Yes, it's part two - this time with my usual perversity rearing its ugly head. While you're here, a brief note about the setting of the stories. The Eternal Republic is a kind of thought experiment in social eroticism - fantastic worldbuilding that combines a kind of ahistorical Gilded Age that spans the customs of aristocracy and oligarchy from the 18th to early 20th centuries, mixes it with elves and other fantastic beasties, and wonders what happens if we tweak various social mores around the intersection of sex, social standing, and public morality. I raise it in this installment as it features - as you'll see below - a car based on the Bugatti Royale. It's the same setting as my other stories, though somewhat clearer and refined, and one all future stories involving these characters will take place in.
Content wise, I feel obligated to warn the reader that this installment (and all future installments unless otherwise noted) features extensive S/M content. In this installment it's of only moderate harshness. It also features a lady with a very large penis - and yes, I intend to explore the abnormal gender norms of the Eternal Republic this creates later on - and some slut-shaming internal monologues.
If you hadn't tweaked that they're elves yet, that's probably because I'm an utter hack. But enough waffling explanations - you came for a story, so let's begin...
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While some of the other guests had to strain to spot their servants in the throng outside the ball, Rubeah was a conspicuous figure. Bliss could hardly miss her in her tightly fitting red uniform and cap, brass buttons gleaming in the warm light of the lamp-posts - let alone her vehicle, the Greywind Seventy-Seven. It was a great, sleek black-and-chrome beast of an automobile that sat like a low-slung ironclad in a fleet of tall ships next to the horse-and-cart arrangements still in favour with the rest of the aristocracy. Spying a few jealous - and a few appalled - stares and glances at the behemoth, Bliss smiled and swayed over to the chauffeur, heels clicking on the cobblestones.
"Home, Rubeah."
"Did you enjoy your evening, Lady Starshadow?" Rubeah asked, holding the back door open for the voluptuous mistress of the house.
"Hm? Oh, yes." Bliss replied, sliding into the plush, comfortable interior. With no need to compromise on weight with the terrifying engine block of the Greywind (concealed beneath a grand, almost phallic hood half the length of the entire gargantuan machine) outpacing even a whole herd of wild stallions, the seats were padded to an almost obscene degree and broad enough to comfortably lay on as though a bed. Rubeah delicately closed the door for her before pacing around to the driver's seat, taking up her post and adjusting the mirror. Bliss could just see her faintly luminescent eyes in it, peering at her in the reflection.
"Are we making a statement as we go or just leaving, my Lady?"
"Mm... Let's make a statement. But not too big of one. Just enough to make sure everyone knows we were here."
Settling back into the luxurious bench seating, Bliss raised a leg to ease off one heel, rubbing at her bare foot for a moment as Rubeah did whatever it is the chauffeur does to coax the beast to life. Then came the grand rumble of the engine firing up, a deep bass that shuddered through the car and into her chest, stole her breath for a moment like the paralyzing cry of a tiger, and despite herself she smiled again. The car wasn't her idea or her baby, but she didn't need to look to know almost every eye outside was on them, envious or terrified or both. She slipped her other heel off as the growling rumble settled into its usual purr and Rubeah pulled away from the gathering and into the narrow streets of the city.
"Did you have the time, Rubeah?"
"Yes ma'am." The chauffeur offered, glancing into the mirror again. "Ten twenty, or thereabouts."
"Oh, good. We'll be home by eleven, then... Hainora will still be awake. Do roll the window up, please, there's a chill coming through."
With Rubeah's attention returned to the road and the cabin shut off from the world by the window, Bliss helped herself to the discreet bar hidden inside the dividing wall between the driver's seat and the cabin, the folding panel that concealed it serving double duty as a mixing table. The chauffeur stocked it, but as Bliss lazily raised bottle after bottle Hainora's influence as the car's main passenger was obvious. Whiskey, brandy, rum - no vodka, for whatever reason - and only a single lamentably lonely bottle of champagne. The small selection of liqueurs was more promising, and after a long minute Bliss settled on an old standby, pouring herself a delicate crystal glass of creme de cassis.
The sweet fruity scent of the liqueur filled the cabin swiftly, and she inhaled it deeply, eyelids fluttering closed. It mingled on the tongue with the faint lingering scent of sex that clung to her and her perfume, a familiar mixture to her now. Adrene had been disappointing, she sighed to herself, melting into the seat and raising the glass to her lips. Disappointing, but useful. He'd been so easy to seduce. Just remembering the look on his face when she stole away from her dancing partner to his side, brushing her fingers against his elbow, brought a smile back to her face. The recollection of their first stolen kiss in the hallway was as sweet on her lips as the blackcurrant wine, though Adrene had almost as little to recommend him in that arena as in his skills at the carnal arts.
Nosing at the cassia, she let her head loll back against the rich red silk of the seats, kicking her feet up onto the bench seat and wiggling her toes. He was a silly little boy, really, and she almost felt bad for a moment for him. He was more than willing to step out on his wife, so it was hardly her fault that all it took was a wink and a giggle to lure him into her trap. The cassis coated her tongue as she took a fresh sip, letting the pleasant burn of the liqueur spread through her body, joining the tiredness of the dancing, the glow of her triumph. The look on Karandreya's face as she handed her the panties... Now there was a thrill. What Adrene lacked in bed, Dreya made up for in the sweetness of upstaging her. Her thighs pressed together without thought as she pictured it, holding that look of shock, rage, and humiliation in her mind's eye, reliving the moment. Unbeknownst to her, Rubeah's eyes lingered on her in the mirror as she flushed and the creamy expanse of her thighs rubbed together.
She knew it was a dreadful, small, and petty thing to do. And, as usual, that only spurred her on, blew fresh air on the embers of her arousal. Downing the rest of the cassis and setting the glass in one of the elegant leather-padded holders along the door, Bliss hiked up the skirts of her dress around her waist, spreading her thighs apart. One elegant foot came to rest against the door in the process, toes curling into the tight damask as her hand slid along one creamy thigh to her sex, delicately caressing her velvety vulva, tacky with the drying remnants of Adrene's spunk and damp with the dew of her own whorish arousal.
"Call me a whore..." She whispered to herself as her fingers danced, searching out the spots that never failed to make her shiver - the little spot just beneath the dip of her clitoral hood that let her nudge against its root, the small line on one of her labia that was always queerly sensitive even compared to the rest. She was slick and ready now, not just damp, but with no one to fuck her she made do, pumping her fingers into herself, panting and moaning, Dreya's face fixed in her mind, the shattered moment of realization replaying over and over.
Her breast was in her other hand, bare now. She didn't remember shrugging down the top of her dress, but it too pooled around her waist, leaving her exposed to her own groping, to the hard pinch to her pale pink nipple that sent a delicious edge of pain running through her body. It did nothing, of course, to cool her ardor - years with Hainora's sadistic lusts had left her primed to crave that ache, to wretchedly desire the hard use of her ample breasts. Her lovers elsewhere never seemed to understand it, the way she wanted -
needed
- them to hurt at least a little, how the pain only let pleasure sink deeper and deeper until she was throbbing at her very core with desperate lust and self-loathing.
She punished herself with them as she pumped her fingers into herself there in the backseat of the car, pinching and twisting, biting, reducing herself to whoredom. They were her sin made manifest in lustful flesh, and every pinch of her teeth, every slap, every agonizingly hard squeeze with her sharp nails sunk her deeper into the depths of her own wanton sluttishness. The potent mixture of her own depravity and her self-loathing powered her into a tremendous orgasm, fingers pumping away, nails biting into her tit. Her eyes rolled back, her body swept by one long trembling shudder, toes curling. Swept from her senses, time drifted away along with modesty. The sounds escaping her echoed dimly in her consciousness, far away - loud shuddering gasps, moans, the splatter of her squirt against the dividing window with the driver.
Dimly, she was aware of Rubeah swearing and pulling over to the side, the chauffeur too stunned by the display of her ejaculation to focus on the road. But she paid it no mind - she could scarcely manage to do anything at all but lie there, panting. Her tits fell from her hand, their great weight pulling them inexorably to splay against her sides. Her legs shook, trembling, and after a long few moments she returned to her body just enough to lower them to the floor of the cab. She could leave it, she knew, pretend nothing had happened. Rubeah would say nothing. She could primly tuck herself back into her dress. Instead, she raised her voice loud enough to be heard through the dividing glass.
"Fetch a cloth and clean that, Rubeah... There's a good girl."
