Philter of Lust

At one point, his back turns.

Immediately, her eyes flick downward. She is prepared. A long metal claw adorns one of her fingers, a ring that carries some pretense of fashion. But as she reaches for the second wineglass on the side table, it drips a single tear of a bright red liquid.

The poison disperses into the red wine just as he looks back again, not noticing her wrist roll like an idle stretch.

In the next few moments, he is discussing some farfetched philosophy about beauty and secrecy. His movements are graceful but emphatic as he attempts to persuade her. "After all, subtlety draws more than the eye, but also the mind."

"Very good," She croons, lounging back on the arm of a chaise. Her soft robes fall in precarious gossamer over her royal blue body, the height of her thigh sitting above her sprawled skirts. Her hair is pinned away from her bare shoulders, her clavicle adorned in nothing but its own thin shadow. The curve of her cerulean breasts peeks out from between the folds of her finely embroidered robes, threatening to break free. "I accept."

With a successful sigh, he bows deeply. His wavy white hair shines delicately in the violet faerie light that burns in wrought iron braziers. "Thank you, jalil. You honor me."

She gestures to the seat beside the side table, holding a full wine glass like a smug suggestion as she watches him with ruby red eyes. "Drink with me."

A humble grin expands on the courtesan's lips, his face glowing with pride. He obeys, sitting and picking up the second glass.

"To our further collaboration," she announces, lifting her own glass in a toast.

His smile brightens even further as he realizes that he has been hired. "To our collaboration," he echoes triumphantly, and takes a thirsty gulp of the poisoned beverage.

"You did impress me," the poisoner continues, her gaze trailing over the edges of his body in private anticipation of what is to come. "You must have studied extensively."

He nods a little. "I'm learned in many topics of contemporary interest, as well as in the gentle arts of subterfuge and diplomacy. Are you interested in any particular topic?"

"Well, some might think me small-minded, but I suppose I'm more interested in your... physical talents."

He gulps softly and sighs discreetly. "Even among these, there are many... ahem, topics of interest." He runs his fingers through his hair, already feeling hot. He sips from his wine again, as if it might cool him down.

"Don't worry about manners, jaluk. Go on, it's a good wine. Drink your fill."

"Ah, but that would be inelegant, jalil. A cardinal sin at the company."

"Your madam would be appalled, I'm sure. But she is not here, is she?"

"Well, no -"

"I said, drink."

He looks at her for as long as he dares, their eyes locked with his indecision. She is a noble, and he is a courtesan. He has a reputation to uphold, but they are alone. She has just approved the next stage in his career, and she has asked so little in return.

With another compliant chuckle, he tips the glass back and pours the wine into his throat.

"Good boy." She nods, then raises her own untainted glass to her full lips. With a patient sigh, she explains, "You see, I don't much care for nuance, or poise, or ritual. I am bored of all the little pretenses your lot have been trained to provide. I want a jaluk that hungers."

He hums a single short note, a stifled sort of grunt as he feels himself flex involuntarily. Warmth rises in him, and his breath catches.

She tucks a stray white hair behind her pointed ear, allowing her hand to fall onto her ample cleavage and touch at the bare skin there. "I want passion. Desperation. And I find that it isn't too difficult to give a lovely creature like you a little... motivation."

He tries to chuckle again, but the noise he emits is more like a moan. He curls forward a bit and sets the wine glass quickly down. His jaw goes slack. He tries to speak, but the blood is rushing out of his brain.

"That's right, sweet. Don't fight it. Let's see who you are outside of your training. Without your pretty composure." She leans forward, touching a painted nail under his chin to tip his attention up to her face. "Awaken your primal self."

That's when he really feels it. The twinge. It's hot, demanding, and undeniable. It's hard, pulsing, and insatiable. His loose-fitting pants do nothing to hide the urgent bulge that has presented itself between his legs. A hand moves instinctively towards it, but he resists with a groan. He grips the arm of the chair and tries to glare at her, but then he notices the slope of her neck, the shape of her mouth, the gentle stirring of her leg. He wets his lips. "What did you do?"

Her fingernail scrapes against the bottom of his jaw as she settles back onto the chaise, wiggling the little claw on her ring finger in a teasing gesture. "It's a concoction of my own design. I knew a member of your company would be the most exquisite specimen to test it on."

"Hnng..." His knuckles are pale, his pupils dilated. His hips indulge in a gentle bucking against the soft cushion beneath him. His need is so intense, he doesn't remember anything else about himself. There is only her glorious body, and his profound desire to touch it. It's all he can do not to jump atop her and start ripping at her clothes. "What- what do I do?"

"You worship me, of course."

His ragged breath betrays a low whimper. He slips out of the chair and onto his weak knees, stroking himself over his clothes. He reaches for her exposed thigh and underneath her skirts, but her foot rises up to kick him away.

"Ah, ah," she chides playfully, even as he grunts with frustration. "Start with my feet."

He looks down at the foot that is perched on a bent leg before him, his white eyebrows furrowed with shame. He has to prove to her that he deserves to fuck her. It's the only thing that matters. Whatever goals or dreams he once had, they are replaced by this most intense arousal. He tentatively removes his hand from his crotch so that he can take her foot gently within his entire grasp. He caresses her toes and squeezes her arch. He massages the ball of her foot beneath his eager thumbs and spreads her toes to give detailed attention to each one.

As soon as he dares, he lowers his head to kiss the bridge of her foot. Then he kisses her big toe, and the bottom of her foot. His tongue emerges, lapping and suckling at her soft skin. It quickly turns into hot, wet kisses as he makes out with the lowest part of her, the very base of her essence. It's humiliating. It's degrading. But he needs it more than life.

Eventually he allows himself to begin kissing up the length of her leg. Goose-prickles rise to meet his eager lips on her ankle, her calf, her knee, her thigh. At one point, he must rise from his knees to kiss her further, and her foot finds his tight groin. Another pathetic whimper is emitted from his desperate throat, and his fingers trip against her hemline as he tries again to reach beneath her skirts.

"Look at you, still so tentative," she teases with a derisive laugh. "Take what you want, jaluk."

He growls in frustration, an animal in heat. In a single moment, his hands retreat to relieve his cock of its confines, a hard phallus springing out of discarded clothes. His pale indigo skin is like silk stretched taut over pillowy muscles, more form than function. Still he growls as he throws her skirts aside and rips away her panties. Her condescending giggle should be an insult, but the indignity of it all only quickens the throbbing in his balls.

Her sex is open to him, a pink flower between her soft blue thighs. In another life, he would have allowed himself to appreciate the gentle fold of her labia, the dewy pistil of her clit. But that is not what she wants, what she made him into.

Instead, he puts his member against it and opens into her with a hard, inelegant thrust. Despite her cavalier attitude, he can feel the slick pleasure that had been building up inside her, the heat of her own patient desire. She swallows him up, pressing on his need from every angle, joining their juices in mutual warmth. He doesn't stop to savor her, though. As soon as he has felt inside of her, he can't help but satisfy that most primal urge to do it again, and again and again. His hips buck, his ass clenches, his thighs flex, and his breath comes in the same rapid rhythm that he invokes between her legs. It's the only thing on his mind, the only thing he exists for.

She, too, can't help the little grunts of gratification that leak out of her between melodic laughter at his embarrassing predicament. He truly looks like an utter fool, his brow creased in concentration and beading with sweat. His demeanor before had been pensive, deliberate, even beautiful. But now he is a snorting rothe, his posture hunched and his movements ragged and ugly. His pants are forgotten around his ankles. His musk is heavy and frantic. The chaise creaks beneath his efforts, as if to join in on her laughter.

He tries to kiss her with the same lips that took in her feet, but she pushes him away with an amused grimace. "Ew, never," she declares, throwing her head back to enjoy a long, lusty moan. Her breasts have bounced free of her robes, so he attends to those instead. He takes her dark nipples into his mouth, sucking and licking and worshiping her perfect tits with his worthless tongue. All the while he never stops pumping, her own personal piston. His heart is beating out of his chest, his legs are cramping with their endless struggle, but these are petty complaints drowned in the wake of his only true purpose: fucking her.

Suddenly the incessant slapping of their thighs comes to a halt, and she gasps in anticipation of the moment that follows. He spasms, his own orgasm catching him by surprise, like he'd been lost in a timeless oblivion of desire that he'd never escape. A long, pathetic whimper whistles out of his tight throat as he empties himself in glorious release, breeding her like the animal he is. He indulges in a few more weak thrusts, his eyes vulnerable and soft as he meets her dagger-like gaze.

"Did you have fun, darling?"

It is all he can do not to answer her; his silence is all that is left of his dignity. She allows him this, if only because she isn't done with him yet.

"Mm, but I'm just getting started. Get down there and suck your cum out of me. Don't stop until I tell you to."

He scoffs, but the noise is a weak defiance. Only after it does he realize that he is still hard. The climax allowed him a few spare seconds of clarity, but the poison's hunger is not sated. The twinge of her command pulses in his exhausted heart and his raw cock. He gasps for air, looking down at himself in disbelief. But soon the lust overtakes him again.

Dropping to his knees, he reasons that she'll let him fuck her again when she's empty of him. It's the only chance he has to relieve this unceasing ache of desire. Without pause, he buries his face between her legs, lapping up the cream that was already leaking out. The salty taste of himself is demeaning. The sloppy technique of his eager tongue is unworthy of his station. All of his training is forgotten in that eternal moment, the sweet nectar of her pussy mixed with his bitter disgrace.

The last of it is soon cleaned from her plump, throbbing labia, but he knows he is not done. He pries his tongue into the hole that had once held his thumping cock, searching for every last drop of his own cum. So much for breeding her; he is taking it all back, any scrap of his undeserving manhood purged from her divine channel. He opens his mouth tall, sucking on the soft velvet of her pussy as his tongue presses ever inward. He might have heard her moan, but for now the organ in front of him is his entire world. Meanwhile the poison pulses in the cock in his hand, fully erect and nearing a fresh climax that would surely give him as little satisfaction as the last.

Her exposed breasts heaving with her mounting pleasure, she looks lazily over toward tall glass windows framed by heavy, open curtains. Beyond is a beautiful view of the underground city from a high vantage, and she wonders idly if anyone can see in. But then his tongue flicks over her clit. Her eyes close like a gasp and she reaches down to wring her fingers into his once coiffed hair.

Time is lost to each of them then, that keen moment of pleasure rising in them both. He can feel her begin to pulse beneath his lips, her breath quickening, and so too does he quicken his hand on his own pathetic phallus. She presses him into her groin by the back of his head, wrapping her legs urgently around him. His expert tongue flails wildly within her, as if to tug her orgasm free... and soon he does.

Suddenly her body begins jerking around him as her climax overtakes her. Her eyes go blank, her nipples point toward the ceiling, and she cries out. It is a long, sweet noise, which ends with a low, satisfied chuckle. She remains clamped around him for a few more seconds, allowing him to continue licking and suckling through her glorious aftershocks. Then she pushes him roughly away.

His weak knees crumple beneath him, his swollen cock still at attention between his tired legs. He strokes it hard and fast, nearing a second completion, looking at her expectantly.

"Good boy." She says with a contented inhale. Then her red eyes spy the movement of his hand. She utters a single breath of a laugh. "Oh. No, darling. I'm done."

"But..." His brow furrows helplessly, his hips bucking with his insatiable need. His hand falls away from his alert cock, a pathetic whine peeling out of his tight throat. "How... how long?"

"A few more hours at least. But I have no further use of you."

"What? Please..."

"Get dressed. You're excused."