ELENA
The name 'Prestira Rasloraca' was familiar to me, and since my worldly news came in the form of barracks gossip, that meant she was probably a big deal. Upon further investigation, I learned that Miss Rasloraca had been First Mage of the Ardeni University for fifty years, which was no small feat. After that, she'd served as Arcane Master under the late Rondar Dreus, the previous regent of the Lowlands, of which Ardeni Dreus was the capital.
There were several categories of witches and wizards (and they took great pains to class themselves, the insufferable academics that they were), but there was only one specification that really mattered: when the shit went down, did the king order your assistance, or did he request it? There were maybe five individuals who could put themselves in the latter category, and Zander Fredeon and Prestira Rasloraca were two of them. I couldn't speak for Prestira's privileges in the Lowlands, but I knew that Zander acted inside the Highlands with complete independence. He had his own section of the Great Forest that rangers could not enter, and if he asked for so much as a handkerchief from the Highlands, King Tiadoa would devote half his textiles to make the perfect tissue for Zander's esteemed nostrils. It didn't matter that he was human; Zander operated in an offshoot of the elven hierarchy all to his own. No one could quite pin where he ranked in the scheme of things. Surely above a duke, possibly even above a prince. It was fortunate that the most powerful arcane users also tended to be the most reclusive, for a politically-ambitious Zander Fredeon would be a potent force. As he was, the hermit sorcerer was still one of the most powerful beings on Tenvalia. I guessed it was fitting that he be paired with a woman almost (if not equally) as powerful. It sure as shit didn't make my job any easier though.
"...it's a delicate balance, you understand." The ambassador explained, "Miss Rasloraca is an esteemed citizen here, and you already know about Mister Fredeon's standing in Bentius. I simply can't sanction your investigation."
"As a ranger, I have autonomy-"
"Your autonomy is not recognized by this consulate, Ranger Straltaira. You're not in the Great Forest."
"This," I said, stabbing the opened letter on the counter between us, "gives me full powers of investigation, awarded by the king himself!"
"And how does this," the cleric gestured to the other sheet of parchment I'd laid out, "constitute evidence to support your investigation?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it. Taken out of context, the letter I'd intercepted from Brock Terdini was hardly evidence enough to accuse one of the Highland's most powerful allies of treason, and adding the most powerful sorceress in Ardeni Dreus to the mix hardly made it an easier pill for the ambassador to swallow. Being a ranger meant thinking with a level head even when the heart was stricken. I suppressed the urge to scream at the man, realizing I'd reached the limits of his flexibility. His concern was of the relations between Ardeni Dreus and Bentius. If it were Leveria who had been taken, I might've been able to sway the ambassador, but Yavara was the spare, not the heir.
"Can you summon Zander for questioning?" I asked.
"I can
request
him." The ambassador replied, giving me a critical eye, "But you cannot be a part of it."
I nodded.
PRESTIRA
I liked Yavara; truly, I did. One might think I'd be predisposed to hate Alkandi's incarnations, but I begrudgingly had to admit that I saw why Zander had loved the original. Though they were all different women, they shared an adventurous spirit, and the infectious charisma that only comes from natural-born leaders. While some of Alkandi's incarnations fought with their birth-given identities, I saw nothing in Yavara that belied such insecurity. I'd heard little of the second-born daughter of King Clartias Tiadoa, save for her skill with a bow. It was Leveria who was famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) as a diplomat who used her keen mind and striking elven beauty to deftly navigate the annals of power. No, Yavara was not the plotter her sister was. She was unabashedly herself, and that endeared her to me. Yes, she had the royal air of someone who's used to being doted upon, and I daresay she'd be hard-pressed to know what to do with a broom (save for sticking the handle up her ass), but she didn't expect anything of those she may have deemed below her station. Truly, I saw a potential friend in her; maybe more. She was compassionate, bold, and curious, but above all, she was ambitious. I could see it in the orange glint that shined across her eyes, that covetousness for more than just my body. Power was her want, and though she sated its itch with sex now, I knew it would not sate her for long.
All of Alkandi's incarnations were lecherous creatures, but none before Yavara had made a pass on me. Even if one had been so bold, I doubted I would've accepted, or been so easily seduced after declining. I'd never had so much as a gay musing before, and yet, I found myself attracted to Yavara in a very real way. It wasn't just her spirit that enticed my lust, but her body; her
female
body. Curves and tender flesh, soft features and silken hair; something dormant had been awoken within me, something I never knew existed. It surged forth now, taking my faculties by storm and compelling my perversions. I longed to explore the newfound side of myself to its fullest, a side that had been exposed by Yavara Tiadoa. Such was her power, to find the keys that unlocked secrets that were secret even to me, and such was her ambition, to gain that measure of mastery over me.
As I pressed her face into my crotch, and enjoyed immensely the skill of her tongue, I wondered where her quest for power would take her, and to what depths she would stoop. Sexually, I did not think she had limits; depravity was her power, and being willing and wanting to debase herself was her stake of autonomy. I already knew she was capable of killing, and suspected she took some measure of joy in the act. I couldn't fault her if that were the case, for on occasion, I enjoyed dealing in death myself. Anyone who has killed knows the secret thrill that comes with it, but that did not define Yavara as a killer. She showed her capacity for mercy when she refused to control my mice, for I believe the first rodent's death was her subconscious reason for not seeking their minds. But I'd be remiss to believe Yavara was not capable of darkness, for I saw the potential in her for it. The Dark Queen would rise again come hell or high water, and goddamn it, I would aid in her ascension. Not for her, but for me. Yavara was the first incarnation Zander had brought me that showed any ambition past her own pleasure, and was more powerful than the rest combined. She could sit on the Black Throne, and in doing so, release my beloved from millennium-old shackles. Then, he could be with me. Wholly with me.
Yes, I liked Yavara; truly, I did. But I'd be damned if I was going to let the twisted little cunt control my mind.
YAVARA
I licked my lips, then held Prestira's gaze as I lowered my head into her lap once more.
Are you ready, Yavara?
Prestira's telepathic voice inquired.
Are you?
I replied as I brought my tongue to the witch's folds. I pressed my nose into her, smelling her sweet aroma, feeling my primal mind surge with the compulsion of its basest sense. I slithered my tongue into her. Her petals parted delicately for me, and her nectarous flavor permeated my mouth. Oh, she was delicious. I opened my lips about her and drew upon her curtains with gentle suction, my tongue circling her sensitive inner spot, teasing it, never contacting it directly. Her thighs quivered beside my ears, which were filled with the pleading chorus of her moans. I didn't relent, but continued my tortuous path, waiting for her to finally give in, and force me. She held out for an admirably long time, her nethers flowing, coating my muzzle with her pent-up desire. Her hands finally grabbed the back of my head and drove my face into her. I grinned victoriously, and complied. My tongue traversed her spot in an ever-changing myriad of patterns, seeking the combination that would unlock her. When her thighs nearly decapitated me, I knew that I had found it. I repeated the motion until I felt her insides flutter and contract, then spasm in a torrent, her legs wrenching my neck as she twisted in orgasm. But though her mouth sung of ecstatic surrender, her mind was an impenetrable fortress, repelling every attack I hurled her way, and buffeting the pleasure of her body.
Is that all you've got Yavara? I'm disappointed.
That's not a nice thing to say to your pupil. What happened to the encouraging and nurturing Prestira? I miss her.
I answered, honing my mental voice to its best effect.
You challenged me. Do you think everyone you try to indoctrinate is going to be nice to you? They will resist you at every turn.
You can't hold out for ever. I'll only need one opening, and I never miss.
And I never give such an opening. I've trained myself with torture to keep my body from corrupting my mind; do you think your tongue will succeed where fire and hooks failed? I am the most powerful telepath in the world, Yavara, and I don't say that as a mere boast.
You were 'very securely heterosexual' a few minutes ago, and now I'm eating your pussy like ice-cream. People change. But I guess it must be my succubus DNA...
You have a cute personality when people first meet you, but you're a bitch on the inside.
Oh, you have no idea.
I assaulted Prestira's nethers once more, and once more, my mouth filled with her honey. I gazed into her pleasure-warped eyes, but saw no cracks in her mind. Her defenses were honed for direct attacks, parrying my every strike with ease. What made it worse, was that my mind was quickly succumbing to the pleasures of my body. I did not have the training that Prestira had to separate the two, and every pierce of Zander's cock dulled my consciousness with pleasure. I drove my hips back against him, savoring his heat so deep within my sinful tightness. I drifted away from the task at hand, overcome by the slapping symphony of my defilement.
You gave up so easily.
Prestira sighed, sounding slightly disappointed.
I haven't yielded yet.
I replied dispiritedly.
Pride is the bane of power, Yavara.
Prestira chided, smearing her pussy across my lips, smirking down at me,
And you're in no position to be proud, you cunt-eating slut.
My pride cannot be injured for which I have no shame.
I responded, punctuating the remark by flattening my tongue against her slit, and lathering her. She hissed in reaction, her body curving to bring her pubis down on me. I attempted to breach her defenses there, and Prestira slapped my attack away like child's play.
Please, Yavara.
She broke her revelry for a moment to roll her eyes at me. It might've incensed me to further my efforts, were it not for the methodical pump of Zander's hips, his ruinous penetration lulling me back into a trance of pain and pleasure. It was too much. While I felt more attuned with my mental powers during sex, the benefit was double-edged, serving to tempt me into mindless euphoria. I gave up, offering Prestira the resigned look of a pupil to the master, one I could tell she relished. If I was being honest, I quite enjoyed the idea of being humiliated by her for attempting a challenge. I hoped she made me pay. As if reading my mind (which she may very well have), Prestira took two fistfuls of my black hair, and pulled my muzzle to her until the strands seared in their roots, and tears welled in my eyes. God, it was good. 'Pathetic whore,' she called me, and I nodded fervently, my nose wetting with her nectar. 'Shameless slut' she sneered, and I concurred with a docile curl of my tongue. 'Anal slave,' she titled me, and the idea of being naught but a toy for anal delights aroused me to new heights, and finally drove my mind into the madness I'd become addicted to.
Zander's cock pushed relentlessly into me, forcing open my deepest resistances, sending ecstatic bolts up my spine as my defenses were breached, and made to become fleshy cuffs about his continued advance. He bulged against my vaginal floor, stimulating those feminine nerves from the wrong hole. He stretched my rim thin, making me feel every vein and curve that traveled in and out of me, the slight changes in girth an electrifying gradient. And every time he pulled out, a little bit of me went with him, the pink sheath outturned, sending searing pleasures deep within. I loved vaginal sex, but there was something about anal that drove me absolutely crazy. It was pain and pleasure fused, each begetting the other until the line between them was blurred. It was obscene, it was dirty, it was unnatural. Getting fucked in the ass wasn't romantic, but pure, carnal lust. It was power. It was a desire to have someone invade me, to feel them go deeper inside of me, to reach parts of my body I didn't know I had. It was the desire to be forced into self-discovery through violation, to be transformed by the introduction of heinous pleasures. I wanted to be a bad girl, but there was a part of me that wanted to
be made
