Chapter 68 - Sixty-Eight: Vesper II

Chapter 68: Chapter Sixty-Eight: Vesper II

The hot water beat down on my shoulders, washing away the physical evidence of the warehouse. The soap, some expensive, sandalwood-scented bullshit, couldn’t scrub off the mental image. Vesper’s face, splattered with my cum, caught between world-ending rage and a fucked-up kind of turned-on. That shit was gonna live in my head rent-free for a while.

I toweled off in the tiny servant’s washroom. It was clean, sterile, depressing. A far cry from the decadent bathroom I’d imagined her having. Guess even the daughter of a rich lord had to slum it sometimes.

The corridor outside was quiet, lit by soft, ambient sconces. I had zero idea where I was supposed to go. Back to the couch? Sleep on a fucking rug? I was just starting to contemplate whether a rich person’s hallway carpet would be comfortable when a door further down the hall cracked open.

A sliver of purple and light brown spilled out. Then a hand. A delicate, perfectly manicured hand that curled its fingers in a ’come here’ gesture that was less an invitation and more a command.

Vesper.

She’d changed. Out of the cum-stained trousers and into a silk robe the color of deep wine. It was tied loosely at her waist, and from the shadowed V it made, it was pretty fucking clear she had nothing on underneath. Her dark hair was damp at the ends, curling slightly. Her face was scrubbed clean, but a high, faint color still lingered on her cheekbones.

She didn’t say a word. Just held the door open, her heterochromatic eyes fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical shove.

I walked toward her. What else was I gonna do?

As soon as I crossed the threshold, she closed the door behind me with a soft, final click. The room was her bedroom. It wasn’t huge, but it screamed old money. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, all dark wood and heavy velvet drapes. The air smelled like jasmine and cold steel scent, mixed now with steam and a faint, lingering hint of my own come from her skin. She’d washed, but not well enough, apparently.

She turned to face me, leaning back against the door. The robe gaped open, giving me a generous view of the smooth slope of her tits, the tight pink peaks of her nipples. She saw me looking. A smirk, cold and vicious, touched her lips.

"You made a mess of me," she said, her voice a low, husky thing. No more shrieking. This was worse. "A disgusting, disrespectful mess."

"You kinda asked for it," I said, my own voice rough. "The whole ’you only get my ass’ speech was a choice."

Her smirk widened. "And yet here you are. Hard again already, you filthy animal? Just the memory of degrading me gets you off?"

I glanced down. Yeah. I was. Fucking traitorous body.

"Seems like it."

She pushed off the door and took two steps toward me, the silk whispering against her skin. "On your knees."

I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, commoner." Her eyes flashed. "You painted my face with your filth. You don’t get to stand in my presence until you’ve shown proper... contrition. On. Your. Knees."

It was a power play. A stupid, transparent, aristocratic power play. But the way she was looking at me, the promise of violence and something else in her eyes, made my blood heat. I went down slowly, my knees hitting the plush carpet. Now I was eye-level with the knot of her silk robe, with the shadowed heat between her legs.

She looked down at me, a cruel queen surveying a supplicant. "Good."

Then, with a grace that was almost unnerving, she untied the robe. It slithered off her shoulders and pooled on the floor around her feet. She was utterly naked. Every perfect, pale, infuriating inch of her. The memory of the cum was gone, but my eyes traced the paths it had taken anyway.

"Open your mouth," she commanded.

I did.

She didn’t touch me. Instead, she lifted one foot, placing her bare heel against my sternum, and pushed. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just enough to make me lean back, my mouth falling open wider. She kept her foot there, a degrading, dominant pressure, as she guided my head forward with her hands in my hair.

Her pussy hovered inches from my face. The scent of her, musky and sweet and entirely female, hit me like a truck. She was already wet. Glittering. Her folds were a delicate pink, swollen, and her clit was a hard, needy little bead.

"Lick," she ordered, her voice trembling slightly. "Clean up the mess you made me make. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Being a service animal."

The humiliation was a live wire in my gut. It coiled tight, then sparked straight to my dick. I leaned forward and dragged my tongue through her slick folds in one long, flat stroke.

She gasped. A sharp, startled sound. Her heel dug into my chest.

I did it again, slower this time, circling her entrance before flicking my tongue up to tease her clit.

"Oh--fuck," she hissed, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Don’t you dare be good at this, you bastard..."

But I was. And I knew I was. I ate her out like I was starving, like her pussy was the last meal on earth. I lapped at her, sucked her clit into my mouth, probed her entrance with the tip of my tongue. I used every trick I knew, every sensitive spot I could find, turning my supposed punishment into her unraveling.

Her composure shattered. The cold, haughty bitch melted away, replaced by a writhing, moaning mess. Her legs shook. Her heel slipped from my chest, and she braced her hands on my shoulders instead, her nails digging in.

"Yes—right there, you fucking—oh my god—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—" Her words dissolved into a series of broken, slutty moans. "Ah! Ah! Nnngh! Yes! Just like that! Lick it! Lick your mistress’s cunt!"

She was talking pure filth now, her aristocratic accent making the crude words sound even dirtier. She ground herself against my face, riding my tongue with abandon, her juices smearing across my chin, my nose.

"I’m—I’m gonna—" she choked out.

I doubled down, sucking her clit hard, thrusting two fingers inside her tight, clenching heat.

She came with a shattered cry, her whole body bowing. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around my fingers, gushing wetness. She trembled violently, her moans turning into helpless, keening whimpers as I gently licked her through the aftershocks.

[+10 SP]

When she finally stilled, she was panting, slumped over my head. She slowly pushed herself upright, her face flushed, her eyes dazed and dark with pleasure. She looked down at me, at my face glistening with her arousal.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. She looked... pleased. Vindicated. And hungry for more.

"Not bad," she purred, her voice wrecked. She trailed a finger through the wetness on my chin, then brought it to her own mouth, sucking it clean with a lewd pop. "For a commoner. Now... I believe you have work to do~"

◇◇◇

Vesper led me out of the servant’s wing, deeper into the labyrinthine underbelly of the mansion. The air grew cooler, smelling of straw, animal musk, and something... wilder.

We reached a series of heavy, barred doors. Vesper unlocked the first with a heavy iron key. It swung open into a vast, dimly-lit chamber that wasn’t a cage so much as a modified habitat. And in it, lounging on a pile of hay and silks...

"Lamia," Vesper said, her voice devoid of any academic interest. She pointed. "From the waist up, think buxom barmaid with scales. From the waist down, think twenty feet of constricting, muscular snake tail. The tail is prehensile. She can wrap you up, squeeze you, and fuck you with the tip if she’s feeling creative. The human-half mouth works fine, but she also has a secondary... orifice... further down the tail, if you’re into exotic textures." She glanced at me. "Five gold. She’s demanding."

She moved on before I could process, leading me to the next enclosure. Inside, a woman with the sleek, powerful legs and hindquarters of a large feline paced. Her ears were tufted, her eyes slitted and gold.

"Lynxkin," Vesper narrated, her tone bored. "Fast. Agile. Likes to be on top. Her claws come out when she’s excited. Try not to get your back shredded. Her pussy is... ridged. You’ll feel it. Four gold."

Next was a woman with shimmering, bronze scales covering parts of her arms, neck, and a line down her spine. She had a thick, powerful tail that ended in a spade.

"Drakekin. Tougher hide. Runs hotter. Internal temperature is... elevated. It’s like fucking a warm oven. Her kind lay eggs, so don’t worry about pregnancy, just stamina. Ten gold."

On and on she went. A foxkin with multiple, fluffy tails that were apparently "very sensitive." A wolf-girl with a fierce snarl and, according to Vesper, "a knotting instinct you’ll need to either ride out or have surgically removed." An avian-harpy woman with talons and wings, kept in a taller cage. "Aerial fuck. Tricky logistics. Eight gold."

◇◇◇

We finished the circuit at the end of the long hall. She turned to me, her mismatched eyes gleaming in the low light. "The stables are your workplace, stud. Your performance with that maid was... acceptable. The beastkin are a higher tier. More dangerous. More rewarding." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Break them in. Make them well bred. And remember..." She let her gaze trail down my body meaningfully. "My asshole is the bonus level. Don’t fuck it up by getting yourself knotted or constricted to death."

"... I’ll try." What else can I say?