What The Thief Wants

The great walled port city of Sirtus sat on the edge of the Mycean Sea. A many thousand ships hove into its port each day, and a great deal as many departed in the same. No market square was empty, and few pockets hung limp in the trousers of their owners. Trade boomed, honor ruled, and hearts loved.

But Paolo the merchant had, as of late, found himself distant from his wife Francesca. To be sure, she was pleasing to look upon. But the women of Sirtus were in no short supply, and all of them seemed so much fairer than his own.

So, he found himself in the chambers of the court alchemist Trynn.

"You're sure you want newt tongue?" she was saying, an eyebrow raised over the stopper on the bottle she held out to him. "That's the most potent aphrodisiac I've got."

"I've never been more sure of a thing in my life," he said, taking the potion from her, "and when you work with numbers like I do, you find that certainty is merely an illusion."

Trynn turned to the table with empty bottles and soiled rags between them. She ran an exasperated hand through her shock of red hair: a mortar and pestle lay upturned here, a small fire before a smoking green mixture there - a mess, by all definitions.

"Have your warehouses had any problems lately? With the thief, I mean."

Paolo, distracted by the generous cleavage visible in her low-cut robe, rolled his eyes at her question.

"'What the thief wants, she takes;' I've heard it before, and no, to answer your question, no, we haven't heard anything about thieves in any of our warehouses. I heard the Schuster vault on the western wall was broken into last week - no trace of a break-in, but not a surprise given that the vault door was stolen and the vault bricked up. But with the kind of security we pay for, I can only imagine she keeps half the city between her and our stock."

"It's not just a warning we tell misbehaving children," Trynn continued, unperturbed by his answer and his glance. "That thief is real as can be, and what she wishes to possess, none can deny her. She didn't break into that vault; she stole the door from the wall and picked the lock at her leisure later. Just opened the door and strolled into it from a mile away. I've heard she's stolen the very robes off of priests as they prayed, the shoes from fleet runners as they ran - even the eyes from the heads of those who've seen her."

Paolo, midway through examing the bottle he'd just received, paused. "The eyes?"

"Right from their faces. Leaves naught but blank skin. Part of me shudders to even think of it. The other part of me..."

Confused, Paolo shook his head. "Go on."

"That kind of magic! Think of it! I work day and night to concoct a simple blue potion," she spluttered, motioning to Paolo's mixture, then to the stacks of books lining the walls of her cramped chambers. "So much do I wish to know that sort of arcane art that I doubt I'd find myself frustrated were I a victim." She sighed lustily, then shut her books and began washing her flasks in a nearby basin.

Paolo, shaking his head in disagreement, stepped into the hallway and quietly shut the door.

"Paolo!" shreiked Francesca. Her hands were wrapped around him beneath the sheets as she lay beside him. "Did you smuggle a dwarf into our bed chambers?"

"No," he said, "it's newt tongue. Very potent stuff. Wouldn't want it to end up in the wrong hands."

"You want to end up in my hands though, don't you?" She tugged his member firmly, drawing him in groin-first. He lurched in response.

"Well that's always been the goal," he whispered. One of his hands snaked through her dark hair. "No matter the coin."

A smile played on Francesca's lips. There was old Paolo, the one she'd known in the olive groves in her youth. The almost-poet. The one with a bean counter's mind and a tongue that could charm the wet from the sea.

"Let me feel that cock," she said suddenly. There was no charming the wet from the sea coming from her tonight.

"Roll over," Paolo demanded. He hiked her nightgown up around her waist and set to work, his eyes fixed gratefully on the potion-bottle on the nightstand.

And yet, they weren't alone. On the sill of one of the high windows of their bed chambers, a silent figure sat transfixed. Such pleasure. Such raw lust. The figure, a woman, tugged her hair coyly. No man had been so rough or firm with her in a great long while. This man seemed so capable of pleasing his woman. But would he have her? No. No, she told herself, his will was bound to the creature under him.

For some time she stared down at the lovers until they came together, and then she stole silently to the floor, dropped her sack full of the night's booty beside her, and slinked to the bed where they lay sleeping. The man lay sprawled on his back, spent and content. Her eyes played over his still body, and then to his cock. She grinned. How could a woman be unsatisfied? That girth. That length. It was no stretch to see it belonging to a beast with rippling muscles that might hunch over her and bring her unending joy.

She bit her bottom lip and reached out to take it.

"My god, Paolo, that was some night!" Francesca rolled over in excitement. The night's activities still burned freshly in her mind.

"I'll say," he replied, face half-buried in the pillow. "I'm all numb." He reached an absent hand down to his groin, and found no purchase.

Paolo sat bolt upright. The sheets settled around him as a cold sweat broke out over his flesh.

"It's gone," he squeaked. "It's gone, Francesca."

She laughed. He had a humor about him too. She always liked that.

"Don't be silly," she chided, playing along. "You had it just last night."

Paolo threw himself out of bed and stood to face her. She gasped at the blank patch of flesh where his member so recently had been mounted. Curious, she reached out to rub the spot.

"Does that feel like...anything?"

"No," he said distractedly. "No it's just skin. But I feel hands on it. Small hands, a woman's hands." His hips gave an involuntary thrust. "It's being used. Someone's using it. As if it were a toy!" His face contorted, first unwillingly to pleasure, then as he controlled himself, to anger. Francesca could contain her laughter no longer. He stared, mouth agape.

"You must realize how comical this is."

"Honey, my cock could be anywhere right now, and I might never see it again. You understand my stress?"

"They'll probably bring it back."

"Why? Why would they ever bring it back? It's a living toy. Trust me, it'll respond when they want it to."

"Eventually, dear, you'll have to take a piss, and then they'll understand there's some maintenance involved. You'll probably piss all over their magic altar and anger their god, who will promptly return it to us unharmed."

"No," Paolo said. He knew who had taken it. "No, it was that damned thief."

"Ah," Francesca said. "Yes, well, what she wants she takes."

Paolo stopped for a moment and leaned on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. His hips thrust involuntarily. He tried to catch his breath. His wife, he saw, slid a hand beneath the covers. He shook his head - she'd never understand what it meant for him to be missing his cock - and then he came.

The thief's den, he determined after a visit with the city watch, was in the sewers beneath the city. Some dark magic, they told him, kept the doors closed to those unwelcome, but those whose audience was sought were greeted with no closed doors, no rats, and even no smell. Dark magic, they muttered.

As he descended into the sewers Paolo felt his member lain out on a table and massaged. One hand surrounded his sack and massaged him there as another hand rubbed his shaft gingerly. Eventually he was set on the "back" of his cock, where it should attach to his body, and fellated. His journey ended there briefly as he felt lips sliding up and down his length, catching on his ridge, and exploring him from all angles.

Panting after an orgasm left him weak in the knees, he pressed down the dark tunnels with only a torch lent to him by the watchmen. They hadn't lied to him. Once he came to the large stone doors swung wide open invitingly, he reflected that there was no real smell that bothered him, nor had he even seen another living thing, much less a rat.

And yet, no sooner had he stepped through the doors than did he hear voices in the distance. They echoed down the tunnel to him. Two women, it seemed, arguing with one another. It struck him as odd, or as odd as things could strike him in his current predicament, because he'd only felt one pair of hands on him earlier.

"Give it back, Amora. Whatever fell magic this is isn't worth it. I regret ever saying that in the first place."

Paolo recognized the first voice. It was Trynn. She seemed bothered.

"But dear, you said you wouldn't mind being the victim. And a frown does so suit you. Go ahead and give me one rub, and then we'll fix you up."

He rounded the corner and ducked back into the shadows.

This was the treasure chamber, it had to be. Gold coins littered the floor and torchlight flickered into every corner. In the middle of the room, a woman sat on a throne atop a small hill of chests, gold bars and skulls. Kneeling in front of her, another woman, as if begging. Both were nude.

The woman in the throne, presumably Amora, held a small piece of flesh in her hand. Confusion drained from Paolo's face with its color as he realized the object was in fact, Trynn's womanhood.

"You put this in me, and I'll give it back. Don't you worry."

"Come again," said Trynn. "You want me to stick... stick me... inside you?"

"Of course! Listen, when you've been around as long as I do, your tastes ossify into an interesting melange of everything dark. Besides, you can do that now! You coudln't before. You're welcome."

Amora placed the strip of flesh into Trynn's hand. She immediately pressed it between her legs. It didn't seem to stick. She tried again.

"Curse you, Amora."

"You want it back, you've just got to try something new." Amora's legs opened wider as she spoke. "Slip it in. Let's see how it feels. I think you'll quite enjoy it."

Trynn hesitated. Gingerly she raised her womanhood to her mouth and licked it.

"And of course there's that. I guarantee you've never felt that before."

Trynn ignored the encouragement and slid the now-wet flesh into Amora's womanhood. As if a key turned, both women were immediately overcome with sensation.

"Yes, yes, that's fantastic," Amora moaned.

"I can feel you," managed Trynn, her red hair slick with sweat. "I can feel you all around me. My god, this is amazing."

"I have half a mind to keep it," grunted Amora. "Just like I'm keeping that cock over there."

Paolo heard that as his cue; he tore himself from his hiding spot and covered the treasure room in a few long strides.

"Now wait just a minute here," he shouted, shaking his finger. "That's not a toy you stole from me, that's a part of my body!"

Trynn, if she noticed him, gave no real indication. Paolo could now see, at this distance, that she was turning as red as her hair. It must truly have been amazing to have her maidenhood within another.

Amora, bucking gently against Trynn's outstretched hand, looked up at him blankly.

"Have you ever tried it? I mean, I know you feel it from it, but have you ever felt it like a woman would?" She reached over to the table where it lay and picked it up. Paolo's eyes bugged. His vision showed her lifting a hefty cock four feet away, but his senses told him her hands were wrapped around his own cock. Up until now, he hadn't seen himself. He began to stir in her hand with excitement, and she felt it.

"You know what I mean," she exclaimed, interpreting it as enthusiasm. He made to protest, but she cut him off. "You want it back, I know, I know. You're just like this one here. Tell you what. You feel that cock like I feel that cock, and we'll get it back to you."

She dropped the detached manhood into Paolo's hands. He looked at it mournfully.

"You mean... you want me to..."

"Yes, that's right. Sit on it."

Something dark deep within him clicked in that moment. His cock lay in his hands, mere inches from his face. It was now his to abuse and pamper as he saw fit. He felt it, yet he could please it just as any other whore he might pay in any alley in Sirtus. To be sure he might find himself ashamed at such masturbatory behavior, but what other man could claim such a gift, twisted though it might be?

Amora panted softly as Trynn's hand moved firmly in and out like a piston, yet she stared, entranced, by Paolo's thoughts. He seemed so pensive.

Slowly she watched him turn his cock on its end, so that it pointed up at him. He breathed on it, she saw, and his eyebrows lifted. He felt it. His tongue snaked from his lips to wrap itself over the head of his cock. Lustily he sucked it like a nipple, lifting it momentarily out of his hands so that all that supported it were his lips. He dropped it back into his hands and thrust it into his mouth fiercely.

"You like that, don't you?"

He dared not answer. Such self-love was illicit and base. Men needed women much as they needed air and water. Yet here he was, in two very happy pieces.

"You've got to sit on it to get it back," she reminded him.

He felt his bowels twitch at that remark. What would that be like? Shouldn't he be afraid? Only soldiers and conquered slaves were laid in such a way. It was an admission of ownership. Did she want his cock to own him? Was that the relationship he needed to acknowledge before she'd give it back?

Paolo set his detached cock on the floor pointing up. It stayed, thankfully. He lifted his robes and watched it twitch with his body's corresponding movements, just as if it were still attached. Was it wet enough? Should he suck it a little more?

It was too late. His weight settled on the head of his cock and he fell back with surprise. In an instant his whole length had pushed into him, and for the first time Paolo was penetrated. He sucked in a sharp breath with shock, and Amora, panting more heavily, managed to laugh.

"Move up and down," she commanded. "You'll like it even more."

Paolo felt that a refutation was in order, but Trynn cut him off. She was no longer hunched over in pleasure, but looked up at Amora with pleading eyes.

"That's enough. I can't do much more."

"My dear," Amora said, looking down, "You'll have to keep going until I'm satisfied, or I'm afraid my needs will only become greater."

In one deft move she reached down with both hands and grasped Trynn's generous breasts. Effortlessly they came away from her chest and fell into Amora's hands.

"You are clay," she said as Trynn looked up, then down for confirmation, then up again. "You are that which I wish you to be. What the thief wants, she takes."

Gently, Amora pinched the nipples on the now-removed breasts. Trynn breathed deeply. Turning her hands, Amora let them slide until they were kept from falling painfully to the floor by their nipples. They stretched more than expected, now freed from Trynn's chest, and all three of the room's occupants looked on, fascinated.

"How does that feel?" Amora asked rhetorically. She brushed the side of one breast so that it twisted against the nipple pinched between her thumb and forefinger. "That's no twisted nipple, it's a twisted teat."

"What you want, you take," Trynn said, clearly fighting her own complicit curiousity. "But please, return this womanhood to me."

"I'm nowhere near done, dear," said Amora, leaning back to juggle the detached breasts. Trynn took a deep breath and continued servicing the thief.

Paolo had reached down to his sack and held it against the floor as he rose, squatting, over his cock and thrust himself onto it again and again. Save for a greater tightness, he felt the texture of himself to be identical to that of most women. His wife's hole, of course, was sweeter than any wine his heart could wish for, but this new feeling was somewhat familiar, for the unknown sensations he expected. Up and down he went, flaring his cock as he strained to get up, and growing softer on his downward thrusts with the release of blood in his legs. Somehow, in spite of himself, Paolo enjoyed it.

"You've had your fun," Trynn said, abandoning the diplomatic approach. "Reattach my breasts and my womanhood and release me. This has gone on long enough."

Amora paused. The tension in the room became palpable for a mere instant, then all was still again. "My dear Trynn," she said. "You should really mind your manners. How is that a way to treat your host, who only lives to entertain you? You're not enjoying yourself? How about some juggling?" She threw Trynn's breasts into the air and caught them again. Amora looked at them in mock confusion. "Anyone can juggle two things. What about three?"

Unceremoniously, she reached down and grasped a handful of Trynn's red hair. As if it were always capable of doing so her head lifted free and clear of her body and Trynn now looked down at Amora, her own headless body, and Paolo from the thief's hand.

"I can hardly say I'm entertained," Trynn said, glancing at her breasts in Amora's other hand.

"Your body stopped pleasing me," the thief said impatiently, ignoring her. She slapped Trynn in the flat between her shoulder blades, where her head would normally go. "I didn't tell it to stop."

Trynn's head let out a sigh of exasperation as her body resumed plunging its hand in and out of Amora's groin. As it did so, she threw Trynn's head into the air, followed by the two breasts. In moments she was grinning as the shock of red hair flew past the two white globes of flesh.

Paolo felt himself nearing a climax. He tensed in his bowels, which only gripped his cock tighter. Amora seemed to sense it; she turned her attention from Trynn's headless body to his excited whimpers.

"You're nearing the end," she said. "In mere seconds you'll know what it's like. I bet you can't wait."

He shook his head. The novelty of it all was fresh in his mind. His heart beat with an unyielding fire. He had to finish here. Power, sheer power, welled up within him, then spanned the gap between him and his manhood, rerouted into himself. He bared down and came.

He felt himself pulsing in his bowels. His bowels themselves convulsed, and the two of them worked against one another to milk him dry as an old cow. In that one moment, Paolo felt he knew himself better than any woman ever could.

Amora, too, at seeing his bliss, began to orgasm. She threw her head back and writhed in the throne as Trynn's body, clearly dizzy, fought to continue servicing her. Yet she didn't whimper as he did. A shrill scream of primal satisfaction emanated from the throne and echoed from every glinting dubloon in the chamber. She caught Trynn's head and breasts and let them roll to the floor, then fell back into the throne as if struck by lightning as the climax began to wash over her.

Paolo pulled himself free of his bowels and looked over to Trynn's body. The woman had gathered her breasts in one hand and hugged them to her chest. In the crook of her other arm she held her head and in one of her hands she clutched her detached womanhood.

"You've looked better," he offered.

Trynn stuck her tongue out at him. "You see what I mean about this magic? It should take hours for a wizard to get my head to come off."

"You said you wouldn't mind being the victim," he said, wiping his cock off on his robe.

Trynn rolled her eyes. "Did you seriously expect me to end up like this?" Her head fell forward into the soft mass of her breasts. "Like a puzzle?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"Like a puzzle," Amora repeated. She snapped to awareness on the throne and beheld them both. "Bravo, Paolo. Really, bravo. Few would plunge into adventure like that, but you rose to the challenge. And such a challenge you are," she glanced surreptitiously at his cock.