Archive of Our Own

Shadowheart was beginning to suspect this whole ‘adventuring’ thing was not meant for her. All of the dirt and sweat and gore splattering her nicest greaves. She wished to quit altogether when she had to cut out a lock of her hair because of the thick goop of goblin brain matted into it. Whoever she was before this could not have possibly been butch enough for this mission.

Nobody ever spoke of how hard it was to be blessed and highly favored. This mission was more important than her vanity, as she was constantly reminding herself. Shar spared her from no pain or discomfort; it was part of her teachings. Goblin brains build character. Shadowheart would bear the gore and the ick just as she did the wound on the back of her hand. The same way a noblewomen may bear a ruby circlet or fine silk garment. Put simply: she would be proud that she bore this burden in her Dark Lady’s honor.

She had awoken on the Nautiloid with no memories intact - only the punishments of her cloister, the traditions of her past, and the discipline that they worked in tandem to construct. The empty void of her memories left little but the shell of a Sharran. When she did try to reconstruct the shards of her adolescence, she felt the hot burst of pain through the back of her hand, up her arm, through her shoulder. It was her Lady’s will to forget, and so she must make no attempts to remember.

Shadowheart knew she was naturally undisciplined, and she knew this every time she awoke from this same memory-stealing slumber. She was lustful. She was gluttonous. She was prideful. They had taken every measure to ensure her obedience to her Dark Lady and to divert her from her nature.

Now, outside of the strict eye of her Sisters, she was afraid to fail her teachings. She kept her wits sharp, her looks pointed, her ears turned. She tried to look like Mother Viconia upon her high-back chair barking criticisms at anyone she crossed paths with. She kept her thoughts pure. She denied the desserts Gale made (mostly treats more suited for beasts and the simple-minded, like sugared almonds or rice pudding, so this temptation was not too difficult to resist). She scoffed at every shrine and statue of Selune.

She was doing well, of that she insisted. She was being a good Sharran, but her Dark Lady reminded her often that she needed to be a great one.

Her hand burned upon her support of the tiefling child’s freedom, and she had been humiliated by the placement of wolves all around that blasted Druid’s Grove! To be seen by her lowly companions cowering over nothing but a slobbering beast? Her Lady continued to punish her upon the slightest transgressions - even a lingering look upon a blooming wildflower was met with a mild sting. Her weaknesses were more obvious to her than her strengths, and it weighed upon her heavily.

It was only when their Githyanki met her kin for the first time in those crossroads, that Shadowheart could see her Lady’s urgings.

Lae’zel was after the very same artifact she was sworn to protect, and Lae’zel would very soon put two and two together to declare Shadowheart a traitor. She would challenge her to a righteous and honorable duel for its ownership.

Shadowheart didn’t quite care for the idea of a righteous and honorable duel. In fact, she hated it. Lae’zel was strong, devastatingly so. She had expected the slightness of the woman to hinder her in battle, but she only used it to her advantage. Githyanki biology was far more advanced than she was taught - Lae’zel’s overhead swing in battle revealed defined musculature with fibrous curves she had never seen before in any elf, human, or even tiefling. Her center of gravity held her feet firmly planted, even as she wielded a greatsword that must have been at least a quarter of her body weight. She surpassed every expectation in battle and never seemed to tire.

No, no; Shadowheart would not sentence herself to death like that. Subterfuge was foundational to her Lady’s teachings, and Shadowheart preferred her work dirty. She wanted the gith to experience a quick death, silent and unexpected. She would strike before Lae’zel had even figured out that she held the artifact she sought.

She spent the entire day planning her attack. She watched Lae’zel’s every move. The way she impatiently tapped her foot when Gale requested a break to examine some foliage; she took note of the two-handed grip she used (left hand over right); the footing she favored in one-on-one combat; the starry-eyed look that crossed her face whenever she clearly stopped listening to Astarion’s whining about bugs in the tall weeds they trudged through. At lunch, Shadowheart watched her carefully avoid the cabbage in the carrot stew Gale had prepared. She grabbed its stringy, boiled ends and dropped it to the ground for Scratch, who had already been sitting beside her in expectation.

Shadowheart tried to tune Lae’zel out for a decent bit of their travel, as she began to prattle on about the importance of their visit to the creche - boring.

Shadowheart wanted to go to the Underdark. It seemed mysterious. She wanted a reprieve from the bright, blue sky overhead.

She said nothing, however. Lae’zel would be dead by morning - no use arguing now.

Even traveling behind Lae’zel for the rest of the evening, she was able to make useful notes about where the gaps on Githyanki armor suggest their weakest points were.

Their breastplates cover the most surface area, certainly. This meant that Gith organs must be similar to her own. She imagined the path her blade would take against Lae’zel’s bare chest. A quick slice through the chest, in, down, out. Eye-to-eye. Gushing blood running like a river between the two of them. Shadowheart on top of Lae’zel. Thighs against thighs.

Her cheeks were getting warm.

Temptation was difficult outside of the cloister. This is how she knew Lady Viconia’s teachings and punishments were not uncalled for: the impurity of her thoughts, the way they flashed by before she could stop them only proved what she already knew.

She felt the constant reminder of her vow; the cage that kept pleasure from going unpunished. The stir of arousal was met with the severity of confinement. It was tight, and a majority of the memories she was gifted were of the torturous years spent training to an iron cage so small. She was lustful, and though she could no longer remember her transgressions, she knew this punishment was fit for the crime.

Still, in the dark of night, she couldn’t help it. Her thoughts led her astray, to darker places and hands and teeth and lips and fullness. It wasn’t her fault that Karlach took an extra ten minutes in the hot springs and she got an eyeful while attempting to take her turn. The sin was in the way she folded everytime. The pain of her hand was direct from the Goddess, and its severity was too intense to derive pleasure. But the iron cage was man-made. The Mother Superior was only a woman, after all. Yes, appointed by Shar, but she held no omniscience or power over her, all the way in the Emerald Grove. The pain of her cage, especially compared to the severity of her Goddess’s wrath, was nearly euphoric. Feeling her tip press against the iron teeth of the sculpted wolf’s head - a cruel joke, mind you - that restrained her. She bit her lip, did anything to hold back a whimper. Pleasing herself was hard, but Shar seemed to see no reason to punish it. That was Mother Superior’s decision.

Shadowheart, ever-cunning, worked around the punishments. Pleasure was difficult, yes, but by no means impossible. She had trained herself to make it easy. She didn’t even have to touch herself to reach that peak of pleasure, merely clench her legs together and tense and tense and tense.

In the hot springs, after Karlach had risen from the warm waters with a sly smile, hands reaching up to comb through wet hair rather than hide her modesty, Shadowheart couldn’t help it. She washed herself until her touches grew into gropes and she reached down towards the grown-out bush that grew from beneath iron. Her finger’s passed over the iron wolf’s ears, slipping lazily over the tiny slot between the wolf’s teeth. She could touch just the tip of her head from there, tapping it almost urgently with the tip of her pinky finger as she strained against the cage. She bit her lip, dipping her head backwards into the water with a low groan. She was too sensitive for anything more than soft, gentle taps. She let her fingers drift, nails scraping down the metal casing, to the base where a sliver the width of half a pinky finger exposed just the base of her shaft. She could barely put the pads of her fingers there, just enough to feel the vaguest motion of stroking and rubbing.

She thought of Karlach again. The wide smile, the water dripping down breasts, through toned abs, into a damp bush just sparse enough that Shadowheart could make out an engorged clit between her lips. She imagined leaning in, sucking, tasting the sweat that had gathered from a long day of fighting. Her face between huge, strong thighs, fingers in her hair and urging her faster. She imagined how she’d taste when she came - cinnamon and cardamom and a slightly bitter aftertaste.

She slipped lower and lower into the hot springs, cheeks pink and letting out small, controlled pants. A hand rose from the water, grabbing purchase by way of the dock. She twisted her legs underwater, and tensed her thighs together.

It was almost immediate. The throbbing echoed in her ears. In her mind, Karlach was gripping her hips and pulling her back onto a glass cock bigger than her fist. She tensed her thighs to the rhythm of that until she choked out a gasp and felt the hot pleasure shoot up her spine. She threw her head back and held back a cry, her small cock pulsing inside of its cage as she came into the springs.

There was no divine punishment, only pleasure upon pleasure upon pleasure.

Shadowheart tried to steer her thoughts away from the hot springs, away from the image of a tight, wet hole. Back to the dying light in Lae’zel’s eyes as she held the knife in her chest and away from her waning discipline.

She intended to strike at dawn. She left her armor outside of her tent in a pile, and her shoes at the bedroll’s end. She kneeled down, pressed her forehead against the blanket she referred to as a bed, and reached out to her Lady for guidance.

She murmured her prayers under her breath: Blessed Nightsinger, witness my adoration. See how I serve you, only you. I have emptied my heart of falsehoods. I will vanquish your foes. In the darkness, I see your truth. Embrace me, your loyal warrior. Cloak me in your shadow. Guide me to your victory. Shar's will shall be done. As sure as night will fall.

She hoped for a response. The tip of her nose tickled as each exhale unsettled a small puff of dirt. She tried not to think about how much she hated it here. How badly she wanted to be in an enclosed, dim room with hardwood flooring and a clean chamber pot. How badly she wanted a plate of pastries from her favorite Anaurochian bakery. How badly she wanted a simple affirmation from her Lady.

Shadowheart sighed in frustration - would Shar only regard her when she saw her fit to punish?

Her hand seared in pain in response. Both affirmation and punishment at once. She gritted her teeth and pressed her forehead further into the hard-baked clay of the ground, eyes screwing shut and mumbling desperate apologies into the dirt until it passed. How could she have doubted her Lady?

She was following the path laid out before her. Shar had placed within her a distrust of Githyanki - this was not for no reason. She would kill Lae'zel. She would fulfill her destiny. She would become a Dark Justiciar.

When she opened her eyes from her prayer, she discovered a dark shape outside of her tent, one distinctly lithe and lanky.

“Shadowheart?” Lae’zel called through the thin canvas flap of her tent. Her voice was tight, militant. Surely she came to check the weapons Shadowheart sharpened earlier, perhaps berate her for a poor job buffing and polishing her breastplate.

Shar’s will executed once more. Her lady was delivering her guidance at last. She shuffled her dagger out of her waistband and under her pillow.

“Yes?” She answered, but immediately hated how unsure of herself she seemed. “What is it, Lae’zel?” She tried again, cool and unaffected.

“May I enter?” Lae’zel asked.

Shadowheart took a deep breath - this was the first true trial of her journey. She lifted the edge of the tent flap, and Lae’zel picked it up and ducked inside.

She backed up to the far end of her tent, kneeling upon her pillow. She eyed Lae’zel trepidatiously. Their quarters were somewhat cramped, keeping them less than a foot apart from each other in spite of her attempt to create distance. Her tent was just barely tall enough to accommodate Lae’zel, allowing her to stand at almost full height. She looked ridiculous, head bowed slightly to not press against the tented roof.

“Well?” Shadowheart bit out.

“I detected that you took extra notice of me today,” Lae’zel said firmly, and Shadowheart instantly paled.

Had she not been as subtle as she thought? Was her plan foiled? Shadowheart’s fingers attempted to inconspicuously grab a handful of dirt, prepared to throw it in Lae’zel’s face. She ran through the spells she had prepared, decided that blade ward would be the fastest and easiest to cast while Lae’zel was still stunned by the dirt in her eyes. It would be a hard fight, but if she first struck and severed the tendon in the left heel - the one she favored in combat - she had a real chance.

“And at first,” Lae’zel continued, unexpectedly interrupting Shadowheart’s internal panic, “I thought you were taking notes to assassinate me, but Karlach was quite insistent that I had… misjudged you. She said you wanted me. Carnally.”

Shadowheart balked. Her hand went slack, letting the dirt run through her fingers and return to the ground. She was beyond humiliated. Either way, she was a failure. Either she was horny for the interplanar brute or she was admitting to planning to kill the interplanar brute.

She stammered, eyes wide, “Wh- I don’t - I don’t even really think I, ah, even looked -”

“I’m not sure if I can stoop to pleasing an istik, but to see one on her knees is not such a terrible thought.”

Shadowheart’s jaw hung open. Lae’zel’s mouth was a perfect, straight line - she revealed no more than she did while insulting their party for their dalliances, or requesting an extra Corm Orp-style sausage.

Shadowheart wanted to be disgusted, but the pull of sin was strong as always. Yes, she wanted to kill her, but just as much as that, she wanted to taste her. Her eyes flickered down to the crotch of Lae’zel’s loose linen pants. Would Githyanki genitals be as foreign to her as their muscles? Shadowheart’s mouth watered, wondering if Githyanki cunt would taste the same as human, or maybe they’d have an edge of spice to them, like Tieflings.

She was nearly overwhelmed by thought. Shar dolled no punishment, but she felt guilty nonetheless.

It was Lae’zel who spoke first.

“Well, elf?”

Shadowheart scowled, snapped out of her musing to be reminded how much she disliked the woman in front of her. “Half-elf,” she snapped defensively.

Yet, she still did not deny Lae’zel. No, she did not like her, but she wanted so badly to undress her. To see what sweet treat Shadowheart could sink her teeth into, to feel the familiarity of someone crumbling beneath her in pleasure - or, perhaps, pain. She knew not of her life before this, but she knew it was full of treats such as these, of nights where she simply could not - or maybe just did not - resist temptation. She sat back on her heels, shins pressed flat against the bedroll, and hands on her thighs as if about to bow down in prayer once more. Lae’zel, arms crossed, stared down at her expectantly.

She did not want to resist, but was she supposed to?

What would Shar do?

Shadowheart was struck, suddenly: was this not the ultimate act of subterfuge? Her heartbeat began thrumming in her temples, a rush at a loophole easily found. A chance to get behind enemy lines. When is a person more vulnerable than with their pants around their ankles and their weapons left behind? Shadowheart wanted to whisper a prayer, a thank you to Shar for this trial, her task clear.

She lifted off of her heels, sitting up to put her body weight entirely on her knees. She looked up at Lae’zel through her long, dark eyelashes with the innocence of a scullery maid.

Shadowheart saw Lae’zel’s composure slip, just for a second. Her eyes, in a state of constant suspicion, widened slightly. Had she not expected Shadowheart’s compliance? Did she expect Shadowheart to confess to her assassination attempt instead?

Lae’zel took a step forward. Shadowheart’s nose was close enough to nudge the linen pants and the shapeless form beneath.

There was a thirty-second pause. Neither woman moved, only staring unwaveringly at the other.

Shadowheart was plotting how she could easily twist and grab the iron dagger, and reach a critical gap in Lae’zel’s defenses. Certainly not on her knees like this. If she could get Lae’zel on her back, she would have easy access to the blade and drive it into the side of her neck. Lae’zel was stronger, but Shadowheart was far more cunning.

She would be dead by morning, a promise to Shar.

It was Shadowheart who moved first with an emboldened hand dragging up Lae’zel’s thigh. She tucked a finger into the waistband of her trousers and tugged, maintaining eye contact. This did not seem to be the kind of tryst that would include foreplay. She wondered if Lae’zel even knew of foreplay, or if she was the kind to demand satisfaction and immediately turn away once she received it. Lae’zel’s face remained neutral, but her eyes were flitting around to her fingers under her waistband, to the braid on the crown of Shadowheart's head, to her lips - she never grazed the same spot twice.

Shadowheart tugged harder, and the cotton trousers easily slipped off of her straight hips. Her lips parted, mouth watered, as she came face-to-face with the bulge in front of her.

She could say little for her sexuality other than the immediate biological response of ‘hnng cock.’

She quickly pulled her underclothes down, too, unable to resist. Lae’zel sprang up in front of her, and Shadowheart’s heartbeat was no longer a drum beat but more of a marching procession. She was elated, far beyond what her mission required of her.

She was big. Bigger than Shadowheart was, to be certain. She wasn’t very good with her measurements, but she imagined that taking this in her mouth was about to be a real challenge.

She wasn’t too thick, Shadowheart observed with some relief, but thin still was not the correct word. It was lean, if anything, just like the rest of her. She traced a finger around the circumference of the base of her shaft. She was surprised by how the near-leather texture of her skin turned so soft - she was wrong when she assumed the breast and neck to be Githyanki weak spots when it would be so easy to rip through the flesh right here. Would castration be too far for a simple assassination?

She felt like such a good Sharran.

The finger dragged up her shaft, feeling the way the lightest touch tugged gently on the skin there, pulling it with her ever-so-slightly. It was still green, still somewhat reptilian, but more like the smooth underbelly of a gecko than the rough scale of its back. There was a single vein, and if she focused on it, she could see the soft pulse of the blood within it.

Lae’zel grew more and more firm beneath her finger and Shadowheart paled as she realized that she wasn’t fully hard yet. Another half-inch was added to Lae’zel’s size before she had even realized it. She watched it, as the thick vein became more pronounced, tracing an index finger from base to head and back again.

She was leaning forward unconsciously, eyebrows still high with excitement. Lae’zel’s tip leaked tiny pearlescent drops that threatened to fall, but clung to her head. They were calling to Shadowheart, asking kindly for her to lick them up before they met the cruel fate of her bedroll.

Lae’zel straightened, looking down at her smugly. “You shouldn’t seem so surprised. I am one of Vlaakith’s chosen.”

Shadowheart wanted to roll her eyes. She didn’t care about what that meant. She didn’t want to hear Lae’zel speak at all, just wanted to make her whimper and moan, beg and bleed.

She leaned forward, breath puffing against the pink-tinged pale green tip of Lae’zel’s cock. She pressed her lips against the head in a soft kiss, catching the salty little drops in her mouth. The flavor was familiar, but different. Salty, but something else, too; earthier than she had ever tasted. Begrudgingly delicious. Reminiscent of the smell of rain an hour before a single droplet falls; how she would sniff and sniff and sniff because she never wanted the smell out of her nose - that was how she felt about the salty-earthness of Lae’zel’s pre-cum. She didn’t want to stop tasting it.

Lae’zel inhaled shakily above her, and when Shadowheart glanced up, she saw that her head was turned up towards the ceiling of the tent.

Shadowheart opened her mouth further, slipping her tongue out to swirl around the circumference of her head. She closed her eyes, wrapping one hand around the back of Lae’zel’s thigh to hold her in place. The other hand slipped down to her balls, feeling the solid weight of them in her hand.  She squeezed slightly, and relished the way Lae’zel’s hips twitched subtly in response.

She felt the sideways palm of Lae’zel’s hand press against her cheek, two fingers rubbing against the sensitive, flared tips of her ears. Shadowheart hummed against her, leaning against the touch and into Lae’zel. She took the head into her mouth completely, but went no further. She let the sensitive flesh rub against her tongue before pulling it back out with a pop . Lae’zel’s fingers on her ears stilled, just for a moment, before continuing. Shadowheart’s eyes fluttered open; now, Lae’zel was staring down at her, watching her every move. Her eyes conveyed nothing but pure and open wanting. Mouth agape, a pink tinge to her cheeks that Shadowhart had only seen when Lae’zel had spent too long in the sun. Shadowheart felt an immense smugness at this.

She wanted badly to taste every inch of her, and knew she was far overstepping the satisfaction of a simple job well done; she was reveling in the pleasure of the act far too much, but did nothing to restrict herself of such joy.

She ran a tongue from her tip to the base of her cock, a trip that was one exhale, one inhale, and another half of an exhale. Neither of these exhales were particularly deep or shallow - simple and controlled is all. This unit of measurement was far more practical for Shadowheart to understand than inches.

She could feel herself throbbing against the confines of her cage, painful and dull. She wanted badly to reach down, try to derive what little pleasure she can out of rutting her hips against her hand. It could be as simple as bringing her thighs together. She kept her restraint, running her tongue up and down Lae’zel a few more times before finally returning to attempt to take her further.

Lae’zel’s breathing was unsteady above her, hitching and stuttering. Shadowheart took the tip of her cock into her mouth and leaned in further. She hollowed out her cheeks to take more of her, breath-by-breath, determined to hear Lae’zel moan, or scream.

She got halfway down Lae’zel’s cock before she began to slide back up towards the tip, but never let Lae’zel out of her mouth. She dipped back down, bobbing her head and borderline slobbering against the soft, green skin. She kept this motion consistent, straightening her neck in preparation to take more. She pushed herself further, Lael’s cock beginning to fill her throat. It was tight, the pressure of her throat making her eyes water. She had made it a quarter further - only a quarter more to go, she told herself. She began to bob her head, to return to the surface, but felt Lae’zel’s hand slide to the back of her head, holding her in place.

She looked up, the eyes of a dog receiving a scolding. Lae’zel pushed. Shadowheart wanted to resist her. She wanted to return to air defiantly, to show that she still had the upper hand. But she couldn’t disobey her. She flexed her throat, let Lae’zel push her cock further and further down her throat. She choked against her, did everything she could not to gag.

"That's right," Lae'zel mumbled breathlessly. "You can take it, Sharran."

Her cheeks colored with indignance, trying to glare up at Lae'zel, but to no effect - she was still on her knees with her mouth full. To Lae'zel, she had already lost. Lae'zel pushed the back of her head harder, urging her firmly to take more. Shadowheart whined, muffled almost entirely by her stuffed mouth and throat. She wanted to be embarrassed, but she loved the thrill of just - taking it. Far too much.

Her lips hit where soft skin split to scales. Shadowheart choked at the realization that she had taken it completely, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of Lae’zel all at once. She was grateful Lae’zel wasn’t any thicker. She was having a hard time focusing on breathing through her nose, and she felt her eyes spill over from the pressure in her throat.

“You’re being - you’re being so easy for someone so fucking stubborn,” Lae’zel told her breathlessly, thighs trembling beneath Shadowheart’s palm.

Shadowheart nodded quickly, mouth still full, drool beginning to leak down her chin, tears on her cheeks.

Lae’zel pulled her back, and she surfaced for air with a sound that was part gasp and part whimpering moan.

"Is it too big for you?" She teased.

"No, of course not," Shadowheart whimpered out. She was already leaning in to take Lae'zel back into her mouth. She held her there, on her tongue, and waited, as if to say again! again!.

Lae’zel grabbed a hold of her braid, wrapping its end around the palm of her hand like a lasso until she held its entire length. She used it to keep Shadowheart’s head steady as she began to buck her hips up into her mouth, occasionally using it to tug her harder and faster.

“Such -” She paused, breath hitching, “Such a good mouth. Who knew it was good for something other than complaining?”

Shadowheart whimpered, both hands now wrapped around Lae’zel’s thighs for leverage. She was warm at the praise, thighs twitching beneath herself in want. She wanted to be good. She wanted to be a good mouth. She really wanted to be a good hole. Subservience always suited her so well, and it felt so good to be back in that position, desperate for appraisal and a pat on the head. A simple good girl, all she had ever wanted to hear from her instructors, her partners, Mother Viconia - Shar. She opened her mouth wider, prepared to take more, and to take it faster, trying to silently beg Lae’zel to call her a good girl.

Still, she would settle happily for being a good mouth. Did she need to be anything else?

The pain she felt throbbed deliciously - on her scalp, beneath her cage, in her throat. It was like a melody, something so delightful and full bodied that it nearly felt as though she was being touched, too. She ground her hips into nothing, feeling only the too-tight cage against her loose pants. Her thighs tensed and she felt a sweet coil tightening within her abdomen. She feared she would cum just like this, felt herself only get hornier at the thought of an embarrassing wet, sticky spot on the front of her trousers.

What would Lae’zel say if she saw her? The thought passed through Shadowheart so fast that she couldn’t stop it. Lae’zel, with her huge, free cock mocking Shadowheart’s own caged nub. Shadowheart wanted to envy her, but found that she couldn’t. She enjoyed the servitude of her cage, the smallness of her cock.

Would Lae’zel make fun of her? Look at her with pity? Laugh? Shadowheart's hips were rocking up against nothing at the thought, thighs pressing together intermittently to feel just an ounce of friction, the mounting bursts of pleasure. She could grant herself release. It would be so easy, but she tried to hold back - to be on her knees, being fucked like little more than a toy by the party’s most annoying companion, was humiliation enough.

Lae’zel kept fucking her face, but she still hadn’t moaned or cried out in pleasure. Her breathing was labored, muttering words in whatever guttural language the Githyanki spoke under her breath, but there were no outcries of pleasure.

This annoyed her greatly, but she tried not to let it bother her. Lae’zel was using her how she saw fit, and Shadowheart felt more than comfortable in the red-hot shame of it. She whimpered and groaned and drooled and choked while Lae’zel took her time taking herself to the edge. She felt more hot tears streak her cheeks at the roughness, now falling freely and mixing with the spit dripping down her chin and onto the dirt.

There was no warning when Lae’zel pulled out suddenly, leaving Shadowheart empty, and shot hot, thick ropes of cum onto her face. It hit her soft, pale cheeks, and as soon as Shadowheart realized what was happening, she surged forward to take her into her mouth again, sucking every last drop from her. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, tasting that salty-earthy flavor that she, to her displeasure, quite enjoyed. It was hot and sticky, and she could feel it all the way down to her stomach like a shot of a gin. She sucked greedily, letting her mouth fill before swallowing again. She was impressed by the sheer volume Lae'zel held - it felt like she was swallowing for minutes.

It wasn’t at all like the hot cinnamon-sulphur flavor of tiefling, or the acrid gag-worthy human flavor. Not even the sickly-sweetness of a pure high elf. She was becoming something of a connoisseur of cum, she thought with some delight.

Lae’zel looked down at her, shoulders rising and falling with rapid breath. Shadowheart was breathing heavily as well, cheeks still decorated with streaks of Lae'zel.

It felt as though they were both stunned at how much they had enjoyed it, a thrumming excitement between the two of them at their discovery. Shadowheart let go of Lae’zel’s thighs, leaning back onto her shins once again. She looked up at her, a dog awaiting a command.

“Decent work. For an istik.”

Shadowheart’s temper flared in disbelief; there was no way that it wasn’t the best head of Laezel's putrid existence. No Githyanki could give head like that - not with those pointy teeth and proud dispositions.

Shadowheart gripped the pants gathered around Lae’zel’s ankles and yanked as hard as she could. Lae’zel’s feet swept out from underneath her, tangled in her own clothing. She yelped - the only noise Shadowheart had been able to draw from her - and her arms flailed around desperately before her back hit the dirt floor with a hard thud.

Shadowheart didn’t care about subtlety anymore - Lae’zel was wrapped up on her back, most likely still weak from her orgasm. She reached behind herself blindly, fingers slapping at the bedroll until they hit the feathered pillow. She reached underneath it swiftly, fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger, and scrambled onto Lae’zel.

Knees pinning down her wrists on either side of her thighs, blade readily pressed against her neck, and Lae’zel’s half-stiff cock poking against the inside of her thigh: Shadowheart had finally won.

“T’ch, what is this?” Lae’zel asked, somewhat unimpressed and unworried in spite of her clear and imminent death.

Her nonchalance only made Shadowheart angrier. “You know only one of us can see their mission through.”

Lae’zel’s eyes immediately flit to the artifact peering out from Shadowheart’s satchel. She tightened her grip on the blade, digging into tender skin threateningly. Were she better about keeping her blades sharp, she would have already drawn blood. But this dagger, which had only dulled from sitting somewhere in the bottom of her pack as she took favor of a mace, was near-blunt. “You knew. You were just waiting for the moment to kill me and take it.”

Lae’zel’s lip curled, exposing all of her teeth in a wolf-like snarl, “An artifact stolen barbarically from my people, yes, but I found no reason to slit your throat for it yet when there are more pressing matters to attend to. You are so quick to turn on the only ones who can help you, Sharran.”

“Then you would have killed me after purification. I simply struck first.”

Shadowheart felt such great satisfaction in this moment. She dug the tip of the knife into Lae’zel’s skin, delighted by the bead of blood finally collecting beneath it. Lae’zel winced, sucking in a quick breath just as she did when Shadowheart had first put her lips on her cock.

She was already taking a victory lap She watched the bead turn into a gentle trickle while she drove the blade further into her neck, Lae’zel’s snarl turned into a helpless grimace. The romance of the assassination, a sweet slow burn. She wished to revel in it, in the coolness of her blade against the heat of Lae’zel’s skin. She was cognizant of every part of Lae’zel pressing against her, and when her tongue darted out across her lips, she got another taste of that earthy cum.

She did not notice the sudden pursing of Lae’zel’s lip, the near inaudible sloshing inside her mouth.

Lae’zel, suddenly, spat onto her eye and cheek, hot and wet. Shadowheart gasped in surprise, flinching backwards just slightly. Taking advantage of Shadowheart's surprise, Lae’zel bucked her hips up into Shadowheart twice, hard.

Shadowheart, a seasoned rider atop a bull, dropped the dagger to brace with both hands against the bedroll. She steadied herself, Lae’zel’s wrists still firmly held in place while her own hips pressed harder against her midsection to keep her pinned.

But something worse overcame her. Worse, perhaps, than Lae’zel flipping them over and slitting her throat. Worse, even, than if Lae’zel had freed herself and scurried off to tell the rest of those slack-jawed brats that she had tried to kill her.

The adrenaline rushing through her body, spit mixing with the cum still spattered across her cheek, the bucking motion up against her, the tight, clenched muscles to keep herself steady, the euphoria of a win -

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She ground her hips down against Lae’zel again, feeling her still-hard cock brush up against the back of her thigh again, almost-but-not-quite touching the base of her cage. Shadowheart doubled over, forehead bracing against Lae’zel’s shoulder. White-hot pleasure was searing through her in uncontrollable bursts, a single twitch of her hips becoming pure desperation as she humped the space just below Lae’zel’s belly button. She was panting, whining, whimpering, a melody of the most embarrassing noises her body could possibly muster.

Lae’zel was completely frozen underneath her, and when Shadowheart’s eyes drifted open, slowly and with great dread rising up her throat, she was staring down at the wet, sticky spot in her trousers.

She looked up at Lae’zel with wide eyes, but Lae’zel was staring down at the wet patch, too. She felt herself twitch, another small spurt collecting at the mouth of the wolf and drooling warmth down between her thighs. Horror. Humiliation. But, beneath what she knew she was supposed to feel, was a perverse and intense satisfaction. She would touch herself to this memory for weeks, and, before this mission even started, had touched herself to fantasies that went something like this. She was almost high off of the elation of its fulfillment, almost as much as she was afraid to face the consequence of it.

The blood trailed down Lae’zel’s neck and down the curve of her shoulder to drip and pool onto her bedroll. Her face was unreadable; a mix of her natural stoicism and Shadowheart’s own inability to understand the nuance of Githyanki facial expressions.

Then, raw agony. It started on the back of her hand, like bones breaking and cracking beneath a rothe’s hoof. Up her arm, through her shoulders, radiating across her back.

The tent was aglow with purple, the green of Lae’zel’s skin not lit but instead shadowed. Any expression voided by purple against green, but when her lips parted, she could see the bright white of her teeth.

Shadowheart stumbled off of her, clutching her hand and collapsing to the ground in a fetal position. The purple in the tent dimmed as she cradled herself in a ball, choking out a tearless sob of pain. Lae’zel stood, pulling up her garments and snatching the dagger from where it had fallen.

The pain did not ebb, only coursed through her in waves. Shar made her vulnerable, immobile. Another trial she could not match; to overcome material pain in pursuit of Her will. But she could not muster the strength to work through this pain. It was insurmountable, worse than it had ever been.

She knew she offered herself for slaughter in this position, and Lae’zel would be a fool not to take her blade and kill her with it. It was no matter. She would die how she lived: in service to Shar.

She prayed for absolution. A prayer for her soul, as it would rest in Her embrace. A prayer for her body, shackled by lust that she would have to overcome in another life. A prayer for her hair, grown long and braided in Her honor. A prayer for rest, for hadn’t she been in pain long enough already? A prayer for the downfall of her enemies, but most of all, Lae’zel.

She realized she had made more prayers than most are offered during their final breaths. Her eyes shot open, looking frantically for the assailant diving for her neck.

But her tent was empty.

It was only her and her pain and her prayers for the rest of the night.

She ate oats at noon in an empty camp. Her companions had left without her when she did not respond to their calls outside as the sun rose. She fell asleep praying mid-afternoon, and woke up at nightfall praying, too. She prayed before a late dinner, surrounded once more by companions. Her hand hadn’t stopped aching, and it was the tension of keeping her palms pressed together in prayer that eased the burning.

Lae’zel tried to catch her eye between spoonfuls of gnoll-slop. She felt her looking, watching, but Shadowheart couldn’t bear even a fleeting glance at the other woman. She kept her head down, eyes cast upon the hole in her hand. The glow was barely present, and became dimmer by the moment. At least, that’s what she told herself.

She wished she had been killed, what a relief it would have been. Yet, Lae’zel had never shown mercy before, and she must have known that it was what Shadowheart longed for.

She put herself to bed with another prayer. The pain had lessened, and Shadowheart thanked Shar for her forgiving nature.

She was back in battle the next day, though sloppy and irate. She snapped at Gale twice for his ramblings about his glory days in Waterdeep. Lae’zel seemed to have made no mention to the other’s about the attempt last night, and for that, she was thankful.

Things carried on. The group had decided to take the Mountain Pass to the Crechè, and Shadowheart merely bit her tongue. She was in no mood to argue. Days passed, and then a week; Shadowheart maintained a generous distance from the Githyanki. This was not difficult; Lae’zel spent this time scouting the terrain for signs of her kin and reading aloud the tablets of Tir’su a little too eagerly when Gale requested it.

Shadowheart had naively begun to think that Lae’zel had forgotten about the whole ordeal, not that Shadowheart had gone even a single night herself without replaying the entire encounter in her head.

She was wrong, and she knew it. Githyanki didn’t forget so easily. Lae’zel was simply busy.

Camped in a small alcove in the mountain pass, two days until the promised purification in the creche, Shadowheart’s trance was interrupted, not by the snapping of a twig outside of her tent or the soft cloth rustling of her tent flap opening, but to the knife against her neck. Her knife - against her neck.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, first registering the pain against her skin, and then the weight pressing on her body.

Lae’zel. Come to execute her revenge. Shadowheart tried to shove her hands against her chest to push her off, but Lae’zel’s weight held her firmly in place. Her eyes glanced at the dagger in panic, and she bucked her hips up in another attempt to dislodge her. Futile, again.

Lae’zel looked at her smugly, the slightest smile playing on her lips. Shadowheart clenched her eyes shut, preferring to not see the quick slice of her neck coming. Her lower lip trembled, heart beating quickly in terror.

No killing blow came. The dagger’s tip was constant, consistent. She felt the wetness of blood, but little more. Had Lae’zel sharpened this blade since taking it?

Breath against her ear, Lae’zel’s lips brushing against the sensitive shell. “You are strange,” she breathed out. “Is fear part of the game for you? Does the thrill of the blade make your blood sing?”

Shadowheart let out a strangled squeak, and Lae’zel continued in nearly a gloat.

“I admire that, truthfully. The thought of how you came untouched last time has been plaguing my thoughts. How I yearn to taste you and make you come undone once again.”

Shadowheart’s eyes were wide. Did she - did she think the assassination attempt was some sort of foreplay? Part of the ruse of seduction? And Lae’zel had liked it? Enjoyed it? Gotten off to it? Her heart did not stop hammering in her rib cage. Her words rang in her ears over and over and over again.

“You-” She choked out, pausing to clear her throat to regain some semblance of control. “You liked it?”

Lae’zel withdrew the blade for a moment, replacing it with sharp teeth. She bit down harder than Shadowheart expected, canines easily piercing flesh, and Shadowheart cried out. Her back arched out of instinct, lips trembling in pain. She tried to angle her neck away and out of Lae’zel’s reach, but it only seemed to offer up more of that tender skin to her. Lae’zel pressed her lips against the bite mark, not in a tender display, but to smear her crimson blood against her pale skin. The puncture wound throbbed.

Lae’zel had been right about one thing - the fear was making her horny. She felt herself strain against the wolf’s head again, aching and throbbing. She bit her lip and whimpered - Shar was the furthest thing from her mind now.

Lae’zel came away, blood smeared messily across her chin, “I wish to see it again.”

“It?” Shadowheart asked breathlessly, eyebrows knit.

“Your pleasure, how it came about just by the blade of the knife.”

Shadowheart’s cheeks flushed, the jovial pinkness contrasting heavily with the dark crimson still wet on her neck. She was horrified - she didn’t want to cum without being touched again. What she really wanted was Lae’zel deep inside her, rubbing against that sweet spot she simply couldn’t reach with her fingers. She wanted Lae’zel’s hot, sticky cum shooting through her, to cum grinding against her, and even for a second, she imagined herself uncaged inside Lae’zel’s mouth.

But she feared her Lady’s wrath. Her last trial had been difficult and agonizing. She did not want to spend another night aglow with purple.

“I - my Goddess,” Shadowheart murmured, clenching her first at her side.

“Tch, is there nothing your Goddess won’t punish?”

“She merely guides me -” Shadowheart started, but Lae’zel dug a sharp fingernail into the wound on her neck, amplifying its pain.

“She is your master and you are her puppet-thing; cut the strings.”

“Better a puppet than a soldier to a tyrant,” Shadowheart spat out defensively.

Lae’zel growled lowly. Her ears flattened to stick straight out on the side of her head. “You know nothing of my place in Vlaakith’s grand plan.”

Shadowheart wanted to continue to fight her, but was in no position to make the gith angrier. Instead, she pursed her lips. Neither of them wanted to spoil what would unfold between them tonight over conversations of faith.

“What do you need? What will keep your Dark Lady at bay?” Lae’zel asked, and Shadowheart recognized this as the most courteous she had ever been to her.

She eyed the knife in an overexaggerated fashion, “What, ah, what will you do if I say no? If I say I must stay loyal to my Lady and remain pure.” Shadowheart sounded painfully scripted, her words stilted and clear, but she still worried Lae’zel would not get the hint. She gave the dagger another pointed look, jerking her chin towards it.

Lae’zel brought the blade to her neck once again, finally able to take stage direction. She spoke hesitantly, “I could take you by force.” She pressed her lips together in dissatisfaction at her own weak performance. Shadowheart lifted an eyebrow and gave her a look: be convincing. Lae’zel tried again: “I’ll slice your neck open and drink from the fountain of blood and gore - and I’ll enjoy it.”

Somewhat tactless, yes. Overkill, yes. Unnecessarily graphic, yes. But the way Lae’zel looked at her afterwards, nervously and seeking approval. Shadowheart realized Lae’zel was just as eager to please as she was, and was somewhat endeared by it. She let a small smile slip.

Shadowheart figured that would get the job done. How could her Lady punish her when she was clearly under the threat of the blade? Lae’zel was playing along well, and Shadowheart wanted so badly to cum alongside her tonight.

“Off,” Shadowheart mumbled, and when Lae’zel shot her an untrusting look, she quickly assured her, “just for a moment.”

Lae’zel crawled back a few steps, keeping her back straight, eyes narrowed, and blade pointed.

Shadowheart, still laying down, shimmied her trousers off of her hips and kicked them to the edge of the bedroll. Her underclothes were modest and baggy, as she found them cozy during her off-days. She was comforted to know her cage was still easily kept secret, but that her thighs and legs could be exposed like this.

She looked to Lae’zel, who sat patiently for Shadowheart’s instructions. She reached to the bottom hem of her night-blouse, a soft satin texture, and pulled it up above her head slowly.

Immediately, Lae’zel was crawling over and onto her again. She didn’t hold her down by her arms, instead using her hands to grope along her ribs and the side of her waist greedily. She was staring at the softness of her breasts, hands dancing along and brushing the undersides. Shadowheart moaned softly, dropping her head against her pillow and arching her back. This was her favorite part: the princess treatment. One of Lae’zel’s fingers traced a line up between her breasts to her clavicle, and paused there. All of her touches were hesitant and exploratory, but Shadowheart was growing impatient.

“Mouth, mouth,” she mumbled, arching her back up higher.

The hands on her were gone, then. She huffed, lifting her head up slightly to see Lae’zel flashing the blade once more and pressing it against the tender underside of her breast. “Are you in any place to be making demands?” She hissed, eyes narrowed at Shadowheart’s slight.

Her breath caught in her throat. She shook her head.

“That’s what I thought,” Lae’zel came in closer, long tongue licking up from her clavicle to her earlobe. “Because good girls don’t make demands. They beg.”

Shadowheart gulped.

The flat side of the dagger pressed directly against Shadowheart’s hard nipple while her teeth toyed with the tips of her long, flared ears. She shuddered against Lae’zel, bit her lip to hold back a moan. She was too easily drawn into the fantasy and dynamic: to blush and obey and spread her legs. There was something about the warrior that was inherently commanding, while being maddeningly attentive. She drew conclusions quickly, but she was smarter than Shadowheart gave her credit for, because her conclusions were almost always correct. Shadowheart regretted underestimating her so much, to the degree that would get her tits fondled by her own knife.

“You want me to beg?” She tried to keep her voice steady and disinterested, maybe even unwilling, but it was unconvincing.

“If there’s something you want, you have to beg me for it, Sharran.”

She was slipping away from herself. Temptation was winning out, clouding her judgment, but she was afraid of her Goddess’s wrath.

Shadowheart looked pointedly at the dark wound on her hand, strained against the blade dramatically, and tried to sound helpless. “And you’ll - ?” She trailed off.

The blade dragged back up to her neck, leaving a light pink trail in its wake. It was held threateningly to her jugular once more. Lae’zel was no thespian, but she was certainly creative. “And I won’t slice you open slowly and leave you outside the vampire’s tent for dessert.”

Shadowheart’s lip curled in disgust. Again, far too much for her taste, though she quite admired the gusto Lae’zel was putting into this.

Lae’zel leaned in closely, turning the blade in just so. Shadowheart felt it pierce skin and winced at the gentle ease in which Lae’zel tore into her flesh. She felt so small under her, completely at Lae’zel’s mercy. Perhaps Lae’zel really was a thespian. Lips against her ear again: “Maybe I’ll even let you cum and call you a good girl.”

That was all she wanted.

Shadowheart shut her eyes. Begging was hard for her. It was embarrassing, and certainly beneath her stature as a lady. If anything, Lae’zel should be begging to touch her and feel her. But she wasn’t begging to touch her, and, unfortunately, she wanted Lae’zel to touch her so, so, so badly.

“Please - your mouth. Please,” Shadowheart tried hesitantly, undisciplined.

“My mouth? Where? I know you can do better.” Lae’zel’s nails were dragging small figure-eights across her abdomen. It tickled, slightly, and Shadowheart instinctually flexed her core to keep herself from slapping her hands away or kicking. She felt her groin flutter, a tiny moan escaping her lips as she tried once again to arch her back into Lae’zel.

There was no pain. No purple glow. She tried again, in earnest.

“Please put your mouth on me,” Shadowheart panted. “Please, Lae’zel, I - I want to feel you suck and bite my tits, please .”

She felt her shift downwards until her tongue began tracing at the soft skin around her arreola. She tried to shift the arch of her back, to urge Lae’zel’s directness, but was only met with resistance.

Lae’zel bit down into the soft flesh right beneath her nipple. Shadowheart cried out, the pain a bright burst in her chest that only made the heat in her abdomen grow. She licked an inch further down, and sunk her teeth into Shadowheart once more. She sucked there a moment, backing up to examine the dark purple mark forming. She whined, felt herself become so greatly frustrated by how her tongue was getting further and further away from where she needed it.

Lae’zel switched between biting hard and sucking harder all over her chest, but never making direct contact with her nipples. Shadowheart felt caught up in the pain, its edge becoming duller and hotter.

“Fuck, please -” she cried out. “I want to feel you on my nipples. Please, please, please - Lae’zel, I - I need it. I want to feel your tongue on them, I want you to suck on them, you - you can even bite them, please.”

Lae’zel, kind and benevolent, pressed her tongue flat against the hard bud of Shadowheart’s nipple.

“You’re getting so much better,” she mumbled around her.

Shadowheart let out a loud, even whine, and a string of thank you, thank you, thank yous. Her fingers braided themselves into Lae’zel’s hair, rooting her firmly in place. Her tongue lapped against it over and over again. Her tongue was long, standard for gith, but it meant that each stroke was long and hard.

She was babbling now, embarrassment lost to pleasure, “Mmph, that feels so good, Lae’zel. Oh - please don’t stop!”

Lae’zel hummed, taking her nipple into her mouth completely and sucking. She was a vending machine of thank you and please and fuck as Lae’zel worked her up. Her sharp teeth just grazed the side of a nipple, and she could feel it all the way down to her toes, which curled against her bedroll. Shadowheart writhed beneath her, feeling her pleasure mount and mount.

“Lae’zel,” she gasped, “I’m, oh, I’m close.”

Lae’zel let go of her nipple with a wet pop. She sat up, eyes surveying Shadowheart and the bite marks over her chest, which rose and fell rapidly. “Stop.”

Shadowheart frowned, the heat in her body dissipating, “But-”

“Good girls wait,” Lae’zel cut her off, immediately.

Shadowheart’s mouth snapped closed. Her jaw clenched, annoyed at how easily she was outplayed and how much she reveled in domination. Lae’zel could see it, too, and smiled toothily down at her.

She tucked a piece of Shadowheart’s hair behind her ear. “You can be good, can’t you?”

Shadowheart nodded fervently.

“That’s what I thought. You have to earn it, this time.”

“Tell me how to earn it.”

Lae’zel seemed to weigh this for a moment. “How do you want me to use you?” She slipped her trousers down her hips, just low enough to expose her hard cock.

She bit her lip at the sight, lost in the possibilities. She wanted Lae’zel everywhere, but she needed to be smart. She didn’t want anyone in camp to know about her cage, and needed to plan accordingly.

Shadowheart lifted her legs straight up in the air, wrapping an arm around her thighs, “You can - you can fuck my thighs, if, ah, if you see me fit for that.” She stumbled through saying it, not even sure if it was intelligible, but Lae’zel seemed to understand clearly.

She grinned from ear to ear, crawling over to her. Shadowheart clenched her eyes shut, so unbelievably humiliated by this entire encounter. She felt the Githyanki’s stiff cock press against the back of her thigh.

The sound of her spitting once, twice, and then Lae’zel’s hands spread her thighs apart. The back of Shadowheart’s legs rested against her torso, her ankles on Lae’zel’s shoulders. Her length met resistance against her thighs, not quite wet enough to make an easy thrust through. Something in Shadowheart was hopelessly wishing she could get wet enough for Lae’zel to slip through her easily.

“Try the oil of accuracy in my pack,” Shadowheart murmured. She remembered, just as a great disciple would, the exact description from her alchemy scrolls: this slick oil helps one’s weapon slip through the tiniest of cracks in an enemy’s defences.

A small smile played on her lips at this thought. She wrapped her hands around her thighs and let them fold against her chest as Lae’zel took a step back to search for the oil.

She rooted around for only a moment before coming up with the small, glass bottle. She poured a generous amount into her hands to stroke onto her thick member, and rubbed the excess into Shadowheart’s inner thighs. Shadowheart let out a long, high whine as Lae’zel massaged into a sensitive spot right where her underclothes ended. Her nails drug across the flesh there, long pink scratches in their wake.

Lae’zel grabbed a hold of her legs once more, and Shadowheart’s heartbeat quickened when she felt her stiffness against her thigh once again.

Lae’zel carefully squeezed her cock between her closed thighs, finding absolutely no resistance. Her thighs were soft, more fat than muscle. Lae’zel’s fingers dug into their flesh to find purchase. She threw her head back upon her first thrust, and Shadowheart let out a gasp at the feeling of her slick cock sliding so easily between her legs.

She was delighted by the outcome of the oil of accuracy. She squeezed her thighs together experimentally, but it made no difference to the ease at which Lae’zel was sliding between her. Easy in. Easy out. Shadowheart squeezed them together again, breath hitching in pleasure as she did.

Lae’zel was staring down at her cock as it fucked Shadowheart’s thighs. “Tsk’va, you’re thighs are so -” Lae’zel tipped her head back as she slowly began to build rhythm.

“Can you feel it when I squeeze?” 

“Yes,” she groaned. “So good, so wet.”

Shadowheart whimpered, squeezing her thighs again. She tried to pulse her thighs together to the same rhythm Lae’zel was fucking her with, but she simply couldn’t keep up as Lae’zel gained speed.

“Look at you,” She sneered. She shifted her weight forward, bending Shadowheart’s thighs against her stomach. One of the hands on her ankles reached out to the line of her clavicle, and then her palm met the column of her throat, and her fingers wrapped around neck. “One second you’re telling me that Githyanki are inferior, brutish, and the next you’re allowing yourself to be folded in half by one, whored out by one?”

Shadowheart bit her lip hard, hips jerking up. The fingers around her neck dug in. She could feel the blood in her body pooling in two places: her cock and her head. Lae’zel pressed down on her throat, just enough pressure to make her breath strain.

“Do you see how pathetic you look?” Lae’zel hissed out through her labored breaths. “How undisciplined you seem? What would your precious cloister think of their disciple getting fucked like a toy by a Githyanki?”

Shadowheart was finding it difficult to breathe, but was having no problem whining and crying and moaning. There was a small wet spot in the font of her underclothes from where she was dribbling pre-cum out of her cage in an almost constant leak. It didn’t matter how hard she pressed her thighs together, the oil of accuracy made it impossible for Lae’zel’s cock to meet resistance. She was so wet and slippery, it was making her head spin. The palms of her hands and the bottoms of her feet were beginning to tingle and burn with the full-body intensity of pleasure she was experiencing.

“Hng, Lae’zel,” she wheezed out, her hips stuttering with nearly every thrust

A thin sheen of sweat was beginning to form on Lae’zel’s forehead.

Shadowheart had been close for a long time, but found herself tipping the edge unexpectedly. She wanted to beg but couldn’t get enough air to do it.

Lae’zel seemed to understand the desperate, pleading look in her eyes. “Be a good istik and cum for me.”

Her mouth fell open with an airless gasp, one of her hands grabbing Lae’zel’s bicep and squeezing. Her entire body tensed at the rush of pleasure that soared through her. Her eyes darkened, small stars spotting the edges of her vision as the world tilted and spun around her.

“Such a mess,” Lae’zel mumbled. The hand on her neck released, and ran its way down her body to the front of her smallclothes. She had soaked the cheap linen, a nearly-translucent slickness shimmering on cotton. Lae'zel wiped the pad of her index through it, lifting it up and rubbing it between her fingers like a druid surveying sap.

Shadowheart had wanted so desperately to wait to cum until Lae’zel finished, but she hadn’t expected to be choked like that. She caught her breath, blood recirculating and dispersing.

She nodded, still unable to form words. Her chest rose and fell dramatically with each breath. “You can keep going. If you want,” She suggested, barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel bit her lip and resumed with some uncertainty. Shadowheart closed her eyes and relished the feeling of Lae’zel’s thick cock between her thighs. She could swear that she felt that pretty, long vein that crawled up her shaft against her.

“How do my thighs feel?” Shadowheart asked.

Lae’zel hummed, “Soft. Wet. Like I could bite into them and drink whatever trickled out.” She turned towards one of Shadowheart’s calves and teased her teeth along the skin there. Shadowheart braced for a bite, but it never came.

“You were so good,” Lae’zel panted out. “Such a good girl, for being such an annoying brat all of the time.”

“Say it again.” Unabashed.

“You were so good.”

“No,” she gasped. “The second part.”

“Such a good girl?” Lae’zel tried.

Shadowheart nodded. She smiled and bit her lip, reveling in this feeling. She didn’t want it to end: this moment, with Lae’zel’s thick cock pumping between her thighs, telling her how good she was. “Again,” she demanded.

“Such a good girl. Such a good girl,” Lae’zel told her, punctuating each good girl with a particularly rough thrust of her hips.

“More,” Shadowheart moaned.

“Fuck Shadowheart, good girl. Good girl. Good fucking girl,” Lae’zel began repeating it over and over and over again, thrusts getting faster and harder and stronger. “So. Fucking. Good.”

Shadowheart didn’t even realize she had been squeezing her thighs together until she felt the hot coil in her stomach hit a crest. Her eyes snapped open, looking up to Lae’zel who was still mumbling her praises. She relaxed her thighs, tried to keep herself from tipping over, but suddenly, Lae’zel’s hips stuttered mid-thrust, and she felt the warmth of her cum splashing across her stomach and chest.

Shadowheart squeezed once, hard, and quickly joined suit. Her smallclothes became twice as drenched, and her palms rubbed up her stomach to smear Lae’zel’s warm jizz across herself and up over her breasts.

“G’lych, ” Lae’zel groaned, slouching over and dropping Shadowheart’s legs. She collapsed beside Shadowheart.

They both sat in that silence for a moment, neither quite looking at the other. One of Lae’zel’s hands rested on her hip, tracing circles just above linen. One of her fingers slipped beneath, but Shadowheart grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“Hands to yourself,” she mumbled.

“That was hardly what you just said,” Lae’zel returned, but her hand fell away at her hip anyways. “Why do you hide your pride so dutifully?”

Shadowheart colored slightly. “It’s a Sharran thing.”

“For modesty?”

Shadowheart bit her lip, “Chastity.”

Lae’zel seemed skeptical. “You’re not being very chaste.”

Shaodwheart sighed and rolled her eyes. “Get out of my tent.”

Lae’zel rolled her eyes in turn and rose. She pulled her pants back on, smoothing them out, “Should I come back tomorrow night?”

Shadowheart pressed her lips together and nodded. Shar did not punish her, so she would not punish herself.