might complicate their mission to convert the crew.

“I don’t know, dear. We should show them the center of it all, first. Once they see the truth behind Sagittarius A and the new apostles, then we can trade.” James sat quietly in their small apartment, his hands clasped on their table. “Is it the northern lights?”

“I know we’re never going to Earth. And who knows when the next holopark will dock here.” Her eyes went wide and she steepled her fingers in a plaintive gesture. “Please allow this, James. If they fail to convert, they may not allow me to visit later. This might be my only chance to see the aurora borealis.”

Silence filled the apartment. James stared at his wife. “I know how important this is to you, but I cannot allow it. Our mission for God comes first. You understand.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for listening to my foolish request, dear.” Gail pretended to put the idea out of her head, and went about making breakfast, humming to herself. But she would not let her dream go that easily.

~~

“So, to sum up. You had a malfunction in cryo, waking a small crew long before you arrived at your new colony. You then happened to encounter and rescue the Hendersons. And Dr. Cole was subsequently responsible for your course change. Do I have that right, Mrs. Winthrop?” Tabitha eyed the blonde matriarch. It was odd that a Fourth Wave woman would be in charge. From everything she had read, she would have thought she’d be speaking to this woman’s husband.

“That is correct.” Mary smiled sweetly at the inspector. She rubbed her belly bump, where she carried the second of Jacob’s children. Sally, their first child, was in the nursery, hidden away from the inspector’s prying eyes. Keeping Sally company was at least one mother and Jacob’s other daughters. During their long approach to Tigov 19, all of Jacob’s wives but the Hendersons had born him daughters. “May I offer you some milk? We have refined our replication, enhancing it to Earthly perfection. It’s delicious and will make you feel sublime.”

“No, thank you.” Tabitha longed to taste the milk. But she wanted to focus on her work. Maybe she would mecidiyeköy escort try some later. The station’s synthesizer problems would make the Errand’s milk quite valuable. She wondered if the ship could replicate sugar. “I appreciate the offer.” Tabitha’s smile was thin. “And where is Dr. Cole?”

“She’s in the brig, of course.” Mary’s face fell, like this was a difficult subject.

“May I take her into custody? She should stand trial for what she did.” Tabitha wasn’t sure what was wrong with this ship. Not yet. Her instincts picked up something, but everything seemed above board so far. Whatever it was, she would get to the bottom of it.

“We will hold onto the good doctor and see that she sees His justice. Since the incident happened here, and affects our colony mission, it only makes sense.” Mary shrugged ever so slightly. “Surely you understand our position, Mrs. Kensington.”

“Please call me Inspector Kensington, or Inspector General. And yes, I understand.” Tabitha’s eyes became thin lines.

“My apologies, Inspector General.” Mary smiled sweetly. “Now, if you’d like a tour, I can take you around the ship. I heard that you do not have a holopark on the station. Would you like to see ours? We can go anywhere in the galaxy.”

“I will give it a safety inspection, as I’m sure Tigov citizens will be interested in bartering for time in the holopark.” Tabitha pursed her lips together. “But I do not think I shall go travelling through time and space.”

“Of course. Although, I’m afraid, we’re all traveling through time and space whether we want to or not.” Mary gave her a knowing look. “Let me lead the way.”

~~

“Hello, Inspector General.” Maureen put her arm around Judy as they stopped to greet Tabitha in the hall. They both filled out their uniforms with enormous bellies. Maureen could see the inspector’s wide eyes keep falling to Maureen’s stomach. “Did you get a peek at the holopark yet?”

“Um… yes… I just inspected it. Everything looks shipshape.” Tabitha thought her brain might explode. She had no idea that both Maureen and Judy were pregnant. And near full term it looked, too. “I must say, it is an honor to meet you, Mrs. Henderson. And Mrs….” Tabitha looked at the ring on Judy’s finger. “Forgive me, I did not know you had married.”

“My last name is still Henderson.” Judy smiled. She said no more about her nuptials.

“Oh… okay.” Tabitha looked back and forth between the rings on the Hendersons’ fingers. She then looked at Mary’s hand. “You all have identical rings.”

“Oh, yes. There was an incident that required us to melt the rings to create a special alloy. These are our replacements.” Mary’s smile was as bright and sunny as always. “We can tell you that story another time.” She held out a hand, ushering her guest past the Henderson women. “Would you like to inspect our replicator next?”

“Yes, okay.” Tabitha said her goodbyes to Maureen and Judy. Another oddity caught her eye as she did. Maureen was wearing a metal cross around her neck that was very similar to the one worn by Mary. Anyone who knew the Hendersons knew that Maureen was not a religious woman. The inspector kept this observation to herself. Everyone she encountered were all smiles, but Tabitha’s strange feeling about the ship grew. She wondered if maybe she should find a pretext to order the quarantine of the Errand. But the backlash against such a move on the station would be fierce. Everything had to be balanced carefully.

The rest of the inspection went rather quietly. Tabitha met Mary’s daughter and daughter-in-law. Both of them, like Mary, were just starting to show their pregnancies. She did not meet any men. Tabitha arranged with Mary to visit the brig the next day so that she could interview Dr. Cole. When she exited the ship, her portmaster was waiting for her.

“Well, what’s the word? Can people board the Errand?” The portmaster looked beyond eager. He was likely going to be charging illegal small fees for boarding priority.

“The Errand has passed inspection and is ready to be boarded.” Tabitha swiped her badge over slip seven’s reader. “They ask that guests check in with their computer in the airlock, and stay within the visitation areas. They are accepting barter for holopark time and meals.”

The portmaster rubbed his hands with glee. “Yes, Inspector Kensington. I’ll patch in with the computer and work out a boarding protocol.” He reached for his terminal.

“No, the computer and the crew are not allowed off the ship.” Tabitha shook her head. “You’ll have to board to work out the logistics. They’re expecting you.”

“Affirmative.” The portmaster walked toward the airlock with a jaunty step.

Tabitha strolled back to her office, shaking her head and thinking things through.

~~

The mess hall aboard the Errand was a lively place. A dozen people had paid 10 stellarcoin credits each to have their fill from the replicator. They were served by Pricilla, Humility, and Heather.

Gail and James bayrampaşa escort were there, along with two others from the Sagittarius Mormon church. They slipped in comments to the servers here and there about finding true salvation. But the Errand crew hadn’t yet seemed receptive. This was to be expected. They would keep trying.

Also enjoying the delicious milk and food was a party of eight rowdy men. They enjoyed seeing new women whenever a ship docked. And single as they were, they showered compliments on their servers, undaunted by the rings each woman wore. They focused their adoration particularly on Heather. There were few women with dark skin at Tigov 19. The men declared their love for the “exotic beauty.”

“Now, boys. You must behave.” Heather smiled good-naturedly at the men. “I am spoken for.”

“Where is your husband? My heart refuses to let me believe until I see him in the flesh.” One of the men, Riles, had fallen for her particularly hard.

“He is nearby.” Heather glanced at Jacob across the room. Her husband sat with Inspector Kensington, Dr. Cole’s husband, his mother, and Maureen. She could see him watching her with a sour expression. Heather wished he’d lighten up. It was just some harmless fun. She brushed a hand away from her hip. “I will have the Hendersons’ robot escort you off the ship if you can’t behave. Hands to yourselves.” But she was still smiling.

Jacob wasn’t listening to the conversation about Dr. Cole. He was too busy watching the lecherous men of Tigov 19 try to seduce his wives. He was also not enjoying the Mormons’ pathetic attempts to convert his wives from the next table over. These were things Jacob had not anticipated when he had steered the ship toward the station.

“I find it odd that you are accepting credits. I thought the Fourth Wave avoided stellarcoin wherever possible,” Tabitha said to Mary, ignoring the gaiety at the other end of the mess hall. “I thought you would only accept barter.”

Maureen, seeing the deep frown on Mary’s face, cut in. “The Fourth Wave is a derogatory term, Inspector General. We would prefer the Ardent Congregational Establishment.”

“My apologies.” Tabitha saw an opening to pursue a new line of questioning. “You said ‘we,’ Mrs. Henderson. Are you a member of the church?”

“I have experienced the rapture. My horizons are open.” Maureen nodded and fondled the cross around her neck.

“I have not heard conversion described that way before.” She eyed Mary’s son sitting at the table with them. He seemed wholly engrossed in whatever was happening on the other side of the room. He looked… possessive. How odd. Tabitha turned and looked at the women serving the raucous tables. “Who are those crew members over there?”

“That is my daughter, daughter-in-law, and Mrs. Heather Eweje.” Mary’s smile was tiring.

“I see.” Tabitha looked at the absorbed youth again. He certainly looked angry. She supposed one didn’t have to have a romantic interest in a person to worry over others hitting on them. Maybe he was looking after his sister.

“I have been very patient.” Marsden Cole had an angry glare in his eyes. Just like Jacob. “I would like to see my wife.”

“Yes, of course.” Tabitha took one last gulp from her glass and rose. That milk was delicious, and made her feel all warm and fuzzy. Odd how missing something like milk could make it taste so much better than she remembered. Or maybe this was better. Maybe milk on Earth had that effect. “Lead the way, Mrs. Winthrop.”

~~

“I will talk to you soon, honey.” Dr. Cole trembled as she said goodbye to Marsden. How could she lie to him after all she’d been through to reunite with him? But as he professed his love to her, she thought about all the ways she had misled him. They were talking in the brig through an artificial window which blocked his view of her body. That was important, because she was very pregnant. The only reasons she was in the brig at all was to blame her for the course change and to conceal her impending maternity. She removed Jacob’s ring for the talk. She failed to mention any of the dangers the Errand posed to Marsden and Tigov 19. Although, she had told her bygone husband not to barter. Which, she hoped, would keep him away from the milk.

Marsden blew a kiss at the barrier. She did the same back to him. Jacob caught her eye and nodded approvingly. Dr. Cole smiled at that. At least she hadn’t failed Jacob. She would wait in the brig until it was safe to leave. Then she would slip back into Jacob’s bed.

The party filed out of the brig. Maureen led the way, followed by the inspector general, Marsden, Jacob, and finally Mary. The matriarch gave Dr. Cole a satisfied nod on her way out.

~~

When Jacob had safely seen the inspector general off the ship, he hurried back to the mess hall. The men were still there. They were still hitting on his wives, especially Heather. This was not tolerable. He lurked in the corridor outside. “Errand?”

“Yes, Messiah Jacob?” The computer’s escort bahçelievler feminine voice was modulated to soothe Jacob’s tension.

“Call some attendants down to serve the mess hall. It was a mistake to have my wives do it.” Jacob paced back and forth.

“You mother thought that it would be wise to limit contact with the men on our crew,” Errand said. “The women can better resist outside influences. Also, their presence provides a needed distraction to the outsiders.”

“Darn it.” Jacob tried to even out his breathing. “Okay, I’ll leave Pricilla and Lil to handle the outsiders.” He stormed into the mess and headed straight for Heather.

“Oh, hello, Jacob.” Heather finished filling a man’s glass of milk from a pitcher and stared at her messiah and husband. “Did you need something?”

“Yes.” Jacob took the pitcher from her and set it on the table. His cheeks were tinged red with anger. His cock wiggled and writhed, ready to reclaim his wife. He wondered if anyone could see through his father’s baggy uniform. “I need you to come with me.”

“I was just helping these gentlemen…” Heather had never seen Jacob look so fierce. Was this on her account? Was he jealous? She was suddenly quite wet. She loved that she had gotten him riled up. And he seemed such a force in his fit of rage.

“Calm down, little man. We paid good credits for a nice meal, with pleasant… views,” Riles said. All the other men laughed. The Mormons looked over at them, embarrassed for everyone.

“You can keep your filthy credits, heathen.” Jacob took hold of Heather’s hand. He squeezed it firmly.

“What did you call me?” Riles stood up. He was quite a bit taller than Jacob and outweighed him by plenty.

“Excuse me, good sir.” Gail wasn’t about to let these bucks fight. A good Mormon sows peace in the world. Quickly, she left her seat and slid in between the staring men. “Have you heard the good word? The apostles have received a message on a plasma disk from the dark matter at Sagittarius A. It is God speaking to us from Heaven. We have located the very nexus of existence.” She stood on her toes and straightened her prim dress.

While no one bought Gail’s pitch, she did defuse the situation.

“Only thing nuttier than a Fourth Wave is a Mormon, I reckon.” Riles looked around for approval. His comrades laughed.

“Only thing more shameless than a heathen is a Mormon,” Jacob said. Everyone in the room, but the Mormons, burst into great guffaws. His antagonist, Riles, sat down, laughing. And then the Mormon woman who had put herself between them sat down. “We’ll be going now.” Jacob’s eyes sought to make contact with every other pair of eyes in the room. “I leave you my sister and sister-in-law to keep the milk flowing. Good afternoon, everyone.” Jacob pulled Heather out of the mess.

Riles watched him go, shaking his head. He hadn’t the foggiest what that teenage zealot was doing, behaving like he owned the place.

Gail also watched Jacob go. If she was going to make a deal to see the northern lights, perhaps that young man was her ticket. He seemed like he could get things done. Even if he had hurt her feelings.

~~

“What’s gotten into you, Jacob?” Heather stumbled as he pulled her along the corridor.

“You’re my wife. Mine.” Jacob pulled her into their laundry room.

“Yes, I am… oohhhhhhhh.” She squealed as he held her butt and squeezed. There was no greater aphrodisiac than his desire for her. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. There was his cum, and the holy things it did to her mind. “Maybe you should… put another baby inside me… so that I might be… reminded.” She held the back of his head as he bit her breasts through her uniform. His bite was not enough to hurt, but enough to show he meant business. They pressed up against a table.

“Yes… another baby.” Jacob’s cock felt like it would burst right through his baggy uniform. He quickly undressed and Heather did the same. “I will mark you… as mine.”

“Yes… yes… mark me,” Heather whispered. She was nearly delirious with pride and anticipation. “Mark me as your… First Chosen.” She turned around for him and let him seize her hips. His cock wormed into her vagina. “Oh… gosh… you’ve got me… you’ve got me.” She pushed back at him as they fell into a rhythm.

“Mine… you’re mine.” Jacob was fairly sure she was already pregnant again, but he played along with the idea. It was a compelling way to claim her as his wife.

“Eeeeeeiiiiiiiiii.” Heather’s body shook. Her pleasure was already spiking. How incredible that when she had gone into cryo, she had thought she knew what sex was. What God was. What marriage was. And on all accounts, she had known nothing. The curtains had been pulled back on the Errand, and now she could see His vision directly. How silly of the Mormons to seek some attenuated communication from a supermassive black hole, when all they had to do was accept Jacob as their savior. But they didn’t know. They didn’t know he was God’s vehicle. “Right… there… oooohhhhhhhhh.” Another climax hit her.

~~

“Oh, I found you.” Gail was quite thrilled when she saw the young man ahead with the dark-skinned woman. The woman seemed to be zipping up her uniform as they walked down the corridor toward Gail. That was odd. “Your ship’s computer said you were this way.”

They headed back to the gigantic airship, the captain rushing ahead, his hand pressing onto his fedora hat to prevent it flying off in the breeze and his long, canvas coat flowing behind him. Lady Sally and Victoria followed, trying to keep up with his pace. These hurried escapes were getting to be a habit.

They approached the shed where the munitions were stored.

“Damn,” cursed the captain. “They’ve put a guard on the door.”

“That is not an insurmountable problem,” said Lady Sally. “Leave this one to me.”

She marched up to the Prussian soldier in his grey uniform with a brass blunderbuss slung around his shoulder.

“Oh, hello there,” she smiled sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes at him, “I wonder if you could provide me with a little help. You see, the lace on my boot has come untied, and my corset is so tight I can’t bend down to tie it up.”

The soldier noted Lady Sally’s cascade of black hair tumbling out of the cap, her jacket tailored smartly to follow the line of every voluptuous curve and her leather boots with silver eyelets along their front. One of the boot laces was loose.

“Of course, madam,” he said, dropping the blunderbuss onto the ground, and kneeling at her feet.

For one delicious moment his face was eye-level with Lady Sally’s crotch, and the crisply ironed seam of her trousers where they tucked into the boots. But the moment was fleeting

Lady Sally’s knee flew straight into his balls with all force she could muster. The soldier collapsed straight onto the ground grasping his groin in agony. She swept into action, pulling a line of cord from her pocket and tying his ankles together. The captain leapt forward to take up the blunderbuss, aiming it at the unfortunate infantryman. Within seconds he was fully trussed up in rope bondage.

“We could do with a gag for him so he can’t alert anyone,” said the captain.

“Victoria! Take your knickers off escort sultangazi will you.”

Tied up and gagged, the soldier was dragged into the warehouse out of view.

“We’ll take a crate of blunderbusses,” said the captain. “There’ll be one for you, Lady Sally, one for me and enough to arm most of the crew if it’s needed. Besides, we can’t carry any more.”

The captain and Victoria grabbed a crate, etched with the company name, Krapp Munitionshersteller, dragging it out of the shed towards the mooring tower. The captain heaved it up within his muscular arms and staggered forward. They still hadn’t been discovered, Archduke Hardonberg having been taken in by the ploy of the broken corset, at least for the moment.

When they got back to the airship, they dashed to the control room to make a fast getaway. Captain Wyndham fired up The Corseted Domme’s engines, set the propellers whirring, and adjusted dials on Clarissa.

From the front of the gondola they had a full view back to the grounds. They watched as the whole regiment of the Prussian Army sprang into action, dashing towards the airship to reach it before it took off. They had been found out. Not only that, but a fleet of Zeppelins had already taken to the air.

One of the rigger-men came into the control room to receive instructions.

“We’re setting off straight away,” barked Captain Wyndham.

“But we haven’t released the guy lines yet, captain.”

“There’s no time for that.”

The captain put the airship into full throttle. The giant dirigible strained against the lines. There was a succession of pings as the wires snapped, whip lashing the ground and causing mayhem by scattering the approaching infantrymen.

The Zeppelin fleet was in pursuit.

The Corseted Domme, released from its mooring lines, span around full circle to pull away from the mooring tower. She began escort fatih her ascent up through the layer of low-lying clouds into the dazzling brightness of the sky.

Lady Sally turned around to see what was happening behind them.

“They’re gaining on us, captain,” exclaimed Lady Sally.

But if the pilots of the smaller Prussian Zeppelins thought Lady Sally’s giant airship might be slow and unwieldy, Captain Wyndham was about to prove them wrong. Despite being three times the length of the other airships The Corseted Domme’s light, duralumin frame and her geodesic design meant she could exceed the speed of any airship in the sky. She had accelerated up to 80 mph and was soon touching 100 mph. The captain was going to push her to the limit.

“Oh no, we’re in trouble now, madam!” exclaimed Victoria.

She had seen, far away in the distance, another fleet of six Zeppelins blocking their path, and heading towards them. They were trapped between the two fleets.

“We’re going down,” shouted the captain.

“Oh no! Should I warn cook? She’s making trifles for dinner!” called Victoria.

“No time for that,” replied Lady Sally.

Clarrisa rammed the elevator’s joystick backwards. At a speed of over 100 mph, the airship tipped to an angle of 45 degrees, and shot back towards the clouds.

Lady Sally and Victoria went flying to the front of the cockpit in a tangle of arms, legs, petticoats and boobs. Lady Sally ended up with her face in the captain’s crotch, whilst Victoria ended up wrapped around Clarissa’s brass body.

“Really, captain, you should be more careful,” Lady Sally scolded.

“Madam, I hardly think stiletto heeled boots are the best footwear for the control room.”

“You don’t understand captain. As a lady, one does not bother with practicalities, one should endeavour to look fabulous at all times.”

The captain gave a grim laugh escort etiler whilst trying to concentrate on flying the airship with Lady Sally’s breasts wedged in the steering wheel.

The airship hurtled through the clouds at 120 mph.

“What’s your plan captain?”

“We are travelling under cover of the cloud, madam. Then I’m going to give the Prussian airships a surprise.”

“Jolly good. How exciting. Today has exceeded all expectations for my adventures.”

The captain was about to embark on a hazardous manoeuvre. He had to rely on the sheer speed and bulk of The Corseted Domme to intimidate the Zeppelins, whilst praying they would be no match for the strength of her duralumin frame if there were a collision. He daren’t tell Victoria what he was going to do in case she wet her knickers… but then he remembered they’d been used as a gag for the Prussian guard.

He spotted an opening. He could see the Zeppelins through a gash in the puffy cloud ahead. He was going to thrust the airship through the crack and penetrate the fleet of airships.

“Hold on tight!” he shouted.

Clarissa jammed the elevator control forward, the tip of the airship shot upwards, pushing the puffy clouds to one side. What a sight it must have looked to the Prussian airship pilots. They had seen the gigantic airship disappear only to push through the upper level of the clouds a few hundred feet in front of them. There she emerged, her huge, bulbous shape penetrating the sky.

They attempted to avert a collision, the fleet scattering before the awesome length and girth of Lady Sally’s dirigible. But airships not being the most manoeuvrable of vehicles, there was one unable to spin away in time.

There was an almighty crash above them as the duralumin tip of The Corseted Domme rammed into one of the Prussian airships, piercing its sheath and penetrating into its hydrogen bag. Then there was an explosion. An enormous explosion. They watched from the relative safety of the gondola to see fireballs and the debris from a smashed Zeppelin float past through the sky.

“Jolly good show, captain,” shouted Lady Sally. “That showed them!”

“Oh,” groaned Victoria, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

~~Medusa~~

“So, what do you think?” Darian said. He posed for them, a brown cloak wrapped over his body, dirty edges and blotches of stains on it.

Chimera grunted, but Medusa smiled and slithered around him.

“You look charming.”

“I’m not supposed to look charming! I’m supposed to look forgettable.” He adjusted the horrible garb, but no matter how he wore it, his great smile and young face showed through.

“You’ll have to hide your face then.” She reached for his shoulders, and pulled the cloak over his head until it was all buried in shadow. “Besides, you’ll want to hide your mark.”

He nodded, and reached up to adjust the hood while scratching the V etched on his forehead.

“This will be tricky,” he said. “A bad breeze or if I trip or something, someone will see. They’ll recognize me.”

“The whole city will recognize you?”

“Yeah, yeah they would.”

Medusa tried to whistle, but failed horribly. A hundred years of trying, a hundred years of no whistling. She missed it.

She slithered up behind her man, hooked her arms over his shoulders, rested her chin on one of them, and looked out over the valley below them. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No, but I have to save Pegasus. Besides, you don’t want to talk to Athena? To at least say something to her?”

“I… I don’t know what I would say.”

Darian reached up to hold her hands where they met on his sternum. “It’ll come to you when you meet her. And if I rub off on you at all before then, you’ll punch her too.”

She giggled into his ear, and rubbed their cheeks together while her hair snuggled into his. “You didn’t punch the merchant you stole this blanket from.”

“He seemed innocent enough, dumb enough. So you were watching, eh? Told you two to stay out of sight, or I’d have to kill him so he didn’t tell anyone you were on the mainland.”

“I stayed hidden!” She slithered around in front of him, keeping her hands on his chest throughout the motion. “I have hunted boar and other animals for a hundred years, I’ll have you know.” Silly man, always forgetting.

He sighed, and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” His hand around hers tightened, squeezed, and tugged on them to bring her closer. Just when she thought he might look a little guilty for underestimating her, he flashed his perfect hero’s smile, and kissed her.

She giggled again, wrapped her arms around him, and squeezed him all the tighter.

Below them, the valley spread out over the Argolic Gulf. The hill they stood upon let them see out over the thumb of the sea and to the harbors of Tiryns, Argos, and even as far as Eion, its docks specs on the horizon. To reach Tiryns, Darian would have to walk around Argos and make his way into Tiryns on foot. With whatever they were hunting being in Tiryns, they had to suspect someone knew he was coming. And that made her stomach want to hurl the deer she ate a day ago.

“Ok, your helmet is in your bag, and it’s the only thing in here. Make sure you get a moment to put it on if things go badly, and just throw the bag away.” She let go of him, slithered over to the bags, and picked his up. She opened it up, checked to see if his helmet was in there, checked again, and checked again, before handing it to her lover. “And some apples too! If you get hungry. And a little dried meat, if you get hungry again. And—”

“Medusa.”

“Make sure you keep your sword and shield hidden inside your cloak. You’ll have to hunch over when you walk to hide the shape of your armor — you are not taking off your armor! You can’t fit your spear, so Chimera will hold onto it, but—”

“Medusa.”

“Tiryns is still a good five or six miles from here. Pace yourself, it’ll be a while before you get there dressed like this, and you’ll need your energy for whatever they may—”

“Medusa.” He reached out for her hands, and grabbed them. She pulled away, but he didn’t let go. “Come on, look at me.”

She lowered her head and looked at the ground instead.

Darian raised a hand to touch her chin, and he lifted it to look at her. “I’m just an old man in a raggedy old cloak.” The small warrior put some gravel and cracks in his voice, and the impression made Medusa chuckle. “No theatrics, no heroics. I figure out what’s going on, and then I come back.”

“You better! You better come back. We haven’t spent a single night apart since we met! And I… I can’t… go back to…”

“Hey, hey.” He kissed her knuckles, and winked at her. “I’ll be back tomorrow night at the latest. And if I’m not, you and Chimera can march into the city and tear it down looking for me.”

“We will!” Images of Darian, dead by the sword in the streets of Tiryns sparked heat and bile in Medusa’s chest. She would do anything to get him back, anything! “Anything!” She squeezed his hands and brought them close.

He blinked, but after a moment he smiled, squeezed her fingers again, and let go. “Don’t worry. I’ve walked these streets for years. I know every inch of that city. And I got you waiting for me here. I’ll be back.”

When his fingers slipped from hers, she escort kağıthane squeezed at the air where they were. Empty. She almost reached for him, fingers aching to grab him and pin him down and keep him away from the city. Coil around him, protect him, and keep him all for herself.

She lowered her hands. “Please be careful.”

“I will.”

With a long, heavy sigh, Darian took a deep breath, smiled at her, and walked down the hill toward the road.

Medusa opened her mouth, but blocked her lips with her fingers. She wanted to say something, something stupid, something silly and childish and… and she couldn’t even think it. So she watched the cloaked warrior walk down the hill.

He looked over his shoulder to her from a distance, and waved. She raised her hand high and waved back with far too much enthusiasm. But Darian blew her a kiss, and she almost squealed.

A minute later, he was a fading spec on the long road.

“You two reek of love.” Chimera snorted, cracked his neck, and stepped down the other side of the hill they were on. While the North East lead to Argos and Tiryns, the South West was a thick forest patch nested along a curved cliff face. There was no cave to hide in, but the trees would hide them well enough.

Medusa slithered after him. “Love?” She brought her hands up to her cheeks and held her blushing face. “We’ve only known each other for several weeks!”

Chimera looked over his shoulder at her. “How?”

“How?” Medusa blinked at him. The giant was asking her how they met? Was he into gossip too? She thought of Pinna, and smiled. “He was on a boat and being shipped to Athens to be sold as a slave. A giant sea creature attacked it, and he was marooned on my island. He saved me from some warriors trying to kill me, and… and we just…” Fell in love?

“That is a very large stroke of luck.”

With a loud groan, the hulking beast lowered himself to the ground, and sat cross-legged. He grabbed a branch from the ground, and chewed on it like a blade of grass. With the lion pelt dangling behind his neck, he looked like any human, except naked but for a loincloth, and fangs. Of course, once she got close to him, the difference in their sizes was obvious. She may have had a thirty-foot snake body, but her human half was human, and Chimera’s titanic frame dwarfed her considerably.

When she coiled next to him in the grass, she had to look up to talk to him.

“Stroke of luck? You… think he lied?”

“No. Bellerophontes is trustworthy. It is the Fates I fear have their hand in such luck.”

“The Fates? They said they hadn’t been following Darian for some time.”

“Do you believe them?”

“I…” She stared down at the grass and dirt. If they had been following Darian and manipulating his life, then maybe their meeting was their doing? “Maybe… maybe we met because they wanted us to?”

The beast nodded.

She frowned. “But, but… but I…” Gods damn them. She grabbed her head and shook it. “What if we love each other, but it’s only because the Fates make us?”

“I do not think the Fates have that power.” Chimera shrugged, leaned back, and hooked his fingers behind his head. “And if they do, would it matter? You are happy, are you not?”

“I… I am!” She giggled and slithered a little closer to Chimera. He wasn’t so bad, sometimes. “I am. He’s so… dangerous, and deadly, but when he’s alone with me, he’s kind, and sweet, and loving, and—”

“He feels the same way.” Chimera dismissed the weight of his statement with a wave of his hand before putting it behind his head again. “And from what I heard the night before, you both enjoy each other’s touch greatly.”

“You! You… you big oaf!” She put her hands against him and pushed him. Without her snake length anchored proper, all her pushing did was make her fall over and away from the giant. “That’s private!”

The Chimera managed the smallest smirk, but made no other movements. A wall of stone.

“So… do you think… Darian will be ok?” She laid herself along her inner coil and started to trace lines in the dirt and forest floor.

“Bellerophontes — Darian, is a great warrior, and blessed by the Fates with strong life. He will survive.”

“Yeah, but, it’s not just him surviving I’m worried about,” she said. The Chimera opened his eye closest to her and quirked his brow. She looked up to him, and nodded. “He… he just gets so angry. He thinks people are horrible, and… and sometimes I agree with him. That doesn’t mean they should all die though! And I’m worried if he has to deal with the king, and he probably will to find this mysterious thing, that he’ll… drown the city in blood.”

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~~Darian~~

He already missed her.

The thought made him laugh. How long had it been since he’d even seen Philonoe? Over a year. He didn’t miss her a bit. But Medusa? Only a mile between them and he was tempted to run back just so he could hear her laugh again.

He hugged the cloak tight around him. It smelled old, of dirt and animal shit. Perfect. escort beyoğlu Snug over his head and dragging on the ground, every bit of his armor, sword and shield, all of it was hidden. He wore his pack over his cloak; he’d have to throw off the entire ensemble if he got into a fight.

No fighting. No killing. Repeat it Darian. You’re not going to kill Proetus or his conniving bitch of a wife. That’s not what this is about.

“But then, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m looking for. The only recourse I have is to either ask Proetus by force about some mysterious ‘thing’ or ‘person’ he may or may not be holding, or stumble upon it by accident.” Not the best plan, but the only plan. He couldn’t bring Chimera with him into the city to sniff out whatever it was, not unless he wanted every guard on their ass.

He considered the possibility for a moment. It’d be a great battle, him and Chimera against waves of guards, many of whom were old friends. Would they sympathize with him? Or did they know what Proetus had done?

Bile rose in his throat, and he gritted his teeth. No fighting. No killing.

Another mile down the road and he started to walk past other people. They treated him about as well as expected, with a few feet of space from the smell, and avoiding looking directly at him. He looked like a homeless beggar after all, and in Greece, that made him good as dead. Perfect.

He went around Argos along one of the roads. That was simple enough; no one cared about a wandering beggar. It was when he started to approach the familiar roads of Tiryns that his heart started to beat faster in his chest. Wagons. Donkeys. Gates. Columns of white and homes of stone. The chatter of fishermen, farmers, butchers, bakers, dressmakers and guards started to get louder. He’d walked these streets in the colors of Tiryns armor before. Walked them, watched over them, guarded them, and fathered them.

He spit on the ground.

As the streets converged, winding paths and twisting ways between temples and buildings grew closer and closer. The smell of cooking food, manure, and people filled the air. All along the road between the old homes, young and old littered its pools of shade and went about their business. He looked to his left, where Argonar would be cooking fish. He was, and Darian smirked under his hood. Argonar still owed him some coin, but it wasn’t enough for the fat fellow to owe him a huge favor like assisting him now. Pamana, an elderly woman with crooked fingers and a long nose, was weaving clothes in dull whites. She owed him too, but not enough to risk her life.

He stepped further into the city. The well-tread ground lead under an archway, tall and thick between two flat buildings, before it opened up into the agora. In the middle of the day, the open space was filled with people. Dozens, hundreds of people. Men carried around racks of fish and buckets of food. Women carried bags of clothes, or children. Chitons of different colors — mostly white — were all he could see in any direction. Over their heads, the gold-colored roofs of nearby temples and archways circled them. They casted shade for the wandering people, many held chatting groups, some others held stalls where people sold the finer wares. Jewelry, of course, was visited only by the fanciest men and women, the ones with slaves following them around, wearing only loincloths.

Darian breathed the air deep. He recognized so many of the faces. When they approached, he was quick to hide his eyes under the hood of his cloak, but he took peaks at them as they walked by. Nalla, a woman he’d saved from thieves. Pallus, a man he’d taught to fire a bow so he could go hunting. Kargos, a young kid — well, young man now — he’d caught spying on a couple enjoying their private time.

And they’d all turned against him the moment Zeus shot him out of the sky.

Darian growled, a weird animal sound, and he brought a hand up to his mouth when he faked a cough. He shook his head a few times until the white blur in his vision was gone, and carried on.

Statues of the gods lined a wide stairway that lead onto a huge platform of stone floor and a great arch. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Hestia and Demeter. The six children of Cronus and Rhea. Looking at them made Darian’s teeth grind, and he had to look away. Look at the ground, better to look at the ground.

Upon the platform, it was the rich who bathed in the daylight and the attentions of their servants. Some of them were even fat with the fruit of their money. Darian hadn’t liked them when he lived here, let alone now, but at least it wasn’t new hate. He walked past them like he belonged, which he didn’t of course. What was a beggar doing up with the rich? Nearby guards frowned at him as he came closer to them. He smiled under his cloak, and kept walking.

Another stairway between two of the greater temples. Columns of marble as thick as the greatest trees, dozens of them, holding up enough stone to hold hundreds of worshipers, workers, and the riches of their betters. Within the shadows of their roofs, men in fancy himations and chitons bargained escort esenler over coins and baubles. Others argued over politics. Some even argued over food supplies, a step up from the typical garbage the rich argued over. Darian grinned, and stepped into the building through one of the open pathways between the humongous pillars.

And disappeared into the shadows.

One of the pathways behind the temples, untouched by guard or servant, and unknown by the rest, was easy enough to step into. No one cared about some beggar wandering the streets as long as he didn’t make a ruckus. The pathway lead nowhere, stopping at a wall of stone that blocked off a harsh fall into the agora he’d just left. But, with some sure footing, he braced against against the two walls beside him, and inched his way up like a spider.

He was light, even in his armor; climbing up the buildings with arms and legs out at his side was easy. And of course the Fates had blessed him with inhuman strength, so once he was up to the top of one of the temples, he only had to grip its edge with one hand to pull himself over and onto it. For a moment, he considered thanking them for his demi-god strength and healing, but then, none of this insanity would have happened if they had never found him in the first place. It was a bad deal.

Grumbling, he crouched low and crawled along the roofs. He was forty feet up, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t see him if they got lucky, so he kept to a squatting crawl, and worked toward the acropolis.

Typical of kings, the palace was built upon the raised land, and a winding road with the occasional stairway and archway lead from the palace gate down to the city. While anyone could walk up the road, it stopped at the gates of the palace, and a beggar with no pass or business would not be allowed into its walls. But, the larger temples, the ones he was crossing over the rooftops of, drew near the cliff face of the small mountain the palace sat upon. It took time, and having to do it at a crawl made time slow to a crawl with him, but he grew closer to the mountain, and closer. One building, and another, and another. He peaked down to watch some of the traffic of people walk by, jars of water on the servant’s heads, and different colors of tunics among the rich walking between the greater temples.

For a moment, he thought he was on the walls of the palace again, and he was watching the people come and go. His citizens to protect, to guard. A lifetime ago.

An hour later, he was in the shadow of the cliff. He pressed his body against it, dug his fingers into the hard rock and random sprouts of bush, and started climbing. He knew the path, a path only he had ever found or used. He was a good guard captain, and an adventure-seeking fool. Climbing the cliffs around the palace in search of secret paths? Perfect way to spend a day off.

The climb moved him between a crevice in the mountain. Beneath him was a hard drop, and below the cliff was nothing but flat, smooth rock; the only way to get into the crevice was from the rooftops. He jammed his sandals into some grooves, cracked his knuckles, and started climbing upward.

He still didn’t know exactly what he was going to do. Talk to Proetus? He couldn’t talk to Stheneboea, she’d try to trick him and get him killed. Proetus though, maybe he could talk to him. Maybe.

It was a big maybe.

After a while, a long while, he found the ledge of the clifftop. He vaulted up, only to be greeted by the walls that surrounded the palace. There were no back doors or secret passageways through a palace wall, but there were unguarded areas, and he knew them all. With a snicker, he jumped up, and found a groove cut into the stone wall. A groove he’d made long ago, when he was guard captain.

How often people underestimated him. It wasn’t until he’d defeated the Chimera that people started taking the little warrior seriously. Their loss.

He had to go fast. Guards walked the walls, and it wouldn’t be long before someone did spot him by accident. But in less than a minute, he scaled the tall wall and poked his head up just enough to see the guards. They weren’t looking in his direction, they weren’t even patrolling. Two of them stood near with eyes cast out to gaze over the road down to the city, spears holding their weight, and they were chatting. Security had grown lax since he’d moved on.

He rolled over the wall, onto the stone balcony, and off. No time to consider. He knew where he was landing, and quiet as a feather, he fell to his sandals and rolled back. A second later, he was hidden in the shadow of a raised stairway that lead into the grand center of the palace. Above and beside him were its colossal pillars of marble, and they stood upon walls of thick stone, all more than enough to hide him from sight between them and the outer wall.

Breathing deep, he slid off his pack, took a bite of its dried meat, and set it aside in the corner. Next, he took his helmet from the bag, and set it aside, before taking off his cloak and jamming it into the bag. He reached for his helmet again, but before he put it on, he looked at it. A beautiful helmet, meant to stand out, meant to be a mark of a legend, a hero in the tides of battle and blood. The glorious white crest would stand out so well against the red of his conquests.

All characters presented below are 18 or over.

Forewarning, this opening chapter features some reluctance on the heroine’s part concerning her sexual encounter.

This is the opening chapter of a story I have wanted to tell for some time, of a character who has been living in my head and trying to escape to paper much like you see Priscilla May trying to escape her confined upbringing below. It plays to my own experiences as well as those around me. Below you will see the beginning of Priscilla’s misadventure as she breaks from the confines of her small hometown of Waterbury, Nebraska, and begins to doubt whether this life is one she wishes to continue to live knowing there is much more out there.

I intend for this to be a running series, you will see her explore the image of the 22nd century I have in my head, and all the while experience a variety of *encounters* that she may or may not be prepared for. This opening chapter from my perspective is light in sexual content, but it will certainly get more and more steamy if you chose to follow along!

Hope to have you on the adventure with us!

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May Rising: Chapter 1, Waterbury Precepts

“The neon lights, the circuits of oppression, these are the false gods that have led our society astray and broken us apart from the brothers and sisters we have in Christ.” Above them on the stage, a homely man, mouth still hanging open at the trail of his statement. His eyes shifted around the congregation, clean-shaven face glistening in the stage light with a pearly white smile ever so trusting.

“The great domed cities of Mars ever absent the cross, their minds filled with so-called science. But don’t let it fool you! This is Satan at work!”

A few “amens” or “here here’s” resonated amongst the parishioners as the pastor decried the misdeeds of greater human society and civilization. Admonishing the Martian civilization, in particular, played to the congregation’s tribalism and bias, always a popular scapegoat for the exploits and plots of satan.

“As we raise our children in the light of Christ, we must not let them stray into the temptations of this world or any of the worlds of this cosmos both human and alien… Sins of self, sins of false idols. They are our future, the future of the body of his word. Too many have fallen into the techno-cult, the visage of Satan on every holo-board, every flashing light, every grav car. They have made these more precious than the flesh of Jesus… we must ensure to instill our lords, our father’s importance in our children’s hearts.”

The pastor’s eyes scanned the crowd in the poorly lit sanctuary, incandescent lights flickering above. It was clear he was looking for someone, in particular, searching as he slicked back his black gelled hair and adjusted his black-rimmed glasses. It wasn’t until his eyes found Priscilla did he stop, corners of his mouth smiling wider. In turn, the blonde girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was thin, dressed in her “Sunday best” which was no more than a modest red floral-patterned dress that dared to end just above her knees. She at first met his gaze, as she had many times before, but as he lingered on her she knew it could only mean one thing…

“Take, young Priscilla May Anderson brethren.” The pastor’s words heralded the glances of the congregation toward her. Priscilla froze, the stage of broader attention the last place she wished to reside. Clenching the hems of her dress she tried not to make eye contact with anyone, her gaze locked with the pastor’s, pleading eyes begging for the attention to go elsewhere. He however merely smiled at her, nothing abnormal or uncomfortable, simply the pastor she always knew doting on her in the middle of Sunday service.

“On Tuesday she blossomed in the shining pastures of our lord into a woman, turning eighteen.” Mumbles and gestures of congratulations emanated from the crowd as many smiled at her. Priscilla remained frozen, not desiring any such elevation into the realm of perception by others. Yet the pastor’s gaze carried on, his precepts accompanying it about how Priscilla was a shining example to their flock of a young woman who glorified the lord, who would carry forward a new generation of Waterbury Lord’s Baptist youth.

The thought of that alone made her stir, a conscious shiver running down her back as a cold sweat fell from her brow. As she looked around the antiquated, faux wood, musty carpeted, two-hundred-year-old church, an ever-growing feeling turned her stomach. It had begun a few years ago, her thoughts ever-developing and perceiving the world around her as she “blossomed” into an adult.

Priscilla chanced a look around the sanctuary as the pastor continued, taking in the locations of her early years growing up as a child of God in Waterbury, Nebraska, the backwoods of the Great Plains Federation. She recalled the smell of the old carpet on the steps of the stage where she and her friends would sit after church şişli escort on Sundays or the creaky wooden doors at the back she would hold open for the elders. This vintage 20th-century church was a dime a dozen across the land, but this place was a landmark of her life.

Yet despite all those memories, she did not find peace. It didn’t take a single incident or some sort of exposure to the real world to make her doubt the pre-conceptions taught to her, it simply came naturally and gradually. It was a slow coldness folding over her, a fog of doubt descending on the dawn of her adult life. Now as she sat next to her mother on an old pew listening to the pastor preach about the evil ways of the world for the hundredth time, she grew restless. A strange unease filled her listening to the lesson of her youth yet with a developing adult perception of her own.

The emanating aura of perfection and expectations from her mother certainly only stood to highlight her growing doubts. Trisha Anderson, venerated lady of Waterbury Baptist sat perfectly upright, without blemish… at least on the surface. At home, she sheds the layers of personality and interpersonal theater that she produces for the general public. There she holds Priscilla to the perfect image of her motherhood, ever the martyr of what she has done as a single parent. Yet this all-consuming parental view has served to hold Priscilla to standards constantly moving with the changing of Trisha’s mood and limiting the exposure Priscilla had to the outside world, beyond the boundaries of Waterbury.

Priscilla’s eyes caught a flicker of light in the corner of her eye, Lydia Myers a girl her age stealing a glance at her digital wristband, no doubt catching an update on the latest news of some far-off fashion show or reports from the farthest reaches of exploration in the stars. It inevitably carried far more interest as the sermon droned on. She had always envied her peers who were allowed to have the latest technology. Wrist bands, ocular devices, digital scrolls, and even a simple pad that would allow her to see and learn about the world and the stars.

But none of Satan’s implements disguised as technology could be tolerated, Priscilla would never be able to understand this information given to her. It would only be a means for Satan to creep into her precious little heart. At least that was the view of a certain overbearing mother.

As the streams of light that circled Lydia’s wrist disappeared, Priscilla’s eyes wandered back to the pastor before she could be chastised by her mother for not paying attention. Interrupting her from this, however, the sudden realization that a few other lingering gazes held her as the subject. A handful of men gazing at her through the corner of their eyes, or even less subtly a full-on stare. Even Mr. Breadenbury, a church deacon, leered at her. His eyes made her skin crawl, Priscilla stirring in her seat, slumping a bit in the pew.

Without hesitation, her mother jabbed her with her elbow. Priscilla winced as she caught it in her pert breast, shifting in her seat with a sharp gaze at her mother. They exchanged this agitation together, both wrestling non-verbally amid the service.

“Sit up,” Trisha whispered sharply, her tongue lashing against her overly red-colored lips.

Priscilla obliged, knowing her mother would make a larger point of it later if she did not comply. Their relationship was largely one-sided, her mother’s judgment a constant and oft reminded aspect of her life as she was told what to do, wear, say, and go despite her now being a fully grown woman. Though, It was not as if there were many places to go in Waterbury.

“Let us rise, and sing a hymn to our lord.” The pastor finalized his sermon and lifted his hands to beckon the congregation to join him. Priscilla took a deep breath as she rose, holding her dress down in the back to ensure it did not rise further than she already chanced with her knees. Turning to her seat, she grabbed the hymnal that had rested next to her, but as soon as she raised her eyes she met with another gaze.

In a row behind her, the eyes of an older man, Mr. Lutwick the owner of the electronics shop looked her over, a sly smile running across his face before he passed a wink to her. With a disturbed look of indignation, she spun around quickly to avoid his gaze, yet she could still feel it on her rear side. Her hymnal bumped into her mother’s arm, a sharp glance yet again passing between them.

“What is the matter with you?” She snapped as the congregation broke into how great is our god. Priscilla gripped the top of the pew in front of her tightly, both in anger and anxiousness as she felt Mr. Lutwick undressing her with his eyes. Priscilla only recently caught on to the lusts of men, and since that harsh discovery, it made her rather uncomfortable in certain situations and further made her feel secluded in this already secluded small town.

As the hymn concluded the pastor said bağcılar escort a few parting words, prayer services, community events, and even a potluck later that week among the announcements. Priscilla hung on the edge of nervousness as he finished, waiting for him to conclude and dismiss them so she could shake this feeling behind her, this penetrating gaze.

“May the Lord be with you all!” His final words were much like they had been for the past eighteen years of her life. Priscilla wasted no time grabbing her purse and looking for the quickest egress from the pew. There were however many lingerers that morning, talking with each other and trading half-hearted blessings. It made her want to scream, desperately trying to not turn and look at Mr. Lutwick whom she felt the heat emanating from behind her.

“Oh, darling! Happy birthday!” An older woman in front of her, Mrs. Hare, turned and cupped Priscilla’s hands in her own. “You are a beautiful girl!” Her denture-filled smile turned to Priscilla’s mother, who without fail turned on her narcissistic charm. They exchanged words about Priscilla as if she were not there, her mother telling the tall tale of how proud she is of her little girl, words that she only ever uttered with the undertone of glorifying herself as a mother. Priscilla meant to break away from Mrs. Hare’s grasp in a polite fashion, but soon her old wrinkly hands brushed her face as she looked deeply at her.

“You are just gorgeous darling.” The woman carried on, looking over Priscilla’s defining features. She had a well-defined yet feminine jaw, framing a face that was soft and welcoming. But noticeably adorning her face were two large eyes, with both an underlying innocence and sharpness to their green gaze. The old lady brushed her blonde locks, watching how they bounced back into their fashioned wavy angled bob that reached her shoulders.

Priscilla shook her hand politely, despite her darker eyebrows furrowed with exasperation. In the corner of her eye, she could see the other side of the pew thinning, a perfect means of escape for the petite girl. Yet she could not shake the old lady’s grasp, and with her mother’s eyes on her, one wrong move and she was toast for the rest of the day.

The older lady leaned in, eyes looking deeply into Priscilla’s.

“You will make a man VERY happy one day.” At this moment whether Mrs. Hare’s smile was genuine or not, she could only see a sickening grin spill over her face, the sentiment too close to the unsettling feeling that had grown in her.

Priscilla forced her hands away suddenly, the old woman looking shocked as the girl backed slightly away. Yet from behind an even more disconcerting feeling arose, a large sweaty hand finding the exposed portion of her shoulder and grasping it tightly.

“Happy birthday Ms. Anderson.” Mr. Lutwick said with a low and gravelly voice. His grip on Priscilla’s dainty shoulders was less than peaceful as it lingered longer than a casual greeting should. Priscilla fumbled with her words as she looked back at him, feeling his clammy skin on hers as she made her way towards the open end of the pew.

With a curt “uh, thanks.” She spun around and hastily made for the exit, leaving Mr. Lutwick and Mrs. Hare perplexed and looking to her mother.

Priscilla didn’t look back, simply pushing her way through the post-sermon lingerers and the double wooden doors of the stuffy church. Outside in the cold Nebraska spring air cooled her of these burning thoughts, a deep breath passed through her lungs as she kept her eyes closed for a long moment, grasping at her shoulders for comfort. A few others around her exchanged looks regarding this odd behavior but left it alone, leaving Priscilla standing on the front porch to her thoughts.

Above her, the looming figure of a rusty freighter ascending out of Omaha caught her attention, eyes following its hull as it became smaller ever so gradually. Behind it, beautiful blue engines played across the fluffy whiteness of the clouds before it disappeared into such a bank. It was going places, maybe to the Luna colonies, out past the Sol System, or even beyond human space. They were places she could only dream of, and hardly hoped she would be able to visit. Most of all that small ship in the sky had a purpose, Priscilla felt she had little of that.

Before her the vast fields of Nebraska spread to the horizon, large robotic cultivators tilling the soil constantly leading up to the planting of the next crop. A few houses were spread out among them, most lived here to support the robots or manage the crops. But they were a far cry from the farmers of centuries past, merely guiding and supporting automation to do the job of feeding the 22nd century

After a few more long and calming breaths, a set of familiar and dreaded footsteps came from behind her.

“YOU, what has gotten into you.” Priscilla’s bare arm felt the digging nails of her mother as she grabbed her and turned her. escort zeytinburnu Her mother’s expression was like always when she was “embarrassed” by Priscilla’s behavior, eyes crazed and wide, wrinkles accentuated with the twisting of her face.

“Do you live to embarrass me?! Do you want nothing but to make it look like your mother raised a brat?!” Her voice was lowered to not cause attention, yet featured all the elevation of frustrations needed to cause Priscilla to recede into herself.

On and on her mother went about how it affected her, how it made her look bad in front of the church when Priscilla stepped out of her imaginary lines of behavior or within her mother’s broad definition of rude. Priscilla had heard all of this before, she could write her mother a script, and thus she zoned out of reality, checking her consciousness at the door as her mother tightened her grip around her arm and lashed out at her.

“Is this all about you?” Priscilla, surprising herself, lashed out in retort. She yanked her arm from her mother’s grasp, stepping back in defiance and holding no such low tone to avoid attention.

Immediately, uncaring that her daughter had obvious contrary feelings, her mother’s attention turned to those around her, and what they would think of this spat. Her eyes darted around to the members of the congregation departing, yet watching this unfold, a nervous smile crossed her face as she waved to those whom she was familiar with. It was as if she meant to dismiss anything that was happening, a big “nothing here to see” as she put up her front.

“All you care about… ” Priscilla waved her hand around none too subtly. “Is what people think about Trisha…” she stepped back, realizing how much of her life was just about her mother’s image. How proper she was made to be, always going to church, following the rules, behaving a certain way, “honoring God”. It was always about how she reflected on Trisha.

Trisha was red in the face, whether it was embarrassment or pure rage was unclear.

“I’ve done nothing… nothing but spend my life raising you… An ungrateful-“

“Mrs. Anderson.” From behind her mother, the pastor suddenly appeared hands behind his back with a calming smile. It was obvious he could see something was going on, and the shock it put on her mother’s face was extremely satisfying.

“Reverend!” Her mother stood up straight, fixing her expression lightning-quick into her normal mask of pleasantries, and turned to deflect any concern of their present mother-daughter relationship.

“We were just talking about-“

“I was wondering if I could see Priscilla.” The reverend didn’t seem to want to get in the middle of any of this, or refreshingly enough hear any of her excuses. He looked at Priscilla, with a warm expression that she had known for many years.

“Do you mind if we talk in my office?” His eyes fixated on Priscilla’s own. Rarely had she ever been asked to speak to the pastor alone, only years ago when she was accused of jumping off of the staircase to the Sunday School room (even though it was Jenna James that did it).

Her heart thumped in respect to that, wondering if she would be in trouble for her outburst… even as an adult she still felt such anxiety, though it felt ridiculous to her growing independent sensibilities.

“Um, yeah..” Priscilla became soft again, the repressed tenacity was hidden under layers of fronts no doubt unconsciously inspired by her mother’s repression of any true emotion.

Glares were exchanged between mother and daughter as she passed back into the church, it wouldn’t be the last they spoke of this, of course, next time it would be in Trisha’s setting of choice… behind closed doors.

“I’ll see you at home honey! I’ll make sure to save some lunch for you.” The replicated smile Priscilla had seen time and time again, without feeling other than self-preservation. In Trisha-code, this meant she was taking the car home without Priscilla, and she would have to walk. But at this point, it sounded more like a blessing than any prayer said that Sunday morning.

Priscilla followed behind the reverend through the foyer and into a small side hall that had a few offices and prayer rooms flanking it. The wood panels of the walls had seen better days, some split or peeling up, not seeing much love for the better part of the 21st century and into the 22nd. Yet it was almost normal to her, Waterbury not being a bright and shining place changing little in the past couple hundred years and remaining one of the poorer areas of the Federation. Inside the reverend’s office, she was offered a seat, a cracked leather back office chair that sat on the outside of the pastor’s desk.

Scooping her skirt underneath her legs she sat down with a small smile, little apprehension for the reverend beyond the thought of her being in trouble in some way. The door squeaked as it was shut, a hollow sound as it met with the doorframe and rattled the beams of the building around them.

“Thanks for coming Priscilla.” The pastor, dressed in a grey suit paced away from the door and to a bookshelf near to where Priscilla sat. She merely nodded in acknowledgment, brushing her hair behind her neck as she watched him pick up a black-bound book from the shelf.

The fleece sprites had me off-balance. The scarecrows were… almost frightening in their enthusiasm. But nothing quite topped that catgirl’s eagerness. At least, not until I met Brigitte.

Anya, I’m trying not to get too into detail for your sake, but you’re the most qualified person I know to analyze what happened today. That alraune poisoned me, mind and body. And I can’t shake the feeling that this was a test.

A test I failed.

At least, I hope this is considered failure. If this was the result they were hoping for…

“Does my darling master want to stroke?” Brigitte cooed.

“Yes,” Senya whimpered. “Yes!”

“Then stroke.” Her gleaming green eyes devoured his form with a searing passion. Senya felt his hand start to slide up and down his shaft, and pleasure streaked through his whole body. It felt so good to touch himself. So good to do as Brigitte told him. “Stroke your long, thick cock, Master, and feel your will fill it. Isn’t it powerful? Isn’t it awe-inspiring?”

“Uh…” Senya could barely think about what she was saying. All he could do was stroke. All he could do was stroke.

She laughed. “It’s okay. You need not trouble yourself with thinking anymore. Stroke faster, and stroke those useless thoughts into it.”

It was as though a great weight had been lifted from Senya’s shoulders. He smiled weakly at her and started to stroke faster. “Yes,” she hissed, “my Master feels all those nasty thoughts just… leaking out, does he not?”

He started to pant with effort. She watched greedily as a droplet of precum emerged. “Dribbling out. All those useless thoughts, all those silly doubts. You will cum them out, Master.”

“Cum?” Senya’s mind could barely comprehend the rest, but this part made sense to him. It filled him with a burning need.

“Mm. Stroke faster, and with each stroke, dedicate yourself moreso to me.” She leaned close. Senya realized he was starting to lift into the air. “Stroke faster, and feel the lust pounding. Stroking your will like a docile pet. Stroking your will like a needy cock. It wants to escape, Master. You must release it.”

“Release…”

“Stroke faster, and with every throb of your mighty manhood, feel it take over a little more,” she purred. “For you do not want to think, do you? You want to allow it to do your thinking.”

“Unh… but…” Senya struggled. He knew this was wrong. He was in the air now. That was strange. And… let his cock think for him? His mouth opened. “I… as Master, I c-command you—”

A tentacle slid into his mouth. No, a slick vine. His mouth closed instinctively, and a delicious, creamy sweetness filled his mouth.

He found himself suckling passively as Brigitte smiled at him, like she’d just shut up a child with a lollipop. “Now, now. You want your cock to think for you, my sweet little Master, because you want your cock to master me. Do you not?”

His eyes widened. He was now suspended above the plant, and he could see Brigite’s form inside the flower. Her hips were wide, her legs shapely, curved to hint at glorious pleasure between them. The juices of the flower blurred most of it, but if he could just get a little closer…

“Mm-hm!” he managed.

“Then stroke faster, my Master, and let your cock master. Your cock is so powerful, so perfect.” Brigitte was stroking herself, Senya realized, but she clearly had a lot more control than he did. He didn’t know how he hadn’t come yet. He was stroking like a madman, frantically seeking release, but none would… would come. “Stroke faster, my Master. Your cock deserves so much pleasure.”

“Mm…” Senya felt his mind sinking deep, deep down, settling at a primitive state.

Brigitte stared at his cock with what could only be called devotion. “Yes,” she husked, “your perfect, wonderful cock deserves so much control. Let it master me. Let it master you.”

Senya just kept sucking. He could no longer remember what he’d been objecting to. His whole mouth was tingling. His head was spinning. His cock was throbbing.

The tentacle left his mouth after a moment, and Brigitte looked up at him expectantly. “Yes,” he whined.

“Does your cock master you now, my powerful, dominant Master?” Brigitte cooed sweetly up at him.

“Yes,” he whispered. “P-please, I need to… need to come…”

Her smile widened. “Then it is ready to master me.”

Immediately, his whimpers turned into moans as he saw her legs spread. The flower’s petals seemed to stretch outward slightly to make room. Room for him. Room for her Master.

The vines gently lowered him down towards the liquid. His toes dipped into the warm, thick nectar. He missed the tentacle, but as Brigitte pursed her lips for him, he knew that her kisses would be far more sweet.

He barely felt her kisses, though. He felt the juices of the alraune’s plant first. His whole lower body started to tingle. It was like all his sensation was being concentrated in one erotic area.

“What does your mecidiyeköy escort cock want, my Master?” Brigitte whispered, her lips playing on his cheeks, her tongue flicking out and teasing him.

He didn’t hesitate. “Pleasure!” he cried. “It wants p-pleasure!”

“Then you had best obey your master,” Brigitte said. “And I will live to serve you. My strong, powerful, commanding Master.” Her tone was unmistakeably mocking, but Senya no longer cared. He just smiled, his eyes widening with bliss, as his cock descended into her nectar.

The lust that was filling him was indescribable. Her kisses flowed over his skin like molasses, stimulating every part of him with intoxicating sweetness. Her legs slowly wrapped around him. The flower began to contract.

He was so glad he was her Master. Otherwise he probably wouldn’t be able to do things like this without being in real trouble.

“You are such a good pet,” Brigitte cooed in his ear, as her pussy settled directly over his cock—but did not take him inside yet. He gasped. “Ooh! You are going to make your Mistress very, very happy.”

And that made him happy. He smiled widely. Why wouldn’t he want to make her happy? His… wait, Mistress?

Then the flower petals began to tighten, pressing their bodies closer together, and Senya screamed as his cock was thrust into her tight, slick folds. The alraune screamed, too. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she seized Senya in a soulcrushing kiss. The flower walls contracted around their writhing bodies, even as they sank down, deeper and deeper into the nectar. It blew Senya’s mind how much he could feel. He couldn’t bear it. It suffused him.

And she was so tight. So wet. The petals forced them to clash and retract, even more than the efforts of Brigitte, who was largely guiding his movements now. Senya had no control anymore. He just kissed his beloved alraune, and thrust into her, and drank of her wetness. She tasted just as delicious as the vine, just as sugary as the fruit. Flower nectar sloshed into his mouth—was she deliberately splashing it in there?—and filled him with sweetness. Her sweetness.

Reason had almost completely oozed out of him now. His brain was sloshing in the nectar like a puppy in a puddle, and his heart was already drinking greedily. He loved Brigitte, he realized, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her harder, biting her bottom lip. She moaned into the kiss, signaling her approval.

He pounded into her, relishing her screams. He was screaming, too, but everything in his world was turning fuzzy and blurred save her. The lewd splashings and smackings made by their two bodies mashing together within the plant, his moans and gasps, the sloppy sounds of her lips on his—even the sounds of the masturbating scarecrows behind them… none of it penetrated.

Nothing save her. He was lost in her emerald gaze, even though her eyes were now closed as an orgasm was loudly wrenched from her. Her screams of bliss were his world, her skin his only understanding of the world. He stared into her eyes and felt trapped beneath her lids, so that he was sure that if she were to open them, he would see himself, lost in green.

Silly boy, the eyes said. You humans all say you want freedom, but when it comes down to it, you will always beg. Always serve your cocks. Human weakness cannot be fought.

“An’ why,” she purred, breaking from the kiss for a moment, “would you want to fight this, my sweet pet?”

“I don’t!” he burst out, and he kissed her again. She gasped in surprise, but then growled and rekindled her efforts. Her tight, wet sheath slid along his shaft, lubricated, slick, hard, throbbing. Pleasure was filling his whole body, filling it, filling his mind. Drowning his mind in nectar.

When he at least came, it was not just one climax. His mind seemed to bend around time, losing all perspective, and the only way he could tell time was still passing was the ebb and flow between orgasms. He never seemed to run out of cum. He drowned in lust, in this beautiful creature’s embrace, and did not even notice as the flower’s petals slowly closed around them, leaving them in deep green darkness.

Her eyes were glowing, now. He smiled and allowed her to milk another orgasm from his body. It felt so good to please his Mistress so.

~~~~

“Master.”

The alraune gyrated her hips along his shaft, and Senya moaned.

“Master.”

Her lips ran along his neck. Senya returned the affections to her neck, loving her happy little sighs. Their lips met, and as their bodies slowly pulled apart and slid towards one another, Senya allowed her tongue to probe into his mouth. Everything tasted like her now, anyways.

“Senya!”

Senya blinked. His name echoed in his almost-totally-drowned mind. Slowly, awareness started to seep back, and his eyelids crept upwards. It wasn’t easy at first—they, like all parts of his body, were sticky with nectar—but at last, bayrampaşa escort he got them open.

He came instantly upon seeing Brigitte’s gorgeous green eyes, eyelashes fluttering, her lips pouting seductively. The pleasure jolted through him, emptying his mind again. He moaned, and she smiled. “Good boy,” she cooed. “Such a good boy for Mistress.”

“Brigitte.”

Brigitte’s pout turned a bit mopey. “Oh, scandal. It seems we are to be interrupted.” She broke eye contact with Senya—whose mind was still recovering from the orgasm, and preparing for the next as her hips continued to slide along his member. “Hello, Hob.”

“Brigitte, don’t make me ask twice.”

Senya frowned. That voice sounded familiar. He squirmed slightly.

“Aw.” Brigitte gave a long sigh and turned back to Senya. She bounced her hips back and forth a few times, speeding up the rhythm of Senya’s thrusts, and he moaned. His thoughts and struggles quieted. “Surely, Hob, you can see that this is no Master. He longs to serve, just as they all do, but the bloodline has grown watery indeed.” She gave a little giggle on the word ‘watery’, and nasty, wet sounds from down below filled Senya’s ears. The bliss was so pure, he almost missed her next words. “Even the last Master feared me, you know. He never let me please him in my flower. But this one…” She caressed Senya’s cheek tenderly. “Let me keep this pet.”

“Do I have to force you, Brigitte?”

“Hee. I should like to see you try.” Brigitte smirked. “He may not yet be mine, but he is yours. I know how you work, Bobbi—you cannot free him if he does not order it.”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sexual sounds below. Senya felt another orgasm rising. The pleasure was so constant, he could only smile stupidly at his lover, who laughed—almost fondly. “It will be no contest, I think. Look at him.” Senya moaned as she planted a kiss on his lips. “He was made to be mine.”

“Senya,” whispered a voice in his ear, “it’s time to go.”

Senya’s eye twitched. He tried to look away, but the alraune’s eyes were holding him again. His whole mind was still sticky and slow-moving, like boots filled with syrup. “Uh… soon…”

“Do you want to stay here for the rest of the season, Master?” The voice was harsh, now. Clearly annoyed.

But Senya’s worries melted into butter as the alraune smiled at him. He loved being hers. Being her lover, her mate, her pet. Didn’t he? “That… sounds… nice…” he slurred.

“No, Senya. You’ve got a job to do.”

Despite the constant pleasure, something felt off to Senya. Brigitte was looking more and more cross.

No, he realized dimly. He didn’t want to stay here for the rest of the season. He had a job to do—a very, very important job. And there was a strange, unyielding pressure on his mind right now that was making it hard to appreciate all of Brigitte’s wonderful gifts.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

The pressure relaxed, just a little bit.

“That is cheating, Bobbi,” Brigitte whined.

“So is fucking him while he tries to make up his mind, you know.” Bobbin didn’t sound terribly angry. More… miffed. Her words almost had the tone of flirtatious ribbing, come to think of it. “Come on, Senya.”

Senya couldn’t contain a sad whimper as he was bodily dragged upwards. His cock popped out of Brigitte’s pussy and exited the nectar, still dripping, still rock-hard.

As he was dragged out of the flower, back towards the scarecrows, Brigitte smiled after him. She pursed her lips and blew him a kiss, her eyes half-lidded. “Come back anytime, my pet,” she cooed. “There is always room in my lovely flower for my sweet boy.”

“Okay, Mistress,” he called after her, still feeling dazed. She laughed at this.

“Don’t call her that,” Bobbin hissed in his ear. “Words have power, young master. And so do titles.”

~~~~

An hour or so had gone by, as it turned out. Senya was dreadfully embarassed as the Hob led him along. She didn’t seem annoyed, or even amused. She seemed… vaguely disappointed. Not even upset, but clearly, she’d at least mildly hoped for something else.

“She was…”

“Brigitte, the alraune.” Bobbin nodded curtly as she picked her way down the hill path. “She’s not so bad, really. Very clever, but content in her place. For the most part.”

“She wants a pet,” Senya said, his voice still a little dreamy.

“Oh, I bet she does.” Bobbin flashed him a knowing smile. Senya felt his cheeks heat up. He was still a bit sticky from Brigitte’s… attentions, though Bobbin had led him to a small stream to rinse off the majority of the stuff. “We bring her pets sometimes. Willing fey, generally. It’s dicey to put humans in with her, thanks to…” She trailed off. “Well, just try not to go in there again. Once is mostly harmless, but it’s best to fuck her outside the slurry. Trust me, Master, it’s no less delightful. You still end up a lovely mess.”

She spoke as though escort bahçelievler from personal experience.

Senya looked ahead. It seemed that they were heading down to the grape field. It wasn’t a particularly vast field, but the vines were remarkably full of great big bunches of purple grapes. As they drew near, he reached out a hesitant hand. “Can I?” he asked, remembering just in time the last time he’d eaten of unknown fruit.

“Sure. The grapes should be plenty tasty; help yourself. No magic on ’em.”

Senya reached forward and, hesitating only one more moment, plucked a large clump of grapes from a vine.

He heard a squeaky yelp from within the vine and jumped, dropping the clump.

The clump did not fall. Rather, it continued to hover in place, borne aloft by a tiny little lady in a long dress with two pairs of glimmering gossamer wings who had been hidden beneath it.

“Oh, right.” Bobbin smacked her forehead. “Forgot to warn you to check under them first. Sorry.”

Senya didn’t look at her. He was a bit distracted by the tiny winged woman before him. She scowled up at Senya, compound, insectile purple eyes flashing with irritation. “Watch where you grab things!” she said indignantly. “You almost grabbed me, Mister!” Her voice was curiously vibrant.

“Mind how you address your Master, fairy,” Bobbin said curtly.

The fairy’s eyes widened. Instantly, her demeanor changed, and she flew up before Senya to drop the grapes in his hand. Senya caught them, purely by reflex, as he was still totally stunned. “Sorry, Master!” she sang. She flitted about from left to right, darting like a mosquito. “I didn’t know—oh my gosh—I gotta tell everyone right now!”

“Well, now you’ve done it, Bobbin said, clearly amused, as the fairy zoomed off. “You’ll have a whole cloud of admirers before long.”

Senya looked down at the clump of grapes. He hesitated, then tried one.

It was delicious. Sweet and juicy, but somehow… good. He could intuitively tell that there was no magic in this grape. It was just a good, tasty grape. That relief, more than anything else, made him rapidly scarf down the rest.

“Hungry?” The Hob laughed. “I’d have thought you ate enough back there. Brigitte loves her pets… uh, full.”

Senya’s chewing slowed. A thought occurred to him—a thought he probably should have thought of earlier, come to think of it. He dropped the barren stem. “Bobbin, am I… did she poison me?”

“Oh, yes, but not permanently. I think that’s what you mean?” Bobbin smiled. “She’s very low-stakes, Master, because an alraune’s nectar isn’t addictive on first exposure. Once you’re outside her flower, the juices are almost harmless.”

“First exposure?”

“Well…” Bobbin shrugged her shoulders and cast her eyes upwards. “Those who spend too long inside can encounter side effects. Alraunes are like lust sprites: lots of fun short-term, but if you over-indulge… well, too much of anything isn’t good for you, Master.”

Senya weighed this new information. “She didn’t seem to care that I was Master.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw more fairies emerging, but he ignored them for now. Bobbin seemed to regard them as harmless. “I mean, she just…”

“Hypnotized you. Yes, she’s pretty good at that. Most alraunes just grab their mates and get them drunk on smells and tastes, but some of them have a knack for toying with their mates first. Brigitte’s been around a lot, and she’s had a lot of Masters to practice on.” Bobbin paused, biting her lip. “I suppose… yes, you need to know this. Senya, many of the creatures here aren’t going to care much that you’re Master just yet.”

Senya’s heart sank, but in truth, he’d been sort of expecting this answer by now. “Many?”

“Some will!” Bobbin had the tone of a tailor trying to downplay a tear in some fabric. “The scarecrows will, mostly. Plus the dumber ones.”

“The fleece sprites?”

“Dumber. Those sluts are smart, just lazy. Don’t underestimate them.” Bobbin laughed. “It’s only temporary, though. We’re going to help you through this, Jerrod and I.” She reached over and, with one motion, plucked a clump of grapes from their vine. “See, the trouble is, you aren’t officially Master yet at all.”

“I’m not?”

“The rules are clear, and they predate the will.” Bobbin crossed her arms. “To be master, you must dedicate a full week to serving this ranch. You must learn to master the beasts of the prison, and you must learn to resist their control. Without our help—seriously, don’t count on me bailing you out every time. I was being nice with the fleece sprites.”

“But—” Senya gulped, feeling a knot in his stomach. “But I can’t—”

She held up a hand. “And before you start worrying, yes, there’s a plan for that. What, you think Jerrod’s got a will of iron?” The Hob snorted. “He’s been equipped, is all. You will be, too, soon, but… well, we’ll talk about that tomorrow. No time for it today, at this rate.”

Senya clasped his hands and tried to restore his calm. He wasn’t yet sure if this was good news of bad news, but there was no sense in panicking just yet. As he often liked to say, ‘A jittery hand jenkins the wood.’

Nobody but Senya ever seemed to know what that meant. He really didn’t have enough carpenter friends.

Teil 14

Der Nackedei

Fußballtraining. Schön und gut. Nur was benötigt man alles dazu? Ich habe meine Turnschuhe, ne kurze Sporthose und ein Wechsel-T-Shirt eingepackt. Was anderes fällt mir nicht ein. Was soll man denn auch sonst noch zum Fußballspielen brauchen?

Der Sportplatz vom TSV ist ziemlich weit weg. Zwar habe ich zwei Fahrräder, aber die kommen nicht in Frage. Eins ist aus meiner Kinderzeit und viel zu klein geworden und das andere ist ein Fahrrad meiner Mutter, das sie mir gegeben hat, weil mein eigentliches richtiges Fahrrad, ein ziemlich gutes, geklaut wurde. Vor meiner Schule. Es war allerdings auch nur mit einem Dreier-Zahlenschloss gesichert. Trotzdem habe ich mich geärgert. Also, das zweite Fahrrad kann ich auch nicht benutzen, da es ein Hollandrad ist. Das würde megapanne aussehen, wenn ich mit solch einem Gerät zum Fußballspielen erscheine! Ich entschließe mich entsprechend zu Fuß zu gehen. So schwer ist die Sporttasche ja nicht, die eigentlich eine ehemalige Armeetasche oder so was Ähnliches ist. Jedenfalls hat sie so eine verwaschen grüne Farbe. Sie wirkt so.

Unterwegs gerate ich ins Träumen und denke an allerlei Dinge. Plötzlich schlägt mir eine Hand auf die Schulter. Ich zucke erschrocken zusammen. Meine Mutter. Sie ist mit dem Fahrrad unterwegs und hat mich wohl von hinten eingeholt. Jetzt lacht sie. Ich schaue sie noch erschrockener an, aber nicht wegen des Klapses. Ihre Frisur. Sie sieht schrecklich aus. Kleine schwarze Löckchen, die ihre schulterlangen Haare kürzer erscheinen lassen. Sie sieht ja fast wie Brigitte aus!

„Na, wo willst du mit der Tasche hin?” fragt sie neugierig.

„Fußball”, antworte ich knapp und frage meinerseits: „Was ist denn mit dir passiert?”

„Wieso?”

„Die Haare!”

„Ich komme eben vom Friseur”, erklärt sie.

„Das sieht aber scheiße aus”, sage ich offen.

„Also”, sagt sie entrüstet, „wie kommst du denn da drauf?” Vorsichtig tätschelt sie ihre Locken.

„Ich find´s nicht gut.”

„Was findest du denn nicht gut daran? Das ist eine Dauerwelle. Die war teuer.”

„Wenn das eine Dauerwelle ist und die auch noch teuer war, sind Dauerwellen großer Mist. Du siehst zwanzig Jahre älter aus.”

„Ruairi, ich bin ja auch älter als du”, sagt sie und wird irgendwie leicht zickig. Nur nicht nachgeben!

„Ich will aber keine Omma als Mutter.”

Jetzt lacht sie doch, nimmt mich wohl mal wieder nicht ernst. „Schneid du dir erstmal deine Haare, du …”

Sie will meine Haare wuscheln, aber ich ziehe meinen Kopf schnell weg. „Lass dass”, fordere ich, da ich das nicht mag. Zumindest von ihr.

„Seit wann gehst du mit Tasche zum Fußball?” ändert sie das Thema.

„Ich mach mal ein Training mit. Beim TSV.”

„Verein kostet Geld, Ruairi”, mahnt sie mich sogleich.

Ach so!

„Wie viel denn?” frage ich verunsichert.

„Das weiß ich nicht. Frag dort nach!”

„Hm … ist ja auch nur ein Probetraining.”

„Na, geh schon. Wenn´s nicht zu teuer ist, zahl ich dir das”, gibt sie sich großzügig.

Ich empfinde das auch so. Eigentlich habe ich nicht groß darüber nachgedacht, dass so ein Verein auch Geld kostet. Jetzt bin ich doch überrascht, dass sie mir das erlaubt. Na ja, immerhin hat sie ja wieder Arbeit!

Wir verabschieden uns. Sie versucht noch mal lachend mich zu wuscheln, was ihr aber nicht gelingt.

Als nächstes komme ich an der Bücherei vorbei, ein mit großen Glasscheiben ummanteltes flaches modernes Gebäude. Bis vor gar nicht langer Zeit saß ich dort ab und zu noch ganz gerne mal drin und habe Comics gelesen. Das ist dort kostenlos und die haben Tim und Struppi. Zum Zeitvertreib, wenn man nichts anderes vorhat, ist das eine gute Gelegenheit und da ich sowieso meistens immer draußen bin … Mit den Händen als Scheuklappen schaue ich durch die Scheibe, wo die Comickiste steht. Jemand hat rumgewühlt und nicht wieder aufgeräumt. Die Hefte liegen wahllos umher. Der ganze Tisch ist vollgeräumt. Und dort liegt ein Tim-und-Struppi-Heft. Tim im Kongo.

Moment mal! Das kenne ich noch nicht!

Sofort schaue ich in den Himmel und überlege. Habe ich noch Zeit? Zwar habe ich keine Uhr, aber ich spüre, dass es noch eine Viertelstunde sein müsste bis um Fünf. Kurz reingucken kann ich also!

Wenig später sitze ich in der unaufgeräumten Ecke und schaue ins Comic. Es ist ziemlich lustig. Die Handlung spielt natürlich in Afrika. Schwarzafrika. Die Schwarzen werden ziemlich dümmlich dargestellt. So dümmlich, dass ich mit Tränen in den Augen lachen muss. Ist das witzig!

Es macht Spaß und ich kann das 48-seitige Heft gar nicht mehr aus der Hand legen. Bis zum Ende gluckse und kichere ich. Zufrieden lege ich das Heft zurück und schaue instinktiv, ob ich noch ein Exemplar entdecke, das ich noch nicht kenne.

Ne, leider nicht!

Dann fällt mir der Sportverein wieder ein. Wie von der Tarantel gestochen springe ich auf.

Jetzt bin ich zu spät! Eindeutig!

Lohnt es sich da noch?

Vielleicht fangen die ja erst immer später an? Mist!

Jetzt bin ich schon so nah beim TSV, da kann ich auch noch schnell hinlaufen! escort halkalı Immerhin wäre ich sonst den ganzen Weg umsonst zu Fuß gegangen! Eine Verschwendung ohne Gleichen!

Ich gehe und gucke kurze Zeit später hinter einem Busch verstohlen auf den Sportplatz. Mein Kumpel und andere Jungs stehen schon auf dem Spielfeld und kicken ein bisschen.

Was mach ich denn jetzt mal?

Sei kein Frosch, Rory! Geh einfach hin!

Hm, vielleicht … ja, okay!

Vorsichtig, so, dass mich erstmal keiner von den Spielern sehen kann, trotte ich zum Vereinshaus. Davor ist reger Betrieb. Männer und Frauen stehen dort und kleine Kinder, vielleicht sechs oder sieben Jahre alt, kommen mit hochroten Köpfen vom Rasen auf sie zu.

Wo kann ich mich denn mal umkleiden?

Einer der kleinen Fußballknirpse geht an mir vorbei ins Haus. Ich schaue ihm nach.

Wenn ich dem folge, müsste ich auch die Kabinen finden!

Möglichst unauffällig folge ich ihm, tue dabei so, als wenn ich bereits zum Verein gehöre. Der Kleine geht in eine Umkleidekabine, deren Tür etwas aufsteht. Daneben gibt es noch eine andere, deren Tür verschlossen ist. Ich drücke die Klinke, aber sie lässt sich nicht öffnen.

Was nun? Dieser Verein hat scheinbar nur zwei Umkleidekabinen!

Ich linse zögerlich in die offene Kabine. Der Junge steht dort drin und zieht sich um. Platz genug für mich ist da. Gleich neben der Tür suche ich mir einen Platz auf der Bank, die den ganzen Raum umrundet.

Wieder gucke ich zum kleinen Jungen, was er macht. Er kümmert sich nicht um mich und macht sich nackig.

Hupsa! So klein und geniert sich nicht!

Na ja, warum auch nicht?

Ich beginne ebenfalls mich auszuziehen. Erst die Schuhe und die Socken. Jetzt das T-Shirt und die Jeans. In der Unterhose stehend schaue ich mich um. Es gibt einen Durchgang in einem Nebenraum. Fast nackt patsche ich mit nackten Füßen über dem schmutzigen schlammigen Kabinenboden dorthin. Es sind Waschräume. Erst kommt ein Vorraum mit Waschbecken und weiter hinten Duschen. Mit verzogenem Mundwinkel hebe ich einen Fuß hoch und gucke auf die dreckige Sohle.

Mist! Ich muss erstmal meine Mauken wieder sauber machen, bevor ich meine Turnschuhe anziehen kann. Am besten, ich dusche sie einfach ab und gehe dann auf Zehenspitzen wieder zurück in die Umkleide!

Gesagt, getan, drücke ich einen Duschknopf. Es spritzt wie wild. Die Dusche ist defekt. Das Wasser schießt zu allen Seiten und macht leider nicht nur meine Füße nass. Auch mein Gesicht. Ich wische es mit den Händen aus meinen Augen und erblicke mit Grausem meine durchweichte Unterhose.

So ein Mist! Verdammte Scherzdusche!

Ich warte, bis die Dusche zu Ende gespritzt hat und versuche dann eine andere. Nach abermaligen Drücken mache ich vorsichtshalber einen Hopsa zurück. Unnötig. Die Dusche funktioniert normal. Jetzt dusche ich meine Füße richtig ab und gucke wieder auf meine Unterhose. Pitschnass.

So kann ich keine Fußballhose anziehen! Ich muss sie zumindest auswringen!

Flugs entkleide ich mich, als der kleine Knirps in die Dusche kommt und eine andere anmacht. Er verschränkt seine Arme auf den Rücken und lässt das Wasser über seinen Kopf laufen. Er guckt mich schweigend an.

„Jasper”, ruft plötzlich eine Stimme und eine dickliche blonde Frau schaut in die Dusche.

Ich erstarre und tue sofort so, als ob ich normal duschen würde. Dabei halte ich meine Unterhose unter meinen Händen verborgen auf meine Genitalien gedrückt und drehe ihr zusätzlich noch meinen Po zu, damit sie vorne nichts erblicken kann.

Sie sieht mich, sagt aber nur „Oh” und zieht sich schnell zurück.

Na, ein Glück!

„Duschdas”, ruft ihr der Jasper plötzlich so lauthals hinterher, dass ich mich schon wieder erschrecke. Scheinbar denkt er sich selbst nichts dabei, was seine Mutter eben getan hat.

Die darf hier nicht rein, du Zwerg!

Dann guckt sie doch wieder, von ihrem Sohn animiert. Wieder schaut sie mich an. Ich linse nur kurz und lasse dann meinerseits das Wasser über meine Haare und Gesicht laufen.

Der Junge braucht Duschzeug! Was soll die Frau also tun?

Soll sie warten, nur weil du dich so anstellst?

Gut … dann also …!

Ich gucke unter dem Strahl hervor und grinse ihr mit Haaren über meinen Augen verkniffen zu. Sie versteht das wohl als Zustimmung, dass sie kurz mal dem Jungen Duschseife bringen kann. Mit großen Schritten tippelt sie in den Duschraum und gibt mit langem Arm dem Jungen sein Duschdas.

„Vergiss nicht die Haare”, sagt sie noch.

Abermals verschwindet sie in die Umkleide und mittlerweile scheint es, als ob nebenan viel mehr los ist. Mehrere Stimmen quasseln durcheinander. Kinderstimmen. Erwachsene.

Verd …! Was jetzt?

Ich grübele verzweifelt, finde aber keine Lösung. Ewig kann ich hier schlecht duschen! Wie sieht das denn aus?

Jetzt fällt mir auch noch bei diesem ganzen Wasser ein, dass ich kein Handtuch dabei habe. Zornig reibe ich unter dem Wasserstrahl meine Zähne aufeinander. Mist!

Was tun?

Vielleicht escort beşiktaş verschwinden die Erwachsenen ja gleich wieder!

Die Kleinen werden sich ja wohl alleine Umziehen können!

Das sind aber noch ziemliche Knirpse!

Tief atme ich aus, als auf einmal noch mehr Kinder in die Duschkabine kommen. Alle haben Handtücher dabei. Ab und zu schaut auch mal ein Erwachsener hinein und blickt kurz zu mir. Immer komischerweise Frauen.

Du musst hier raus, Rory!

Ich habe aber kein Handtuch!

Du musst aber! Die denken sonst noch, du machst dir einen Spaß daraus, die kleinen Nackten anzugucken!

Oh, nein, bloß nicht!

Außerdem raubst du denen den Platz! Die wollen auch duschen!

Ich will ja auch gar nicht!

Geh!

Mit klopfendem Herzen und mit der Unterhose auf dem Schritt gehe ich in den Vorraum mit den Waschbecken und stelle mich vor dem großen Spiegel dort, der auch schon mal bessere Tage gesehen hat. Die Ränder sind schon ziemlich gestoßen. Ich wringe meine Unterhose aus und gucke hinein. Im Spiegel kann ich etwas in die Umkleide schauen. Gleich neben meinen Sachen sitzt ein Junge, vor dem eine dunkelhaarige Frau steht und ihm hilft.

O je!

Ich warte ab und beobachte.

Schlecht sieht die Frau gar nicht mal aus! Sie ist auch nicht so dick wie die blonde!

Mir bleibt keine Wahl. Mutig fasse ich mir ein Herz und mache mich langsam auf dem Weg zurück zu meinen Sachen in dem Wissen, dass ich dort allen meinen blanken Po zeigen werde. Verstohlen, aber möglichst so, als wenn es unabsichtlich aussieht, halte ich meine Unterhose und Hände vor meinen Genitalien. Fast vollständig unbedeckt gehe ich in die Umkleide. Meinen kleinen nackten Arsch kann ich leider nicht verdecken. Mein Herz puppert unter meinen Rippen. So ein Mist!

Mit gesenktem Haupt schiele ich in den Raum. Glücklicherweise sind kaum Erwachsene hier. Ich dachte, ich hätte einen Mann gehört, aber ich sehe nur vier Frauen. Für Männer scheint das wohl nicht die passende Tätigkeit zu sein. Nur die Mütter helfen ihren Söhnen. Die Frauen kümmern sich scheinbar glücklicherweise nicht weiter um meine Anwesenheit. Ab und zu guckt nur mal eine kurz.

Ich stehe vor der Bank mit meinen Sachen mit meiner Vorderseite zur Wand gedreht. Die dunkelhaarige Frau steht genau neben mir. Ein wenig erinnert sie mich an meine Mutter. Sie sieht nicht schlecht aus, aber mit einem bisschen stolz überlege ich, dass meine Mutter doch schöner ist.

Guckt sie?

Hups, ja! Wenn auch nur kurz.

Damit hat sie wohl nicht gerechnet!

Ich auch nicht!

Ein doofes Gefühl!

Oder?

Du musst dich anziehen, Herr Brian!

Ja, ja!

Ich halte die Luft an, versuche wiederum so zu tun, als ob ich ein Vereinsmitglied wäre und lege meine Unterhose auf die Bank. Nackt überlege ich, was ich jetzt mal tun kann. Ich habe kein Handtuch.

Soll ich die Frau fragen, ob sie mir eins leihen kann!

Nein, niemals!

Sie guckt.

Dein Schwanz, du Seppl!

Was soll ich denn tun?

Ich gucke auch hin. Er sieht so viel größer als die winzigen Wichtelschwänzchen der Kleinen aus. Und älter wegen der spärlichen Schambehaarung.

Ist er ja auch, Hohlbirne!

Ja, schon, aber er wirkt so … schwer!

Wieder guckt sie, verzieht aber keine Miene.

Sie ist also nicht böse!

Dann geht´s ja!

Über meine linke Schulter schaue ich zurück in den Raum. Eine Frau guckt auf meine Rückseite. Als sie mein Gesicht sieht, dreht sie ihren Kopf schnell weg.

Die glotzen dich an!

Ja, weil ich hier nichts verloren habe!

Die hat dir auf deine kleinen festen Äpfelchen geguckt!

Wie, ne, Quatsch!

Doch und deine Nachbarin schielt dir auf dein Teil!

Kurz linse ich hin. Ihr Kopf bewegt sich und es kommt mir fast so vor, als wenn auch sie ihn weggedreht hätte.

Vielleicht geiern die wirklich!

Warum auch nicht, du Dösel! Du zeigst ihnen ja alles!

Ja … ja, aber … das ist keine Absicht! Außerdem sind das Mütter!

Na und! Denkst du immer noch, die sind alle anständig und sittsam? Denk an die Schneider!

Oh, Gott, ja! Die will mich!

Du willst ihr ordentlich den Arsch kneten!

Wer, was?

Du wolltest Frau Schneiders Hintern untersuchen!

Ach … ach, ja, stimmt … vielleicht!

Entsetzt schaue ich auf meinen Schritt. Mein Penis wächst.

Das ich auch immer gleich an so einen Scheiß denke! Jetzt bloß keinen Steifen bekommen, Rory, sonst bist du dran! Du wirst dich nie wieder hier blicken lassen können!

Ich wollte sowieso nicht in den Verein!

Er wächst noch ein bisschen weiter, wird aber nicht steif. Allerdings hängt er jetzt dick und halbsteif über meine Hoden an mir herunter. Er ist einfach zu lang. Ich greife mir endlich mein T-Shirt und drehe mich plötzlich um.

Was tust du?

Weiß auch nicht!

Langsam, ohne alle anderen zu beobachten, trockne ich mich mit meinem Oberteil ab. Ich präsentiere mich praktisch, wage aber escort küçükççekmece keinen Blick, obwohl ich liebend gerne gucken würde. Aber dann käme ich mir wie ein Lustmolch vor.

Dieses blöde T-Shirt ist total ungeeignet, um sich abzutrocknen. Es ist sehr schnell nass und bringt nicht viel. Ich drücke es auf meine Genitalien und versuche sie abzutrocknen. Jetzt gucke ich kurz auf. Eine Frau, schräg seitlich von mir, schaut mir zu. Ich lasse sie und konzentriere mich wieder auf mich.

Wenn ich Frau Schneider die Pobacken auseinander schiebe …

Oh, Rory, pass auf!

Meine Berührungen und diese ganzen Blicke sind irgendwie nicht förderlich. Mein Penis erhärtet sich. Er ist fast vollends steif, muss sich nur noch aufstellen.

Denk an etwas anderes, sonst killen die dich!

O je!

Die Väter draußen könnten schon etwas ahnen!

Was?

Und lass deinen Schwanz los!

Ruckartig lasse ich los. Er baumelt halbsteif umher. Schnell bücke ich mich und mache mich an meinen Beinen zu schaffen. Mein Penis ist leider groß geworden. Zu groß. Ich drehe mich lieber wieder um und greife in meine noch nasse Pofalte. Dabei drücke ich meinen Penis nach vorne. Die dunkelhaarige Frau guckt neugierig hin.

So was Lüsternes!

Halt ihn ihr hin!

Was! Die tötet mich!

Die will vielleicht mal anfassen!

Nein! Nein, das mache ich nicht! Nur weg!

Entschlossen werfe ich mein nasses T-Shirt in meine Tasche.

Mit der Schneider das, ich glaube, ich mach das!

Schnell streife ich mir mein anderes trockenes T-Shirt über meinen noch ziemlich feuchten Oberkörper.

Ich werde Frau Schneiders Hintern untersuchen! *schluck*

Meine nasse Unterhose kann ich so nicht mehr anziehen und halte mir stattdessen die Jeans auf, um ohne hinein zu steigen.

Und vielleicht ihr Geschlechtsteil!

O je, lieber nicht!

Die Muschi samt Schamlippen!

Das wäre mir zu unheimlich!

Muschiarzt, Dr. Brian!

Wach auf, Rory!

Erschrocken schaue ich auf meinen vollständig steifen Schwanz. Eine unanständige Lanze mit hübscher praller Eichel. Schnell ziehe ich die Jeans drüber.

„Komm”, höre ich die dunkelhaarige Frau neben mir sprechen. Sie schaut in mein Gesicht und lächelt kurz.

Sie lächelt! Oh, Rory, vielleicht bleibst du am Leben!

Innerlich seufze ich aus, packe meinen Kram zusammen und flitze schnell hinaus. Fast stoße ich mit einem Mann zusammen, weiche aus, schaue die dunkelhaarige Frau an, die mich nicht beachtet und gehe strammen Schrittes schnurstracks heim.

Ich werde mich dort nie wieder blicken lassen können! Das ist sicher!

Hab einfach meinen steifen Schwanz gezeigt!

Na ja, fast steif!

Glücklicherweise waren das alles Frauen!

Und keine hat geschimpft!

So ein Glück!

–

Unterwegs wird mir heiß. Die Dunkelhaarige geht mir nicht aus dem Kopf.

Hätte ich sie vielleicht „unabsichtlich” mit meinem Penis berühren sollen?

Vielleicht hätte ihr das ja nichts ausgemacht! An meiner Nacktheit hat sie sich ja auch nicht gestört!

Rory, Rory, du hast es mit den Alten! Ich gluckse.

Was soll ich auch tun, wenn die so … nett zu mir sind? Mit den Jüngeren scheint es viel komplizierter zu sein! Wenn ich da an Sandra oder Meike denke!

O je! Meike!

Meikes Mutter!

Ich wollte heute vorbeikommen!

Hab´s vergessen!

Vielleicht sollte ich noch schnell hin? Vielleicht kann ich noch ein bisschen nuckeln? Jedenfalls bin ich richtig spitz!

Hm!

Dicke Titten gefallen mir!

Ich bin ein kleiner Tittenlüstling! *hi, hi*

Hm … ja, Titten sind was Tolles!

Dicke Titten noch toller!

Brigittes Titten the best!

Ob die mir jemals verzeihen wird? Wohl eher nicht!

Die wäre mir jetzt aber eine Hilfe! Sie ist immer so freundlich, uneigennützig und denkt nur an mich! Die würde bestimmt sofort bei mir nuckeln! *glucks*

Wenn ich an die eine Situation denke, als sie so gierig an meinem Schwengelchen gelutscht hat!

Hmmmm … ach ja!

Vorbei!

Schade!

Das mit dem Ausziehen vorhin fand ich auch gar nicht mal so schlecht!

Könnte ich noch mal drauf! Wenn keiner meckert!

Vielleicht stelle ich doch noch mal nackt Zeitungen zu!

Aber dann nur, wenn die Lehnersschwuchtel nicht aus dem Haus kommt oder die dreiste kleine Frau, die extra die Treppen runterbollert!

Ich habe aber jetzt Lust! Soll ich mir einfach einen runterholen irgendwo im Gebüsch? Möglich wär´s ja!

Vielleicht könnte man aber … vielleicht … FKK!?

Oh, Rory, ob das die Lösung ist? Das letzte und einzige Mal war´s ein ziemlicher Reinfall! Obwohl ja dann doch noch ein Hintern ganz gut aussah!

Vielleicht lag´s aber auch nur an Meike!

Ja, genau! Meikes Schüchternheit war störend! Sie hätte sich dort ein bisschen von mir streicheln lassen können! Ich hätt mich getraut!

Es ist noch warm.

Beim FKK könnte ich meine Sachen trocknen lassen!

Ja, das mache ich! Ich mache mich noch mal nackig! Ja, ja, ja, ja, ja!

Dort stört sich wenigstens niemand daran, wenn mein Schwänzchen rumschwenkt!

Ich gluckse.

Na, gut, ich werde natürlich nichts schwenken, aber immerhin kann man dort ohne weiteres nackig rumlaufen! Und vielleicht ein wenig nackte Frauen angucken! Ja, genau! Und danach hüpfe ich dann ins Gebüsch!

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Als Cornelia und Rike Glaser nach Hause kamen und dem Herren des Hauses mitteilten, daß wohl jemand beim Parken anscheinend das Auto beschädigt hatte, fand Herr Glaser wie sonst auch mit Drohungen, Flüchen und verbaler Missachtung kein Ende. “Ich erwische dieses Arschloch, wenn ich den in die Finger kriege, dann gibt es ein paar in die Fresse und die Anzeige und Schadenersatz und Wertminderung und…”, Rike hörte nicht mehr zu, sie war schon in die Küche gegangen. Der Schaden war gering, ein verbeultes Nummernschild und ein paar Kratzer in der Stoßstange.

Cornelia war direkt in ihrem Zimmer verschwunden und hatte die Tür geschlossen. Eine knappe Stunde später fuhr ihr Vater dann zu einem der Stammtische, an denen er teilnahm, ohne zu merken, dass es bei fast allen unerwünscht war. Nachdem sich Cornelia versichert hatte, dass ihr Vater auch wirklich das Haus verlassen hatte, ging sie zu ihrer Mutter, die im Wohnzimmer irgendeine Serie im Fernsehen laufen ließ. Sie setzte sich neben ihre Mutter und schaute einen Moment zum Fernseher, ohne zu wissen, was überhaupt lief.

“Mama?”, fragte sie vorsichtig, “was haben wir getan?” Sie schaute zu Boden und schämte sich. “Bist Du bereit offen darüber zu sprechen? Ganz offen?”, fragte Rike. Cornelia nickte. “Schämst Du dich dafür?”, fragte Rike. “Ja”, antwortete Cornelia. Rike:”Für was genau?” Cornelia:”Ich / wir hatte/n Sex wegen einer Beule im Auto, dafür haben wir uns hingegeben. Er hat die Situation schamlos ausgenutzt” Rike:”Conny so ist das im Leben nunmal. Man gewinnt nicht immer und muss gelegentlich eine individuelle Lösung finden. Du weißt genau, dass es nicht um den materiellen Schaden geht, sondern um das, was Papa mit uns gemacht hätte.”

“War es das denn wert? Nur weil Papa so ein Arschloch ist”, fragte Cornelia. “Die Frage ist berechtigt. Ich bin es überdrüssig, sein Verhalten einfach immer weiter hinzunehmen. Es war nicht richtig, dass wir getrunken haben und ich dich habe fahren lassen”, meinte Rike. “Und es war auch überhaupt nicht richtig über mich zu entscheiden, dass ich ebenfalls mit Sex zahlen muss” murrte Cornelia.

“Auch da hast Du Recht”, meinte Rike nachdenklich. “Meine Mutter hat mich so erzogen und jetzt verlangen ich es wie selbstverständlich von Dir”, eine Träne kullerte über ihre Wange. Für einen Moment herrschte Schweigen zwischen den Frauen. “Wenn ich mich recht erinnere, dann warst Du nicht abgeneigt dich von ihm ficken zu lassen”, stellte Cornelia gegeüber ihrer Mutter fest, “und auch sein Sperma hast du dir bereitwillig in Mund pumpen lassen…”

Rike wartete einen Moment mit der Antwort: “Und Du hast dich nicht unbedingt dagegen gewehrt, als ich deine Fotze auslecken musste”, entgegnete ihre Mutter, “im Gegenteil. Und als du mir ins Gesicht pissen solltest, schien Dir das nichts auszumachen.” Die beiden Frauen sahen sich einen Moment an. “Wollten wir offen reden?”, fragte Cornelia nochmal. Rike nickte. “Du hattest es anscheinend bitter nötig und es hat Dir Spaß gemacht von ihm genommen zu werden, richtig?”, fragte Cornelia sehr offen. Ihre Mutter schaute aus dem Fenster, drehte ihr dann wieder ihr Gesicht zu und antwortete: “Es war eine der geilsten Erlebnisse, die ich je hatte. Und Du hast eine entscheidende Rolle darin gespielt. Ich hatte nie Bedarf an Sex mit anderen Frauen”.

“Und ich hatte nie das Verlangen Dich sexuell zu berühren, oder gar das zu tun, was wir getan haben. Du warst immer nur mein Mädchen, dass ich behütet aufwachsen sehen wollte. In der Sekunde, als aus meiner gedanklich jungfräulichen Tochter eine anscheinend sexuell erfahrene Frau wurde, hat sich etwas von einem Moment auf den anderen geändert und ich war nur zu gern bereit auf die Forderungen einzugehen. Ich weiß natürlich, dass wir das alles nicht hätten tun müssen, auch nicht aus den Gründen, die wir angeben, aber ich wollte Dich als Frau sehen, dabei sein, wenn Du genommen wirst. Ich muss dich nicht mehr vor Deinem Vater beschützen, das kannst Du selbst.”

Cornelia sah ihre Mutter lange an. “Mama, ich weiß nicht wie Du in meinem Alter warst, aber ein großer Teil meines Lebens dreht sich um Sex. Meinst Du etwa, dass Papa nur Dich an seine Klienten vermittelt escort halkalı hat? Die, die ihr Sperma in eins Deiner Löcher gepumpt haben und von denen Du weißt, wie es schmeckt, deren Geschmack ist auch mir seit längerem bekannt. Auch ich helfe mit, dass man Papa irgendwie aushält. Ich konnte es Dir nur nie sagen, denn… es hat mir fast immer Spaß gemacht. Bitte entschuldige. Rike war vollkommen fassungslos und musste sich erstmal sammeln. Eine Träne lief über ihre Wange. Als sie sich wieder gefangen hatte, fragte sie leise: “Hast Du auch…?” “Ich habe ihm gelegentlich einen geblasen und wenn ich etwas brauchte, habe ich geschluckt. Gefickt hat er mich nie, angefasst auch nicht.”

Cornelia ließ es eine zeitlang wirken. Ihre Mutter fuhr vom Kopf her Achterbahn. Ihre Gefühle wechselten zwischen Wut, Enttäuschung, Ekel und merkwürdigerweise auch ein wenig Erregung. Rike ging zum Wohnzimmerschrank und holte einen guten Whisky heraus und schenkte ein. Auf ihren Blick antwortete Cornelia: “Cognac bitte!” Rike kehrte mit den doppelt gefüllten Gläsern zurück und reichte ihrer Tochter ein Glas. Schweigend sahen sie einander eine zeitlang an und prosteten sich dann zu. Das angenehme Brennen im Hals empfand Rike schon immer als angenehm, so auch dieses mal. Schweigend saßen sie nebeneinander und leerten ihre Gläser. “Naja, es sollte ja sehr offen sein”, dachte sie innerlich lächelnd. Mit diesen Informationen hätte sie allerdings nie gerechnet. Da sie noch nicht gegessen hatten, schlug der Alkohol der beiden Getränke innerhalb weniger Minuten durch.

Rike entging nicht, dass Cornelia sich vorhin ihre Leggins tief in den Schritt gezogen hatte und kaum merklich auf dem Sofa vor und zurück rutschte. “Wie viel auf einer Skala von eins bis zehn?”, fragte Rike und sah ihre Tochter durchdringend an. Cornelia wusste, dass ein Affront wäre zu fragen, was sie meinte. “8,5”, antwortete Cornelia wahrheitsgemäß, “Und bei Dir?” Rike überlegte einen Moment und hörte in sich hinein. Der Gedanke daran, wie Ihr Mann sein Sperma in den Mund ihrer gemeinsamen Tochter pumpte, müsste sie rasend machen, empört und wütend. Allerdings erregte sie der Gedanke verbotenerweise und sie würde es nie zugeben. Sie hob ihr Kleid und fasste sich in den eigenen Slip: “An Deine 8,5 komme ich nicht, aber 7 wäre realistisch.”

“Wir sollten den Spieß umdrehen, was meinst Du”, fragte Cornelia. “Wie sieht Dein Plan aus?”, fragte Rike. “Wann kommt Papa nach Hause?”, wollte Cornelia wissen. “Entweder erst spät oder heute gar nicht mehr”, antwortete ihre Mutter gespannt. “Wer ruft an?”, wollte Cornelia wissen. “Dein Plan”, meinte Rike, “Du machst ihn klar”. “Hast Du seine Nummer?”, fragte Cornelia. Rike gab ihr einen Zettel. Cornelia nahm ihr Handy und unterdrückte zunächst ihre Nummer.

“Ja”, meldete sich Justin mit vollem Mund. “Hier ist Cornelia, es gab einen Heidenärger gestern Abend wegen dem verbeulten Auto.” “Äh, hallo Claudia. Ja das kann ich mir vorstellen. Zum Glück haben wir es ja so regeln können”, meinte Justin amüsiert und fragte sich gleichzeitig, warum das kleine Miststück anrief. “Jetzt ist es so, dass da doch noch etwas geregelt werden muss, mein Vater stellt blöde Fragen”. Wohlwollend nahm Cornelia den anderen Vornamen wahr. Er war also nicht allein. Vermutlich war seine Familie wieder da. Genauso hatte sie es sich erhofft und grinste ihre Mutter an. “OK, können wir morgen oder übermorgen erledigen, heute ist schlecht”, meinte Justin.

“Hör zu Du Arschloch. Du sattelst die Pferde um kommst rüber und zwar sofort, hast Du verstanden?” säuselte Cornelia überfreundlich ins Telefon. “Das geht jetzt nicht Claudia. Meine Familie ist heute zurückgekommen und um die muss ich kümmern. Wir verschieben es, OK?” Sie hörte wie er anscheinend vom Tisch aufstand und vermutlich auf die Terasse ging, “Hör zu Mädchen, was Du auch immer gerade für ein Pferd reitest, steig davon ab!” Cornelia grinste wie ein Honigkuchenpferd. “Hat es Dir gestern nicht gefallen?”, fragte sie Justin. “Doch, das hat es. Meine Frau war fast eine Woche weg und ich hätte mir sehr gewünscht, dass du mir ein paar Tage vorher drauf gefahren wärst. Jetzt escort beşiktaş aber geht es einfach nicht und ich habe eheliche Pflichten, was Du natürlich nicht hast.” Er wollte noch ein abfälliges Wort dranhängen, verkniff sich das aber.

“Ah, der Herr muss heute noch ficken und zwar seine angetraute Gattin, die das natürlich von ihm erwartet, inkl. der zu erwartenden Menge Sperma, verstehe. Hör mir gut zu Süßer, wenn Du nicht in zwanzig Minuten hier bist, dann stehen wir in einer guten halben Stunde vor Deiner Tür und “besuchen” Euch mal kurz. Ich gehe davon aus, dass Deine Frau sehr interessiert an dem sein wird, was wir gestern bei Dir erleben durften. Ich erinnere mich auch daran, wie Du uns genannt hast. Das wird bestimmt ein anregendes Gespräch! Bis gleich dann”, damit legte sie auf.

Rike klatschte laut: “Respekt Du Miststück, ich kann noch von Dir lernen!” Cornelia zuckte mit den Schultern und grinste: “Wie machen wir das mit Papa?. Was, wenn er nach Hause kommt?” “Hattest Du nicht beiläufig erwähnt, dass er sein Sperma in den Mund seiner Tochter gespritzt hat?”, Rike grinste. “Recht hast Du”, meinte auch Cornelia. “Sollen wir uns noch umziehen?”, fragte Cornelia. “Auf keinen Fall, es wird gegessen, was und wie es auf den Tisch kommt”, erinnerte ihre Mutter an alte Sprüche. Cornelia schenkte nach und nochmals prosteten sich die beiden zu. “Kannst Du pissen?”, fragte Rike ihre Tochter. “Oh ja!!”, sagte sie und lächelte.

Als sie die Gläser geleert hatten, spürten Sie den Alkohol beide wohlwollend. Cornelia konnte die kurze Wartezeit gar nicht abwarten. Ihre Mutter stand am Fenster und schaute gedankenverloren hinaus. Cornelia hob Rikes Kleid hoch und schob Rike die Hand in den Slip. Die kühle Haut von Rikes Hintern fühlte sich gut an. Als sie ihre Schamlippen erreichte, klingelte es und sie ging zur Tür. “Hallo Arschloch, wie schön dass Du vorbeikommst. Wir haben gar nicht mit Dir gerechnet. Komm doch rein!” Ein Blick auf die Straße ergab, dass niemand Justins Kommen bemerkt zu haben schien.

“Ihr seid widerlich”, maulte Justin. “Wenn wir uns recht erinnern”, erfüllen Deine “Handlungen” den Tatbestand der sexuellen Nötigung. Du verlierst alles, also sollten wir etwas mehr Kooperation erwarten dürfen. Da ist doch eine kleine Gefälligkeit nicht zuviel verlangt, oder?” Justin schwieg. Ihm wurde schlagartig bewusst, was auf dem Spiel stand. Die beiden Frauen führten ihn in die Wohnzimmerecke vor den Kamin. “Mama, zieh mich aus”, forderte Cornelia. Rike öffnete die Bluse ihrer Tochter, die sie auf den Boden fallen ließ. Einen BH trug sie nicht. Dann öffnete Rike Gürtel und Reißverschluss und Cornelias Hose fiel ebenfalls zu Boden. Da sie auch keinen Slip trug, stand Cornelia jetzt nackt vor Justin. “Hinknien”. befahl Cornelia. Justin wollte sich ausziehen, aber Cornelia wiederholte ihren Aufforderung. Er kniete sich auf den Boden. Cornelia stellte sich breitbeinig über ihn und zog sein Gesicht in ihren Schoß. Justin konnte ihre Geilheit sofort riechen und schob ihr seine Zunge zwischen die Schamlippen.

Der Ausfluss, der zwischen Cornelias Schamlippen bisher zum größten Teil festgehalten wurde, lief jetzt heraus und in seinen Mund. Der strenge Geschmack machte ihn geil er gab sich viel Mühe, sie zufriedenzustellen. Cornelia hatte die 8,5 auf volle 10 erhöht und stöhnte es laut heraus! “Besorge es ihr und zwar bis sie kommt”, forderte Rike, die grinsend daneben stand. Auch jetzt brauchte Cornelia nicht lange, zu geil war es, dass Justin es ihr besorgte. Als er kräftig an ihrer Clit saugte und es schmerzte, kam Cornelia. Ihre Schamlippen verkrampften sich und sie genoß es vor den Augen ihrer Mutter einen Orgasmus zu haben. Sie hielt Justins Kopf fest und öffnete lächelnd den Schließmuskel ihrer Blase.

Sie hatte sich auf den Moment vorbereitet und es war ihr ein großes Bedürfnis Justin anzupissen, seine Klamotten mit ihrem Urin zu tränken, so dass er zu Hause Schwierigkeiten haben würde, das zu erklären. Als der letzte Tropfen an ihren Schamlippen hing, nahm Rike ihren Platz ein. Sie zog sich das Kleid über den Kopf und den Slip sus. Durch ihr langjähriges Training escort küçükççekmece konnte sie auch sie es sofort laufen lassen und sorgte dafür, das wirklich jeder Quadratzentimeter seiner Kleidung vollgepisst wurde. “Komm mein Schatz, besorg es Mutti, gib Dir Mühe”, flötete Rike und musste zugeben, dass Justin mit seiner Zunge umzugehen wusste. Justin hatte verstanden, wie die Dinge derzeit lagen und gab sein Bestes.

“Oh mein Kleiner, du bist ja ganz voller Pipi, was ist denn da passiert? Los, steh auf “, sagte Rike. Beide Frauen sahen gerne zu, wie ihre Pisse beim Aufstehen an Justin herunterlief. Rike öffnete seinen Gürtel und seine Hose. Auch wenn es für ihn demütigen sein müsste, so war er wohl auch geil und hatte einen ordentlichen Ständer. Rike drückte ihm ihre Zunge so weit es ging in seinen Mund, während sie seinen Schwanz aus dem nassen Slip holte. Dann drückte sie ihn in die Pfütze aus Urin auf den Boden und ging über ihm in die Hocke.

“Komm, schieb ihn rein. Ich pumpe Dich kurz ab, bevor Conny Dich übernimmt. Und tu mir einen Gefallen, versuche nicht zu kommen, OK? Du brauchst doch deine Ficksahne für deine Fickschlampe zu Hause. Schluckt sie gerne?” Justin nickte und positionierte seine Eichel an Rikes Schamlippen. Sie setzte sich sofort darauf und er drang in sie ein. Cornelia hatte das meiste mit dem Handy gefilmt, um eine “Erinnerung” zu haben. Ihre Mutter hob die Arme, damit ihre Titten gut zur Geltung kamen und Justin fuhr voll darauf ab. Er wollte in ihr kommen und spürte, dass es gleich soweit sein würde.

Das wusste Rike natürlich auch und auf ein kurzes Kopfnicken stieg sie schnell ab und überließ ihrer Tochter das Sperma, dass er in ihren Mund spritze, als sie sich über ihn beugte. Cornelia wartete, bis sein Luststab nicht mehr in ihrem Mund zuckte und ließ ihn herausgleiten. Sie stand auf und Justin sah zu, wie sich die Münder beider Frauen über ihm trafen und das Sperma teilten. Ein bisschen davon ließen die zwei wieder aus dem Mund herauslaufen, so dass es auf ihre Titten tropfte, dem Rest schluckten sie. “Wir sind noch nicht fertig mit Dir Süßer”, säuselte Cornelia und setzte sich zu ihm auf den Boden.

Sie spreizte ihre Beine und drückte mit den Fingern ihre Schamlippen auseinander. Rike grinste als die Handykamera einfing, wie Justin gierig seine Finger in das junge rosafarbene Fleisch schob. Cornelia ließ ihren Kopf nach hinten fallen und ließ sich von ihm befriedigen. Justin machte seine Sache gut, bekam aber nicht mehr als drei Finger in die junge Fotze. Ihr Ausfluss lief über seine Hand und der Anblick der jungen schlanken Frau mit den schönen Titten, die breitbeinig vor ihm lag, sorgten für neues Blut in seinen Schwellkörpern.

“Fick sie Justin, besorg es meiner Tochter. Du wirst keinen Tropfen Sperma mit nach Hause nehmen”. Nur zu gern legte er sich auf die junge Frau und führte seinen Luststab ein. Cornelia klammerte sich mit dem Beinen an ihm fest und empfing jeden Stoß mit absoluter Geilheit. “Willst Du es mir in die Fotze spritzen? Dann gib Dir Mühe, sonst bekommt es Mama”, flüsterte sie ihm ins Ohr, “aber ich hätte es so gern. Sie kann es mir ja dann aus der Möse lutschen, was meinst du?” Cornelias Dirtytalk machte Justin verrückt und endlos geil.

Sie wechselten die Stellung und Cornelia ließ sich kniend von hinten ficken. Rike hatte sich vor sie gesetzt und die beiden schauten sich in die Augen, während Cornelias Titten bei jedem Fickstoß rhythmisch schaukelten. Das klatschende Geräusch der immer wieder aufeinander treffenden Körper und dass Stöhnen von Cornelia ließen Justin erneut durchladen.

Noch ein paar Stöße und Justin spritze seine neue Ladung Ficksahne in die junge Fotze vor sich ab, die seine eigene Tochter sein könnte. Noch immer schauten sich Mutter und Tochter an, als sein Sperma wieder aus Cornelia herauslief und auf den Boden tropfte. “Gar nicht schlecht Justin, gar nicht schlecht”, bestätigte Cornelia und stand wieder auf, “und jetzt husch husch nach Hause. Ich würde morgen nur zu gern von deiner Frau erfahren, wie es wohl heute mit Dir war. Ach und… Du stinkst nach Pisse.”

An der Haustür blieb Justin kurz stehen: “Der Punkt geht an Euch, zugegeben. Damit sind wir quitt. Good bye Ladies” Als er die letzte Stufe erreicht hatte murmelte Cornelia noch: “Mama, hatte der nicht auch einen volljährigen Sohn? Ich informiere mich mal” und schloss die Tür.

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