Wicked Amusement Ch 08

Larya was sinking.

She wasn't sure when it had started. Perhaps in the last few seconds. Perhaps the last few minutes. Perhaps she'd begun to sink ever since Ceffy had opened her mouth and begun to fill her head with nonsense.

But she was sinking. She could feel it. She was too heavy, too weighed down by her enormous, needy breasts. Bimbos like her always had trouble with that. She was sinking deep, deep into trance, deeper into Ceffy's power. She lay in Ceffy's lap and sank.

She was also sinking into the water. Very slowly, but surely. She kept slipping from Ceffy's grasp, despite her best efforts to keep her balance. Already, her poor, needy pussy was underwater, along with her whole body up to the waist. The back of her head lay against Ceffy's flat tummy. And she knew she needed to fight it, needed to pull herself out of the fountain, but she was just... too...

tired

.

She blinked blearily, staring up into Ceffy's beautiful brown eyes. Only Ceffy could help her, Larya knew. Only Ceffy could save her from drowning. Ceffy was smart, was strong.

Her

nice, big breasts didn't even slow her down. Larya wished she was as strong as Ceffy. But perhaps letting someone so strong own her was close enough.

"Please," she whimpered, for what had to be the thousandth time. "Please milk me, Ceffy."

Ceffy giggled. Her hands lay nearly perfectly still on Larya's enormous breasts.

They

were the cause of Larya's woes. Larya understood now just how heavy her big, pendulous milktits were. They held her down. Kept her dumb. Dumb and happy and obedient. Ceffy had helped her understand. "It feels good to beg for it, doesn't it? Nice. Nice to obey."

"Please..."

"Please what?" Ceffy pouted.

"Please milk your bimbo!" Larya squeaked.

But Ceffy was without mercy as her hands gently teased and tickled Larya's nipples. Larya's begging only seemed to encourage the teasing more. Larya needed to be

milked

. This wouldn't cut it, and they both knew that.

"Silly milkcows need milkings regularly," Ceffy cooed, tweaking Larya's right nipple. "They need the pleasure. They need my pleasure."

"Yes, yes..." Larya's breaths came out in ragged gasps.

"They need the pressure on their big, dumb boobies to go down," Ceffy hissed, taking one hand off Larya's left breast so she could raise Larya's chin slightly, "so they can think straight. Right now, your huge, sensitive tits are doing all the thinking, hm?"

"Yes..." Larya purred, wiggling her hips needily. But to her horror, this caused her to slip a bit further down into the water. "Ceffy!" she cried, suddenly afraid again. "Milk me! Please milk me!"

"I love making your kind like this," Ceffy husked, tickling the underside of Larya's breast. "You'll never walk again, my sweet buttermilk bimbo. But you

might

be alright in the water."

"The... the water?" Larya stared up into Ceffy's big, beautiful eyes with a mixture of dread and hope.

"And I can keep you down there with me!" Ceffy sang. She cupped Larya's breasts and squeezed slightly, making Larya babble incoherently for a moment in sheer pleasure. Yes. Live down there with Ceffy. "I'd milk you every day, and help you breathe... you might even be able to swim around a little, if you're a

good

little titslave for me."

Larya panted.

"All you have to do," Ceffy cooed in Larya's ear, "is beg me to keep you like this. Promise you'll be a sweet little milkcow for me."

Larya hesitated. She bit her lip. Some part of her knew she needed to fight this, but how could she fight gravity?

"You like being my silly sow, don't you?" Ceffy laughed. "So full of milk. So desperate. Enslaved to your big, horny tits.

They're

the ones in control now, not you. They're smarter than you. Stronger than you."

"Yes," Larya heard herself whimper.

"Say it."

"I..." Larya took a deep breath. "I l-like being your milkcow." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I love being your slave. Being enslaved to... to my tits."

"You're a slave to your own boobies."

"I'm enslaved to my own boobies." Even as Larya uttered the humiliating phrase, she felt a little thrill run through her. Ceffy was gently stroking her nipples, giving them a fraction of the joyous attention needed. But that wasn't the reason.

She loved being humiliated like this, she realized shamefully. She was glad she was underwater, so Ceffy couldn't see how wet she was.

But Ceffy knew. Of course Ceffy knew. That big, smug smile on her face told Larya as much. "You'll need a new name," Ceffy said thoughtfully, giving one nipple a playful tweak. "How about..."

"There she is!"

Ceffy looked up sharply. Larya blinked, suddenly free from those hypnotic eyes. She could barely move, but her eyes, still open, glanced over to the source of the noise.

In the midst of the elven orgy, several armed elves stood gathered around a mass of netting that looked like it had just fallen from the branches above. Whatever was in the netting was struggling furiously to escape.

"Ooh." Ceffy giggled. "They finally caught Lea. Sad, that."

Larya's heart plummeted.

She could barely think. She could barely move. She was about to sign away her freedom, her everything, to this creature in exchange for pleasure. But she knew that this had to somehow be her fault. The muse sprite had been captured, and it was her fault.

Then the brown eyes returned, and such sad thoughts were replaced with joyous inevitability. "I'm feeling a little silly today. Teehee—I know! How about... Boobimbo?"

~~~~

"So you're back here."

Snatch grimaced. He didn't even look up at Cellemist, who had sat down next to him at the elven bar. "You get something to eat?"

"Yes. I ate twelve eggs."

"Cooked, I hope."

"Ha."

Snatch raised the bottle he'd purchased and took a hefty swig.

"So..." Cellemist tapped the table uncomfortably. "You know what's happening with Larya."

Snatch swallowed. "Yeah. Think so, anyways. Your mom likes her innuendo." He set the bottle down, the drink turning bitter in his mouth. "They're tricking her into helping them lure the sprite. Using her. Shitty business."

"Mm." Cellemist didn't say anything for a moment. She just stared across at the rows of drinks behind the bar. "I suppose that mostly matches what I've heard. You're right—Mother likes to

imply

more than anything. You know what she told me on my thirtieth birthday?

'You certainly have survived a while.'

"

Snatch started to laugh, but stopped when he realized Cellemist wasn't laughing. He turned the laugh into a cough. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, parents are the worst."

"Hm." Cellemist sighed. "You said you didn't like your mother, Snatch. Was she like mine? Are they all like this?"

Snatch hesitated.

He normally wouldn't have hesitated. Normally, Snatch had a strict rule about talking about his past: Don't. It was why Larya didn't even know his real name, let alone his family history. But Cellemist was one of those rare people he found himself naturally inclined to trust. Those people were rare, and he tended to hate them on principle.

He took a swig from his bottle. "I never knew her, to be honest. She was an adventurer. Ran off when I was... young. Probably got eaten by some monster. But I wouldn't have liked her if I'd known her."

"Why not?"

Snatch looked over at Cellemist with a little smile. "Because adventurers are

assholes

. We're something like number six on the Honor Scale, right?"

This time Cellemist did laugh. "Well, as a number fourteen 'Organized Crime Member', I can't really complain too badly about your company. We're both garbage, really—I'm just better-polished."

"Heh." Snatch leaned over and poured a bit of his bottle into the empty glass in front of Cellemist. "I'll drink to that."

Cellemist smirked. She was reaching for the glass when they both heard the front door slam open. Snatch bolted upright, half-reaching for his scythe, when he heard, "We've got her!"

There was a pause.

"Excellent, gentlewomen," said the cool, sly voice of Cellesixe. "Ah, and what a beauty she is. Take her to the ward cellar and put her in the

arrangements

. You've done quite well."

Snatch's jaw clenched slightly as he heard a loud, tormented scream. That was not a sound he was going to sleep well to. Then he heard banging, and the newcomers moved further away before fading—presumably descending into the cellar.

Snatch heard a shattering sound.

He turned to see that Cellemist had gone as pale as a lizard's underbelly. Her fists were clenched and bloodied, left hand holding the broken remains of the glass she had gripped. Her eyes were wide and streaked with green. She looked up at him, trembling violently. "D-damn," she whispered. "I... she's... she's

here

..."

"Holy shit." Snatch looked at the panicked bartender, who was already rushing for bandages and a doctor. He leaned down and peered at the cuts. None were too bad, but the hand was just a mess. "Are you, uh..."

"No!" Cellemist's good hand clenched the side of the bar as she started to rock back and forth. "I feel... I feel... I—I need t—" She shot up to her feet, bits of glass plinking on the floor, heedless of the cries from patrons and bartender to remain seated. "I need to go to her," she rasped.

"Whoa." Snatch held up a hand, remembering what little he knew of this sprite.

The thing can kill her unless Cellesixe does her... spooky shit./

"Hold up. You'd better—"

He found himself lurching to grab Cellemist as she tried to rush past him. But Snatch was slow, and she was surprisingly swift. She made it past him, opened the door, and bolted out.

Snatch's heart was hammering. His mind was fractured. If Cellemist died, Cellesixe would be furious. If Cellemist died,

he

would be furious. That fact surprised him a little. And yet his every adventuring instinct was warning him not to get involved, to let the elves handle their own affairs.

"Stay here," he told the nervous-looking elves at the bar. "I'll handle it."

The elves, who had looked very un-eager to get involved before, were quite happy to remain seated as he ran after the errant crime boss's daughter.

~~~~

Ward cellars were an old custom, a relic of the times when the grass had grown greener and the gods had still soared through the skies. They'd been built for a variety of purposes—food storage, spirit distillation, tornado cover, a place to keep junk—but the primary reason was to house problematic demons, fey and undead. Ward cellars were carved from living rock with blessed tools, walls layered with minute runes to bind and render powerless pretty much any magical creature in the world. Dopterines had been the ones to invent them, Snatch knew, but most humans credited 'dwarves'—an entirely fictitious species, of course.

Ward cellars were something of a necessity in a world with so many intelligent, frequently murderous of sex-crazed creatures that could threaten an innocent family of dopterines, humans or elves. Most were lost or destroyed, either through accidents like earthquakes or deliberate demolition. But they were not uncommon in the houses of those wealthy enough and long-lived enough to keep their buildings maintained.

The Celestials' ward cellar was fairly unimpressive, compared to those Snatch had seen. It was quite small—perhaps fifteen feet across and ten feet wide. The floors, walls and ceiling were covered in glowing silvery-blue runes. His feet tingled unpleasantly as he walked down the gleaming steps towards Cellemist.

Snatch wasn't sure how Cellemist had been able to manage the steps in her state, let alone get the door open to begin with. Snatch was good at picking locks, obviously, but Cellemist?

Probably some elf magic. He grimaced, looking down at her.

The pallid, underfed crime boss's daughter lay prone on the floor, shivering. She looked almost pained. On the far side of the cellar, within a large cage wrought from what looked to be pure silver, lay the muse sprite.

Snatch wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. This wasn't it. Most fey looked quite human—nymphs were just green-haired women, really, and most dryads looked human in almost every regard. Beast-fey diverged a little bit, from what he understood, but not much. And weren't succubi basically just women with horns, wings and tails? Come to think of it, weren't

most

monsters in the world just mild variations of "hot, horny man or woman with magic powers"? It was kind of odd, really, now that he...

He snapped back to the present. This woman was

alien

. She had lavender skin, a wild mane of dark purple hair, and a pair of impressive stag-like antlers. Her ears were even pointier than an elf's. Oh, she was attractive, of course—though the mist surrounding her made it hard to gauge her exact proportions beyond a vague "well-endowed"—but she was

weird

. It was sort of refreshing.

The muse sprite was in pain, too, but she seemed to be handling it a bit better. Her eyes were screwed halfway shut, and she'd propped herself up against the back wall of the cage. At least she wasn't shivering, though.

She glanced at him. He heard her mumble something that sounded like, "So you're the teeth."

He tore his gaze away. "Cellemist," he muttered, "we should go."

"Yes," he heard the elf whisper. She pushed herself up. Her eyes looked a bit clearer now. "I..."

"The pull is weaker," the muse sprite said. "In here. It's sinking to the back of my mind. Misty, you should go, since you can now. I'll... see you later."

Snatch didn't exactly understand what was going on, but he helped Cellemist to her feet and led her to the stairs. She seemed to be walking easier, now, though he noticed she handled the runic floors with a curious tenderness. Ward cellars had never bothered him very much.

"Stay a moment, adventurer," he heard the sprite say. "Please. While you're here. Just... a moment?"

He hesitated. Cellemist seemed to be handling the stairs alright. He knew he should really just go. He'd done his job and kept the woman alive. Getting caught down here would get him in trouble, and he was not a curious man.

But the 'please' caught him.

Snatch didn't regret this choice. He knew it was the right one. For all his prickliness, he really

didn't

want Mier to die. Mier was alright. Easy to talk to. And he owed her. He owed her a hell of a lot more than this antlered fey.

But there was some guilt. Because he also knew that this creature wasn't evil. She reminded him more of the fairies than the nymphs and wisps—strange, yes, but not malicious or mocking. She wasn't out to kill Mist, any more than Cellemist was out to die. It was just what was going to happen. So while he was glad that Cellemist might survive, and he was glad that Mier might, too, he did feel a bit of guilt at whatever the hell Cellesixe was planning to

do

to this creature.

Aw, hell,

he thought bitterly, turning back to her,

guess I owe her that much.

He slowly plodded back to the cage, pulled up an old crate, and sat down. He scowled at her. "Fine. What?"

The muse sprite's lip quirked slightly. "What is your name, adventurer?"

"Snatch. It's not my real name, but it's as much as you need."

"You may call me Lea." And there it was. Now 'the creature' had a name. Snatch was already regretting this—he had a feeling it was going to be one of those 'guilt trip' conversations he kept getting tricked into.

"So, do you often try to murder artists?" he asked.

"Do you often try to murder fey?"

There was a long silence between the two of them.

"I don't expect you to understand why I do what I do," Lea said. "I am fey, and you are very, very human. This room doesn't even hurt you, does it?"

"Should it?"

"Yes. If you had any magic in you, it would. But you are very mundane. I don't mean it as an insult, but

how

could you ever begin to understand me?"

"Fey dragonshit." Snatch snorted. "You don't get to say

it's 'cause we're different

to justify killing people."

"I did not intend to. Nothing justifies murder. But what I do is not that." She gave a little smile. "If you'd only listen to me, you would understand. But you don't care to understand, do you?"

Snatch scowled. He studied her eyes—bright green, in stark contrast to her skin and hair. They were very vivid, instantly catching his attention with the sheer intensity they showed. "I'm listening."

"The bond between leannán sí and artist is complex," Lea said, her tone low and slow. "Complex and powerful. I am drawn to a worthy vessel for my energies, you see, and they... they are drawn like moths. We use each other. Does that sound so wrong?"

Snatch shifted, crossing his arms. "Everyone uses everyone."

"Indeed!" She nodded eagerly. It almost hurt Snatch's head to look at her when she did that. "And yes, it is true, my bonded human will die at the end. But that is the way it is. It is the way I am bound to. And it is what she

agrees

to." Her eyes narrowed. "If ever she wished to end the arrangement, all she would have to do is appear before me and reject me."

Snatch considered this a moment. It made some sense. He could almost understand it. But... "But she can't."

"No," Lea said softly, "she can't. And neither can I. She wants this too badly, and I... I am bound by the Primal Codes. And it's so,

so

hard to resist. As a fey. Your mind just warps. Twists and bends. Finds ways to obey. Ways to tell itself that what the Primal Code tells you to do is what's right."

Snatch nodded slightly. "Right."

"Right. The choice is faint, invisible." Her voice was all but a hiss. "It's there, but too hard to focus on. We use each other. It is the way it works. And it's just too hard to resist."

"Hard to resist?"

"Hard to resist," Lea agreed. "Your own mind plays tricks on you. It's like you're trapped in a dream. Isn't it?"

"Yeah?"

"Just try to understand," Lea whispered. "You are held by powers you can barely understand, can barely recognize, even. And you can't even fight it. You're trapped. Trapped by fate, trapped by your own mind. You try to think about resisting, but it's... so hard."

"So hard?" Snatch blinked blearily. He squirmed—a hardness of a different kind was developing. Weird or no, Lea was a beautiful woman, and she was naked. Her eyes were really quite pretty, and her husky voice sent tingles down his spine.

"Hard," she cooed. "And you try to think about why it's hard, but your mind just... skips. Twirls. Spins. Spirals." She spun her finger around in front of her face as she spoke. Snatch felt his eyes settle on it, following it from point to point. She smiled. "And just when you think you've caught it, what happens?"

"What happens?" Snatch realized he was repeating her words, and felt mildly embarrassed. But it wasn't his fault. She was the one who wasn't making any sense. He was trying hard to understand, as she'd asked, and she was being so cagey about it all.

"Pleasure," she whispered. Snatch felt chills run up his spine. "Pleasure. Pleasure. Pleasure." Her hand slipped into the mist surrounding her groin, and he heard wet sounds from within. "You try to think, try to fight, and it just...

drowns

you in pleasure."

Snatch was staring at the place her hand had gone to. He could almost see through the mist, he realized, if he squinted. Or maybe it was just his imagination. A pleasurable sort of feeling was settling over him regardless. It felt almost... dreamlike.

"So..." He tried to remember what Lea had been talking about. "It... it's hard to think. When you try to resist."

"Yes!" she beamed at him. "So, so hard. Hard to think. You get so,

so

hard, mm?" Snatch frowned. He was still trying to parse that, but for some reason, his mind couldn't quite connect the dots. And then she was moving on, leaving him off-balance and disoriented. "You can't imagine what it's like. You lose all control. All you want is to surrender to it, to embrace the pleasure." She paused. "

All. You. Want.

"