“So… It’s been a few hours. Think it’ll be alright if I head home?”

  “No,” Garen replied matter-of-factly.

  David sighed. It wasn’t as if he weren’t used to Sara running off with her girlfriends, but… well. He thought that a year missing from their lives would have changed things. That there would’ve been a better way to spend their first full day reunited than half a city apart.

  David sighed again, and Garen gnced his way. “Is something troubling you, Professor?”

  David waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “No, no. I know what’s up. She’s been through a lot, and besides, she probably wants to enjoy her honeymoon.”

  “Honey moon?”

  “Uh, Earth tradition. When you get married, you spend a week or so rexing with your new spouse, often on vacation or something. A chance for some alone-time, that sort of thing.”

  Garen smiled. “New spouse, David? Surely you heard your daughter tell you that she has been married for months.”

  David didn’t dignify that with anything more than a derisive snort. His daughter may not have been a dyed-in-the-wool romantic, but he’d certainly raised her better than to get cheap rings that barely fit her wives. That had been a rush job if he’d ever seen one.

  Seeking distraction from the mournful pang in his chest at having missed such a critical milestone in his daughter’s life, David returned his attention back to his new workspace.

  It was certainly the nicest single office he’d ever been afforded. Thirty by twenty feet from wall to wall, with high, sweeping ceilings and windows that provided an excellent view of the city, it seemed better suited for some sort of executive rather than a geomorphologist. That there was so much furniture the space felt cozy was even more remarkable, even if much of it wasn’t likely to be of use any time soon. The bookshelves lining the walls were almost entirely empty, including the unfamiliar, diamond-shaped slots which were intended to hold scrolls, and his gargantuan desk was free of anything more than a few bnk sheets of parchment. In fact, parchment was itself sparse, a shortage David had just recently learned was his daughter’s fault. Her army (and how odd it was to refer to his daughter having an army!) had requisitioned every st scrap of paper-like substance in order to make powder charges for their muskets. While David understood the necessity of the decision, he still wished she’d found a way around it. Teaching students without paper, or even chalk and a whiteboard, was going to be difficult.

  For now, though, David focused his efforts on what he could control. And his office, at least, was one element of his newly emerging life which he could consider himself a considerable expert on. He set himself to the task of turning the lordly, intimidating headmaster’s office (because Garen had in fact given him the former head of the University’s quarters, preferring to work from his boratories) into a far more modern, welcoming abode. He discarded the lordly high-backed chair which had been set behind his desk in exchange for a humbler, common chair, and intended to find several plusher examples for the students to sit while they discussed whatever difficulty they were having in css. To his eye, it seemed like the headmaster of Old Tulian had selected near everything with an eye for intimidation, the room arranged like the wet dream of some Mad Men style power py. The effect wasn’t improved by the fact that the only furniture left in the building was that which had been too heavy to loot and too sturdy to break down, inadvertently selecting for downright militant accommodations.

  Thankfully for David’s sixty-three-year-old self, Garen, likely the single most powerful human being he had ever met, was currently using that otherworldly, unfathomable power to help him with interior design.

  “Do you truly expect students to so often visit your office?” Garen asked as he hovered the monstrous desk across the room like something from The Adams Family. “It seems odd to organize your personal workspace with a mind to accommodating others.”

  “I hope they will,” David said, huffing as he did his best to drag a small side table into pce. “Students that take time out of their day to ask questions are always the most successful. And since I’ll probably be teaching things they’ve never even heard of, they’ll probably need a lot of tutoring.”

  “You wish to take specific apprentices, then?”

  “Huh? Oh, no. I’ll make a sign-up sheet for tutoring hours or something. That way anyone who’s struggling with a topic can ask me questions without feeling like they’re holding up the rest of the css.”

  The desk set itself down, and together he and Garen stepped back, observing the new pcement.

  “I must admit, David, that your educational methodology is strikingly unusual. You speak of lecture halls and css sizes in the hundreds, yet in the same breath acknowledge the value of dedicating your efforts to a few of your brightest pupils. It seems contradictory.”

  “I mean… I guess?” David ran a hand through what was left of his hair, then wiped the resulting sweat on his shorts. “Everyone knows that tutoring a kid one-on-one is the best way to teach them, but you can’t do that for everyone, can you? I mean, Wayne State had something like 25,000 students.”

  “I think our student-to-faculty ratio was sixteen to one,” he continued, oblivious to the bulging of Garen’s eyes, “which wasn’t too bad, but plenty of csses had more students than that. The upper level courses skewed the averages, I think.” David shook his head, bringing himself back to the topic at hand. “Anyway. Yes, tutoring kids, or ‘apprenticing’ them, if you’d like, is obviously better. But I’d much rather make sure a thousand kids can get a decent education than give a dozen students an excellent one. So, a compromise. Everyone attends the lectures, and then the ones that’re actually passionate, or really need my help, will show themselves. I can’t think of a better way to do it, though I’d be lying through my teeth if I said it’s a perfect system.”

  “Twenty… five… thousand?” Garen sounded the words out slowly. “Did you misspeak?”

  David ughed. “Nope. Sara hasn’t given you popution numbers from Earth yet?”

  “She has, but… only in the abstract, I suppose. To hear such a specific number is astounding. You taught at a school which served more students than there are citizens in a great number of continental cities.”

  “Yeah, popution growth after the Industrial Revolution was exponential. You’ll probably be seeing the start of it in your lifetime, actually. Once food production is mechanized and infant mortality rates are sshed, the popution’ll probably start growing by a factor of… I think thirty percent, every ten years? No, I think that might be too high. I do know that the global popution doubled in a hundred years, from the early 1800s to the 1900s, then doubled again in fifty years, then doubled again fifty years after that, hitting eight billion in 2022. Those are rough numbers, though. Don’t take it as gospel.”

  Garen turned away from the desk, raising both eyebrows at David.

  “Forgive me if I am mistaken, but it does not seem that knowledge belongs to the realm of a geomorphologist. I was under the impression that in your world, the age of the general schor had passed, giving way to the realm of specialists.”

  David shrugged. “Yeah, for the most part. That’s just basic information, not hard to learn about. And learning stuff is way easier in my world than it is in yours. Has Sara told you anything about the internet?”

  “Precious little, beyond the social camities it has apparently wrought.”

  “Figures. I always tried to work the pessimist out of her, but I never quite got there.” David paused, mulling over how best to expin the concept. “I guess the best way to expin it is… well, you have magic here. That makes it easier. Think of the internet like a massive, enchanted library. It’s got every book and scroll that’s ever been written, and when you speak whatever you want to read about, the appropriate book flies off the shelf and nds in your hands, opening itself to just the page you need.”

  Garen looked at David for a prolonged moment, as if he was waiting for some caveat, an expnation for why such a thing was only a metaphor. When it became clear one wasn’t forthcoming, he could only shake his head.

  “I cannot fathom such a thing. The expense to your University must have been immense.”

  “University?” David ughed. “This was public, Garen. Everyone had access to it, all the time.”

  Garen waited once more, anticipating a joke. Then he blew out a breath.

  “If you used this resource as eagerly as I anticipate a Professor might, I cannot imagine all that you know. After seeing what your daughter has brought to this world, I almost fear to fathom what one such as yourself is capable of..”

  David offered Garen a conciliatory smile. “You don’t think she called me here just because she missed her dad, did you?”

  “I… well, quite frankly, yes.” Garen’s waving hands deposited a bookshelf to one side, pressing it against the wall. “She spoke highly of you, and not infrequently. Her longing was evident.”

  “That’s fttering to hear,” David said with a shrug, “but unlike the rest of you, I’ve known her since she was a child. Do you really think she’s the sort to get that sentimental? To waste a favor from a god on me?”

  Garen stepped back from his rearranging of the furniture, the glow of spells fading from his hands.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What about Amarat, then?” David asked. “I haven’t had much time to learn things yet, but what I have learned has had an awful lot to do with Champions. One only shows up in the history books every few centuries, right? One person from Earth, only once every few hundred years? That means it’s a big commitment. Not a small piece of magic, or godliness, or whatever they do their weird crap with. And even if she didn’t make me an official Champion, Amarat still spent some of that effort on me. And if what Evie said was right, that previous Champions never introduced new technology, something’s clearly changed. I don’t know if it was Sara that changed it, or godly politics, or something else entirely, but I’m not dumb. She didn’t bring me here to cook dinner and kiss her boo-boos better. That’s just not who she is.” David moved to one of the thick chairs and sat down, his eyes tracking something far away. “I love that kid, Garen, but between you and me? She’s got issues.”

  “Quite a number of them,” the archmage chuckled, moving to sit in the chair opposite.

  David flicked his wrist like he was shooing a fly, still not looking at Garen. “I’m not talking about real-world problems. I’m talking about anger issues, Garen. Like, real bad.”

  The archmage’s brows steepled. “I will continue to be directly honest, David. While I have noticed the ease with which one might fan the fmes of her fury, I considered it a matter of course. A predictable product of the alterations inherent to one chosen by a Goddess of Emotion.”

  David barked out a ugh, shaking his head. “Alterations? She’s always been like this, Garen. She got in her first real fight, and I mean a real fight, when she was six years old. The teacher said pulling her off the other girl was like trying to rip a chunk of meat out of a dog’s mouth. And thank god that teacher had been there, because I don’t know how much worse things would have gotten. Sara sure as hell wasn’t going to stop herself. And she never got all that much better about it, either. I mean, smarter, sure. She stopped starting the fights. She always made sure the other person swung first. But that was just to make sure it was considered self-defense. And she got real, real good at goading someone into taking that swing.”

  “A concerning behavior for a child,” Garen conceded, visibly unsure of where David was leading this conversation, “but not so uncommon as to be a sign of illness. Even if it were, one would assume Amarat has healed her of the mady. Such is her domain among mortals. Regardless, Sara has tempered her reactions, David. At least on occasion. I have seen it myself.”

  “Yeah. And I’m proud of her for that, too. Not easy to get a hold of yourself like that. Takes some real self-awareness, which I’m gd she’s managed to find. But…” David turned his hands up. “Why am I here?”

  “To be her father, I can only assume,” Garen replied. Even as he said it, however, he looked hesitant. It was clear that he was beginning to read between the lines.

  “Maybe. Probably a big part of it, actually. But you know what I am?”

  “A Geomorphologist, by your own definition.”

  “Yeah. And that’s what I’m best at. Got the degree to prove it.” David sighed, slumping in his chair until his chin rested on his chest. “But I’m also a military historian. An amateaur one, but still. I like engineering, math, and history. And there’s no better pce to see those kinds of things interact than in war. I know a whole, whole lot about war, Garen.”

  “Yet you have been summoned in a time of peace,” Garen pointed out.

  David raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Peace. A new, radical nation rises on the border of a superpower, and then embarrasses that superpower in a ughably lopsided war that they never should have won. One that’s witnessed by dozens of other nations, many of which had a vested interest in one outcome or another. The new nation is severely weakened, while the superpower has only spent a tiny fraction of its total power. Maybe history here has been different, but I doubt it’s been that different. Is this a recipe for peace, in your opinion?”

  Garen’s only response was the pressing of his lips into a thin line.

  “Yeah.” David made an effort to straighten himself, rolling his shoulders. “I’m gonna teach a bunch of stuff to people, Garen. But I… don’t think it’s likely that I’m going to have a very peaceful career, going forward.”

  Garen seemed to consider this for a long moment. Looking David up and down, a frown on his face.

  Then he waved a hand, opening some space in the air, and pulled out a tall wooden mug. He set it on the low table between them.

  “Do you drink, David?”

  He smirked. “I do. Beer?”

  “A simple stock,” Garen confirmed. He pulled a second mug out, resting it on the arm of his own chair, and settled in.

  David took a sip of his mug. His eyebrows rose, surprised. It was chill to the touch, a thin rim of frost ringing its perimeter. A cold beer was one of the first things he’d have assumed he’d lost access to in this new world.

  Magic’s even better than I thought, he decided, tipping the mug back.

  True to Garen’s words, the beer was unremarkable. Simple, like any number of drinks he’d had before. It was still beer though, which was good enough for him. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their beers, thinking their thoughts.

  Eventually, though, David made to get up. “Okay, they’ve got to be done by now, right?” He asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Garen snorted.

  “It’s been four hours.”

  “It’s only been four hours.”

  David opened his mouth to say something. Hesitated. Smacked his lips. Then returned to his chair, muttering into his mug.

  “Damn.”

  “Mm.”

  --------------------------------

  Sara

  --------------------------------

  Sara was ft on her back, her head throbbing. Every thump of her heart sent a roar of blood through her skull, the rush of it audible in her ears any time she turned to y her head against the pillow. It felt like she should have had a headache. An awful one, almost a migraine. But she didn’t.

  Hurlish wouldn’t let her.

  The orc dragged her hips forward with a low groan, biting her lip as she did so. Sara’s hips arched to follow the motion, instinct trying to shove herself deeper into the orc’s intoxicating heat.

  She wished she had the strength to resist her body’s urges. All she was doing was torturing herself; it wasn’t as if she’d be able to cum.

  The colr around Sara’s throat thrummed with power, her wife’s orders digging deep into her body.

  Don’t cum until I say you can.

  Hurlish had given her that order an hour ago– practically the minute her dad had finally left to move into his new home– and she’d never rescinded it. Not when Sara was shoved to the hilt in her pussy, Evie pping at their wife’s clit with a religious fervor. Not when Hurlish came apart above her, her inner walls clenching so tightly around her cock Sara thought she’d die. And certainly not when Hurlish had finally climbed on top of her hips and begun a slow, endless grind, one that would have set Sara off a dozen times over if it weren’t for that damn colr.

  No, no matter what Sara did, she couldn’t cum. She could only sit at the absolute precipice of pleasure, bathing in an intoxicating, addicting heat that suffused her every muscle, yet somehow wasn’t quite enough for her. She was left wanting more, just that little bit more, and she was never allowed to drag herself over that final ledge to the blissful oblivion beyond.

  Hurlish, meanwhile, was having no such problems. She was free with her moans, both hands massaging her breasts as she alternated between bouncing and grinding on Sara’s cock. The only time she bothered to open her eyes was to order Evie to attend to a new part of her body, be it rubbing at her clit or using her canine fangs to tease at her neck, leaving little pinpricks of blood in the center of deep, dark hickies. The feline was clinging to the massive orc like a second skin, so soaked with arousal that her slick coated both her wife's bodies wherever she went. She hadn’t cum either, but to Sara’s great irritation, she barely seemed bothered by it. If anything, the ck of attention she was receiving only served to drive the feline deeper into her pleasure.

  Fucking turbo-bottom, Sara thought, unable to voice the thought through her groans. She’d always enjoyed being a switch, able to pick and choose how best to please her partners, but at times like this, there seemed to be a hidden downside. Unlike Evie, she couldn’t quite give herself over to Hurlish’s pleasure. She still had that little spark of selfish desire, the urge to roll them both over and take her, rather than giving it.

  And Hurlish knew it. As soon as the thought came to Sara, she found her head lifting, her hands moving to grab Hurlish’s waist, ready to roll her over and fuck her into submission, to make the woman let her cum.

  Only to find herself smmed back down, a single massive hand driving her into the mattress. Hurlish didn’t even open her eyes to pin Sara in pce, nor did she stop her grinding.

  The first few times that had happened, Sara had obediently id back, letting the orc take the lead. But she’d been at the edge of orgasm for an hour. Sara’s patience was worn thin.

  She surged back upward, muscles bulging. She brought both hands to Hurlish’s forearm, shoving to the left at the same time she bucked her hips, trying to shove the orc to one side. Sara had fought Knights and mercenaries, professional soldiers and commoners alike, and so far, she’d come out on top every time. Her Levels had granted her strength that would have shattered Olympic records, that let her lift weights that should have turned her bones to dust. She was strong . It had been months since she’d had the slightest concern that someone might overpower her.

  Sara grunted with effort, trying to kick Hurlish off her. Her fingers did their best to wrap around the massive green forearm over her chest, a whine of effort slipping from her lips.

  Hurlish kept grinding, eyes closed, breasts bouncing.

  She hasn’t even noticed.

  Sara fell back to the bed, hands falling to her side. Evie never lifted her lips from Hurlish’s neck, but she did flick her gaze towards Sara, a smirk forming as she nibbled at the green flesh. It seemed to say, See what it’s like?

  And Sara did. It sent her cock throbbing even harder in Hurlish’s wet heat.

  How long had it been since she’d felt that? To be truly helpless? Months, probably. She was a Champion. She was supposed to be strong, an unstoppable force. To know that Hurlish could just… take her? Do what she wanted, and there was nothing Sara could do about it?

  It had her whining, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets as her panting chest sent her tits bouncing. She started to pump her hips, trying to shove just a little bit further into Hurlish. Maybe… maybe Evie was right. If she couldn’t cum, what was the point of trying? She was Hurlish’s toy right now. Just a cock for her to ride on. If that was all she could be, she might as well be good at it.

  “Oh. Is now not a good time?”

  Evie leapt off Hurlish with a hiss, diving for the side table. She tucked herself into a roll that ended with her on her feet, revolver ready to shoot, rapier held defensively before her while her tail pressed to her back. It was an impressive leap, and would have been quite intimidating, if not for the fact that she still had drool running down her chin and slick arousal coating her thighs.

  Sara was slower to react, on account of having a foot of cock buried into her wife, but she still tried to lunge for a weapon.

  She didn’t succeed, of course, because Hurlish hadn’t let her go. Even with a rush of adrenaline strengthening her, Sara proved utterly incapable of budging the smith’s casual grip. Somehow, even in the throes of panic, that sent another tingling rush straight to Sara’s cock.

  “Woah!” The stranger’s voice called. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

  Sara strained her neck to see around Hurlish’s hips, (which were still torturing her with little pumps), and found Ketch standing in the doorway to their bedroom, holding her hands up in surrender.

  “Ketch,” Evie sighed, a tinge of reproach in her voice. She dismissed her rapier and pced the revolver back on the nightstand. “You should have warned us.” As she spoke, Evie moved back to the bed, returning to her straddling of Sara’s leg, pressing her breasts into Hurlish’s back.

  “Warned you?” Ketch asked, leaning in to look around the room. “We were supposed to meet up tonight. I got worried.”

  “Nonsense,” Evie said. “We still have plenty of time–” she paused to press a kiss into Hurlish’s neck, unwilling to completely abandon her duty, “–until the meeting.”

  “You were supposed to meet me an hour ago.”

  Sara blinked, the words slowly soaking into her lust-thickened skull. She reached over to the blinds, still pinned beneath Hurlish, and lifted them for a moment.

  It was pitch bck outside. The sun had to have set an hour ago, at least.

  “Uh, Evie?”

  The feline lifted her head, blinking at the sight. “Hm. I would have sworn it had been no more than a half hour since we began.”

  “I thought it was an hour,” Sara said.

  “‘s been three,” Hurlish replied between groans. “Thought y’all noticed. Didn’t say anything, though. Didn’t want to stop.” She dropped her head forward, sighing contentedly. “Gods, I love this cock.”

  Three? Sara’s head swam, a deyed sense of exhaustion rushing through her. I’ve spent three hours in Hurlish? No fuckin’ wonder I’m out of it.

  “Uh, sorry, Ketch,” Sara eventually said, forcing the words through gritted teeth in a vain attempt to keep the moan out of her voice. “Kind’ve lost track of time.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” the Azarketi hummed, entering the room with her fingers trailing along the doorframe. She moved to sit on the end of the bed, eyes locked on the point where Hurlish and Sara’s hips met. Evie, now reassured that the intruder wasn’t a threat, had already bent back to sthering hickeys across Hurlish’s skin, and didn’t pay their spectator any mind. “Alright if I join?” Ketch asked.

  “If it’s alright with–”

  Sara’s response was muffled as Hurlish’s hand slid up to cover her mouth. The orc began to move again in earnest, stirring Sara’s cock against her walls, turning whatever she’d been about to say into a muffled moan.

  “You’re wearing the colr,” Hurlish said, cupping Sara’s head in her hand. Her palm was big enough to stretch from Sara’s chin to her ear, all while keeping a thumb pressed against her lips. “That means you don’t get a say. Remember? You’re keeping your mouth shut until I say otherwise.”

  Sara nodded, doing her best to communicate her obedience through her squirming hips.

  “Good girl.”

  The orc’s hand lifted away, and Sara almost immediately missed the reassuring warmth against her. She let out a pitiful, needy little whine, but was left ignored as Hurlish turned to address Ketch.

  “You can join if you want,” Hurlish told her. “But you don’t get Sara’s cock tonight. That’s just for me.”

  Ketch’s eyes had gone wide at the sight of Sara being so obviously subservient underneath the orc, and then wider still as her gaze tracked down to Sara’s neck. The colr sat there, glowing fitfully, its damaged runes never as subtle as they had been before Garen shattered it. Its broken center was bridged by a crude lock, one which had Hurlish had elegantly chiseled a single word across the front just a few hours ago: whore. Sara had been all for it, back when they’d been csping it possessively around Evie’s throat. Now, with Ketch staring down at her for once, Sara’s face flushed. Her hips gave a little buck as she felt Ketch’s eyes flick across the word. A part of her wanted to expin, to change the topic or ask a question, but…

  But Hurlish hadn’t told her she could talk yet. So she didn’t.

  “Did you bring her?” Hurlish asked.

  “I did,” Ketch said, gncing towards the door. “She’s not inside right now. I climbed in through the window.”

  Evie peeled herself off Hurlish for a moment, frowning. “I thought I had those locked.”

  “Not well enough.”

  If she hadn’t been so world-endingly turned on, Evie probably would have chased that tangent further. Instead she slid around the bed to Hurlish’s front, pressed her lips to a breast, and sent one hand down to massage Hurlish’s belly.

  Well, sort-of massage. For most wives, that’s what it would have been. For Evie, it was very clearly a decadent groping.

  “Can you let her in?” Ketch asked.

  “Sure.” Hurlish turned her head around, hollering loudly. “Come on in!”

  It was a testament to Sara’s bzing arousal that it took until that moment for her to realize who, exactly, they’d been talking about.

  The vampire slid through their front door, as tall and eery as Sara had imagined. Her face was defined by sharp angles and high, regal cheekbones, the very picture of an imperial woman, and her bck hair was piled up in a fashion that Sara remembered well from her time in Tulian. Her pale skin showed only the faintest tinges of color, the remnants of how she might have looked once upon a time, before she’d become what she was now.

  And speaking of what she is now…

  The noble vampiress was wearing a maid uniform. And not a real maid uniform, not as Sara had learned it was. That had been one of the first things she’d done, back when Amarat had dropped her in this world. She’d beelined for the maids, teenage dreams she’d long suppressed filling her mind with wonderful fantasies. The reality had been far different.

  Until now. This wasn’t the practical brown dress protected by a stained apron, with its work boots hidden beneath an ankle-length curtain of thick, unfttering wool. That was what real maids wore, Sara had learned. They were working women.

  But this?

  This was a fucking maid costume.

  The neckline plunged down the vampire’s chest to show off the way her corset emphasized her bust, completed on either side by a neat row of white frills. The bulk of the dress was pitch bck, dyed far deeper than any real maid could ever have afforded, and it was tailored to hug tightly at her bust and hips. It even ended a good few inches above her knee, enough to keep her modest when she bent over, but only just, leaving her so, so easy to expose. If Sara hadn’t known what she was, hadn’t gone into the moment knowing she was a vampire, she would have been slobbering over it.

  Instead, she just drooled a little bit.

  “Where did you get that?!” Sara demanded of Ketch. The indignant cry burst out before she could stop it. “I looked everywhere! No one knew what I was talking about when I asked them for a french maid outfit! No one here even knows what France is! I described it, tried to find it all over the pce until I was forced to give up, and then you just show up with a pet vampire wearing a goddamn mmfgh–”

  Sara was cut off once more by Hurlish’s massive palm, and this time with considerably more force.

  “Looks like you can’t py nice, huh? Guess we’ll have to do it the hard way. For you, anyway.” The orc leaned over Sara, grinning. “You will not speak unless I tell you to.”

  The band on Hurlish’s wrist fshed, and with it Sara felt her colr light up. She felt the command take effect immediately, smming into pce against her soul, but she instinctively fought it. How could she not? Something was trying to control her. She didn’t want that.

  But then she looked into that smug, tusked grin, and realized just who was controlling her. Hurlish. Her wife.

  She sank back, accepting the command, letting it wash over her. The moment she did so, she felt a deep, sluggish heat roll out of her colr, pressing into her throat like flowing magma. A burning sense of seeping, delirious pleasure. A reward for obeying her Mistress.

  No fucking wonder Evie didn’t want to give this thing up, Sara’s scrambled brain managed to think, even while her limbs went sck as she basked in the sensation. If she’d fought the command, if she’d never really wanted it in the first pce, it would have been awful. Constrictive, oppressive. But the moment she accepted it, submitted to it? When she realized she could really trust the one giving her the reward? The heady pleasure rolled through her like magma, burning away any care for fighting against the order.

  “Anyway,” Hurlish said, oblivious to her wife’s ongoing miniature orgasm, “what can she do? I know we were going to meet up to discuss boring shit like Sporaton pns or whatever, but…” Hurlish’s eyes flicked up and down the vampire, drinking her body in without shame. “From the way you made it sound, she’s just as needy as Evie, isn’t she?”

  The centuries-old vampire nodded happily, almost childishly, hands csped before her waist as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

  “Oh, I am!” She insisted. “I’ll do anything you want so long as Owner tells me to. I’ll lick and suck and get spped and beg or sit or really just anything at all, I promise!”

  Ketch rolled her eyes at the dispy, but nodded.

  “She’s not lying. Noctie is…”

  “A good girl?” The vampire eagerly supplied.

  “A good pet,” Ketch corrected. Sara watched the shudder roll through Noctie at the word, noting it for ter. One of the reasons she’d wanted to meet the vampiress was to confirm that everything was as Ketch’s reports had cimed. She trusted Ketch as a person, but she’d never go so far as saying the Witch-familiar had a firm grasp of the ethics of sexual consent. The girl’s boundaries in the bedroom were harder to find than her tits in a parka, and that was saying something, both because she didn’t have much going on up top and Sara had really put her through the ringer before she’d gone to Sporatos.

  Sara was going to try and think of other things, the things she’d pnned to investigate at a proper meeting with Ketch and her new toy, but they fled her mind like lightning as Hurlish suddenly raised her hips, slipping off of Sara’s cock for the first time in literal hours. The sudden absence of her beautiful, wonderful heat had Sara whimpering in protest, but she didn’t say a word. She couldn’t, after all.

  Hurlish, for her part, freely let out a litany of curses as she slid Sara out of her sopping heat, eyelids fluttering in delight at the friction. When the massive foot-long cock she’d demanded Sara conjure up finally fell free, it spped against Sara’s own stomach, nding just beneath her own tits. The orc dropped back down, panting, her pussy spread around the base of the shaft. Hurlish took a moment to compose herself, then turned to grin at the other women in the room, whose gazes were locked onto Sara’s cock in rapturous hunger.

  “So. How do you think we should do this?”