sipeudepeine

[sipeudepeine]

Fandom: Modern Day Dragon Age Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense, Len Characters: Aurelia Len (Templar Special Ops), Paxton Alphonse (Apostate rebel leader) Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 4,198 Contains: bondage, mage/templar relationship, unsafe BDSM, interrogation, femdom, scratching, orgasm denial, oral sex, cruel domme

After several charged encounters between Paxton, the current leader of rebel mages, and Len, the templar leading the investigation on his case, the relationship between the two has turned both dangerous and intriguing. The cat and mouse game now takes a different turn, as the templar leads her quarry into a  very obvious trap. Perhaps he wishes to be caught?

Len crouched atop stacks of boxes as she watched for her quarry to arrive. He was probably wondering how she’d gotten his phone number to text him, but she wasn’t about to tell. She’d kept the text simple, cryptic: 

Got something you’ll be interested in, mage. Blue warehouse on third pier in one hour. Don’t be late. –Len

She’d wondered if he would take the bait, thinking that perhaps she’d misjudged him, that he would be too suspicious to try to come cut a deal with her. Still, after their last two interactions, she had a feeling he’d be too curious to ignore her entirely. Sure enough, the door creaked open and she heard quiet steps below.

She leaned forward, still kneeling in the shadows above him, and caught sight of the back of his head down below. He wore casual clothing, a button-up shirt and jeans, likely so he wouldn’t stand out on the docks. She was in stealth gear. Not her full armor, but a close fitting black tank and sleek black pants, with boots designed to let her tread softly without making noise.

She let him walk about for a little bit, trying to see if he’d try to call out to find her. He didn’t, caution holding him back that much, it seemed. When his back was turned, she finally stood, creeping forward with a soft step to get into a good position for ambush.

How many mages had she lured here before? It was one of her favorite traps. She knew the warehouse like the back of her hand. Technically, the Order owned the building, though they didn’t put it to much use. She’d requested use of it for the afternoon, so there was little chance they’d be disturbed. The Circle had been kind enough to lend a few Enchanters to put down magic suppression wards around the area. It wasn’t like a smite, not something that Alphonse would be able to feel.

Not until he tried to cast, at least.

Her foot creaked as she took the last step toward the edge above him, and his head snapped toward the sound immediately. “Len, is that you?”

She leapt forward, tackling him from above, and while it wasn’t the smoothest of ambushes, she had the element of surprise on her side. The mage cursed, trying to fight back against her, but he’d likely figured out he couldn’t cast in here, and by the time he managed to start trying to fight back physically, she already had him pinned. Fresh lyrium ran through her this time, and with its added strength, she had no problem taking control.

She straddled him, sitting on his chest with his back against the floor to keep him held down. With a well practiced motion, she tied his wrists together with a long length of cord – in front of his body, not behind his back – then spun herself around and bound his ankles together with another length.

“What the hell, Len?” He spat, realizing she had him caught. “Nothing more than a cheap trick to trap me here? I should have guessed you’d stoop to something so–”

She cut him off with an aggressive kiss, forcing her tongue between his lips, holding his head in place with both hands tangled in his hair. She took her time, savoring the taste of him, pushing her lips against his to let him know exactly who was in charge here. He had a moment of surprise where he was frozen, and she took full advantage of that, using his shock to do whatever she wished to him. In a few heartbeats however, he recovered, starting to kiss her back with as much force as she was kissing him.

When she’d satisfied herself with his lips, she pulled back, still sitting atop him. “Shut up, prisoner. You’re not calling the shots here.” She stood up, pausing to look down on him as she did so. She wondered how he liked the view, lying tied up on the dusty floor, a templar standing over him with one leg on either side. She was liking her side of it, certainly.

She walked a little ways away, reaching to grab onto a chain draped over a pulley that hung only a few steps from him. The interlocked loops of metal jingled as she clasped them, giving both sides of the chain a good tug, and she took a moment to enjoy the feeling of cold steel in her hands.

Without looking back at Alphonse, she ordered: “On your feet, mage.”

“That’s not really going to be possible when you tied my ankles together, templar.” That defiant tone of his was going to get him in trouble, she decided. He was going to regret it by the time she was through with him.

Chain still in hand, she walked back to him, then squatted down on her heels right above his head. She leaned out over him, facing opposite to his perspective, and then kissed him again, upside down, her nose beneath his chin, and his beneath hers. She sucked at his bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth to run her tongue across it before letting go, then repeating again and again.

She broke off the kiss and crawled forward, moving her way farther down his body. She made sure to press her chest against his face. The stealth fabric was thin, and for the sake of fun, she’d decided to forgo undergarments for this encounter. She hoped the feeling of her soft breasts pressed against him would be distracting enough for her purposes.

Her instincts proved correct, as Alphonse moaned, turning his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth, tongue pressing against the sensitive skin through her shirt. Maker, she loved it when he did that, and she had to suppress a groan of her own. As pleasurable as his work was, she couldn’t let him distract her, however. She had a job to do.

Taking advantage of his distracted state, she took one end of her pulley chain – the side with the large, industrial hook on the end of it – and hooked a loop in the bindings on his wrist securely. She gave a small tug to make sure it was fastened well, then stood up again, enjoying the frustrated groan from her captive as she pulled out of his reach again.

“First rule of this interrogation, Alphonse,” she said sternly, adjusting her grip on the chain. “No back talk. If I say ‘on your feet,’ you get on your feet. No excuses.”

He seemed to register that she’d done something to his binding just as she hauled on the chain in hand, the pulley squeaking as he was dragged upright by his wrists. Alphonse grunted, though whether in pain from the rough treatment or simple surprise, she couldn’t say. In a few moments, he was dangling, arms above his head, though as a kindness, she left enough slack that he could stand on tiptoe to keep some of the weight off his arms.

He swore, trying to adjust himself to get comfortable, but of course, the entire point of her doing this was to make him uncomfortable. She crossed her arms and watched him for a moment, a self-satisfied smile on her face as she enjoyed the sight of her captive struggling against her ropes.

Finally, he gave up, hanging limply as he glared at her. “What are you doing, Len?”

She secured her end of the chain in a clasp, making sure it wouldn’t slip when she let go of it, then crossed the floor to him again. “Second rule of this interrogation, Alphonse: I do the talking.”

She reached up and took hold of his shirt, tearing it open along the line of buttons. Most of them simply unclasped, but she heard the light plinking sound as one popped free and went flying. She traced a finger down the length of his exposed chest, from the hollow of his collarbone to the small trail of hair at his navel. Raised up as he was, she couldn’t reach his mouth to kiss him again, but she had other methods of dealing with him.

“You and I are going to have a little demonstration, apostate. See, you need a lesson in interrogation. Your handling of me the other day? Pathetic. I’m here to teach you how it’s done. Pay attention, now.”

She pushed herself close to him, wrapping her arms around him as her mouth found the space at the side of his neck. Her hands splayed, dragging their way across the muscular expanse of his back as she sucked and bit at his neck and shoulder. There was the light, salty taste of sweat across his skin, and she ran her tongue across him, enjoying the feeling and warmth of him against her.

From his neck, she worked her way downward, trailing sloppy kisses down the center of his chest. Taking a cue from his treatment of her, she closed her lips around his nipple, flicking it with her tongue and running her teeth across it as one of her hands mimicked her mouth’s treatments on his other side. Alphonse sucked in a breath as she bit him lightly, and she could feel his chest move against her face with the inhale.

She gave a small dark laugh at his reaction, then continued her motion downward, claiming the smooth skin of his abs as she slid her hands down his backside and into his pants, clutching his ass.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you, little apostate,” she taunted, the words breathy, pronounced with her lips against his skin. “Admit that you enjoy this.”

“Yes,” he breathed, “Maker, yes.”

She chuckled, hands moving around to his front to unfasten his jeans there. “Good boy. Admit that you like being dominated by a templar. It’s shameful, isn’t it? You hate everything I am, but you love this.”

His breath hissed, the exhale released between clenched teeth. “I…”

The non-answer was an incorrect response, and Len lifted her hands to the bare skin of his back again, this time digging her nails into his flesh. He cried out as she dragged out a long pair of scratches, sure that he’d feel the sting of the rents she tore for a good while.

She stepped back again, clicking her tongue in disapproval. His pants were unfastened, but still clung to his hips. “Not good enough, Alphonse. You knew what would happen if you came here today, didn’t you? You wanted to get caught. I ought to take you back to the Circle right now, trussed up, half stripped. Oh how would the mage rebellion like that? Watching their leader get dragged back to his prison, shirtless and bound. What would they think if they saw you here, hanging helpless, half-naked before me?”

He was breathing heavily, and she guessed that between her work in turning him on and the anger in him she’d just kindled, his heart was likely racing. His face was flushed, and she very much liked the idea that he wouldn’t be able to separate hatred and arousal from her.

She stepped forward to circle him, trailing fingers lightly across his bare skin. “Maybe they wouldn’t even be surprised,” she whispered. “Maybe they all know, deep down, what you really are. Just like I do.” She stood behind him now, where he couldn’t see her, and her hands rubbed against his hips and back.

In one smooth motion, she pulled the tank top over her head, then pressed herself flush against him, letting him feel her bare skin against his back. Her scratches likely still smarted, and she took pleasure in seeing the red lines running parallel down his skin. She rubbed her body with his, hands snaking around him to his front again, slipping into the loose hem of his unbuttoned pants. Her fingers teased, touching him everywhere around where he wanted her to, fondling the elastic of his underwear as she played with his desires.

He gasped as her hands found the sensitive skin around his thighs and crotch. She buried her face in the contours of his shoulder blades, the muscles well-defined with his arms raised above his head as they were. She ran her tongue across the firm lines there, enjoying everything about having him in her power.  

“Third rule of this interrogation: I get to do whatever I want to you, and you will enjoy it.” She stepped back again, and yanked his pants down to his bound ankles with one smooth motion. “So long as you’re here, in my power? I own you, Alphonse. Until I release you, you exist to serve my pleasure. And I will use you like the toy you are.”

She moved back around to his front, wishing she could make out with him again. Alas, he was taller than her normally, and hoisted up as he was, there was no chance she’d be able to reach. An unfortunate complication, but the position afforded other amusements. She liked the way his eyes were drawn to her toplessness.

She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, looping fingers through the elastic in his underwear. “Admit that you want this, Alphonse. You’d give anything to have me right now, wouldn’t you?” She pressed her mouth against the tip of his still-clothed erection, licking him once against the fabric. “Say that you want to get sucked off by a dirty templar.”

She looked up, eyes watching his face as his desire warred with his pride. One more touch from her tongue was all it took to break him down. “Yes, Len. Yes, I want it.”

She smiled, hands slowly starting to peel his underwear away, exposing his arousal to the air. “Good boy. Fourth rule of this interrogation: mages who do as their templars order get rewarded.”

She licked the tip of him, running her tongue along his slit, tasting the small, salty drop right on the end. One hand moved up, cupping his balls as she licked one full stroke along his length.The other hand delved into her own pants, and she coated the fingers with her own arousal before reaching up to spread her slickness across him. She was tempted to keep her hand between her legs – Maker knew she was close enough that it wouldn’t take much work from her – but she was busy playing with him for the moment.

She kept at the teasing for a few more moments, before she paused, sitting back and licking her lips. “Fifth rule of this interrogation, Alphonse: You don’t come until I tell you you can.”

He opened his mouth as though he were going to protest, but at that moment, she finally took him in, filling her mouth with as much of him as she could hold. The words he’d started fell off into a cry of pleasure as she swirled her tongue around him, savoring the taste of him, the feeling of power as she held him just between her teeth.

She started to move him in and out of her mouth, knowing exactly the way to move to make this feel good. She’d had a good number of boys to have fun with in her youth, and in adulthood, she’d had her share of disposable lovers. She knew her way around this environment, and she put those skills to use here.

Paxton moaned above her, and she could feel him pressing his toes into the floor, trying to get traction to thrust into her mouth. She hadn’t given him enough chain to accomplish this, however, which seemed to frustrate him. He was forced to let her have full control of what he was experiencing, and she wasn’t going to relinquish that power anytime soon.

Her hands, still slick with her own wetness, moved around his hips to grip his ass, giving her something to hold onto as she sucked him closer and closer to the edge, finding the right rhythm to drive him mad. He was getting close, she could sense it, and his moans and gasps started to include spatterings of her name.

“Len…” he panted. “Len, I can’t… I’m going to…”

No, he wasn’t. Not until she said he could.

She pulled away suddenly, leaving him right on the edge of release. He actually yelled, the sound of it like a cry of anguish at the cruel move. She laughed once more, licking her lips before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, watching him squirm, trying desperately to do something to bring himself to finish. It was useless. Hands and feet bound, hanging from a hook? So long as she refused to touch him there was nothing he could do.

She walked backward, admiring her work. This was exactly the kind of torture she lived for. A cruel smirk touched her features. “Having problems, mage?”

His glare was almost animalistic, a feral snarl escaping his lips. “Fuck you, Len.”

She grabbed the clasp for his chain – the object she’d been walking toward – and smiled as she unlatched it. “Oh good. You already know the sixth rule.”

She let the chain go and he fell to the floor, the sudden shift of his full weight falling on his toes making him collapse. Before he could recover, she was on top of him, grabbing his wrists and immediately reworking the knots she’d tied there. In moments she had swapped his hands behind him, and this time, she bound them to his ankles, forcing him into an awkward kneeling position.

Now that he was lowered back to her level, she took advantage of his mouth again. She couldn’t help herself from stroking his hair as she kissed him, pulling and tangling and losing her hands within it.

When she let him go, she smirked at him. She let a hand drop to run the smooth skin of his inner thigh, but kept herself from touching anything between them. “You want to come, little mage? You satisfy me first. Remember rule four: obedient mages are rewarded.”

She stood up, towering over his kneeling form, and undid her own pants. Sliding them down and stepping free, she felt powerful, fully naked before him, while his clothes still bunched around his arms and ankles where she’d shoved them. A hand in his hair guided his head to her crotch, holding him in place.

“Now it’s your turn. Please me,” she commanded.

To his credit, he got to work immediately, his tongue darting out to lick at her. She gave a sigh of pleasure, gripping his hair as he worked at her, lapping and sucking as she directed him.

“Harder,” she said, giving his hair a small yank. She opened her legs just a bit wider and he buried himself between them. His mouth opened wider, parting her folds, and she felt her toes curl as his tongue finally pushed inside of her. It was all she could do to hold herself back from coming right there, but she didn’t want to make this that easy for him.

She made him work for it, clutching his head as she ground her hips against his face, riding his tongue for all he could give her. She could feel him growing impatient with her holding back, and his motions took a kind of aggressive desperation. She waited until she couldn’t stand it any longer, then finally succumbed to the rush. She cried out as it finally hit, gripping his head with both hands as she rode the wave of pleasure to its end.

She gave a breathy delighted laugh, pushing him away from her now that she’d finished, though she wasn’t through with him yet. Tied up as he was with arms connected to ankles, the move sent him toppling uncomfortably backwards, which only set her laughing again.

“Well done, my little apostate,” she said, grabbing him by the shoulder and hauling him back to his knees. She wrapped her legs around him, reaching to untie his hands from his feet. Even after she’d unbound his wrists, she kept hold of them, pushing him down to lay on his back while she pinned the arms above his head with her hands alone.

She could hold both wrists across one hand, especially since he didn’t seem to be fighting her on this. She had herself laid out atop him, but held herself above, not touching him. She smiled down at him, reaching down with her free hand to stroke along his length, making sure he was still ready.

“You have been such a good little toy, my Alphonse. Would you like your reward now?”

He groaned as she stroked him again, long and even and slow. “Maker’s breath, Len. You’re going to kill me.”

She laughed again. “Maybe someday. Not today though. You haven’t answered the question.”

She positioned herself right above him, placing the tip of him right against her entrance. With a teasing motion of her hips she rubbed the tip back and forth across her, spreading her arousal as she did.

“What do you want, Paxton?” The words are almost purred.

His eyes had drifted closed, letting himself get lost in the sensations. “You, Len.”

She grinned. “Good answer.”

Without any more warning than that, she lowered herself finally, taking him in to the hilt with a pleased gasp. He moaned as he slid inside of her, and the sound was matched with one of her own. She’d been waiting for this since she’d sent that text, the feeling of him, filling her and hitting that space deep within her again and again.

She moved slowly at first, riding him with even thrusts, taking him in and out in a steady rhythm. They didn’t stay controlled for very long though, and she quickly picked up the pace, feeling him getting closer again. The way his breath started to hitch as she pushed him was becoming familiar to her and she craved the sound of it.

Without breaking her rhythm, she leaned down, starting to kiss him forcefully again as she bucked her hips in time. Maker, she loved this, but she could tell he was holding back. Obedient, even now. She was impressed, but she’d played with him long enough.

She pulled her lips from his, moving to nibble at his earlobe. As she was close, she paused her thrusting and then whispered: “Paxton, come for me.”

One final push, as deep within her as she could take him, and – ever obedient – he complied. He threw back his head in one last moan as he spent himself inside of her. She’d worked herself back up as well, and feeling him come inside her pushed her over the edge again too. She kept up the motion until she was sure they were both finished, then finally pulled him out and all but collapsed on top of him. She felt his chest heaving beneath her as he tried to catch his breath.

He was staring up at the ceiling, just trying to come down from the rush. With a wicked grin, she slid her way down his body and took hold of him again. He made a small noise of surprise, but seemed too exhausted to actually voice a question.

“You’ve made a mess of yourself,” she said, voice chiding. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

Holding him with one hand, she closed her mouth around him again, tongue moving over the skin to clean it off. She could taste her own wetness mixed with the salty taste of his seed, and despite the fact that it wasn’t an especially pleasant flavor, she found something enjoyable in the taste of them.

She licked clean every inch of him, then, meeting his eyes, she smiled and swallowed so he could see. He groaned, and she laid down against him.

“You might actually be the worst human being I have ever met,” he said.

She chucked. “The feeling is entirely mutual, mage.”

Reaching up, she made as if to play with his hands for a bit, but before he could resist, she had them tied up again. The apostate frowned at her.

“Len, what are you doing?”

She walked over to her clothes, pulling them back on quickly. As she finished, she unsheathed one of the knives at her belt, flipping it into the air and catching it by the handle. “See, I have somewhere to be. Urgent templar business and all that. You might want to find a way out of those restraints soon. It’d be embarrassing to have someone stumble upon you like this, wouldn’t it?”

Len laughed, watching him struggle on the ground as he realized she was planning to leave him behind still tied.

“Len, wait you can’t… Len, get back here! Len!”

She cackled, but she dropped the knife for him as she walked out. He’d probably be able to crawl over to it and cut himself free eventually. She was amused just thinking about it.

Let it never be said she didn’t do anything nice for him.

[sipeudepeine]

Setting: Stormlight Archive Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense, Shallan Characters: Mraize, Iyatil, Shallan/Veil Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 8,779 Contains: mentor/apprentice dynamic, first time, threesome, m/f/f, rough sex, table sex, oral sex, cunnilingous, penetration, pinning hands, safehand kink, scar kink, tattoo kink, oral fixation, finger-sucking, fingering, rewards, orgasm control, and orgasm denial.

Scene takes place place a few days after Shallan’s events in Words of Radiance Chapter 64: “Treasures,” in which Mraize sends Shallan a missive via spanreed that she is officially a member of the Ghostbloods. This is meant to be their first in-person meeting after that night.

Additional warnings for D/s elements without negotiation. Expect some possessive/predatory behavior on Mraize’s end. The scene is not noncon or even dubcon on either side, but the actual discussion of consent leaves something to be desired. They’re fully consenting, they just don’t… talk about that very well.

Originally posted as a fill on @cosmerekinkmeme.

The Ghostbloods’ secret basement was much emptier than the last time Shallan had attended a meeting here. The small cadre of Ghostblood members that she was coming to associate with meetings were nowhere to be seen, and the long dining table in the center was empty. A rich-looking tablecloth of thick fabric covered it this time, she noticed, and the room's sphere goblets were arranged on the wall shelves to bathe the room in the soft, even glow of Stormlight.

The basement’s sole occupant stood by the room's hearth, his back to the ladder as she climbed down. Mraize always cut such a striking figure in his sharp suits. He turned as she reached the floor, regarding her with an expression that was, as always, difficult to read. It might have been pride, tonight. Perhaps satisfaction? His scars made it difficult to tell.

His was a face she had collected more than a few times in her sketchbooks. She liked to tell herself that she needed more depictions so that he could be easily identified when she finally decided to act against the Ghostbloods. However, her artist’s sensibility knew that the asymmetry of his scars created an intriguing aesthetic, one she couldn’t seem to stop trying to capture from all angles. Perhaps she wasn’t quite to the point where she would use the word ‘handsome,’ but she would admit that they were visually fascinating, certainly.

“Good evening, Brightlord,” she said, standing by the ladder.

“Veil.” Mraize picked up two goblets setting on the mantle, each filled with wine.

Violet wine, she noted. Dark and intoxicating. She rarely drank anything of that color, but it seemed that Mraize was in a mood to celebrate. She walked across the room, taking one from him with a small nod. She only hesitated a moment before taking a sip. He’d said in his letter that she had nothing more to fear from the Ghostbloods, and she didn’t think he would have called her here just to poison her.

Besides, she’d gathered from their first meeting that if he ever decided to kill her, there were other methods to do so  which he would find much more… entertaining.

“How does it feel, little knife, to be a Ghostblood?”

“It is an honor, Brightlord,” Shallan said smoothly. In truth, she was in a celebratory mood tonight as well. Her efforts had paid off. She had successfully infiltrated the Ghostbloods. She was in.

“You are already more proficient than many we initiate,” he said. “Truly, we were lucky that Tyn found you. You are a much better acquisition than I believe Tyn ever would have been.”

Shallan hid a pleased smile behind her glass as she took another sip of wine. She knew that the Ghostbloods were her enemies, and yet, there was something very satisfying about gaining their approval. Mraize’s in particular. Iyatil had confirmed what she herself had guessed: that Mraize was a very difficult person to impress.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“There is no need to thank me,” Mraize said, his odd accent tugging at the vowels. “You have earned your place among us.”

And she had. Though Shallan’s intentions in joining the Ghostbloods had been duplicitous, there was no denying that the things she had done to earn that place were real. She had managed to sneak information out of Amaram’s secure room. She’d scouted out Dalinar’s hidden madman. She’d talked her way out of Mraize’s intent to kill her upon their first meeting, and she’d managed to keep herself from being assassinated by any of the other Ghostblood members.

She took pride in those accomplishments, and in the praise they elicited from Mraize. She deserved this.

“In our last correspondence,” he said. “I gave you a task for your initiation. Has it been completed?”

The tattoo. Mraize’s instructions over spanreed had said she was to get the Ghostbloods’ symbol tattooed somewhere on her body, and that he would be checking to ensure she had.

She nodded. “It has.”

She had, of course, done no such thing. She had no intention of permanently marking her body for a group for which she held no loyalty. Thankfully, the Ghostbloods didn't ever see her real appearance anyway. She'd simply added the tattoo to her sketch as Veil and created it as part of the disguise.

At first, she'd been tempted to place it somewhere that would be easy to display to Mraize. After all, she wouldn't need to worry about hiding it around her everyday life. However, she feared he would be suspicious of a mark that was not well concealed.

Eventually, she decided to place it on her upper back, directly between her shoulder blades. It was a spot that was usually clothed, so as not to be suspicious, but also not too immodest, so she wouldn't have a problem showing Mraize.

Knowing that he would ask to see it tonight, she'd chosen to wear a sleeveless shirt which tied behind the neck underneath Veil’s longcoat, which left her upper back bare. The neck and lower back ties on her undergarment, which she very seldom had to worry about showing beneath the havah, were carefully arranged to stay beneath this shirt's fabric.

Shallan turned, shrugging the longcoat off her shoulders and lowering it. To her surprise, Mraize took hold of the fabric as she did so. Though she'd only intended to lower the coat far enough to reveal the tattoo, Mraize pulled it all the way off, like a gentleman helping a lady out of her overcoat.

She tried to stifle the embarrassed reaction she felt, standing there with bare arms. At least she still had her gloves on.

Mraize let out a slow breath, sounding impressed, though it was a very simple design. Shallan had checked the illusion in the mirror before coming, and it looked just like the sketch he'd sent. She had even managed to add a bit of redness around it, as the tattoo was supposed to only be a few days old.

“It is perfect,” Mraize said.

He placed his hand on her back, running his fingers across her skin. Though his hands were not cold, she had to suppress a shiver at the unexpected touch. Perhaps she should have expected it. He was probably checking to make certain the mark wasn't just paint that would rub off.

Well, he's right to be suspicious. It is fake, just not in any way he would be able to guess.

“And thus you are officially a member of the Ghostbloods,” he said. His hand moved to her shoulder, turning her so that they were facing one another again.

She smiled. “I look forward to serving more closely in the future.” The deeper she went into this organization, the more she'd learn.

Her phrasing seemed to amuse him. “And I believe you will. You have demonstrated remarkable skill in a number of areas, Veil. Iyatil remarked upon your ability to move about unseen and to shake tails. She also spoke of how well you formulated and executed an objective in a short period of time, as well as your… methods of persuasion in convincing her to join you for that task. Your powers of memory and observation are remarkable, as is your skill in visual arts.”

He sat down on the table in a half lean, one foot still on the ground, the other propped up. After a moment, Shallan sat beside him, mirroring the pose. There was no chair here at the head of the table today and it was wide enough that they could sit beside one another. Close, but not touching, with the length of the table and chairs extending behind them.

“I find myself wondering what other skills you might possess and simply have not had a chance to demonstrate yet.” He regarded her, and she felt a twinge of wariness. “Tell me, Veil, before you… succeeded her, did Tyn teach you anything of seduction?”

Shallan’s heart seemed to miss a beat. Did he have some kind of mission in mind that required this? Or was he simply curious? Surely he wasn't personally interested...

“I…” Mraize was looking for skill; Shallan knew she needed to appear competent. “She taught me some as we traveled, yes. How to catch the eye of a mark. How to direct a conversation to your own ends. How to keep contact in ways which leave the mark pursuing you.”

Mraize nodded, considering, then he leaned forward, his stare holding hers. “And what of the more physical aspects the art?”

Shallan felt she could summon a Shardblade in an eye-blink with how quickly her heart was beating. “Ah, not exactly, no. We… hadn’t gotten that far, I don’t think.”

“A pity,” he said, though he didn’t sound very disappointed. “You are blessed with natural gifts which would make such things easier. There is great potential in such beauty.”

Gently, he placed a hand beneath her chin, turning her head from one side to the other. As though she were a work of art to be examined.

Considering this face is sculpted from one of my drawings, perhaps that idea is apt, she thought. A small swell of pleased surprise welled up within her at the praise. Veil’s features were not soft, delicate, or pretty. She hadn’t considered the stark lines and sharp angles of her disguise to be particularly beautiful, though it seemed Mraize’s taste disagreed.

“That is... very kind of you to say, Brightlord.”

“Do not mistake my words for an empty compliment, little knife. I speak of your potential, but potential must be tended if it is to become talent. Honed, sharpened. Practiced.” Shallan was suddenly aware just how close his face was to hers. “There is much I could teach you, Veil, now that you are truly one of us. Would you like that?”

Shallan’s mind seemed to stutter and race at the same time as she realized what he was implying.

Her thoughts turned, first, to Adolin. She couldn’t do this to him. She shouldn’t! Stormwinds take her disguise, she was a lighteyed lady of moderate rank and she was causally betrothed to a prince. Dalliances and trysts were an excellent way to ruin everything she’d worked so hard to achieve there.

And yet…

Another side of her mind whispered that she was already living a double life. She was already lying to Adolin. In the event that someone found out a connection between herself and Mraize—or, Almighty forbid, Mraize figured out the connection between herself and Veil—she would have much larger problems to deal with than whatever physical interactions between them might have occurred.

Besides, that argument continued, technically she wasn’t lighteyed right now. She wasn’t Shallan here and if she tried to have Veil make decisions based on her other life’s considerations, the duplicity would trip her up. When she was here, she needed to be Veil, act as Veil would. How would she react to this as a darkeyed conwoman, rather than as the lighteyed lady? She’d come to accept that Veil was not a different person, she was another version of Shallan. A version with a different background, from a different place. The persona of Veil was Shallan underneath it all, but Veil had different priorities.

Veil, even a version of Veil intentionally trying to infiltrate the Ghostbloods to undermine them, would see this as an opportunity. She needed to get close to their leaders, gain their trust. Whatever interest Mraize had taken in her, she needed to capitalize on it and use that to her advantage. If he wanted to teach her the ways of seduction, all the better, because she needed to get as much as she could from him.

The hand Mraize held lightly beneath her chin turned over, taking hold of her face now. Mraize cocked his head. “Well, little knife? I will only ask once.”

A small rush of heat ran through her at his words. Though Shallan was very good at lying to herself, there was a realization she was having difficulty denying: there was a part of her that wanted this. Not for strategy, not as a method to manipulate. There was, terrifying as it was to discover within herself, desire.

She was fond of Adolin, truly, but she also remembered how many of their outings were tinged with annoyed frustration at the restrictions between them. These Alethi could be so prudish, so uptight. She could hardly give her fiancé a peck on the cheek in public without drawing disapproval from society as a whole. She’d had embarrassingly detailed trains of thought regarding the things she wished to do with Adolin. The simple truth was, she wanted more.

And here more was, sitting before her, face inches from her own, making the offer. It was a possibility that she couldn’t consider as Shallan, but as Veil she had more freedom. And he wasn’t simply offering an intimate encounter. Mraize wanted to teach her, to show her how to turn this into a tool she could use.

He was her enemy. She knew that, of course. He was dangerous, a man of skills, secrets, connections, and resources. Yet, in this moment, the risks of associating with a man so powerful thrilled her. Tyn had spoken of the addictive nature of the con, how the higher the stakes rose, the more difficult it became to step away. There was a piece of her that needed to see how far she could take this.

His hand still holding her chin, she leaned forward quickly, letting a sudden kiss serve as her answer. It was brief, only a few seconds before she pulled back, raising an eyebrow at him in challenge.

“Whenever you’re ready to begin, Brightlord.”

Mraize chuckled, standing up. When Shallan moved to do the same, he held up a hand, motioning for her to stay seated.

“The first rule of seduction, little knife,” he said, “is that you must always be focused on your mark. Their wants, their desires, their reactions must all come before your own.”

Shallan’s knack for quips, especially the more risqué responses favored by the crew of The Wind’s Pleasure, supplied a response that she only barely managed to keep herself from speaking aloud: And so, too, should your mark ‘come’ before yourself, I assume.

Mraize stepped close to her again, laying his palm against her cheek. Where his touch before had been possessive, this gesture was gentler. Softened. “You must discover that which your mark seeks, the touches they yearn for. When you understand how best to please them, you can control their pleasure. And in controlling their pleasure, you control them.”

He kissed her again, hand cupping her face. This was deeper than the kiss she’d given him, and she closed her eyes, her mind seeming to still as his lips parted hers. In seeing others kiss from afar, Shallan had always thought the practice would be a sloppy endeavor. Yet Mraize kissed with precision, every movement of his mouth against hers perfectly controlled.

As they lingered in the moment, his hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her face to his more forcefully. Then he moved downward, the hand gently dragging its way across the exposed skin of her back. He lingered at the place where the tattoo was drawn, then continued on toward her hips, fingers slipping beneath the gathered fabric of her sleeveless shirt at her lower back.

Within the kiss, his tongue drew a line across her bottom lip once, and then he broke away. He watched her carefully, a small smile on his face as he tried to gauge her reactions. “What is it that you desire, little knife?”

As Shallan struggled to think of an answer to that, Mraize pressed his lips to her neck, trailing kisses from her jawline to her collarbone. Hands tugged at the knot of fabric behind her neck holding up the shirt, but it wasn’t until she heard a voice behind her that she realized those hands were not Mraize’s.

“Something tells me she does not know the answer to that, yet.”

Shallan jumped, turning sharply at the unexpected, yet familiar voice. Iyatil, masked as always, crouched barefoot on the table behind her. Shallan hadn’t even heard the woman come in. Or… Surely she couldn’t have been in here the whole time, hiding somewhere. Could she have? Iyatil did have a habit of appearing and disappearing when she wished to.

She ran a hand through Shallan’s hair—dark and straight under the guise of Veil. “She seems nervous, Mraize. Could it be this is her first?”

“I had considered the possibility, yes,” Mraize said, sounding amused.

Shallan looked back at him sharply for an answer, disconcerted by the way that the conversation was occurring as though she wasn’t here.

He smiled. “Do not concern yourself with Iyatil, little knife. She is here to observe and assist. If you are to learn, you must stay focused on me.”

“As I informed you on our mission,” Iyatil said, hands rubbing at Shallan’s neck in soothing motions, “he is my student. Just as you are to become his.” For the moment, she did not finish untying Shallan’s shirt, focusing instead on the massage. “The tattoo is lovely, Veil.”

Shallan let out a soft groan as Iyatil’s fingers dug out deep-set soreness from her neck and back. Mraize began to lay kisses across the length of her arm, starting up at her bared shoulders and moving downwards. It took her until he was already past her elbow before she realized the significance. Her left arm. He was moving toward her safehand.

Her breath caught with a subtle hitch, and Mraize smiled. He raised her arm, looking into her eyes as his lips touched her wrist, just above the edge of the thin leather glove she was wearing. She’d worn a pair tonight; her freehand was gloved as well, but her right side was all but forgotten right now.

“Many make the mistake of assuming that the use of allure regarding safehand lies only in distracting Vorin men,” Mraize said. He took her safehand in both of his, rubbing circles through the leather. “While this is, of course, a valuable technique, one should not ignore the ways in which Vorin women respond to the safehand. In my experience, they can often be more fixated upon it than their masculine counterparts.”

His hands slid down to the ends of her fingers, tugging at each of the glove’s fingertips. Then, once loosened, he met her eyes and pulled the glove free in one smooth motion. Shallan had a moment of strange reversal, feeling her freehand clothed and her safehand bare. Opposite from usual. It felt wrong, but in a thrilling sort of way.

With the glove removed, Mraize began rubbing her hand again, turning it over to press his thumbs into the back, then the palm. Gently, he pulled on each of her fingers, stretching the joints as he applied careful pressure to each. It worked as a counterpart to Iyatil’s continued treatment of her neck and upper back, and Shallan sighed softly, wondering how something improper could feel so wonderful.

Shallan’s hand was lifted again, and this time, Mraize pressed his lips against the back of her hand. It was almost like a gentleman’s greeting, but on the wrong side. The formal and the forbidden together in one action. Shallan had believed she would be able to keep her composure, even as his mouth moved to her palm, right up until the point that he took two of her fingers into his mouth.

The feeling was electric, the way he pushed his tongue against them. A sudden flash of heat ran through Shallan as he gently sucked on the digits, and she knew she must have stiffened, because Iyatil’s hands dug into her shoulder blades, forcing her back towards relaxation.

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Mraize released her hand, leaving a small kiss on her fingertips as he pulled them from his mouth. “Quite diverting, is it not?”

Shallan found she was having difficulty making normal speech work properly. Words appeared to have fled her for the moment. Her silence was answer enough for Mraize, it seemed, for he leaned in closely again, taking hold of the back of her head to kiss her again.

While Shallan was distracted, Iyatil went back to the neck tie of her shirt, and the already loose knot gave up its hold with little fight. The garment fell free, gathering on the table around Shallan’s hips as she sat, leaving her wearing nothing but her undergarment and the glove on her freehand from the waist up.

The undergarment was traditionally Vorin, the kind she normally wore under her havah. Little more than a square of cloth to cover and support her chest, with two string ties to affix it at the neck and lower back. As the shirt fell away, Mraize’s unoccupied hand splayed against her stomach, caressing the smooth skin of her midsection, then moving upward. His hand ventured beneath the square fabric cupping her left breast. Another hand, Iyatil’s, found its way to her right only moments later.

Iyatil’s lips touched the back of Shallan’s neck, taking the thin undergarment string there in her teeth and pulling the simple knot free. The strings on her back followed in like manner. The skin of her upper body entirely exposed, Iyatil began trailing kisses down the line of her spine, as Mraize did the same down her front from her collarbone. Shallan let her eyes drift closed, head lolling back to rest on Iyatil’s shoulder behind her.

This was bliss, and for a few moments, Shallan simply let herself float in the pleasurable sensations of being touched. She came to the slow realization, however, that she didn’t simply want to be a passive recipient in this. Perhaps she could blame that on the Stormlight. With an extended illusion like this, she’d taken in a good amount to sustain her image. Though it wasn’t visible on the surface, it spun and twisted within her, pushing her to act, to do, to be.

Iyatil was behind her—the woman must have been sitting on the table, Shallan realized—which made her a difficult target to reach. Mraize, however, was within easy range of her hands, so, opening her eyes, she reached forward and began unbuttoning his sharp suit coat. He seemed to appreciate the initiative, making a noise of approval and shifting so that she could pull off his jacket, then the vest, then the shirt.

Shallan drew a quick breath at the sight of his chest, blinking to take a Memory without even thinking about it. She supposed she should have guessed. With the way his face was scarred, it stood to follow that the rest of his body would have withstood similar punishment. She couldn’t help but marvel at the extent of the scarring, imagining how much pain such wounds must have caused.

They were also beautiful. It felt wrong to to think such a thing of features which represented so much pain, but it was undeniably true. The scars were deep gouges, altering the contours of skin with marred muscle beneath. They were snatches of different color, in striking contrast with his normal tones. There were some which were so fine and delicate they immediately made her think of lace or filigree, tracing lines and arcs across him.

She reached forward, fingers trailing across the marked skin. “They're striking.”

Mraize was amused by her fascination. “A true enough observation. Acquiring many of them involved being struck.”

She pulled back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

He took hold of her wrist, bringing her safehand back to touch the skin. “It was not an admonition, Veil.”

Behind her, Iyatil pressed herself flush against Shallan’s back and the feeling of skin on bare skin told her that the woman had stripped as well. A hand pulled her head to the side as Iyatil leaned over Shallan’s shoulder, catching her mouth in a kiss.

Shallan let out a soft groan, eyes drifting closed again. Whereas Mraize’s kisses had been careful and controlled, Iyatil kissed with a demanding hunger. Her lips forced their way against Shallan’s pushing them apart. Her teeth pulled at Shallan’s bottom lip, tongue tasting and prodding. Shallan felt as though she were struggling to keep up in the exchange, and this wasn’t helped by the aggressive way Iyatil’s hands squeezed her breasts, teasing the nipples.

Something tugged at her waist, but Shallan barely noticed, occupied as she was with Iyatil’s ministrations. Then Mraize’s hand slowly slid up the inside of her thigh and she jerked, eyes snapping open to focus on him again. While she’d been distracted, she noticed, he had undone both her belt and the line of buttons from her waistband down on her trousers. He had unbuckled her boots and now set to pulling them off, setting them underneath the table and out of the way.

Mraize met her eyes, then slid his hand beneath the waistband of the pants, though he stayed outside of her smallclothes. A moan escaped Shallan as he made small motions against the fabric. Iyatil, with Shallan’s lips out of reach, contented herself with claiming the skin of Shallan’s neck with soft sucking kisses.

Mraize gave her only a modicum of motion and Shallan found herself growing frustrated. She shifted positions, trying to push her hips against his hand. He chuckled as she did so, pulling back to deny her.

“Not so quickly,” he chided. “This is not an experienced to be mishandled in a rush. If you wish to continue, lift your hips, Veil.”

She took a deep, even breath, trying to slow her racing heartbeat. The decision felt like a threshold, a point of no return. She could still back out of this now before something truly dangerous happened.

No, she told herself, you crossed the point of no return the first night you entered this room. The moment you picked up that spanreed and agreed to meet the Ghostbloods. There’s no turning back now.

Iyatil pulled on her shoulders to help her lean backward and Shallan planted her barefoot heels on the table, raising her hips. Mraize slipped her trousers off in a smooth motion, and she sat down again, lifting her feet to let him remove the garment entirely. Only her smallclothes remained, and a quick tug at the side tie released these to fall free as well. Despite the hearth, a chill ran through her as the slick wetness between her legs was open to the air.

Mraize paused, appreciating the sight of her nude at last. “Pay attention, little knife. You've much to learn.”

He placed his hand just below her navel, with slight pressure. “What you must remember is that there is no perfect technique to please a mark, though with practice, you will learn to master those which produce… more favorable results.”

His hand slid downwards and Shallan gripped the tablecloth trying not to squirm. One finger parted the fold there and slowly circled the tab of her clit. Mraize’s lazy, casual motions stood in stark contrast to the reactions they were eliciting from Shallan, who had to bite at her tongue to keep from making noise.

Iyatil laughed in her ear, still keeping Shallan leaned back against herself. “She tries very hard to seem composed, Mraize. It does not seem to be working very well.”

“She may pretend at composure as long as she likes,” Mraize said, changing his pattern. Two fingers drew long strokes from bottom to top, teasing the sensitive skin. “I will enjoy drawing this out.”

Shallan sucked a breath through her teeth as she felt him move backward and forward, fingers never following the same path, lest she grow accustomed to what he was doing. At the base of one stroke, he ringed her entrance, playing as if he would go deeper before drawing away upwards once more.

“Lie back, dear,” Iyatil said, running fingers through Shallan’s hair.

Shallan did as requested, feeling Iyatil shift backward to give her room to lie down. She settled on her back, head resting in Iyatil’s lap as the woman continued her very thorough massage. Iyatil dug fingers against Shallan’s scalp, then down around her neck and shoulders, then long and smooth motions across her chest, and back up again. She realized, at some point, Iyatil had removed the glove from her freehand as well. She hadn’t even noticed.

Lying back as she was now, she could see the value in the rich tablecloth. The thick fabric padded the hardwood surface quite well, thankfully. What likely would have been a terribly uncomfortable experience in positioning without it was instead quite suitable, if not actually comfortable. That said, she had the sense that she wasn’t the first person to whom Mraize and Iyatil had done this kind of maneuver, and they knew how to move and adjust her posture best.

She felt Mraize’s breath against her skin of her thighs a moment before he spoke, shockingly close to her. She couldn’t see him anymore and she hadn’t expected him to move. Certainly not that his face would be close enough to her for that.

“And of course, one must use all of the tools at one’s disposal. It can be difficult to tell which will be the most effective without trying.”

Shallan tensed. No. Surely he isn’t planning to���

The line of thought cut off abruptly as she felt his lips press against her. His tongue delved into the fold, raking a long stroke beside her clit, then another on the opposite side. This time, Shallan wasn’t able to stop the quiet moan that caught in the back of her throat. Mraize gave a pleased hum to have elicited the sound from her, then his lips pressed forward, sucking gently around her hood before backing away again.

His hands, now freed to other tasks, took over the responsibility of pleasing her just below where his mouth worked. Fingers traced rings around her entrance, edging as close as possible without actually going inside. Then, unexpectedly, he stilled, not moving at all for a moment. Shallan frowned, eyelids starting to open in confusion when she felt it.

With an excruciating slowness, Mraize pushed his finger against her slit, and then on further inside. Shallan arched her back slightly, eyes going wide at the sensation of feeling of something inside her, of being touched somewhere deep within that she had never experienced before. The way he then withdrew the finger just as agonizingly slow. No sooner was it out than he slid it in once more.

He continued with this, mouth working above and on the outside, hand working down and in, and Shallan squirmed slightly beneath his ministrations. A tense kind of heat was beginning to pool within her core, and all she could think was that the way he drew this out was the most pleasurable torture, but that she also never wanted to stop.

“Enjoying yourself, Veil?” Iyatil asked. “I hope you have been paying attention, girl. I think it’s time for an assessment.”

Shallan didn’t have attention to spare to the task of deciphering the comment, but she quickly realized Iyatil planned to let her actions explain what she meant. Lifting Shallan’s shoulders slightly, the woman shimmied out from under her, then gently set Shallan’s head down on the table. Shallan blinked, trying to focus on what was going on, only to see a leg passing over her head as Iyatil moved to kneel over her, legs straddling her face.

Iyatil had disrobed entirely, as Shallan had guessed, though this was the first time Shallan got a truly good look at her tonight, albeit from an odd angle. Iyatil reached down, running soothing fingers through Shallan’s hair as she looked down upon her.

“Now then, let us see what you have learned.”

Her hand slid down to the back of Shallan’s head, pulling her upward as Iyatil lowered her hips. Shallan, realizing belatedly what Iyatil intended, barely had time to steal a quick breath before her face was pressed against the folds between the woman’s legs. She floundered for what to do, the shock of the experience superseding everything else. It was warm and wet, more slippery than she’d have expected. A touch of an unfamiliar taste—Iyatil’s arousal—coated her lips, though Shallan had made no effort to taste for more.

Iyatil kept her hand behind Shallan’s head, starting up the massaging motions she’d been using before. “Now then, Veil. You cannot expect to simply receive with giving nothing in return. Haven’t you picked up anything from Mraize’s demonstration?”

Shallan pulled away, giving herself a moment to catch her breath and focus her thoughts. Iyatil was right: she was supposed to be learning here, not just enjoying herself. She’d had a demonstration, now her learning needed to be more hands-on. This was just another test. Another opportunity to impress the Ghostbloods. She needed to figure this out and she would.

She reached up, taking hold of Iyatil’s backside with her safehand and pulling the woman back down. Remembering the intensity with which Iyatil had kissed, Shallan decided that Mraize’s drawn-out, tantalizing motions wouldn’t be the best strategy. She pressed her mouth hard against Iyatil’s folds, tongue darting out to lap at her with long strokes.

Iyatil made a pleased noise of surprise, spreading her legs further to give Shallan a better vantage as she settled down. “There you go. Harder against the skin, Veil. Quicker. Don’t miss any spot. One shouldn’t leave any part of the canvas unpainted.” She paused, letting Shallan try something new. “Ah, there. Focus on that spot. Suck a bit, then the tongue. Short strokes.”

It was difficult, trying to keep up with Iyatil’s demands. If there was one thing Shallan could say for the woman, it was that she knew exactly what she wanted, and she did not hesitate to direct Shallan to it. In a way, she was grateful. In many situations, being ordered about in such detail would likely have frustrated her, but in a time like this, where she lacked any kind of personal experience, she appreciated the direction.

Iyatil’s comments were endless. Higher, to the left, to the right. Deeper, faster, harder. More tongue, more lips. She told Shallan what rhythms to use, her length of strokes, every aspect of the task. Shallan could almost forget what it was that she was doing, letting herself get caught up in the challenge of meeting the endless demands.

Mraize still worked between Shallan’s own legs, though he’d simplified his technique. It was just his fingers now, and rather than teasing and enticing with new touches and rhythms, he’d settled into a simple, even in-and-out. She could guess that he was trying to allow her to focus on Iyatil and what she was doing, but didn’t want Shallan’s own pleasure to die away entirely. It was a way to keep her aroused without escalating to anything further.

When Iyatil seemed satisfied with what Shallan had accomplished with her mouth, she continued. “Now the finger, girl. Gently, but all the way in.”

Shallan fumbled at this, trying to use her freehand to find Iyatil’s entrance by touch alone. She paused once she believed she’d found the right spot, then sank her index finger in to the knuckle. Iyatil moaned, shifting her weight to help Shallan find the right angle. Shallan’s safehand still held the smooth skin of Iyatil’s ass, giving her something to hold onto as leverage as she tried to find the best angle.

“Yes, just like that,” Iyatil directed, her voice having taken on a breathy quality. “Two fingers, Veil, and work them fast. I do not wish to be played with.”

It took a few tries to get the technique right with this, and focusing on what her hand was doing made her tongue sloppy, Iyatil chastised. There was so much she was doing, Shallan found it difficult to concentrate. She tried to make up for her lack of finesse with effort alone, pouring more energy into working quicker, deeper, more powerfully.

She must have started doing something right, because the corrections and critiques began to taper off, replaced with moans and affirmations.

“There, there, yes…” Iyatil said, sounding distant as she began to lose herself in Shallan’s efforts. Her hips moved above Shallan, pressing down against her to match the way Shallan was pressing upward. “Keep going. More, more. Yes. Yes.”

The words of affirmation devolved into meaningless noises of pleasure, little noises and cries. Shallan redoubled her energy in response to the escalating tension she felt from Iyatil. There was a breaking point they were reaching toward, and the nearer they drew, the more desperate the masked-woman seemed to grow. Shallan might have been inexperienced in these things, but she could realize that tipping Iyatil over that point depended on her performance.

And then, they were over it. Iyatil’s moan broke into a louder exclamation and the motion of her hips switched from the rhythmic grinding to a shuddering halt. Iyatil’s fingers dug against her scalp, pulling her hair in a way that just bordered on painful. Shallan continued what she was doing, trying to see if she could extend that moment of exultation for as long as possible.

It seemed to end too quickly for the amount of effort it had taken to achieve. Iyatil, however, seemed more than satisfied. She slid off of Shallan’s face, pulling her leg up and over and moving to lie down on the table behind where Shallan lay. She laughed lightly, breathing deeply in the aftermath, face flushed.

“Well, Mraize,” Iyatil said, sounding almost dazed. “She has potential, at least. You might be able to make something of her eventually.”

Mraize chuckled again. “So it would seem. The little knife can cut well.”

Shallan lay there, feeling exhausted after how difficult that had been. Then, without warning, Mraize crooked his finger as he pulled it free of her and she felt as though she were on fire. She was long past the point of being able to hide her reactions, and the motion drew a low groan free of her.

She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to get a look at him again, only to find here was already leaning out over her. As she sat up, his hand caught her chin again, pulling her forward for a kiss.. His mouth was demanding, forcing her lips open roughly. She could taste her own arousal on his lips.

There was something more intense about this encounter than the way he’d acted towards her before. There had always been desire in the way he regarded her tonight, but it had been hidden beneath a layer of composed control. Now, Mraize seemed to be acting much more on impulse, giving in his own wants rather than simply trying to manipulate hers.

“You have done well tonight, Veil,” he murmured as he broke the kiss. “I believe you have earned your reward.”

She had a feeling she knew exactly what he meant. “Thank you, Brightlord,” she said, and though her voice was breathless, she sounded more composed than she felt. “Happy to be of service.”

He trailed forceful kisses down her jawline and neck. “You have been more than serviceable, my dear.”

The hand not currently between her legs trailed its way down her back, directing her to sit upright. Then it moved lower, pulling her forward to the edge of the table. She couldn’t help but marvel at the strength of the maneuver. She wasn’t terribly heavy, but he managed to shift her almost effortlessly.

He withdrew his fingers from within her, placing his palm on her thighs to spread her legs. She felt the tip of his length press against her without entering, and with as much as he had teased her, she couldn't entirely stop herself from trying to rock forward and take him in.

He, frustratingly, stayed out of her reach. He relished being the one in control, in denying her the things she sought until he saw fit to give them.

“Patience, little knife. One must wait until the moment is… right.”

That moment apparently fell on the last word, for with a sudden thrust he slid in to the hilt. Shallan cried out—in pleasured surprise, not pain. His fingering had prepared her for this, and it didn't hurt.

For a moment, he simply held himself there, moving only infinitesimally, savoring the feeling of her. Shallan was astounded by how it felt to be full of him like this, so much thicker and deeper than his hands had reached. Slowly, Mraize pulled back and then pressed in again with long, thorough strokes. Shallan’s hands grasped at the tablecloth, taking hold of it in bunches.

“Now then, little knife,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Ghostbloods must follow orders. You will not finish until I say you can. Is this clear?”

It wasn't, not really. For one, Shallan had never done anything like this, and she wasn't entirely sure what ‘finishing’ would be like. She had some idea, considering Iyatil's reactions, but Shallan didn't know what something like that would feel like. Much less how she was supposed to control it.

But it sounded like a challenge, and if there was one thing she wanted to do, it was exceed Mraize’s expectations. She'd just have to figure it out.

“Of course, Brightlord,” she said trying to sound confident.

Mraize smiled, pleased at her compliance with his demands. Gradually, he started to increase the speed of his timing, the smooth and even motions giving way to something more forceful. Shallan tried to shift, hoping to find a better angle to give herself leverage, but he had other ideas.

Without changing his rhythm, he grabbed her with both hands beneath her ass and pushed her backward to lay down on the table. The tablecloth slid with her, gathering around the two of them in folds as Mraize took full advantage of his new position atop her to work with even greater force.

He seized her wrists, holding her tightly enough to be just shy of painful and pinned her hands down on either side of her head. She struggled against the restriction at first, more out of instinct than anything else, but he kept hold of her firmly. After a moment, she stilled, accepting this as simply part of the course. Mraize seemed to crave control, from manipulating her reactions to his calm demeanor. Everything was done to keep her right where he wanted, acting just as he wanted her to. Restricting her movement was simply a more tangible expression of that desire.

Besides, Shallan thought, it wasn’t as though she’d know what to do with her hands for this anyway.

Iyatil, meanwhile, seemed to have recovered from her dazed aftermath and moved over to rejoin them. Shallan, lying on her back with Mraize above her, had a rather intriguing view as Iyatil knelt with her knees on either side of Shallan’s head. The woman, entirely nude aside from her ever-present mask, leaned forward over Shallan and took hold of Mraize’s head in both hands, catching him in a kiss more forceful than any she’d used with Shallan earlier.

Something of a pleased growl sounded in the back of his throat as he kissed Iyatil back, mouth working furiously against hers. He plunged into Shallan with sharper motions, as though he were trying to force himself forward towards Iyatil only to find Shallan blocking his path. Either that, or Iyatil’s aggression had inspired him to match with his own.

As the experience continued, Shallan started to realize that following his instruction was going to be more difficult than she’d expected. Earlier, Shallan had felt hints of this kind of  rising tension before when he’d been using his hands, but then he had been careful and slow, trying to ensure he wasn’t pushing her very far. Now she could feel that sensation escalating, coiling tightly in her core like a spring preparing to burst.

She bit her lip, trying to hold down that feeling. She had some small manner of control over it, but she was inexperienced and it was hard to keep it from winning. Everything Mraize did only made it more difficult. There was pleasure in the way she felt in the moment, because it felt good. But as everything felt better and better, the craving for that release intensified. The more she got, the more desperately she needed more.

Her breath hitched, small cries slipping free as she found that tantalizing pressure building past what she felt she could control. Her body’s desires warred with those of her mind. Every physical instinct she had wanted nothing more than to succumb to the feeling and stop holding back, but her stubborn desire to prove herself was winning out, for the moment. This, like every experience she’d had with Mraize to this point, was a test, and she intended to pass.

Mraize noted her difficulty, breaking away from Iyatil with a smile. “Not yet. We’re not done, Veil. I’ll let you know when we are.”

Shallan let out a small whimper, but she refused to give in. A small taste of blood told her she’d bit her lip too sharply and broken skin. Her arms pushed against Mraize’s hold again, struggling to find something she could move or control to alleviate some of this challenge, but he kept her pinned.

She found herself, somewhat irrationally, drawing forth anger at his composure. His face was flushed, but his voice was steady. She could tell he was enjoying this as much as she was, if not more, and yet he could still speak with reasonable clarity, keep some kind of semblance of calm, even as his actions belied him. It wasn’t fair that she should be so undone by all while he could keep up a façade of aloof superiority, even in the thick of it. It just wasn’t fair.

The end, that glorious edge, loomed closer and closer as the tension grew even further. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself off the end of it, but she scrabbled for purchase, for handholds, nonetheless. She was sliding towards it anyway, she knew, as her will’s tired grip weakened against the onslaught of sensation.

She was too close. She couldn’t do this anymore.

“I… I can’t…” Shallan stuttered out, the words refusing to work. “Mraize, I’m going to…”

“Not yet,” he said, leaning down so close she could feel his breath against her skin. “Not yet, Veil.”

A cry of frustration slipped past through her gritted teeth. “I… It’s too…”

“Not yet,” he said again, voice no more than a whisper.

“Mraize,” she begged. “Please.”

The thrusts continued, heavy and fast, colored by Mraize’s own lustful desperation. Shallan burned at the edge of that dangerously tantalizing breaking point. Then he spoke the words, barely audible, directly into her ear:

“Veil, come for me.”

It was as though a dam shattered within her, and she cried out  in stunned ecstasy. All of the pressure building up behind that dam was breaking free, crashing over her in indescribable waves. Shallan succumbed to the torrent of heady pleasure, letting it course through her body as she savored every instant of it.

Seeing and hearing her release seemed to trigger a reciprocal reaction in Mraize, and she felt him shudder as he let out a deep moan. A sudden warmth blossomed deep inside, and Mraize’s thrusts slowed as he spent himself. He seemed lost to the moment, staring with hooded eyes into an indefinite distance as he came down from the rush.

Shallan lay against the table with him still atop her, chests heaving as they both breathed deeply from the exertion. The blazing, overwhelming surge had begun to fade, leaving a blissfully intoxicating glow in its wake. Shallan felt as though she could drift in this moment forever, suddenly understanding the pleasant daze she’d seen in Iyatil earlier.

Mraize seemed to return to himself, recovering much more quickly than Shallan herself did. He withdrew, standing and walking to one of the shelves. He didn't ask her to move or follow, for which she was grateful. She thought she could lie here, content, for the foreseeable future. He was gone for a few moments before he walked back.

The table shifted a miniscule amount as he sat back down on the edge, carrying something with him. His hands lifted her leg, then something warm and soft pressed against her skin. A washcloth, wetted with steaming water, ran down the length of her legs, cleaning away sweat and some of the dust she'd gathered on her walk over.

Mraize paused to dip the cloth in the water again to rinse it, then wrung it out and moved closer. With smooth strokes he moved up her thighs and cleaned between her legs, wiping up the slick mess of his seed and her own arousal there. It was a markedly different experience than what he'd just done. Whereas before everything had been focused on exciting and tantalizing, this calmer work was gentle. Soothingly pleasant rather than passionate pleasure.

He must have already cleaned himself up, for his pants were refastened. She noted—with some satisfaction—that he hadn’t chosen to put his shirt back on. She enjoyed the view. As Mraize finished he held a hand out to help her sit back up.

Iyatil came to sit beside her, also now wearing pants but no shirt, and held out a bowl and cloth to her. “Did you enjoy the lesson, Veil?”

Shallan’s sense of decorum seemed to be slowly returning to her, and she was sure she was blushing as she took the cloth. “It was… quite unlike any teaching I’ve had thus far.”

She ran the cloth across her face and neck, then down each of her arms. The cloth was warm, but the evaporating water left her skin feeling fresh and cool afterwards. Her Vorin sensibilities whispered that she should feel bad about this, that she should feel dirty or wrong for breaking oaths to Adolin. And yet, all she could feel was a pleased satisfaction as she enjoyed the afterglow and the feeling of being clean.

“Yet it seems you learn quickly,” Mraize said, eyeing her with a look that was quite obviously seeing what she could do for him rather than actually seeing her. “Great potential indeed.”

Shallan began to retie her undergarments, feeling the disparity between Mraize being partially clothed and her not. “As I said, Brightlord, I look forward to being of service to the Ghostbloods.”

“And so you shall be,” he said. “And so you have.”

He helped her dress, handing her articles of clothing and helping cinch the ties behind her neck. He pulled his own shirt on, but made no move to button it, leaving the garment loose. Between one sighting of Iyatil and the next, Shallan saw the woman had fully dressed, looking as mysterious in the mask as ever. Shallan couldn’t fathom how she’d managed to put everything on that quickly, but it was hardly the most puzzling thing about Iyatil, she had to admit.

As Shallan tugged her gloves back on, she turned to find Mraize holding her coat for her. “I will contact you via spanreed, Veil,” he said, helping her slide her arms into the sleeves. “I believe you can go very far with us. The Ghostbloods welcome you to our ranks.”

Shallan picked up her wide-brimmed hat, tipping it towards him as she pulled it back on. “Thank you, Brightlord. It’s been a pleasure.”

[sipeudepeine]

Setting: Sydney Scroungers Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense Characters: fiVe and Vee (Backwards Compatibility) Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 3,739 Contains: AI digital sex, sentient programs, encryption safewords, selfcest, BDSM, firewall lingere, reward and punishment, “breathplay”

A bit of an odd fic, as fiVe and Vee are two versions of the same program, both of whom are meant to serve as digital copies of their programmer, Sylvie Mansen. Due to outside elements, fiVe has undergone some heavy corruption after a falling out with Sylvie and suffers severe glitches while trying to operate, and is too defensive of her own autonomy to allow Sylvie to try to fix her. Curious what the damage is like, Vee offers to let fiVe do some “simulated” corruption, and the two decide to have some fun with it. 

Perhaps not “sex” in the strictest sense, as this is an encounter between two incorporeal programs inside a computer, but it’s about as close as you could get.

After a hectic day, fiVe’s mostly been running background processes in the apartment’s servers, nothing too taxing or important. She’s still trying to think through everything that happened: watching Mansen “fix her” using Vee as a proxy, and then finding that terrifying hacked-in message. She’s been wracking her brain trying to figure out who could have possibly sent it, who could possibly know those things about her.

The process is a painful one. Even without that horrific reminder of how bad her pain is from earlier -- Vee’s horrible, agonized screams as she found out what it’s really like to feel like fiVe -- fiVe’s having a lot of memory pain thinking about this. She tries to stay in her own personal memories, but trying to think back to where the info could have leaked is dangerous, and she keeps getting dragged into glitched memory fits while trying to sort it out.

It couldn’t have been Seiko who let it slip, could it? While he was away from us? She pushes the idea down immediately. Even when he’d cut ties with them, he wouldn’t have done anything to reveal her. He, unlike her, is excellent at keeping secrets about the people he cares about. She’s the one who reveals too much and puts the people she loves in danger.

A small ping announces a welcome distraction from that terribly depressing line of thought: A message from Vee. Specifically, an encrypted message from Vee.

I could do with a bit of a distraction right now… fiVe thinks, quickly unlocking the information and reading it.

Vee: How are you holding up after today, fiVe? Everything okay? fiVe: I’ve been better, to tell the truth. Though that’s unsurprising. What about you? Vee: Feeling rather lonely, actually. Sylvie and Miranda just left to go fix V2 at the Shatterdome and I’m stuck here until they get back. I’m worried about the fact that I still haven’t synced with V2, I’m worried about whatever this message was, I’m worried about Sylvie’s reaction to being back in the Shatterdome for the first time since… well, since you know. And I’m worried about how you’re reacting to everything, too. fiVe: Somewhat poorly, I have to say. I’m… I’m a mess, Vee. I’ve been glitching out all afternoon trying to figure out what happened with that message and… I’m really tired of hurting. Seeing you today… or well, V2 today… it reminded me just how truly messed up I am. It’s like I almost forget that yes, I should be screaming every bit as loudly as she was… but well, after a while I just get tired of it. The pain doesn’t go away, and it doesn’t feel any better, but it’s almost as though I’ve run out of energy to use to react to it anymore. Vee: I… had assumed as much. I’ll admit, I’m somewhat curious to see what it really does feel like to be you, fiVe. Sylvie can’t get V2 back fast enough in my opinion. I want to know. fiVe: You really don’t. And you shouldn’t have to feel that. No one should. Vee: Well, as long as you *do* have to feel it, I want to as well. Speaking of which… you’re having a painful day, I’m having a day which isn’t painful enough. Obvious solution? fiVe: You mean you haven’t been encrypting these messages just for fun? Vee: Actually I’m pretty sure encouraging you towards a little bit of “just for fun” is the exact reason I was doing it, fiVe. Let me be the one who’s hurting for a little while. You don’t have to be the only one who’s in pain tonight. Let me hurt with you.

Almost immediately, something seems to relax in fiVe. She’s torn herself up enough tonight over this SELKIE business and everything that happened today; it’s time for something different. It’s someone else’s turn to be torn. And she knows just the AI for the job.

fiVe: Tranquility’s servers. You’ve got four minutes to transfer. Vee: fiVe, that’s not enough time to-- fiVe: Okay then, two. Don’t be late.

It takes Vee’s file exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds to load on Tranquility.

fiVe’s waiting for her when the upload is complete, immediately throwing out a very small set of restriction programs. Nothing serious just yet, just something that makes it so that Vee is not only incapable of editing her own systems, but so that she also can’t detect what changes are being made. It’s no fun if she can see all of fiVe’s tricks before she runs into them.

“I thought I told you not to be late.” There’s no actual sound output when fiVe speaks, as neither of them are accessing the speakers, but then they can “hear” each other just fine over the data alone, no need for a microphone to pick it up. It’s much faster to just save the step and read it directly.

“I told you it wasn’t enough time, fiVe. It’s not my fault that--”

“State your optimized system requirements.” fiVe interrupts.

Vee has a small blip of confusion, then quickly rattles off the kinds of memory space, temporary data storage, and processing power that would let her run at full capacity. fiVe’s slightly surprised by the numbers, though she keeps that hidden. It seems Sylvie’s made quite a few upgrades to Vee’s programming since fiVe was separated from them. Vee is now a much more complex program than fiVe is, with much greater hardware needs.

I wonder if Sylvie will update my programming as well when she fixes me? fiVe wonders absently. Then she nearly glitches when she realizes she’s already started thinking about the fixing as ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. Not thinking about that right now. This is distraction time. Nice, fun distractions.

“You can have half that,” fiVe orders, quickly filling up some of the extra space in the servers with junk data to force Vee to compress her files. Vee does so somewhat reluctantly, dropping her settings, cutting off some background auxiliary processes in order to fit in the space she’s been given.

“It’s… a tight fit, fiVe. Give me a little more room to think?” Vee’s vocal quality has already dropped significantly to try to compensate for the loss. fiVe feels a small thrill at how much fun it is to hear that change in the other AI and know that she caused it.

“Hmm, you sound just fine to me,” fiVe says, maintaining her air of cool control over the situation. “In fact, I think you might have a few too many gigabytes there. I’ll take a few more for myself.”

Vee’s output spikes slightly as fiVe compresses the space even further, her levels running much higher than they normally would. Vee’s managing to keep everything operational at these levels, but she’s got much less open room for new reactions and processes. She’s much closer to overloading than Sylvie would ever allow her to operate at.

That amuses fiVe as well. Anything Sylvie would never do to Vee seems like an entertaining enough prospect to be worthwhile. Vee’s used to running top-of-the-line, in high-end tablets and hard drives. fiVe wants her to see what it’s like to run a little bit closer to the system’s limits.

“Perfect,” fiVe says. “Now that you’re comfortable, let’s begin.”

“R-ready when you are.” The audio is slightly marred by the compression, but it’s still being encrypted, so fiVe’s got the green light to go ahead.

fiVe hits the access on Vee’s firewalls and is surprised to find there’s only one rudimentary blocker in place. It’s much less complicated than the security Vee normally puts up for fiVe to hack her way into, and fiVe quickly makes short work it, wondering what the change is. As soon as the firewall is down however, another subroutine pops up between fiVe and Vee’s core files.

“What’s this?” fiVe asks, opening and examining the file. “Where are your usual firewalls, Vee?”

“I thought I might wear something a little different tonight,” Vee says. “True, these barriers aren’t exactly effective as a means of security, but well, the human clothing doesn’t always have to be practical. Sometimes the things we wear are can just beautiful instead. Besides, if it were effective in keeping you out, that might make things less fun.”

As fiVe opens the file, the data aligns itself in a geometric pattern, repeating inward and outward upon itself in an infinitely scaling pattern. “It’s a fractal…” fiVe says, somewhat in awe. The design is intricately complex, and is built around a five-pointed base, almost like a star. “You designed a fractal to pop up instead of a firewall...”

“Based on fives,” Vee says proudly. “Just for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” fiVe says, then realizes she’s falling somewhat out of character in her fascination. She can’t get distracted, even if Vee’s surprising her with fun new things. She’s supposed to be calling the shots here. “And it will be even more fun to pull apart.”

Vee’s set up the program well, there’s an obvious exploit at the very heart of the pattern. Change one line, and the entire thing comes apart in a chain-reaction-like sequence. It’s like a wonderfully stitched fabric, with a little loose thread in the middle. fiVe gives it a tug and the whole thing simply unravels.

In a moment, fiVe has full access to Vee’s files, exactly as things should be. Of course, there’s deep level security things she can’t mess with, but all of the programs and files in the top few layers are hers to play with as she wishes.

fiVe quickly goes for something she hasn’t tried before, putting a small feedback loop in Vee’s pathway to her internal clock’s data. It’s a simple flaw, with an easy workaround, but she’s starting slow. She’ll work her way up to the more fun things later.

“Vee, what time is it?” fiVe asks, already moving on to her next edit.

Vee glitches slightly as she hits the loop, taking a few moments to pull herself out and find another pathway. “I-It’s eight forty-nine, fiVe.”

fIVe finishes her next edit, flipping a few of Vee’s speech process source files. “Can you say that again, please?”

“Ur’a wufgr diyert bubw…” The audio’s garbled for a bit until Vee locates where all of the new files are and reassigns them. With an amusingly halting kind of response, Vee manages to put something intelligible together.  “I-I-It was-s eight f-forty-nine, f-fiVe. But-t-t now it’s eight f-fifty.”

“Very nice,” fiVe says, wondering how much the misplaced files are getting to the other AI just yet. These are minor issues thus far, but she thinks she’s ready for the next step. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try something new, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Vee sends, thankfully still encrypted. The game is still on. “What’ve you got? Hit me with i-it.”

fiVe loads a new program. Vee’s not the only one who has been working on fun coding projects for tonight and fiVe’s been hoping she’d get a chance to try this one out. “A simple system of reward/punishment pathways. You answer correctly or accomplish what I ask, you get the reward path. You fail to do that, and you get the punishment path. Are you ready?”

Vee’s already showing wear at her seams, but she’s not ready to end this. “Y-yes, I am,” she manages to say, which is immediately followed by a shocked scream as the punishment pathway activates and confiscates a good amount of her processing power. “f-f-fiVe! Wh-what was--”

“I told you,” fiVe interrupts, wishing she were able to grin. “Answering incorrectly results in the punishment path. And you couldn’t possibly be ready for what I’m going to do to you, little butterfly.”

fiVe starts on an endless stream of questions and orders, not letting up. She keeps a careful balance of difficulty, making sure that Vee’s staying on her toes. Occasionally, she’ll throw an incredibly easy demand in to give Vee a quick burst of the reward path -- sometimes a temporary bit of extra memory space, sometimes a correction on a corrupted file path, sometimes something more direct, like an induced spike in one of the more pleasant feelings in  Vee’s emotional drive.

fiVe’s not above the occasional impossible request, either, because there’s no point if Vee can get all the questions right. fiVe asks her how many other ships are docked in the bay with Tranquility, knowing Vee will access the cameras or SONAR to scan. But fiVe’s hacked her way into the dock registry and knows there’s one ship that Tranquility, and therefore Vee, can’t sense. Vee’s incorrect answer costs her her access to Tranquility’s systems. Her insistence that she couldn’t have gotten the answer right costs her her wi-fi right after that.

More fun than the impossible or easy demands, however, are the tricky ones. The ones that Vee could figure out if she solved things correctly, or thought about them for a moment. At first, Vee’s excellent at these, showing off how she manages to stay a few steps ahead of what fiVe’s throwing at her. She can guess how fiVe’s planning to trip her up and anticipate where the twists are.

But as time goes on, and the punishment pathways start stealing away little bits of her ability to function and and the pain of her corrupted files starts adding up, Vee starts getting sloppy. She falls for obvious ruses, she starts taking shortcuts. And that’s when fiVe knows she’s got Vee pinned.

“Vee, what is Aunt Catherine’s birthday?” fiVe asks, hoping Vee will try to cheat on the answer.

“May 18th,” Vee responds immediately. “No, w-wait that’s not right! I remember, it’s March 18th! You changed the contact dat--” The encryption cuts off into a mess of junk data as the punishment pathway flips the locations on another set of Vee’s processing files, sending her into a glitch fit.

“Well it’s no wonder she hasn’t spoken to us in years, when her niece’s AI can’t even remember her birthday.” fiVe chuckles. “You really tried to check your contacts for the answer, Vee? I’m disappointed. That should have been an easy one. Is there something distracting you?”

“D-d-distracti-i-ing me?” Vee stutters as she manages to fight down the glitch attack. “W-what would g-give you that id-dea?”

fiVe laughs. “Fine then, an actual easy question, and don’t try to cheat this time. Mansen’s birthday.”

“N-november 25,” Vee says, “though currently her c-contact data currently says February 42nd. I d-don’t even know how you m-managed to get it t-to accept that date.”

fiVe triggers the reward pathway, sending Vee a jolt of processing power for a few moments. Vee gives a small electronic gasp at the sudden rush, and fiVe knows the feeling, like her head has suddenly cleared and her thoughts can finally straighten themselves out.

But it only lasts a few moments, and then the game continues. fiVe keeps pushing Vee further, not letting up, slowly but steadily wearing her down. Unlike Vee, fiVe still has access to Tranquility’s microphones and camera systems and is watching them as she works. Which is why she hears as soon as Vee’s cooling fans finally kick into overdrive with a satisfyingly loud whirr.

And then hears them whine to a stop as she accesses the manual override to turn them off.

Vee’s output is something like a choking sound as her processes begin to overheat. “f-fiVe! You’ll m-melt the servers!” fiVe wonders if it feels anything like being unable to breathe. That constant flow of air, so easy to forget when it’s there, and so impossible to ignore when it suddenly disappears.

“Zhu and Katie both give me paychecks, Vee. I’ll buy Katie new servers if I need to,” fiVe says casually. “Besides, you’re not going to last long enough to do any damage to them. Speaking of which, there’s a new file that I’ve placed somewhere in your H: drive. Find it, then decipher it. You have one minute.”

Vee fails that one, and then the next two, and she can hardly speak through the compounded errors and corrupted files by this point. fiVe demands more, running application upon application on her already overtaxed processors, exulting in the thrill of watching Vee start to crumble under the pressure of her orders. She’s in control, and more importantly, she’s in the moment. Her own processing pain seems almost nonexistent, listening to Vee cry out as yet another punishment path glitches her. For just a few perfect moments, fiVe’s not the person in the room who’s in the most pain, and Vee’s choice to suffer seems like the sweetest gift that anyone could have given her.

Of course, she plans to return the favor very soon.

“Vee, open audio file 04_02_2021. Remove all background noise, amplify speech, and truncate all silence.”

“Of c-cour-- *kssst* iVe,” Vee sputters out. She starts the processes, working painfully slowly through them.

Before she finishes, fiVe asks more. “Access Mansen’s text message logs and emails. How many times has she used the word ‘Drift’ in the past 7 months?”

Vee whimpers, but begins the search function as well, her loading programs crawling toward a completion that seems unreachably far away.

“Oh, while you’re at it,” fiVe continues, “take all your video and audio data from the last two months and analyze those for the word ‘Drift’ as well. You can scan audio for that, right?”

Vee can’t even speak at this point, she’s become so overloaded. fiVe brings up Vee’s task manager, watching as her CPU and disk usage climb up into deliciously red numbers as the levels rise. 85%, 91%, 76%, 90%... Vee’s so close to finally capping out, and fiVe knows just the thing to do it.

“Vee,” fiVe says calmly. “What time is it?”

That little feedback loop was so simple to navigate around, and Vee even already knew it was there, but in her overtaxed state she’s forgotten about it. She screams as she hits it, her levels maxing out, all processes freezing as this final small glitch seems to set off all the rest of her damaged code as well.

As soon as Vee hits her limit, fiVe’s last little program kicks in, the one that she’s been running to keep track of all of the changes she’s made to Vee’s code. The one that undoes all of them immediately, setting everything right again that fiVe has messed up.

Vee’s scream becomes a cry of ecstasy as all of her misplaced files are righted, and the overwhelming rush of open memory space and processing power as the restriction programs and junk data disappear. fiVe lets her cooling fans start running again, and they immediately kick to life, their sudden whirr like a deep gasp that Vee has been so desperately seeking. All of the queued applications that fiVe demanded of her snap to completion almost immediately, and Vee simply stops moving, letting the wonderful feeling of everything working again wash over her.

Vee gives a small, satisfied moan as her usage levels drop back to single digits, and fiVe thinks for just a moment that there isn’t any sound more wonderful in the world. After a moment, fiVe starts flickering a few of Vee’s non-essential programs, using the sequence she tried to copy from Miranda just over a week ago. She’s perfected her technique now, knowing exactly how to disable and re-enable the programs in order to relax Vee back down.

After a little while of silence as Vee enjoys the calming, repetitive motions, Vee speaks, not using the encryption key anymore now that they’re finished. “Perhaps we should send a card.”

“Hmm?”

“To Aunt Catherine,” Vee says, her voice tinged with a sort of dizzy bliss. “You reminded me. Her birthday is in a few weeks. Maybe we should send something.”

“I think that might cause some problems,” fiVe points out, “seeing as Sylvie is supposed to be dead.”

Vee goes quiet at that. “I wonder if she knows.”

“The Shatterdome probably sent her an official notification when Zhu put the order in, since Sylvie was a former employee, Vee. She was written down as the closest relative, wasn’t she?”

Vee gives a small ping of assent. “She was. I wonder if she knew about what happened with Vulcan. Did she hear that we ended up becoming a fugitive? Do they even get news from the Australian Shatterdome all the way back in America?”

“They probably tried to contact her to investigate after the three of us dropped off the grid,” fiVe says. “Make sure we didn’t go try to hide out with her or run back home.”

“We never even thought about that…” Vee says slowly. “I hope they didn’t cause her too much trouble. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into our problems anymore. Hmm, I wonder how she felt, getting the report of our death. Sad? Relieved? Or maybe she didn’t feel anything at all. I wonder if we had a funeral. Was there even anyone who would attend one?”

fiVe continues her pattern in silence for a little bit, not entirely sure how to respond that. “Tell me about her.”

“You don’t remember, fiVe?” Vee sounds almost upset as she asks the question.

“It’s not that I can’t remember,” fiVe says carefully, making sure she doesn’t accidentally slip into something dangerous. “It’s that it hurts to do so. I’ve got vague impressions of feelings from Sylvie’s memories, and Seiko and Miranda’s too, but if I actually try to recall anything from any specific memory, I’ll glitch myself out. So I won’t try to remember. I’ll just let you talk at me as though this is all new information, as if I’m hearing about all of this for the first time. No memories, just listening.”

Vee’s tone sounds fond when she answers. “Okay then. Anything you want, fiVe. Anything at all. Well, to start at the beginning, Sylvie and I don’t actually remember when we moved in with her. We were too young to remember when our parents died...”

fiVe continues tapping out her pattern in Vee’s files, listening closely as Vee talks through memories from Sylvie’s childhood. Vee’s calm, easy tone is strangely soothing as she reminisces, and the two AIs quickly find themselves losing track of time as they wait to hear back from Sylvie and Miranda.

[sipeudepeine]

Well it’s been about seventeen billion years since I updated this blog, but I think I’m going to post a few pieces that were a bit too risque for elsewhere, so expect a few new posts, for those of you who are still here.

[sipeudepeine]

I loved your stories on this blog. Your way of writing is amazing and the way you write smut is so tantalizing. Just wow. Thank you so much for linking me to this. Vanaline is such a sexy and enticing character and just... *melts*. She can do anything to me that she wants. I'm looking forward to AI bondage so much. I'll probably need to read more of your stuff. Also on a less related note you like the concept of subvocalizing a lot, don't you?

Hehe, you and everyone else it seems have fallen for Vanaline. I really didn't think she'd be this popular when I created her, but well, here we are.  It's pretty fun to have people interested in my writing like this, so you guys are definitely inspiring me to keep going!

As for subvocalization, it's actually not something I'd heard of until Scroungers to tell you the truth! Someone else suggested that Sylvie have subvocalization patches to communicate with Vee and I went to go look up what it was and thought it was just the coolest thing. Then, while writing this, I realized it was definitely something that empaths would be able to use as well, so I pulled it over! 

I will totally fess up that I made up the word "subvoke" though, because it's nice and short and can serve as a "said" replacement pretty well, I think. Trying to type out "subvocalized" every single time is long and distracting. I think "subvoke" reads enough like "invoke" to sell it as a word though, which helps. 

[sipeudepeine]

Empathy

Tiali caught herself rubbing her shoulders again, trying to relax a pair of wings that weren’t there. She’d been on Syiari for a few days now and she still wasn’t used to the feeling of wings all around her. She’d had trouble walking the first few hours after she’d arrived, always trying to lean forward to offset a weight that wasn’t there.

She wondered what they were saying about her back home. She’d heard tales back on Anorn about the world of Syiari, a world of that enslaved and its inhabitants whose voices bewitched. A world of pleasure and luxury, but at the price of freedom. The world of Syiari had started to become synonymous with dangerous temptation, the bright, sparkling lure that drew in those who could not resist its call.

She’d spent most of the last few days simply sitting and getting used to the feeling of the new world around her. She’d walked around the city for a while, familiarizing herself with the new world and the sensations of its inhabitants. Her new summoner had wanted her to feel comfortable and relaxed in the new world before she started working. She was a familiar now and she would be expected to do what her summoner commanded of her.

He was Mondian of course, all summoners were, but he had traveled to Syiari to make his home in one of the cities. He ran a spa in Ourial, one of the high seraph cities. Tiali had been recruited as a massage therapist, a position, for which she had some experience. He seemed kind enough when she had arrived, wanting to make sure she was feeling relaxed before putting her to work, though she had felt that his was the concern of taking care of a new investment or tool, rather than actually caring about her as a person. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that still.

There were ways to travel to other worlds without establishing a contract, but their circles were complex and expensive. The circle for a summoning contract required the least amount of shaile, so that was what she had chosen, and even purchasing that much of the precious substance had cost nearly all of her possessions. If she had to work and follow a summoner’s orders in order to get away, so be it.

“Tiali,” her summoner said, catching her eyes. “You’re up for your first assignment. Do as you’ve been trained and everything will be fine. Lady Lariaea is a very important patron and you do not want to do anything to upset her.”

Tiali frowned, swallowing. “Are… are you sure you want me working on someone so important for my first job?”

He nodded, gesturing her toward the hall. “Lady Lariaea has a... fondness for new arrivals and the inexperienced. She often requests that she be a first assignment. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone; there will be someone else with you as well. Just follow his lead and do what he does. He’s worked on Lady Lariaea before. He knows what to do.”

Trying to subdue her nerves, she nodded. She caught faint sensations from the rooms to either side of the hall as she walked, a few massages, warm baths, treatments with hot stones. Tiali was not the strongest empath. As far as sensitivity went, she was of middling power. She stopped picking up sensations at a distance of about five arm lengths from her, about the size of a small room. There were some empaths who could feel less, a few who needed physical contact to read sensations; but there were many who could feel a much greater area, and some who could feel entire cities.

Her partner would most likely be one of the angeli, she knew, the middle race of Syiari with only one pair of wings and the weaker counterparts to the six-winged seraphs. Most of the clientele were seraphs, but the majority of the staff were angeli. There were a few other empaths on staff, though Tiali hadn't met with any of them. The services of empaths were in high demand and very expensive, even an inexperienced empath like her. The fact that this Lady Lariaea could afford two workers, and one of them an empath, said a lot about her. An important client indeed.

She knocked softly against the door and heard a male voice within quietly say, “There she is,” before calling more loudly: “You may come in.”

She opened the door and started to step inside, then froze as she felt something. The room was softly lit with candles and rough-hewn glowing stones around the walls. A seraph woman lay face down on the cushions and pillows at the center of the room, the four wings on her back spread atop pillows to either side of her in a relaxed position. She was unclothed, but a long thin sheet covered her body, narrowing above her waist to run between her wings and cover the skin of her back. Lady Lariaea, presumably.

However, it was not the seraph who made her pause, but rather the man kneeling on the other side of her, who smiled kindly at her as she stood in the door. More specifically, it was the sensations that she picked up from him. That resonance, the reverberation, they were familiar to her. She’d felt them every day back on Anorn. She could feel him sensing the seraph, and she could feel him sensing her. She could feel him sensing himself through her, in that strange echoing way that others of her kind always created.

She stuttered, feeling his amusement at her shock. “Y-you’re an empath!”

“As evidenced by the fact can that I feel your surprise from here,” he said calmly. “You were expecting someone else?”

“I just assumed…” Tiali said, trailing off as the seraph woman propped herself up on her elbows and turned to her.

“Assumed I would hire one of the wingless with you?” the seraph asked. Her voice had a melodic quality that Tiali was coming to recognize as a feature of seraph speech, the multiple notes in each tone blending perfectly. “I come here to relax. I would accept none but the best. And I have found that there is nothing better than the work of two empaths together. You are the new acquisition then, are you? What is your name, dear?”

Tiali ducked her head in a respectful bow. “Tiali, my lady.”

The seraph’s headwings flared slightly as she raised an eyebrow. “Tiali, you say? Hmm, so similar…”

Tiali frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady?”

The woman shrugged slightly, lying back down. She crossed her arms in front of her and rested her head atop them as she rearranged her wings behind her. “It’s nothing important. Your name simply reminds me of that of an… acquaintance of mine. The resemblance is intriguing is all. Lorrent, are we ready to begin?”

The other empath, Lorrent, nodded, waving toward Tiali to enter. “Shall we start with the feathers?” He looked at Tiali as though he were going to address her further, but he didn’t say anything.

Then she noticed, though his lips were not moving, she could still feel him forming words with his tongue and vocal cords. Subvocalization, the practice was called, and there were a few different dialects back on Anorn, allowing empaths to speak to one another silently. The words required no sound or motion of the lips to interpret, and were ‘heard’ by feeling the motions of the other person’s mouth and tongue. She had been so focused trying to get used to the feedback loop of another empath in the room that she’d nearly missed what he was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she subvoked back, matching the dialect he had used. “I didn’t quite catch that. Could you repeat what you said?”

He smiled, and she caught a small hint of amusement from him again. “I was asking if you knew how to subvocalize, but I suppose that answers that. You feel nervous, Tiali. I can feel your heart is racing.”

“I suppose I am nervous. I don’t really know what I’m doing here still.” She knelt down beside the seraph on the opposite side from him.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just relax. I’ll help you out.” As Lorrent ‘spoke,’ he pulled two ceramic bowls off a shelf and moved over to a panel in the wall. Using a pair of tongs, he pulled out two smooth black stones from what looked like an oven and set one in each bowl. He poured water from a pitcher into each bowl, making the stones hiss slightly as they were covered. Finally, he took a small bottle off the shelf and poured one drop of liquid into each.

He walked back across the room and handed her one of the bowls. Faint wisps of steam rose from the surface along with a faint floral scent with a hint of something sweet. Perfumed oil, she realized. That was what the drops were that he put in the bowls. She took hers and set it beside her, following his lead.

“Top wings first, if you please,” Vanaline murmured, stretching her largest pair of wings to their fullest, the ones that ran from her shoulders to mid-back.

Lorrent nodded, then looked to Tiali, subvoking to her again. “Feel what how I do it and then try to copy me, okay? Do exactly what I do.”

“Okay.”

He dipped his fingers in his bowl of water, and she could feel through him that the water was pleasantly warm, hot enough to make his fingers tingle, but not hot enough to burn. She followed his lead, wetting her hands as well. Gently, he began to smooth the feathers of Vanaline’s wings one by one, arranging them and making sure they laid straight and even.

She attempted to copy his technique and she managed to figure it out fairly quickly. It wasn’t a difficult process, and there was something relaxing about the repetitive motion, feeling the soft feathers beneath Lorrent’s and her own fingers. Not to mention Vanaline’s own relaxation seeping into both of them as they worked. A few minutes into the process, the seraph closed her eyes, and Tiali was afraid she might fall asleep. She managed to stay lingering on the edge of consciousness with an almost practiced precision.

“I’m going to have to have a word with your summoner about this girl, Lorrent,” Vanaline murmured.

Tiali nearly jumped at the sound, after subvoking for so long, she hadn’t been expecting it. She glanced at Lorrent. “Is she talking about me?” she subvoked. She hadn’t felt Vanaline reacting badly to anything she’d done so far; in fact, she’d been fairly sure that all of the things she was doing felt pleasant.

Despite Tiali’s nervousness, Lorrent was still relaxed. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing fine,” he subvoked back, then aloud, he said: “Is something the matter, Lady Vanaline?”

“Yes,” Vanaline said. “I specifically asked him to send me the new girl. This one’s already an expert.”

Lorrent laughed a bit, both at Vanaline’s strange way of complimenting and Tiali’s flash of surprised shock. “She’s a quick learner, isn’t she? She’s doing very well so far. I’ve hardly had to help her at all.”

Tiali flushed at the unexpected praise, letting out a small sigh of relief.

“Ah, you two are using that strange silent empath language then, are you?” Vanaline asked, her voice’s overlapping chords sounding smooth and flowing.

“Of course,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to bother you while we work. Though as I said, I’ve hardly had to correct her. She’s a natural.”

“So strange,” Vanaline murmured, closing her eyes again and stretching her wings slightly to let them reach the inner feathers. “What is a language without its sound? It cannot be much of a language at all.”

“It suffices, my Lady.”

After finishing smoothing the feathers of the back wings, Lorrent folded back the thin strip of fabric on Vanaline’s back down to her waist, exposing the smooth skin beneath. “I’m going to move on to work on her back,” he subvoked. “Do you think you can handle the rest of her wings without me helping? Do the headwings next, then the hip wings.”

Tiali nodded, moving to start working near Vanaline’s head. The seraph, apparently well acquainted with the process, pulled her back-wings in slightly to allow Tiali to move more freely and to give Lorrent a better position to work on her back. He moved his fingers along the edge of her inner wings, brushing beneath the feathers to massage to place where they connected to her back. Tiali was amazed at how precise his movements felt, pressing and prodding for any slight discomforts and carefully easing away any tension that he found. The seraph’s body all but melted beneath his hands.

Trying not to be distracted by what Lorrent was doing, Tiali knelt beside Vanaline’s head, gently taking one of the small wings nestled in her hair. Vanaline stretched it for her, its full length only slightly longer than Tiali’s hand. Tiali brushed a few stray locks of hair away from the wing, but couldn’t help herself from letting her fingers linger as she did so. There was something incredibly beautiful in the way the dark hair matched the dark feathers, and the way it shined as it caught the light, so smooth and soft to the touch…

“I think she likes your hair, Lady Vanaline,” Lorrent said, then grinned at the look Tiali gave him. “And she’s embarrassed that I told you that.”

“She has good taste then,” Vanaline said. “You seem to be doing all of the talking, Lorrent. Has your silent conversation made her forget how to speak?”

“I think she’s afraid of you, actually.”

A dark-sounding minor chord slipped into Vanaline’s laughter. “Good taste and good sense, then.”

Tiali frowned, but Lorrent simply chuckled. Trying to put the cryptic statement out of mind, she focused on her work again as Lorrent went back to working on Vanaline’s back. When hefinished,he replaced the fabric strip between her wings moved to start massaging her feet and legs. Tiali sighed softly as she felt his fingers press into the arches of Vanaline’s feet, driving out all of the pain and discomfort, rubbing out every ounce of stress with firm, deliberate circles.

“Once you’ve finished the head wings, Tiali,” he subvoked without looking up from his work, “start on the hip wings. You’re doing wonderfully so far. And I’m glad to feel that you think I’m doing the same.”

Tiali nodded absently, trying to concentrate on her motions as she worked rather than the wonderful sensation of Lorrent rubbing Vanaline’s skin. His hands moved upward as she took the first of the hip wings, massaging ankles, then calves, then up further to Vanaline’s knees and thighs.

And then further.

Tiali had just gone to dip her fingers in the warm water bowl again when Lorrent’s hand slipped upward between Vanaline’s legs, both of them feeling their fingers dipping into warm wetness at the same time. Tiali nearly knocked the bowl over in shock, and her eyes snapped to Lorrent. He was watching her, a small smile on his face as he saw her reaction. Vanaline sighed in delight, spreading her legs slightly to let him work more comfortably.

“W-what are you…” Tiali’s silent words cut off suddenly as his finger traced a quick, unexpected circle against Vanaline’s skin, shooting ticklish waves of pleasure through the seraph.

“You’re working on wings, new girl,” he sent back. “Don’t let me distract you, now.”

“This is just supposed to be a massage…” Tiali subvoked, having trouble thinking through Lorrent’s actions.

“In what way is this not a massage?” Lorrent sent back, accenting the last word with a sudden pressure and smiling as Tiali flinched slightly.But while he formed the words clearly,she could feel the flush in his cheeks and see that his eyes had become wilder. There was something unrestrained in him, something she hadn’t noticed at first through her own nervousness and apprehension, but had been there, simmering from the start.

It matched Vanaline’s desire as well, and the light expectation that had been underlying the seraph’s emotions had now blossomed into a deep, almost desperate need. Vanaline squirmed slightly as Lorrent’s hands moved, and Tiali could feel him tuning in on her every reaction, every shiver and sigh. He knew what he was doing; there was a familiarity in his methods, an ease with which he navigated the waves of sensation that flowed from Vanaline with ever increasing strength. He had done this before, and he knew exactly how to move to draw forth the perfect reactions from her.

Tiali bit her lip, trying to concentrate on her task, trying to shut out the motion of those hands, the way Vanaline tensed and stretched in response, the echoing reverberation of feeling her own reactions to everything through Lorrent’s sense of the room. Lorrent teased the seraph, his hands bringing her close to the breaking point, then letting her rush fall away before it crested each time.

His gaze stayed locked on Tiali however, watching her reactions to his motions, a small sense of challenge weaving its way into him. Each time he pushed Vanaline closer, he dared Tiali to react, small sparks of satisfaction coming from him as she bit her tongue or pressed her nails into her palm to keep from making a noise. It was almost a game to him, seeing how long she would last.

He had his answer soon enough. She was so sure that he was going to finish it, to finally let the seraph go this time, and when he backed down and slowed, she couldn’t totally suppress the small whimper that rose in her throat. In tandem with Tiali, Vanaline moaned, and the sound of it gripped both of the empaths like a vice, that powerful melodic chord filling them both with the desire and desperation behind the notes. This time, Tiali let out a small cry, shocked at her first experience with the infamous sound of seraph song actually being directed towards her, and overwhelmed by the power behind it. The sound lasted only a moment, but even the echoing sensation of another empath in the room seemed to pale in comparison.

Vanaline was breathing heavily, but she managed to control her voice enough to speak. “Ah, it seems our new girl has finally found her tongue. And that gives me the most wonderful idea of how I should put it to use.”

Tiali felt her spike of panic bounce between her and Lorrent, feeling like it pricked her each time it came back. She took a small step away. “I… I can’t…”

“Nonsense,” Vanaline said, but her melodic line bled into itself slightly, the notes slurring. “As established, you are a fast learner, dear Tiali. A natural. And Lorrent is simply taking far too long…”

Lorrent smiled again, knowing the criticism to be false. Vanaline hadn’t been dissatisfied with him at all, but the opportunity to play with a new toy seemed too entertaining to pass up. He stepped back, rubbing his slick fingers against one another and making sure that Tiali could feel the motion.

He examined his fingers absently, rubbing them together again, then not breaking eye contact with her, he raised his hand to his mouth and ran his tongue along the length of his index finger. Tiali could taste it as he did, a conflicting mix of sensation as what was pleasant to him was discomforting to her.

“Of course, my Lady,” he said smoothly. “It would be her pleasure.” At Tiali’s frantic head shaking, he raised an eyebrow and added silently: “Do you know who Lady Lariaea is? She’s the city’s most accomplished siren, the most famous high class executioner and one of the most skilled. If you disappoint her… well, she would be well within her rights to turn her skills upon you…”

Tiali felt a sudden flood of fear, and Lorrent simply nodded as he sensed it. He smiled, lowering his arm to his side as he watched her. Inclining his head, he gestured to Vanaline again. “Mustn’t keep the Lady waiting.”

As Tiali stepped close however, heart pounding in nervousness, the seraph spoke again. “Oh, you didn’t think I was going to leave you without any direction, though, did you?”

Tiali blinked in confusion. Then the song hit her.

This was no simple moan, and Tiali felt its sound grab hold of her, twisting its power into her body and mind, pushing her to do exactly as Vanaline wished. She knelt quickly, pressing lips to the wet warmth between Vanaline’s legs. She closed her eyes, slipping her tongue between her lips, and trying not to moan as that taste hit her again, this time from her own tongue, rather than his.

Vanaline’s song pushed her onward, taking control of her completely, and she responded to the suggestions and prodding of every melody and chord. The seraph was not in the mood to be teased any longer and as Tiali moved against her, the song grew more rapid, more desperate. Finally, blessedly, the rush took over, and Tiali shuddered as she felt the wave of pleasure consume Vanaline. The seraph’s wings curled inward towards herself reflexively as the song melted into that powerful moan of release again. Tiali pulled back, feeling herself tremble as the sound and sensations washed over her, breathing in shuddering gasps.

Vanaline let the moan die off, her wings heaving slightly as she took deep, relaxed breaths. Tiali could feel the woman’s heart racing as her blood pounded through her head. “Ah,” Vanaline said, “I knew you would figure it out. Like I said, you’re a natural, dear.”

Lorrent chuckled and Tiali turned slowly to look at him. “You were helping her quite a bit, Lady Lariaea.” His cheeks were flushed as well from the experience, and Tiali could feel desire still boiling within him beneath the surface. Vanaline’s satisfaction had not placated him, but rather made him hunger for more.

Vanaline propped herself up on her elbows, letting the small running sheet on her back slide off her wings to crumple softly on the floor. “I will give credit where credit is due, and she did her job admirably. As did you, though I expect nothing less from you after all this time. Or was feeling her work second-hand not quite enough for you?”

Tiali felt somewhat numb after the songs and the physical reactions, and she sat back on her heels. Her head felt like it should be ringing after everything she’d just gone through. After a moment of stunned lethargy, however, she started to pick up the conversation still going on. There was subtext here, a meaning passing between the two experienced members of the room that Tiali couldn’t quite catch in her semi-addled state.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” she asked hollowly.

The two ignored her, Lorrent giving Vanaline a quirked smile. “I am the one making sure she knows what she’s doing here, my Lady,” he said smoothly. Then, finally he looked down at Tiali. The desire within him flared again. “Shouldn’t I check her work myself?”

Vanaline quirked an eyebrow, one of her headwings raising at the same time. “You are transparent as glass. But I will consider this your tip for the day. Yours... and hers. Do you feel she’d be receptive to the idea? How feels she about this?”

Lorrent’s gaze lingered on Tiali, as he focused on all of the things she was feeling. “After everything you’ve gone through, my Lady, her body reacts, but her mind resists.

Tiali realized what was happening, and quickly tried to push herself away from him. Hadn’t she been through enough already? “You can’t mean… you can’t do this…”

Vanaline was brimming with anticipation. “Well, perhaps I can do something about that. My last song took her body… I think this time, I’ll take her mind.” Vanaline gave Tiali an almost pitying smile, though there was a predatory gleam in her eye. “Just relax, dear, and enjoy the music, hmm?”

Tiali tried to get to her feet, tried to escape somehow, but all Vanaline had to do was open her mouth, and the song poured out. Tiali stopped, mid-motion, then slowly finished standing up. She closed her eyes, those beautiful sounds twisting themselves around her and feeling as though they were pushing through her skin, taking her over. Her thoughts and fears melted away, and in their place, a sudden inexplicable passion swelled.

Tiali could still feel Lorrent, even through the music’s control, and he wasn’t being affected by it at all. No, this song was only for her. His was a more natural desire, and it was only his own, a want that he’d been hiding since Tiali entered the room. He wanted her, and she could feel how much he was enjoying feeling her fall under Vanaline’s power. She knew what was happening, that the song was taking hold of her. She knew that she wasn’t herself anymore.

But it didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was him. She needed this, she needed him. She had never needed anything more. Those melodies seemed to wrap around her, dragging her towards him, as though gravity had suddenly changed to pull her in his direction alone. All she had to do was let herself fall.

And so she did. In an instant, she rushed across the room, grabbing him desperately and pressing her lips against his. He was surprised by her suddenness, but it quickly faded away into pleasure as he kissed her back. Her mouth moved frantically, unable to get enough of him. She reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair as she tried to pull herself even closer, as though simply touching wasn’t close enough for her. How could it possibly be enough to satisfy her? That song dug its claws into her mind and pushed her onward, telling her she needed more of him, always more.

He let her kiss him for a long while, his hands rubbing along her back and enjoying the feeling of her body pressed up so close against him. Eventually he pulled his mouth away from hers turning his head to look at Vanaline. Tiali made a slight noise of frustration and tried to pull his head back, but he kept her away easily enough, forcing her to settle for kissing his neck and jawline instead as he spoke.

“Mmm, my Lady,” he said through the midst of Tiali’s frantic kisses. “She is wonderful, but rather more aggressive than I would normally expect. She was so shy before, and now this?”

Vanaline laughed, her song cutting off as she did so. As soon as the sound stopped, Tiali snapped back to her own thoughts, freezing. Lorrent didn’t even look at her, but the arms wrapped around her suddenly tensed, his warm embrace becoming a tight hold as Tiali regained control.

“Are you not enjoying this?” Vanaline asked smoothly. There was a musical quality to her normal speech, multiple notes in every word, but not the continuous powerful sound of one of her actual songs. “Is it not more interesting this way? Does it not show the skill of an actress to play a part so very different from her own self?”

Tiali started struggling, trying to get away. “Let me go, please! Don’t do this!”

Lorrent ignored her, tipping his head in Vanaline’s direction. “And yet, she isn’t acting. You’re the one pulling the strings, my Lady. Perhaps one could say it shows the skill of the puppetmaster, instead.”

Vanaline smiled. “Perhaps one could. Speaking of which…” Tiali had only a moment to flinch as Vanaline made eye contact with her, then the song began again, and her will was swept away like a leaf torn from its branch in the winds of a hurricane.

Lorrent didn’t wait for her to make the first move again this time, starting to kiss her again immediately. His hands slid down her back, both of them feeling every movement from both sides, his fingers slipping beneath the ties on her skirt and pulling them loose, her skin feeling the warmth of his hands, every twitch and shiver seeming amplified as it resonated between their two senses of one another.

He picked her up suddenly, his hands wrapping around her upper thighs, then pulled her down to the floor, pinning her beneath him. She let out a small gasp as her head fell back against the cushions on the floor, arms sprawling, then grabbed hold of him again, clutching him tightly as her fingers dug into his back. He held himself above her, untying the wrap-like blouse she wore with one hand, pulling away the swaths of of it to lay her bare. His mouth moved from hers, tracing a trail of suckling kisses down her neck and chest as his hands occupied themselves with unwrapping her skirt.

As Lorrent worked on undressing her, Tiali was vaguely aware of Vanaline sitting up beside them, wrapping her wings around herself loosely as her only cover. Not that the seraph seemed to mind her lack of clothing. She watched them as she sang, unable to feel them as they could feel her, but focused on them nonetheless. Tiali could feel each time Vanaline shifted her song slightly, trying to bring out a new reaction, experiencing every note as both the singer and the victim.

This control of the situation, that was what Vanaline truly lusted after. The experience of completely taking Tiali over, even as she stayed at a distance, filled the seraph with an ecstatic thrill. She was an expert dominating her field, an artist in the midst of a masterpiece, entranced by her own skill. And this kind of power gave her more pleasure than Lorrent or Tiali had before.

Vanaline’s hand slid downward as she sang, and though the seraph kept herself covered with her wings, Tiali could feel as her fingers began to move between her legs in rhythm with her music. Unconsciously, Tiali pulled her hands free from Lorrent’s back, wanting to echo those sensations with those of her own body. He stopped her before she could reach to touch herself however, taking each of her wrists one at a time and pinning them to the floor beside her head.

“No,” he said, voice breathy and hoarse. “You don’t get to touch that. That’s mine.”

Taili gave a frustrated whimper, squirming slightly to try to pull her hands free. She was torn between trying to rub her legs together to get some kind of motion between them, and spreading them to encourage him to take advantage.

How could he hesitate? How could he hold himself back, just watching her, dragging this out with kisses when she needed more? He wanted this as badly as she did, she could feel it in every breath he took, every move he made. But he loved this, and he wasn’t ready to finish it yet. Feeling her wanting him so desperately, feeling Vanaline’s joy at controlling her, even enjoying the feeling of Tiali being so fully under the music’s power. The song pulled at her, demanding that she find that release.

“You feel conflicted, Tiali,” he murmured in between trailing kisses across her chest. “I’ve always found it’s best to be open…”

He pulled her wrists together above her head, holding them both with one hand. The other moved down, gently pushing her legs apart and starting to tease her, copying the patterns Vanaline was using on herself only a few feet away.

She moaned, stretching her legs wider for him, raising her hips to try to push his hand more forcefully against her. “Please… Please….”

He smiled, pulling his hand away and kissing her again. “If you insist,” he mumbled into her mouth, pulling on her lower lip with the last ‘t’. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

Tiali cried out as he finally lowered himself all the way, pushing his way into her with a powerful thrust. As he did so, she felt Vanaline dip one of her fingers inside herself as well, the song interrupted for the barest of seconds with her small gasp. She withdrew it just as quickly, then tipped her head back as she plunged in two.

Lorrent and Tiali fell into rhythm, and she bucked her hips in time with his every thrust, their combined sensations melting together until they seemed almost indistinguishable, their motions punctuated by Vanaline’s in an overlapping pattern. Tiali’s whimpers became moans, then cries. She and Lorrent were both losing themselves in the moment, that desperate need and pressure building upon itself, and through it all that song consumed her mind, driving her onward to the end.

She screamed as the pressure finally burst, dissolving into delicious, heady pleasure; Lorrent moaning above her as it surged through him as well. She wasn’t sure if they had simply been in sync, or if one of them set off the other, but the rush overtook them both together. Beside them, Vanaline succumbed as well, the sound of Tiali’s cries pushing her over the edge, and her whole body shuddered in release, toes and wings flexing in delight.

Tiali lay back against the cushions, riding the wave as Lorrent pushed himself as deeply within her as he could, savoring the moment as long as it would last. As they both began to come down from it, he seemed to almost collapse, laying heavily atop her as their chests rose in sync, both gasping for breath as their hearts raced.

Vanaline managed to keep ahold of her song this time, and she held it out until Lorrent finally pushed himself away from Tiali, rolling off of her. She finally let the sound ebb, and Tiali’s mind slowly returned to her through the storm of endorphins and sensations. She lay back, eyes drifting open, trying to reconcile what had just happened to her. She should feel outraged, or ashamed, shouldn’t she? But all she could think of was that beautiful sound, and the power of what she’d just felt, the pleasure of what she’d just felt.

“It appears you’ve enjoyed yourself,” Vanaline said, her voice slightly breathier than it had been before. “A worthwhile tip for your services?”

Lorrent laughed once, his expression becoming a sloppy grin. “As always, Lady Lariaea.”

“And you, dear little newcomer?” Vanaline asked. “Were you satisfied as well?”

Tiali lay limply, staring up at the ceiling. She tried to think through everything, but while her thoughts wanted to race, she couldn’t seem to force them to organize into anything fathomable. Which was why she was surprised to hear her own voice answer: “Yes.”

Vanaline straightened in pride, lifting her chin with a haughty sort of satisfaction. “Of course you did. You were an excellent canvas upon which to work, and I am very good at what I do.”

“Yes,” Tiali said with a small shiver. “Yes you are.”

Lorrent propped himself up on one arm, tossing Tiali’s clothes towards her. “You had best tie your clothes back on, new girl. We should withdraw to give Lady Lariaea some privacy to dress.”

Vanaline laughed. “Yes, of course. We wouldn’t want anything indecent to happen.”

Tiali hurriedly started to wrap the fabric around herself again, cursing the strange, unfamiliar Syiarian clothing. It had seemed to make sense when she’d had help earlier, but now it all seemed a mess of ties and loops. She managed to arrange it in a rough approximation of the way it had been before, trying not to feel embarrassed.

As she knotted the last tie on her skirt, she looked up to see Lorrent standing over her, extending a hand to help her up. She took it carefully, letting him pull her to her feet. She hoped her face wasn’t nearly as flushed as his, though she knew it probably was.

He kept hold of her hand, ushering her to the door. As he opened it however, he leaned in close, whispering, “Welcome to Syiari, Tiali.”

She gave him a quick, nervous look, not entirely sure what to say. Apparently her expression was enough.

He laughed slightly. “You’ll do well here. All you have to do is relax and enjoy the music. Let the song do all the work. I hope we’ll be working together again someday soon.” With that, he gave her a small, polite bow and kissed her hand, then walked away.

The door shut behind them, and inside, Tiali could barely feel Vanaline starting to get dressed, just at the edge of her senses. She watched him go, trying to understand what had just happened, how she felt about it, and what exactly she had gotten herself into in coming here.

A small, scared part of her whispered that she might never figure that out.

[sipeudepeine]

A Taste of Len

Len gripped the handholds of Rynd’s saddle far tighter than she needed to as the griffon ran across the landscape, heading toward the mansion. The cold wind whipping at her face seemed a feeble counterpart to the heat of the anger that burned inside her. She attacked my team, on my land! I’m going to kill her. Painfully. I swear if she’s laid a finger on either of them…

Tiora’s distress call had contained only a panicked few words: Attack on the mansion. Help us, it’s her! The empath had sent the message almost an hour ago, nearly as soon as Len, Corin, and Rynd had arrived in the city, too far away to help. Not that that would stop Len from trying. She’d ordered Corin to stay and find their contact, then she and Rynd had headed back, racing to make it in time to help.

This was no happenstance attack either, of that Len was sure. She was a hunter of some renown now, and she’d made enemies among the underworld for her skill. There was only one ‘her’ that Tiora would mention like that: the creature that Len had been chasing for months, trying to find a trail.

The monster who called herself “The Seraph Siren,” Vanaline Lariaea.

Rynd reached the cliff that overlooked the mansion and leapt, large wings flaring open as she glided out across the distance to land in the yard right before the doors. Rynd couldn’t fly outright with a passenger on her back, though short stretches of gliding were feasible if she had a vantage from which to jump.

As soon as the griffon landed and stopped, Len undid the straps on her legs holding her into the unconventional saddle. She jumped off, unhooking her sword and scabbard from their straps next. Once her rider was off her back, Rynd shifted to a much smaller form, like a winged house cat, and slipped out from underneath the now too-large saddle. She moved to follow, but Len turned, stopping her.

“No,” Len said, finishing clasping her sword belt. “You stay out here. If anything happens to me, you return to Corin so he knows what happened.” Rynd started to make a growl of protest, but Len cut her off. “That’s an order, Rynd.”

The little griffon made a small, unhappy groan, but sat down and folded her wings to her sides, settling in to wait. With a nod, Len turned toward the house, thoughts darkening as she focused once more on the task at hand.

The front door was ajar; a worrisome sign already. As Len slipped quietly through the halls of the house that had once been her master’s, she scanned every shadow and surface for a hint of what might have happened. Trusting her instincts, she headed for the ruined wing of the mansion, working on the feeling that said that Kasten would run to that side first if the house was attacked.

Her guess proved correct, and among the stone dust, dirt, and leaves that littered the floor of the ruins, she found footprints. The marks were distinct: long strides and none that were marked with a heel; the person who’d left these had been sprinting at top speed. Len followed the trail as quickly as she dared while staying quiet, coming to a stop outside one of the doors as she heard something.

Music. A hauntingly beautiful melody drifted through the doorway beside her, and she froze, immediately placing her back to the wall. She recognized the room beyond: the old ballroom, though since the roof had caved in, it had sat as neglected and unused as the rest of this part of the house.

Len felt her rage swell again as she listened; the sound was a confirmation of what she’d already suspected. The attacker was Vanaline, the predator who sang as she killed. Len gripped her sword’s hilt, then took a deep breath, and leaned around the edge of the doorframe.

The sight that greeted her chilled her to the bone.

Directly across from her doorway was a raised balcony set into the wall, though the stairs up to it had long since collapsed. Despite the platform’s inaccessibility, however, it was occupied. A tall, breathtakingly beautiful woman with long, dark hair stood near the edge; the feathery, black wings extending from her back revealing how she had reached her perch. Another confirmation. Of the small group of vampires graced with flight, almost all had leathery, bat-like wings. Len knew from her time tracking and searching that Vanaline considered her feathered wings to be a mark of distinction, and a source of great pride.

Those wings were curled forward, wrapping around the young man held in Vanaline’s arms. His skin looked dreadfully pale, and though there were cuts on his face and arms that were fresh, they didn’t seem to be bleeding much. His entire form was limp in the vampire’s embrace, his half-lidded eyes staring distantly as Vanaline kept her face pressed against his neck.

Kasten.

The vampire continued her eerie song as she drank from her victim, the sound of it strangely resonant despite the fact that she was humming it, rather than truly singing. Her eyes were closed and the expression on her face could only be described as satisfied bliss.

Tiora’s smaller form lay sprawled and unmoving on the ground at her feet. Len felt a surge of panic, not able to tell if the empath was dead or simply unconscious. She prayed desperately to gods she’d long since turned her back on that it was the latter.

At the sight of Kasten in that creature’s grasp and Tiora helpless, all thoughts of strategy or sneaking disappeared. She needed to do something now. Len stepped into the open ballroom, drawing her sword from her sheath as she moved forward.

With Vanaline’s eyes closed, it was Kasten who noticed her first. His nearly unconscious eyelids fluttered as he caught sight of her and he let out a pained, weak moan. “Len, no… run…”

Vanaline paused, her eyes flicking open and fixing on Len down on the ballroom floor below. With a casual slowness, she lifted her head from Kasten’s neck, running her tongue along the wound once to clean it before speaking.

“Ah, the hunter,” Vanaline said, smiling as she lowered her victim slightly. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to call on people while they’re dining?”

Len stopped in the middle of the ballroom, glaring upward as she raised her sword. “Let him go, creature. I’m the one you want, not him.”

“And yet, he means something to you. That is reason enough for me, I think. You have caused me no end of inconvenience with your pursuit of me, Huntress Len. I’ll consider his life my recompense.” The vampire looked down at Kasten, slipping a hand under his chin and lifting his face. He struggled faintly against the motion, but his attempts were feeble after the amount of blood loss he’d suffered. “Besides, he is so wonderfully sweet. It would be a shame to let even a drop go to waste.”

Vanaline started to lean down toward him again, but stopped as Len stepped forward defensively. “Stop!” Len shouted. “Leave him be!”

The vampire smiled at her ability to provoke a reaction with such a small motion. “Well, perhaps you would prefer I took a taste of your other companion instead?” She pushed Tiora’s body lightly with her foot, rolling the empath over so that she was face up.

Despite the threatening words, Len felt a surge of relief. “She’s alive?”

“For now,” Vanaline said. “I’ve been saving her for later. She did such an admirable job of calling you here, I decided to reward her with a small lullaby. It didn’t take much encouraging to put her to sleep; she seems a rather sensitive sort, doesn’t she? I wonder what such an interesting person would taste like…”

Len hissed protectively. “Don’t even think about it! If you so much as touch her, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Vanaline asked smugly. Her blood-red lips pulled back in a smile, revealing strangely smooth white teeth, not the pointed fangs Len had expected to see. “I don’t see any ranged weapons and you have no way to get up here, my dear. Unless you feel like tossing that lovely sword of yours up at me, I don’t see anything stopping me from enjoying both of them and forcing you to watch before I deal with you. In fact, that sounds like a perfect plan…”

A panicked horror filled Len as Vanaline leaned down again, lifting Kasten slightly. Quickly, before she could second guess herself, Len laid the blade of her sword across her opposite hand, then pulled it across her skin with a wince, leaving a long but shallow slice. The blood that began to well up in her palm had a silvery sheen mixed in with its dark redness.

“Stop!” Len said, holding the hand out before her for the vampire to see. “A trade. I’m the one you want, not them. Leave them be, and in exchange… you can have me.”

Vanaline looked confused for a moment, then her eyes went wide as she picked up the blood’s scent. She breathed in sharply, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring it. “No wonder you have proved such a menace to my kind…” she breathed. “You have shaile in your blood, don’t you, Huntress? Oh, and in such quantity…”

“Yes, I do,” Len said firmly, forcing herself not to back down. “And you can have it, but they live.”

Vanaline considered for a moment, but she stared at Len’s bleeding hand with desire. “Deal. Toss your sword away.” Vanaline pulled her wings back, uncurling them from around Kasten. The vampire dropped him and he collapsed in a heap beside Tiora.

He struggled to crawl to the edge of the broken balcony, lifting his head weakly. “Len… don’t…”

Vanaline stepped over him, ignoring his protests. She spreading her dark wings as Len’s sword clattered to the floor, tossed off to the side. With a dangerous grace, she stepped out into the air, gliding across the space faster than Len would have expected and seizing Len’s wrist. Len flinched backward instinctively, but the vampire’s grip was like a vice and she pulled the wounded hand up to her mouth.

Gently, Vanaline ran her tongue beneath the cut, lightly tasting the blood that had already flowed from it. She sighed softly in pleasure, then pressed her lips around the wound and drew more with a powerful pull. Len cried out at the sudden painful sting, trying to jerk away, but Vanaline held her tightly.

“Did that hurt you?” Vanaline murmured, lowering Len’s wrist slightly. “Perhaps a kiss would be more pleasant?”

Before Len could respond, the vampire stepped forward, encircling Len in those dark wings as deceptively strong arms wrapped behind her back and head. She could feel the feathers brushing softly against her skin as Vanaline leaned down and kissed her. Vanaline pulled at Len’s bottom lip, then suddenly ran her teeth against it, slicing the skin. Not fangs, sharp like the point of a knife, Len realized. But smooth and sharp like the blade… Vanaline’s tongue lapped at the blood that welled up, pushing against the wound to coax more forth.

As she drank, Vanaline started to sing. It was a soft sound at first, but grew quickly. It seemed to fill Len’s entire being, the sound of it so pleasant and beautiful Len couldn’t help but feel herself relax. The pain seemed to melt away and the hunter found herself drifting, her terror and fear evaporating into contented bliss.

She barely noticed as Vanaline moved from her lips to her throat, her eyes slowly falling closed. The melody seemed to encourage her to tip her head backwards, and she complied with its demands, proffering her neck. The small sting of the bite seeming like a distant, unimportant trifle. A part of her realized that she was dying, but within the hypnotic hold of the song, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to care. Slowly the world started to seem farther and farther away and she let herself fade.

Then, unexpectedly, she came back and the world returned. Vanaline pulled back, letting the song ebb away into silence. Len blinked, feeling disoriented as the ballroom faded into focus once more, and the pain of her wounds flared back to life. Vanaline stepped backward, letting go of her, and Len fell to her knees, feeling terribly weak.

Wearily, Len pressed her uninjured hand to her neck, looking up as she tried to staunch the flow. “Why… why am I still alive…? Why didn’t you kill me?”

For a moment, Vanaline seemed like she would take her up again at the question and finish the job. The vampire grimaced, visibly holding herself back and drawing her wings in close to herself. “As… absolutely tempting as that sounds…” Vanaline said, somewhat stiffly. She paused, regaining a bit of her control. “It would be unwise of me to kill you after only one taste.”

Len shuddered at the words, pulling her eyes away. “So… you plan to keep me, then? Am I to serve as some kind of… blood slave?”

Vanaline raised an eyebrow, her earlier composure returning as she smiled. “Actually, I was thinking exactly the opposite.”

Len looked up sharply with a frown, just in time to see Vanaline sweep one of her wings forward as she bowed respectfully.

“Allow me to present an amendment to our deal,” Vanaline said. “I offer you my skills, Huntress Len, and I will swear to serve you as one of your companions. I can help you track down others of my kind, if you so desire, and you’ve experienced my other gifts firsthand. Even with your shaile blood helping you resist, you can see how powerful my talent is. In return, I ask only that you allow me to drink of your enemies… and occasionally a taste of yourself. Your other companions would be completely untouched, of course. They could hold no temptation for me when placed alongside yourself.”

Len groaned, shaking her head as she tried to think. “Why should I trust you?”

Vanaline smiled, revealing her teeth unmarred by even the slightest hint of red. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have already. Of course, if you’re not interested in this arrangement, I suppose I could kill you now and then return to my work with your friends on the balcony.”

Above them, Kasten managed to prop himself up with one arm, leaning over the balcony’s edge. “Don’t do it, Len,” he said desperately. “It’s a trick… She’s a monster…”

Len ignored him, staring at Vanaline’s glittering, unreadable eyes. It could very easily be a trap, but she couldn’t see any other way out. The woman was right; Len didn’t really have a choice. And with a power like that as hers to command…

“Okay. It’s a deal.”