Foreign Affairs
1
Chapter 1
Ms Chrysanthemum Lampbright visited her uncle's villa in Kallgia every winter. The climate was far kinder here than back in the Estuary States, safe from the wind's worst excesses and mild enough that she had never seen it snow. The drink was better, too - where Chrys's father looked on anything stronger than ale with fear and suspicion, Uncle Leopold's cellar was stocked with fine wines and coarse, fiery brandies. One memorable year, he'd even imported a case of goblin sake from Ozatha, enough to render him, Chrys, all his friends, and the watch officers who'd come to break up the party completely insensible.
Tonight's function, though, was a little more restrained. After nearly a decade of stalling, Leopold and his "close associate" Martha had finally gone public and gotten married the previous summer. Martha's theatrical flair had outlived her old career as an actress, and she had applied it in full force to the first party she and Leopold hosted as a couple.
This was no mere booze-up. This was a masquerade, darling.
A couple of hours in, Chrys was still struggling to see the appeal. Martha had kindly lent her a mask, a simple black domino with an embossed floral pattern, but it wasn't like it concealed anything, really. At least half of the guests knew who she was anyway - she hadn't exactly kept her identity a secret, and russet-brown skin and Tharic features like hers and Leopold's weren't too common in these parts. And she recognised them in turn. Was she supposed to see that skinny man at the central table, slipping miniature sausages into his pocket, as some dashing, enigmatic stranger? No, that was Edris, he was a local fishing magnate, he did this every time he came here, and his elaborate beak-nosed mask did nothing to change any of that.
Thus far, it was the least fun she'd had at the villa in years. She wasn't going to let it stay that way.
Chrys carved as direct a path as she dared across the hall, swerving only to avoid cutting through conversations. Her target was the table where Leopold had arranged every bottle of wine he could bear to open from the cellar, at least a hundred of them, huddled in formation like a vast extended family posing for a portrait. She selected a young Zougenne red from near the back and poured herself a slightly overfull glass. It teetered perilously in her hand for a moment, threatening the white gown she'd foolishly chosen for tonight, but coordination won out and she raised it to her full, dark lips for a sip, closing her eyes to focus on the flavour.
When she opened them again, though, she was no longer alone at the table. Leaning against its other end, rolling the stem of her empty glass idly between thumb and forefinger, was a woman at least a foot taller than Chrys's five-three, whose hard, statuesque body seemed poised to burst free of her simple midnight-blue dress at any moment. Somehow, though, her size wasn't the most striking thing about her. That would be her mask, a sharp-edged wolf's head made from what looked like some kind of dyed pottery, yellow-orange, a far cry from the plain black and white designs that surrounded her.
She was an orc. The flash of dark green skin on the back of her neck, and the glint of her tusks beneath the ceramic wolf snout as she turned towards Chrys, confirmed it.
Chrys took a couple of steps towards the stranger, just to get within earshot. "I love the mask," she said. "Is that a custom piece?"
The woman chuckled, and even that slight motion shook the table and clinked a few bottles. "It's not mine," she said. "Borrowed it from a friend. It's a wrestling mask." She paused for a moment, and, though it was hard to tell behind the mask, Chrys felt distinctly surveyed by her gaze. "Thank you, though," the orc added at last.
"I confess I've never seen orc wrestling," remarked Chrys.
"I'm not a fan myself," said the orc. "Don't like the theatrics." From the acid in that last word, it was clear she was passing judgement on this party, too.
Chrys nodded in agreement. "Perhaps I ought to stay clear, then."
They turned back towards the heart of the party and were quiet for a while. As Chrys raised her glass again, the orc gestured towards it and asked, "What are you drinking? Is it any good? The whites I've tried taste like canal water."
"It's passable," shrugged Chrys. "Honour Rock '35. May I pour you a glass?"
The orc nodded. "Go on, then. It's worth a try."
Chrys relocated the bottle and did so. The moment she handed the glass over, the orc took a deep draught, nearly half of it.
"I've definitely had worse," she concluded. "Thanks, er... oh, aren't you Oscar's girl? Leopold speaks the world of you. Hydrangea! No, Lavender. Something floral. Forgive me, head like a fucking sieve this evening."
Chrys started at the casual profanity - she wasn't offended, but it seemed distinctly out of step with the tone of the evening. "Chrysanthemum," she offered. "But please, call me Chrys. I much prefer it."
The orc shook her head at her own forgetfulness and extended a hand. "Honoured to meet you. I'm Arijga."
Chrys took the handshake, noting the fearsome strength behind Arijga's grip. "How do you know my uncle, then?" she asked.
Arijga scratched her chin. "Can't actually remember how we met," she said. "It was probably through Owain - do you know Owain?" Chrys nodded. "Owain supplied my husband's unit, back when he was still a field officer."
"Oh yes?" said Chrys. "He's a military man, then?"
"You might have heard of him, actually," said Arijga. "General Kerax. They call him the Boar." For a moment, Arijga's general air of indifference was tinged with a note of pride.
"General?" Chrys's eyes widened. "Is this evening not something of a... well, a step down for you two?"
Arijga turned back towards the crowd. "Imagine a party like this one," she said, "but everyone wants something from you. Money, prestige, allegiance. And half of them are pretending to be something they're not to get it. And telling them to fuck off might be treason. And you do that at least once a week."
Chrys imagined it for a moment. "Doesn't sound ideal," she said.
"When that's your routine," said Arijga, "you need a step down now and again. Though I enjoyed these parties more when your uncle was in charge."
"I see your point," said Chrys. She sipped her wine. "Though I'm not sure I've seen you here before." She was pretty sure she would have noticed a woman of Arijga's stature, even without the mask.
"Oh, we're usually not here this late in the year," said Arijga. "Korusz joins his corps in their winter quarters, and I go home to Sunpeak for a while. But we're both wanted at the peace talks later this month, so we thought it best to stay put."
"Good luck," said Chrys, laughing humourlessly. She'd never been an avid disciple of current affairs, but word of the neverending peace talks between the Eight Realms and Lau Garda had been unavoidable for months now. Every time they seemed to come close to a resolution, the queen's estate would veto something, or the Lauists would declare a new heresy that invalidated the current terms, and the whole miserable business would start again from square one.
"I don't think they even have us doing anything," said Arijga. "We just have to stand there and look scary. Y'know, decorative orcs." She scowled into her glass. "I'd have the Gardates eating out of my fucking hand in days if they put me at that table. Their approach is all wrong."
"Oh?" Chrys said.
"They have to stop trying to meet the Lauists on their level." Arijga shrugged heavily, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and came perilously close to spilling her wine. "All these concessions to the priesthood! They're not some border state that can't afford to upset them, they're the Eight Fucking Realms, and they should start acting like it."
Everyone had to have a take on the Lau Garda situation, of course, but Chrys had rarely heard one stated so boldly (and profanely), let alone at an event like this. "You should join our diplomatic corps," she joked. "From what the news-sheets say, I think they could use a few more like you."
"Too late, I'm taken," said Arijga. "Granite Clan got me already." She reached into what turned out to be a very deep pocket at her hip (a dress with pockets!, thought Chrys), and produced a pewter badge of office, the same yellow-orange as her mask. "You're speaking to Ambassador Arijga Kerax, but if you call me that off-duty, this wine's going in your face." A wry smile flickered behind the mask.
"I thought you liked that wine." Chrys was starting to get a feel for Arijga's manner, and she decided she liked it a lot.
Arijga scoffed. "It's alright by human standards." She pocketed the badge and shifted a little closer, close enough to drop her voice to a loud whisper and elbow Chrys gently (orc-gently, which was still quite hard) in the ribs. "We have a joke back home. Why is human wine like having sex on a canal bank?"
Chrys blinked a few times, then shook her head. "You'll have to help me out here," she conceded.
"It's fucking close to water."
Chrys just about managed to swallow her mouthful of wine before letting the laugh loose. "Is it really that bad?" she said.
"No offence to you lot," said Arijga, "but you're lightweights. My favourite spirit back home is illegal in the Realms because it's classed as a poison."
"I suppose I ought to pass on that," said Chrys. "I do foolish things when I'm drunk."
Arijga nodded. "Passing out in the fetal position on the floor would be pretty foolish."
Chrys smiled. "Well, I do often end up lying down..."
It was true. Yes, the climate was warmer in Kallgia, and yes, the drink was better, but Chrys's absolute favourite thing about visiting was the chance to do things her father would disapprove of.
She could feel Arijga's eyes assessing her. She hadn't really planned on flirting, but, when the atmosphere was right, she often found she couldn't help herself. And, in spite of the room's subdued mood, Arijga seemed to be making the atmosphere very right indeed. Yes, she was married, but Chrys had heard that orcs often had rather different ideas about monogamy.
"This your type, then?" Arijga glanced pointedly at the rest of the room, puzzled. "This lot?"
"You'd be surprised," said Chrys. "Once you get to know them, 'this lot' can be fascinating."
"How so?" Arijga was even closer now, the two women's arms brushing one another. "You have me curious now."
Chrys drained her glass, set it down on the table behind her, and put a faux-demure hand over her mouth, as though realising she'd said too much. "I couldn't possibly tell," she said. "That would be dreadfully improper in such polite company."
"What about less polite company?" said Arijga. "I think Korusz is lurking upstairs somewhere. I'm sure he'd love to be introduced."
Chrys's heart jumped. The titan-woman's presence was compelling enough, and the thought of meeting her husband, another of her kind, was too enticing to pass up. Not to mention Arijga's apparent interest in her past escapades... that could mean all sorts of things, but Chrys tried not to dwell on them for now. As always, she would stay in the moment and see where it took her.
"I'd be delighted to meet him," she said, trying not to let her voice wobble. "Shall we?"
Chrys started towards the grand staircase that loomed over the northern half of the hall, but Arijga grabbed at her sleeve, making her stop and turn back. Again, that strength shone through. If she'd wanted to, the orc could probably have picked Chrys up and carried her about with that one hand.
"The Marchioness of Sallensa is at the bottom of those stairs," said Arijga. "She thinks we're friends. If she catches me, we'll be stuck there all night hearing about the royals she's almost met."
Chrys nodded with grim understanding. Even in her twenty-five years, she'd met more than her lifetime's allotment of Marchionesses of Sallensa. "Service stairs?" she said.
"Service stairs," Arijga nodded.
"Shall we?" Chrys was about to offer to lead, but Arijga was already eyeing the entrance to the southern corridor.
In the hum of polite conversation and the tipsy haze that was starting to set in over many of the guests, not a soul noticed Chrysanthemum Lampbright slipping out with Arijga Kerax. If their absence was noticed, that was no matter - they were probably off discussing Feminine Matters somewhere. Or in the privy.
***
Before the Lampbright family had moved in, the villa had been a smugglers' den. Illicit imports from as far afield as Hran and the Omnarchy had found their way into its cellars and cubbyholes, resting until they were ready to be dropped surreptitiously into the thriving black market that Eusella III's trade sanctions had seeded. The Lampbrights, wholly legitimate traders and businessfolk, had substantially rebuilt the villa in the generations since, but its older parts were still blessed with an abundance of hidden passages and trick construction.
When she was younger, Chrys had made a sport of uncovering and mapping out as many of these architectural relics as she could. She knew the villa's secrets inside out, from the trapdoors that linked wholly unexpected pairs of rooms together to the handful of remaining "thief holes", person-sized cupboards made for residents to hide in if the authorities came calling.
"I know a shortcut," she said to Arijga, who was a few strides ahead of her.
The orc paused and turned, a curious smile visible behind her mask. "Do tell," she said.
Normally, to get upstairs without using the main staircase, you'd have to take one of the servants' passages, a couple of minutes' walk from the main hall. Chrys, though, knew a quicker way: a few paces down the central corridor and around a corner to the east, there was one wall panel, sandwiched between two mediocre paintings of horses, which would yield to a firm shove. Chrys stopped in place, braced herself, and threw her shoulder hard against the wall. The panel budged slightly, but didn't open. Chrys was winding up for another shove when Arijga nudged her aside and planted one palm at the centre of the panel. With a quiet grunt of effort, she pushed, and it swung aside.
The little nook behind it was difficult to see in the dim light of the hanging lanterns, but, once Arijga stepped back to shift her shadow, the outline of a ladder was just about visible against the back wall.
"After you," said Chrys, with a teasing bow. "You're the guest."
Arijga was right at the limit of what could fit into the shaft - if Korusz was any bigger than her, Chrys thought, he'd be stuck within seconds. The metal rungs creaked treacherously beneath Arijga's shoes (they were almost boots, Chrys noticed, flat and thick-soled), but she made it to the top, and pulled the catch to release the corresponding panel on the upper floor. Chrys's journey was much easier, and she closed the entrance quietly behind her as she ascended.
Arijga was coughing when Chrys slipped out to join her. "Bit fucking dusty in there, isn't it?" she gasped.
"It is," said Chrys apologetically. "Here, let me just..."
Arijga's dress had acquired a frosting of grey dust where it had brushed against the walls on the ascent, and Chrys reached out to help her sweep it off. Arijga tensed, as if to wave her away, but ultimately said nothing, allowing Chrys to kneel so she could reach down to the hem. Once the dress was as clean as she could get it without a proper brush, Chrys looked up at Arijga and smiled.
"You alright?"
For the first time so far, Arijga seemed to hesitate. After a few moments, though, she extended a hand down to Chrys to help her back to her feet. "Thanks," she said. "Come on, you've got a war hero to meet, and I know where he'll be."
The villa had two small external balconies to the east and west - these were newer construction, commissioned by Chrys's great-grandfather to give him a better view of the lively new city reinventing itself all around him. Arijga made a beeline for the eastern one, which overlooked Kallgia's docklands, and, when she opened the double doors to the outside, Chrys peered past her in awe at the figure beyond.
General Korusz Kerax was huge. He must have been approaching seven feet tall, and his shoulders, hard and straight, would probably have tested some of the villa's doorways. He wore a dark red officer's uniform - red for auxiliaries, Chrys recalled - which, although tailored, still looked like it could barely contain his thick, powerful limbs and stone-firm torso, much like Arijga's dress. A giant ceramic mask, a little like Arijga's but in the image of a blue-green boar, hung from his belt. As he turned to greet his wife, his chest sparkled as the light reflected off his medals, lots of medals, what looked like a mixture of human and orcish commendations.
They kissed. It was a chaste kiss, but just barely. His hand slipped behind her head, cradling it as she tilted upwards to meet him. Their bodies were close, not quite pressed together but definitely less than a "polite distance" apart, as Chrys's father would have it. She felt warmth in her cheeks just watching them - not with embarrassment, she'd gotten up to far more scandalous things in the dark corners of this house, but with something a little deeper, more primal.
Arijga broke the kiss and gestured towards Chrys, whispering something to her husband. Korusz turned and spotted her. His eyes were deep orange and gleamed bright in the half-light.
"Chrysanthemum Lampbright."
Korusz's voice was deep, firm, and unyielding, a voice you could smash glass on. Almost instantly, Chrys understood at least part of his success as a commander. She was no soldier, but if that voice ordered her to take up arms and charge an enemy gunline, she would give it serious thought.
She stepped forward gingerly, almost afraid to approach him. What was the protocol here? Did she salute? She'd never saluted any of Leopold's soldier friends, but Korusz was higher-ranking. Was it different for auxiliaries? For orcs? What did an orcish salute even look like? She seemed to recall something about chest-thumping...
"Come join us," Korusz rumbled. "And don't worry, you don't have to salute."
Well, that made things easier.
There was a definite chill in the air, but the balcony was well-shielded on both sides and from above. Chrys was shivering a little, but not from the cold. Korusz and Arijga parted, signalling for her to slip between them, and the three of them stood silently for a moment, taking in the lights of Kallgia Major as they pierced the gathering winter darkness.
She realised she hadn't actually greeted Korusz yet. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ge- er, Ko- forgive me, sir -"
"General Sir Korusz Kerax, Knight-Marshal of the Kallgian First Imperial Orcish Auxilia," Arijga recited.
The general let out a short, rough laugh, almost a bark, and shot his wife a playful glare. "Korusz will do fine." Then he turned his attention down towards Chrys, and suddenly she felt every inch of his sheer size set against hers, looming like a mountain. "And I'll thank you not to call me 'sir'. Only my troops owe me a title, and they call me vech." His accent was thicker than Arijga's, deep and rhythmic.
"Vech?" Chrys said, wincing internally as she butchered the pronunciation.
"Vech," Korusz repeated with a smile. "Short for vechtan. 'Boss'."
"Vechtan," Chrys said. "Vechtan. So, if you gave me an order..."
"Kal, vechtan!" said Arijga.
"Kal, vechtan!" Chrys tried.
"Not bad," said Korusz. "Maybe we'll make an orc of you yet."
Something in the pit of Chrys's stomach rather liked that idea.
"But I'm off-duty," he continued, "so let's speak of kinder things. Like you, Chrysanthemum. Leopold has told me so much about you."
"Look, I'd had a lot to drink," said Chrys, "and the edge of the fountain looked a lot higher than it was..."
Smiling, Korusz patted her on the back - he probably thought it was a light tap, but it was hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. "He told me," he said, "that you are a woman full of life and intellect, and a pleasure to be around. Though, yes, he did also tell me the fountain story. I'm sorry."
Chrys felt her cheeks growing warm. "He flatters me."
"Does he now?" Arijga said. "From what she was telling me earlier, this young woman's the life of the party. Apparently she's gotten to know some of the guests quite well."
"That so?" Korusz replied, before Chrys could stutter out a retort. "I'd love to hear a little more about it."
Things were heating up again. Chrys took a deep breath and resumed her coy guise. "Well, you know, I really oughtn't speak of such salacious things," she said. That settled her a little. The flirt. The tease. She was in her element.
Korusz looked her dead in the eyes and knocked her straight out of it.
"I think you should tell us more."
He'd dropped into a lower register, and his words seemed to hum through Chrys's bones. If she'd felt a hint of his authority earlier, when he'd told her to join them, this was a bracing, dizzying dose - and she knew he had so much more in him. There was really only one reply she could give.
"Kal, vechtan," she said, voice quivering.
She felt a hand on her shoulder from behind. "Good," said Arijga. "It'd be rude to leave us hanging."
Chrys swallowed hard and turned back towards the city, hands to the balustrade, collecting her thoughts. She was used to making playful allusions to her past mischief - that was just part of her character. But they wanted detail, and, well... the thought of sharing it thrilled her, but she'd have to build up to it.
"Give me a moment," she stammered.
"Of course," said Korusz, warm and genial once more.
A few more deep breaths, and then Chrys spoke. "The first time was with a servant."
"Anyone we'd know?" Korusz pressed.
"I doubt it," said Chrys. "He was just there on an odd job. Someone's son or nephew or something. I could tell, actually, because he wasn't a very good waiter." Arijga snorted at that. "But he was handsome, in that not-really-trying kind of manner. Rough-cut, you know? And I could tell he was staring at me, and I could..."
"Go on," said Arijga.
"I could see the bulge in his britches. He was gifted."
"To your tastes," Korusz hummed.
"Well, size is not everything to me," said Chrys, "but it's not nothing, either. And I'd just come of age, and I was so sick of my father watching my every move back home, so I saw an opportunity, and I seized it."
"What did you do?" Korusz again, but lower this time, quieter, curiosity laced with lust.
"There's a line of storage rooms just off the corridor Arijga and I came down," said Chrys. "We tried the doors, and eventually we found one they'd forgotten to lock. Then we lit up a lantern, and..."
She paused. Normally, this would be where she'd fade to black, leave the rest to the imagination of whoever she was hoping to ensnare. But no, she'd promised the Keraxes the full story, and that was what she would give them.
"He'd had his eyes fixed on my chest," she said.
"I can see why," said Arijga. "He wasn't the only gifted one." That drew a smile from Chrys; ambivalent though she often was about her appearance, she was proud of her breasts, full and soft and sensitive. They made clothing a little awkward at times, but the white gown she wore tonight hugged them perfectly, just like the red one she'd been wearing when she'd dragged that servant off into the depths of the villa.
"Well, I unlaced my bodice," Chrys went on, "and I let him play with me for a little while. He was clumsy, but he was trying his best, and I did enjoy it... but then he took out his shaft, and it was so stiff, and I just couldn't leave it alone."
"And so you lent him a hand, did you?" Korusz pried.
Chrys turned and let a grin creep across her face. "I lent him a little more than my hand. I got down on my knees, and I got him good and slick with spit, and I let him rub up between my breasts until he finished."
"Bolder than I thought, this one," said Arijga. She reached out to rest a hand on Chrys's shoulder. Korusz voiced his approval more quietly, with a noise that was half hum, half grunt.
Chrys stammered out a "thank you", but she was starting to have trouble focusing on her words. Arijga's touch was sending shivers down her body, more acute than anything the poor stammering servant had elicited, even as he'd lost control and splattered her neck and chest with sticky white. And Korusz - she could swear he was moving closer to her, the vague sensation of his presence swelling and towering over her with raw, uncut authority.
In that moment, it occurred to her, she would do just about anything they asked of her, and it would feel as natural as breathing.
"I'd like to hear another story," Korusz rumbled. "Wouldn't you agree, sweetness?"
"Absolutely," said Arijga. "If that was her first, I mean..."
Korusz stepped aside to let his wife draw closer. Suddenly Chrys could feel Arijga's body against her back, the orc woman's firm breasts pressing into the back of her collarbone. She felt Arijga's heartbeat, a slow, primal counter-rhythm to her own pounding pulse - and Chrys could feel hers further south than her chest.
"How about your second?" Arijga said. Her voice was low and demanding, and Chrys's breath caught in her throat.
"Well," Chrys began, "I have this friend..."
She had planned to continue the sentence, but Arijga was reaching around and resting her palm on Chrys's belly, just below her navel. "Don't let me stop you," Arijga murmured. "I just thought I'd offer some encouragement."
Chrys swallowed hard and took another swing. "I have this friend," she said. "Evensong. Evie. She lives back in the Estuary States, a few leagues from my father's estate, but one year she came up here with me for the winter."
Arijga's fingers pulled trails in the fabric of Chrys's gown as they drifted lower. Chrys's voice wavered, but she pressed on. "I love Evie to death," she said. "As a sister, almost. And, well, she has a passion for women."
"Do you?" asked Korusz.
"I didn't think so."
Korusz raised an eyebrow. "I see."
"Well, anyway, she came up with me that winter. She had just fallen out with her lover, and she needed to let loose a little. And she was in luck." Chrys couldn't help but smirk at the memory. "Because that was the year Uncle Leopold brought back a case of sake from Ozatha."
"Goblin liquor," Arijga murmured. "Potent." Her fingers had slipped lower. She had lightened the pressure a little, but half an inch further back... well, Chrys found herself rather distracted by that half-inch.
But she pressed on. "We didn't realise how strong it was. Goblin liquor goes down so easily. And the party, well, it devolved. And I can't remember whose idea it was, but me and Evie..."
Her breath hitched again and she shut her eyes, picturing it. Even years later and through the hazy filter of alcohol, she remembered the moment with perfect, searing clarity.
Then Arijga's middle fingertip made contact, through Chrys's dress and underwear, with her clit, and she jolted in the orc's embrace, letting out a startled, choked gasp. She hadn't had a chance, really, to take stock of just how excited she was, but the sudden stimulation drew her attention downwards. Her pussy was warm, slick, and suddenly felt awfully constrained by her clothes.
"Do go on," said Korusz, his eyes fixed on his wife's fingers.
"Kal, vechtan," Chrys managed. The phrase was oddly grounding. Her body sang with sensation, but she could still tell Korusz, yes, she would do as he asked. How could she do anything else?
"We... we ended up tangled in a corner. We just kissed at first. But Evie's hands got restless. She said to me, Chrys, let me show you what you're missing..."
Arijga had withdrawn her pressing fingertip, but was now lifting Chrys's gown at the front - it was ankle-length, but eventually she had it hitched enough to hook her hand beneath the hem. Now her fingers brushed Chrys's underwear, which, she now realised, had a substantial wet patch growing around her aching sex.
"I had never felt a mouth on me before. Not like that. The men I'd been with, they'd used fingers sometimes, but - oh..." Again Arijga's questing fingers interrupted her, this time slipping beneath the loose waistband of her underwear. Now firm skin brushed bare, pulsing clit, and a wave of euphoria shimmered outward through Chrys. She was grateful to be braced against Arijga, else the trembling might have threatened her footing.
"She was quick to introduce you, then," Korusz said. His hand was at his waist, unlacing his breeches, and Chrys noticed a thick, heavy swelling beneath them which definitely hadn't been so pronounced before. Was he going to... "Oh, don't mind me," he continued, preempting her question. "I'm just enjoying the tale. Please, continue."
Chrys did her best to continue, but hesitated, distracted as she was by the dual stimuli of Arijga's finger on her clit (now distinctly rubbing it, beyond mere touch) and Korusz tugging down the front of his breeches to unwrap...
Fuck. If she thought the servant in the storage room had been "gifted", Korusz rather put him in the shade. His cock rivalled the longest she'd seen, but more starkly apparent was its thickness. The weight, the heft, the way it filled his hand as he curled his fingers around the shaft, the shine of the fat dark head swelling out at its tip. Chrys found her mouth watering unbidden, and she actually let out a quiet moan when Korusz started to stroke himself, a slow, lazy stroke, almost in time with his wife's busy fingers (two of them now, rubbing in careful circles that sent a zing through Chrys's bones with each upstroke).
"I don't kn-know -" Chrys whimpered and trailed off as Arijga sped up slightly. "I don't know if I can..."
"Chrys," Arijga intoned, speaking directly into her ear, "do you like what I'm doing to you?"
Chrys nodded.
"Do you want me to keep doing it?"
Another nod, this one more desperate.
"Do you want to come?" Arijga stopped dead, the tide of pleasure suddenly starting to subside.
"Please." It was strangled, almost a whine.
"Then finish the story, won't you?" She started moving again, albeit slower than before; Korusz, his eyes still firmly between Chrys's thighs, reduced his own speed to match.
"We were in the great hall," Chrys said, invigorated by the prospect of a climax - perhaps moreso by the prospect of no climax, after all this teasing and mounting excitement. "We found a - ah - we found a quiet corner, away from the crowd. Not that they'd have noticed, they were all as drunk as - fuck - as we were..."
She closed her eyes and relived the memory once more. Cool marble against her back, warm lips between her thighs. "She pulled my underwear aside. And the moment I felt her tongue on me, I... fuck, it's, it's..."
"What did you do?" Korusz pressed. His stroke was growing faster, a pearly bead of pre forming at the tip of his thick green shaft. He looked Chrys up and down with undisguised lust.
"I grabbed her by the hair," Chrys hissed. "And I didn't fucking let go, until, until, fuck, until I fucking -" Arijga had switched to a simple up and down, and her body voiced its approval, muscles beginning to tense in preparation for release. "Until I fucking came all over her face!"
She forced out the last few words just in time, just as her whole body froze up in the throes of ecstasy.
Chrys moaned and swore (she had always been vocal in climax), each pulse a hot bright ripple of sensation radiating from a point somewhere deep in her core. Her calves jolted and tensed and she feared her feet might give out - evidently Arijga had the same fear, as she put her free hand around Chrys's upper body to hold her steady through the orgasm. Arijga's fingers didn't stop moving until Chrys was through to the aftershocks, only slowing and finally coming to a halt once she was lucid enough to breathe again.
"You okay?" It took a good few seconds for Arijga's words to filter through Chrys's post-orgasmic mind. She could only nod.
As she steadied her breathing and stood upright, Arijga releasing her grip, she turned back to Korusz and saw that he was stowing his cock back in his breeches, still hard and apparently unrelieved. "I'm sorry," she said, almost reflexively. "Did you need a little longer?"
Korusz shook his head. "Kind of you, but I'm saving myself."
"For what?"
"For when we take you back to ours." He paused, tilting his head. "You will come back to ours, won't you? We'd be honoured to host you for a couple of days."
Chrys's heart skipped a beat.
"Kal, vechtan," she breathed.
***
1
