Sarlene's Touch

Two figures crept their way along a narrow tunnel beneath the city. The larger one held a small lantern, casting long shadows on the walls, and illuminating patches of glistening moisture where the warm air condensed against cold stone. The tunnel turned sharply downwards, uneven steps plunging into the darkness beneath. With a grunt, the larger figure extinguished the lantern.

"'Er ladyship don't like no lights," sad a gruff, masculine voice, "'sept the ones already down there. So watch yer step."

"Easy enough for her ladyship to say," commented a woman's voice, "drow don't need light."

"We do it 'er way, and that's that. Or you ain't coming. I only brung yer 'cause she asked. You ain't one of us, I can leave yer behind and say yer's too scared."

"I didn't say I needed light, did I? You're the one going to have difficulty on those stairs, not me."

The man grunted again, put out. "Yeah, whatever. You comin' or what?"

In any event, they had not gone far before a faint splash of light began to illuminate the stairway, coming from somewhere ahead. The pair eased their way downward, the thickset man moving slowly, feeling his way along the wall, hobnail boots scuffing on the flagging. Behind him, the woman moved with greater sureness, her light footfalls almost silent. As the light improved, the man looked behind him, saw her obvious lack of concern, and even slight impatience at his slow progress, and swore something about 'damned witches' under his breath.

Soon, they stepped out into a round chamber, lit with a small number of torches set in sconces against the walls. Rubble choked some of the floor, but there was a more or less open space in the middle, and various other narrow archways leading off into the gloom, in addition to the one they had entered through. A group of robed figures stood in the middle of the room, evidently awaiting their arrival.

"You took your time, Scaggs," said the tallest. A deep, sonorous voice, the sort used to giving orders, or perhaps to public speaking.

"'Ad to bring 'er, didn't I?" said the man, pulling his own hood up over his head, and moving to join the others, who were already forming themselves into a rough circle.

"Yes, quite why is she here?" said another voice, this time one she recognised – Valmor, the wizard.

"And who exactly is this wretch, for that matter?" said a woman with a sharp, supercilious voice. "I do hope it isn't the sacrifice – we were promised better."

"She is here because I asked Scaggs to bring her." That was Lady Amloth, easily identifiable by the way her robes, unlike everyone else's, hugged her figure, and by the silver chain she wore across her chest. "Her name is Yelvann," continued the drow, "and she is going to help us."

"Myrek has the captive, though, I assume?"

"No, I am afraid not. That is why I have called this meeting."

Amloth seemed a little uncertain as she spoke. Was she losing her grip on the situation, Yelvann wondered? Her eyes cast around at the others in the chamber. Some were difficult to make out in the shadow, now that the presence of light forced her to rely on normal vision alone. The others she didn't know, except for Valmor, Amloth, and Scaggs. There were, she could see, twelve of them – a coven of thirteen, if you counted the missing Myrek.

"No? Why not?" There was a general murmur of agreement from the other robed figures.

"Because he is dead."

That silenced them, at least for a moment. Then the clamour began and Amloth had to raise her hand to demand silence.

"The Presence has informed me of his demise. We must assume that the sacrifice escaped from him, perhaps turned the tables on him. She is a wererat, after all, so hardly defenceless. Myrek evidently made a mistake, and now he has paid for it with his life. I trust that nobody else here will be so foolish!"

"Do we know exactly what happened?" it was a woman's voice, one who had not spoken until now.

"The Presence does not see through our eyes. It merely sensed his demise, and the rest is supposition. But consider, a wererat is hardly going to go to the authorities, so what have we to fear? Even if she did learn of our plans, which I doubt."

"I've heard nothing," confirmed a man. A clipped, military way of speaking... Yelvann assumed he was a guardsman. It made sense that this coven of conspirators would have people in as many different positions of authority as they could.

"Precisely. But it does mean that we need a new sacrifice. Does anybody have any suggestions? Family, for preference."

"It should also be," said Valmor, insistently, "a young and attractive woman. Don't forget what we're planning to do to her before the sacrifice."

"What you are planning to do, Valmor," said the woman with the supercilious voice, "you know, some of us would rather prefer a man."

"We've been through this – over half of us are men, so we get the choice!"

"If it must be family," said the man who had spoken first, the one with the powerful voice, "you are married, are you not, Valmor?"

"Yes, to my sister!" broke in another voice, to a ripple of amusement.

"Well, double the value, then. That is the sort of betrayal we need."

Valmor spluttered, "have you seen my wife? Short, fat, and dull as a wet flannel! Which I am sure her brother can vouch for!"

"True," conceded the brother, "he has a point there."

"I married her for her wealthy connections, as you well know. I certainly haven't had sex with the bloody woman for years, and I'm not about to start now. Leren probably doesn't even remember what sex is."

──◊──

Valmor's wife, Leren, was, as he had rather ungraciously described, a rather short, plump woman with a figure that was more apple-shaped than hourglass. She had mousy hair and the sort of round chubby face that, though not yet lined with age, few men would really notice. At the moment that her husband and brother were disparaging her, however, she happened to be squatting on all fours on her marital bed, stark naked, as her man-servant gave her a vigorous, doggy-style fucking.

Stuath had been quite a discovery. He was relatively new to their employ, one of the servants that she and her husband insisted on having around the place, although Valmor was rarely there during the day, and increasingly, away at night as well. Which suited Leren perfectly well, for she had as little interest in him as he had in her. The marriage had been one of convenience, the rich merchant's daughter who could help the snobbish magician enter the social circles of the city's elite. She had not had much say in the matter, and soon found her husband not at all to her taste.

By the time Stuath arrived, she had had to endure several years of reluctant celibacy. A good-looking young man, single and not much more than half her age, she had wrestled with her conscience before trying to seduce him. She still remembered that first encounter vividly.

They had been alone in the house, Valmor off goodness knew where, and the cook and maid on a long shopping errand at the market. She had told him to head up to her room, and that she needed some assistance with her wardrobe, and he had rather reluctantly agreed. The plan had been to flirt with him, getting him used to the idea, giving her to build on over the coming weeks, but it hadn't quite worked out like that.

He had been laying out her dresses on the bed, looking rather bashful and quiet, eyes rarely straying upwards. Leren leaned in next to him, closer than was proper.

"That one is a little frayed, do you see? It will need some repair."

"I am not sure I see," he said, taking a half step away from her, and still not looking in her direction.

"Just there," she said, reaching out and pointing at an imaginary flaw on the cuff. As she did so, she moved her arm so as to deliberately rub against his crotch. To her shock, she discovered that he was already nursing the beginnings of an erection.

"Uh, yes, of course, madam," he said, moving out of her way, but not before she could see the flush of red rising to his cheeks. Fortunately, he was looking the wrong way to see her own smile of satisfaction. This was a more promising start than she had expected.

"I need a dress for the dinner at the guildhall next week," she informed him, "do you have any recommendations?"

"I... really, it would not be my place to... it's not something..." the words were falling over each other, as he struggled to avoid her eyes, "I mean, I don't think that would be appropriate for me, madam."

"Oh, nonsense, I decide what is appropriate. Tell you what, I shall try one of them on, and you can tell me what you think."

He looked nervous, gripping his hands together, but managed an "if you wish, madam. I shall wait outside."

"Don't be ridiculous, just wait there."

"But..."

"That's an order." She turned away from him, and began to undo her dress, pulling it over her head, and standing there in her shift. She felt as nervous as he looked about what she was doing, and resolved that this would be enough for today. Get him used to the fact that she would sometimes strip down to her underwear in front of him, and she would surely have the opportunity to press things further on future occasions. After all, that partial erection of his was surely just due to nerves, and he would need careful coaxing to really see her as a sexual partner.

She turned round, to see him blushing and holding his hands over his groin, trying to look like it was a casual gesture, but really not succeeding. His eyes flicked over her, no longer avoiding her, despite his attempt to pretend otherwise. This was already going better than she had thought it would!

Slowly and deliberately, she bent over to undo one of her shoes. Her shift was loose enough that that gave him a full view of her plump cleavage, and when she glanced up, she could see his eyes fixed on it, before suddenly looking away, as if all the while he had been fascinated by a spot on the wall.

She removed the other shoe, and sat down on the bed. She had been going to put on one of the dresses now lying beside her, and then leave it at that, but his reactions so far suggested that she might be about to miss a golden opportunity if she did. How far could she take it tonight, she wondered, her own heart hammering in her chest?

"Come over here," she said.

"Uh... yes, madam," he replied, trying to shuffle across while still holding his hands across his groin. The reason was obvious to her; the bulge in his trews unmistakable. "What... um, what do you want me to do?" he licked his lips, obviously still unsure of how to react to her.

"You've been hiding something from me, Stuath," she informed him, letting a stern note creep into her voice.

"I'm sorry madam... I don't understand."

She reached out, swatted his hands aside, and yanked his trews down around his hips. The bulge in his cotton pants was even more evident now, and he feebly grappled with her hands as she gripped the drawstring to pull them aside. His cock sprang free, large and very obviously firm in front of her.

"Madam!" he gasped, at last thinking to stagger backwards, but now impeded by the trews sliding down around his thighs, "I'm so sorry... I..." He struggled with his clothes, trying to pull them back up, but fumbling too much in his embarrassment.

"I don't see anything to be sorry about. Nothing at all."

"I... I mean, I..." the nature of her reaction finally seemed to dawn on him. "What do you mean?" His hands fell to his sides, his trews and pants sliding the rest of the way to his ankles, his cock standing proud, his eyes at last daring to look at her properly.

"I think I've been fairly clear. I've seen what I needed to see... and it looks like you want to see something, too." She hitched the hem of her shift up around her hips, watching his reaction. Her thighs were chubby and pale, and she worried for a second that his evident ardour might at last begin to fail. But, far from it – instead he fixed his gaze on her exposed skin and began to slowly stroke his cock.

She pulled the shift over her head, letting her plump breasts swing free, and was rewarded by seeing Stuath's eyes almost pop out of his head. He released his cock, fumbling suddenly with his clothing, pulling off his shirt, and stepping out of his remaining clothes, as she lay back on the bed, bare back pressed against the elaborate dresses arranged there.

"Oh, yes!" gasped Stuath, now naked, climbing onto the bed as she pulled off her panties and threw them away.

Stuath gazed at her, eyes seemingly drinking in every rounded curve of her body as he leaned over her. She spread her chubby thighs as far apart as she could, letting him see everything, rubbing her hot pussy enticingly. He looked down at her, throbbing erection just inches from her moist slit... and, with a sobbing cry, ejaculated prematurely.

He stepped away from her, anguish suddenly written across his face. "Oh, madam... I'm so sorry... I can't... please forgive me!" His eyes, starting to brim with tears, followed the trail of warm semen as it slid down her fat little thighs and onto the fabric of one of the expensive dresses.

He had almost run away at that point, but the time it took him to gather his clothes had given her the chance to dissuade him. Although unable to perform in other ways, he had given her a thorough lashing of cunnilingus in an effort to apologise, and Leren had achieved what was undoubtedly the best orgasm of her life up until that point.

But that, of course, had just been the first time.

──◊──

"In any event," said Amloth, "an estranged wife is hardly a terrible betrayal. We need to break a trust that the victim believes sacred. A family member is good, but perhaps some of you have other trusts just as inviolate?

"Well, ain't no trust among my lot," growled Scaggs, "I can get yer people, but people what trusts me? Nah."

"Well, quite," snipped the supercilious woman, "and one doesn't want to associate with common prostitutes in any case. One might catch something."

"Oy! I don't just know tarts, Eristacia! 'Sides, what about your family?"

"If they gave me the respect to which I am entitled, I would not be here. Their doom comes when we take control of the city, and not a moment before. They must see me take my rightful place."

"Enough bickering!" snapped Lady Amloth, "a suggestion from somebody, please?"

"I can supply someone," said the tall man with the deep voice, "As a senior priest of the Sun God, there are many who have placed their trust in me. I am sure I can find a suitable..." he paused, savouring the words, "nun, perhaps?"

"A nun! Now that sounds a good idea!" said one of the men.

"A young one, of course," said Valmor.

"I am sure I can find someone suitably trusting and innocent. In return for delivering her to you, I would expect to be the one who deflowers her, of course."

"As we all watch and wait to take our turn," agreed Amloth, "subjecting her to the most degrading sex acts our minds can conjure. An excellent idea, Domand, I commend you. But now there is another matter that requires our attention."

"Need I remind you," she went on. "that there needs to be thirteen of us for the ceremony. With Myrek gone, we need another."

"The Presence occupies the minds of many of our own followers," pointed out the guardsman, "we can pick any of them."

"Not so, Tenik," replied the drow, "they are merely tools of the Presence. We need to induct someone willingly, someone who chooses to be one of us. Which brings me to Yelvann, here."

So that was it. She stepped from the shadows into the circle, looking round at the robed and hooded figures. She knew the names of some of them now, and it had become clear why they were unafraid to use those names in her presence. She was to join them, or so they hoped.

"Yelvann here is a necromancer. She worked with Myrek recently, and can easily take his place. Her necromantic arts are, in any case, crucial to our plan to seize control of the city."

"And what, exactly, do you have to offer me? I imagine that Valmor here has already been promised rule over the magicians of this new city of yours. Not that I would want such a duty, in any case."

"We offer you knowledge," said Amloth, "that is what you have demanded for your pay so far, is it not? And what we have offered you thus far is a pittance in comparison to the dark knowledge that you will gain from communing with the Presence. It is a creature of Hell itself, and its secrets are terrible. I know you do not seek after power, strange though that concept is to me, but you do seek understanding of the blackest of powers. Where better to acquire it?"

Yelvann hesitated, a twitch of curiosity on her thin features. Yet her bony hands moved at her side, ready to cast spells if she needed to escape. "And submit myself to the power of some other entity? That does not sound rewarding."

"Not submit yourself, no. We twelve – we thirteen, if you join us – retain our free will, it has no control over us as it does over the others. The Presence will assist you, whisper its knowledge to you, in exchange for your help in bringing it to reign here in the mortal world. What you do after that is of no concern of its, or ours."

She hesitated. The promise of such understanding, a voice from the infernal powers themselves, was tempting indeed. Besides, would they really let her stay outside the conspiracy, after everything that had already happened? There seemed to be little choice, if she wanted to live.

"Very well," she said, "then I will join you."

"Step forward, my dear," said the drow, extending an arm, the sheer blackness of her skin making it almost invisible in the gloom.

"I do have one question." It was Eristacia, the noblewoman, speaking.

"Yes?" Amloth's voice showed a flicker of irritation.

"We have lost our original sacrifice, but may I ask what has happened to the censer?"

"Oh that," Lady Amloth grinned, a flash of white teeth against jet black lips, "that part worked well. We have it, in our possession. For the time being, the agent that I hired to acquire it is keeping it safe. The Presence assures me that hers are the very safest hands of all in which to keep it. You may question it yourselves, if you wish. But you may trust me: our plans move perfectly smoothly there. Once we have the sacrifice, and the stellar conjunction is right, nothing will be able to stop us."

"Now," she said, turning back to the necromancer, "approach me."

──◊──

Since that first time, Leren had found regular excuses to get the other servants out of the house to give herself time alone with Stuath. They had probably worked out what was going on by now, but it seemed the right thing to do. Valmor, of course, had no clue, and was so rarely around these days that he was no longer much of a concern anyway.

Stuath panted as he continued to pump into her, hips thrusting in time to the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. It wasn't just that he was good looking, although he was – dark haired with long sideburns and deep brown eyes. He was also trim of build with a washboard stomach, athletic chest, and broad shoulders, all of which she found enticing. But, despite all that, it was his evident enthusiasm that truly enthralled her. She had sometimes wondered what drove him to such heights when other men didn't react to her in the same way, but, in the end, it didn't really matter.

Stuath gripped her round buttocks as he continued to pound his cock in and out, filling her with wonderful sensations that made her positively whimper in pleasure. Her thighs and belly were wobbling with the force of his thrusts, her toes digging into the mattress. She realised that his movements were coming quicker now, his groans higher in pitch, as he obviously approached his climax.