Everything felt dizzy, like if he had been spun around and around. Even without opening his eyes, his head was swimming. Slowly, Alaron Highforge forced them open.
He had expected pain from the light, but found himself in a dark room. One too blurred by his vision to be comfortable to watch. He swiftly shut his eyes again, hoping the dizziness would subside. Far away, like if muffled by a blanket, he could hear the sounds of a city, bustling with life. It was so far away, that he could not even discern if the merchants' shouts were common or orcish.
As the world began to right itself from its unsteady wobble, Alaron began to wonder where he was. Opening his eyes did not reveal much else, nor did a flick of his blood elven ears. The room was lavish, a bedroom of sorts. He laid on a large bed, his limbs so heavy they could not be moved. Perhaps the silken ropes that held him down to the bedpost had something to do with that, Alaron mused. He frowned, the long brown brows following his motion. Why was he tied?
The thought was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Alaron turned his head, each muscle tensed, to regard the intruder. His jaw dropped at the woman, wearing only clipboard and quill in hand. She was a human, with olive skin and snow white hair. It was so starkly white, that it must have been bleached. Looking down, he registered that her pubic mound too had been whitened in this fashion. Alaron was too shocked to hear what she at first said, and only realised that this woman was speaking, when his own name was said.
"- Alaron Highforge, three-hundred and twenty-six, Sin'dorei male. Fair, brown hair," she droned off, scribbling on her clipboard. It sounded monotone, as if the girl was in a trance.
"What's going on? Where am I? Who are you?" Alaron asked, getting increasingly agitated as this girl ignored him. Eventually done with her notes, the girl put down the clipboard on a low table - giving him a fine view of her ass. Blood rushed to the elf's cheeks as he turned his head away. It was not like he had never seen a naked woman, just... Never one who had been so open about it.
She drew away a curtain, revealing a chair behind it. Or rather, a throne. The upholstery was a deep red, nestled in a dark wood. He barely heard the sound of a bell when the girl pulled a string.
"Thank you, Flora." A smooth voice said. He gasped. It was like liquid sex, flowing through his ears. If his cock had not been stirred before, it certainly was now. Alaron craned his neck to the the source of this strangely arousing, strangely familiar voice.
Her name laid itself over his mind, as soon as she stepped in. Ayhane. At a full head shorter than the woman, Flora, she was hardly intimidating in stature. But the way she moved... Vaguely, as he watched her prowl gracefully to clipboard, he remembered bits of the night prior. Booty Bay. A full tavern. Several drinks and those storm grey eyes on his as they had fucked. Her chocolate skin against his.
"Well, my dear, it would seem like we have a guest," Ayhane said towards the opening door.
The first thing that hit Alaron was the scent. A sweet and overpowering, almost pungent scent. As he breathed, notes of burnt wood and spices found his nose. It felt as if the scent alone was wrapping itself around him as a warm blanket.
Then it stepped in. Standing about a head higher than Flora, it was maybe at his height -- Tall for a succubus. The long, never-ending legs stretching up from its cloven hooves, over its juicy calves, and up to her flaring hips. The demon was not wearing anything, he registered sluggishly, and he could see its folds, flaring out like a flower, each time it moved those incredible legs, its long tail swaying tantalisingly in the rhythm of its movements. Above the hips were an impossibly thin waist, booming out into a pair of unrestrained breasts, the taut nipples standing out sharply, purple against the succubus' ivory skin. White hair flowed down unrestrained to the waist, bobbing gently each time it moved.
"Carna, my dear," Ayhane said to the succubus. His attention snapped to the woman, whom had now seated herself in the throne before Alaron. Flora had begun to braid her hair, weaving silver threads into the black locks. He felt a little self-concious, as she was the only person clothed in the room -- if you could call a dress that scarcely covered her bust and privates for clothes, and not teasing.
"Yes, my Mistress?" the demon purred. It was like a shock-wave had gone through the room, and it hit him in the face. He shuddered, every one of his nerves shaking in unexpected desire. Faintly, he could hear the passionate groan of lust from Flora.
