Bread Dildos

Rorvalen increased her grinding, desperate for more. "Let me," she moaned. She tried to pull down her pants, and at the same time struggled to move her hand between Livia's legs.

"Wait." Livia arrested both her hands. Smiling smugly, she held them firm. "Work first. Then play." Sitting down on Rory's lap, she placed the thief's slim, captured hands on her ample hips. Smiling wide, she yielded another kiss. "Hmmm, work. First."

"Fine." Groaning, Rory ceased her exploration. For now. She snatched up the documents. "See the outer courtyard?" she asked. "Open and pillared? The water features and the colonnade through to the baths, here? And Tarhweed? A Tatters' name if I ever heard one. So, a house built by Master Zupalatin, I reckon. Just like back on the isles, only better. A perfect union of comfort and security. Fashionable - if not for one little feature."

Livia tilted her head. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The walls, sexy. The walls."

"You're going to scale them?"

"No. I will hide inside them," said Rorvalen. She pointed at the staff list. "And I think I have a way in." She caressed the other's chin and beamed at her. "And that is without knowing any details." A quick peck on the cheek. "You mentioned a party?"

"Impressive," Livia mumbled, then louder: "Can't say I quite understand yet, but I trust you. But then I knew I could count on you." She touched Rory's hair, and planted a kiss on her lips. A lingering kiss filled with promise. "Yes, a party. Have you heard of The Deep Wave Circle?"

"No." The thief shook her head. "Some kind of cult?"

"No," the sorceress massaged the bridge of her nose, "or at least not as far we," she paused and smiled, "as far as I can tell. They are a merchant's association. Secretive, but there is no evidence of magic – or any sort of religious creed. Well-funded, though."

"And with an eye for art, apparently."

"Precisely. Though, who can say what they think they got. Chains, I am not exactly sure what we are dealing with."

Rorvalen chewed her lips, and even stopped her caresses. "I don't see a vault on the map. A safe? Or is it hidden somewhere?"

"Hence the party." Livia stretched, self-satisfied. "Master Tarhweed acquired the Falcon some time last year and searching his mansion would not seem a practical option. But patience does offer her rewards. He is going to sell it, and with all the revelry going on, security will be lax."

"To who?"

"Whom." A mechanical correction, then a long, awkward pause. "I am not sure," she admitted, finally.

"Then how do you – lemme guess," Rorvalen winced, "magic? And guesswork?"

The other nodded.

"And you're sure? No – chance of interference? No unclear fates? Some kind of – of counter-magic? Trickery?"

"I am sure." She did sound sure, or self-assured at least.

"Hmm." The thief pinched her own earlobe. "You said party, and I'm thinking infiltration. Blend in, share a few laughs. Get drinks and a bite to eat, then snatch and run."

Livia raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. The Wave does not have any female members, I don't think. But it is a party. I expect guests – spouses, girlfriends and sundry. And we won't need to forge a ring for you – they wear gold and aquamarine as their insignias." She paused. "Risky, nonetheless."

"I will need funds." Rory had moved her hand under Livia's shirt, and trailed her inner thigh. "I will need a new dress. I will need better tools, and money for bribes. But I can do it. I am sure."

The sorceress pushed aside dyed-black hair. Tracing warm fingers along the sensitive edges of Rorvalen's ears, she gave her promise: "You shall have them." A pause, then a gentle flick. "If you are a good girl now."

Rory raised her voice in protest. She was then pulled, laughing, down to the bed, and showered with love.

"Mhm," the thief moaned, and tried to undo the countless clasps and loops that held closed the other's dress. Instead, she found herself pinned down, silenced by more kisses, and then deserted.

"Hey!"

No answer. Livia moved with grace, danced almost, to the table. With a cry of triumph, she lifted high the wine jug and the half-eaten dildo, then fell back to bed.

"You taste good," she purred. Crunching down, she tore off a large bite.

"I just wish you hadn't broken it," the thief complained, "Might've been – useful." She nevertheless accepted the offered chunk.

"Just wait," Livia said. She devoured the rest with shocking speed. Her mouth stuffed with pieces of cock, she chewed and swallowed loudly. "Wait for it." The sorceress wiped away the last crumbs and whispered something.

Some words were in Feyish, others Rorvalen did not understand.

"Sugach! Sugach! Kesh!" A sudden chocking sound. Livia, staggered, slumped down on the mattress. Writhing, thrashing, she gasped for air. "Hurgh. Ahhh!"

Shocked, Rory hurried to her side. Suddenly, her hands were seized once more.

"It worked," the sorceress whispered. Her strength had returned, and she guided Rorvalen downwards.

A large cock had grown between Livia's legs. Warm and firm, and – as they saw once they had peeled away whalebone skirting and lacy hose – only somewhat miss-coloured.

"Amid the, ahhh, darkened trees, warping spasms ravaged the purple beast."

"What?" asked Rorvalen.

"It's from the Lyndwyrm. An old joke, not a clever one. Never thought it'd actually be purple, though. And this fucking hard to control." The sorceress grabbed it just beneath the tip and pressed down on the swollen shaft.

Whenever Rory touched it with trembling fingers, Livia hissed. "So sensitive," Rorvalen cooed. Kissing the opening caused the whole length to twitch and pulsate. It tasted like bread – and like cunt.

"No. Noo! Fucking chains, no!" the sorceress cursed, and tried to pull away. But it was too late. Thin, clear liquid spewed from the bulging cock. "Chains!" With frenzied strokes, she drenched the laughing thief.

"Mhm," Rory accepted the warm shower with a crooked smile.

"Now I know how my brother feels," Livia grumbled, then started to laugh as well. Rubbing still, she coated Rory in more and more of her fluids. "Here. Let me help you." Groaning and laughing, she aimed the final spurt.

"Tastes like strawberries." Rorvalen licked her fingers, and the shrinking cock. Together they stripped away her sticky clothes. "Look!" They scoped the poison-green goo from her face and fed it to each other. "I am sorry your spell – hngh." Rory tried words of comfort but was interrupted when the other's slick hand spread her open.

"Don't be." Livia's wicked grin had returned, and she mercilessly teased the thief's pearl. Without pause, she grabbed Rorvalen's head, and drew a kiss from quivering lips. Her fingers never tired. She broke away but redoubled her efforts. "I've never felt anything like it." Blushing, she added: "It was enjoyable. And next time I shall do it properly. I will fuck you. And I will fill you with my cum."

"Next ti -?" Rory tried mockery, but nimble fingers and hungry kisses took away her breath. A sudden jolt, maddening and almost painful. She looked down and saw blue sparks arching along the other's fingertips. "You!" She moaned. "You've never... ." She could no longer speak. Instead, she rocked herself back and forth. The air was rich with lust, and with power. Desperate, she threw herself against Livia's hands. Unsteady, she tasted the valley between the large, pale breasts.

"So wet, gushing," Livia said with obvious self-satisfaction. The assault stopped for a heartbeat, and she showed off her glistening fingertips.

"Please," Rorvalen struggled to speak, her own fevered touches were not enough. "Please!" Sweet and tangy, she tasted herself. Sucking, she accepted Liv's invading fingers. And her tongue.

With hot kisses, the sorceress mapped Rorvalen's body. Teased her nipples and followed the curvature of her ribcage. Up – to her shoulders. Down, until she kissed away fingers and dived parted lips. It was not enough.

"More. Please, please, please. Plee – aase, more!"

Finally, Liv delivered the magic touch. Electric might exploded the thief. It fried her brain and frazzled her nerves. Screaming, thrashing, she let herself be overwhelmed. Another jolt forced her upright. Gushing, she came. Then she slumped, spent, into Livia's arms.

"Good girl." The sorceress sounded smug, but her hug was gentle. "You earned your pay."

Rory managed a grunt. They fell asleep – wrapped in each other's embrace.

Hectic activity consumed the next day. She visited her tailor in the morning and picked up a new jacket immediately. The party dress he measured her for would take time. On a whim, she bought a new cloak. One fitted to the new gown, while still dark and large enough to hide behind.

Next, the shoemaker. A pair of new work boots, soft soled and comfortable. Easy enough. On the second pair, she had to compromise. Stylish was doable, and prompt – after terse negotiations – as well. Quiet movement, however, she had to sacrifice. She would make do.

After a quick lunch, Rory called on her tinkerer. The wizened halfling did forgot his annoyance when she repaid old debts with glittering coin. She did not haggle when she picked out her new tools; lockpicks, probes and wires – wrought from steel, fine iron and feysilver. Their parting was amicable, even as he ignored her unsubtle attempts to invite herself to dinner.

Inspired nevertheless, she took an earlier tram up to the Third. She dinned on beef and winter greens, in one of the Shear-style restaurants. After, she treated herself to apple cider and kahwe, and then made her way to the small bathhouse at the edge of the spire.

"Mistress Houdslayer!" The mousy woman yelped, shocked. Rorvalen had waited for her in the steam-room, stretched naked on the cedar wood bench, and revelling in the heat.

"Mistress Houndslayer," the other woman said again. "Please, I am engaged." But she could not tear her eyes away from the thief's chest.

"Relax." Rory slid closer. "I am here on business." She spoke in a hushed voice, conspiratorial, yet warm. "And I am happy for you, of course." A smile, barely forced. "But you will need money for your dowry." She touched the other's hand. "How much do they pay a chambermaid? Not enough, I'd wager."

The young servant had at first shied away, but now allowed the thief to pull her down to the bench. "I am nervous."

"Don't be." The thief inched closer. "I just have a few questions. No one will ever know."

"I," the maid had lowered her eyes, "I've missed you."

"Shh. I know." Rory let her fingers wander up the other's legs until she reached the waiting sex. "It will be our secret."

The maid's moans grew louder, needier, with each answer. Rorvalen questioned her until a full plan had taken shape, and until her nimble touch had transformed the domestic into a quivering mess.

'MURRUS - Alchemist,' read the brass sign in the dingy side-street only just within the Seventh. It did not display the mortar and pestle insignia of the Alchemist's Guild. Chewing on her last ball of nash, Rory entered.

The proprietor was away, and Rorvalen was served by his helper, a curious and misshapen creature. Bronze scales covered its diminutive stature. A warped and dog-snouted parody of noble draconic blood. It was dressed in a protective leather apron, a filthy loincloth, and nothing else.

"I'm looking for..." The apron moved, and Rorvalen did her best to ignore the bulge.

"Yes?" The voice was surprisingly pleasant and clearly male. He spoke flawless Low with an almost imperceptible slurring of the sibilants.

The thief collected herself and read the formulae from her list.

He gave prompt and knowledgeable service, though his tongue unnerved her. A red-hued and slithering thing, he tasted the air like a strong drink. And his grin was too knowing for her taste.

Still, he proved useful. He had handed her flashpowder, different coloured smudge chalk and midnight water. He mixed the thief's acid fresh for her, and located silver, red and dark shavings solution in the storage room. His eyes glinted like hellfire when he gave her the jar filled with sparklemist glamour.

"Roostertooth decoction?" she demanded.

"You sure?"

"I know what I'm doing."

He shrugged and obeyed. "Anything else?" he asked, after.

Rory exhaled. "I have bought invisibility potions here, in the past," she whispered.

"Those are banned by decree of the Senate." He winked. The tip of his tongue slithered out. Split ends, each twitching independent of the other. Then he barred his teeth. Small, white needles, and razor-sharp. "But I trust you. Hold on." He disappeared beneath the counter.

When he reappeared, he carried in his hands two small vials filled with inky blue liquid. She uncorked a bottle. The smell was familiar. Legit. Rory nodded and began to count out the money. Then she noticed the display.

Another small vial. Made from crystal glass and adorned with golden wire. Inside a deep violet cloud swirled, dissolved in a snowy tincture. The thief stopped her counting and gasped.

"Is that?" she asked.

"Chainmaster venom? Yes."

"I'll take it." She counted out more coins into his outstretched hand.

"Anything else?" Throaty panting and a dangerous glint in his eyes. He had moved close to her, and his hand lingered just over hers.

"No." She looked down at him. "Thank you, though."

"You're fertile." He grinned.

"And you presume too much." In the following silence, Rorvalen studied his face. Predatory, but not more so than before. Arousal? Or even an approximation of winning professionalism.

"I meant no offence, but our blightroot is fresh and I purified the distillate today," he said.

Of. Course. Of course. Of course! She was beginning to understand. "Your smell. You can what? Sense emotions? And," she grimaced, "my cycle?"

He flashed his teeth. His long tongue waved at her, read her. "'S about right. You're disgusted. Not angry, though – intrigued. And..."

The split ends moved; graceful, slow, snake-like. Don't. He's – don't. "Of course. Of course, you're still a shameless pervert. And I could kick your ass."

"True and true. But, you're wondering." Now he looked like a dragon. The kind drawn on pre-founding tapestries: Bestial cunning and cruel greed. "You're wondering what this tongue can do." The long, fleshy tips almost reached her body. "You're adventurous, I can tell." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Let me lick your cunt."

"Fine. Know what? I'll take some."

"Yes! What? Hm?"

"Blightroot. You tried to sell me blightroot. And," she smirked, "you will help me with a perfume. Something subtle, yet strong. Something to fool dogs – and brazen salesclerks."

He obeyed. And she spent another bell and a full dragon on picking out two vials of quality scents. But the tongue was always there, and they both knew that she was wet.

After she had paid him, she pretended to leave. When she slid back in through the closing door, the creature had peeled off the heavy apron. He stood, rubbing his scale-covered cock.

"I almost forgot," she made time for a dramatic pause, as he hurried to cover his nakedness, "I wanted to pick up some nash." Smiling, she moved close to him. "Don't stop on my account, though."

"Fucking chains!" One-handed, he handed her a box of the dark, spicy gum.

She gave him a wink, and a few scales. And she then left him for good.

Midday had come and gone when she reached the bakery. She had already picked up her dress and stowed it away in her lair. Rory was beginning to feel her feet. And after waiting for a halfbell in the shadows, the glamour on her face had started to inch. Popping her bubble, she threw back the opened cloak and stepped out into the twilight. "Hard day?" she asked.

The young baker who had staggered, covered in flour, out into the fading daylight looked like it. Startled, he squinted at her, then nodded.

She gave him her sweetest smile. "And you must be tired. I have but the teensiest favour to ask."

He grunted something.

She linked her arm with his. "I do hope you're not too tired for drinks. I am buying."

He followed her to a seedy wine-sink. She tried flirting, but he started to yawn. He drank slowly but perked up when she mentioned money. They did indeed supply the Tarhweed estate. Rory made her offer.

"Five dragons," he said, "and you need to be there before the master arrives."

She studied his face and watched his fingers. The demand was outrageous, but the heavy bags under his eyes and his nervous twitches seemed sincere. "Much too much."

"I could lose my job. And if you got caught... ." Less tired now. There was real venom in his voice.

Rorvalen relaxed. "Four," she said.

"Fine. But I want half now."

"Wouldn't trust you if you didn't." She flashed him her most winning smile. Each of his actions showed an innocent seduced. A common bloke seizing a rare opportunity. She was safe, or – Rory shuddered – the soon to be victim of a masterful manipulator. No time for paranoia. She paid the man.

Midnight. The backpack heavy on her shoulders, she left the tavern. She had taken the second to last tram out, and then waited for two long bells inside, nursing a single cup of wine.

Fog rolled in the street, and almost swallowed up the dragonlights. It suited her fine. Looking around nervously, he was waiting for her already. "Come. Quick." He unlocked a side door and ushered her into the manufactory. "Quickly now." Giant ovens bathed the main room in orange light. Young voices chattered gaily as they prepared the dough, and kneaded it on the long tables.

Rorvalen and her guide took a dark tunnel past, until they reached the inner courtyard. There he lit a lantern. "Storage is through here. Quick." The door was unlocked. Crates filled with bread lined the walls, stacked to the ceiling. And further back, enormous dicks cast giant shadows. "Tarhweed. Take your pick." The cone of light jiggled as he swept his hand over the cluster of cocks.

She placed a hand on her mouth to stifle a laugh. They were two-man long and anatomically correct, but for the obvious cut right down the middle. And the ropes used to bind them shut were outright perverted.

"Don't laugh. There'll be flowers and herbs, and they'll actually look really good! Master says I have a real talent with sculpture and all."

"I'm sorry. I just wasn't expecting – never mind." She touched the rope. It was thick. Rorvalen barred her teeth. "Didn't expect that either. How I am I supposed to get out?"

"Trick knot. I'll prepare it, and we'll finagle the other end inside after we close the lid. Then you can pull it shut, and open it up again. How'd you think the dancers get out?"

"Sorcery?"

He snorted. "Funny. Now pick one."

"That one!" She pointed at the one in the middle. They all looked the same.

"A fine choice," he said.

"I'll take your word for it."

He undid the rope and the top part slid open with ease. Stretching out his hand, he looked at her. "Money."

She paid him. Before climbing inside, she lifted the lid. "Light enough. That'll work." She threw in the backpack first.

He prepared the knot. "We'll deliver tomorrow evening. Here." He handed her the hemp. "Anything else? Second thoughts?"

"I'm rea – actually, hold up." Rorvalen had pulled the roostertooth decoction from her belt but turned around. Among the bread crates she found a baked dildo, and snatched it up. He stared at her, mouth agape.

"I've got some time to kill later." She smiled. He turned red and looked at his feet. Recognition played on his face. She moved closer to him than necessary, but he could not meet her gaze. "Maybe next time we can come to a different arrangement... ." A throaty whisper and wicked glance.