Sex and Vengeance Pt. 01

The Eternal City's soirees always captivated Bliss, and tonight was no exception. The grand hall of Lady Seawhisper's city house buzzed with life and glamour, musicians filling the air with the delicate strains of the classic dance standbys while the various peers and lesser nobles of the realm added the vital counterpart of soft leather soles on polished silkwood floors, whirling about each other in perfect time. Each measure's swirling movement between partners set a great rustling breeze in the air, with acres worth of taffetas and satins, velvets and silks and fine linens spinning out around their wearers like grand wings and shrouds that seemed as though they might carry the fine and delicate-boned women into the air if they could but leap. The latest styles favoured grand billowing skirts and external corsets with fine silk panelling and giltwork to exaggerate the hips and waist, and more than a few of the ladies played at fainting spells in them - to which Bliss could only ever politely smile, pretending not to find the whole display silly and childish.

These ladies - girls, really - played not just at the fainting spells but at the corsets themselves, chasing reductions of scant inches from their waists. None could match her in that respect. Mere slaves to fashion, they lacked the will to keep at it as she had over the last decades. She'd started out like they had - external corsets, tight but not outrageous - but had long moved away from springy whalebone stays. Beneath her white silk dress - scandalously close fitting, and without the exaggerated skirts - she wore a far harsher corset than any of them could hope to endure. Her wasp waist was legend now, a perpetual wonder at parties and balls - the waist so delicate a large man might almost fit it in his grip completely. That she was otherwise possessed of a robust, curvaceous body only further served to set her apart from the girls playing at fashion - stripped of their corsets, padding and bustles, they lost all trace of the exaggerated hourglass. But not Bliss. She had broad, sturdy hips - birthing hips, enviable hips with the Eternal City's constant demand for more and more offspring to replace those lost in the Wars and the Great Tragedy - and plump thighs.

She was also - she was quite proud to say so herself - bustier than any woman in the Republic. Her breasts were vast, inviting, full and prodigious - so large that sitting, their undersides nestled against her thighs, that standing, they seemed almost to dwarf her torso. They'd always been large, but the same enviable fertility that had blessed her with close to a dozen children so far (the only times she departed from her corsetry routine, in fact, was when she was with child) had seen them grow to gargantuan proportion, and their perpetually milky state left them not only vast, but full and round.

Tonight's dress emphasized her fertility, and wonderfully framed her breasts. It was difficult finding designers who understood her desire to flaunt them without simply letting them hang out completely. They all seemed to want to either leave them virtually bare or cover them as tightly as possible and hide them away. But the latest - Vienn, a flamboyantly gay little man - seemed to understand the importance of the aesthetic over the purely sexual. For her, he'd designed the swooping bare shoulder and neckline that teased at cleavage but bared the vast expanse of her upper-right breast, the carefully seamed design that supported her bra-less, that lifted without binding.

The fine white silk dress was a masterpiece, emphasizing her breasts and her hips without rendering her a mere sex object, and the delicate gilt filigree that panelled the clinging waist disguised ingenious hooks to fasten it tightly around the corset while mirroring the embroidered floral patterns so common to the emerald and sapphire corsets of the other ladies, and a fine swirl of cloth of gold along its single shoulder blended with her cascading blonde hair. Among the pastels and rich jewel tones of the other ladies, hiding away their skin and pretending at curves with padding, it was a scandalously different fashion statement.

"Lady Starshadow?"

She turned at her name, smiling demurely at the Lord Seawhisper. "My Lord Seawhisper." She offered back, with a polite bow of her head.

"I wasn't sure it was you - you know what, that's a lie. I was quite sure. How could I not be?" He said, stepping in closer than decorum allowed. Up close, he smelled like cinnamon, and she sighed sweetly at the scent of him. "There's not a man here tonight can keep his eyes off you... As usual."

"You're too kind."

"No, no... It's not a kindness, Lady Starshadow. Tonight, I'd take it as a warning - some of the other women are getting increasingly catty. They aren't all as... Liberated as we are, shall we say?" Quietly, his hand found her waist, slowly caressing upwards until it came to rest on the curve of her breast, the heat of it soaking through the thin fabric, hiding it with the position of his broad, bulky frame. "They don't all understand that etiquette and decorum are well and good, but interesting company is priceless... If the wrong ones catch their husbands looking they might play at their abhorrent little revenges."

"Well..." Bliss croons sweetly, leaning into his hand. They'd fucked, of course, once or twice. He was simply adequate in bed, but a genuine believer in the fervent wave of sensual depravity that had swept the over Republic of the last decade, and a kind man. His deep pockets were always open for her school for the wretched, regardless of how open her legs were. "...we don't want that, do we? Tell me... How is the Lady Seawhisper? I'd hoped to see her here tonight."

"Recovering. Not everyone finds childbirth as easy as you do, I fear - she needs a few days more rest yet, even after a week. Do thank your friend the shaman for their suggestion? I didn't think the two of us being flogged as we did the needful would work, but sure enough - a boy. He's got my eyes, even."

"Good. I'll pass it along - and please, pass along my fond regards to her... Now, I believe people are beginning to stare." With a playful little tsk and wink, she peels away from him, sauntering away to join the dance again.

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"That fat fucking cow..." Karandreya does her best not to scowl, whispering under her breath. It's unladylike, or so she was always taught. Instead, she raises her champagne bowl to her delicately painted lips, allowing the dry sparkling wine to wash over her tongue. It does nothing to remove the foul taste left by seeing the Lady Starshadow parade about with her nose in the air, as though she were anything but an upjumped whore. Dreya's lip twitches against with distaste as she watches the slut whisper to Seawhisper, and she pointedly turns away, draining her glass and fixing her companion with an intense glare.

"I can't believe they let a whore like her in here."

"Dreya!" Jessamine flushes, looking furtively about them with her amber eyes, biting her thin lower lip. "You can't say that!"

"And why not? It's true, isn't it? She's a whore. She fucks for money - on camera, no less. Just because she married into a title doesn't make it any less true."

"Yes, but... It's not polite..."

"Not polite? Jess, since when was letting whores - she was born in a brothel, for god's sake! - into society polite? Look at how the men stare... They're all imagining her under them, the animals." She shudders, suppressing a flash of envy. What must it be like to control a room so utterly? To be the object of such intense desire?

"No, but... It's... You know who her wife is, it's not s-safe to..."

"Not safe to... Since when did you stammer? Are you unwomaned by the thought of her? Am I the only one left with a sense of decorum?" Dreya scowls, turning away again. One of Seawhisper's footmen passes, a silver-and-niello tray balanced neatly on a hand loaded with champagne bowls, and she liberates one elegantly while the object of her ire joins the swirling dance.

"The day I let that woman into my house for a ball is the day I burn the place down to get rid of the shame of having a whore like her in it." Dreya spits, her level tone scarce disguising her seething revulsion as she turns back to face Jessamine. "And if I'm the only one left who has enough dignity not to lower myself by letting that fat-uddered fucking cow into my company, so be it."

Behind her, as the dance swirls by, the object of her ire suppresses a brief flash of rage, keen ears twitching as she dances past the skinny woman in her turquoise silks, joining hands again with a handsome young noble who can scarce keep from staring into the shadowy hint of her cleavage.

"Tell me, darling..." She whispers to him as they close for a spin. "...who is that woman married to?"

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"Come on..." Bliss giggles, tugging at the lapel of Sir Adrene's coat, eyes gleaming with her mischevious grin. "...no one'll know." She whispers, giving another tug, grin widening when he yields and follows her into the small morning room.

"We oughn't... They might come looking for us!" He replies, but makes no effort to pull away - instead, he leans into her as she paces teasingly backwards on her elegant heels towards the settee, hands nestling on the broad swell of her hips. She can smell his lust on him already, a faint muskiness sneaking out beneath the sandalwood notes of his cologne. No doubt if she checked, he'd be hard already in his trousers - the fact she can't tell from a glance tells her all she needs to know as to his size. Still. That isn't the pleasure she's chasing.

"Not until the next dances, silly boy, and that won't be for another half hour..." She croons, reassuring him, batting her lush eyelids. She's not met the man who can resist the fluttering of her shimmering green eyes like that. Before he can speak again, she silences any protest with a sudden kiss, leaning up and in against his body, pressing her voluptuousness against him. His hands find her breasts instinctively, running up over the sides as he mumbles something into the kiss. He tastes of wine and tobacco - disappointingly typical. But then, Bliss reminds herself, he is terribly typical. Lustful for her body, for her fertility, but so boringly, dreadfully typical.

"Oh, Adrene!" She giggles, breaking the kiss, as his hand slides under her dress, clumsily groping at her. "So bold of you..." He has no idea what he's doing. He paws at the vastness of her breast, squeezing tight - but not tight enough to hurt. Not tight enough to make a point. He doesn't even find the nipple with his fingers, but that's unimportant. Her hand slides down his front and strokes over the faint swell of his trousers, caressing with silky fingers against the tight wool. "...and such a big cock for me, too!"

"All the ladies say that..." He breathily replies, and she has to struggle for a moment not to roll her eyes. The arrogant prick thinks this is about him. She quiets him again before she loses her composure, this time by raising her other hand up to his neck, shoving his face down into the valley of her cleavage while she squeezes smoothly and pumps him through his trousers.

"Do you like them, darling? Do you like having a real pair of tits in your face, not your wife's little pears?"

His stifled moan of an answer is all she needs, and she shrugs off the shoulder of her dress, letting it pool around her waist. Adrene gasps - moans again, even - at the sudden exposure of the objects of his desire, groping at them with all the subtlety of a virgin, kissing at the vast expanses of silky skin. His lips find her nipple, pursing around them, and she lets out an exaggerated, fluttering sigh to spur him on. All so typical still, but nonetheless, a spark of genuine pleasure blossoms in her at the kisses, at the suckle. Her milk beads on his tongue, rich and sweet, and he drinks greedily, cheeks hollowing, as she runs her fingers through his hair.

"Have you ever tasted anything so sweet, my darling?" She croons, holding him close, letting him nurse. As typical as it is, there is yet a pleasure to it - and not merely the sensation of his suckling, his clumsy tongue bathing her nipple. To be worshipped, even clumsily, is intoxicating, and it makes Bliss shiver sweetly, rubbing her thighs together, the heat of her arousal building between her legs, in her chest, flushing her cheeks. The scent of it rises, faint and mingled with the perfume she dabs onto her panties, the faint scent of paradise-flower perfectly blurring with the musky animal notes. Delicately, she undoes his trousers, letting them fall to pool around his ankles, and fills her hand with his throbbing, turgid member, cupping the silk of his underpants around it and squeezing. "So hard for me... You know what to do with this monster, don't you?"

"Mm... Mmhm." He mumbles in reply, releasing her nipple with a loud pop and leaning to take the other into his mouth, chasing his own perversity. She rolls her eyes, safe in the sight of his eyelids fluttering shut, but pumps a few times through the silk.

"Show me, then... Show me you know what a fat cock like this is really for, Adrene!"

Grinning, Adrene releases her nipple and rises to the challenge, taking her by the waist, pushing her down onto the settee - for a moment she's comically absorbed in noticing the fineness of the embroidering against her back - to greedily hike the skirt of her dress up around her waist. She leans up into him, pulling him close as he yanks at his underpants, pulls her panties aside, and pumps into her fragrant cunt, rewarding him with another exaggerated sigh of delight.

"Yes, Adrene... Fuck me!" She whispers in his ear, holding his face against her breast as he groans with pleasure, pumping into her wild and undisciplined. It's almost endearing in his sheer haste to prove himself - he's no virgin, but he might as well be with her. His clumsy efforts aren't unpleasant, but they're far from the exquisite pleasure she's accustomed to, and she moans for his benefit more than any real delight. But her grin is real as he pumps away, and so is the smugness that radiates warmth through her, better than almost any ordinary orgasm.

Call me a fat-tittied sow, will you Karandreya? She thinks to herself, stifling back a giggle - it might keep Adrene from finishing - at the thought of the bony little stick in the ballroom looking for her absent husband. It takes only a disappointing few minutes before Adrene, sweating and gasping, finishes inside her, spurting a few sticky strings of semen into her and pulling back.

"Oh... Oh, fuck, Bliss, that was..."

"Incredible, I know." She smiles indulgently, letting her flush and smile convince him it wasn't just him despite the truth. There's no need to bruise his ego, to tell him he - like so many in the aristocracy - is a purely acceptable lay. "I'll need your handkerchief... You know, to clean myself up? I can hardly go back to the party dripping your massive load."

"Of... Of course, yes!" Adrene coughs, wiping his face with his hand, trying to smoothe his hair back down with one hand as he produces the monogrammed square of silk, passing it to her. "Should I... Help?"

"No, no... You go back before they come looking. It wouldn't do if you were caught with me. The scandal..."

"Of course... I... Can we do this again? Dreya's... I love her, but..."

"Oh, don't worry. I know exactly how you feel, Adrene, darling. But it might be best if this was a one-off. We wouldn't want the scandal of your firstborn coming from me, not your wife, now would we? Now, off you go - there's a washroom over there to freshen up first."

As Adrene scurries away - guilty little steps, shoulders sagging as the shame of his infidelity sweeps over him - Bliss giggles and lies back contentedly. Oh, yes. This should be delicious. She closes her eyes, letting her hand slide between her thighs, stroking her slick, freshly fucked vulva with a contented sigh. A few moments concentration and the disappointingly mediocre load of fresh semen greets her fingers - and rather than use the handkerchief, she tugs her monogrammed panties back in place, smearing the gusset against the mess thoroughly, wiping herself clean into them. It'd be utterly whorish if she was keeping them on - part of her, of course, relishes the idea - but she leans down to tug them off, slipping them past her elegant heels and wrapping them neatly in the handkerchief, folding it closed and pressing a firm kiss next to Adrene's initials.

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"Ah, Lady Sunbough?"

Karandreya paused in her stride towards the door, turning to face the soft, lilting voice calling her name. The filthy slut had the nerve to actually talk to her, here, in public! It was all she could do to keep her disgust from showing, and even then, her nostrils flared. What was that scent? Had she been fucking? Typical.

"I found this... I believe it belongs to your husband?" Bliss offers, presenting the handkerchief bundle in one delicate hand.

"Oh... Yes, thank you. He must've dropped it on his way out to summon our coachman - oh, it's damp."

"Yes. There's something in there, I think." Bliss smiles as she speaks, brushing past Karandreya on her way out, pausing as she passes within inches to whisper.

"He liked them very much, you know."

"Liked what?"

"What was it you called them... My fat fucking cow udders, I think? He was quite taken with them."

Before Karandreya can respond, the voluptuous blonde sweeps past her and strides away. She glares, and averts her eyes after a moment to the package, grimacing at the sight of the Starshadow bitch's lipstick smearing next to her husband's initials. The scent of cum and sex all but bursts from the little bundle of silks when she unfolds it and she gags, tears coming to her eyes, cheeks flushing with humiliation. Dropping the cum-soaked panties, she stares at Bliss's ass as she leaves.

"...you fucking cunt." She whispers under her breath.

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Join us next time for the thrilling part 2, in which Karandreya confronts her husband and hatches a scheme for revenge, Bliss tells her wife how the evening went, and of course, there's even more perversion. The sex in this one wasn't up to my usual snuff, I know, but then... It wasn't really up to Bliss's either, was it? I'm sure the next part will feature far raunchier, better fuckin'. Or maybe not. Maybe I've lost my edge!