The Conclave Ch. 01

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Welcome aboard, and thanks in advance for reading! This is my first shot at a longer, more multi-part story here -- or, at least, the first one that's actually gone anywhere. Whether I go any further with this, and how much further, will depend largely on the reception this gets. Ratings and feedback are greatly appreciated, perhaps a little more so than usual (though I always love 'em, to be honest).

All characters depicted in this work are at least 18, and intended as completely original creations. Fair warning, there's a pretty low smut-to-story ratio here: The Conclave is intended as a slow burner, but it should get spicier as it goes on!

Enjoy!

***

MATT

Two hours earlier, there was no way I'd have gone for it. Two hours earlier, I wasn't buzzing with a few vodka lemonades and a moderately inflated ego. Fucking Stefan. This was all his fault.

Even now I was having doubts, though.

"No chance, mate." I knocked back another one and stared dejectedly into the empty glass, as though it might offer some solution to my tiny chance of success. "Out of my league. Way out. She's Arsenal, and I'm, what, the sixth form second eleven..."

"Lighten the fuck up, man." Stefan gave me a pat on the back which felt more like a slap. We'd known each other for about three days, which made me his best friend by default, apparently. I was actually fine with this, because his antics attracted a lot of attention from new people with whom I could then strike up a conversation. He was a good middleman. "She's giving you the eyes," he added, in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Look, mate," I said, "I don't know how they woo women over in..."

"Bamberg," he prompted.

"But around here it's customary to actually look at people you're into. Is that some major faux-pas in Hamburg?"

"Bamberg," said Stefan, a little irritated. "Play it cool, man. Check her in your phone camera."

"Because that's not creepy at all."

"The front camera, you dipshit. Pretend like you're taking a selfie."

I don't, as a rule, take selfies, but I decided to humour him. I raised my phone, opened the front camera, and took a proper, close look at her.

Stefan was right. She was watching me. With a sly grin on her face, in fact.

My first thought when I'd seen her was of those faeries you find in the darker kind of children's story. You know, the kind that lure you off the path and then steal your mind. She was about the right size for it -- five foot tall if it was an inch, and so slender she looked like a strong breeze might snap her spine. Flame red hair in a messy pixie cut surprisingly did little to distract from the rest of her face, and especially her eyes. I'd never seen eyes greener, or more piercing. Faerie hypnosis, perhaps?

"Matt, you've been stroking your hair for half a minute, man."

Too long. Fuck. I sheepishly put my phone away.

"You have to do it now, man."

"Not a bloody chance."

"She's seen you now," he teased. "You gotta."

"Fucksake, alright." I slid off my perch at the bar. "Buy me a drink if she blows me off."

"Buy me one if she blows you."

Touché.

***

AIKO

"Fuck it, I'll have a kebab." The third time I'd said that in as many weeks. This diet was going perfectly.

In all fairness to myself, it had been an absolute pig of a day at work. The requests had just kept coming, and about half of them could have been solved by Reading the Friendly Manual (but replace "friendly" with the expletive of your choice). Still, though, I suppose it comes with the territory. Give the new girl the shitty jobs.

Tash had invited me out to some dreadful theme pub in Soho, and on a slightly better day I'd have snapped up the opportunity, but not tonight. Tonight was self-care night. Kebab, Twin Peaks, shower, get off, sleep.

Epic Kebab was empty -- surprising for a Friday night; I guess there was a match on or something. Alexei smiled and waddled up to the counter as I entered. "Lamb doner?" he boomed.

I nodded, returning the smile. He knew me so well. "Thanks. Really need this."

"No worries." He turned and started prepping it for me as I checked my phone for what I promised myself would be the last time today, deleting messages as I read them. Phones not working at -- delete. Can't access start menu on -- nope. Contributions for Martin's -- bye. (Who was Martin, anyway?) Some of this was definitely going to bite me in the arse come Monday, but that was Monday.

I must have been scowling. "What's up?" asked Alexei.

"Bad day at work."

"Shame." He scooped a few extra chips into the box, bagged it and slid it across the counter. "Four fifty, please. You work too hard."

"I have to." I handed him a five-pound note. "Keep the change."

"You sure?" He chuckled and tapped at the register, dropping the 50p extra in the tip tray. "Stay safe. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

"I will. Thanks." I gave him a wave as I left. The bag felt heavy, so I took a look at it, and my suspicions were confirmed: as he often did, he'd slipped a can of Lilt in there.

What a sweetheart. Pity I don't drink Lilt.

***

MATT

Her name was Saskia, she was a second-year linguistics student, she was half Dutch on her mother's side, her drink of choice was straight gin, and I was quite possibly already in love. And maybe it was the vodka talking, but I felt as if maybe, just maybe, I had a chance with her.

We'd been talking for about forty-five minutes, with Stefan watching us and occasionally shooting me a thumbs-up or something more obscene. Early signs were good: she seemed genuinely interested in hearing me complain about my lecturers, she liked classic rock (always a plus), and I could've sworn she was subtly shifting closer to me as we spoke.

Trouble was, the conversation was now veering towards outright flirting, and that tends to get a bit sticky if, like me, you're really, really bad at it.

Catching sight of motion in the background, I squinted at Stefan, who was miming a vigorous blowjob at me with an inane grin. Saskia was turned away from him and I hoped she hadn't noticed him.

"Your mate seemed optimistic." She had.

I shook my head and sighed. "Ignore him. He's just being a prat."

"Maybe he thinks you've struck lucky," she chuckled.

"And?"

"Maybe he's right."

As if that sentence didn't hit me like a bus. I formulated about a dozen possible responses, failed to settle on any of them, and ended up staring wide-eyed at Saskia with my mouth hanging open. Eventually I managed an "Um..."

"Yes, I'm saying what you think I'm saying."

Well, that dispersed any doubt I'd had left, though my brain was still struggling to parse it. "Um..." I said again.

Saskia leaned in close, a twinkle in those inscrutable faerie eyes. "We're going to have one more drink here, and then we're going back to my flat and you're going to fuck me until we pass out from exhaustion."

I paused and composed myself before replying, "Well, that's that cleared up. Gin again?"

She laughed. "Good answer. Yes, please."

Stefan punched the air in the background.

***

AIKO

The front door was unlocked.

That was, um, worrying.

Reflexively, my fingers closed tight around my keys. In truth, they wouldn't have served much better than bare fists, but they made me feel a bit safer, and perhaps that was more important. I pushed the door open and took a few cautious steps inside.

"It's fine, Aiko, you can come in."

Tash?

Well, at least it hadn't been a break-in. Tash had a spare key for my flat, for emergencies. But wasn't she at that bloody theme pub in Soho? Why hadn't she texted ahead?

I stepped into the living room, and another question hit me square in the face: why was she naked?

Tash had spread herself right across my armchair, arms stretched along the back and legs akimbo, slouched back a little and putting her whole body into view. And what a view it was. I'd never ben slow to compliment Tash on her looks -- she was easily the most attractive woman I knew -- but seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, was something else. Her skin shone with a lustrous caramel sheen in the light of the single table lamp I'd been using since the main light fitting blew, smooth and without a trace of hair except for the neatly trimmed triangle between her long, supple legs. The latter, however, did little to conceal her soft folds, and it was hard to see from this distance but she didn't look entirely dry down there. The gentle curve of her breasts was the next thing to draw my eye, her large, dark nipples a little stiff in the cool air, and then her eyes, sizing me up in a very un-Tash-like manner. Too analytical, too measured.

But then there was The Smile, the one I'd seen her give to dozens of guys (and the occasional girl). The one that meant "play your cards right and maybe you can have me". It'd be rude to ask how often she followed up on that promise, but, nonetheless, knowing that implication was... interesting.

What was perhaps most perplexing, though, was the tattoo. I'd never seen Tash's bare chest, even when we'd gone swimming together, and now I perhaps knew why: just above her cleavage was a small tattoo of what looked like a stylised ring of thorns, with an abstract floral pattern in the centre. And it could have been my imagination, but it seemed to be glowing slightly.

"Have a seat." I pretty much sunk onto the sofa automatically. "I know this raises a lot of questions, but be patient if you can. All will be revealed."

"I bloody hope so," I managed.

Tash just smirked, closed her eyes, and waved a hand in my general direction. Then the tattoo on her chest flashed electric blue, and I felt, in order, a jolt of electric pain, a rush of unquenchable arousal, and the thud of my head against the back of the sofa as I passed out.

***

MATT

One more drink, one more vodka lemonade, two buses, a short walk and a few minutes of frenzied undressing later, I no longer cared about the drink I now owed Stefan.

I was perched on the edge of a bed, and between my legs knelt the most alluring woman I'd ever seen, taking my cock balls-deep into her mouth like it was nothing. A woman that small should not have been able to take me that far back that quickly, but I wasn't really in a questioning mood.

Saskia's mouth was warm, smooth, snug without being overly tight, and she was applying just the right amount of suction to drive me to the edge of insanity without pushing me over it. She was bobbing slowly on me, pulling about halfway back and then sliding back down to the tip, her lips' grip just firm enough for the tugging sensation to be tangible, intermingling with the ecstatic medley I was already feeling.

She'd only been there three minutes and I already felt perilously close to orgasm. Saskia could tell, of course, and kept slowing to a crawl just as I was about to blow. But, even with that, I was not going to last long. It briefly occurred to me that I was out of practice and my repayment would probably be a bit lacking, but then she took my balls in one soft palm and began to fondle them, and I lost it.

A few more seconds of unbearable tension... and then I was cumming, harder and harder, each throbbing pulse seemingly stronger and harder than the last. I was spurting a hell of a lot but somehow Saskia kept me hilted in her throat, swallowing each hot, thick gout with practiced ease. I found myself bucking my hips, and normally I'd have stopped myself for fear of making her gag, but I couldn't -- it was like she was pulling me in, dragging something else out of me along with my orgasm.

As the blue light emanating from her tattoo filled my vision and I slipped into blissful unconsciousness, I began to realise what it had been.