Intrepid Pawns Ch. 04

Oh, fuck. She was captured. She needed to look away.

She couldn't look away. Her mouth was hanging open, she knew—an unspeakably dangerous state to be in around meadbrewers. But those eyes . . .

The buzzing felt like it was getting louder. She felt like she needed to do something. But just as that independent thought came to her, the crossbow was wrested out of her loose grip, and the independent thought became impossible to fulfill.

The Thriae was smiling at her. "What a good girl!" She leaned in and planted a kiss on Yathi's lips. The kiss started out chaste, and quickly turned into something longer, something devouring. All the while, the eyes watched her. She was naked before them, and she subconsciously decided that that was a very good state to be in right now.

"Open wide," hissed the other Thriae. Yathi felt her mouth opening, and felt the tongue slip in. She could taste the sweet honey now. That was what she'd been seeing this whole time in their eyes. It was what she'd heard in their syrupy voices. It tasted even better on her tongue.

She felt her knees slowly buckling. Luckily, both Thriae were eager to help her down. She giggled, glad that they were there to help her. They leaned her against a boulder.

The Thriae broke off the kiss. Yathi stared up at them dazedly. With the swirling mists above them, they looked like twin suns themselves. They were exchanging knowing looks. Yathi's tongue tingled as she felt herself swallow. Something warm and sweet slipped down into her.

She squirmed, realizing right then that she was extremely wet. It was becoming impossible to ignore. She gasped, full of a sudden, burning, melting need to be out of this tight-fitting leather. And into the arms of a Thriae.

Each one slowly drew out a little clay pitcher. They paused, giggling, then looked down at her expectantly.

She found herself giggling, too. She felt all silly inside. All silly and gooey and sweet and good. The scout's legs spread wide as she began to undo her lower armor, feeling a sticky, syrupy certainty that this was the most right, most perfect thing she would ever do.

"Open wide," cooed the one she had originally faced, crouching down and holding out the pitcher. The pitcher hovered above her, its lip dipping tantalizingly close, a droplet of honey appearing on the end right above Yathi's mouth.

Yathi beamed and did as she was told. Her eyes closed as she felt the first droplets of delicious honey touch her buzzing tongue.

~~~~ ~~~~

Yathi's eyes flew open. It took her a moment to realize her hands were both between her legs.

"Yathi?" A dark shape leaned into view. Yathi dimly registered that she was lying on the ground. She was still naked, though a blanket had been draped over her—Trys's coat, she realized. "Are you . . . you?"

She blinked. What a strange question. She stroked her clit to keep her focus as she made out who was addressing her: Brist. The dark-skinned mage's wild white hair was covered in dust, as though he'd been lying on the ground just like her.

Brist really was kind of cute, if you could get past his sharp-and-sheepish manner. She had the vague recollection of a large cock under those robes of his, too—though any cock would be big when it had that much honey on it. And it had had honey on it, she knew. She'd tasted . . .

"Yathi?" Brist bit his lip. "Yathi!"

Yathi's mind fell back to the present. She blinked up at Brist, giving a dull smile. Her eyelids felt so heavy. " . . . what?"

"She's out of it, Bristles," she heard Ia say. "Look at her. They got her."

"We don't know that!" Brist snapped. "Trys spent years among them, and she made it back out! In fact, in case you haven't noticed, Trys is the only reason we're free right now."

Yathi squinted. A niggling little voice was telling her that something about this conversation was important to listen to. But her pussy was a lot louder. And it purred at her. It told her that only one thing mattered right now.

"Yathi." Brist moved out of the way. Yathi felt her eyes closing—just before someone grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Yathi!" Trys snarled. "Listen to me!"

Yathi's eyes shot open. She stared up at Trys. The blonde warrior's armor was on, but she could still tell that there was an impressive bosom in there. And those golden locks . . . If Yathi didn't look too closely, she could almost believe Trys was one of the Thriae. One of the gorgeous creatures that had been fucking her almost nonstop ever since they'd captured her. Her eyes were even the same shade of brilliant yellow.

Just like Yathi's own probably were now.

A dim memory flickered to life. She remembered volunteering for the knighthood. Remembered the recruiter's advances. She'd always hated how everyone focused on her pretty face.

"It's not who I am," she remembered saying then. "I'm more than that. I'm . . . I'm a knight. I'm a tracker. Now put your dick back in your pants before I cut it off and feed it to my pig."

She had been rejected three times before being allowed into the order. Rising in the ranks had been equally difficult—her temper crossed with her beauty had always seemed to get her into trouble. Apparently, hating people made it difficult to advance in any field, especially when three-quarters of them were determined to bang her.

"You're really hot, Trys," she mumbled.

"I know that," Trys said seriously. "How about you take your fingers out of your vagina now, so we can talk about this?"

Yathi blinked. She stared up into Trys's golden eyes and found herself obeying. She wasn't sure if it was by an act of willpower, or simply Trys's resemblance to Yathi's recent owners causing Yathi's programmed obedience to . . .

"What happened?" she managed, as she brought her hands up to her breasts. Idly, they started fidgeting, tweaking her nipples and squeezing her breasts. It felt so awful to pull herself out of that sticky joy. This seemed like a compromise.

Trys grimaced. She lifted Yathi up, as easily as one might lift a sack of feathers, and propped her against a boulder. Yathi found herself in a position that was almost like sitting. It did make the blanket fall down, exposing her naked breasts for all to see, but that didn't bother her much right now for some reason.

"We lost," Ia said. The 19-year-old warrior was crouched like a gargoyle atop a nearby dead log. That sling of hers was still gripped in one hand, as if she was still expecting a fight. Her unkempt dark hair's ponytail had been all-but abandoned. Yathi stared openly at her toned thighs as she realized that the messy knight's pants had mysteriously vanished. She was dressed only in a pair of striking red panties with a strange tentacle design. "We lost bad."

"You lost your pants," Yathi said, almost in wonder.

Ia pursed her lips. "Casualties of war."

Yathi frowned. It was all so . . . absurd. She turned to Brist, who was, characteristically, wringing his hands and trying not to look at her breasts. She gently stroked one nipple as she spoke. "Brist. You, ah, you remember?"

Brist's face was flushed. He gave a little shrug.

Yathi could still taste the honey in her mouth. She knew some of it had come from sucking on his long-tormented member. She'd watched them toy with him in his sleep. The few times her face wasn't being shoved between someone's thighs, at least.

They'd awoken her the second they'd landed. They hadn't been able to resist her. They'd fought over her. The looks in their eyes, of hunger, of need . . . And for once, Yathi was having trouble remembering why she hated this sort of thing.

"How did we get away?" she asked.

"Trys." Brist gestured to his fellow knight, who was, Yathi noticed, watching Yathi with a great deal of interest. "She got away when we were captured. She came back for us. I couldn't believe it, either."

Trys gave a short laugh. "Couldn't believe you were saved, or couldn't believe I would risk coming back?"

"Um . . . the first one."

"Right." Trys gestured to Ia. "She did more than I did, honestly. I just carried people. Ia, you . . . 'trolled' them? That the word you used?"

"Yes," Ia chirped. "Is from an old tall tale, see? You can supposedly trick trolls into staying outside past daybreak if you get 'em distracted arguing. So according to the story, three trolls are actually less dangerous than one 'cause of that." She giggled. "So I trolled the meadbrewers. I mean, kinda."

Yathi gave two slow blinks. Everything was so hard to understand right now. She was so distracted! She stroked both nipples, feeling the weight of each breast in her hands. She wondered why. "What are you . . . saying?"

"A squeeze there. A lick there." Ia shrugged. "They were all pretty distracted by you and Brist. One Thriae thought one of her lady friends was tickling her thigh, and when she got that idea into her heads, she couldn't help but try to 'get even'."

Trys nodded, seeming interested. "'Trolling'. That's a new one. My parents—they owned an inn—called that the Barfight Principle. When someone's itching for a, uh, fight, and you give them a 'shove', they'll 'shove' back without pausing to work out who did it."

Yathi's eyes screwed shut. "Oh." She was imagining Ia—a sloppy, messy knight, but also a young woman with a fit, supple body and hands that spoke of a talent for taking charge—teasing the Thriae, tempting them into fucking each other, building their lust until they couldn't help but dissolve into a messy pile of sex-crazed bimbos . . .

And they had, she dimly recalled. She'd heard them moaning as Ia had dragged her off Brist's cock. A big pile of sweaty, beautiful fey fucking each others' brains out.

"S-so," she whispered, "you distracted them. We escaped. What now?"

The others stared at her. They didn't say anything. Brist looked embarrassed and worried, Trys looked slightly annoyed, and Ia had a big grin on her face.

Yathi followed Ia's gaze. "Oh." Her insidious little fingers had crept downward again and were fingering her wet pussy lips. "Oops."

Oh, but it felt so good. She found herself smiling slightly. There was no harm in it, really. As long as she kept focused. "S-so what now?" she repeated, eyes half-closing. "Where's . . . Okino?"

Again, nobody spoke. This time, that was answer enough. There was a moment where the only sound was the blowing of the hoarse winds above—that, and the slippery squelching of her fingers below.

She let out a small giggle. Not a meanspirited one. Not one over anything especially funny, either. She hadn't liked Okino. All her life, people had always been more interested in her body than she wanted them to be, and he'd been even more blatant than most. She knew quite well why he had brought her along on this mission.

That didn't mean she'd wanted him to become a wretched honey sprite. "So they still have him."

"They gave him to Ytheri," she heard Trys say, her voice distant. "A savant sorceress of . . . something of a reputation."

"She's an archmage," Brist said. He sounded like he was on more comfortable ground here. "And one of the few who's not in the pocket of some political or corporate organization. They say she's more fey than human."

"Oh, she's very human," Trys said. "But she masters fey. Now she's mastering Okino."

"Oh." Yathi's spine arched slightly. She was finding that her orgasms were coming a little bit differently from usual. Instead of a long buildup to a massive payoff, they were all very small, but very rapid. It felt like every stroke of her slick fingers led to another little cry of joy from her lovely little clit. A part of her sensed that she would only achieve true orgasm—true satisfaction—in the hands of a meadbrewer as her mistress.

But that would be wrong, right?

She tried to blink back the fuzz that was encroaching on her vision, but blinking only made her feel warmer and fuzzier. The little orgasms were coming quicker, now, swarming her, drowning her in incessant sparks of ecstasy. She wanted more. More. She imagined Tsimpi, gorgeous, big-breasted, sugar-tongued Tsimpi, and let out a long moan.

"S-so we lost Okino," she said, gasping from the sheer effort of human speech. She needed to stop masturbating before she passed out, and she would. Soon. Definitely soon.

She smiled at the others, finding herself unable to remember what she'd just said. She looked at Brist, remembering his shaft between her lips. It had felt so good to suck and slurp at that cock. The Thriae had told her it did, so it did. It still would, she knew, if she could convince him to let her do it again.

She licked her lips.

Brist visibly gulped.

"Yeah," Ia said, sounding annoyed, "we lost him. And it, well, looks like we lost you, too."

Yathi didn't quite hear her. She was experiencing something between dream and fantasy. She could see one of the pretty blonde girls who had so recently ravished her crouched at her side. The girl was flicking that honeyed tongue over Yathi's nipples, looking up at her with adoring, lust-filled eyes. Yathi could only barely register that this feeling was her own fingers, not the vision of the Thriae. That awareness was rapidly losing ground to the delightful fuzz.

"Didn't lose her," Trys said. Her voice sounded so garbled. Yathi giggled at the sound, then giggled as fingers (Her own? Or her vision's?) tickled her flat belly. "She's in the first stage. There are three. I'm in it, too, and so is Ia, sort of."

"Ia is?" Brist sounded surprised. The words took a moment to cut through Yathi's fugue, but when they did fade back into her consciousness, she blinked. She knew Trys had been captured once—and was momentarily lost in the daydream of her vision wrestling Trys to the ground and tonguing her wet slit right there in front of them all—but she hadn't known Ia had fallen victim to the creatures. She frowned. She's . . so young.

A pinprick of Yathi shone through, burning away the fuzz for a moment. The hallucination of the Thriae woman vanished. Her masturbation didn't slow, though, and neither did the rapid 'comings and goings'.

"Well, sort of." Ia coughed. She looked . . . not exactly embarrassed, because Ia was never embarrassed, but clearly uncomfortable talking about this. "I'm nineteen, so I was young enough to get that inoculation the city got so excited about two winters back." No, not uncomfortable. Disinterested. This was boring to Ia. "Uh, supposedly, it makes us . . . immune. To mind control. Or the Thriae mind control, and the honey, and most other kinds."

"Immune?" Brist snorted. "You went down the second they splashed the honey on you. I kept fighting a full minute after."

"Uh, might wanna check that again," Trys said. She gave a funny little laugh. "Brist, you kept fighting for five seconds, looked kinda sleepy for five more, then swooned when one of them pranced up and started pouring a pitcher's worth in you."

Brist stared blankly at her. "What? But it—it felt—"

"It feels longer," Yathi mumbled. The talk was turning back to the control, and she was starting to get dozy again. Just the thought of the Thriae splashing honey around was strangely erotic to her now. And the thought of Brist, held in one of the sweet women's arms, obediently drinking down a jar full of that wondrous nectar . . . "It feels longer, but you break so easily."

They all glanced back at her. She looked back up at them, eyes half-lidded. She felt so tired. And it felt so good to just keep drowning herself. She was swimming in pleasure. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she'd wake up back with Tsimpi and the others . . .

"I faked," Ia said, her voice high-pitched and chipper. "And don't look at me like that, Brist, I did it for the same reason Trys ran. We were losing. So I faked it so they wouldn't beat me down or kill me."

Yathi did stop masturbating now. She frowned up at Ia. "Kill?" She couldn't quite muster a full sentence. The fog was too thick. But surely the Thriae wouldn't kill anyone. They were so sexy, and sweet, and . . . sweet . . .

"The Thriae are mean bastards," Trys said. The warrior fixed her with a stern look. "Don't forget that, Yathi. They've fucked us all up." She turned to Brist. "You drank their mead. You aren't in the first stage, but you're on the steps leading up to it. I saw what you did with Yathi. You gave in. All the way." She sounded bitter. "It's not your fault, but it happened. Be careful. That mead doesn't stay in you like nymph juices, but it doesn't exactly leave, either."

"I'm not fucked up," Ia said proudly. "I mean, no more than that 'cure' already fucked me up."

Yathi found herself sitting up a bit straighter. She took her hand out and lowered it to her side. She didn't speak. None of them were looking at her now.

"The cure has side effects," Trys was explaining to Brist. "It basically froze her in the first stage. She won't progress, but she's . . . Well, let's just say there's a reason the town had that 'Toy Boom' around the same time the inoculation came out. Triples the sex drive. It's fucked up that they give it to minors, but it only works on people still in puberty.

"Still a lot better than what happened to Yathi." Trys's voice sounded a little dead on the last word. She leaned forward and gripped Brist and Ia by the shoulders. "So what's next? We're going to continue on the mission. We're going to get to the central hive. We're going to do what Okino planned and end this war, or become honey sprites trying. The three of us—"

"Four." They turned. Yathi was standing now. The nude scout held her crossbow in a hand still slick with her own juices, but she carried herself with all the pride of a Knight of the City. "I'm coming with you guys."

They stared at her, unblinking. Trys slowly shook her head. "Yathi, you're in the first stage. Maybe even the second. They . . . they fucked your brains out. I don't know why—"

"Yes, you do," Yathi and Ia said at the same time. They exchanged looks. Yathi knew more than the others did about it, but they all knew quite well why the meadbrewers had favored her.

"I need to go with you," Yathi said. "Even if I hit the second stage. Hell, even if I go all the way to the third. You still need a scout, and I'm the best you've got." She pointed the crossbow right at Trys. "Trys, you're in the first stage too."

"I have training. Meditation. Years of . . . " Trys flushed. "I can handle myself."

"Well, I can't." Yathi raised the crossbow and cocked it. She narrowed her eyes. "But you still need a scout."

~~~~

"P-please, Tsimpi—"

"Hush."

"Oh, Tsimpi—"

"Zip it."

On any other day, at any other time, the sounds of her commanding officer begging her like this—right in front of the rank-and-file, even!—would have made Tsimpi giggle like a schoolgirl. She'd been training and programming Kentri for years and years to fall into a delicate balance: Free-willed enough to be guilty, to be able to fight to feign control in front of the women, but whipped enough to break down from the slightest ounce of 'pressure' when Tsimpi wanted her to.

But this wasn't an ordinary day. Today, things had gone wrong. And since Kentri was the one who actually knew how to command a patrol, it was kind of important that Kentri get a damn hold of herself.

Kentri looked at her with wide, pathetic, puppy-dog eyes. Her blond curls framed a gorgeous, kissable face, and Tsimpi knew there was a real risk that Kentri would start trying to tempt her into fucking her. Tsimpi had been fucked plenty of times today, but she was always vulnerable, and Kentri knew just what buttons to push. So Tsimpi grabbed Kentri by the arm, right in front of the three privates, and shook her. "Get ahold of yourself, ma'am!"

For once, she said the word "ma'am" without a hint of sarcasm. That wasn't easy with someone as adorably pathetic as Kentri.