The Foxcatcher - part two
When I came around again my head had cleared. The fog which had been keeping me subdued for the last -- hour, day? There was no way to tell -- period of time was mercilessly lifted. Without it I took stock of my body's condition. I felt delicate, like I had endured a day of hard exercise and was now drifting towards sleep. There were no sensations vibrating through my body, no pulsating, no throbbing. I clenched my muscles in turn, felt the weakness in them. My cunt and my ass bordered on numb, the sensations there even further off, even harder to discern. Nothing felt broken or sore, just... well-trodden, bruised, worn.
Light was streaming in through a high window, drapes obscuring the view beyond but for a vague sense of the time of day. The sun was low, it was afternoon. My hands squeezed about soft, cotton sheets, a far cry from the stone I had woken on the last time I could remember. I sank into a delicate mattress and closed my eyes for a long moment, tempted by sleep. I saw him in the darkness there, the brothel's master. His pointed ears felt like an insult in my memory, like a dirty stain. How had I allowed myself to be so easily captured? How had he done so with such simplicity?
I could recall no poisons from my training at the academy in Silverbloom which would induce the symptoms his toxins had. It was not just the drowsiness, the ability to knock me out for hours at a time with -- I hoped -- no long-term ills, but the way it had made my body feel while I was conscious. I had never been so aware of myself before, so easily aroused, so insatiable and desperate. We foxcatchers are promiscuous by nature, largely young and athletic, bound together on long voyages with no entertainment but for each other. I could list on one hand my colleagues who were married, and they were often far from loyal to their spouses besides. I had spent my last mission before this one with a man some years my senior, whose wife stayed at home whilst he fucked me every night for a month beneath the open sky. And so, I understood desire and thought little of the church's dispute of a woman's capacity for it, but what the elf had done to me was like nothing I had ever even heard of. The academy would have a thorough library of all known potions, poisons, and heilic remedies, and I knew that I would be hard at work once I returned to find it.
Except, I was no closer to returning. I opened my eyes with the realisation that I would be unable to answer in my debrief that I had been drugged, tied to a stone block, and been sexually tortured by an elf. And to boot, upon having gone through said experience, I had not apprehended or killed my captor. I swung my legs over the bed with some effort, having to use my hands to assist them. The floor of cool, polished floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I rose unsteadily. I stumbled as my head swam and my vision blurred, grasping onto the bed-frame for support. I moaned. And then, as if waiting for the first hint of noise from the room, the white door opened swiftly and in entered a young, human woman.
'Who are you?' I hissed. My throat scratched as though nails were being dragged through the flesh.
If the room had been any larger, she'd not have heard me. The woman was of an age with me -- in her early twenties -- and had a bundle of auburn hair framing a delicate, freckled face. She was nude, and as I took stock of this, I became keenly aware of my own uncovered state. She bowed her head and said, 'The master of the house bids you join him to break your fast.'
I scoffed, which caused me to cough. Recovering, I replied, 'Tell him that I've little appetite for his food, not after what happened the last time I partook in his hospitality.'
Still, it was my rumbling stomach which betrayed my stoicism, and so I let the woman lead me out of the room and out into the perfumed corridor beyond. We were on the top floor of the establishment, in a hallway which ran down the west side of the building judging from the low sun visible across the wild grounds. A high stone wall was some way off, the gardens before it all a tangle and a mess but entwined with some improvised beauty. I had not thought to ask after my clothes, though I worried now about my gear which had been left at the inn in the village. There were some 30 kings heads tied up in that equipment, and several irreplaceable trinkets besides.
Despite myself, my blood was still up. The nausea upon first standing had passed, and the shuffle of my thighs highlighted that my sex remained swollen. The sensations were returning in fits and starts, occasional steps sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me. My teeth were grit, and I had to clench my fists together to steady my breathing as the woman led me at last to a tall oaken door.
'Wait here a moment,' she said pleasantly, before ducking inside as a mouse scampers into its hole.
I leant against the wall and opened my legs slightly. I could feel the wetness there, the way it stuck to my lips and ran in a single drop onto the inside of my thigh. Through another door I could hear the tell-tale sounds of a whore at her work; the dull slap of flesh, her false groans, a man's grunting. I slipped from the wall and pressed myself against that second door, closing my eyes and leaning in to better gauge a hint of the scene within. Perhaps it was not foxcatchers who were promiscuous, it may have just been me. There had been scarcely a mission on which I had not fucked somebody, either a fortunate local or the lucky colleague assigned to me. When neither were forthcoming, I would often hire a private guard just to have a cock at my beck and call when the nights became long and the weather chill. Even without the effect of the master's toxin upon me, I would have stooped there to listen at that door, such was the depth of my curiosity. I had a flicker of sympathy for the whore within, who I doubted was enjoying her client but was being paid regardless. As I listened to the slapping of his pubis against hers, I let a shaking hand drop between my legs to run a finger across my womanhood. My wetness was intoxicating, and for a long moment I slumped there against the door and allowed my fingers to explore as the qualms of my own arousal were forgotten. It was not natural, but again that desperate need to orgasm was upon me, and I would stayed there and cum and cum again were it not for the main door from the hall opening.
'Come in,' the woman said, her head appearing from within. 'The master bids it.'
If she took note of my activity, then she kept it from her face. There was a blankness to her expression, an emptiness, which put me in mind of those I had seen injured and drugged into delirium by the academy's heilas. Perhaps she was. I could not disregard the notion that the master's toxins may have such an effect in the long-term. I paused as I took a weak step towards the door, glancing over my shoulder to the other where the whore's noises still emanated. Was this the fate of all this master's whores? Did he take them from local villages, either by purchase or snatch, and turn them into these... dolls? I had heard tale of alchemists who turned villages in their favour, and then used the populace in hideous experiments to test their newest concoctions. Was that it, and with the master an elf to boot? The idea ought to have horrified me and turned the stomach, but alas my body betrayed me, and I felt the tickle of another trail upon my thigh.
I entered the master's sanctum. A long table was arranged, with chairs at only the head and the tail. At the far end, doors set with glass gave out onto a broad balcony which overlooked the grounds, and through them streamed the pleasant light of spring. It was idyllic, but there was an odour on the air which stung my nostrils, and the room stank of stale alcohol and sex. The master himself sat at the head chair facing the door. Seeing him again made my breath catch in my throat, and a weakness came into my legs which almost put me on the polished floor. Again the scent of him was upon my mind, and those feelings he had drawn from me where as clear in the memory of my muscles as walking.
'Sit, foxcatcher,' he said, gesturing to chair opposite him. 'You look tired.'
'Just unsteady,' I managed to croak. I stumbled to the chair and collapsed upon it. 'What have you done to me?'
He smiled. There was no sinister malaise to it, just an amusement bordering on arrogance. Seeing him again was tearing me in two directions, toward fury and intoxication both. My panting betrayed my ill-ease, made it clear that I was struggling to be in his presence. The master's long hair was tied back, showing his pointed ears clearly, almost as though he meant to rub salt in my wounds. His dark eyes, his aquiline nose, his thin mouth... all at once I was tied back to that stone slab, his cock on my lips, his words filling my mind. I had to catch myself from dropping a hand to my lap, such was the sudden desire to touch myself before him.
'It's ingenious, isn't it?' He said, lacing his hands together. 'A simple potion, a touch of what I am sure you would call elven depravity. Our magic is unique...'
'It's witchcraft,' I choked out. 'Witchcraft and blasphemy.'
'Another gaiaphobic, bigoted belief driven into you by your academy. Consider this revenge, foxcatcher.'
'My name is...'
'I do not care,' he said so sternly my lips shut as if sealed. 'While you are here you are "slut", or "whore", or whatever I care to call you. I am sure that you want to pick up that knife...'
I glanced down at the table before me, and there laid out was a knife with a wicked tip beside the empty plate. It was little more than cutlery, but with enough force it would puncture the skin. I had an eye for improvised weapons as all foxcatchers did.
I returned my attention to the master. '...and run me through with it. Tell me, do you believe that the only way to kill an elf is choke him with elfsbane, or to cut his head off? No? Good, at least they teach you against some misconceptions. And you can take up that knife if you wish, slut, but I will punish you for doing so, do you understand? While if you are good and you sit patiently, I will reward you.'
I should not have said it, I should have seized that blade and thrown it through his heart or his eye, but I could not stop myself once the carrot was so enticingly dangled. And so I said, 'What is the reward?'
The master smiled triumphantly and snapped his fingers. The girl who had led me in emerged from the corner in which she hid and went immediately to her hands and knees. Before I had a moment to ask, she crawled beneath the table and placed her warm hands on my knees. I stiffened as she drew them apart, and I felt her breath against the inside of my thighs. Years at the academy in the presence of girls had taught me to appreciate my gender's talent for drawing out pleasure, and I made no argument as she placed her lips against my dripping pussy.
