Soapy, Slippery Prep

To Drago’s surprise his chosen assistant, an elf whore named Dævara, is an accomplished mage in her own right. Preparing for the rite is almost too stimulating. Never has bathing been this much fun.


from The Silvergrey Sea

SIX continued

As the fog of lust cleared, I re-evaluated my decision to enlist the whore’s help and to tell her all as a prelude to the asking. After a moment, I decided that both still seemed worth the risk of being turned over to those who had done this to me in the first place.

So, I told her.


It took longer than it might have, largely because Dævara asked several pointed and pertinent questions. Taking her into my confidence seemed wiser and wiser as the interview wore on. She was obviously more than just a whore.

By the end, we were both seated on the bed and the stave was leaning against a bed post. A brief intermission while our drinks and a good meal was delivered was all.

“What d’ye mean to do?”

“I need to hide.”

“Ye seem well hidden now, ye do.”

“I couldn’t hide from you.”

That smile never really went away. It blossomed now. I could hear it in her voice. “I’m somethin’ of a special case, I am.” It folded back up. “I take it ye think others might be as perceptive, do ye?”

“I’m sure Mr. Tranker suspects something. Also your Madame.”

“Not much gets by either, it’s true. You’re worried o’ someone else, I think.”

I nodded. “The Hermetists. Mr. Tranker will have to bring them in at some point. They have many ways of seeing through deceptions. If they find me out…” I didn’t have to finish.

Dævara was already nodding. “I take it, yer proposin’ somethin’ of a carnal nature?” Her eyes crinkled and her lips curled again.

I told her what I had in mind.

“Oh! I know what yer after. Hold on.” She was sitting with feet curled under her. Without getting up, she stretched and pulled out the top drawer of the nearest nightstand. Out came a dark bag of what looked to be heavy silk. “Here we go.” She pushed the drawer closed with the back of the hand that held the bag and sat straight. Opening the drawstrings, she slid out a fat pack of cards. They shone and glittered like jewel-encrusted, lacquered gold.

“Tarot.” I hadn’t expected to see something like that, though I couldn’t say why.

“’Tis the Syrat, it is. What’s ‘Tarot’, then?”

“The what?”

“Have ye not heard of it?”

I shook my head. “Tarot is a pack of cards used for divination and magick. I take it ‘Syrat’ is much the same?”

“The Syrat. And yes, it is.”

I held out my hand. “May I see them?”

She didn’t move other than to raise one eyebrow and give me a slightly lopsided smile.


“Ye do know better, then.”

“Of course. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking.”

She put a hand over mine. A giggle that made me tingly, followed by, “I’ve a deck of playin’ cards modelled on the Syrat in th’top drawer o’ the other side table, if ye want ta have a look.”

I did. I skootched to the other side of the wide bed and grabbed a grubby deck of cards slightly smaller than the sparkling wonders Dævara held in her tiny hands. These were mere plastic, though brightly painted. Mosaic images made of strangely shaped runes composed most of them. More characters I couldn’t decipher, bordered each card. Some here dominated by single characters, writ large.

The whore/fortune teller had been rifling through her cards as well. She pulled out one and showed it to me. Overlapping characters in red and black formed the unmistakable image of a tower crumbling. Lightning in yellow, so bright it seemed to glow, stitched down the card. A large silver rune overlapped the image without hiding what was beneath.

“The Blasted Tower,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “So, ye do know the Syrat.”

I shook my head. “It’s a card of the Tarot, as well.”

“I must find a deck o’ these Tarot cards, I think. They merit study. What d’ye think o’ my proposal, then. This what, ye had in mind, is it?”

It was.

Preparing for a magic involves a lot of detail work. Preparing for magic that involves sex even more so. It makes spontaneous arousal quite difficult. A partner skilled in sex and ritual is a blessing. Dævara was just such a one.

She became all business as we discussed the details. She had everything necessary ready to hand. In far less time than I would have thought possible, everything was set.

She tuned back into a high-class courtesan.

Taking my arm, she led me to her lavatory. Her scent set my pulse racing. My mouth tasted of copper.

After opening the door, Dævara flicked a switch with her free hand. Yellow light from a dozen glass-shaded bulbs revealed the space. Tiled in green and white on the floor and up the walls to the small window just under the tin ceiling, the room had porcelain and brass fixtures, including a large claw footed tub, with a wrap-around shower curtain.

From a long rod, handy to the bath, hung large fluffy towels in green and deep red. A deep plush mat, also green, lay in front of the tub.

Once she had me in the room, she pushed the door closed. Giving me a tiny smile, she turned away from me. Moving her hair aside with one hand exposed a closely spaced row of pearl buttons from collar to waist. “D’ye mind?” she purred. That odour of jasmine, cinnamon, and something slightly bitter was making me lightheaded. My erection was becoming painful.

The dress was embroidered with what I first thought was an abstract pattern. From my current vantage, I saw that the figures were people engaged in a variety of extremely acrobatic carnal acts. The detail was exquisite. Some of the figure were performing feats of sexual legerdemain that looked impossible. The whore began undoing the buttons that ran from cuff to elbow, as I slid each smooth sphere out of its tiny leather lasso, enjoying the reveal of soft, white flesh beneath.

I had to crouch to reach the last few. I straightened. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I pushed out, sliding the dress off her shoulders. Once my hands reached her biceps, the weight of the garment did the rest.

I took a step back as Dævara stepped out of the mound of cloth and bent from the waist to retrieve it. She took her time.

The whore’s backside was poetry in flesh. A waist that couldn’t have been larger than twenty inches offset slender hips to increase her ass’s apparent tumescence. As she bent over, firm cheeks parted enough to show a stripe of flesh stained blue. A tiny rosebud anus dotted the ‘i’ of her slit, chubby outer labia, bare of mane, completely concealing the inner. Trimmed verdure, pale blue, was just visible in the gap between her thighs. My cock became so hard my diaphragm began to cramp, forcing a grunt from me.

Placing the dress carefully over the back of a ladder-back chair, she turned to the mirror and began removing silver combs holding back her auburn locks. She caught my eye in the mirror and gave me a look so full of fiery longing I could almost believe she meant it.

Finally, she turned back to me. Sparkling liquid fire were her eyes. Dark red tresses worked their way around her shoulders as she moved to shame serpents everywhere. The curling ends of her hair brushed pale blue aureola-ed teats, each one a bare handful.

She wore no jewelry and needed none.

Again, that arousing scent as she came close enough for me to feel the heat of her. I reached for her. She backed off a step. Even her disapproving pout was sexy. I let my hands drop.

Gliding back in again. She moved in close, eyes never leaving mine. This woman could do with a look more than most could with their entire selves.

My erection pressed against her abdomen, almost high enough to reach her breastbone. She had my trousers around my ankles and my shorts past my knees in a flash.

She bit her lower lip just as I felt cool fingers cup my testicles. The head of my penis tapped her stomach once every heartbeat. My scrotum was snugged tight against the shaft of my dick. Slowly she worked it, gently tugging and teasing it, until it hung a little more loosely. Not once did she touch my cock. She was testing me, I knew. Before committing fully to the rite we had planned, Dævara needed to know that I was up to the challenge. Again, I realized that I had obtained an excellent assistant.

Without speaking, the whore backed up, tugging gently on me to get me to follow, until she could sit on the chair. I took two awkward half steps before realizing I could just step out of my pants. My briefs weren’t helping, either. I bent to yank them down and pull them off. My assistant didn’t make that easy; she just kept pulling my scrotum, forcing me to take a couple of skipping steps to avoid pain.

It was when she sat that I realized the reason for having a chair in the lavatory. Being so petite, she was too short to properly service her clients orally if she knelt. The chair gave her just the right elevation for most of them.

Most of them. Drago’s body was a full six inches over six feet, giving him more than eighteen inches over the woman. In addition, his (my) rager was over nine inches and was at present nuzzling my own navel. Those plump glossy blue lips in that pretty, heart-shaped face were just level with my testes.

She gave me the most evil, teasing smile I could ever remember seeing before leaning forward (eyes never leaving mine, of course) and laying a moist, open-mouthed, slightly sucking kiss on my right testicle. It lingered. It felt delicious. I could feeling an exquisitely pleasurable contraction of my prostate—the beginnings of orgasm.

The whore felt it I was sure. She broke the kiss unable to suppress a grin.

Bitch thought she had me. I was going to prove her wrong.

“That’s your best, is it,” working my sardony.

Her mock scowl wasn’t arousing, but it was cute. Lust replaced it. She knelt on the chair and raised herself until her chin was level with the head of my cock. Now came the hard part (pardon the pun.) From what I’d experienced so far, this woman was likely one of the most skilled fellatrices I had ever or would ever encounter. I braced myself for the challenge.

Again, that look as those lips moved slowly toward the head of my pulsating cock. They parted and I felt hot breath puffing over the sensitive glans. Her pointed, pale blue tongue slithered out and landed on the bundle of nerves just under the head. The rest of it followed, caressing the sensitive tissue as it wrapped around my shaft and pulled her mouth in.

Seeing my cock slide past those lips nearly made me lose it, but I held firm. The angle of my erection made eye contact difficult and then impossible as she slid my member into the warm, moist sheath of her mouth. I felt resistance back up to the base of my shaft as the head hit the back of her throat.

With one tiny hand on my balls and one gripping the base of my dick, she pulled my cock down and drove her face toward my stomach. I felt her tongue press against the underside of my cock as it slid with little resistance down her throat.

Her chin rested against my scrotum and again those eyes met mine (lips distended around the thick base of my dick) just as her tongue licked my balls, left to right and back again. I felt what had to be her swallowing against my dick, effectively stroking it with the muscles of her throat.

I was right. She was the best. I held it, but only just.

I was just wondering if she’d pass out before I came, when she retreated, exposing my erection. The sight of that nearly drove me over the edge.

Saliva dripped from her panting mouth as she fast stroked the top third of my cock, those eyes moist and challenging. I saw a hint of a smile in her eyes. She knew I couldn’t hold out long.

But I had a surprise for her.

She had her breath back sooner than I thought she could. No warning as she swallowed my pride again. I couldn’t believe how long her tongue was. It crossed my perineum and actually licked my anus. I wasn’t going to make it. I decided to give her her victory while robbing it of its savor.

Theatricality was the key. I let her see my eyes widen. I began to grunt as I panted. “No!” I shouted. Grabbing her head, I began fucking her throat quickly and roughly, slamming her face into my pelvis with each full stroke.

I roared as I pushed her mouth away from my dick. I short stroked it with one hand while gripping a fistful of her hair with the other. It was a powerful orgasm. I spasmed for a good fifteen seconds.

When it was over, I had to laugh at the look on Dævara’s face. Her sweaty, but otherwise clean face.

“Not a drop,” she sounded genuinely impressed. A real, pleasure smile bloomed. “Yer the genuine article, y’are.”

My grin was mostly for the orgasm that still had me tingling. I collapsed to the floor. My legs being unwilling to support me for some reason. My dick was still rock hard, but nowhere near as sensitive as it had been. I still had my shirt and jacket on, I realized.

“Come; let’s have a quick wash b’fore we continue.” She held out her hand. I needed a little help. She sat me in the chair and knelt before me. I thought briefly of removing the rest of my clothing myself before I realised this was a part of the service I was paying for. She removed my shoes and socks, then took off my thin tie jacket and shirt. Picking up the rest of my clothes (giving me another stanza of fundamental poetry in the process), she hung them on hooks behind the door.

Turning back toward me, my assistant held out a hand. “Come.”

“Too soon. You’ll have to give me at least another twenty minutes.” That delightful laugh again.

Standing, I took her hand and walked to the tub.

This claw foot tub was twice as wide and half again as long as any other I had seen. The curtain was several layers of sheer linen, two of them hanging inside the edge of the bath were heavily oiled to repel water. Blue, heart shaped somethings dotted the bottom of the tub, I assumed for reasons of safety. The showerheads (there were two, at either end) were a foot wide and pointed almost straight down. They were comfortably high enough for me to stand under.

Dævara kept me waiting a moment as she tied her hair up. Well, it certainly didn’t look like it needed washing.

The water was delicious, the spray stinging. I let the whore soap me and rinse me. Her hands were firm as she smoothed the faintly abrasive, foaming paste on me, combining ablution and massage. It felt wonderful. She didn’t tease, though, passing through my pelvic region thoroughly and quickly. I had to squat while she washed my hair. While her fingers worked my scalp, she playfully pressed her torso against my back and swayed side to side, humming a little tune.

Then it was her turn. She had wanted to clean herself, giving me a bit of a show. I insisted on returning her favour.

She really didn’t need to bathe, either, but I seized the opportunity to let my hands wander.

Her skin was soft and smooth. There was surprisingly little fat on her, except for teats and buttocks. Even they were merely layered-over with fat; taut muscle underlay them all. I confess I took a bit more time around her cunny and buttonhole. I lingered over their shape and texture, exploring under the pretense of scrubbing. Dævara’s eyes closed and her breath caught as I stroked first one, then both. She leaned forward slightly, bracing herself on my shoulder with her upper torso. Her legs moved slightly further apart. I assumed this meant approval, so I continued for a while.

“Enough fer now.” Her voice was lower and slightly hoarse as she placed a hand on my exposed shoulder. I complied.

Continued here

—Gideon Jagged 
Glyph, December 2014 e.v.
Copyright © 2014 C.E., Gideon Jagged & Alchemy of the Word
All Rights Reserved

Posted in Erotic, Fiction, Silvergrey Sea, Speculative, Work In Progress and tagged , , , , , .

Author of Speculative & Erotic Fiction, Contrarian Essayist, Freethinker, Feminist, Free Expression Absolutist, Proud Child of the Enlightenment, Elf.