Bread Dildos

The thief swallowed a curse. Her two targets had almost reached the door, but she could not tear herself away. Relief washed over her when they were stopped again. She pushed her thighs together, against the growing heat.

"Chains!" The one in front moved backwards. Cum stained his softening prick and trickled from the woman's lips. Nectar now stained Rory's fingers.

The man in the tradesman's suit was huffing. He pulled out of the quivering woman, stroking his twitching cock. Ropes of yellowed white hit the offering's body, up to her breasts. Rory could hear her low moans, then the sound of the opening door.

She stole a final, desperate glance. More men had freed their members and surrounded the courtesans. One had been lifted up on all fours and was pounded from the back and from the front. Men groaned and women moaned. Heavy footfalls on the paved path. She had to hurry.

A hidden root caught Rorvalen's foot. Shocked, stumbling, she composed herself. Her targets were easy to spot, even up in the distance. The joints on the dwarf's armour screamed with every step. And the human's bald head could be seen over the trimmed hedges. Following, however, even with her focus renewed, proved difficult.

Another root almost stopped her quiet sprint. She dodged a low hanging branch and jumped a muddy puddle. When the paths neared, she ducked to the ground. When they diverged, she ran faster.

Up ahead, her targets had reached the tents, and were mixing with the crowd. They moved slower, but the thief almost lost their sight. Growing panicked, she calmed herself. A soft exhale, and she could read the clues. Light reflected on polished metal, parting guests, then nothing. She jumped the hedge.

Few noticed. Their eyes drawn instead to the central pavilion, and to the two figures on the otherwise empty floor. Rorvalen brushed sprigs and burrs from her dress and smiled at the couple looking at her. "Nature's call."

Up in front, Master Tarhweed and the dwarf stood alone. While the host invited his guests to dance, the thief moved along the edges of the crowd. Moving past bulging purses, she rejoined her companions.

"Have fun?" Elisabeth's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I did." Rorvalen's breath was ragged, and her attention was on Tarhweed. "There were girls inside," she whispered, "and they fu – they had sex with them. Two, three men, all together, and all at once. Teaming up, ganging up on a single girl."

Rosa gasped. Wide eyed Kasha leant forward, her cheeks flush. Sissy's smile was serene.

"The one time I skip the ceremony." The man beside the redhead was smiling as well. A smug, knowing grin. There was a man standing beside her.

He cut an impressive figure, dressed in his dark doublet with a scarf of the same green as Elisabeth's dress. A stubbly brown beard framed a handsome face. Handsome and similar to Sissy's. On his finger, he wore a ring inlaid with aquamarine.

"My brother," said the redhead, "Maximus."

He sighed with exaggerated exasperation. "Charmed." The grin on his face was now much alike his sister's. He bowed low and handed her her drink with a flourish.

"You must forgive me. I should not have said anything." Rory drank to hide her face.

"Nonsense. If anything, I am surprised that so few of our female guests get curious." He winked. At her, or at Kasha. "You only need tell us all the dirty details."

"Details! Details!" Sissy and Kasha echoed. All their faces were flushed, and their dilated pupils glinted with a crimson glow.

"I don't think – are you all right?"

All four laughed. Then Maximus showed off the small vial filled with smokey red liquid. "Gaoler's rose extract. We may have had a taste already." He smiled. "Want some?"

Rorvalen froze, then nodded. She had no intention of dulling her senses while on a heist, but pretending to would help her to fit in. And pretending to be high could not hurt either.

"Lovely." He poured the viscous liquid into her offered glass. "Now tell us more."

She only exaggerated a little. For effect, and because lying came easy. Wild words strung together without much thought. Easier than truth. She still half-listened to Tarhweed turn an invitation to dance into a speech about the bonds of friendship. And about the gifts of commerce.

Rosa looked scandalized. Kasha could not hide her interest. The siblings showed the idle amusement expected of their class. But all their eyes were on her. On her lips, numb from touching the drug-laced rim. Rorvalen paused for effect, made sure they did not see her hands, and spilled a few more drops. With a hand motion she had picked up from dockside whores, she closed out her narration. And pretended to take another sip.

"Outrageous," said Maximus, "more."

"And his cock was," she paused. Tarhweed had finished his speech. "If you'd excuse me for a moment. I need to powder my nose."

"Certainly." The man flashed his teeth. He bowed low and kissed her fingertips; courteous and approximating modesty. "It is a large house though, and the insides are positively labyrinthine. I would feel better if you'd allow me to escort you." He stretched out his hand.

Rorvalen forced a smile. Obstacle or opportunity. I need a decision. And fast. For now, her targets were delayed at the edge of the dance floor. Surrounded by friends and business prospects. Rosa seemed oblivious. Kasha was either eager or jealous. Sissy, however, looked like a cat watching something small and furry move too close to another predatory feline.

"I would be," Rory emphasized the final word, "honoured."

The redhead nodded, her expression unreadable. And Maximus lowered his hand. With her best innocent smile, Rorvalen slipped her arm through his.

"So, this, Jake, was it? He treat you well?"

She repeated the by now well-worn lies. Some sentences she slurred, and with each giggle she slid closer to him. A hint of tasteful perfume and the warmth of his strong frame.

"This way to the guest wash-rooms," he said. They had entered the main building, well ahead of Tarhweed and the dwarf. He pointed in the wrong direction.

Rorvalen pouted and pulled him along their likely path. "I feel like my head is spinning. And I feel so hot," she lowered her voice, "between my legs."

"What about Jake?" He moved his hand on her hip, even as he continued his protestations.

"I need a man now," she said, "and he left me all alone." She pushed him deeper into the winding hallways. Behind them, the heavy, armoured footfalls echoed from the marble floor. "I need you," she said, "quick. In here."

Darkness greeted them inside the small reading room. Only starlight and distant torches filtered through the glass panes, colourful in daylight. Rorvalen closed the door behind them and dropped to her knees. The footsteps moved closer. Soon they would pass them by.

"What are you doing?" he whispered. Whispered as if he did not know.

"Shh." Lips and finger, an invitation even in pale half-light. Her hands wandered up his legs. Up from inches above the boots, and inside as she neared his crotch. He was hard already.

She freed his cock. Steps outside, closer still. A quick suck. Play the grasping whore and send him away thinking he had seduced her. His cock. Slurp down cum and get back to work. His rock-hard, beautiful cock.

With a low moan, she engulfed his hardness. Pushed it past her lips. The tip brushed against her palate. A quick suck. She prepared her throat.

But the need was strong. The risk of gaoler's rose. The spectacle in the lodge. Shifting, she parted her legs. Tore apart the folds and teased her warmth.

He touched her hair and caressed her chin. Soft fingers, and subtle welts. A fencer.

Fuck me! she wanted to say, but her tongue scraped against his dick. She gagged. Slurped, and trailed spit along his shaft. Her fingertips were racing, tracing her need, and flicking her bud. Gushing need bedewed her hand.

He groaned, gruff voiced. "I'm close."

Greedy, but disappointed, she sucked. An idle thought about broken bread. She needed her pussy filled. She wanted to taste him, and she wanted to be fucked.

He tasted salty sweet, and she swallowed it all.

Thick veins crisscrossed along his length, but he did not soften. The rose had seized his manhood, and he would pay for his indulgence.

"Fuck me," she said. Begged him.

He lifted her up. Strong handed and sure-footed he carried her to the reading table. Books clashed to the floor, wiped aside with passion. His finger felt better than even hers. Almost as good as Liv's. And his cock felt divine.

Then her left ear started twitching. She heard him. Moving, struggling, and pushing. Low moans and animalistic grunts. Heard herself. Her beating heart. But outside, she no longer heard them.

Rorvalen screamed, in heat, and because she wanted to forget. Shivers, spasms, had gripped her, and she wanted to ride high. She did not want him to know, so she screamed louder. Cold fingers grasped on her spine. But his warmth was between her legs. He pumped into her, again and again. Fucked her and made her beg for more. The steps outside had stopped for certain.

Whispers. Rory pricked up sharpened ears. His heartbeat, fast but regular. Her own blood, rushing wild. And their whispers. The dwarf's voice, even hushed, deep and booming. Master Tarhweed, sugar sweet. Their meanings eluded her, but their eyes were burning into her skin. Shudders gripped her.

"I – ahhhhh!" Words died in her throat and turned into screams. And amid lustful panic an idea formed. I can use this. "Sooo goood. Ohhh sooo good." A hint of exaggeration, a dash of acting, and a lot of unrestrained lust. Sitting upright, she kissed his neck. Showed off her swinging tits and lust-marked face. An unrepentant whore for her lover, and a shameless whore for the doorway.

"Damn," he whispered, not expecting her to hear, "Every time with that fucking rose." He tried to silence her with his mouth but slipped. He toppled over, and she mounted him. Straining, he planted kisses on her neck, teased her breasts. "I – We should... ."

"Shh. Hold me tight." When she felt his hands on her hips, she turned. Ridding his cock, she presented her front to the door. She hiked up her shirt. Spreading apart the smooth lips, she framed ramming dick and overflowing cunt.

She wailed. Louder and louder still. Becoming the whore, the addled victim. Another scream, and she threw back her head. Arching her body, she prostrated herself. An acolyte to lust.

"Forgemaster's mercy," said the dwarf. Rorvalen could understand him this time.

"Wonder if the wife's around." Tarhweed too. "But if we can't go in – might as well enjoy the show."

Shame, mouse-like, gnawed at her. She had exposed her everything to them. Wantonness stalked her and flushed her face with crimson. She had exposed her body to them, and it had entranced them. Salacious thought and the wild ride tore away quaint inhibitions. Yet self-satisfaction conquered all. She could not allow them to see her face.

"What?" he asked.

She could not hide the manic grin from him as well. "Just fuck me!" Screaming and thrashing, she rededicated herself to lust. Fucked away his questions and called out to her inner slut.

Desire answered. Whenever she slammed down her hips, she answered. Stalked her weaknesses, hunted down traitorous thoughts, and transformed her face. Only a woman and a cock. Nothing to hide, only sex. Only fucking.

Her lover lifted his head. Crimson eyes gleamed in the dark. By the smirk; by the sneer, he had not heard. His hands and lips were on her body, and he was inside her. A final throe of his, frenzied sweet.

His warmth spread and filled her. But she was not done. Riding, rocking, she grinded her peak from his softening prick. Smiling after, she touched him. Dick in hand, she smeared it and herself with goo. "Almost," she claimed. Throaty voice and half-lidded eyes. Her moans turned to a growl. Touching herself, she came. Again.

"I, erhh... ." He broke the too long silence. "It was – anyways... ." His hand was hot on her thighs. "I should go." He turned to leave.

"All woozy." Rorvalen stood, wobbled upright, and hit the floor. She cushioned the fall into a half roll, then hid her head beneath the table.

"Are you?" He knelt, and again his hands touched her knee. A pretend snore, and he scurried away.

Yelping, he was stopped by the door. "Sorry – I didn't mean to – I didn't see – I won't mention anything to – I'll leave."

Their laughter filled the room, all the way down to her table. "Don't you worry lad – 'tis a party. Be merry! 'Tis the reason the good Master invited all y'all." Dwarven metal groaned as he hit Maximus' sagging shoulder. "Shall we?"

Footfalls, theirs heavy and moving closer. And her lover's, lighter and soon out of range. The moment of truth. Then Tarhweed kicked her.

"Chains, she's out," he said. He kicked her again. "Should be alright."

Cold leather scraped her side, and goosebumps began to sprout. Rorvalen almost forgot to breathe. In and out. In and out. The final impact came from an armoured boot, and hit hard enough to affect a snort.

"Lass is out," said the dwarf.

Turning away, they flicked a switch. Rumbling inside the walls, ropes and pulleys squeaked. The thief moved her head. Inch by inch, until she he had the familiar secret door in view. Book-filled shelves, closed. Behind her another door opened.

In and out. In and out. The floor under her palms was cold to the touch, and her muscles ached under the strain. Slowly, carefully, she turned. The vault was open. Beside the steel door, a small circle of flickering light, and another simple lock.

The dwarf stood inside. A pouch was fastened to his belt, large enough to contain the statuette. The armoured figure, however, paid it no heed, and instead rapped his knuckles against the wall. With a grunt, he scrapped the fingers of his gauntlet over metallic shelving and inspected the hinge. "Fine work, that," he said.

Turning to his guest, Tarhweed mumbled something. He now too looked at the safe. The dwarf was still studying the hinges. They were facing away from her. Rorvalen undid the clasps of her shoes. A soft thud. A moment of silence. Panic, then laughter. They resumed their conversation. She moved on toes and fingertips. No shadows; now or never. Sliding upright, she took a single quiet step. Then the jump.

"Wha?" He did not have time to turn around.

Turning into the kick, she hit him. Square in the chest. Both tumbled forwards, and she threw the flashpowder. Specks of oily dust meet stone and metal. Rorvalen shielded her eyes as it exploded into phosphoric light.

She landed on all fours. The dwarf was close, and she could reach the satchel. Prize in hand, she dashed back. The door. Cold steel chilled her fingers. She strained to get it moving, threw herself against the weight. It budged. Moved, slowly. Then faster. A final push, and she slammed it shut.

Inside, faintly, the men were screaming. "Get the release. Hurry!"

Small flames erupted from the wall. Too much midnight water. She poured dark shavings solution into the lock. Viscous, ebony tendrils ran along the wires and wormed into the gears.

The screams inside had grown louder, desperate. They banged against the useless lever and cursed their captor.

The probes, tipped in the silvery, glowed in the half-light. Reaching deep into the mechanism, they burnt cables clean through and arrested others. A few drops of the red sprinkled around the door's outline, and fleshy mushroom heads swallowed their muffled shouts.

A quick check. The satchel did indeed contain the falcon statuette. Soft and yielding to the touch, it felt wrong and exciting all at once. A strange song whispered in the corners of her mind. Shuddering, she stowed away the bauble. Tranquillity followed.

Silence filled the mansion. Few guard patrols passed, almost noiseless, the hidden passages by. The straps of the backpack, already heavy with her gear and the two books, bit into Rorvalen's shoulder blades. She waited for another patrol to move, then entered the master bedroom.

Shadows filled the empty room, and under a gold-rimmed mirror a jeweled box beckoned. An easy lock, and no magical protection. Rory dumped its contents into her pack.

The desk on the way back down was tougher. The thief used up her midnight water, and almost broke her pick cracking the hidden safe. She found promissory notes, contracts and a diary. All ended up inside her backpack.

She evaded all the patrols within the manse with ease. The guard at the front gate eyed the bulk on her back with suspicion but let her pass. And as soon as she was out of sight, Rorvalen started to run.

Her lungs were burning when she reached the bathhouse. She paid the attendant and stripped of her dress. The single tired patron inside the steam room did not look at her, or at the backpack she had taken with her. The warm water soothed her flushed skin. She swam a lap, and another. Her eyes always trained on the loot stashed by the poolside. Refreshed, she wiped away the final traces of glamour.

Dressed in her street clothes, she took the tram up to the Fifth, then doubled back. No one had followed her. Whistling, she walked the Third.

Early, orange sunlight hit the deserted road. For breakfast, Rorvalen stopped at a small bakery. The smell of sugar, apples and lard had enticed her to enter. She bought kahwe, a sugared cock, and three more hard-shelled ones. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged halfling, smiled. Rory hardly flushed when she paid her.

After a long, boring tram ride, the thief returned to her hideout. So tired, even fondling her baked dicks had bored her. A cursory check of her defences, then she stashed away her haul. Yawning, she stumbled into her bed. Moments later, sleep had claimed her.

It was late in the afternoon when she awoke. Livia would not return until the next day, or after. Stretching, Rory placed a dildo on the bed beside her. She rid herself off the slept-in clothes and gave her panties a quick sniff. The wash house at the end of the street kept open until nighttime. Tomorrow. Or later.

She stretched, again, with a satisfied purr. The bread shaft was heavy in her hand, and savoury on her tongue. Naughty book in hand, Rory spread her legs.

Her left ear twitched. Chains. Sneaking, rolling, she reached the door and waited. Listened. Soft footsteps. One person, large but adept at stealth. The outer tripwires were well hidden, however. The bells jingled, even though the line did not snap. A male voice mumbled a curse. Rorvalen recognised him immediately.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see you again," said Maximus.

Dressed only in her cloak, but dagger in hand, she opened the door. The blind alley was empty, save for the young noble. "Come in." She kept hold of her weapon.

He wore simpler clothes. Dark greys, but well-tailored with a simple elegance. A short, curved blade hung from his belt. Bowing down, he pressed his lips to her hand. "You look different."

Rorvalen smiled, remembered the worn underwear on her bed, and turned red. "Well... . Wine?" On the way to her stores, she stopped by the bed. With a quick flick of her wrist, she turned over her blanket.

"Lovely." He sat down at the table and watched her.

The cloak had slipped. She hiked it higher. Caught between lechery and paranoia, she fumbled for the jug. Her gear, her potions were by the bed. "I do hope I don't look too horrible without the glamour," she said. The blanket would hide the belt from his view.

He gave the expected answer: "More lovely than."

Rorvalen giggled and smiled despite herself. "But however did you find me?"