The instant my pickaxe came down, the stone practically exploded.
The wall cracked and split like a stubborn walnut surrendered by sheer force of will—and apparently the wrath of some manic little imp disguised as a prisoner.
Bits of rock showered down, and a deep, jagged crevice yawned open like I’d just insulted the very foundation of the prison itself. Brutus froze, his massive jaw dropping so low I half-expected his teeth to clatter against the stone floor like castanets.
His expression was a glorious mix of awe and utter disbelief, the kind that usually accompanies witnessing a dwarf spontaneously combust or a goblin outdrink a halfling. I could almost hear his internal monologue screaming: What in the hell just happened? Did that bastard just shatter a wall with a single swing?
People nearby started turning, heads swiveling like radar dishes. Not the ideal time for an impromptu demonstration of my strength, especially in a place that seemed allergic to surprises. Brutus was about to open his mouth, probably to vocalize something along the lines of "What the actual fuck," but I put a finger to his lips with all the practiced elegance of a bratty child telling the grown-ups to hush.
"Shh. Not now," I whispered, glancing around.
The flickering torchlight caught the dust motes, making the air look like it was doing a slow, lazy dance of accusation. My heart hammered — half from adrenaline, half from the delicious possibility that I’d just made a spectacle that might either get us killed or promoted. And in this hellhole, sometimes those things were one and the same.
A long moment ticked by as I debated internally whether I should spill the beans about my secret. The ability I’d carefully locked away under layers of smokescreens and self-preservation.
Could I trust Brutus? I ran over his expression, his loyalty to the few he cared about, and the way his hands never hesitated to shield me when it counted.
Hell, he was the closest thing I had to a guardian in this cesspool, besides Julius of course. If anyone could keep a secret, it was him.
And so, with a quick nod to myself, I beckoned him over to a shadowy alcove carved out of the cavern wall—a perfect little pocket of privacy where our whispered conspiracies could safely curl away from prying ears.
"Okay, big guy, lean in," I said, voice low and conspiratorial.
I explained the basics, carefully threading the words like a magician revealing a trick no one should have guessed. "That trick with the pickaxe wasn’t just a show of raw strength" I said, tapping the worn handle thoughtfully. "I... can steal things. Not by sneaking around or pickpocketing, but by getting up close and personal. When the clothes come off and the world gets a little quieter, I can pull strength, endurance, even speed from my partners. Sometimes, if I’m feeling particularly charitable, I can snag a bit of luck too. It’s like trading favors—only the currency is a hell of a lot more interesting."
I gave him a crooked grin. "The more ’intimate’ the act, the bigger the boost. And yes, it involves sex. Mostly. Though I’m pretty sure a well-timed kiss doesn’t hurt either."
Brutus blinked slowly, then started pacing the cramped alcove like a hulking beast wrestling with a damn riddle wrapped in a nightmare. "So you’re saying... you’re some kind of hellspawn wrapped in stockings and sweet talk?" His voice was low, almost a growl, laced with a mix of disbelief and grudging respect. "Saints preserve me, I’m going to hell aren’t I?" He stopped and looked at me with those piercing eyes, as if weighing my soul for signs of madness.
"Welcome to my world," I shrugged. "This prison’s all about who can survive and thrive with the least amount of scars. I figured I might as well turn the tables using what I was gifted."
After a long pause, Brutus nodded slowly, the gears in his mind visibly grinding to acceptance. "If what you say is true, and it sounds damn plausible, then you’re one hell of a weapon... but we still have a problem."
I raised an eyebrow and then it hit me, "The boss," I said. "You told me he was keeping himself hidden, right? Lurking in the shadows. Doesn’t come out to play except when the stakes are higher than usual."
He nodded. "Yep."
Then I said, "Mhm, well then, all that means is that we need to do something so big, so loud, that he has to come out. Make him notice us."
Brutus’s eyes gleamed, the flicker of strategy sparking in that otherwise grim expression. "That might just work. Section Six is tight and vicious, but if their workflow gets disrupted... hell, chaos might be the only thing that pulls the boss out of his hole."
I smirked, leaning back against the wall with mock nonchalance. "Well, what do you think I’m going to do?"
Brutus rolled his eyes like he’d heard this joke before. "You’re going to use your body, aren’t you? Of course. You’re the walking scandal this place desperately needs," he said sarcastically. Then he shook his head and scoffed, "But you can’t seriously be thinking about sleeping with every damn soul in this cave. That’s not just ambitious—that’s straight-up suicidal."
I winked. "Don’t underestimate the power of flesh, Brutus. It’s not just about raw sex. It’s about desperation, barter, and leverage. Most of these poor bastards would trade their last coin for anything that promises relief or pleasure. A whisper, a touch, a secret—hell, even a promise wrapped in a dirty joke."
Brutus furrowed his brow, skepticism creeping into his voice. "Alright, but what could you possibly be offering that doesn’t involve... well, you know." He waved vaguely between us, implying the explicit without saying it outright.
Then he gave me a slow once-over, eyes lingering on the sweat-slick sheen coating my skin, the way my muscles flexed beneath damp fabric, the subtle scent of musk that clung to me like a second skin. I caught the glint in his eye—the unspoken question of how much trouble I was about to drag him into.
I giggled, then with a deliberately slow flair, peeled off my blouse, miniskirt, and lingerie, leaving nothing but bare skin glistening in the dim torchlight.
"Wanna whiff?" I offered cheekily, lifting my arm and exposing the slick, sticky smoothness beneath my armpit.
A slow trail of sweat leaked down from the hollow, meandering softly along the curve of my side before disappearing beneath my ribs, promising a scent rich with heat, musk, and just a hint of wild mischief.
Brutus groaned—deep, husky, and borderline pathetic for a man like him. Then, as if gravity reversed itself, he strode up behind me, crouched low like a predator about to pounce on a prize. His nose buried itself in the back of my damp hair first, breathing deep, before he turned around to get a better look—or rather, smell—at the source. His face lifted toward my armpit, taking a few slow, deliberate sniffs that made my pulse speed up with wicked delight.
Then he took a deep inhale that made his chest rise and fall like a tired beast, his groan vibrating like a bass note as his cock started straining against the fabric of his trousers. I swear I could hear his pants stretching under the pressure, as a slow, wet trail of desperate longing began leaking down the inside of his leg.
"Oh, Brutus," I teased, turning to grin over my shoulder, "you’re leaking."
"Shut up," he growled, voice thick and breathless.
I just laughed harder, then whipped around and shoved him hard enough to send his broad frame crashing to the stone floor. His breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden assault and the unexpected strength behind my shove.
I wasn’t just a pretty face after all.
Then I arched my foot, planting it squarely against his face, and smiled wickedly as he began panting wildly, nose buried in my sticky skin like a wild animal smelling its territory.
Then, with deliberate slowness, I trailed my foot down his chest, the smooth skin of my arch sliding wetly over the fabric, cool against the heat radiating from him. The pulse of his heartbeat throbbed beneath the thin prison cloth, leading me lower and lower, until my toes settled against the swollen, twitching bulge straining hard at the base of his prison breeches—soft, taut, and begging for release.
I could feel the rapid tremors beneath my touch, the subtle quiver of muscle fighting to contain the storm building just beneath his skin. My foot moved in teasing circles, slow and calculated, sending shivers up his spine and raw moans vibrating from deep within his throat.
Then I began to rub, gentle at first, letting the tiny droplets of precum soak deeper into the fabric, before increasing the pressure, coaxing louder, more insistent moans from the giant beneath me. His legs twitched involuntarily, trapped in my silent, sensual oppression.
I let out a teasing laugh, basking in the power dynamic twisting between us like a knot tied tight by desire. Brutus cursed, a deep, gratifying sound that echoed off the stone walls.
"Fuck, Loona... I’m gonna cum—please stop, I’m gonna—" His words cut off with a ragged growl, "Aargh!"
Then, with a shudder that shook his whole frame, he finally blew his load—right through the fabric, warm and sticky, marking his surrender like a flag waved in defeat.
"Bravo!" I clapped mockingly. "Congratulations on your ejaculation, big guy."
His eyes shot open wide, the mix of embarrassment and raw lust making him harder than ever, if that was even possible. I dropped low, sliding my hands beneath the waistband of his pants to reveal the mess he’d made—thick, glistening strands of cum stretched between his groin and his underwear like some obscene sculpture, a visible puff of heat rising from the sticky mess in the stale air.
I commanded, voice dripping with authority, "Sit up like a good puppy."
Brutus obeyed, face flushed and eyes glazed with overwhelming need. I crawled behind him and settled myself, tilting his head back gently before shoving his face straight into my armpit, forcing him to inhale deep.
"Sniff," I ordered, voice dripping with wickedness.
A little whimper escaped him, raw and needy. Then, feet planted firmly, I wrapped my toes and heels around his cock and began a slow, sloppy footjob, gliding slickly over him with deliberate, teasing movements. Brutus inhaled my musky scent like a man possessed, moaning and gasping as I worked him with slow, sensual cruelty.
"Gods, Loona, your scent... it’s like a goddam drug. I’m already losing it—f-fuck," he gasped.
Before long, his breath came ragged and uneven, chest rising and falling like a storm-tossed sea, muscles trembling with the weight of impending release. His body tensed beneath my touch, every nerve firing in frantic anticipation.
"Gods, Brutus, you’re fucking hopeless—completely addicted to my scent, aren’t you? Can’t get enough of this little stink? Bet you never thought a prisoner like me could have you begging like a stray dog." My laughter echoed louder. "Look at you, all tight and twitchy, desperate to let go just from a whiff of my sweat." I traced a teasing finger along his jaw, smirking as his breath hitched. "Come on, don’t hold back now. I want to see you drown in it—your own sticky mess, wrapped up in my musky stench."
Just then, with a twisted groan that echoed off the cold stone walls, he spilled over—hot, thick ropes pulsing from his cock in a wet, sticky arc that splattered messily across his stomach, the warmth soaking into his skin and spreading like liquid fire.
The scent of him—raw, salty, and undeniably his—mingled with the musk trailing my body, creating a heady perfume that clung to the air around us.
I let out one final tease, standing up with a hum of satisfaction. Brutus sat up slowly, rubbing his face, cursing under his breath like a sailor who’d just lost his best pipe.
Then, with a quick twist, I whipped around, holding out my hand with a mischievous grin. "That can’t possibly have been for free, now could it?"
Brutus blinked, confused for half a second before swearing loud enough to echo off the cavern walls. He dug into his back pocket and slapped a single bronze coin into my palm—our so-called wages for the day, but really a drop in the bucket of what I’d just earned.
His eyes narrowed as he realized exactly what I was planning.
I was going to bankrupt every last person in this goddamn cave.