A Moment of Lunacy

We're almost at the top of the mountain when the King's men ambush us.

In theory, they chose a good spot. The path opens up here after a long period of walking single-file with rock on one side and a cliff on the other. We can't retreat, and their numbers should make a fight impossible.

But they're trying to fight the Prince in the snow. They're already doomed.

"Same offer as always," a broad-shouldered man calls out. "Surrender, and the King will forgive everything."

"Not a chance," the Prince replies.

The broad-shouldered man is vaguely familiar. He has some manner of earth magic. The other potential threat is a woman in bone-white facepaint and a bizarrely colorful outfit. The rest look like standard soldiers. That's all I have time to evaluate before they charge.

I grab my crossbow and quickly load an electric bolt. One poor fool is carrying a metal shield, and with a shot to the center, he spasms and drops. Beside him, another soldier balances precariously atop one of the Prince's ice pillars, trying not to fall off. Squire Abigail covers us both, her adamantine tower shield protecting against their arrows--

I'm falling. Why am I falling?

The painted woman lunged, I remember. Squire Abigail blocked her, and she bounced. She rebounded against the broad-shouldered man and went flying over my head. And like an idiot, I grabbed her hand.

Was I trying to save her? I guess it doesn't matter. The bottom of the cliff is drawing near.

I feel a hollow sensation, and then I bounce. The painted woman and I bounce, roll, and flop most of the way down the mountain, eventually coming to rest in the snow piled against an evergreen tree.

Apparently, that's the painted woman's magic. Bouncing. I've never heard of anything like this before.

I can't find my crossbow, and my pack's somewhere near the top of the mountain, but I see the painted woman, groaning next to me. I stand and help her up.

"You saved my life," I tell her. "Thank you."

"Didn't need to kill," she replies. "We're both out of the fight anyway."

Her voice is remarkably high-pitched, like she's been breathing an alchemist's gases. I wonder again who or what this strange woman is.

"Well, if you're not going to kill me, come this way," I tell her. "In the summer, some of the nobles hunt here. I know where their cabins are."

--

We don't find much in the nobles' cabins, but their guards have a cabin too. They left behind a few loaves of cactus bread, just as flavorless as when they were prepared, and a cheap-looking bottle of wine.

With food secured and a fire stoked, I take a closer look at the painted woman. Her curly hair is silver, yet she looks younger than me. Her skin is a bit darker than mine under the facepaint, so she's probably from a sunnier region. She has a big round nose, almost bulbous, and the build of a fighter who relies more on speed than strength.

Her outfit is bizarre, thin for the climate and striped in a variety of bright colors. Whatever her job is, it isn't stealth.

She's sitting at a small table, with an empty chair across from her. "Sit down!" she says. "Take a load off. Unless you found some cards, we've got nothing to do but talk."

I sit.

"My name's Lune," she tells me. "For my hair." She tugs on a silver lock, but it refuses to stay straightened. "And I already know yours, Nicola of Silverstream."

"What did they tell you about me?" I ask.

"Former royal nursemaid," she says. "Supposedly tricked the Prince into rebelling. Sounds like horseshit to me. The King can't admit the Prince rebelled on his own."

"I'm certainly no mastermind, and I can't control the Prince," I reply. "I'm just trying to keep him alive. Those youngsters are strong and brave, but their common sense leaves something to be desired."

"I bet!" she says. "I heard about that scam artist in Larkwood."

We fall into conversation for a while, and when our throats begin to tire, she opens the wine bottle. We drink from it in turns, only small sips at first. It doesn't taste any better than it looks.

"I don't have much of a story," she explains after one sip. "Clow was a free land. Then the King's soldiers marched in. We couldn't afford their taxes, so we had to pay in soldiers. And I'm a pretty good fighter. Always have been. So I went."

"So you have no particular loyalty to the King?"

"Don't spread it around, but no. My loyalty is to Clow. They'll suffer if I do a bad job."

"Does falling off a cliff count as a bad job?"

"Probably. But you fell too. So I don't think I'm in trouble."

A few sips in, we talk about magic.

"I'm electric," I tell her. "When I get excited, I spark a little. I try not to stand too close to anyone else,"

"Whatever I am, I resist electric magic," she says. "So you can stand by me if you want."

"Whatever you are? I was wondering about that bounce spell." I've seen wood, bone, copper, and acid magic, but never anything like her before.

"I wonder too. Nobody else in Clow can do what I do. I had to make up all my spells on my own."

A few more sips in, I let slip that I'm unmarried. I raised the Prince, but I have no children of my own.

"That's a shame," she says. "Never looked, or never found anyone?"

"I'm too old," I admit. "I'm technically a noble, and most of us marry by twenty-five. But I have no land and no wealth, so no one wanted me."

"Beauty doesn't count for anything?" she asks.

"Don't pull my leg," I tell her.

"I'm not! You're pretty cute. You've got gray hairs, but so do I."

One more sip in, I turn the question around on her.

"My cock's too big," she tells me.

"Excuse me?"

"Haven't heard of the double-blessed?" she asks. "We're pretty rare, even in Clow. Big boobs and big dicks. Mine's a lot bigger than most. Scares all my lovers away."

I haven't really drunk that much, but maybe there's something funny about wine that was left in a cold cabin for months. That's my only excuse for what I'm thinking.

"Prove it."

"You sure you wanna go there?"

"Prove it."

Quicker than a wink, she shimmies out of those striped pants.

I try not to stare. I fail.

It's so big, you could use it as a bludgeoning weapon.

It's so big, "third leg" is barely an exaggeration.

It's so big, a horse would call it excessive.

Forget that weird magic. I want an explanation for that cock.

"Where did you even hide that thing?" I demand.

"Trade secret," she says.

She strikes a pose with her hand on her hip. Her cock swings freely and slams into her chair. "Ouch."

My sense of awe is broken. "It's huge," I say, "but it's just a cock like any other. There's no reason someone couldn't pleasure you. They must all be cowards or envious."

"Oh really?" she asks. "Care to put your mouth where your words are?"

Before she can blink, I have one of the beds dusted and the pillow fluffed. My skills as a castle servant haven't dulled.

I've had my share of experiences with drunken noblemen. All of them were years ago, mind you, but I remember what to do. She lays back on the bed, and I put my hands to work.

It's too big to properly handle the whole thing, but the underside is more sensitive. As it rises, I focus on the part just below the tip. When stroking goes well, I tentatively lick, and she makes a high-pitched sound. It takes me a second to realize it's her version of a groan.

I try to take the head in my mouth. (I don't even need to kneel.) But I can't open wide enough. It touches against my teeth, and they'd scrape it if I continued.

"Good try," she says, "but you'll need my magic." I feel the hollow sensation again, and my teeth begin to... bend? Whatever's happening in there, they no longer present an obstacle.

I pull off and test a finger against my teeth. They bend easily, then snap back into position. I try tugging on one, and it stretches, just far enough out of my mouth for me to see the tip. I let go, and it rattles my jaw as it returns, wobbling back and forth until it steadies.

"Your magic is so strange," I tell her, bending my teeth a little on "so." "But I can work with this."

There's no way I'll be able to breathe around her dick, so I'll have to work quickly. I instruct her to sit up, and I kneel in front of her. Then I take a deep breath and force my face forward.

I've never properly appreciated the word sleeved before. My throat is just a thin layer of flesh surrounding her cock, stretched so wide I can feel the extra bulge where the shaft gives way to the head. It should be impossible. It should be agonizing. But all I feel is her warmth.

I feel her tense up, and then my stomach is flooded. I hold out as long as I can before I have to come up for air. She keeps spraying and spraying, and I quickly close my eyes as warm sludge coats me from head to toe.

I hope one of the spare guard uniforms fits me. These clothes will be a total loss.

She finishes, and I stand there dripping, yet I can't bring myself to be annoyed. I push a hand against my swollen stomach, and I feel the liquid inside rise a little as it's pushed out of the way. It's still warm, a hot drink on a cold night.

Once I'm naked and de-sludged, with a spare uniform as a towel, she pulls me back to the beds. "I'll return the favor," she tells me. "I can also stretch myself."

Before I know what's happening, she's atop me, her lips against mine, her tongue reaching into my mouth. It tangles and wraps around my tongue, then darts into my throat, cleaning up some of the cum from when I pulled off of her dick.

I almost feel indignant. I worked hard for that cum.

She pulls back from me, her stretched tongue hanging out of her mouth. "Thurprithe," she says.

Incongruously, I notice the white on her face isn't smudged. "That's not facepaint, is it?"

"Yu dun' wanna know," she tells me.

Then she moves between my legs.

Her tongue reaches inside me, deeper, deeper, until it gently rubs against something I've never felt before. Is that... my cervix?

It's too light a touch to hurt, but it doesn't feel that good either. "Showoff," I tell her.

Her tongue seems to thicken, and it takes me a moment to realize what she's doing. She's doubling back, folding her tongue atop itself.

The very tip of her tongue reaches back into the air. Then it tickles my clit.

I shudder and spark. She doesn't seem to mind.

She pushes me through three orgasms before she withdraws. "Fair trade for the ruined clothes?" she asks.

"Fair trade," I say. "I daresay that was the best sex of my entire life. Certainly the most creative."

"I'm a fucking grandmaster," she says. "A grandmaster of fucking. Yet I have no one to practice on."

"I'd volunteer permanently," I say, "if we weren't enemies, and if I could figure out how to fit that dick in me."

Her shoulders stiffen a little, and her face looks oddly solemn. "I've got a secret. A big one. But somehow I trust you. Promise not to tell?"

"I promise."

"I can fit it in you," she says. "If you really want. I tried it once. She didn't like it. Too weird."

"We probably won't meet again, right?" I ask. "That means it won't be awkward, so I'm willing to try it."

She puts her hand on my chest, and the hollow feeling spreads, settling into my bones.

Then I feel my bones soften.

It's hard to move, but I'm able to lift my hand. It's pink and floppy. No finger bones to prevent the fingers from leaning backward or forward.

I can't open my mouth. My ears and nose feel stopped up. But I don't need to breathe. I'm far beyond human biology now.

A few people each generation can turn themselves into living embodiments of their element. About one person each century can turn someone else into an elemental. This random soldier, of no particular fame, might be the most powerful living spellcaster in the woooooh--

Can't think. Too full.

There's a hole. It's deep. Almost all the way through me. And there's a big thick cock that stretches me as it goes in. I'm so tight around it, I can feel each vein. It's in my chest. Between my breasts. Up my neck, until it bottoms out behind my eyes.

It retreats, and I feel empty again, until it surges forth once more.

It's hard to lift my hands, but I need to do something to thank this cock. I rub my distended skin, trying to pleasure it from the outside as well as the inside. I press my breasts together against it. I would kiss it, but I can't bend, not when it's in my head.

Cock for brains. That's funny.

A surge of liquid swells my head. The cock is cumming! It pulls back, almost out, letting me stretch more evenly. I swell out, ever larger and rounder, and it just keeps cumming.

It finally stops, and I lay there, contented. The cock pulls out, and someone presses my belly, forcing the cum out. I hate to lose it, but I love to feel it spurt, just as good on the way out as the way in.

Someone crushes me and wrings me until I'm empty. Then they cuddle against me like I'm a straw doll. Wrapped in their arms, I sink into the depths of sleep.

--

She's gone when I wake up. With no pack, no weapon, and a guard uniform meant for the summer months, all I can do is wait until the Prince and Squire Abigail find me.

I tell them the soldier saved me, but I don't explain anything else. This is between me and Lune. Besides, they're not old enough.

--

A few months later, I fight her again. I'm on the docks in Port Tokkil, and the Prince is running for a boat while Squire Abigail and I cover him.

"No hard feelings!" she shouts as she bounds towards me.

I fire my new crossbow, and a net constricts her too tightly to move. She bounces a few times until she hits the side of the boat, then lands in an awkward position.

"No hard feelings," I tell her.

We both know she could stretch until the net snapped, but the other soldiers don't know that.

We both wish she could turn against the King, but she'll never do if it would put her people in danger.

Until the King falls, we're nothing but enemies. Any thought otherwise was just a moment of lunacy.