The Tale of Gottfried Ch. 03

He didn't stop, licking and teasing as her moans progressively got louder and she started to shake. "D-don't stop," she stuttered as her back arched in the chair, her fingers gripping his hair even tighter.

His tongue dipped and swirled inside of her one last time and she pulled him in again, her moans turning into a long scream as her body spasmed violently. Gottfried grunted, now being completely suffocated. He swore his skull would break with how tightly she squeezed her thighs around him.

She didn't let go until her body went limp. Now free, Gottfried was able to lean back to his original kneeling position, catching his breath and wondering if she had pulled out any chunks of his hair. Hopefully just the green parts.

Gretchen sighed and scooched herself up on the chair. She rested her face on her palm and blew a few strands of silver hair from her eyes. "At least you were good for something," she said. As she got up from the chair she could see a bulge in Gottfried's pants she doubted he even knew he had.

Gretchen gently pressed her foot against it, feeling how hard he had become when she had taken advantage of him. Gottfried's lip twitched as he screamed, 'go away, go away,' in his head.

But Gretchen sat back down in the chair, crossing her arms. "Make yourself cum for me," she ordered as if it were just a casual request. "Maybe if you embarrass yourself enough you won't come looking for me ever again, right?"

At the moment, Gottfried had no desire to see her again if she had walked out now. If he could talk maybe there was a way out of this. His shaking hand was already reaching for his belt buckle. He tried to control himself, but his struggling was only giving him extreme muscle cramps.

"Make this fast," she said, as if she was bored. Gottfried stared at the floor, anywhere else but Gretchen's eyes, as he took his hardened cock out of his pants. His shoulder and neck twitched as he cringed.

As he started to stroke his cock, he tried to shut out Gretchen's condescending comments. He didn't want her to watch this. He didn't look, but he could feel her eyes burning into him.

'Shut up, shut up, shut up,' he repeated, desperately trying to ignore her. He was never going to come if she kept explaining to him why this was so humiliating. He didn't need to hear it, he already knew. He just needed to focus on something else.

He let his eyes move to Gretchen's body. You could just barely see the outlines of her nipples through her tunic. He thought about the way her breasts felt in his hands, how her skin was as smooth and soft as silk. Her legs were parted just enough he could see between her legs. He imagined he was behind her again, bending her over and feeling how tight she was around his cock.

He cringed again as he felt his cock pulse in his hand, getting closer. He had been using sex as a weapon for revenge, not because he was attracted to her in any way. He would never have considered even letting that thought cross his mind. To him, her personality was so ugly, that in turn his mind twisted itself into seeing her body just as gross. And now here he was, fantasizing about her just so he could come as quickly as possible and avoid any more humiliation.

As she was halfway through mocking him again, he came, releasing a pearly fluid all over the floor, almost reaching Gretchen's feet.

"Gross," she said, moving her foot away from the mess.

As Gottfried quickly tucked himself back in his pants, panting as he clumsily buckled his belt, Gretchen put the leather bag around her shoulder. She snapped her fingers in front of his face as if trying to wake him from a dream. "Hey, look at me," she said.

Gottfried reluctantly met her eyes with his.

"Now I don't know what your problem is, but I'm done with whatever's going on here. I don't plan on getting my memories back, so whatever I did to piss you off so much doesn't matter anymore. I'm not that person and I never will be. So why don't you just leave me alone, okay? And we can forget this ever happened. I mean unless you want everyone to hear the story of how the big bad magician was on his knees for me. Got it?"

Gottfried narrowed his eyes but couldn't reply. Gretchen fixed the cloak around her neck and jumped up the ladder to leave. She stopped and said, "Oh, and stay here until, I don't know, whenever that stuff wears off."

With that she climbed the ladder and crawled out of the home.

Gottfried looked at the floor and wondered if he should clean the mess he'd made or just burn the whole house down. Either way, he was going to have plenty of time to debate while still stuck on his knees.

Gretchen fled the hole, not bothering to watch it close up behind her as she left. She pulled out the map she had stolen, and a battered looking compass. For days she tried just finding what her location was, but it was starting to seem futile. It seemed like the forest went on forever. She had no shelter, food, or any way of starting a fire that she knew of. After the fourth day she sat in the brush under a thick tree, trying to escape the rain. She was exhausted and starving and needed to find some trace of civilization soon.

After another few days of walking along a rather wide river she did find a small town. As she walked down a small cobblestone path, she looked in the bag for any money. Luckily she found some, but it wasn't enough to last her more than a few days.

She had to choose between shelter and food, and she took shelter at a small run-down inn on the edge of town. When she made it to the small room she looked at the bed and almost started to cry. Her clothes had been damp for days and she had never been colder.

This was not working as well as she hoped it would. She tried to focus on her victory, finally finding civilization, but she still couldn't pin-point where she was on the map. It wasn't as detailed as she had hoped. She managed to take a bath in a crooked porcelain tub in the room. One of the claws was broken so the tub tilted slightly.

The reality of having absolutely nothing was finally hitting her. All she had was what she had stolen from Gottfried, and she apparently had taken the wrong things. She had no idea what she was going to do about food or shelter after she ran out of money. She had been living off various plants and berries, and the occasional squirrel, which was only enough to keep her barely alive.

Maybe she had a home somewhere? She started to entertain the idea of getting back her memories, but she was uneasy about it. She remembered Lawrence asking Gottfried about bringing her to someone called Mildred, but she didn't know who that was or where to find them.

As she got out of the bath, she also debated just finding a job here. Maybe she was supposed to find this place. She dried off and plopped face down on the bed, quickly falling asleep.

It had been over a week since Gretchen left and quite frankly Gottfried had been happy to see her go. But he spent the days moping, exceedingly depressed and drinking a lot more wine than usual in his underground home.

He had completely failed in every way. Again. For the billionth time. All that happened was she proved him inferior yet again. His hatred for her had grown even worse, but he had no intention of finding her ever again. He wished he could eliminate his own memories, or at least all the ones that involved her.

After the second week she was gone his anger had started to alleviate, but his depression did not. He spent most of his time reading in front of his unkempt fireplace with Basil. It was where both of them were the most comfortable and where they spent every evening. He figured the solution was to distract himself long enough to where he just naturally forgets of her existence.

He stopped just about all of his experiments because of his new and hopefully temporary fear of failure. She had set his goblin free, which had been a useful power source for some of his more dangerous operations. But what was the worst was at the end of the evening, especially when he drank too much, the images of her body would creep into his mind.

The thought of how absurdly soft her skin was, and how her breasts perfectly fit in his palms, made him shudder. The intense tightness he felt when his cock was buried inside of her, the way she trembled and screamed when she came, it drove him mad.

With too much thinking he would often find himself getting hard from thinking of it all, but it felt wrong. Even though no one would know, it was just too humiliating. Sometimes he would just scream into a blanket until the feeling went away. Most of the time in his inebriated state he would find himself stroking his cock and closing his eyes, revisiting memories of when he was in control and taking advantage of her. But after he would come, he'd immediately feel shame that he was fantasizing about any part of her.

It would make him get so frustrated that after the third week, every time he would find himself feeling ashamed after jacking off he'd click his tongue in hopes he would give her a splitting headache. Just a small jab at her, little bits of revenge at a time. Even if it were just a small inconvenience, he liked to know he could make her feel like shit too.

It was an understatement to say Gretchen was not having the time of her life in her newfound home. The town itself was barely much more than filth and rubble, despite being placed in such a beautiful stretch of land. The citizens were ignorant, racist, and without any sort of education other than fishing and building more muddy shacks they called houses.

After almost three months of residing in this butthole of a town, she had slowly acclimated to their level of filth. The objective was to make enough money to leave and again look for somewhere else to stay, but it was slow going, and the nearest city was more than two weeks' worth of traveling on a horse. Of which she did not have.

The sun beat down on her pale face, though now it was becoming more tanned with each day she spent fishing in the river. Her hair never seemed to get clean and being damp all day was becoming normal. She smelled like fish and the river, which was none too clean either.

From dawn to dusk she fished, until her feet bled and became calloused from stepping over the sharp rocks every day. The nasty and rude fishermen she worked for definitely did not pay her fairly. At night she would try and practice magic, hoping maybe if she learned a trick or two her knowledge of magic would come flooding back.

But it didn't. Everything seemed to blow up in her face. When she was finally able to miraculously produce a flame with her hand, it exploded, leaving her hair and eyebrows badly singed, and nearly burnt the pathetic shack down. Any magic she could muster had magnified effects. It either didn't work at all, or it worked to a highly dangerous extent. Either she had been a very powerful magician in the past, or a truly awful one.

Then one cold day Gretchen stumbled back to her shack, one large slimy fish in her hand, feet more sore than usual. She broke one of the hinges off the door as it opened. It was almost just as cold and damp inside as it was outside. She put the fish on top of the firepit on a tiny spit, in the center of the room, which was technically the only room, and took a deep breath. She let everything in her mind melt away except for the thought of cooking the fish. Just a small flame. A tiny one. Miniscule even.

And she succeeded. A small fire the size of a candleflame lingered in the firepit. "That's right, fuck you fire!" she cried happily. Her face hurt from the extent of her smile. She threw her arms up and nearly started crying from joy.

But her victory was short lived as the flame did not extinguish, but grew larger, and a small humming noise started coming from the fish.

She dropped her arms down and said, "Oh, fu-" but she couldn't get the words out as the fish exploded. She yelped and covered her eyes as it made a deafening popping noise. It splattered her entire upper body, and when she opened her eyes she saw it had gone in every direction in the room. The badly cracked ceiling, the curved walls and dirt floor. Fish guts strewn all about.

Suddenly the door crashed open and thudded on the ground, though it wouldn't have been too hard with the broken hinge and shoddy craftsmanship. Gottfried walked out just as soon as he had walked in. He covered his nose with the neck of his shirt and lurched.

Gretchen was sitting in the floor, wide eyed, hair singed, covered in a splash of fish guts. "Dear god, what...what the hell is that smell?" he asked with an expression of shock and disgust.

Gretchen at once leapt up and launched herself directly at him, attempting to wrap her arms around him. Gottfried grunted as she hit him full force, putting him in a vice grip. "Gross, stop!" Gottfried gagged, quickly peeling her off of him. But Gretchen had started to cry so loudly you could've heard it across town.

Gottfried managed to pry her away and pushed her into the dirt. "Fucking nasty, what, what is this? What the hell have you been...Oh god..." He lurched and tried not to vomit as Gretchen flung herself forward yet again, this time latching her arms around his leg and clinging on as if she were going to perish if she let go.

Gretchen looked up at him through snivels and cried, "these people are backwards savages! They're the worst, they're so stupid its dangerous, and I smell like FISH all the time! I'm ALWAYS cold and gross and I HATE THIS. I get these SPLITTING headaches every single night-"

"Not every night," Gottfried snapped back, trying to kick her away, but she could be strong when worked up. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Just get me out of here!" she rasped, cutting off the blood flow to his leg with her arms.

"Absolutely not," he said, shirt still over his nose in hopes it would help lessen the smell.

"Then why else are you here?" she yelled hysterically.

Gottfried scoffed. "To kill you," he replied, but not in a threating tone. He was more annoyed that it wasn't completely obvious to think there would be any other reason.

Gretchen stopped sobbing. After a few sniffles she defeatedly said, "Just kill me somewhere warm."

Gottfried rolled his eyes. She was so dramatic when she wanted to be.