Chapter Text
Marcille hadn’t really come to terms with Falin’s return. She knew what she had to do, of course. Be strong. Be the adult. She was fifty, for goodness’ sake. Falin had practically been a student of hers, or at least that’s what she told herself. The pounding in her heart was an expected result of a stressful invocation of dark powers. She was exhausted. Pulling that much energy from the realms beyond took an immense physical toll. Some people aged from spells that intense.
The fact that her heart hammered faster when she looked at Falin, sitting by the fire draped in her brother’s too-large shirt, meant nothing. She was tired. Exhausted, as she’d said. She needed a bath.
So did Falin, for that matter. Her body still dripped with the dragon’s lifeblood, dark rivulets tracing the nooks and crannies of the muscles and fat that Marcille had so exactingly reconstructed. She knew Falin’s body like the back of her own hand. They’d had sleepovers. Baths. They were like sisters.
Yes. Sisters. So it was only normal to want to take care of a sister. To watch as Falin took tender bites of Senshi’s bread, tearing at the gluten networks with perfect white teeth. Pursing thick pink lips as she savored the flavor. To see her lift her shirt to wipe away a clot of dragonblood too thick to move on its own, and watch as more of the crimson fluid ran down those rolls that always appeared when she sat down. To trace her body from her flawless feet up her strong calves, to the delicate vulva lying between her thick thighs, hidden ever so slightly by the pale hair on her mons.
Marcille’s heart pounded in her chest.
“Are- are you feeling alright?” Marcille asked.
“Mhm!” Falin said, with that closed-eyed smile she did. The smile that always made Marcille feel so strange. It was adorable, of course, but also sad, because she squinted almost all the time. Her eyes were so beautiful when they were wide. Just like her brother’s, but… clearer. Golden, not yellow. Deep pools instead of tinny coins. She’d looked for ways to cure Falin’s eyesight, and had honestly hoped that the resurrection spell would ameliorate whatever errors existed in her eyes, but she’d been too afraid to make any alterations. She wanted Falin back. The same as she’d ever been. Her Falin. Her friend, that she loved more dearly than any sister.
“When you’re done eating, you need to wash that blood off. I’ll help you. It will also be a good place for us to test your memory and personality for any effects the spell might have had.”
A darkness flickered in Senshi’s eyes, but he said nothing. Laios, on the other hand…
“What kind of changes?” He asked, idiot eyes going wide. “Would she be more draconic? Will she grow scales? Is it possible she grew a flame sac? What if the dragonblood begins to increase her size? I’ve heard that drinking dragon blood can increase strength and aggression. Could she be more powerful? What about—”
“QUIET!” Marcille shouted. “Falin is not going to turn into a monster. She is perfectly healthy. I just need to check her over. It’s very routine.”
“Nothing about what just happened is routine,” Chilchuck muttered from the sidelines. She pointedly did not look Falin’s direction. He leaned up against a wall and pretended to be the too-cool boss guy that he always acted like, even though they’d hired him. She had to admit he’d stuck around. Even Namari and Shuro hadn’t, and Shuro was in love with Falin.
Or claimed to be. If he really was, he’d be here. He’d have found a way to save her, no matter the cost. Like she had.
Shuro didn’t deserve Falin. No man did.
“Also, is there even a bath around here?” Chilchuck said dismissively. “I thought they’d all be haunted to death. Aren’t you scared?”
Marcille narrowed her gaze. She remembered her mother’s lessons about confidence. Haughty wasn’t as good as commanding, but it came easier. She stood up straight, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back, hand on her chest.
“I’m not afraid of ghosts. I’ve defeated plenty, and the bathhouse I found is entirely adequate for my needs. It’s above yours, for sure. I spent last night cleaning it out and setting spells to warm the water. It will be like a hot tub. And it’s only for girls.”
“Alright, alright.” Chilchuck said. He wandered off, muttering to himself.
“A bath would be nice,” Laios said. “I haven’t taken one for days.”
“I know.” Marcille said, nose wrinkling. “But you can wait until after Falin and I use it. You and Senshi can go together.”
“I’m fine.” Senshi said.
“You smell.” Marcille said. “All you boys smell. I can’t distinguish one of you from the next because you all stink!”
That wasn’t true. They all smelled different. Not even that bad, really, even Senshi, who had a kind of ancient must to him, like a mossy cave. But all their smells were eclipsed right now by Falin. Sweet, demure Falin, sitting and smiling between them all, drenched in blood and wearing an old rag. Her hair was matted and sticky. She should have smelled disgusting, like days-old beef left in the sun. But she didn’t. She smelled like blood, yes, but darkly. Sweetly. The way a mosquito must smell it. She smelled like fire, and stone, and skin.
Her skin looked so soft. Falin always had the most beautiful skin, supple and taut. Even when she got bruised or bloodied or rashy from some odd plant she’d decided to eat, Marcille never felt disgusted by the thought of touching her. She’d always meant to be a healer, until she realized how much better Falin was at it. The scientific approach didn’t measure up to the love that she radiated, emanated, manifested. She was love. She was light. She was everything pure and lovely and the way her breasts pushed against the fabric of Laios’ old tattered shirt, the way her nipples made a thousand tiny lines in the fraying fabric, pink areolas just barely visible behind thin cloth, she…
NEEDED TO TAKE A BATH. VERY BADLY. Marcille found herself sweating. Her heart threatened to escape its cage. Something was happening down below, too, something wet and disgusting. She didn’t want to think too much about that. Every time Marcille felt sensations in her vagina it was either a month-long period (damn elven heritage) or a senseless ache that she couldn’t discern how to remove. She’d tried spells. Elixirs. Even salves. Those had helped a little bit, but they made her feel strange. Titillated. Like she should keep applying more, moving her hand around her vulva to excite it. A ridiculous thing. A human thing, she was sure. Elves didn’t even procreate until their second century at least. The idea that her body was telling her to have a baby did not begin to make sense, and there was no other reason she’d be feeling things down there. None.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Marcille said, her voice strangely tight.
“Okay!” Falin said. She stood up, ignoring the fact that her lower half was entirely visible. The curves of her thighs. The plump round cheeks of her ass. The dripping hairs of her mons. She looked like a goddess come down from bloody battle, smiling atop the skulls of her enemies.
The blood covered Falin’s privates. That’s why she didn’t care. She was covered. That’s why.
“I’ve already prepared some towels, and I managed to rustle up some soap.” Marcille said, leading Falin through the abandoned city. She tried not to think about how Falin’s footsteps made a sticky sucking sound. How each step left a bloody print on the ground. How, if she really, truly wanted to taste her, to taste it, all she had to do was get down and lick it off the stone.
OKAY WHERE DID THAT THOUGHT COME FROM??
Marcille stiffened. That was madness. Licking up blood? Off some dust covered cobblestones? She was tired. That’s it. She was just tired from the spell. She had channeled so much mana. Lost almost all of her own. She had to regenerate.
In a nice, warm bath, with a friend.
The bathhouse was an ancient thing, with lion-headed spouts and slots beneath the tiles to allow warm water to run through. Nobles must have come here in olden times. The stove they’d used to warm the water took an absurd amount of wood or coal, but she’d drawn a simple heating ward to replace all that. Now the water simply bubbled thanks to an efficient magic circle, as basic as they’d come.
People always talked about the ancient magics as though they were more powerful than modern varieties. The truth was that old power was raw. It came through in great bursts, brutal and dumb. Over time magic became refined. Understood. Spells no longer carried the risk of exploding the caster, but they also lacked the chance to erupt with the power of demons.
“Let’s rinse you off before we get into the bath.” Marcille said. “Don’t want it turning red on us!”
“Okay,” Falin said. She threw Laios’ shirt on the ground. Her back was no longer dripping, but colored red with patches of dried blood. She stretched, and her trapezius flexed. Her deltoids popped. Her back rippled with muscle. Had she always been so buff? Even under the layer of fat she always had, Marcille knew she was strong. She knew Falin could lift her up and break her over her knee if she wanted to—which she never would. But standing, here, now, watching every minute muscle connect to the bones which had been so bare only hours before, trailing from wide shoulders to plump bottom, Marcille felt something very strange. She wanted to touch Falin. She wanted to feel the ripples of her flesh. The silken smoothness of her skin. The heft of her breasts, and butt. She wanted…
This feeling in her privates to go away!!
“I’ll get a bucket.” Marcille said, shakily. “You just relax. Can I get you any water? Wine?”
“I’m fine.” Falin said. “I’m more worried about you.”
“What?” Marcille laughed shrilly. “I’m doing great. Don’t worry about me.”
She filled a bucket with water from the bath, and found a ladle. She pulled out a scrap of old cloth she’d kept around for just this kind of event—people were so callous with their fabric. Everything could be reused.
“You cast a forbidden spell. Of extraordinary magnitude.” Falin said, her golden eyes glimmering beneath her long lashes. “You resurrected me from bones.”
“Your spirit hadn’t left. That’s what’s important. Bodies can be rebuilt.”
“They usually aren’t, though.”
“Well, I had a lot of meat on hand. Even at a bad conversion ratio, I had plenty to spare. Dragon’s blood is a powerful essence. It would have been more difficult with a thousand goats! Besides, you’ll have to clean up my mistakes now—I healed your brother’s leg, but you know how I am. He said it hurt worse than when it got bitten off!”
Falin smirked, but her expression remained soft, almost sad.
“You never did heal well. I always thought you were so good at it. Then I learned how to cast healing magic, and I realized you were simply approaching it from a very simple viewpoint. You just want flesh knit back together in the most efficient manner. It doesn’t matter to you if it’s painless or slow or easy. What matters is that it works, and it’s fast.”
“Efficiency is very important in a hospital setting.” Marcille said.
She moved to wash Falin off, then realized she’d get her own clothes dirty. She needed to undress. She’d done so around Falin before, but usually behind a privacy screen, or in an adjacent room. They’d seen each other naked but only as kids. This time felt different. She turned, and slowly undid her garments, removing her cape, her tunic, and leggings. She unbraided her hair, trying not to think about the fact that Falin was right there, naked.
With very deliberate slowness, Marcille pulled her bloomers down, and set them on the pile of clothes. She tried to keep herself covered with her hair, and the bucket. She turned around to see Falin staring at her with a kind of hungry, dangerous look in her golden eyes.
Marcille had to wonder if maybe that dragon blood had changed her.
“Time for a pre-wash!” She said, brightly.
She poured a ladle of water over Falin’s head, then another, then another. She began to scrub the blood off of her, gently at first, then a little rougher as she encountered dry patches. Falin sat stoically through it all, even though the cloth was quite ragged. She hummed an old tune that they’d sung together as kids. A song about crickets and rainbows, and frogs in the stream.
Falin was always so calm. She never raised her voice except to laugh. Never cried when she needed stitches. She always had a smile, even when things were bad. She was an angel, as if such things existed. Marcille wanted to embrace her. To kiss her forehead. To tell her that she didn’t have to be the strong one. That she could just relax. Just this once.
“I’ve got you,” she said, somehow. The words slipped out.
Falin said nothing in response, but she squeezed Marcille’s hand.
“I missed you.” Marcille said, lathering up Falin’s hair. “I had to talk to your brother about so many stupid things. He got us here, though. I’ll give him that. It wouldn’t have happened without me, of course, but I have to admit he knows his way around the dungeon.”
“Stop talking about my brother and go back to how you missed me.” Falin said.
“I…” Marcille stammered. She clutched the soapy, bloody rag to her chest, and realized she had nothing for this. “Why don’t we get in the bath,” she suggested. She slid into the water, making sure her hair covered her nipples. Falin didn’t need to see those. She didn’t need to see how hard they were.
Falin climbed into the bath on the opposite side. She leaned back with a sigh.
“Oh, I still see some blood.” Marcille said. She grabbed the rag and soap and began washing Falin all over again.
“I can do that,” Falin said, with a confused smile.
“Nonsense!” Marcille said, laughing so she didn’t think about how tight her stomach was, how her brain was telling her to spread her legs, how Falin looked so incredibly gorgeous, so eminently radiant in the steam. “After all, I need to check and make sure there’s no defects from the spell.”
Falin raised her arms sheepishly. Her breasts swayed with the motion. They were so much bigger than Marcille’s. She never really saw them under the baggy clothes Falin always wore, but they had to be at least as large as her head.
No wonder her back is so muscular, Marcille thought.
Her vulva rubbed against Falin’s leg. By accident. She had to straddle to reach. Of course. That’s why. And the shivers, the shudders, the hot rush of strange feelings that came with that brief contact were all, um, menopause. That made sense. Something. Anything else than what the tiny voice in the back of Marcille’s head was saying.
“Hey, what’s this on your chin?” She said, borderline freaking out.
“I got that when I was a kid.” Falin said.
“Oh thank goodness.” Marcille fell back, trying to let the warm water take away the roiling flame in her crotch.
“Are you okay?” Falin asked.
“Just tired,” Marcille said with a dismissive wave. “I just need to regenerate some mana.”
Falin leaned forward. Marcille could only stare up, helplessly. Falin’s fingers ran along Marcille’s. Entwined. Held her hands tight.
Marcille’s heart skipped a beat. Then another. She swore it stopped entirely.
Power sparked. Vast, and deep. Not the kind Marcille had felt from her before. Falin had always been a strong caster, but the mana that poured out of her was more akin to a monster than a person. It bubbled in the air, radiating with might.
“What was that?!” Marcille shrieked.
Falin looked confused. “Just sharing some mana with you.”
“You just came back to life, you shouldn’t be doing that.” Marcille said. Her heart was pounding. Her brain spun. Her cunt ached.
Cunt? She’d never called her vulva that before. That was a bad word.
“Marcille…” Falin said, softly. She was so close. Her breath was a flame. Her presence hotter than a summer sun. Her eyes glowed with a fierceness that Marcille only saw during combat.
“Y-y-yes?” Marcille stammered.
“You said you missed me. What did you miss?”
Marcille wanted to back up, but she wanted to go forward. She wanted to leap out of the bath, but she wanted to stay here forever. She wanted to fly into the distant ceiling, and directly into Falin’s arms.
“I… I missed how you calm your brother down. I miss how you keep us together. How you help us when we’re in trouble.”
Falin smiled. “Stop bringing up my brother. What did you miss about me?”
Marcille couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Falin was right there. So close. So big. So beautiful. Marcille couldn’t not stare at her breasts, round and heavy, with those puffy pink nipples. At her soft belly. At her perfect lips, her golden hair, her golden eyes. She was an angel. She was perfection in human form. She was a goddess, if such things existed.
Falin moved closer. She ran a hand along Marcille’s cheek, tenderly caressing her jaw with her thumb, then her chin, and then her lip. For some reason, Marcille got the urge to suck that thumb. To draw her into her mouth and taste her. To spread her legs and beg.
“You know,” Falin began, “when you die here, your soul is trapped. You knew that. After all, that’s how you brought me back. But it’s not quiet. You’re not quite a ghost, but not quite alive either. You can watch—although all I could really see was the inside of a dragon’s belly. But it gives you time to think. A lot of time to think.”
“I-I-I I can imagine so!”
“I thought about my brother, about Shuro, about Namari and Chilchuck, about my parents.”
“Naturally!” Marcille frantically laughed.
“But mostly, I thought about you.”
Everything in Marcille’s mind went quiet. Her body froze.
Falin leaned in closer, so that she breathed the words into Marcille’s mouth. Her breath was so warm. Spiced, somehow. Sweet, like cream.
“You always acted like my teacher, even though you were my friend. You always acted like you were older, bigger, better, even though I learned how to cast healing magic better than you, before you. You always wanted to help me. At first, I thought it was because you didn’t trust me. Then I thought it was because you couldn’t trust yourself. You had to make sure everyone was taken care of. But something didn’t add up. It took a long time to realize why you always came for me. Why you always waited for me. Why you always reacted so strangely when I brought you gifts.”
“I-I-I-I wanted—”
“You wanted me.” Falin said, her voice low and husky. She spoke into Marcille’s throat. Her lips brushed against Marcille’s skin. Her breath sent sparks along Marcille’s neck. “You want me. But you don’t know about sex. You don’t know about passion. You’re a student of the sciences. A mage who uses numbers, words, sigils. You ignore your feelings. Push them down. Braid them into your hair. Replace them with huffiness, and fake smiles.”
“That’s, it’s, I—”
“I know.” Falin whispered. “I know how hard it is for you. You don’t know about these feelings yourself. You don’t know what they mean. But you’re my best friend. You’ve taught me so much. You’ve helped me so many times. You gave me my life back. You’re the most powerful mage I’ve ever met. There’s nothing about magic I can teach you. But I can teach you this.”
Falin leaned forward and kissed Marcille. Her lips were plump and strong and soft and wet. She pressed into Marcille’s, enveloping her lips in a blanket of warmth.
Just as quickly as she’d come forward, Falin pulled back. Her face was red. She looked down, and saw Marcille nude as if anew. She averted her gaze, staring at some interesting piece of stone.
Marcille sat there with her mouth not quite agape, but locked in shock. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t make words. She could barely breathe. Every neuron in her brain was on fire, and that fire had one source, and one place to go. One word, one name, one person.
“Sorry,” Falin said, as tears began to bubble. “I thought… I must have been wrong. I’m sorry. You matter so much to me, I’ve been thinking about you for so long, I just couldn’t—”
Marcille lurched towards the woman who took up her whole heart. She took Falin’s face in her hands, and kissed away the tears. Falin tasted like the sea. She tasted like freedom, like life itself.
Marcille wanted to taste more of her. Her lips. Her tongue. Her skin. Her cunt, because vulva wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted cunt. She wanted to feel Falin’s body. To know every inch of her.
“Marcie…”
Marcille had never kissed anyone in her life until a few seconds ago. She’d never initiated one. She didn’t know the first thing about it. She just knew that lips touched lips. She’d seen people do it, of course, but she always had to be perfect. She always had to do things right. There were classes, books, techniques passed down from generations of teachers.
She had none of those now. All she had was Falin, her big beautiful strong Falin, face between her hands, lips parted to reveal those strong white teeth and that broad pink tongue.
Marcille parted her lips. She opened her mouth a little bit. She licked her lips, because she was nervous, and despite the steam, they felt dry. She moved closer, sending ripples through the pool. Again, despite the warmth, she had chills.
Slowly, carefully, Marcille brought her lips to Falin’s, so gently that she might have been made of the world’s thinnest glass. Their lips brushed together. Their breath mixed, hot and heavy joining warm and light. Then they were together. Lips pressed against lips, tongues wrapping around tongues. Hands in hair, legs around legs, bodies so tightly wound that they could not tell where one of them began and the other ended. Falin’s leg pressed up between Marcille’s, and gently moved back and forth. A rising tide of sensations flooded from Marcille’s cunt. She gasped.
Falin took that moment to take to Marcille’s neck. She’d always enjoyed wearing chokers, because her mother had. That, at least, was what she’d told herself. They were stylish and demure.
Now, as Falin’s teeth found her supple flesh, as Falin’s strong hand pressed against her throat, she truly understood why. She wanted someone to have the power to take her breath. To make stars appear in her eyes. To bring the world to blackness and then to see it spring back into life.
“Falin…” Marcille moaned.
Falin said nothing, but moved down Marcille’s body, cradling her breasts with her strong hands. She kissed down her neck. Ran her tongue along Marcille’s collarbones. Then took her nipple in her mouth, teasing with her tongue and teeth, biting as gently as a mother cat picks up a kitten. Each tender bite sent ripples and shivers up her body as pain mixed with pleasure.
Then Falin went lower, kissing her belly while still squeezing her tits, until she hit the waterline.
Falin rose. Her face was borderline unrecognizable. There was a hunger there, bestial and fierce, as though the dragon had taken over completely, leaving only her human frame. Even when she’d killed, Falin had never looked this intimidating, this frightening. This hot.
Falin grabbed Marcille by the chest and lifted her from the pool. She set her atop the warm, wet stone, and pushed her down. She spread Marcille’s legs.
Marcille covered her mouth. “Falin!” She gasped, between her fingers.
“I always knew you were bald down there,” Falin said. Her ferocious mask dropped only for a moment, then it returned as she gazed at Marcille’s hairless cunt, dripping with bathwater, and more. Cyprine—that was the technical term. She’d learned about that in medical school. It had taken years to find a term for it because of all the sexist doctors and—
Falin kissed down to her mons. Kissed the inner sides of her thighs. Each touch from her added to a burgeoning madness. Marcille wanted to feel her down there. To feel her hands. Her lips. Her tongue. She wanted to feel Falin’s cunt against her own, pressing and throbbing and as wet as she was.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Marcille said, but she didn’t mean it. She was just scared. Scared that this was happening. Scared that she might fuck it up. That maybe her pussy tasted like dirt. She’d been in this dungeon for so long, eating so many monsters, who knew what that did to her body chemistry. She might taste like mushroom. No, she had to stop this, had to stop.
She grabbed Falin by the head and pushed her down. Not away. Down. Between her legs. Into her cunt.
Falin’s gorgeous lips surrounded Marcille’s labia. Falin moved slowly. Delicately. But forcefully, as though there was some great weight that needed to be lifted, and could only be moved with tongue. Falin ran her tongue up Marcille’s cunt slowly until she found the clitoris, a part of Marcille’s body that she only knew about because she’d read in medical texts.
Lightning shot through her as Falin made tight circles with her tongue. One hand stayed on Marcille’s breast—Marcille grabbed onto that as if her life depended on it. The other, she used to slowly caress Marcille’s leg, running her fingers lightly along her smooth skin, until she found her way to her vagina. She was gentle at first, just touching the entrance, but Marcille was so wet. So ready. Marcille had never put anything up there. She had watched Falin help deliver cattle, and that involved shoving a hand up there, but that was almost medical. Certainly not pleasant.
The way Falin’s fingers opened her was like feeling the gates of some distant heaven part. Her body shuddered. The waves of sensations coming from her clitoris were joined by the sweet pressure of Falin’s fingers finding their way into her vagina, caressing the soft flesh within, pressing against the wall of her cunt.
Marcille had never cum before. She’d never had a reason to. She understood orgasm from a medical sense. When nerves were stimulated to a certain degree, the brain released pleasurable chemicals, akin to smelling a nice rose, or eating a fine meal. It was said that food was “better than sex,” especially chocolate, and she’d always taken that statement at face value.
She no longer did. There was no meal that could compare to this woman between her legs. There was no feast that could measure up to Falin. The sight of her, so strong, so thick, so buxom and ferocious was beyond anything Marcille could imagine. She’d always thought of Falin as beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world, besides her mom. Even though she never tried to be beautiful, she was so effortlessly gorgeous. She was handsome in a way men wished they could be. She was the moon come to earth, a bright light in a dark night.
This night, the moon did not come to earth. She came to the moon. She erupted in body, mind, and soul. She screamed as she wrapped her legs around Falin’s head. She wept from cunt and eye. She poured her soul out onto the floor, and over Falin’s face.
Falin did not stop. She did not force Marcille’s legs away. She only moved her mouth downwards, pulling her fingers out and putting her tongue in. The feeling of that powerful muscle tasting her, probing her, fucking her was beyond anything Marcille had thought possible. She moaned and groaned and fought to pull Falin away, and failed.
Falin brought her hand from Marcille’s breast and put it on her clit, rubbing it back and forth with rapid, powerful strokes that sent thunder through her. Falin’s other hand cupped Marcille’s ass, which was now more soaked than when she’d been in the damned pool. She panted as Falin’s thumb caressed her ass, and not just the cheeks.
“Falin, no, no that’s dirty.”
“You just pissed all over me.” Falin muttered into Marcille’s cunt, before diving right back in.
“AH!” Marcille squealed, with joy and revulsion. “That’s not! I thought! Squirt—I only squirted. That’s what the girls say, right?”
“It’s urine.” Falin said, softly. “And I don’t care. You taste so good when you cum. Your cunt is like nectar, and I am going to drink you dry.”
Falin pressed her thumb into Marcille’s ass. Her anus parted the same way her cunt had, but with more pain. The pleasure came after, like the roar of thunder after lightning. She felt Falin’s tongue and her thumb. She felt them touch each other through the thin wall that divided ass and cunt. She screamed again, this time deeper, almost guttural—or at least as deep as her voice could get.
Falin’s thumb went deeper. She switched her other hand from clit to cunt, and began to suck gently at her clit, while her fingers hammered in and out. Somehow, the combination of soft and rough wrought a new kind of pleasure; a damning, fiery burst of sensations brighter than any star.
Marcille came again, louder and harder, with a shuddering thrill. Her ass clenched around Falin’s thumb to the point that she thought she might rip it off. Her cunt squeezed against Falin’s fingers. She did not squirt this time, because her body was empty. Spent.
Falin slowly removed her thumb and fingers. She crawled up Marcille’s body, and hovered over her, dripping with sweat, cyprine, and more.
And Marcille wanted more. She needed Falin. She needed this moment to last forever. She needed this woman to be hers. A door that had been locked and barred was now unlocked. She hungered. And that hunger would not be sated by a simple orgasm, nor two. She wanted control. She wanted to make Falin hers, in every conceivable way. She wanted Falin more than she needed air. She wanted to make her kneel and beg and plead, like the dog Laios always pretended to be.
“I’m so happy I could be with you,” Falin said. “We should probably go, but… I… I want to kiss you again.”
Marcille lunged upwards. She took Falin by the back of the head and kissed her. She pushed her tongue into Falin’s mouth and tasted everything. Her teeth, her cheeks, her lips. She bit Falin’s lip hard enough to elicit a gasp. She turned Falin over, and said:
“This is not over. You think you can give me the greatest happiness I’ve ever felt, and just be done? Just go back to those three and pretend like I didn’t cum over your face and leave you without returning the favor? I am not leaving here until I have given you what you have given me. I… I love you.”
“Marcie!”
Marcille grabbed Falin by the wrists and pushed her arms to the floor. She straddled Falin’s chest, rubbing against her, gliding up and down on what had to be an ocean of cyprine. She felt so good. She looked so beautiful. She was perfection made manifest. She was not leaving here. Not yet.
“I love you.” Marcille repeated, leaning down. “I’ve loved you for so long. I’ve wanted you forever, even though I never understood the feelings I had. I’ve needed you. And now I have you. I am not letting go. I am never letting go. You are mine forever. And I am going to keep you forever.”
She whispered words she’d learned a long time ago, and wondered why she would need them. She had thought perhaps that in certain medical situations, patients would need restraints. Holding spells were useful against monsters as well, though usually only in limited cases.
Now, she understood. She knew why the old woman winked when she taught her this spell. She knew why that old crone had looked slyly at Falin when she suggested it would be a good thing to know.
She whispered the spell, and summoned the mana Falin had given her. Mana she was going to give right back.
Red cords rose from the floor, and wrapped around Falin’s wrists and ankles. They pulled her taut, and spread her wide. Falin gasped, and her eyes went as wide as her legs.
“Marcille!”
“Don’t you act all surprised. Don’t pretend that you don’t know where this is going. You said it yourself. You can teach me this. Well, I’m a quick study. And I’m going to make you cum harder than you made me.”
She crawled forwards until her dripping cunt hovered above Falin’s face, already so wet, already so red from exertion and shame.
“But only if you serve me.”