Grisha laughed—loud and booming, the sound filling the room and making the bones on the walls rattle slightly—before shushing me as I muffled out my continued whimpers against her skin, my body still trembling with aftershocks.
Finally, she pulled my face free from her armpit.I gasped as I took in a lungful of cooler air, only for Grisha to cup my chin with her free hand and tilt my head back until I sank deep between the heavy, sweat-glazed mountains of her tits.
The massive swells of flesh pressed against my cheeks on either side, warm and slick, her steady, thunderous heartbeat pounding against the back of my skull like a war drum.
Grisha slowly unfurled her fingers from my cock, letting the heavy ropes of my cum stretch into glistening, lewd threads that clung stubbornly between her thick green digits, shimmering like molten pearl in the flickering firelight.
She began playing with it in her fingers—rubbing her thumb against her index and middle finger, watching the way it stretched, broke, and reformed—coating her rough skin in a glossy sheen that made her knuckles gleam wet.
Then she lifted her hand higher, those thick green fingers glistening obscenely with ropes of my cooling cum, drifting toward my parted lips with slow, predatory intent.
"P-please... n-no more... hnn..." I tried to beg—desperate words forming on my tongue, a plead for mercy or at least a moment to recover—but Grisha wasn’t listening.
Instead she shoved two fat, slick digits straight past my lips, stuffing my mouth full in one ruthless push, pinning my tongue flat as the hot, viscous load exploded across my taste buds—salty and slightly bitter.
"Mmph—! glk—!" I cried as she worked them with ruthless care, dragging the slick mess back and forth over my tongue, painting the soft underside, swirling it into every crevice until my saliva mixed with my own cooling seed into a filthy, stringy glaze.
Then she drove deeper, scraping along the ridged roof of my mouth, bulging my cheeks outward as she probed the slick pockets inside, those massive green fingers stretching my jaw obscenely wide.
"Hck—glrk... mmf—!" I choked when she speared toward my throat, the intrusion triggering wet, helpless gags that made my body jerk in response, but she merely hummed with approval before pushing deeper, forcing me to take it.
"That’s it," she murmured, her voice dropping into something almost gentle despite the filthy act she was performing. "Take them nice and deep. Swallow that cum down like a good little slut. Gods, you’re doing so well—just look at you, your cock is already starting to twitch again."
She was right—gods help me, she was absolutely right.
I could feel my cock beginning to harden again despite having just come twice in rapid succession, my body responding to her words, her touch, the sheer wave of her dominance soaking my senses.
Grisha drew her thick fingers out inch by torturous inch, deliberately scraping them across my tongue one last time to wipe the final clinging smears of my cum across it. Then her hand tightened under my chin, forcing my head back farther until my throat stretched taut.
Before I could catch my breath, she pulled me into another kiss—nothing like the brutal invasion from before. This one was slow, possessive, her full lips sealing over mine with heavy pressure while her fat tongue pushed inside, hunting for the cooling pool of my spend she’d painted there.
She found it instantly, swirling through the mess with lazy, filthy strokes, gathering every bitter strand onto her tongue before feeding it back to me in a deep, claiming slide that left us both sharing the thick, musky evidence of my surrender.
The action was obscene and intimate in ways that made my head spin, and somewhere during that exchange I found myself melting into the motion.
That strange ability of hers—whatever pheromone or magic she was putting off—seemed to pull me deeper into my primal lust with every passing second, stripping away rational thought and leaving only base desire.
My hand came up without conscious decision, grabbing hard at her breast, my fingers sinking into the firm flesh while I began kissing her back with genuine enthusiasm.
I chased her tongue with my own, sucked on her lip, before pressing even deeper into the kiss. The taste of my cum became secondary to the taste of her, and soon I found myself moaning into her mouth, pure and unadulterated.
Grisha pulled back, the expression on her face one of pleased satisfaction, her tusked grin widening as she glanced down at me. "There we go," she rumbled. "There’s that honest desire. No more pretending you don’t want this."
Then she gripped my hips with both hands and twirled me around, my body spinning in her grasp—"ah—!"—before she slammed me down onto the bed face-up.
The mattress groaned under the impact, and before I could even process the change in position she was crawling over my body, her massive form looming above me, blocking out most of the firelight and casting me in shadow.
She hovered inches from my softened length, legs pinning my hips, before giving her pussy a few wet pumps with her fingers, the obscene squelching sound making my cock jump.
I swallowed the rest of the cum and spit mixture coating my mouth, my throat working to clear it, then watched with wide eyes as Grisha’s pussy began leaking.
A fat, sticky trail of her arousal drizzled down, hanging suspended in the air for a moment before landing directly on the tip of my cock.
The second it touched, my length began to stiffen to its full hardness again—impossibly, against all logic and physical limitations, rising to attention despite having just been thoroughly wrung out. The warmth of her slick coating my head made me gasp, and that’s when I saw Grisha’s grin turn absolutely feral.
"Look at that," she purred, wrapping one hand around my rapidly twitching cock and giving it a few encouraging strokes. "Still got some fight left in you after all. Good. I’m not nearly done with you yet."
She gripped my waist with both hands then—her fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise—then slammed her hips down on my cock in one brutal motion, taking me completely inside her.
A heavy moan tore from her throat, booming through the room as her slick inner walls clamped down on my buried cock like a vise, squeezing so viciously it teetered on the edge of agony, milking me with greedy, rhythmic pulses.
Then she began pounding on me with such violence I had to close my eyes just to try and block the sensations flooding my system.
Her massive frame rose and crashed into mine with merciless precision, swallowing every inch of my throbbing shaft balls-deep on each brutal plunge, the obscene wet smack of colliding flesh echoing alongside her guttural grunts and my pathetic, broken whimpers.
I felt it all—her scorching, flooded cunt gripping and dragging along my length, drenching me in thick, creamy heat, the way she ground her hips in small circles at the bottom of each stroke to make sure I hit every sensitive spot inside her.
My hands came up to grip her thighs, not to push her away, just to anchor myself, to have something solid to hold onto while she used my body for her pleasure.
"Fuckyes~!" Grisha growled, her pace increasing until she was practically bouncing on me, her breasts swaying with each motion. "Can you feel how wet I am? How badly my cunt wants to milk every drop from your pathetic little cock?"
I couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything except take it. Gods, it was too much—the heat, the pressure, the way she was riding me like her life depended on it, those filthy words spilling from her mouth.
My balls tightened with terrifying speed, pleasure coiling vicious and unstoppable low in my gut, surging toward a release I knew would wreck me completely under her merciless rhythm.
Grisha must have felt it too, felt the way my cock was swelling inside her, because she leaned down to whisper directly in my ear. "Cum for me one more time, little one. Give me everything you have left. I want to feel you pulsing inside me, want to feel your hot release painting my insides."
That was it. That was all it took.
I let out a choked cry as I felt the last of my cum shoot up into her insides in weak little spurts that my exhausted body could barely produce.
Grisha threw her head back and bellowed a raw, triumphant moan that rattled the walls, her slick walls seizing around my buried shaft in fierce, rhythmic contractions that wrung me mercilessly.
Then she broke.
A scalding rush of her own thick release surged out, flooding around my trapped length in messy waves, soaking my stomach and groin in a torrent of hot, sticky girl-cum that pooled beneath us and ran down my sides.
She stayed there for a moment, both of us trembling and breathing hard, before she pulled out with a breathless laugh.
My cock slipped free, completely limp now, thoroughly spent, before she spread her pussy with one hand to let my load spill out. It dripped down onto my shaft, thick and white, mixing with her own release to create an absolute mess.
Then she settled down heavy on my belly with a wet slap, her weight pressing the air from my lungs as she stroked at my face with surprising gentleness.
"You’ve earned your explanation," she said, her breathing still heavy. "So here it is."
She explained how she’d been sent to the secret arena after killing a guard who’d gotten too handsy in the waking chaos of my escape, how she’d appealed to the nobles enough with her fighting prowess to make a name for herself and rise in rank on her own merit. She’d actually come into the Spire shortly after my group did, but had gotten an early assignment after they’d given up on trying to tame her.
Of course
Grisha went on to explain why she hadn’t spoken back in the prison, something about not trusting anyone and preferring to be underestimated.
I listened with half my attention while the rest of my brain tried to convince my body to remember how to function.
When she finished, I let out a groan that was part exhaustion and part genuine suffering. "That information," I said weakly, "wasn’t nearly worth what you just put me through. I feel like I’ve been hit by a cart. Multiple carts. Possibly an entire convoy."
Grisha laughed—loud and booming, her whole body shaking with mirth—before her expression turned crafty. "Curious about how I became a mage?" she asked, clearly enjoying my obvious interest despite my complaints.
I nodded with growing intrigue.
"Mavus taught me," she explained, her fingers still tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Advanced enhancements, combat applications, all of it. Actually, most of our magic—Willow’s, Nara’s, even Julius’s—was taught by him. Said he was a concarnic mage or something like that."
I perked up at this, seeing great value in that information and understanding finally how Julius had learned to weave those complex illusions.
And then my mind traced back to what she’d just said—a concarnic mage. Now that was something truly worth noting. Concarnic mages were supposed to be extremely rare, the kind of practitioners you only heard about in whispered stories or academic texts that spent more time debating whether they actually existed than documenting what they could do with the full extent of their capabilities.
Which meant Mavus could potentially teach me. Could show me techniques I’d never even conceived of, applications of magic that went far beyond my imagination.
Grisha breathed a heavy sigh, her expression softening slightly. "Gods, I haven’t had that much fun in a while," she admitted. "You fought back, even when you were clearly overwhelmed. I respect that."
"I’m glad my suffering brought you joy," I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
She ignored my tone, her hand moving to cup my jaw again. "I suppose I might as well help out with your foolish endeavors," she said, her voice taking on a more serious quality. "You gave me a good time. So I’ll give you something in return. I’ll cooperate with your plans, help make this theater successful. Consider it payment for services rendered."
She climbed off me then, her weight lifting and allowing me to breathe properly again, before stretching near the bed with feline grace. Every muscle in her body flexed with the motion, and I watched with exhausted appreciation as she worked out the kinks from our activities.
I slowly climbed out of the bed as well, my legs barely working. Each movement sent fresh waves of sensation through my oversensitized body, and I had to grip the bedframe for support just to stay upright.
As I passed Grisha on my way to the door, she gave me a heavy slap on the ass with her open palm—the sound cracking through the room like a whip—and I couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped my throat at the impact.
Her feral grin was the last thing I saw before I slipped out the door and into the hallway, where I found Julius, of all people, passing by with what looked to be another bottle of wine in one hand.
His eyes blew wide the second he saw me, taking in my naked form, the mess coating my skin, the way I was barely able to stand. "Saints above—Loona, are you—what happened? Are you alright? Do you need medical attention? Should I fetch Mavus? He knows healing magic—"
"I’m fine," I interrupted, my voice slightly hoarse. "I got Grisha to comply with our plans. She’s going to help us now. Consider it a victory for diplomacy."
Julius blinked several times, clearly trying to process that statement while his eyes continued cataloging my disheveled state. "How did you—what did you—how did you possibly manage that?"
"Through the power of friendship," I said with a weak attempt at my usual smugness. "And sex. Lots of sex. So much sex. I think my pelvis might be fractured. Is that possible? Can pelvises fracture from sex? Because if so, mine definitely did."
I didn’t wait for his response, just shuffled past him down the hallway toward the room I shared with Felix, each step sending protests from muscles I didn’t know I had. When I reached the door, I quietly opened it and slipped inside, finding Felix’s sleeping figure curled up adorably under the velvet sheets.
I settled into the bed next to him as carefully as possible, trying not to disturb his rest, but the second my body touched the mattress Felix’s nose wrinkled. He gave the air a few quick sniffs, his face scrunching up, and then his eyes fluttered open just enough to focus on me in the dim light.
"You stink," he whispered, then giggled, the sound soft, musical, and utterly at odds with the accusation.
I sighed a heavy sigh that came from somewhere deep in my soul, closed my eyes, then cursed my very existence. "Yeah," I muttered. "Yeah, I do..."
And as I lay there, covered in the evidence of my poor decision-making, with Felix’s gentle breathing beside me and the knowledge that tomorrow would bring new challenges and greater chaos, I couldn’t help but think that my life, while absolutely insane, was at the very least never boring.
Small victories. I’d take them where I could get them.