Author's note:
This is an idea for a world. There are two vignettes here featuring the central character - one FM and one FF, with two different versions of non-consent - a pure mind control and a body control. The "Duel" refers to the second vignette.
I have sketched out the world and implicitly introduced the basic concepts for how magic can work. Any feedback on that setup would be appreciated.
There is detailed sex here, but it is not written to be hardcore - it's written to tell a couple of stories.
===================
Chapter 1: Alexis - Underworld espionage.
There was nothing in the stance or dress of the figure lounging against the solid stone wall of the inner keep, where it formed the edge of the market square, to indicate occupation or even gender. All a casual observer could see was a travel-stained and weather-hardened human of average height, with a sturdy and unremarkable walking staff, which undoubtedly served well as a weapon when called upon, clasped in lean fingers and leaned casually against one shoulder where it could be called into action at a second's notice.
Indeed, disinterested observers hurried past with the automatic extra room given to warriors and the professionally jumpy - it always paid to err on the side of caution - while casual observers calculated the likelihood of violence - small, conversation - slim, and custom - rare - and moved their attention elsewhere.
Interested observers - into which category fell the city guards and various small-time crooks and scoundrels, but also the occasional trull or peddler of illicit substances - gave the figure a more searching glance and variously marked it down as worth keeping an eye on, not worth the trouble, or one to watch.
When the market had settled into the first big session of the day, when the stalls were established and the pre-breakfast buyers had started to overlap with the serious customers but before the near-desert heat had clamped down and driven all but the professionally motivated indoors to the baths or a siesta, the figure had appeared, purchased a small bag of the thick-skinned but extremely tasty dragon-fruit which grew on the edge of the city's territory on the edge of the deserts to the north-east, using a minimum of words spoken in an unremarkable and quickly forgotten voice, leaned itself against the wall and, using a simple but obviously razor-sharp knife of desert pattern, began to eat it's way through the fruit.
They had been finished, and washed down with water from a canteen which had appeared from underneath the cape, been used and spirited away again, by the time the market had reached the point of being actively crowded and the first pick-pocket of the day had been caught by the ever-present guards.
Then there seemed nothing better for the figure to do except wait, which it did with preternatural patience and lizard-like immobility until suddenly a silk merchant, who had been keeping half a professionally cautious eye towards that section of wall, found only wall and, after a rapid but comprehensive scan of the immediate environs failed to locate it, raised one eyebrow and went back to extolling the virtues of his new batch of fine scarlet cloth to the sceptical wife of one of the city's minor nobles.
The weather-hardened figure was already halfway across the square, moving with ease through the crowd with no obvious intent, but with sufficient air of purpose that only the most committed of merchants attempted to sell it anything.
On the other side, where the square was bordered by private residences, mostly merchant's status-grabbing demi-palaces, the figure slipped into one of the smaller, less arterial, roadways and from there into the looming shade of the city's tortuously labyrinthine alleys.
An interested cut-throat, who specialised in unaffiliated rogues and who had seen the expensive dragon-fruit, had bafflingly and unprecedentedly lost his quarry within three turnings. Two other footpads, who were chancing their luck in the daylight while the market kept the alleys relatively empty, had to change their minds when one put his foot down badly and sprained his ankle and the other was caught by a sudden and humiliating attack of the runs.
The figure's rapid progress had covered nearly a quarter of the city when it came to the end of one grimy little alleyway as it ran into a major thoroughfare, and was just in time - a small smile of satisfaction tweaked the figure's lips - to see a stockily built man climb the outside steps of a tavern and pass around the side out of sight.
With a suddenly lighter and more feminine step, the figure followed him.
Confident that he had not been followed from his unsavoury meeting in the square, Isaac was not paying his usual care to his surroundings as he fished his key out of the inside pocket of his jerkin and opened the door to his room. So when he heard a thrillingly breathless and young female voice say "Isaac?" he was, for a moment, disconcerted.
Only the fact that his subconscious had noted a light booted footfall a fraction of a second earlier, saved him from an embarrassing, startled, reaction.
He looked up to growl "Who wants to know?", when he caught sight of her, and changed his mind about his tone of voice.
She was slightly shorter than him - about right, he thought approvingly - and her face, with it's youthful looks, slightly wide eyes and inviting lips, all framed by wisps of dirty blond hair, made his pulse instantly quicken. Then her weather-stained cloak fell open to reveal a sumptuously nubile body dressed in tavern wench clothes, with firm breasts pushed upwards and together by a laced bodice that barely managed to contain them at all, and his last trace of wariness disappeared as blood left his brain in favour of the manhood pushing hungrily against his trousers.
"That's me," he said with a swagger in his voice as he leered brazenly at her milky, bulging cleavage. "And who is asking?"
"My name's Alexis," she said in that breathy voice which was making him giddy as, with a final twist, she undid the last of the cloak's fastening about her neck, letting fall a pendant which bore the only absolute guarantee of safety in this city's underworld, the seal of the Robber King Roberts, "And I'm a messenger."
For a brief moment, Isaac nearly panicked as he wondered if he had committed some fatal indiscretion, but then he reminded himself that the Robber King Roberts used trulls as messengers regularly, but hardly to deliver bad news, and his manhood returned to its briefly interrupted upwards journey.
"Well," he said as he threw open the door to his room and threw what he intended to be a courtly bow, "You had best come in, then."
Once inside, she discarded her cloak and, as her pale arms were bared, only the looming, albeit absent, presence of the underworld's unforgiving ruler prevented him from making an advance on her right then.
He offered her a mug of water instead - traditional hospitality in this near-desert city - and kept the swagger in his voice as he asked "What's the message?"
Then he nearly choked on his own mug as she turned around and said, with a smile which went straight to his groin, "Me."
"The Robber King Roberts," she continued as she began to unlace her bodice and he stood rooted to the spot, staring dumbly, "Was very pleased with the way you handled your duties last night and the transaction this morning, and sent me as a reward."
He tried to speak, to say that he hadn't realised that such rewards were ever awarded, but she pushed her bodice off her shoulders and to the floor, and his voice froze in his throat.
Her breasts, which had looked magnificent in the bodice, were incredible out of it, and hung heavy and ripe but firm and proud upon her chest, capped by fat nipples with wide pink halos around them.
"Jabber," was all he could say, hoarsely, invoking the city's god of all eventualities, as she then pushed her skirt off her hips, revealing herself to be not only without undergarments, but to be one of the small, and very expensive, group of trulls who plucked themselves clean of hair.
She stepped forwards, still with the same sweet smile, took the goblet from his nerveless fingers and, after peeling his jerkin over his head, gave him a sudden push that left him sprawled on the bed behind him.
It was the work of moments for her to divest him of his boots, trousers and under-trousers and leave him sprawled naked with his fat, heavy cock lying engorged upon his belly.
She cooed at it in delight and bent her head while pale, slender fingers raised it vertical and red-stained lips parted to take it in.
The street-cunning part of his mind, which had seen him survive and worm his way into that last job in the absence of native intelligence, found itself suddenly free to think, and wondered dazedly how much such a ripe, plucked girl untouched by the sun could possibly be worth and how it was possible that a simple extortion and payment job could earn this reward anyway, and besides, why wasn't he taking the upper hand here? But then her lips folded over his cock and, with a groan, he forgot all about such petty concerns.
She skillfully worked upon him until he could get no harder and was lying on the bed groaning weakly, before pulling off him with a guilty-bashful giggle and sliding up towards his head, with a cat-like crawl and her knees spread across his broad torso, until she could sit on his belly and, leaning forward, feed him her nipples, one at a time.
His hands automatically came up to wrap around her buttocks as he obediently and greedily suckled upon her stiffening nipples, making sighs of delight roll over her plump lips.
"You must be so brave, to call in a debt like that just to prove yourself," she said simperingly between moans of pleasure. Somehow, he didn't wonder why this trull should know so much about what his job had been.
"Did you hurt him much?" she continued before Isaac, with his mouth full, could reply, then gently pulled her rock-hard and glistening wet nipple from his mouth.
"I'm braver than that," he collected the breath to boast, "And yeah, I had to teach him a lesson."
"Ooh," she purred, "With these hands?" she wriggled her buttocks in his grasp, making his hands clench on her soft flesh and eliciting another spark of desire in his eyes.
"Yeah," he said boastfully, beginning to feel more confident, in control, "I had to beat him up a bit, teach him a lesson, you know what I mean?"
"I bet you could teach a lot of lessons." She raised herself up, and took his saliva-slick cock in one hand, pulling the tip up towards her puffy-lipped quim. "You might even be able to teach me some."
