Mud and Magic Ch. 09

Thorn didn't need more of an invitation. The tip of his stiff member effortlessly slid into her. Chassari let out a long, lust-filled moan before she remembered that she wanted to let Lishaka rest some more. Thorn impaled her on the full length of his rod then his hands were back on her, massaging her shoulders and incidentally pulling her deeper and deeper onto his delicious cock.

"I have misssed you," Chassari whimpered, grinding herself into him.

Thorn held her hips and fucked her, slowly, deliberately. "Don't they have cocks where you work?" he asked.

Chassari uttered a guttural noise, her insides clutching him in a velvety vise. "Oh, there is the occasional one. But few are as well-trained as you are, my dear Thorn."

"Your praise humbles me, Mistress," Thorn said. He coated one hand with fresh ointment and slipped his thumb between her butt cheeks. Chassari tossed her head back and groaned as his thumb entered her rectum.

"I'm sssure the scalesss back there are pristine," she quietly complained.

"One can't be too thorough," he murmured, his voice catching as her tunnel clutched at him again. He slowly withdrew, causing Chassari to whimper as her body was wracked by numerous small orgasms. She collapsed onto her stomach, her behind still up in the air. Thorn mounted her, gently spearing his cock into her butt. Chassari bit into her fist, trying to stifle her triumphant scream as he bottomed out, his balls slapping her dripping orifice.

"Is this to your liking, Mistress?" Thorn asked, holding perfectly still.

Chassari giggled. "You were supposed to oil me up, not fuck my brainsss out. But sssince you're already there..."

"I'll happily suffer any punishment for my disobedience," Thorn rasped, withdrawing until only his tip remained in her. "Once you are caught up in your obligations and the court game, moments like this will be rare indeed." He pushed back in, causing Chassari to moan hoarsely. Her body shook under him. She could climax for hours, Thorn knew full well, and she was already gripped by her body's needs. Grinning, the dark elven slave picked up speed, pounding her purple ass for all he was worth. Chassari snaked one hand between her thighs, her fingers adding a second source of wet, sloppy noises as she played with her dripping orifice while Thorn drilled her ass with quick, hard strokes. She had clamped her free hand over her mouth, uttering a delightful amount of choked-off squeals. There was no way those in the room next to theirs could miss what was going on. Unless they're indeed fast asleep, Thorn thought.

He had to admit - even though the other females in this house were impressive in bed, even Akane, when she succumbed to her urges once in a while, Mistress Chassari was in a league all her own when it came to unrestrained debauchery. I have seen dark elven matriarchs more reserved than her, Thorn mused. He slowed down, noticing that even despite his rigorous training, her grasping insides were driving him crazy. And that purple scamp added her fingers into the mix, playing with his balls, tickling the very sensitive spot just behind his sac. Thorn drew his hips back for one final stroke and drove home, feeling himself tumble over the edge. He coated Chassari's entrails with a veritable flood of his seed, riding out her own wild release. She bucked under him, moaning into her hand until the spasms subsided.

Chassari looked back over her own shoulder, in a feat of contortionism only the serpent-kind were capable of and grinned at him. Her lips were bloody. "I should tan your ass for that," she whispered. "Now I need to cleanse myself and you'll have to oil me up all over again."

Thorn slowly withdrew his throbbing cock from her ass, causing her to gasp in renewed pleasure. "I will gladly resume the application of your ointment," he said, a lascivious smile on his lips.

"Oh, forget it. I'll never leave the house if you do," Chassari spat. Despite her anger - pretend or not - her eyes gleamed. Like he knew they would.

* * * *

An hour later, Chassari slid off her palanquin. Eight armored warriors surrounded her, all dressed in the red armor and black demon masks of her house. Two of them bore the proud sashimono of House Fusaki and all of them were heavily armed, with swords and polearms. They had brought her to the middle third of the castle hill overlooking the Luminous City, the Lower Court. Here, several important ministries resided, amongst them the Office for Foreign Affairs.

"Wait here," she told Takumo. He had been her personal bodyguard most of her life, a decorated veteran of two campaigns against the Oni who resisted the Radiant Empire's expansion to the northeast. Since her transfer to the Western Continent he had taken up a post in the Gate Guard. "Easy duty," he had called it.

The soldier saluted, his amber eyes behind the mask full of warmth. He pushed a strand of his graying hair behind a pointed ear. As a half-elf, he was doubly estranged in the Radiant Empire's hierarchy. Humans were valued as equal partners but, in practice, serpentkind and the dragons they were descendants of were the de facto rulers. Half-breeds like Takumo or greenskins like Lishaka were usually not welcome, not even as slaves. But Chassari had quickly learned that everyone had hidden talents, even before she had ascended to be head of House Fusaki. Akane might bristle at all the oddballs she had gathered under her roof but Chassari valued every single one of them. Besides, their gratitude makes them all the more willing to help, she thought, straightening a few crinkles in her brilliant pink-and-white kimono.

Straightening up, she briskly walked through a gateway, past the Imperial Guard soldiers with their platinum-laced scale armor and dragon helms, through three spartan courtyards, their only decoration skillfully arranged stone shapes and the ever-present lights casting brilliant reflections on the polished, smooth surfaces. Into a wood-paneled corridor, past another duo of guards, these with obsidian tiles inlaid into their breastplates and matching, snarling helmets, until the sulphuric smell and increasing warmth announced that she was on the right path. Past a thick stone wall she went, into a long, narrow hallway. Six huge fire bowls caused an immense wave of heat, as did the bubbling fountain of hot spring water cascading down the back wall of the hall.

A smiling dark elven woman, only wearing a linen loincloth, gently touched Chassari's elbow. "Your robe, revered one," she whispered. Smiling, Chassari let herself be undressed. Naked save for a set of decorative chains dangling about her hips, she strode deeper into the large hall, where a deep basin had been built into the floor. It was illuminated by a milky radiance. From her vantage point, Chassari could see a huge, serpentine shape coiled at the bottom of the basin. She made eye contact with the dark elf, who quickly joined her, bringing a small mallet which she handed to Chassari with a deep bow.

"His Lordship is taking it easy today, hm?" Chassari asked, sliding her hand over the smooth, black curve of the dark elf's butt.

"The Oni delegation which was here yesterday was quite exhausting," the dark elf murmured, spreading her legs almost imperceptibly. Chassari curled a long finger along her slit before withdrawing then she turned towards a large gong mounted to a frame near the pool. She gently rang the gong with the mallet. A deep, sonorous noise rang through the artificial cave. For a moment or two, nothing happened. But then the water foamed and roiled until a long, gleaming shape cleared the surface. It was a golden naga, akin to a huge cobra, but instead of a triangular serpent head, the face of a wise humanoid sat between the flaps of a wide hood. Chassari felt goosebumps shoot up her spine like every other time she beheld the impressive form of Lord Vasuki. He raised an eyebrow and a surprised smile tugged at his lips, revealing the curved fangs protruding from his upper jaw.

"Chassari." He bowed his neck until their faces nearly touched. "Is it really you? I didn't expect you back so soon." His mouth didn't move, apart from the forked tongue tasting her skin. Vasuki's voice was a sonorous hum in her mind. At first, it had been scary, feeling his immense intellect touching hers - especially since she didn't want to share her many secrets with the golden naga but she quickly had learned the extent of his powers - and his ethics.

Smiling fondly, Chassari hugged herself against his dripping body and placed a kiss onto his scales. "Every day away from the father of my boys isss a day too long," she said.

Vasuki chuckled. "You know how to flatter an old serpent, girl." The tail of the naga slithered out of the water and curled around Chassari's waist. Grinning, she trapped the tip between her thighs. It promptly tickled her opening.

"I have enjoyed our marriage, brief asss it may have been," Chassari said, caressing the scaled appendage squeezing her. "And I am very proud of the boys, even if I am a continent away." She gasped as his tip entered her.

"What brings you to my room today?" Vasuki asked.

Chassari gasped air into her lungs. Without his strong tail keeping her standing, she would have crumpled to the floor already. And I'd be fucking myself with his tail end, she admitted, trying to keep a straight face. She had been part of some incredible debauchery but nothing even came close to sex with the golden naga. His tongue had turned her into a gibbering madwoman before he had pleasured her with his dexterous tail end while his body had squeezed and massaged her from her shoulders to her feet. She had screamed herself hoarse that night. Only the conception itself - when she had ground herself against his prone body, pressing her opening against his cloaca to receive his seed - had been somewhat anticlimactic. He made up for it by calling in three strong humans to pleasure her afterwards while he 'listened' to her emotions.

Chassari forced herself to calm down, to remember why she had come here in the first place. Sighing in defeat, she pulled his wriggling tail end from her sex, squeezing it fondly. "I can't concentrate like that," she said, smiling. "Like I have said often - in you, I have found my match."

"Hardly," Vasuki said, his amusement a wave of warmth emanating from her navel. "I hope your sudden and unannounced return does not bear grim tidings."

"I am not quite sssure yet," she said, motioning for the dark elven servant. "Bring me the scroll tube from my document bag, please," Chassari ordered, loathed to leave Vasuki's embrace.

The dark elf bowed and flitted to the entrance of Vasuki's cave, claiming something from Chassari's folded-up robe. She returned and handed the writhing purple serpent-woman a tightly sealed scroll tube.

"Thurguz is very reluctant to call in the strike force," Chassari said while cracking the seals. "He's afraid doing so might throw the Western Continent into outright war."

"That's uncommonly wise for a kawaruhito," Vasuki said, peeking over her shoulder. "I wish the emperor would consider using such restraint."

Chassari sighed. "The downssside of Thurguz' restraint is the lack of measurable progress in his campaign against Morgan Carver. There are some successes - we managed to deny him a host of undead spell casters the other day - but on the whole, Carver isss winning. For every move Thurguz makes, Carver makes three." She stopped, nearly dropping the parchments she had pulled from the tube. Vasuki tensed up, the loop of his tail around Chassari's waist suddenly very tight.

"Is that what I think it is?" the golden naga said, a hint of surprise in his thoughts.

Chassari fully unfurled one of the scrolls. Someone had used charcoal dust to create a copy of a mural or carving. Sharp, angular runes, like bite marks, flanked a drawing of a supine dragon, wings limp along its side. Some traces of a frame of some kind could be seen, wrought or carved to look like the arched wing bones of a flying reptile.

"To bind and daze the flying wyrm," Chassari read aloud, the harsh syllables of the Draconic language haltingly coming off her tongue. She locked gazes with the naga. "Thisss is one of the Dragon Stones. Or rather, a transcript of it."

"Where did you get the papers?" Vasuki asked, every hint of levity gone. "You know that a discovery like this is a matter of national security, considering our emperor..."

"I found it in a sssupply camp deep in the elven woods. Going by all that we discovered there, I would guesss that Carver isss trying to come to an agreement with the dark elvesss of a nearby city." She snapped her fingers. "Now it all startsss to make sense!"

"Well, the Dragon Stones were created by Elvenkind to gain an advantage over their former masters," Vasuki mused. "But I never thought they would ever reappear like this."

"What'sss more troubling isss the fact that Carver seems to be sssearching for them," Chassari hissed. "Imagine a madman like him, commanding dragonsss to follow his every whim. He would be... unssstoppable!"

"The emperor has to know," Vasuki said.

"We'll tell him together," Chassari said. "We can leave the moment I have informed Thurguz. He hasss to know."

* * * *

"That same boy?" Marissa asked. She refilled her wine goblet.

Carver rubbed his face. It had taken him long hours trying to placate Matron Dree'vex and gather the information her by now undead son provided. And he had used his own powers to corroborate her claims, just to be on the safe side. But this was no elaborate dark elven ploy to squeeze more tribute from him in exchange for the Dragon Stone of Flight. His camp had been sacked, most of the goods destroyed and there were hardly any of his men left alive. Jhaless' undead son had placed Rhys and a certain crimson demon-thing at the site.

"The implications leave little room for doubt," Carver sighed. "I don't know how many redhead spellcasters exist who think they can meddle in my plans. But I would recognize the demon thing accompanying him any day. Our encounter under Storm Harbor is hard to forget."

He took the wine bottle from Marissa and filled his own goblet. Food and drink had little value for him but old habits died hard. And he needed a drink to steady his nerves. The cool liquid ran down his throat. His body reacted, offering the illusion of calm.

"I wonder what Faedal's place is in all of this," Marissa softly said. "I mean, he should have sent word by now."

Carver smiled grimly. "Maybe our last talk has left him a bit... cautious when it comes to delivering bad news."

"What are you intending to do about the dark elf and her retinue?"

"Whatever it takes to keep the deal running. I don't care how many virgins I need to throw at Matron Dree'vex, as long as she eventually delivers the Dragon Stone."

Marissa licked her lips. "Maybe virgins are the wrong approach?" she mused. "She is a grieving mother. Perhaps a grown woman can ease her pain."

"I will not ask you to spread your legs for her," Carver said.

Marissa grinned, caressing one of her breasts through her black robes. "Morgan, I am offering. I've heard tales about dark elven debauchery. This will be my first time partaking. Who knows what insights I can gather?"

"You are not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, I gather?" Carver asked, sipping his wine.

"Hell no," Marissa said. "I expect you'll ruin Faedal's day." She reached for her neck. "He nearly killed me and I haven't forgiven him."

"Your fault for trying to bed him," Carver said.

"My mother, Allura nourish her, always said 'Girl, you should try everything at least once. More often if you like it.' A champion of Desire sounded like a once-in-a-lifetime event." She cast down her eyes. "And it was spectacular - up to the point where he nearly choked me."

Carver shook his head. Marissa was a brilliant wizard, especially gifted in the realms of alteration and charm magic. He only wished she would be a bit less amoral and a bit more focused on things besides her debauched amusements. Over the past five years, she had gone through two dozen apprentices who had disappeared without a trace. He preferred not to ask, as long as she did what he asked. Carver decided to be diplomatic.

"I'll make no promises. The outcome of our conversation heavily relies on how much he was involved with the camp's destruction."

"That's probably the best I can hope for with you." She drained her goblet and rose. "I'll see to our grieving mother then." She blew Carver a kiss and sashayed from the room. At the door, she stopped, her long, toned leg exposed. "If you feel like it, you could come watch. I am sure her Matronship and I could feed your soul a bit."

Carver shooed her away with a sharp wave of his hand. Chuckling, Marissa closed the door.

He refilled his goblet and placed it onto the table in front of him. It took but a heartbeat to envision Faedal's slender face, the long strands of blond hair framing it and his eyes, those bottomless eyes. He himself had initiated Faedal into the cult of Desire, anointed him with elven blood, so full of life. He had chained the fallen Paladin to his own life force so that whenever Faedal would indulge in his murderous, sadistic urges, a part of the absorbed life energy would transfer to him as well. No need for me to sully my hands. Let another one do the dirty deeds. This connection offered unique benefits, least among them the means to communicate, even over long distances. Carver tried not to peer into the mind of his thrall too often. He was disgusted by the churning mire of depravity coiling at the heart of Faedal's being. Whatever the connection between Faedal and the elves, it was an all-consuming hatred which drove Faedal, an urge so primal, not even the simple act of killing them sated his screaming rage.

"Faedal," Carver said softly. There was no need to actually speak the words but Carver felt better pretending he was having a conversation. Despite living with Desire's gifts for over six decades, he always felt like a sinner. Good clerics didn't command the living. Good clerics didn't raise the dead.

"Good clerics failed the Kingdom. Sometimes the decay has to be purged with blood," Faedal's voice answered his thoughts. "You need to talk?"

"Don't play coy with me," Carver snarled. "You know full well why I need to talk. The supply camp."

A strange emotion reached him. Embarrassment. And another. Fear.

"I'm listening," Carver said, exerting his will. His hands had gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white with rage. But he'd rather die than let his thrall know the true extent of his feelings.

"When I arrived at the camp with my men, it was already ablaze," Faedal began. "There was nothing I could do. The supplies were a lost cause and most of the men had died." He sighed. "And the worst of it - someone had stolen all the papers the commander had."

"So Thurguz has indeed found the one important asset we had and struck there?" Carver quietly asked. "How many did he send? Did he ally with the elves?"

Another shiver of fear. "I-... I am not sure."

"You wouldn't almost piss your pants if you were not sure," Carver snarled. "How. Many?"

"Not many. Reports are conflicting."

"They must have had a sizable band, to overwhelm a fully alert outpost like ours," Carver suggested. "The guards simply didn't see every one of them."

"I have interrogated those who survived. Of which there were not many either, maybe half a dozen," Faedal admitted. "And if they are to be believed... there were no more than four attackers. I have seen two of them myself."