She was nothing.

A thing with no name, trying to breathe without a body.

Some portion of her, slowed and suffocated, understood that she existed, timeless and drifting.

But important aspects of life were missing, like the thump of her heart and the heat of her flesh. She was numb in a sea of darkness. Weightless.

Was such an intense absence of self meant to feel peaceful?

Something shivered in the dark with a sliver of cognizance--a sound against her skin. A haunted tick ‘n tock ebbed from a weight against her chest, each rhythmic thunk a reminder that she was a collection of sluggish thoughts and things--not a void of man. She was made of fingers, toes, and sweat. Lonely and cradled in endless black.

Only the ticking… 

Oooh... the ticking..

...kept her company with each tock.

It was so loud and disorientating that even the darkness blurred and quivered. A familiar sensation swept upon her, smothering. A strange pulsation that rang deeper and deeper with the rhythmic beat of tocks. Her mind struggled against the sound of it--and the decadent squeezing of the dark--but she drowned, pushed down further and further until…

The darkness trembled. 

No. 

She trembled, assaulted by odd longing. Hunger. A tingling that started in the tips of her fingers and swept up and up and up! 

Until something at the back of her mind shook with slick euphoria…

And for one eternal moment she was in the Wodd, empty and obedient to the gun in her grip, waiting for the split second tick that would give her the order to shoot the man-meat shapes dancing in the distance. She’d been born for this after all, made to stalk and kill and (oh!) if only every hunt would make her ache so sweetly and feel so good. 

The sensation of touch pulled her from her vision. Fingers against her skull, pressure against her mind, coaxing something inside to open until--

Her moan was loud in the absence of sound, wanton and craving. The dark shivered--as if it were laughing.

Had her delusion of the Wodd been a memory or a visceral fantasy?  How real that had felt, how familiar and true. 

The darkness moved, threaded through by shards of light in the shape of elongated fingers. The light’s sharpened tips split the black, giving sight to painful brilliance. The comforting cradle of nothingness that held her quaked, corrupted. 

What… was this?

The brilliance expanded and pushed at the lapping darkness. Her toes curled inward, illuminated as the light stretched toward her, heavy in presence. 

It loomed over, horrific in its beauty and hot as it touched her. She whimpered, sweat-slick and burning. At some point she’d closed her eyes--when, when??--but could still see.

She clutched at the weight against her chest, the sound that had comforted her in the dark, and the light hummed--melodic and tempting. Amused, she thought. 

theodora.

The light began to bleed behind her eyelids, dripping splashes of red and blooms of gold. She curled into herself, stirred by the voice that had called her name and the thunking at the back of her head--

Wake.

theodora opened her eyes to the sight of an orange and blue aurora laced sky.

i’m dreaming.

The thought came upon her, invasive and alien, so dizzying that it left her vision fuzzed. Dreaming. Sleeping everything away. Alone and… wet.

She frowned.

The sound of snapping fire rumbled in the distance. She could smell the acidic bite of its smoke. She could feel the texture of the uneven ground against her back and taste the salt in the water that lapped at her skin. Was she dreaming? It was all so very vivid. So real and clear. 

i’m dreaming, she thought again, so loudly that it nearly drowned out the sound of the tick tocking weight against her chest. The clock…

The clock!

She sat up quickly, head bobbing from the weight that dwelled within it. Artorius' clock hung, warm and sinister between her breasts, its intricate design aglow with unusual light. Its tick still swam beneath her skin, stirring memories of pipe smoke and flesh. Slow and sweet, yet difficult to grasp.

She sighed nonetheless, charmed, and the collar between her legs pulsed in agreement. Oh yes… she could feel that too. Was this really a dream? 

A bizarre hum echoed over her head and the sky of blues and oranges rippled in response, streaked through with threads of falling fire. theodora stood carefully, pulled by the sound and enamored by the vision of ruin. Dripping with water the color of ink, theodora wondered-- where am i?

Aloud, she said, “i’m dreaming.”

With a low moan theodora closed her eyes and languished in the truth of her own statement. How could she have ever thought anything else?

It took some time for you to accept that.

A voice caressed theodora’s mind, heated and raspy. 

Thoughtlessly, she answered, “Sorry.”

Laughter danced at the edge of theodora’s consciousness while she tried to remember why she’d apologized. The tightening of the collar around her clit told her it hardly mattered.

Come.

theodora moved without opening her eyes, driven to obey by the sharp pressure around her clit. The collar tugged and she was led, instinctual and empty, though places that wound, curved, and dipped. The level of the water rose with each step, pushing against her thighs and back, turning her this way and that.

She was being herded and her docile body ached with the knowledge of it, contained and leashed.

Her mind slept.

                                                                            * * *

theodora stood dazed at the threshold of an open-air atrium, her eyes settled on the murky shift of the water around her. It sloshed around her thighs, impatient, but she had not been given permission to enter. She…

How long had she been standing there, unblinking and overheated, body throbbing--

Enter.

Her mind stuttered and she obeyed. 

Within the atrium, at its center, sat a bone-white throne draped in thick fabrics and glistening jewelry. Yet, the woman upon it–and here, within the confines of theodora’s mind, she hesitated. Could this being be described by a word so simple–was what drew her attention. Even more so than the scattered grimoires and piles of treasure about the throne’s raised dais. 

The presence she carried was otherworldly and theodora felt suppressed. Her steps faltered due to trembling knees. Had theodora not been cradled by the presence of the oh-so-still waters she might have fallen upon them. Would that have been due to weakness or the urge to worship? As if sensing the compulsion that tightened theodora’s chest, the woman smiled with cherry-painted lips. 

And for a brief moment, theodora was lost in that smile, overwhelmed by urgency. The cloying taste of lust was so suffocating it gave birth to fantasies–

theodora’s hands full of the woman’s scarlet curls, unsettling the placement of her obsidian crown. theodora, on her knees at the foot of the throne, the salt-skin taste of the woman’s thighs on her tongue. theodora, enraptured by the smoothness of her umber skin, lit by the eerie pulse of the floating red tainted ring of light above her head--

theodora shook her head violently, dizzied by the sharp shift in reality. The ache of need lessened, appeased by the lewdness of her daydream yet, those fantasized moments felt more like memories.

The voice buried among the folds of theodora’s mind whispered with sweet cruelty, ‘is it too much, Our mien?’

Yes, theodora thought with desperate clarity, captured by the woman’s twin-pupiled stare.

Laughter poured like liquid down the length of theodora’s spine. The space behind her eyes tingled with the strength of it. theodora couldn’t help but moan.

Come.

theodora shook from the power of the order, struck by its duality—should she cum or…

theodora’s legs moved, her belly clenched, and warmth blurred her vision. Conscious of her nudity, theodora swept further into the strangeness of the surrounding water with a sway to her hips and moisture glistening on her thighs. theodora scarcely noticed the shadowed figures rippling beside her. Her only purpose was to come (or cum) and a portion of theodora, buzzed as it was, wished to appear pleasing as she did so. theodora burned beneath the narrowed stare of the twin-pupiled woman and felt right.

theodora wished she’d been given the order to crawl to her, but she would have drowned had she done that.

Do i want to? (Do you want to?) 

theodora sighed with longing, wet from more than just the rising water. Whatever she’d wanted to do hardly mattered. Her idle wish could not stand against the pressure of what she’d been ordered to do. 

Her toes curled against the slick marble as she drew closer to the throne. Obedience was–

so good

–better than idle ponderings.

From the corner of her vision, theodora saw the rippling shadows contorted into serpentine shapes. Thin and flexible, they circled her, weaving in and out between her thighs. Some spun further from her body, trailing tendrils of color across the surface of the water in slivers of dream-like visions. theodora found them (both the visions and the serpents) difficult to perceive–furthermore she hadn’t been ordered to view them.

Even though some of them held warbled images of the Ashwyn women. 

But why–

The water was suddenly a weight that clung to theodora’s hips and thighs.  With her foot on the edge of the three tiered dias, theodora paused.

Sigh.

The being on the throne exhaled as she shifted–bored. 

theodora whimpered and the clit-collar tugged, renewing a slick thirst that had her swallowing audibly. She ripped herself from the grip of the weighted water, and fell to her knees at the top of the dias. Finally, before the presence on the throne.

With a shyness that flushed her arched back a pretty red, theodora looked away from the tenebraurea coins and disregarded books littering the space around her hands. Past the woman's heeled boots, visible skin peeked out from her style-cut clothing, squeezed by the circular tears tight around her thighs and hips. The material she wore seemed alive and shiny, reflective of the light from her halo and—

theodora was drawn to the plump flesh of the crown-bearer’s chest and the deep red spirals that curled around each breast. Those markings glowed with an inner light, eerie (attractive) and ominous (desirable). They were rhythmically illuminated, as if thump thump thumping to the beat of a heart. theodora’s heart.

She sucked in a breath and felt perverted, filled to the brim with restless energy. Lecherous and drooling and out of her mind. theodora dare not peek at anything else. 

Especially not the slithering, hissing, shapes that twisted from beyond the throne. Tentacles of black, fat and snake-headed, curled about theodora’s body and pulled with impatience. She was lifted, docile and warm, until she was settled on the immaculate lap of the much taller woman.

In comparison, theodora felt small.

Good.

The crown-bearer leaned forward with hair that swept over theodora’s skin. As those curls came unbound, they danced amongst the scarlet feathers that adorned the woman’s shoulders. A faint ticking tickled theodora’s ears and a clock–much like the one against her chest–swung on black chain, hung from the side of their obsidian crown.

theodora squirmed, and her legs flopped open, instinctual and submissive. Some small portion of her, petulant and noble, felt humiliated by her conditioned surrender. Her time in that tent with Artorius had ruined her but…

That only enflamed the rest of her—ready to be bred by her better.

We’ve been waiting for you.

Words rolled through her mind, undeniable and heady. theodora’s eyelids fluttered as she swooned. 

“S-sorry,” theodora stammered, but for what? She didn’t know.

One clawed finger tapped at the clit-collar between theodora’s legs and her apology turned into a cry of blissful agony. The collar tightened and sharp pleasure cut across her mind with the bite of a whip. Though it relaxed soon after, the pause was brief. With each squeeze of the collar her clit throbbed and struggled. The crown-bearer smiled but there was something uncanny in the curve of her lips.

Never make Us wait again.

theodora wanted to beg aloud but couldn’t. She hadn’t been given permission to beseech absolution of her sin. The most she could do was rock and writhe to the sweet taste of pain, her throbbing clit trapped against the finger on her collar.  Her mind sunk, punished and disciplined while her sex clenched; in control and burning.

theodora’s pussy would pray to the god above it, seeking relief for the both of them.

The woman took her finger away from the collar and a thin line of theodora’s slickness stretched between them. theodora’s embarrassed panting drew a laugh from the crown-bearer; she couldn’t help the nervous affection (or was it deep pulsing love?) that swam through her belly at the ring of it—addictive like the bell. Who else, what else, could move theodora so completely?

A King, theodora thought, delirious and conquered. my King, my Owner.

Hadn’t Artorius told her as much?

i am in so much trouble, theodora lamented.

The crown-bearer (King) hummed in agreement, and theodora felt charmed by the rumble of her chest. She curled her wet fingers around Artorius’ tick-tocking clock and a whisper of hieroglyphs followed the motion. The alphabetic icons lingered briefly, bathing the face of the clock in hues of orange and gray. As the King popped open the clock’s glass face, those letters became more distorted. They slithered around her graceful fingers to slide across theodora’s skin, alive and breathing; seeking the apex of her thighs to the speeding beat of theodora’s heart. But why–

theodora’s mind slipped toward a memory before bells, black coins, or Ashwyn women. Helplessly, she thought of attending Kourt with Alphonse in the privacy of their shared section. That gleam in Alphonse’s gaze, and the hand that squeezed her thigh… 

theodora’s vision blurred and her recollection twisted.

Had Alphonse been that close before? So close her lips pressed against Theodora’s ears while she’d spilled her sacrilegious whispers of war and witches.

Back then, Theodora had believed there was no such thing as magick, but now? Now, theodora could see it. The olde runic letters caressed her body, trailing fingers of heat with their curious prodding. Heavy. Intoxicating. Pulsing with power. With or without her fragile memory of denial, her pussy had been convinced from the moment it was collared. Her mind was just slower, struggling to perceive the terror of knowledge and all the more hungry for it. Addicted.

She was so human and born to be broken.

It hardly mattered if accepting this witch as real had warped her. 

The dancing runes across her skin sucked at her attention, wild and greedy–covet me, obey me.

Yes, please. Please.

Amusement brushed across her mania, is this slave frightened?

Emboldened by madness, theodora whispered, “Would you like this slave to be?”

The King’s twin-pupiled gaze lowered slightly.

Impudent.

Pressure rose around her, hot and oppressive. theodora’s body stilled, locked in place, as the King tightened her grip on the clock at her neck. A finger pressed against one of the clock hands and theodora swore she felt it elsewhere, deeper… 

The space behind her belly throbbed and she moaned, dizzied. A wave of tension lapped at her body, stretching with unusual heat, up and up… away from her swollen sex until it coiled heavily behind her eyes. She felt… 

The heat had already transformed, somehow physical–a finger against the pulse of her stuttering mind. She and the clock were one, held intimately and examined. Opened. Each thought a struggling tik or tok against the pressure that kept pushing against her…

The hands of the clock labored against the pressure then stopped, the toks grew slower, softer… and theodora hardly noticed her eyes had rolled back. There was so much silence now, without those guiding tiks. 

Just a taste of oblivion and your mind is dead? 

…

Our toys for sinners have trained you well.

There was nothing in theodora beyond (Her) voice. Perhaps, from the moment Artiorius’ clockwork hit her chest, there hadn’t been. theodora’s mind had been reserved for a King to take. The clock submitted to the King’s power and her mind…

Her mind…

The King pushed the clock hand backwards with a whisper of magick and the space around them warped–

                                                                            * * *

theodora gasped, suddenly conscious, with the sound of (Her) laughter in her ears. 

Barefoot on dewy earth, vision swimming, theodora felt off. A restlessness thumped beneath her skin in waves that licked at the back of her skull. Her head spun, feverish as she held it. Her heart sped, excited and wild, despite the weakness in her knees. A muscle behind her belly-button throbbed with a gentle rythme–something familiar and not. With a spasm she flexed and felt power in the motion. She was strong(er), she was–

Naked but for the black shining pelt around her waist.

Taller, with platinum struck hair that tumbled across the back of her shoulders.

Slick with sweat that beaded on her pebble-hard nipples.

Absent of the beast-scar that had plagued her back. 

And…

Absolutely, not herself.

She opened her mouth to scream but a different sound shook the silence first. A sharp and shrill call, a whistle.

The noise awakened something in her. A long conditioned order. A sharp wave of pleasure. I obey, she thought, captured.

“W-what?” she slurred, in a voice not her own.

An ache spread from the center of her mind, bringing with it a whisper of foreign thought. 

She wants me back already?

Amusement–theodora’s and anothers–tickled her chest and she gasped at the intensity of it.

But I'm not done.

It was not theodora’s inner voice that swelled within her. It was too aware, awake, and wrong. theodora felt full of someone else, her slave-mind easily held and squeezed. It was exhilarating to feel the impact of the command low in her belly, to know it both was and wasn’t meant for her—

theodora took a steadying breath and drew her hands across her… body. First around the oddity of a nicked ear, then down past the unnatural warmth of the pelt that hugged her hips and felt so good. She felt the unfamiliar curves and basked in the oddity of it. This wasn’t her face, her hands, her skin… none of it belonged to her. 

Yet it felt so real and true. 

theodora was possessed. 

Or had she possessed someone else? She couldn’t be sure of anything with the thoughts of another riding her so hard.

I want to finish this hunt, the other’s voice whispered, strained as it tried to mimic theodora’s own. It was a chant that drove throughout her mind, greedily seeking familiar thought patterns. 

These thoughts were her weakness weren’t they? Both the other’s and theodora’s own. Similar and doused with longing.

Arousal flushed her copper skin and pooled low and heavy between her legs. Yesss… it had been a long time since she’d hunted, hadn’t it? 

When was the last time she felt the weight of her rifle (claws) as they tore through–shot through–another living being? When was the last time she’d shown off her kill to the Board?

Wait. Was any of that right? Or were the faces of the Board being replaced by a figure on a throne? 

theodora was dizzy, stunned by a craving so strong she groaned. She drooled, unaware when her arm swept beneath her mouth to wipe it away. An invasive thought of the other struck her, seductive and throaty and using her voice–

She could leave all this behind, ignore the whistle’s siren song, and bring back a prize fit for a King if only she could finish.

The whistle called again, yowling with impatience as it ripped forth the memory of a loud bell ring. 

theodora wasn’t sure if it was her own or the others’, but she felt its power all the same.

Her thoughts shattered like a dropped glass. theodora swore she felt the vibration of the memory-bell mix everything up. She was herself and the other and it was difficult to separate. Where did she begin and the other end? What if she lost something important, something vital to being theodora. What if it was already missing, taken by–

Go, move faster. Now.

It didn’t matter.

Their body moved, driven by the whistle’s shrill call. 

theodora stepped into the clearing she’d been summoned to and felt a dull echo of shock she knew to be her own. Since, across from her, stood the four-armed Lanius gaze empty and focused. She carved a web symbol into the bark of a tree with a thin-bladed instrument of tenebraurea black. When she was finished, she moved onto the next one, leaving behind a pulse of red color in the bark. 

Curious, theodora stepped closer. Did she recognize these crooked shapes? For a moment theodora was lost in the symbols and the sound of the Lanius melodic chanting. 

Was this a tree of the Wodd?

“Syren.”

Thoughtlessly theodora turned her head, answering the call of the Dominae, Artorius. 

What was happening? Why did she…

Artorius leveled a look toward her, one that made theodora’s heart flutter. She forgot about the Lanius along with the scarred trees of the Wodd. Beneath Artorius’ glare, there was nothing but heat and that tingling burn that left her an excited mess. She felt captured. Hyper-focused and reactive. Just an animal to be tamed beneath the Dominae’s gaze.  

If she’d had a tail, would it be wagging or tucked between her legs?

“Took you long enough,” Artorius started, “why didn’t you answer? Where were you?” 

Nerves fluttered through her and theodora paused. That was a good question–

“Out. Hunting.” theodora croaked, “I was busy.”

She lowered her head thereafter, evasive. If she couldn’t see the irritation in Artorius’ gaze it wouldn’t exist.

“Hunting?” Artorius' booted feet slipped into the edge of theodora’s vision right before she felt a strong grip take hold of her hair and yank. Head tilted back, neck exposed and vulnerable, theodora trembled as Artorius husked, “What were you hunting, Syren?”

theodora whimpered, drowning in Artorius’ control only to be pushed further beneath the weight of Syren’s mental presence. theodora struggled to comprehend those words behind thick excitement and budding softness. These weren’t her feelings. Not really. They couldn’t be! This was someone else's body! Syren’s body, apparently! theodora was just a passenger in a perverted carriage.

Artorius' question hung between them, heavy, but she neither eased her grip nor tightened it further. Just held her. 

theodora wanted to break the silence–to be good, without any answers. It was Syren’s nerves that made her want to lie, she would have said anything to end the pressure. But Syren remained tight-lipped and theodora was no longer in control. Had never been. It was a fact becoming more apparent by the way her vision contorted at the edges. The sky above her, sepia-toned and umbrella’d by the Wodd, was out of focus. Only Artorius was sharp in contrast. Everything else was… older, darker, not really there.

“Syren,” Artorius’ softly hissed. Impatient.

And who was Syren? A name once whispered beneath Azul’s breath? A person and beast? Or was she just a dead thing now, skinned and displayed. Just a trophy of meat beneath her blade. 

Don’t think. Don’t imagine. Don’t crave.

“Speak.”

Syren swallowed harshly, weakened by the power of a one-worded order. theodora welcomed the force that compelled them, instinctively seeking oblivion when the other option was realization. Conditioning had taught her to drown her thoughts when they were too much for her dumb little head.

But, there was no clit-collar here to squeeze away their mind.

Still, Syren answered, “nothing— Nothing important. Just, I almost had it, when you called, I uh, ngh… hesitated a bit. Needed more time.”

They shuddered from a pulse of pleasurable relief as Syren obeyed. Such bliss…

“It?” Artorius hummed, “A human?”

Artorius gave a firm yank of Syren’s bundled hair and theodora basked in the pain that brought. The thrill of obedience mixed sharply with the discomfort she was in and they grew all the more wet for it. The strength of her body, her arrogance, it was all nothing before Artorius’ much stronger presence. She was becoming undeniably tamed, despite the wild press of the pelt that warmed her hips.

“I. Unh.”

“What?” Artorius sneered with a curl of her lips.

Syren took a shaky breath and something within them melted and devolved. “i…”

“Tch,” Artorius gave one final yank to their hair before she released them, and for a brief moment theodora felt lost without the touch. They shivered, joined in their longing and were theodora not trapped within Syren’s body she might have begged to be rough-handled again. “I said scout not hunt.” 

It took some courage to speak, but she did. “It was just a second, what problems could it cause? i thought i saw a–”

“Sit.”

theodora’s mind stopped. Syren’s knees went weak. They fell. When theodora came to, Syren was kneeling legs apart with Artorius’ boot nudged against her throbbing sex. They burned, strangled in the web of Syren’s conditioning, its taste much stronger than anything theodora had experienced. That command knocked about their head, louder even than the faint whispers of Syren’s influence. Her stomach clenched violently, theodora came, and Syren panted past the heady thrum of heat that controlled them. With their head tilted back and drooling, theodora basked in Syren’s forced submission.

So potent and addicting. If theodora were to return to herself, how would she forget this feeling? She was terrified by the threat of being haunted, but why did that make it so much better?

Under her breath Artorius muttered, “Great to know that still works.”

Louder, she said, “eyes on me.”

Syren gave a hiss and turned her blurred gaze from the endless sky above to the woman in control. 

“Good.”

Syren made a deep odd sound, a cross between a whimper and a sigh. Surrendering. 

theodora struggled to pay attention, there had to be a reason she was here. Entangled as she was in Syren’s emotions, whether theodora went blank or not, these scenes continued. To indulge too much was to sin but fuck!–theodora wanted to be sinful. If only Syren would stop rocking their hips against the boot that nudged them, spreading their wet pussy against the leather then the swelling waves of pleasure wouldn’t outweigh the shame of their surrender.

Artorius licked her lips, slow and thoughtful. “You’ve been a handful ever since you were bitten.”

To that, Syren had no answer. She grew flushed with an odd sense of pride, despite their humping.

“Still, you’re a Vox now, an alpha. You can’t keep acting like some newborn bitch.”

“Put her in the kennel,” the Lanius mumbled, “we don’t have time for this.”

Artorius smiled and there was nothing kind about it, “we just needed a refresher on basic commands. These venandi revert if you aren’t consistent is all, this bitch is just a bit excited. No need for the kennel.”

There was… power in that word, just like all the words that belonged to Ashwyn. It brought to mind a sense of darker things; of stars, moonlight, and yowling songs. Muscle shackled by pleasure and long nights curled up among sweat drenched bodies.

Syren panted softly, but went unnoticed by her betters.

The Lanius gave Artorius a careful look then rolled her eyes at Syren’s shameful state. Fear rumbled unpleasantly within theodora’s belly as Syren–

An image struck theodora, potent. Syren curled up in a cage of black, the pelt beneath her and hot so damn hot. Too cramped, no room to stretch, with hands between her legs and words of worship on her tongue. Her blood rushed, her head spun, she’s a good little bitch who will only be let out when she’s done. She has to learn first, to sit, to speak, to hunt, to fetch, to kill–

The sound of rustling leaves broke the vision. The Lanius turned to face the disturbance but Artorius only had eyes for Syren. Slowly, Artorius moved her foot, and despite the growing need to anoint Artorius' boot with her devotion, Syren’s thrusting hips did not follow it. She remained still, kneeling, with her swollen sex dripping, and the slow boil of lust trapped beneath their skin. This had only aggravated the restlessness left behind by an interrupted hunt. theodora felt ready to burst.

Syren just wanted to get back out there again, back to the wild unfamiliarity of the Wodd and the tempting slave-meat hiding within it, unaware and just waiting to be chased.

In the distance, from the brush, a familiar face broke the line–Hel and at her side…

Charlotte? What was she doing here, in Syren’s memory?

The Commander of the Pride looked… uncomfortable. The nervous side-glance she kept giving to the loopy and smiling Hel gave off as much. Her brow was furrowed, her forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and her uniform wrinkled. theodora had never seen the Commander so unkempt before. Her eyes, normally haughty and clear, were covered in a film of exhaustion that theodora might have likened to a lack of sleep but… the flush against her checks and the way her breath quickened, pointed to something else. 

Charlotte cleared her throat as she entered the clearing, awake but haunted by arousal. There was something inherently lewd in her actions; the way she bit her bottom lip, the sway in her hips, how her eyes roamed.

theodora could tell that Charlotte ached, her traitorous body wanting to be owned. Did that make the Commander angry? 

How had she let herself become so controlled and still have the face to be so smug later on?

“Good Sunrise,” Charlotte husked with a frown, “Why do you have so many arms?”

Artorius laughed.

The Lanius snorted, “Ignore that.”

Charlotte’s gaze fluttered, “Okay.”

“How much longer will it take to open your freeDom’s gates?”

Charlotte’s gaze flitted from place to place, “Duluth is still resistant. He claims spies are spreading rumors of war from Springhammer. He’s worried visitors would frighten our more civilized society.”

“Oh?”

“Um, but soon. Yes, soon.”

“You seem hesitant,” The Lanius commented. “How difficult could it be to sway someone like him? Didn’t you call him crude and feckless?” The Lanius paused then, if only to observe Charlotte nervously wring her hands. “What’s wrong? What happened to the clockworks we gave you? That should have been enough to show our friendly intentions.”

“The clockworks… um, those rifles you gifted, they seem strange–”

“The clockworks are innocuous,” the Lanius spat. “How many have you given out?”

“Four–fourteen. Everyone on the Board has one, including Duluth and his son.”

“Fourteen is a healthy number,” Artorius interjected, “but I would have preferred if more had circulated.”

Charlotte shivered, “Duluth and the others considered them toys, only Havelock was fascinated.” 

Syren was disinterested in the flow of conversation. She would rather be moving (or humping) more than listening. Her gaze was focused on the excited Hel, as opposed to the Commander. theodora snapped to attention however, especially when she heard her… surname.

But theodora’s mind was their mind more than her own. The Havelock title felt displaced when assigned to her person. It was nearly impossible to think she owned it, devolved as she was and fractured.

That thought made her slip just a little further, deeper into the illusion of Syren’s memory. Soon, theodora’s focus splintered, musing more on how Hel would feel beneath their shared body.

“There’s a Havelock?” The Lanius stroked her chin, “Saltpotter really is full of stolen lines.”

Artorius didn’t give Charlotte time to speak further, would she even have known how to answer? “Do not forget our deal, Commander. Your obedience in exchange for the right to breathe. It was you who attacked us during our first meeting and tried to claim it was righteous protection.”

Charlotte swallowed harshly, “That was an accident, the Lord Duke’s standing orders have always been to strike if there is foreign activity this close to the wall–”

“Since you’d looked so pretty on your knees and begging, I didn’t have you killed.” 

Charlotte choked on her excuses, and Syren inhaled deeply, excited by the distinct scent of Charlotte’s fear and arousal.

“Not even when I discovered you’d plundered our wagon, touching what you shouldn’t, did I seek retribution.” Artorius tossed Charlotte a smile, insidious and mocking. “You took an oath of friendship after this, did you not?”

“Yes,” Charlotte hissed.

“And we’ve done nothing but helpfully return that friendship. You agreed to repent in place of your false master. You willingly bore this burden as a reflection of your crimes against our Crown.”

Charlotte whimpered and theodora thought the sound quite tempting as she squirmed, mind buzzing, so wanting. The feeling was imprinting upon her so deeply. She wanted, badly, to be given the order to chase Charlotte. For the sick thrill of it and because this woman had betrayed them.

If only this memory had been a bit sooner, could theodora have seen Charlotte weak and pleading for her life?

Artorius whispered, “So, don’t you owe us anyway? Ashwyn will purify Saltpotter, saving it from its own xenophobic incompetence and in return you just have to obey.” 

“But I… I can’t focus! I need a cure to this hysteria–”

And were theodora not so drunk on the sense of Syren’s pussy throbbing, she would have been shocked at what Charlotte blamed for her suffering.

“If you weren’t so hesitant your dreams of encouragement wouldn’t have worsened. Don’t bargain with me, little thief. I grow impatient.”

theodora caught Charlotte’s soft moan of despair but Syren was nuzzling against Artorius' leg. With casual afterthought, Artorius' hand roamed through Syren’s hair. The heat of it was intoxicating against their skin, and the way Artorius scratched behind her ears just so was–

Whatever curiosity theodora might have had about what happened during that fateful Pride patrol was now forgotten. However long Ashwyn had sat beyond their gates didn’t change the fact they’d always been scheming invasion. Saltpotter had never had the chance to be safe. Didn’t Charlotte once state that she’d hated her role? Mindlessly following orders had been beaten into her bones. Their Commander had long been broken, yoked by her bitterness and worse, her complacency.

Duluth’s paranoia and obsessive hoarding had doomed them all, otherwise how could Charlotte fall so easily?

“But it just… feels wrong,” Charlotte whispered, “I wanted to suppress them, but not like this.”

Not when she also had to be ruined.

The Lanius stepped forward, to do what theodora wasn’t sure, as there was someone yelling in the distance–

“Oy, oy, fookin’ forest mapper, let me go!”

Artorius frowned at the vulgarity of the screaming person but theodora knew that accent intimately. 

Another voice echoed on the wind, annoyed. “Stop hitting me.”

Azul.

“Stop hitting you? Get out of my fookin’ Wodd!”

theodora felt her entire being strain to go to that voice, but Syren’s mind kept her firmly in place with a loving coo. No, you and I… we belong together now. The memory stretched like a pulled piece of rubber but snapped back into place, undisturbed. After all, whatever was happening now had already… happened.

Artorius, unaware of Syren’s inner battle, only sighed and gave a firm tug of Syren’s ear. “If you had done as you’d been told, we wouldn’t have been interrupted.”

Syren grinned widely, happy for the attention.

“Go and hunt–”

“Wait, I know her,” Charlotte shifted from foot to foot, “that’s Mor–”

“Then go help subdue her and bring her to me,” Artorius did not look pleased to be interrupted.

Charlotte jerked, startled by the order, before she tried to hardened her expression, “There’s no need–”

“Do you want to be Lord Duke or not?” 

Lust waged with greed for a brief moment, before they blurred–both a powerful desire. Charlotte lowered her shoulders before she stormed off toward the disturbance, face twisted in a grimace as she shuddered.

The Commander might have been furious–at her weakness, or the Dominae–but theodora knew Charlotte had cum when she’d thought about her answer.

Syren’s deep inhale was enough to tell her.

“Watch her.”

Hel bobbed her head with a smile at Artorius' order and immediately turned to follow Charlotte.

“The Powers that Be want us to move faster,” the Lanius muttered, “what are you going to do with them?”

Artorius gently gripped Syren’s chin and tugged until she stumbled to her feet, eager to please.

“Just going to ask her a couple of questions,” Artorius rumbled, “think Saltpotter has a place for the horses?”

For Syren, Artorius commanded, “Go scout, so something like this doesn’t happen again. We aren’t trying to be discovered.”

“What if I discover another human?” Syren croaked.

“Kill it, we’ve already got a meat-bag coming.”

Syren released a sound that shook her chest, a twisted cackle that filled theodora with the phantom taste of horror. She drew her hands across the sleek black of the pelt as the world began to shift and change color. Her skin felt itchy and tight, no longer able to contain her as she brought the pelt against her chest and rubbed against it. Whatever else would happen in their clearing meant nothing, only the slick sickening thrill of what was upcoming and the sweet ache that tugged behind her belly. There it was! A familiar pulse of rapture that started behind her nipples and filled her head. 

It was coming (cuming), her true hidden nature, the perfect form she’d been gifted by her King!

theodora wanted to shove their hands between her legs, to ease the feverish throbbing deep within. But Syren, oh, she relished in the torment.

theodora barely felt their movement, washed away by growing need–let it go, let it out. She scarcely noticed the faint tik toking at the back of her mind, she was too close to release–

                                                                            * * *

“Theodora?”

….

“Hey! Theodora?” 

….

She woke to the sound of a ticking clock, thoughts (and self) disorganized. Vision blurred and mouth dry.

Such a familiar feeling. Addictive.

“Theo? Seriously? Are you ignoring me?”

Theo. Seriously? Ignoring?

“Who?” she replied, with a clumsy tongue.

Wasn’t she–

Out in the Wodd, preparing to hunt? 

Filled with power, hunger, and wrath? 

So ready and willing to kill.

–Syren?

No. Maybe? She wasn’t sure. 

This body felt right; her breasts were the right size. Legs the right length. Clit collared. But it wasn’t–

Wet beneath the weight of a pelt, balanced on the very edge of transformation.

She twisted around in a wide circle, blinded by sudden awareness. An onslaught of half-formed thoughts struck her hard, each one more bewildering than the last. 

I want to–no.

I need to…

Kill? Kill!

Wait.

Wasn’t I scouting?

Or was it hunting?

In a tent?

On my knees, before a throne?

“Theo–the heck are you doing? Did you just fall?”

‘Theo’ grimaced, fisting dirt as pain ebbed from her knees. When had she knelt?

Booted feet slipped into her vision and ‘Theo’ whispered “Alphonse?”

Wasn’t Alphonse further out in the Wodd, cursing, captured, and about to be–

No. That was something that had happened before, in a memory that couldn’t have belonged to her. In a lie generated by magick. A dream to tempt and disorientate and….

–Theodora whimpered, painfully awake and aware she was fucked.

The booted feet shifted slightly, “You’ve been out of it all morning. I’ve called for you ‘bout ten times. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Was–was confused,” Theodora slurred, lacking the bravery to lift her head. “I thought I was…”

Syren.

Because the memory of her was very much a part of Theodora now, impossible to separate. Something that felt like herself but screamed Syren was trapped beneath her skin; a strangled tension, a deeper thudding too difficult to describe. Spreading and stretching throughout her. Filling her.

So fucking full.

It felt… good. 

Theodora was driven, pushed by some strange need to seek comfort from someone more grounded. Alphonse was real, not an apparition meant to break her nor a memory twisted. She was safety and control in a space where Theodora had none. If there was one person she could count on to be normal while Theodora was so tainted, it had to be Alphonse, her property, her vassal, her friend.

There was no one else she could depend on when everything was lost.

Before she could think it through, she reached for Alphonse's ankle–if only to hold onto something so she wouldn’t float away, overwhelmed and ashamed of her own weakness. 

But the leg she reached for moved.

Alphonse’s boot shoved forward, pushing Theodora onto her back. Pain knocked the air from her lungs as Alphonse’s boot pressed against her chest, holding Theodora in place despite her whimper. Shock drained the flush from Theodora’s face…

Then anger brought it back.

How dare she!  How dare she?! This slave has crossed the line.

“Alphonse!” Theodora wheezed, trapped beneath the pressure of Alphonse’s boot. 

A flash of irritation wrinkled Alphonse’s nose, before it melted away into curiosity, “Sorry, was that too rough?”

Too rough? Too rough!

Outrage rolled behind her chest with an itchy heat, plucking at her skin with unavoidable intensity. Theodora was surprised by her own emotional response, as if there was little else within her other than rampaging fury. Oppressed by the thudding of her own heart, each inhale felt tainted by anger. She tasted it, boiled, and overflowed with it.

Something is wrong, she thought. Something is really wrong.

—but that thought warped.

This slave dares and I am strong. 

Contain it. Control it. Dominate it.

Whether it was due to Theodora's twisted expression or something else, Alphonse lifted her foot from Theodora’s chest, leisurely in manner.

Was it the heavy shadows in her gaze that gave Alphonse such courage?

It didn’t matter. A good thrashing would shatter that confidence once Theodora got her hands on her.

Alphonse’s lips twitched and before Theodora was able to sit up the other woman sat on her chest.

“Omph!” Theodora gasped, startled by the sudden weight and the fact that her arms had been pinned by the strength of Alphonse’s thighs. “You!”

Alphonse’s smile was insidious, just shy of manic. “Don't throw a tantrum.”

Saying such a thing had the opposite effect. 

Theodora thrashed and bucked with a snarl, uncaring of how ignoble it appeared. Would her bruised pride allow her to take command from another?

Better yet, would her haunted (enlightened) mind allow her to submit to someone who was not a Dominae?  

Alphonse grunted, nearly displaced by a powerful burst of strength—a small victory that gave Theodora a spark of pleasure. She tilted, nearly unstable, and slid back along Theodora’s stomach to settle on her hips. Theodora tried to follow her, sitting up to lean forward with the help of her elbows as she snapped her teeth at the space Alphonse once occupied but–

“Stay.”

Theodora collapsed, weak and panting. Alphonse’s one-worded command, filled with a power it should not have possessed, stripped her of everything. Her anger, her strength, her mind… melted, leaving room for something other within her. It stirred, mewling and hot, a liquid burn that clawed deep new patterns of submission across her mind and spilled heat through the scars at her back. 

Stay.

...Stay.

Stay.

She could feel that order burrow deeply, seeking conditioned responses to stroke. What must she look like now, so well-trained and open? Was it her own desire to be so handled? How could this hidden pleasure be so easily coaxed to the surface? Her unprepared mind stuttered but couldn’t put up a resistance, not when it was now a host to more. Was it that she’d always been so wanton, ready to obey even a vassal’s words, or was it Syren that made her feel so willing?

That something other whispered—aren’t we also Syren? 

One and the same. 

This mantle of slavehood is your inheritance.

“No,” Theodora whispered, but found her voice had softened with arousal. She could still sit up whenever she wanted… couldn’t she? She’d only indulged (in sweet pleasure) to save Alphonse’s face, chasing after the addictive taste of a deeper submission.

The sort a Dominae could give her.

The sort Alphonse… could give her? 

Was that right?

Alphonse exhaled sharply, excited but soon shook her head as if to dislodge some hidden thought. Theodora, still held in the grip of Alphonse’s command, could do little other than watch her vassal lean forward–panting and possessive. Theodora whimpered, beneath the weight of Alphonse's warm body but she was subdued by the intensity of her gaze.

Lost and falling and so so wet.

Then Alphonse blinked and smiled, “good girl.”

Theodora hissed as her clit-collar hummed, sending pangs of pleasure throughout her body, sharp and unyielding albeit brief.

Yes, yeeesss, she is suuuch a good girl.

Alphonse gave Theodora’s flushed face a few pats, as if nothing wicked had happened between them. But something wasn’t right, their dynamic was twisting–

“It’s not good to try and bite me, Theo.”

Mindlessly, Theodora gasped out, “Sorry. Won’t.”

Alphonse bobbed her head, unbothered. “Good good… after all I’ve done for you, it is nice when the Lord is obedient.”

The collar hummed again, a brief jolt that left Theodora dripping… enough to distract her from what her body was learning.

Be good.

Theodora felt small, trapped beneath Alphonse’s looming presence. She trembled, belly full of heat and nerves. A tingle flared up along the scars of her back, inspiring an unusual shyness as Alphonse drew closer, blanketing them in her shadow. 

The soft sounds of their breathing and the deceptive quiet of the Wodd brought to mind a time before Ashwyn. When her pater was on the cusp of passing on their estate, Theodora had just shed her youth. Not yet shackled by noblesse, the lines that had divided her status from Alphonse’s were a little more blurred…

She’d been on her back before, like this, hotblooded and out in the Wodd. Obscured by the wall of the equipment shed she’d been hunting something… someone. But, she’d been taken by surprise instead and…

They’d been wrestling, right? Just playing pouncing games in the Wodd. Nothing more, nothing less, but why did it seem so heated now?

Theodora turned her head, flushed, best not to think about any of this.

Best not to think at all.

“You’ve been missing for half the day and caused me a lot of trouble.” Alphonse snorted, “I take my eyes off you for a couple of hours and you go wild, huh?”

Theodora snapped a widened gaze back to Alphonse, “What?”

“Forgot? You came stumbling home and passed out, missed the morning search entirely but it was called off anyway.” Alphonse smiled briefly, something hazy and pleased before she shook her head and continued, “You slept for a while, even with the revel this evening you didn’t want to wake up. Did you go out and get drunk in the Wodd?”

Drunk in the Wodd? Why would Alphonse think that?

Heat-tainted memories came to her mind, jumbled and out of order. Hadn’t she been injured running in the Wodd?

Theodora blurted, “I… no, of course not!”

Azul had maliciously chased her. Didn’t she tell Alphonse all that?

“Sure,” Alphonse smirked, but her lips soon twisted downward, “Had to dress you and everything. Even had to move the horses out of the pen and grab the equipment for the lessers by myself while you stumbled around out here.”

That’s… not right.

That’s not right!

“I was…in the Wodd,” Theodora winced, head aching as she fought against the desire to accept what couldn’t be true, “But I wasn’t…” 

The clit-collar gave her a squeeze and she lost her train of thought. Pain softened her resistance and left the sweet ache of correction behind. After all, they were out in the Wodd, dressed in their hunting leathers, their clockwork rifles against the wall of the very shed Alphonse and her had carved silly pictures on during their little games. She hadn’t recognized where she was at first, was that due to a drunken haze or—

The tight embrace of the magick that controlled her?

She couldn’t have dreamt up the chase in the Wodd or the fear that had stained her. She had seen and absorbed what couldn’t be unseen. She was collared and blackened by pleasures still craved and if she closed her eyes she could still envision a two-pupiled gaze.

But none of her experiences fell neatly in order, they were stacked puzzle pieces waiting to click and guided by the tok of the watch around her neck.

Was any of this real?

The air felt stifling, chilled by Alphonse’s impatience and Theodora fought to swallow another apology. Alphonse already had her on her back and stilled. Why should Alphonse feel wronged? She hadn’t been kicked! 

“Isn’t it your role as vassal to do these things?”

Theodora wanted to gather some of the anger that had abandoned her to desire, to ignore the strange fluttering thump of her heart.

But… what little indignation she’d scrambled together melted into mute anxiety the moment she met Alphonse’s narrowed gaze.

“That may be,” Alphonse drawled, “but so what?”

She surged forward, yanking an undignified yelp from Theodora as she captured her lips. The hard dominating press with startling, but not as startling as Alphonse’s aggressive behavior. She stole Theodora’s breath away with a chuckle more sinister than kind. Theodora’s mind was spinning. Why was she–

“Do you think it’s fun to be ignored by the person you serve?”

Alphonse released Theodora’s captured lips, if only to better slide her knee between Theodora’s legs. Theodora herself was helpless, how could she move when she’d been told to stay?

“Al?” Theodora’s arms twitched, heavy and still weakened beneath a command not yet released. A wicked lassitude filled her limbs–born from unnatural desire and a need to stay still. It felt too good, even now–no.

Especially now that Alphonse’s lips were back against her own, pressing with a heat and skill that Theodora didn’t know Alphonse had. Where had she learned to coax Theodora so well? To pull a moan from her body so low and deep…

Was this what they’d done behind the equipment shed?

No. No! They would never–

Alphonse tongue slipped between her lips, teasing another lewd sound from Theodora’s body. Each sigh and gasp shared between them converted Theodora’s memories of the Wodd into something more… erotic. When Alphonse released Theodora’s lips this time they were puffy, shining from the intensity of Alphonse’s attention.

But she wasn’t done

While Theodora panted, Alphonse hissed against her, “While you were out galavanting, doing who knows what, I brought glory to our house.

An Ashwyn woman. Azul, I think? They asked to see the estate, our estate!” Alphonse moaned against Theodora’s lips and nearly fell victim to the temptation of kissing, only Theodora’s whimper of need kept Alphonse steady–as if resisting such a desire would be more punishing for Theodora.

And it was, oh it was.

Shock had long given way to a curious need and her body throbbed with a silent but urgent call to be touched. She wouldn’t dare move on her own, but Alphonse’s slow and lazy humping was starting to drive her mad. With each word Alphonse spoke the Wodd seemed to be spinning. Whenever she looked outside of Alphonse’s curious face, she could see the pulsing symbols of Ashwyn’s carvings in the wood of the trees.

Even the wood of the shed had been touched, the little carvings of her younger days now red and corrupted. 

“They found the pelt, Theo. They asked for it.”

Alphonse took Theodora’s lips again, smothering her gasp of fear before Theodora could grasp the emotion. She could feel Alphonse’s excitement in the demanding press of her tongue and the eager sounds that rolled from the back of her throat. When Theodora was freed from Alphonse’s lips this time, Alphonse seemed focused on something beyond them, a memory.

One that made Alphonse’s hips roll anxiously against Theodora’s thigh.

“I wanted to ask you first but I couldn’t say no. I… I even knelt when I gave it to her. Theo. Theo! It felt so good. I was useful. S-she praised me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way when you’ve done it. Why is that?” Alphonse blinked rapidly for a moment, before she stilled, “Do you want me to be taken? To serve someone else?”

Alphonse’s face was devoid of emotion. Theodora likened her expression to that of a puppet. It was… wrong in a way decidedly inhuman. Despite the ruin that had been brought to Saltpotter, there wasn’t a single citizen so eerily silenced. That was not the expression of someone at peace. Not even the expression of a slave content to be owned. It was as if whatever made Alphonse ‘Alphonse’ was gone, replaced by someone cold and two-pupiled.

No! No, she doesn’t want to see her like this!

“Al! No, no, don’t go!” 

Don’t leave me alone!

Immediately, as if a switch was flicked, Alphonse smiled–vibrant and alive in a way that made Theodora feel shaken.

The two-pupiled gaze was gone.

“Then, don’t you ever ignore me when I call for you again.” Alphonse cooed. 

Theodora bobbed her head, too anxious to think about what had just happened.

“We should stop playing around,” Alphonse husked, though that didn’t keep her from thrusting against her two more times. “We’ll be late to the revel if we don’t.”

Theodora’s brief spike of fear was already melting, leaving a spark of heated unease in its wake. Theodora would have preferred to lay in the grass kissing Alphonse forever, hidden by the ties that bound them in the past. If they left this space beyond Saltpotter’s walls, then who would be left to save them?

And would they let them? Wasn’t it already too late?

Theodora stared at Alphonse’s lips, “We shouldn’t go.”

“Huh?”

Alphonse’s look was enough to make Theodora’s heart stutter, but a budding sense of desperation pushed her further. She panted past the tingle of warning that thrummed through her body, despite the way her sex clenched and her clit throbbed with temptation. To be aware is painful in a way she can’t describe, the growing ache of excitement she feels from her wayward thoughts is both a warning and her most familiar company.

Be good, her body urges.

But the vivid memory of Alphonse’s possession had given Theodora courage, it was still her duty to attempt to save her.

Even if it took everything she had to be bad.

“We shouldn’t go,” Theodora repeated, “Saltpotter is–”

Fine. Safe. Home.

“Fine.” She husked, then paused with a tremble. “No, that's not what I meant.”

She tried again, “I don’t want to be here.”

i want to be with my King, between Her legs. i want–

“Leave with me!” Theodora blurted out, “Run away with me. It isn’t safe here. We can go to Springhammer or the Academy. From there, further south, we can–”

Agony ripped through her, strong enough to arch her back and blank her mind. If she spoke, or moaned, or screamed thereafter, Theodora wasn’t aware of it. She was lost in a sudden sea of white; blind and drowning. She thought she heard laughter, melodic and joyful, but how could she when there was nothing but the baptism of vibrant sensation roaring in her ears.

Followed by the tik toking of the clock around her neck.

The clit-collar held her, tight and unbearable, relaxing only enough for Theodora to remember to breathe. Her body shook, sweat-slick and controlled. Exhausted and tension-strung, her mind wandered and spun.

“Are you counting?” 

Beyond the buzzing in her ears, beside Alphonse’s curious voice, she heard her own:

Ten. Nine. Eight–

To count was instinctual. A learned response. If she counted, wouldn’t the pain ease?

It was easier to count than be bad, easier to sink and bob with each tug and squeeze than to dare consider the idea of running again. Being bad was exhausting and painful. It was much better to give in, accept, and be emptied. Even if it was a lesson she must learn again and again.

Her clit-collar didn’t mind giving it to her.

By the time Theodora made it to five ecstasy twisted among her pain. The collar loosened and tightened with a familiar rythmic pulsing, only tugging harshly once to dissuade further thinking. Soon pleasure soothed the anger of her engorged clit, growing stronger once she submitted with a low cry of ‘oh!’.

Why was it so hard to resist? She was so weak, nothing like the Lord she should have been and more like a vassal.

With a moan that was only partly despair, Theodora went limp.

She never made it to four–but Theodora was sure she wasn’t meant too.

Alphonse panted against Theodora’s ear for a time, absorbed in her embarrassed writhing. It was only once the collar settled that Alphonse slowly moved to get off her. Without waiting for Theodora’s consent, Alphonse pulled her up and off the ground until she came to a weak-kneed stand.

Despite her swaying, Alphonse steadied her with flared nostrils and a hungry gaze. She toyed with the waistband of Theodora’s pants, before she slipped her fingers within.

“Al…” Theodora croaked, her gaze heavy, and her mind–so foggy and tamed.

“Shh,” Alphonse rumbled, “So silly… We aren’t safe? Then what is that huge wall for. You want to leave? For what?”

Theodora wanted to tell her why, but it was better to be good and her eyes were so heavy.

Alphonse cupped her sensitive sex and Theodora moaned from the heat of her fingers. Her underwear was slick and easily bypassed by Alphonse’s prodding touch. She caressed her firmly, probing curiously at the collar around her clit before slipping down her slit, only to repeat the action.

Alphonse had already forgotten about Theodora’s request, awed by the soft heat of her sex. “Don’t be afraid, I’ll take care of you. I always do, don’t I?”

Theodora couldn’t respond, full, aching, and ready to be spent. There was a tightness in her chest, as if more than just her sex was ready to burst. The parts of herself that were and weren’t undulated in slow waves of seductive warmth, stretching throughout her body until a strangled sound spilled past her lips. Pain had left her hungry for pleasure, and the shame of failure caused her to instinctively seek it. Alphonse’s sure and steady strokes over her clit were enough to make her forget herself, her goal, her… need to resist the other that filled her. Her will was already battered. The gentle rise and fall of pleasure eroded it further.

Shame flushed her skin and made her dizzy, but it was pleasure that sweetly sought to bind and consume her.

Right until Alphonse flicked her agitated clit with enough force to activate her collar.

The clit-collar gave a squeeze from anger and Alphonse didn’t bother to stop her fiddling. Theodora couldn’t help but hold onto Alphonse’s shoulders, aching so intensely her teeth tingled–

“Don’t bite, Theo.”

But with each stroke and flick Theodora felt more wound up. What was Alphonse trying to do to her? She couldn’t allow herself to grow addicted to being tormented. 

So, Theodora begged–

“Al, Al… please stop. Please.”

Before there was little of her left to plead.

“Mmm, alright.” Alphonse murmured, only to withdraw her prodding fingers soon after.

A string of wetness dripped from Alphonse’s hand. With a grin, Alphonse pushed her slick fingers into her mouth before she went to the shed wall to sling their rifles over her shoulder.

Theodora swooned at the sight of her suckling.

With her dry hand, Alphonse reached for Theodora while she mumbled around the fingers in her mouth, “Come on, the lessers will be here soon to take the equipment.”

Theodora had no will left to deny her.

Theodora took Alphonse’s clean hand with her own and ignored the way she licked the other. 

Together, they walked away from the shed, away from potential freedom, and back to the revel circle, Saltpotter, and the cage of entrapment laid by the Ashwyn women.

But that was fine.

Theodora didn’t mind it so much since they would walk into that cage together.