Godfang Ch 06 Fertile Fantasy Epic

She had chosen a cloak and gown that had been a gift from High Lady Morjana Vane. It had sat in the same silk pouch in which it had been delivered nearly ten years earlier. The High Seat of House Vane had a notably dreadful taste, but after all these years Vagyia was pleased that the gown had not found its way into the fireplace. It suited her purpose perfectly.

Identity concealed behind a flowing cloak and hood, she made her way to the Court Apartments. The guards there bowed, knowing only that a noblewoman had come to visit. They stepped aside and she slipped into the antechamber. The great blackwood doors rumbled shut behind her.

The waiting room had been partitioned by a wall of thinly-planed soft eaganwood that reached from one side of the chamber to the other. At a height of ten span, it was designed to be neither scaled nor toppled. Vagyia could hear the soft murmur of conversation from the other side, changing to curious whispers when the sound of the blackwood doors alerted the apartments' occupants to her presence.

Letting the cloak fall on a purple velvet chaise, Vagyia's eyes settled upon the fireplace with its pleasing flame illuminating the room in handsome light. The gown ran tight through the hips, and as Vagyia listened to the male voices on the other side of the wall, she nervously smoothed the thin fabric against her skin. There was a clay pitcher of orange wine on a stand near the partition. To distract from her nerves, Vagyia allowed herself a generous pour. Quite soon, she was embraced by a liquid shield, cutting her off from worry. At least, for the time being.

In the center of the softwood partition, there was a waist-high slot. The hole was draped with a horsehair veil to prevent the men on the other side from peeking through. Vagyia eyed the cylindrical hole. Beneath it were several square pallets of varying height. To the right, a clay pot pooling with churned olive oil. Vagyia drained her cup and approached the slot. She placed a hand on the wooden partition and leaned close to listen. The voices were no more, so she gave the wall a soft rap with her knuckles.

Moments passed in silence. Vagyia listened, growing frustrated. She could not very well send for the guards to prod the men to their duty, lest her identity be revealed. But if they insisted on disobeying--she heard a soft noise and looked down. Drawing the horsehair veil to the side, Vagyia stifled a gasp. A large fleshy cockstaff was poking through the hole, hanging limply. She looked up at the wall as if to glare at the man on the other side. What under the gods did he expect her to do with a soft phallus?

Bitterly, she dipped her fingertips in the pot of oil. A translucent thread dripped from her digits as she turned her hand and let the strand coil and run over them. She reached tentatively for the floppy shaft and gave it a swipe with her sticky fingers. The appendage jumped and promptly lengthened, its crown fattening. In spite of herself, Vagyia felt a sudden thrill. With amusement, she gathered more of the oil and let it congeal in her palm before reaching over to grab the warm appendage in earnest. She gave it a sincere enough squeeze to feel the thing squirt from her fist when the man on the other side startled and yanked himself from the hole.

She smiled wickedly and waited. Alas, this time the cock was returned to her as a handsome-looking short sword. Rigid and glistening. It wore its crown with considerable pride. Vagyia grabbed the thing, encircling its girth with her fingers. It continued to thicken, making her hand look small and eliciting a stab of concern for her fledgling ambitions. Part of her was glad not to be able to see the man to whom the meatwand belonged, though that hardly stopped her from imagining a rogue of a certain rugged handsomeness.

When she saw the pearl of translucent nectar bead on the blood-swollen tip, her thrill turned abruptly to need. She jerked faster, raising a lewd squelching noise that burned her ears like an illicit whisper. With her free hand, she gathered her gown, working it up over her hips. Capturing the issuance before it could drip from the cockmouth, she dropped her fingers to her crotch and smeared the grease into her folds. Eyes fixed on the creature, she delved and caressed herself to waking, while the thick shaft lunged like a beckoning finger that seemed to say,

Come hither.

Vagyia hiked her gown over her rump, turning her bottom toward the hole. Her mistake became immediately apparent when the sword abruptly tried to pierce and sheathe itself in the wrong tube. Biting off a curse, she leaped away from the hole and spun around in a rage. Alas, to whom could she condemn, when all that stared back at her was a large cock--no thought in its head. Clutching at her dignity, Vagyia used a foot to push a pallet over, lining it up beneath the hole before stepping up to try again.

Gingerly, she reached back to feel her way--gods, what a vile way to conduct oneself--and slowly eased her bottom to the hole, ensuring quite certainly that her honeyslot was properly aligned. She had barely drawn a breath when she felt herself being cleaved. A bar of hot flesh drove through her silken nerve beds and skewered her. The remainder of her breath was a gasp. Wide-eyed, Vagyia thought she knew what it must feel like to be a lamb on a spit.

She felt a powerful pulse and bit her lip to keep from moaning. Within seconds, the man was drilling her to a froth. It was all she could do to adjust her feet and lean against the wall to keep from being thrown forward. The eagan partition thundered and vibrated with the man's efforts. Vagyia clenched her teeth, praying that no one should walk through those doors and find her in such a state of utter compromise. A particularly deep thrust to the neck of her womb crossed her eyes and made her jaw fall slack. She heard a muffled groan and gasped when the pistoning cock buried itself, its head flaring her cavern.

Great pulses stretched the walls of her fluttering pearl. She reached between her legs to feel the deeply embedded shaft swell and lurch, ejecting its noxious fluid into her womb. Her head swam. Let there

be

life in that porridge. Let there be a babe in that belching stew. The groaning beyond the wall faltered and the great shaft was wrenched from her lust pouch without ceremony.

Vagyia found herself unable to move. It had happened so fast. How could it be over so quickly? Alas, it was the way of men. One could expect little from a hole in the--her eyes widened as she was abruptly filled anew. Gods, but was the man so insatiable? Then she realized.

Another had taken his place!

How dare they think to take turns on the Supreme Councillor of the Royal House of Blue & Gold? It was outrageous.

But rather than detach from the newly foraging wand that delved her quivering cleft, Vagyia squeezed her eyes shut and leaned hard into those breast-jiggling thrusts. This fellow was packing a snake. Pressing a hand to her stomach, Vagyia could feel him high in her gut. How crude was a man who could plunder a quim so recently pied? The thought of him pushing through his compatriot's spend made her dizzy. Gods, what had she awakened? Oh, that these seed sacs spewed her with enough seed to make it drool down her legs.

She might be a woman of maturity, but the nerves in her slot rippled with girlish need, clinging and writhing over the ridges of her consort's talented piece. A wild thought sank its hooks in Vagyia's lust and set her to panting. What would these men think to know whose royal snatch they plowed? Suppose they imagined themselves sac-deep in the Queen herself. Vagyia grunted and pushed back harder, wanting to laugh. Let them believe it was her sister's silksliver! Let that rumor spread like wildfire!

She could feel the lips of her cunny oozing through the greasy hole into which her consort plied himself. The pressure seemed to treble her tightness, causing the man to thrust frantically. She could feel his every contour, could almost taste the nasty musk of his fuck stick as though maw and cunt were connected.

The man on the other side of the wall cried out and Vagyia drew her victory out of his spasming cock.

Fill it

, she willed.

Fuck it full

. The rhythmic twitch at the back of her womb signaled each and every hot belch of white life that painted the walls and swam for purchase. She felt the glut beneath the hand pressed to her belly. Felt every lunge sloshing and rounding her. Would she look like a woman who'd enjoyed a lavish meal? She certainly hoped so, imagining the skintight gown bulging at the stomach.

Gods, if the stew could quicken--she dare not hope for it--but if, by some miracle, one of these got her with child, her every plan would have the legs to bring her sister down.

It was the third man who carried Vagyia to the edge of glory when he sheathed himself. She clung to herself and climaxed, trying desperately to remain upright to receive her prize. Wending itself around her ecstasy was her wettest dream--standing from the Golden Staircase, hand to a belly bulging with the fruit of her majesty, peasants and nobles alike prostrating themselves before her. Savior of the realm.

"Well," said a voice. "I see you can still abase yourself when you want something badly enough."

Still bent over her thighs, clutching herself, Vagyia looked up in a sweaty-faced horror. A great groan issued from the other side of the wall. White heat overflowed her well-fucked chasm, slithering down the inside of her thighs like a molten river.