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Clip clops heralded the arrival of the carriage.
A massive clydesdale drew it along and it was driven by a hunched man whose features were enshrouded by a hooded cloak. The cart was compact, inky, and illuminated only by a pair of swinging lamps that had been filled with light-bugs from the previous dawn. Silver lines of enchanted runes outlined the bottom rim while the wheel’s spokes showed the iron lines of precious metals had been included during their forging.
Zaphora stood calmly as she waited for the carriage to halt. Her gloved hands lay clasped atop the dull bevel of her waist as a iron colored, tightly fitted, dress hugged her frame. The garb exposed her slender shoulders, delicate neck, and gentle curve of her back before it pleasantly defined her hips. A keyhole in the front revealed the layout of her navel up to the barest beginnings of her under-breast. Simple heels had been slipped about her feet and they easily held up against the soft moss of the ground she stood upon.
Little of her form was left to the imagination; save for her face. A shiny mask made of treated wood and polished with various oils made the stained material appear as black as her own hair. Tasteful strings looped within her locks to hold the item on her features. Only one eye, the side of her graceful nose, and half of her charcoal lipsticked mouth could be distinguished from the petrified state of it’s masked twin beside it.
Meanwhile, the clydesdale gave a misted snort in the dark forest air. The beast recognized the girl and was quick to turn to see if she had any treats to give it like last time. A morsel of a carrot was produced from her small bag and it was soon happily munching on it in a content way. The driver of the carriage leaned towards her from his perch. Nothing of his form, or features, could ever be distinguished. One hand held the reins while the other jutted northward in a questioning way.
Zaphora nodded. A few steps later and the carriage doors opened of its own accord. Mechanical steps made rickety sounds while they extended to the ground to allow her to enter the unoccupied seats within. The moment she was settled it cued the steps to retract, the door to close, and the interior of her velvet surroundings to only be illuminated by the bare moonlight.
The cracking of a whip, another snort of the clydesdale, and she was off to enjoy the evening’s party.
For three years Korst had toiled to get finally get an invitation.
He fought the urge to pace nervously in front of the massively grown, hollowed, and refurbished tree that had been halfway felled centuries ago. It had held an entire civilization within it at some point indicated by the many ruins and statues that had been discovered some time later. Now? It was a place that the powers Korst worked for had taken for their own, and made into an artistic venue.
It was the suggestion of his father that he take up a more lucrative profession, after his time as a scribe had been met with a head injury that prevented him from some fine motor skills. Who he now worked for, the Organization, rewarded those willing to delve into the territory of murder, espionage, and high theft with handsomely created exhibits such as this.
The only problem? An internal power struggle within the Organization had left his love-partner with a bad case of death, and he was soon missing his chance at his just reward; unless he could find someone to loop his arm with in order to enter. The exhibit was designed to be enjoyed by couples and the masks were always mandatory to maintain anonymity; though those who had survived within the Organization long enough could recognize others after a while. Regardless, Korst was new, and he was becoming more uneasy as the moon started to reach the point where the door guard would cast a sealing enchantment around the entrance. No one else could enter after that point, though those already within could leave freely at any time.
His threads were sharp and had been purchased after his last heist of precious jewelry had been overwhelmingly successful. Deeply greened tones made up his vest which sat over a long sleeved silken black shirt. His pants were of complimentary design, with a green pinstripe down the sides, and his boots glistened with freshly oiled sleekness. His mask covered only the upper half of his face, typical of the male members, to clasp just below his cheekbones on either side. Dusty blonde hair needed to be tucked or tended constantly in order to not drift too far into his eye line from where he looked out into the world behind his anonymous helm.
As the last carriage of the night trotted away he could barely register the sounds of soft feet behind him. He had lost his opportunity to enjoy this venue. He would eryaman escort have to wait another few months before–
“Korst. Everything all right?”
A tender arm wrapped about the small of his back as the scent of lavender reached him. Startled, he twitched and looked to see who had attached himself to him in such a friendly way.
“Zaphora.” He said with as much neutrality as he could after being so easily identified. “So much for anonymity.”
“You’re out here standing around like a frightened child. What, did your love-mate have a headache this evening?” Her words were laced with sarcastic humor that made Korst’s stomach bubble from within.
“Yes a permanent one. Seems people don’t last too long in the land of the living when they get shot through the eye.” Korst put on a good show of respect; but he suspected that Zaphora herself had been the one to commit the coup de grâce that ultimately ended his partner’s life.
“Such a shame. Come along, then.” Her words dismissed whatever else they might discuss as she urged him forward with a press to his back. It was an unspoken gesture that she was willing to be considered his new love-mate from that point on.
Suddenly, Korst didn’t really fancy the thought of taking a new partner. Not her, at least; especially if she had been a part of the power coup that put him in this situation in the first place. Still, there was a game that you needed to play once joining the Organization. What better place than here? What better time to start then now? It wasn’t a coincidence that she had showed up alone. Was he being played? Or was she offering the opportunity to move up in status with her newfound position? Unease dribbled from his words though he didn’t allow it to make his voice appear none genuine. “All right.”
Zaphora was shorter than him, though not by much. She rose to the balls of her feet and dragged the exposed side of her chin against his neck to whisper softly to him. “Green is my favorite color, Korst. It looks so good when it’s thrown upon my floor and I get to see what’s underneath.” She dipped back down, hummed softly, and urged him ever onward.
She wished Korst would fucking lighten up.
What was a few murders here or there to him, anyways? Her status within the Organization had been growing stagnant and it was time for the power base to shift. It just so happened that his previous love-mate was siphoning funds away. It was only a matter of time before she’d wind up dead.
The door guard was heavily armed with a short sword and pistol around his hips. Various enchanted grenades were laced in a bandolier up his bare chest and his head was protected by a feature-distorting spell to prevent identification. Seeing two of his own let him give a sweeping hand into the trunk for them to pass through the magical barrier.
“Oh…they’ve outdone themselves…” She whispered while she clenched upon Korst’s arm a bit more tightly. They were love-mates now, and she held upon him as if they had known each other for years.
A stringed band played an eerily comforting melody in one corner as the main space had been completely cleared. The central art-piece was a live representation of life, death, pain, pleasure, and shades of sexual expression. Handsomely paid actors, of both sexes, were displayed in various torture states or pleasurable intercourse. All of the act was occurring on a slowly spinning dais to give onlookers the chance to see everything in its grisled beauty.
Zaphora sensed Korst’s mixture of slight revulsion and morbid curiosity. “You don’t like it?”
“It is unexpected.”
Frowning, she led him around to some of the other galleries to try and draw him away from the occurrences on stage. The other rooms were all enchanted to broadcast the band’s music in a slightly distorted way to better match the content that the hallways held. Korst simply followed along and she could still sense that he was finally beginning to understand why these exhibits were so heavily guarded and coveted.
Captured souls in the first room displayed the emotions and expressions of bodily death in a perpetual loop. Pictures played upon the glass case where the wispy ball was forever locked in a life-death state to show onlookers how the person had lived and ultimately perished.
The other room held artifacts of immense power that had been scavenged from the last few major wars. Ballistics, both magical and physical, were laid out with details as to how they worked and when they were used. Recordings of the workers that created, or were killed by, these weapons would be whispered into the heads of onlookers while they made a pass around the room.
Zaphora needed only a few seconds at each piece to escort eryaman internalize what it meant to her before moving on. Korst seemed to need more time to digest what he was looking at, though she suspected that he didn’t wish to return to the central room and so was milking his time.
A series of three chimes sounded.
“Come, my love.” That title could now be used; they had agreed to go walk together this evening and thus they had pledged themselves to be love-mates henceforth. Only until death did they now part. “The final act is about to begin!”
Nude waitresses approached each couple that stood around the central artwork. They gifted each member of the Organization with a glass of bloody red wine and a half opened pouch of green herbs. She felt Korst shift in a questioning way.
“Is this what I think it is?” His voice was low so as to not disturb the relative silence that had settled in the absence of a band playing. Only the soft pattering of the waitress’ bare feet could be heard above the occasional other murmur of the couples standing nearby.
Zaphora nodded. “Dreamweed. I thought it went extinct. Seems we have some friends in high places, my love.” Her grin broke partly out of the corner of her mask as she looked to discern his expression. He seemed contemplative. “Have…you taken it before?”
“No.” He fingered his pouch. “And it’s been laced.” The man was sharp, noting that the light glistened on some crystals that were clearly artificial within the crushed leaves.
“We’ll just have to see what it does.” Zaphora’s enthusiasm showed through with how she sprinkled her own pouch within her wine and drank merrily until the glass was completely emptied. Dreamweed was a powerful hallucinogen that allowed the user to eventually fall into a waking sleep; giving them the ability to interact with their surroundings as though in a sleepwalking state. It was normally used for those who had become paralyzed, or for amputees to gain a sense of wholeness once more. But, there was no way to tell whatever drug had also been included.
She noted that Korst was far slower with how he drank, though he was sure to place all of the crushed substance in as well.
To anyone who hadn’t ingested the drug it would have looked as though a massive sleeping spell had overtaken the couples. The waitresses moved diligently to each patron and ensured none had collapsed in an odd way that would constrict their breathing or that they hadn’t been injured when falling to their sides. Once completed, they settled protective charms over the room, allowing the couples to each have their own dreamscape in which to play in.
He had only been staring back at the central dais for a few minutes before he could feel the effects. His vision wavered and his hearing dulled. There was a sensation of falling, though it was as if he were sinking in molasses instead of crumpling back on his knees. Zaphora was with him, holding on to his chest as she too fell to the floor and laid atop him. Blinking, he found himself looking up at a star filled sky against the blue-black of the universe beyond.
A short tug revealed his lower body to the strangely misted air of a quiet forest around him. Groaning, he realized that his manhood was being taken in Zaphora’s mouth and that she had lifted her mask to allow his hardening cock full penetration of her lips. She was bobbing rapidly while one hand fondled his ample sack to give him the rolling sensation of churning waves.
“Wh..wh..?” He tried to get a word out but a shushing moan came from Zaphora’s mouth that quickly quieted him. A burning itch was settling in the pit of his abdomen, something he had never felt before and he realized that there had been powerful aphrodisiacs in the drug he had taken. A dream this may be, but his body still reacted to the ministrations of his love-mate.
His entire shaft was glistening and dripping with Zaphora’s ever-wetting mouth. Korst sensed that she was feeling her own effects of the aphrodisiac and her smaller body had been driven into immediately preparing him for rut. Lines of drool were cascading down his length and resting at the bottom of his sack before falling off into the peat below.
Soon, one of her hands moved off him in order to hike up her dress to show her own naked sex. Her nethers were darkly trimmed, almost black, and showed the lines of extreme arousal as she circled around her budding clit. Her hand moved fast but he knew those self-servicing motions weren’t cutting it from the way she was giving him a yearning moan. The drug finally took full effect on his male brain and he felt suddenly electrified. Drooling, he sat up and shoved the girl to her back to kick off the rest of his trousers in eryaman escort bayan a hurried groan. Zaphora tugged her mask fully off her face to show her features in full. Both of her delicate hands shot to his rigid cock to pump furiously at it as she guided him down.
Though he hadn’t entered her yet, Korst could feel the misting spray of girlish cum being pushed out of her and he finally understood that she was fighting tiny orgasms this entire time just from the drug’s effects alone.
“Inside. Inside..!” She gasped at him and tugged furiously upon his shaft once more. One of her shoes had been kicked off and her feet were planted down to make herself buck upwards; back arching elegantly as another small spray of girl-cum was released.
He obeyed, puncturing her slit with a resolute shove after she raised her hips once more. Her dewy confines quivered and settled around him in a clenching glove of furrowed muscles. Moaning, he hugged her tightly around her upper arms and forced her back into the ground to begin immediately rutting. There was a vague awareness of her hands clawing at the sides of his flank in a yearning fashion, and the sound of her voice in his ear. It was all dulled and made trivial when compared to his dream self’s desire to reach orgasm.
On and on he thrusted. Sweat glistened to make what clothes remained on him stick to his lean frame while he pinned the smaller woman underneath him. Her landing stip of pubic hair pillowed some of his resolute shoves, as did his hands in her dark mane to offset the pushing and pulling her body was receiving. Her squirting orgasms were coming quicker as her clenching sex was pushing out a mixture of white lube and clear fluids. Eventually, his forehead dropped to the soft grass beside her head as he honed himself with greater intensity.
She was saying something, urging him on, loving the feeling of his stronger body wrapping around her in such a protective way as their surroundings wavered; displaying that this was a personal bubble for them to enjoy oneself.
Finally, his body began to clench and pushed him from that plateau to spark the beginnings of his final thrusts. The drugs had made him partially mad, unable to be in control of his faculties, and had given him the strength to rut continuously for the past several minutes. Panting, he came up on his hands to shove himself roughly into her before finally feeling his nuts clench and his long flex beginning.
His orgasm seemed endless. His dream self pumped out an extreme load of his sack’s contents inside her petite frame. All along his shaft he felt her milking muscles draw as much from him as she could while her own orgasm was finally triggered. Halting gasps and gulps of air soon filled the space between him as he collapsed atop her in a spent state.
Zaphora played with his hair for a long while as he rested atop her. The drugs were potent, no doubt, and she wasn’t entirely sure how long the two of them would stay in this miniature bubble of pleasure. She was sure their bodies were safely protected, no doubt they were laying on the ground still, but there was always that odd fear as to what happened to her dream-self if her body were to have been moved or made to perish.
Despite it being a dream, they both still felt the physical exhaustion of what their actions caused. The poor man atop her hadn’t moved for a while and she could still feel his heartbeat pounding away while he hugged her under her shoulders. As unladylike as her initial actions had been, she had never felt that potent of a desire to fuck before in her life. She was still cumming around him at odd intervals as her strained muscles were trying to dutifully contract still; though they had finally started to still themselves more often than they tried to create motion.
“Korst?” She finally asked as she tilted her head up to nuzzle his dirty blonde locks.
“Yes, my love?” He had finally addressed her by the proper love-mate title; one of his hands moved to slip over her breast from underneath her dress. “What’s wrong..?”
“When…we go back…will we do this again?” It was a necessary question. Love-mates didn’t technically need to show their physical affection, despite the name, in order to have the label and status.
“I think–” His words were cut short as three booming chimes played within their bubble. Their surroundings flickered, distorted, and began to crash inwards on the two souls. Zaphora tried desperately to read his lips in the soundless void that was luring them back to the land of the wakened.
A short gasp sparked her conscious mind to begin working once more as she found herself staring face up at the broken tree’s interior. Scrambling, she searched desperately with her hand next to her until she found Korst’s arm to help pull herself over. He was staring at her, moving to interlock his fingers with her own.
“Come on.” He moved to lift them both on shaky legs to begin slowly trekking with the other couples out of the exit. “I have this dream I want to share with you…”
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