[magicalbats]

The Servant of Two Masters (Part 5)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 34,472

Warnings: Afab!reader, fem!reader, not gender neutral, BIG age difference, segment shenanigans;

With Dottore/Omega - mind games and manipulation, coercion, vague threats, spanking punishment, over the knee spanking, fingers in mouth, drool, brief vaginal fingering, licking up spit from floor, stepped on with boots

With Zandik - cunnilingus, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, kissing, some small infantilization

Part 1 & 2 Part 3 Part 4

A/N: It's just about 5am and I don't think I can edit this anymore tonight. Forgive me. 😂

⭐

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear mama,

Please forgive me for the haste in which I have written this letter, but I do not know how much longer the person I’m about to entrust it to will wait for me to get my thoughts in order. 

Between everything going on here with Master Zandik and the man in the mask, the mysterious “son” I recently met, even Lord Regrator’s house call, and the lack of any correspondence from you on top of it all … I just don’t know anymore, mama. I don’t know what I’m doing here some days. It is clear to me that I don’t really belong in this household, keeping this particular company, and I badly wish to return home to be at your side. For a number of reasons I can’t do that, though, so it seems that I am truly stuck in this situation for the foreseeable future. I can’t help but shudder to think what will happen when my role here is made redundant. 

Even more than that, though, I find myself nearly sick with worry over you. Is the treatment at the hospital not going well and that’s why you haven’t replied to any of my letters? Do you not wish to frighten me with the truth? Are they even reaching you at all? 

I’m scared, mama. For myself and for you. The situation here seems to be fast unraveling before my very eyes. I do not know how much time Master Zandik still has left in this world, but it’s starting to feel more and more like my own end is intrinsically tied with his. I can’t go into too many details in case this letter is intercepted but I have made the decision to do something truly foolish. Yes, even more foolish than venturing down into the cellar. 

Even knowing the risks involved and the danger it might invite, I have to try to get in contact with you somehow. You are my only lifeline to the outside world, mama. If this letter manages to reach you, please give your reply to the woman who delivered it and insist that she hand your correspondence off to me personally.  

Please, mama. I desperately need your help!

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Breakfast the next morning is an exceedingly awkward affair. 

After crying yourself to exhaustion the night before, it hardly comes as a surprise that you wake up just as tired as you’d gone to sleep. The early morning light that streams in through the single solitary window over your bed makes your swollen eyes hurt and for a long while you just can’t seem to find the energy to get up. 

But, eventually, you decide that you need to make every effort to put that awful experience in the cellar and all of the terrible consequences that had come with it behind you. Lingering on it or stewing in the still present ache across your bruised bottom wouldn’t serve any purpose beyond making you miserable. Maybe if you put in the effort to look nice and presentable for Master Zandik he would find it in himself to forgive you. Or at the very least he might pet and dote on you again, even if he was still a little upset at what you’ve done … 

You have to force your limbs to cooperate and with no shortage of effort but, somehow, you manage to rise to your feet. After spending a bit more time than you usually would on your appearance — taking extra care to brush out your hair and style it, making sure every ribbon on the flouncy uniform is tied off into a perfect bow, and even going so far as to crack your window open to scoop some of the snow off the sill so you can pat it on your face in an attempt to combat the puffiness — you deem yourself ready. 

Or as ready as you think you can be. Although you’re not so sure any of it will work, you still put on your best smile for him, hoping to leave that regretful business behind you where it belonged. 

Unfortunately when you open the door to his room you find Zandik already up and stubbornly trying to dress himself. Horrified, you forget about your silly idea to win him over through appeal and quickly rush to his aid. 

But he refuses to say much of anything to you even when you implore him to take a seat on the edge of the bed, so that you might help him. He finally relents though, much to your great sigh of relief as he lowers himself down to the mattress with his slacks awkwardly tangled around the knobby bends of his knees. Heart in your throat, you start on the top half where his shirt is only partially buttoned up and slightly twisted where he’d been wrestling with it. Your heart silently breaks not only to see him like this but also because of the way he won’t even seem to look at you while you work to get him dressed. 

You can’t quite decide if his expression is one of anger and disappointment, or of — remorse? Guilt?  It’s hard to tell when it was so rare to see him looking anything but arrogant and self assured. Even in his softest moments with you his brow always seemed to rest at an angle that would suggest he was thinking of complicated things that far surpassed what his current physical condition could easily accomplish. That was never enough to truly stop him though, not when he was so confident in his own abilities, his own genius. Now, though … 

Now he almost resembles a man defeated, the way his thin shoulders slump and the slight hunch in his spine has deepened. This posture leaves his head solemnly hanging even when you gently, carefully brush out his hair for him. But, to his credit, he does not snap at you for fussing over him nor does he try to slap you away. He simply lets you do whatever it is you’re going to do without so much as a glance or even a single word uttered in your direction. It’s not at all dissimilar to how he’d acted when you first arrived here, and yet it’s somehow that much worse after the progress you’d made. For a horrible moment, you think this stonewalling from him might actually kill you. 

And then, at last, he mutters a brisk ‘thank you’ and then an equally clipped ‘let’s be off’ when he takes his cane from your outstretched fingers with a surprisingly gentle hand. Wondering if you should throw yourself at his feet, beg and cry, and plead for his forgiveness, you listlessly follow after him towards the door. 

“I’ll take my breakfast in the library today.” He tells you as you shuffle out into the hall together. 

“Yes, Master …”

Once inside, you hurry to get a fire going in the hearth while he takes his usual spot at the long desk situated near the center of the room. It seemed he hadn’t yet given up on whatever he’d been working over the other day even in spite of all the interruptions that have occurred since, but you still weren’t quite sure what had so much of his attention lately. The few glimpses you’d caught in glancing over his shoulder had only revealed long, tedious formulaic equations that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to you. Although you could read, maths hadn’t exactly been a priority in your curriculum growing up and whatever he was doing was well beyond your level of comprehension. 

He must be well aware of that, too, because he doesn’t even make an attempt to conceal the sheets of scrawled notes he’s looking over when you come up next to him with a folded blanket in hand. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence there at his elbow at all. It’s like you may as well have been a ghost haunting his periphery. 

Finally having no other choice, you softly speak up. “Are you comfortable, Master? Would you like this on your lap?” 

“No. That will be all for now.”

It probably would have hurt less if he’d just stabbed you in the chest with his pen and gotten it over with. 

“But it’s such a chilly morning, sir.” You try again, struggling to keep your voice even and light as you shift behind him to drape the blanket over his shoulders. “At least let me - -“

“Dammit, girl! I said that’s enough!” He abruptly snaps, making you jolt so hard you nearly drop the blanket to the floor. “We’re in Snezhnaya, you daft idiot. Every morning is chilly. Just leave me to my work and go start on breakfast.”

“… y - yes, Master. Right away.” 

Valiantly fighting back a fresh sting of tears, you leave the well intentioned blanket hanging over the back of the chair in case he changes his mind, and sadly make your way over to the door. Not for the first time you ask yourself if you should throw all dignity and self respect aside in favor of pleading with him for a second chance. Even if it meant debasing your sense of self, surely anything would have been preferable to this. Maybe if the atmosphere between the two of you had not been so warm just the previous day it would not have hurt so bad but this change in his demeanor was proving to be an unexpectedly devastating blow to your heart. No playful pinches. No light exchange of conversation. No flirting, no touching. You weren’t sure how you were going to survive this. 

But, you try desperately to reason with yourself, it did make sense that he would still be displeased with you so soon after the incident. You had, after all, broken one of the few rules he’d set in place for you and the sting of his rejection, the withdrawing of his doting pats and ruefully fond glances, is sorely felt. Certainly you would not be going against his wishes ever again if it meant more of this. 

You quickly make up your mind, deciding that you must win your way back into his good graces somehow. 

Down in the kitchen, you get to work making his favorite breakfast and brewing his much loved coffee with extra care and attention. You even take the time to juice a few oranges for him, rather than using what was already in a pitcher in the icebox, so that he could have it as fresh as Snezhnaya could possibly offer. And it’s certainly too much for the old man to eat by himself, once everything is said and done, but you don’t know what else to do other than to show him how much you care through this act of service. Even as misguided as it might be, you at least had to try. 

Carting it all upstairs on a big silver tray takes you longer than usual, especially when your spanked bottom is still sore and the nerves twinge with pain at every little shift. But you finally make it back to the library, making sure to keep your expression in check while you proudly set out everything next to Zandik on the table. Everything you’d prepared, juiced and sliced, and brewed for him sits in a welcoming heap next to his open book. 

Dread twists your stomach into even tighter knots, however, when he just somberly looks over it all as if the sight of it only saddened him. You truly start to panic then, swelling with anxiety and nervous jitters. You couldn’t understand it. Why was he behaving this way? It was almost as if you were someone about to be sent to the gallows and he simply couldn’t bear to say another word to you in his grief. 

And you realize quite suddenly that that’s exactly what it is. He really doesn’t even look mad at you anymore, just … resigned. As if he knew your time there with him was running out. 

It feels very much like someone has just dumped a bucket of ice water over your head. 

“M - Master? Are you sure everything is — alright? Do you not like what I’ve cooked for you? Would you like something else?” 

Slowly closing his eyes as if it physically pained him, Zandik breathes out a long suffering, world weary sigh. “I’m so sorry, girl. I shouldn’t have acted in such haste last night.”

“I’m … I’m sorry?” 

He gives his head a resoundingly sad shake. “There isn’t much I can do to protect you, as much as I may wish I could. I simply no longer have the strength or the ability that I once did, and one of my greatest accomplishments in life will also very likely be the making of my own downfall. I hope you can at least forgive me.”

It takes you a long moment to find your voice, and another after that to figure out what you even want to say. “Forgive you for what, Master? If … if this is about what happened in the dining room - -“

Cutting you off when he reaches out to snag your nearest hand in a shaking death grip, Zandik yanks your arm towards himself in a way that almost frightens you. It’s a little too similar to the way he’d grabbed you and pulled you over his lap for it not to. 

But all he does is peer up at you imploringly, his pale eyes dancing with a sporadic energy that only makes you more nervous. “I don’t know how much time we still have. Just listen to me, girl. Listen well, and don’t be afraid. When he comes for you, just stay calm and don’t make it any worse for yourself. As long as you’re good and obedient, you’ll be fine. Do you hear me?” 

“Wh - … when who comes for me?” 

Before he can answer the distant click of the door handle on the other side of the library sends freezing shards of hoarfrost racing through your veins. You suddenly can’t breathe as you straighten up in a prickling jolt and Zandik, likewise, is quick to drop your hand which falls useless to your side. 

And you watch, shuddering, when the door abruptly swings open to admit the Doctor inside, as if right on cue. 

You can’t help the way you stare at him in terrified silence. He was still here? You’d thought for sure he would have disappeared back to wherever he retreated to until his next unexpected appearance by now.  

“Good morning, little mouse. Old man.” He purrs, inclining his chin towards Zandik who only grunts a quiet, noncommittal sound in response. Then his attention is right back on you again. “I must say, that smells rather nice. Perhaps I will have to try some of your cooking one day, after all.” 

You give a tiny start at that. Trying and failing to kickstart your tripping brain back into gear. “Oh. W - would you like some right now, my … my lord? I could fetch you - -“

But he’s already waving it off with a gloved hand. “That won’t be necessary. I have other matters to attend to later so I can’t dally here for very long. I’d like to talk to you, though, if you can spare a few minutes of your time.” 

Brows lifting in abject shock, you turn from him to look at Zandik in search of some sort of explanation or reassurance, or even just a silent indication as to what was going on. He’s back to refusing to look at you though, focused instead on the cup of coffee he sips from, and you have no choice but to swallow down the nervous lump you suddenly find in your throat. Yes, you could probably guess what the Doctor wanted to talk about. 

Was this really what Zandik had just tried to warn you about though? He must have known the Doctor would come for you then, and he was right. There was nothing an eighty year old man could do to stop his younger counterpart from taking you, or doing whatever else he wanted. You would just have to meet your fate with a brave face. 

Straightening up, you fold your hands in front of you over the apron and give the old man a stiffly executed bow. “Then I will return shortly to clear away your dishes, Master. Please don’t hesitate to ring the bell if you need anything at all.” 

He noises a brief sound of acknowledgement and nothing more, so you turn to make your way over to the Doctor with as much dignity as you can muster. His mouth has pulled into a sharp little smirk underneath the hooked beak of his mask, however, and that does absolutely nothing to quell the disquiet kicking up in your stomach. 

“There’s a dear. Come now, let us step out and talk in private. I don’t imagine this should take very long.” 

You very much don’t like the sound of that, but you obediently trail after him even while a whirlwind of panicked thoughts swirls around inside your head. Was he going to dismiss you after all? Even after you’d said you would stay on despite everything you’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours? Your trembling hands helplessly ball into your apron, making a wrinkled mess of the white material. That didn’t seem fair to you. To punish someone who was willing to sacrifice themselves mentally, perhaps even physically, by continuing to work under his employ, even knowing their big secret … surely it just wasn’t right. 

But you choke back those thoughts, keeping them tightly locked away, as you follow the Doctor down the corridor until he eventually comes up to the one locked room in the entire manor. Zandik had said it was his seldom used office although, in light of recent revelations, you supposed it was also the Doctor’s office too. It was just as the surgeon had said yesterday. 

‘We’re something of a package deal.’ 

So, whatever was Zandik’s was also theirs too. No wonder every single one of them you’d met so far seemed so inclined to help themselves to your person. As if the consent of one was a blanket consent to all. How … fiendish. 

Trying and failing to calm your fluttering nerves, you stand there and watch as Dottore fishes a key out of his pocket, inserts it into the lock with a heavy click and then shoves the door open to step inside. You follow in his wake, nervously glancing around while he shuts and — you can’t help but notice with another ratcheting spike of anxiety — locks the door behind you. Trying to pretend like you hadn’t noticed that, you allow yourself a moment to anxiously look around.  

You’d never been inside this room before but it looks very standard to what you might have expected a powerful and brilliant man to call his office. There’s a stately desk situated along the opposite wall, facing the door, with a single window watching over the empty highbacked chair. It is not dissimilar to the one in Pantalone’s office, and you can’t help but wonder if he wasn’t the one who’d furnished this place as you take in the shelves crammed with yet more books (this house truly was inundated with them, even more so than you’d initially thought), the sparse art hanging on the walls for a flare of decoration, the mahogany, low set coffee table and what appears to be a matching sofa with delicately carved legs. Altogether it looks respectable, professional even, and you feel very out of place standing in it. Just like back in the bank. 

“Don’t look so nervous, little mouse. It’s not as if I brought you here to do experiments on you or anything.” The Doctor croons at you, sauntering over now to the finely upholstered sofa where he plops down, seemingly at perfect ease. 

You can’t say you feel much the same way as you draw a stuttering breath to calm yourself, just as Zandik had instructed you to, before moving to stand at attention in front of the low table, bracing for the worst. If it really came down to it you could always prostrate before him on hand and knee, and beg for a second chance, an opportunity to prove your loyalty and willingness to obey. Appealing to his ego enough just might do the trick. 

But all he does is study you for a long, drawn out moment from behind the barrier of his mask. Not for the first time you can’t help but wonder how he can see anything at all through that thing, and yet he never seems to find it difficult to get around or bothersome to wear. It was all very strange, just like everything else in this sprawling old manor. 

And then, drawing an almost eager breath, he sits forward to brace his elbows on his knees, hands coming together between them in a loose clasp. 

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” 

You slowly blink. That was not what you’d expected him to say to you. 

But even when it feels as if your stomach is falling into a bottomless pit you still lightly clear your throat, nudging your chin up in what you hoped was a respectful manner. “I would be lying … sir, if I said I don’t have any questions. Rather pressing ones, in fact. However, I am well aware that the details aren’t really any of my business and I should respect the confidentiality between employer and employee. I’d planned to do just that.” 

He chuckles in response, a low, drawling sound that soon morphs into a full on bellow that tips his head back, laughing up at the ceiling. Your nervous disquiet is soon replaced by confusion as you stare at him, trying to make any sense of what’s happening. And then he shifts atop the sofa again, changing positions almost as quickly as he changes moods, to recline back against the jade green cushions in a confident sprawl. 

“Oh, you are a clever one, aren’t you? That’s a very good answer. In fact, I might even go so far as to say that it is the correct answer for you to give me in this situation, darling mouse.”

You can tell he’s mocking you and a hot wash of affront crosses your face, yet he doesn’t even seem to notice it as he continues with just a smattering of irony to color his voice now. 

“Did Zandik give you that pretty answer? He really should know better. Something you need to understand about me — about us — is that we so rarely concern ourselves with what is right or proper, or polite, and that sort of lip service doesn’t exactly mean a whole lot from our collective perspective. As a whole, we are much more interested in and intrigued by the truth. How we choose to interpret that might differ slightly between one or the other, depending on what our individual mindset was during that period of our life, and yet it always comes down to the same bottom line regardless.” 

Pausing briefly, he brings his head up about a centimeter as if to look you straight in the eye. “So, then. Tell me what you really think, and we’ll go from there.” 

For some reason you don’t hesitate to respond, and the words are out before you even have the conscious thought to give them voice. Anger replacing confusion now.  

“As a matter of fact, I think this place is starting to feel like a circus.” And then a hastily tacked on, “My lord.” 

The Doctor hums a vaguely amused sound, nodding once as if in agreement with that sentiment. “I can understand why you would start to feel that way. Goodness knows how this probably looks to an outsider, but you will have to forgive us that unfortunate lack of self awareness. You see, I’m afraid we’ve long since lost any insight into the perception of what unrelated parties might think. Pantalone is quite accustomed to our comings and goings at this point in time, so he doesn’t exactly offer an enlightening perspective. He already knows what we’re like. All of us.” 

But yet he’d still sent you straight into the den of the wolf. 

“And he’s fine with it?” You say, instead of that first impulsive thought. The Doctor seemed to be in a largely agreeable mood despite all that had happened yesterday, but you didn’t know how long that would last and you were keen to get some answers if he was willing to give them. 

He just exhales a slow, almost wistful sigh though. “More than fine with it, I’d say. We are long term partners and collaborators, after all. You can’t very well have that kind of history with someone and not see them for what they truly are. And as for you, sweet mouse? Do you think you’re starting to see that same truth now?” 

You drop his gaze — or whatever constituted for it with that featureless mask in the way — as you continue to wrinkle the ruffled hem of your apron. If he was really planning on sending you away, and he’d said nothing to make you believe otherwise yet, then honesty couldn’t do any real harm. Especially not if he planned to kill you before he would ever allow you to escape back into the outside world again. 

“Yes, sir. I believe I am.”

“Good. And what is your take on it, hm?”

“Well … if you want the truth, I’d heard the rumors before coming here. That some of Her Majesty’s Harbingers were cruel and dangerous. Some even — maniacal. But as long as it was all in the name of the Tsaritsa and the motherland then most of the peasantry was willing to look the other way. Frankly, I’m not quite sure what I’d even envisioned when I heard those whisperings. Surely it was nowhere near the scale of this, though … forgive me, my lord, but this place is looking more and more like a house of horrors everyday. I just — I don’t understand why you would subject me to this sort of treatment. Did I do something to deserve it?”

“What do you mean?” He says, giving his head that curious carrion bird tip again. “You were the one who came to the Northland Bank that day seeking help and I gave it to you, did I not? So what is the problem exactly?” 

“Yes — I was there that day to seek out Lord Regrator’s help. Not yours.”

Dottore scoffs a mirthless laugh to that. “I’m afraid I fail to see what the difference is. Pantalone and I aren’t really all that dissimilar, are we?” 

You give your head a slow shake now. “It’s not wrong to say you share similar traits with one another. But it also stands to reason that I chose to implore Lord Regrator over any of Her Majesty’s other Harbingers for a reason. Doesn’t it? I thought … since he’s only a banker and not much someone would expect to see on the front lines, if what they say about him is true, then that had to mean I would be relatively safe with him.”

The Doctor barks a not entirely mirthless laugh. 

“Ah, yes. That poor, helpless banker always seems like the safer choice, doesn’t he? But as much as it does pain me to be the bearer of bad news, I’m afraid I must inform you that Pantalone has his own bad personality traits too. I wouldn’t recommend underestimating him simply because he looks so lovely and fair. He wears a mask just as I do, even if it’s not one you can see outright on his person.” 

A hot pulse of surprise curls through your chest then, and not only because you’d had similar thoughts about Pantalone’s invisible mask. The way he talks about the Lord Harbinger carries with it an unmistakably fond note, a hint of familiarity that takes you back to the drawing room. Was it possible that he was also …

But Dottore goes on before you can truly examine that thought, so you have to quickly tuck it away for later. 

“With that being said let me remind you, little mouse, that you are perfectly safe here with us. Even if it may not always seem that way, none in our ranks would ever actually do something to jeopardize your role here. I told you before, didn’t I? We don’t want to do it ourselves. It will have been a waste of my time and energy to secure your cooperation and bring you here just to then turn around and kill you. Which is precisely why I was so very pleased that you made the right decision yesterday.”

You stand up a little straighter with the chilly tremor that runs up your spine at that reminder. Yes, you recalled quite well the sense of impending danger that had come over you when he’d posed that million mora question. Would you stay or would you go? Even if he asked again, you’re quite sure your answer would still be the same. As much as you wanted to check in on your mother yourself, you knew you couldn’t leave Zandik alone with this jackal. 

“But, my lord,” you stammer at last, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t even understand why you would go to such lengths in the first place if you care so little for Master Zandik. That’s what it is, isn’t it? You despise him. Even though he’s …”

“Me?” He helpfully supplies. Mouth tugging into a crooked grin, Dottore sits up once again but this time he crosses his arms over his chest, one finger tapping at his bicep as if in thought. “That’s right. He is ‘I’ and ‘I’ am him. And yet you are undeniably correct. I don’t particularly care for the old fool. Would you like to take a guess as to why?”

You give a numb shake of your head. 

“It is because he is inferior and soon to be obsolete. Oh, but don’t look so surprised, my dear. It’s true, isn’t it? His physical and even mental acuity are on a sharp decline, and have been for some time now. As I said before, I simply can’t imagine he has that many more years left in him at this point. Or so I could only hope. Meanwhile, I am Zandik when he was at his peak. Physically. Intellectually. Every aspect of my condition is perfectly honed and sharpened.”

“The Prime.” You murmur, echoing the surgeon’s words and earning yourself a rather gracious incline of his head. 

“Very good. You are paying attention. I do so like to know that what I am telling you isn’t just going in one ear and out the other.”

You can’t help but shudder at that uncomfortably familiar phrase. You’d heard the exact same thing down in the cellar. “Well, I can certainly see the — similarities between you and the other one. But, my lord, if you really feel that way about Master Zandik then why even concern yourself with his care? Why bring me here?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He volleys back in a way that would seem to suggest he was lifting his eyebrows at you. “It’s really only another form of self preservation once you get right down to it. Even in a perpetual state of self loathing, sympathy for oneself is just part of the human condition, is it not? Even when you have none to spare for anyone else. Besides, the old fool wouldn’t be such bad company if he were not so feeble now. I dare say, I even used to rather enjoy our discussions.” 

Thinking that probably went without saying, given how much he clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, you nervously shift there in front of him. “I see. So, even though you look down on him for what he’s become in his old age you still recognize that he’s one part of yourself. Then … may I ask how many of you there are?” 

“Hm. Give or take, I’d say there are about seven of us now.”

“… give or take, sir?” 

“Why, yes. Zandik created quite a few segments of himself throughout his life, and not simply out of pure vanity. As I’m sure you can imagine, it is quite efficient to be able to split one’s time and energy across multiple consciouses, each with their own unique perspective shaped by what stage of life they were in at the moment of their freezing. Let’s think of it as … a snapshot in time, shall we? An eighteen year old, for example, is going to have a much different take on a conundrum than a sixty-five year old. We’ve made some very worthwhile breakthroughs simply by utilizing ourselves as a springboard, so to speak. But of course we’ve had to sacrifice one or two over the years, for the greater good and in the name of progress. You understand.” 

Despite your best efforts to remain calm in the face of this information, you just can’t seem to keep the shock out of your expression. Seven? And you’d only met two of them so far. Three, if you were generous enough to include that little pervert in your room last night. But you were hesitant to bring him up or mention that alarming encounter with him in the bedroom, for fear that you might accidentally stick your foot in your mouth and let it slip that you had not been entirely truthful about when and how you’d first seen him. As much as you wanted to file a formal complaint about your slippers, one missing, one ruined beyond salvation, you knew it was probably better to keep your mouth shut about it. 

Still, seven was — a lot. More than you’d expected. 

“I see … and are all of these ‘segments’ living down in the basement, then?” 

“No, no. You don’t need to fret about that, dear. We all freely come and go as dictated by our whims and research. You might meet them, you might not. I suppose it depends on if they decide to show themselves to you.”

“But who are they? What do they go by? Surely you can’t all be Zandik.”

A thoughtful little hum. “Well, of course it goes without saying that there’s me. Omega. And then there’s Beta  - -“

“Wait.” You lift a hand, cutting him off. A little too frazzled and worn thin to worry about being rude. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep track of who’s who just by those designations. There must be another way to tell them apart … you said they’re all Zandik at different life stages, right? Then what ages are they?”  

Chuckling a low, drawling sound, the Doctor drops his hands to his lap where he idly clasps them together. “Interesting. I don’t believe I ever thought to use such a simple method of differentiation before. It’s — quaint. But to answer the question, between us there is eight, eighteen, twenty-two, twenty-five, thirty-five — yours truly, by the way — forty-five and sixty-five. And Zandik, of course, is currently eighty-four years old, as you already know.”

Your head starts to spin so fast you feel like you just might pass out on the spot. That was a lot to swallow, a lot to take in and process anyway, but … 

“Eight? There’s a — a child running around here?” You can’t seem to keep the horror out of your voice, but that only makes his grin widen. 

“I don’t believe he’s here right now, but yes. Don’t worry though, little mouse. Even at that age, ‘I’ was rather precocious and far more intellectually gifted than my peers. My eight year old self doesn’t need to be coddled anymore than I do. In fact, if you are anything like the adults who were around ‘me’ at that age, you might even find yourself thinking of him as rather unsettling.” 

You flinch as if he’d just reached out and slapped you. “I wouldn’t think that of a child, my lord.” 

“Oh, but it’s alright if you do. It won’t bother him or the rest of us. I’d even go so far as to say he’s quite used to it by now.”

“… that’s terrible.”

“No. It is simply the way of things.” Exhaling a curt breath, the Doctor sedately spreads his hands out to either side in a persuasive manner. 

“A fear of the unknown and mysterious is just another facet of the human experience, is it not? As such, most people are perfectly content not to ask too many questions or wonder outside of the simple, easy to comprehend boundaries already dictated by popular understanding. They don’t want to know any more than that. They cower at the thought of what real truths might be uncovered by digging any further than what is considered to be the norm. And when those same, small minded individuals see someone — a child, no less — asking too many questions and digging much deeper than what is necessary, that has a tendency to put them ill at ease. They don’t want to know what lies beyond the pale of human consciousness and they don’t want anyone else to know either. It’s safer that way for the collective. Less chance of something disastrous coming of it.” 

A cold, hard lump starts to settle in the pit of your stomach as you stand there, listening to him talk. Is that what Lord Regrator meant when he’d said Zandik hadn’t been shown much kindness in his life, or at least some small part of it? He was … rejected as a child by those around him for being too smart, too precocious, too strange in his single-minded pursuit of knowledge. Even that which was forbidden, by the sounds of it. Even that which was dangerous or blasphemous to the gods. That probably explained why he’d questioned you as he had in the bedroom yesterday, before you’d snuck off on your own. 

If what the Doctor is telling you was really true then that would also seem to account for Zandik’s prickly, tightly guarded demeanor as well. And why it had taken you so long to earn even a small sliver of his trust. No wonder it was as difficult as pulling teeth to get him to lower his walls — and why the few, fleeting moments when he did let them down, it always felt so overwhelmingly meaningful. You couldn’t believe he’d lived a life like that. 

“Oh, my. How curious. Does that make you sad, darling mouse?” The Doctor croons, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“A - a little, my lord. But I can promise you this won’t change anything for me. Not where this child is concerned, and … not Master Zandik either.” 

“Frankly, it wouldn’t matter much to me if it did. All I really care about where it involves you is that the job I have tasked you with is seen to and taken care of as our terms dictated it would be. It’s a bit off of the current topic — we’re here to discuss your rule breaking and reestablish expectations, after all. But if you don’t mind me saying so I think you’ve done exceptionally well at this task thus far. Even taking into consideration the extra liberties you’ve engaged in and the flagrant disobedience yesterday, I really do have to commend you for all your effort in seeing to that old fool’s care. He seems to be doing quite well and you certainly have more patience than any of us do. That is why I wanted to have this discussion, to clear things up and make sure we’re on the same page. Now that you know the truth I don’t mind being transparent with you on the one condition that your cooperation remains assured. I do not have the time or the desire to track down another maid.”

You swallow hard, dropping your gaze deferentially as a potent flood of relief suddenly washes over you to nearly drop you on your ass. Did that mean he really didn’t plan on getting rid of you then? It was a little hard to believe given the circumstances, but it did make a certain amount of sense. You were already here, already committed to the task. Knowing him as well as you were starting to know him, you’re not particularly surprised that he wouldn’t want to go through all the trouble of finding someone else. It was probably you or nothing. 

“I understand, my lord, and I’m happy to oblige your request of me. B - but, if I may … there is one other thing I have to say while I have the chance.”

“Go on.”

Determined to say your peace, you stubbornly bring your attention back up to scowl at him. “How can you possibly say that I am safe here when the one from yesterday terrorized me for so long? I thought for sure I was going to die multiple times throughout that ordeal and I'm certain the only thing that saved me from an even worse fate was your unexpected appearance. You … you said he was you at twenty-five, didn’t you? I must admit it — frightens me more than I’d like, to think that you might share those same tastes. Especially when I consider that there are more than just the two of you.” 

Chuckling under his breath, Dottore once again shifts atop the sofa seat to cross his legs now, giving his propped up foot a casual, slow motion flex. “That’s right. Zandik was just starting to settle fully into adulthood at twenty-five. More comfortable in his own skin than ever before, confident. Physically capable and powerful. His genius at long last found a sufficient outlet in the form of medical research. You didn’t like him, little mouse?” 

“We didn’t really get a chance to chat.” You grumble, saying it as politely as you can bring yourself. 

“A pity. Perhaps next time the two of you will find the opportunity to get to know each other better.”

At your sharp, glowering look, he issues another drawling laugh that makes his shoulders tremble even as he brings a hand up to thoughtfully stroke his jaw. 

“Oh, don’t sulk. I’m only joking. Although I won’t pretend your lingering reservations are completely unfounded, I must confess that I fail to see the problem.”

Pausing, he puts his head to one side, the gesture decidedly inquisitive, before going on. Like he truly couldn’t understand what would have you so out of sorts about what happened. 

“He didn’t kill you or maim you, and I’m quite certain he didn’t do any long lasting damage to your body either. Based on what I observed and my own understanding of ‘myself’, I have no reason to believe he was doing anything other than playing with you. Did that truly upset you so much?” 

“Well … yes. I have to admit it did. He didn’t even ask me first and I told him to stop more than once, but he wouldn’t listen to anything I said. I didn’t really want him touching me like that.”

“And yet, you seem to have no problem with letting Zandik touch you?”

Your cheeks flood with embarrassed heat at having that thrown back at you. And the worst part was you couldn’t even deny it. Yes, not only did you seem to not have any issue at all with that but you’d even invited it, craved it almost to the point of madness. But how did he know anything about it when he was, at least to your knowledge, so rarely ever present in the house? 

“D - did Master Zandik tell you that?” 

Smirking at that shyly stammered question, the Doctor gives his head a curt nod. “Indeed he did. We had quite a long discussion last night, after you left us. Him and I, and … hm. I suppose for the sake of simplicity, you’ll probably want to refer to him as 25, won’t you? The three of us talked through what happened, both the cause and the consequence, and I do believe we came to a mutual agreement between us.” 

You all but wither there on your feet, silently begging a black hole to open in the floor and swallow you up. There is no running away from this conversation though, or the truths he’s imparting to you, and you have no choice but to gather your courage enough to stand tall under the burning spotlight of his attention. 

“And I suppose you’re going to let me in on what you decided without me there to even defend myself?”

“But of course. You first though.” 

“Alright.” You breathe out, struggling to get your thoughts in order. “Then I guess I’ll just say it. Yes, I have found myself very — taken with Master Zandik. I admit I'm … fond of him. More than I ever expected to be with anyone. But, my lord, even if I choose to invite one into my bed that is not an invitation for all. I don’t even know you or - or 25 hardly at all yet. Or Lord Regrator for that matter. And that’s aside from the fact that my body was never part of our original agreement. As much as I don’t expect you to understand this, I have to be honest when I say that the incident down in the cellar left me feeling … violated. And not very safe, if you want the truth.” 

The Doctor’s smile is gone now, and his voice holds a tight edge to it when he speaks next. “Are you really suggesting that you would prefer an old man with one foot already in the grave over one of his younger selves? Even the version of him that was in the prime of his life?” 

You almost find yourself cowering back from the bite in that question, but you stubbornly stand your ground. It was now or never. “Yes, my lord. As of this moment I do like him better than you, and certainly more than 25. And is it really any wonder why? Y - you accosted me in the library the other day, you made me take your fingers even when - -“ 

“And if you’ll also recall the verbal exchange between us in the library,” he cuts you off, letting a faint growl color his words now. “I told you that I could do anything that fossil can do for you, and I could do it so much better. Do you not think you are selling yourself a little short by choosing an old man at the end of his life over any other option available to you? After all, you are still so young and aesthetically pleasing to look at. I might even go so far as to call you beautiful. Even if we remove the factor of one of the hypothetical ‘me’s, I’d still wager that you’d look much better on Pantalone’s arm than on his.” 

Somehow you just can’t seem to keep the shock off your face while you try and fail to wrap your head around that. This place really was going to drive you mad. 

“Do you mean to say … you would rather even see me with Lord Regrator than Master Zandik?”

“I would like nothing more than to see you helpless and folded up underneath me, little mouse.” He snaps, sneering at you now. “What you do beyond that and with whom doesn’t really concern me. I simply wish to highlight the difference for you, so that you fully understand just how naive your current position really is. If you want my honesty so bad then I’ll admit my interest in you only goes so far as making you realize that I am the better Zandik in every possible way. Is that clear enough for you?” 

You flinch back, recoiling at the barbed wire sting of his words as much as your own reeling disbelief. Ever so slowly, the pieces were starting to fall into place now. The Doctor didn’t actually want you. He never did. His one and only objective was to assert himself as the dominant male, bask in the validation of reasserting himself as the prime consciousness. It was just typical masculine grandstanding you might expect from any other man still young enough to have not tempered his ego yet. You’d been right to give him a wide berth of space. Although Zandik still had his pride, certainly, at least he was not so caught up in his own testosterone fueled power trip. 

“Well, dear? I’m waiting.” 

“… yes, sir. I understand perfectly.” 

And just like the switch is flipped. 

“Good. Then, do you have any other questions for me? Are you still prepared to uphold your end of our agreement now that you know everything?” 

Your hands fist into the front of your apron, balling the material so hard they shake. “Yes, sir. It will be my honor to stay on and continue seeing to Master Zandik’s care.” 

The Doctor’s body language reads as being really quite pleased now as he straightens up, unfolding his legs to brace both feet on the floor again. Almost as if he were readying himself to start a laborious, information dense lecture. 

“Excellent decision, my dear. I do hope you understand just how much I appreciate that willingness to cooperate. Then, with that settled, let me share with you our conclusions from last night. First;” he intones, holding up a single finger. “So long as you agreed to stay here and take care of that old wretch as you have been, we decided that it would only be fair if the segments are likewise free to come and go as they please. 25 made it quite clear how troublesome it is to have to sneak around in what is essentially one’s own home, and I wasn’t inclined to say he was wrong about that.”

Your mouth flies open to protest but the Doctor is quick to cut across you. 

“Ah, ah. On the one condition that there is no more skulking about in the shadows to draw the attention of curious little mice who don’t realize how close to the spring trap they wander. Any new, let’s say, arrivals will be properly announced so that there are no more unexpected surprises. You can thank Zandik for that concession.”

An icy chill creeps through your numb body. Did he mean … 

“You - you told him, then? About why I went into the cellar yesterday?” 

“Of course. We couldn’t very well have a productive discussion without all of the facts, now could we?” 

Drawling a low, rumbling chuckle at the floored look on your face, he gives his head a solemn shake. “Poor little mouse. How transparent and easy to read you are. I can tell you’re displeased with me for not speaking up about it sooner, but what can I say? I was curious to find out how Zandik would choose to punish you and I can’t say I was disappointed in his methods. I rather liked watching you get pulled over his lap and having your skirt flipped up, if you want the truth. I think it suited you. But unfortunately for your sore bottom, your penance isn’t quite finished just yet.”

“… w - what do you mean?” 

“Two;” he goes on, lifting a second finger. “At my behest as your employer and the one who is paying your salary, Zandik agreed to let me punish you in whatever way I see fit. Oh, but don’t look so shocked, dear. Although you did look appropriately chastised when you sulked out of the room with your sad little head hanging down, I just don’t think that old fool’s efforts were enough to truly get the message across. I want to make absolutely certain that there will not be another incident like the one yesterday.” 

The still tender skin across your ass prickles warmly at the remembered pain as much as the imagined discomfort that was sure to come if he really decided to spank you again. And most horrifying of all is how your pussy gives a muted little throb of interest in response, stirring entirely against your will. You wouldn’t have ever thought yourself a masochist prior to this, and yet that seemed to be exactly what this place was turning you into. It really was mortifying and shameful. 

And as if that wasn’t bad enough you also knew he was right. Although it had certainly hurt in the moment, you were well aware that this was likely due more to the length at which you were spanked and not so much the force behind it. The waning strength in Zandik’s body meant he needed to pace himself, to drag it out long enough to make the sting settle through repetition rather than sheer power. The Doctor though … he was physically fit and more than capable of giving you a good beating. Even putting aside the humiliation, you were quite certain being spanked by him would be so, so much worse than what you’d already experienced once. 

No way could you just blithely go along with this. 

“I - is that really necessary?” You finally manage to say, wrestling to get the words out around your own thrumming, fidgety nerves now. “I swear I won’t do anything like that ever again, my lord. Even if you don’t punish me any further. I promise I learned my lesson. B - but if you must do it, does it have to be that? Can’t you choose a different method?”

The Doctor clicks his tongue, tut tutting at you. “Really now, trying to bargain your way out of a much deserved spanking isn’t going to do you any good, I’m afraid. I saw exactly what sort of physiological effect it had on you last night. The way you wilted and withered, cringing even when he was not striking you. And let’s not beat around the bush, shall we? If you’ll excuse the turn of phrase, that is.”

You make a face at that but he just goes on, unperturbed. 

“You’ve more than earned at least this much. What do you think the punishment would have been if you’d broken something important while you were off traipsing around in the cellar, hm? You have no comprehension of how important, how much time and energy, and not to mention how much of Pantalone’s mora, has been poured into some of the experiments and the equipment down there. I’m not here to threaten you, little mouse, but do understand that I would have been even less pleased with your behavior than I was, and the consequences would have been even more unpleasant for you as a result. The only thing that seems to have saved you from being thoroughly trussed up by my hands is the fact that 25 found you before you could do any real damage to anything.” 

Whimpering softly at the reprimand in his voice, you anxiously shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to blink back the rising sting of tears. You really didn’t want to let him put his hands on you like that, but it was clear enough that you didn’t have much of a choice. It was either this or invite something even worse upon yourself. At least this was even an option though, and they hadn’t decided to just kill you outright and get it over with, but still … 

“Fine. I’ll do it. But I want your word that this will be the end of it, and there will be no more punishments. From any of you.” 

He barks a harsh laugh, sounding amused and maybe just a little impressed with your gall to start making demands. “I cannot and will not promise you that there will never be another reason to punish you. That all depends entirely on you, doesn’t it? But what I can tell you is this; as far as your transgression regarding the cellar is concerned, you will no longer be in any trouble once you leave this office today. That is assuming, of course, that you do not make me have to use force to wrangle you under control as if you were little more than a petulant child.”

Affront creeps across your face, but you bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying what you really want in response to that. He truly was an egoistic jerk on a power trip! No wonder 25 had reminded you so much of him and less of Zandik. 

“I won’t fight you. If it must be done, then so be it. Is that everything, sir?”  

“Ah, yes. One more thing.” Grinning another sharp little smile under his mask, the Doctor rather ominously lifts a third finger to join the first two. 

“The final term we agreed on was that, while Zandik might technically be your master and the person you report directly to, it should be well within the rights of the segments to borrow you from him for a time. It stands to reason, does it not, that you are the singular maid in this household which is generally shared with Pantalone, when he is able to come, as well the other segments. There should be no reason why you can’t assist elsewhere when we have use of you.”

Smirking as if he’s just played the winning checkmate, the Doctor nudges his chin up with a haughty little chuckle, taking the opening of your stunned silence to continue his indictment of you. 

“I’ll even be nice and let you in on a little secret. 25 seems to be rather smitten with the idea of taking you on as an assistant despite your less than confidence inspiring display yesterday. And I’m sure you’ll also be quite pleased to know that the old man certainly didn’t want to give you up very easily, but he did finally relent on the compromise that his permission has to be granted first. I suppose that should also assuage some of your concerns about safety, no? From this point on none of us will be allowed to abscond with you without authorization from your beloved old wretch.” 

Your brows slowly knit in response to that pointed jab at Master Zandik even as a dull flutter of understanding starts up in the back of your mind. So that’s what he was angling for, using the situation created by your own lack of foresight to renegotiate the terms of the initial agreement. This would essentially make you beholden to the whims of all of them by the sounds of it, but … Zandik had very likely realized this as well, and that’s why he’d insisted on a clause to better define the rules of engagement between them and you. 

Somehow that just about breaks your heart. He’d still been looking out for you even when he was displeased with you and mad enough to take you over his lap like a disobedient toddler. Your punishment had in all likelihood come from a place of caring then, even if his methods were a bit questionable. His attempt to warn you in the library was to that end too, you now realize. He’d said he didn’t want you to be scared and he was right. You would have been terrified if you’d known what was coming given the already bruised state of your bottom. 

Still though. Some part of that makes you inexplicably happy. And if they’d truly discussed what happened – what really happened, and not what Zandik had assumed, then that also meant he already knew you weren’t a bad girl. Not in the way he’d chided you for, anyway. He hadn’t been mad at you earlier, just … worried and remorseful. It was unexpectedly sweet in the face of this otherwise terrifying situation. 

Gods, you felt like an absolute twit, but you’re glad for the sense of relief that comes over you all the same. Finally, you could breathe easy again. At least where the old man was concerned. 

“I understand, my lord.” You say, finally lifting your head. “Then I will defer that authority to Master Zandik from here on and obey his judgment without question.”

“Hmph. Another pretty answer. But no matter. I’ll take it.” Exhaling a somewhat terse, anticipatory breath, the Doctor gives his right thigh a sharp pat. “Come, then. To my side, little mouse.”

You give a small jolt at that. “… right now?” 

“But of course. I’ll have to leave soon, and I would hate for any part of this to remain unsettled. Better to just get it done and over with, don’t you think?” 

Your stomach does a nervous flip that makes you feel well and truly sick, but you still frantically cobble together your resolve and move to step around the low table that stands between you and him. In many ways this is even worse than last night. You hadn’t known what was about to happen, for starters, and you’d also been unable to make the decision for yourself. You’d simply been steered into place, handed off between one set of hands to another and then forced into position. 

Now, though, you have to wrestle with your own self preservation instincts and a fight or flight response that goes absolutely haywire to make you feel jittery. Completely under your own compulsion, your own power, you shuffle around to come stand at his elbow even when you know what awaits you. It’s nerve wracking enough to almost make you collapse. 

But you obediently halt next to the couch, keeping your chin tucked down as you nervously fold your hands in front of you. You flick a quick, surreptitious glance at his waiting lap and then back down again, unable to look. Haltingly, you start to fidget. 

“Do I just … should I - -“ 

“Not yet. I’d like you to take your panties down for me first.”

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?” 

The Doctor chuckles at that, a slow, grinding sound that seems to caress over every inch of your body. “What’s wrong, little mouse? Aren’t you wearing any today? And here I was so ready to pin all the blame for that on 25. I didn’t expect you to be such an exhibitionist. How unexpected.” 

Your cheeks couldn’t possibly get any hotter at this point, but you press your lips into a warbling line to stop yourself from arguing back. He was right. It likely was better just to get this done and over with, and he’d probably always have some smart comeback waiting and at the ready for you anyway. Arguing wouldn’t do you any good. 

So you hesitantly reach underneath your skirt, finding the hem of your panties to slowly tug them down until they hit the tiny metal clasps where the garterbelt connects to your stockings. Unable to push them any lower, your hands anxiously flit for a moment, indecisive, before shyly curling up to hover at about waist level. 

“Would you … like me to step completely out of them, sir?”

“No need. That should do just nicely. Now lift your dress.” 

A small whimper slips out even though you probably should have seen that coming, and on some level you sort of did. Honestly you weren’t sure why you would have ever expected anything less from this man. 

But you do it without complaint and only minimal embarrassment. It seems that in the repeated exposure of your nether region you were slowly — horrifyingly — starting to grow accustomed to these flagrant displays. And it helps that this is not unlike how you’d presented your cunt to Master Zandik in the library, your quim giving an eager little throb at the memory as you gather the hem of your flouncy skirt and lift it up. You immediately shudder at the waft of cool air against your heated skin, trying to pretend like you don’t notice the goosebumps erupting all over you. 

And the Doctor just takes a moment to simply admire you standing there before him like that, evidently drinking in the sight of the soft curls between your legs (you can’t help but wonder if he would find them slightly damp to the touch) and the soft, cushiony pudge where your thighs spill out over the tops of your stockings. He must like what he sees, you can only surmise, because he sedately leans back against the sofa to make room for you across his lap. And you don’t miss the vibrating thrum of tension that seems to curl through him when he does it. 

“Prostrate yourself. I’m not going to make this as easy for you as Zandik did by guiding you into position. I want you to make the decision and choose your fate all on your own, little mouse. This is as much a test as it is a punishment.”

You visibly twitch at that, cursing the heavy weight in your chest that threatens to choke you up and suffocate you. But you make a valiant effort to maintain your dignity in front of him and, with only a prim little sniff, you nudge closer to hesitantly lower yourself across his legs. 

It’s an even more awkward experience than it had been last night, he was certainly right about that, particularly when your butt is already exposed to the room with the lifting of your skirt. Tense and halting, you struggle to find a somewhat comfortable angle at which to lay out over his thighs only to quickly find that there simply isn’t one. It was likely part of the punishment, as small of a thing as it might be, yet another aspect of the humiliation ritual. Finally, having no other choice and with your heart lodged in your throat, you force your body to come to rest on your stomach and you go still, waiting for the pin to drop. 

For a drawn out moment he neither says or does anything at all. The only sounds in the room come from the ticking clock hanging on the far wall, your slightly labored breaths and the deep, steady drags of the Doctor’s lungs. 

Then, surprising you enough to make you jump, one gloved hand slides into place over the back of your neck and gently nudges. 

“Further. I want this round bottom of yours in the air.”

You make a small, unbidden squeak at that but you comply with this too. Lifting your body slightly, you shuffle even closer and then drape yourself over his legs again. You immediately realize why he’d wanted you like this, when the change in position leaves your head dangling almost down to the floor and the pressure on your stomach only increases as your back end is forced into a higher jut. Positioned like this, you have to stretch your legs out behind you and just press the toes of your shoes into the wood grain to maintain some semblance of balance. How insidious. 

“There. That’s much better.” Dottore finally coos, leaving the one hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place while the other finds your lower back and then smooths down one side of your ass. The sensation is enough to have you trembling, breaking out into a fresh wave of prickling gooseflesh, and you mewl a quiet sound at the contact to already sore nerves. 

You really were still aching from your last spanking and this was only going to make it that much worse. Dammit. 

“Don’t fuss now, darling. I know how unpleasant this is but believe me, it hurts me even more than it hurts you to have to subject you to this treatment.” Sighing a rather wistful, put upon exhale, he takes a moment to drag his hand up the other side, slightly lifting one fleshy globe before giving your butt a light, attention grabbing pat. “Spread your legs. Same as before, little mouse. And keep them open.” 

With no shortage of effort, you nudge your feet apart until you’ve got them spread much the same as the last time you’d found yourself in this situation. But the sofa is much lower than the chair in the dining room was, so you have much less space to stretch out in or find any traction with your shoes. The end result is that you’re forced to settle fully on your stomach, your toes barely leveraging balance now, and you quietly seethe when you realize, much like before, he’s made sure you have as little room as possible in which to lurch or absorb the blows. You would be completely at the mercy of his hand and the resulting, skin crawling recoil like this. 

But contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t seem to be much in a hurry to get this done and over with and you give a tiny jolt when he slips that hand between your thighs, still crooning at you, to cup around your bare cunt. The Doctor gives it a squeeze and a patronizing jostle to make the nerves vibrate slightly. Groaning, you struggle to blink through the rosy haze that starts to descend over you. 

To have this sort of reaction when you were simultaneously queasy with fear … there really must have been something wrong with you. 

“What a good girl you’re being now. I must say, it did surprise me a great deal when I found that grumpy old badger alone and having quite the fit I might add. It didn’t seem like you to go against direct orders like that. But I suppose you would have me believe it was for a good reason, wouldn’t you?” 

You self consciously shift at that but try to play it off as if you were trying to get comfortable, stamping down the urge to squirm. Surely he couldn’t have known you’d stretched the truth to justify your actions … could he? 

“I - it’s true, my lord. What I told you was the truth. I saw - -“

“Yes, yes, I remember what you said. That you witnessed — I suppose you would feel inclined to call him 22, wouldn’t you? — when he was coming or going, and that raised your suspicions. And just like a good little maid should, you ever so bravely faced the horrors in the cellar. Isn’t that right?” 

A stilted nod of your head. “Yes. That’s right, sir.”

Humming a vague sound, the Doctor gives one side of your ass an almost thoughtful squeeze before slowly dragging his hand across to do the same on the other. But this time he digs his gloved fingers deep into already bruised flesh, making you yelp a startled squawk of discomfort. Even then, he just keeps squeezing. 

“It is a bit interesting though.” He says, perfectly casual and offhand despite the pinching force of his fingers on your skin. “That idiot 22 has been rather preoccupied with assembling a proto type mech arm for the last handful of months. He’s been working on it since even before you arrived here. I’m not sure when you might have seen him considering he often locks himself up for days at a time to play with his little toys.” 

A frightened chill races down your spine at the implication that he really did know the truth, and you draw a sharp, half strangled breath — to say what, you do not know. And you never get the chance to find out what you might have said either when the hand on your ass suddenly retreats only to come back down a second later to a resounding CRACK! 

The force behind just that one single hit steals the oxygen from your lungs, making your chest cinch so tight you can’t seem to get any air at all as you stiffly rock forward as much as this position will allow. It’s not very far though and you’re forced to just sit with it as a result, the muscles down your extended legs trembling while you try to process the hurt now radiating out from your ass. 

It’s only then that you understand the full scope of the differences between them, unable to ignore it or look the other way when just a single slap has you reeling in shock. This was why he was considered the prime. He was considerably stronger than Zandik, and limber enough to use the full range of motion in his shoulder, the full extent of the musculature in his arm to put a great deal more power behind the swing of his hand. 

And what a heavy hand it was, sitting on the curve of your ass cheek right where it had landed while heat radiates out from under his palm. Almost without even realizing it there’s suddenly a flood of tears in your eyes but you desperately work to blink them away as you at last manage to suck in a delayed, faltering gasp. 

“Oww …” 

“Heh. It looks like this will not be quite as easy for you as the last spanking you received, darling mouse. You’ll soon find that I am not nearly as soft hearted as that old fool is, and I won’t hold back just because of some sentimental notions of fondness. Zandik is free to try and protect you as much as he wants. But I am not nearly so lenient.” 

With that, his hand slips away and you frantically try to brace yourself for the next strike but nothing can quite prepare you for the way he cracks you across the other side, sending shockwaves rippling up your quaking body. You have a split second, hysterical thought that his glove probably isn’t helping, the way it seems to catch the skin and stick, but you quickly realize it wouldn’t even matter if he’d taken it off. He’s too powerful, too in control of his limbs, his posture, the way he subtly shifts underneath you with the raising of his arm and a soft slither of fabric and then —

CRACK! Back on the first cheek again, to nearly send your skin crawling off of your bones as you helplessly rock with the momentum, gasping woundedly like a drowning animal. It devastates you right down to your very core, and when he reaches across to smack the other side just as hard as the first time you can’t quite seem to stop your legs from futilely kicking out behind you, twisting in agony. 

Evidently unperturbed by all of your wild squirming, the Doctor picks up the pace by a small margin, swatting at the left cheek and then the right again. CRACK! CRACK! In agonizingly quick succession. 

Unable to stopper it any longer, you let loose a harried, high pitched squeal and jerk against his thighs when he smacks the left side again. But on the next slap to the right, he catches the crease where your ass meets your thigh just right and a blinding burst of splinters shoot through you like a million fiery pinpricks. It has you clenching your teeth, seething, so caught up in the agony of it that you almost don’t even notice the tears streaking down your face or the dribble of leaky snot coming from your nose. You just don’t think you can endure this the same way you did Zandik’s spanking and you outright squeal, bringing your legs together in a tight press to protect your naked cunt from the wrath of his hand. That last blow had been more than just a bit too close for comfort. So close you’d felt the aching stab of it in your quim. 

This, however, seems to displease him, and he begins to rain a stinging procession of punishing blows down on your defenseless ass even quicker now. “What did I tell you, little mouse? I said to keep your legs open for me.” 

“I - I caaant — ough! Wh - whaaaa, please, please, it hurts — ahhh!” 

“It is supposed to hurt, my dear. That is the whole point of pulling disobedient little girls over my knee, is it not? Ah, but if you really can’t keep them spread, then … perhaps next time I will have to remember to bring some rope with me, so that I might tie you down on the table and help you obey. Really, now. You’ve always been so well mannered, I didn’t think I needed to take the time to educate you this much.”

“I’m sorry! I’m suh - sorry, sir! I’m — yeeek! I’m s - sorry!” 

All but blinded by the tears, you frantically reach back with your outermost hand in a vain attempt to shield yourself. It’s impulsive and instinctive, but even knowing it’s a foolish decision and one likely to agitate his ire you just can’t seem to think straight or control the motor functions of your heaving frame when he’s lighting your ass up like that. It robs you of your breath, it makes your higher functioning mind short circuit and, if he kept at it this vigorously for much longer, you were sure you’d soon lose your bladder control too. 

But the Doctor just gives his tongue a sharp little click and reaches for your wrist with the hand that had been on your neck. The other is still slapping back and forth between your blistering cheeks, undaunted by the mindless kicking of your feet. 

“Goodness, it does appear to me that you are in need of a proper training regiment. I had no idea your manners were so lacking.” He mutters, perhaps more to himself than to you, as he somewhat ruthlessly pulls your arm into a tight bend and then pins it against your lower back. “Leave it there. You may grab onto the tie of your apron if it will help you.”

The angle is all wrong, pulling on your shoulder and giving you even less wiggle room when your upper half is now twisted in place with that awkward wrench. Whimpering and whining, you shudderingly find the strip of cloth cinched around your waist somewhere in the mess of fabric and slip your fingers underneath it, which earns you a quiet hum of approval. 

“Yes. I do believe some strong ropes to help you stay still and in position will do you plenty of good, sweet mouse. And as for that mouth of yours …”

Humming a soft sound of consideration, he gives your captured arm a tight squeeze of warning before sliding his hand away, reaching up to curl under your jaw and shove those digits into your mouth instead. It’s not at all unlike what he’d done to you in the library, when he’d made you clean his glove of your own arousal, but in the middle of being spanked seems to make it that much more humiliating. You mewl around the intrusion, trying to turn your head away, but then he claps you across your ass again and you freeze. It’s like the pain is sucking out your energy, frying your brain, and you can’t seem to make your body cooperate beyond that. 

And it’s no wonder why he would choose to wedge your mouth open like this. Unable to bite down or clench your teeth anymore allows the heaving groans, the miserably faltering sobs and the rough gasps for air to slip out unhindered. It also quickly starts to make you drool, you realize in a far off, dreamy sort of way as you wetly swallow around his fingers. Just another level to the degradation. 

“Now,” he intones, punctuating this with another hard slap to your throbbing behind. “I want you to listen to me well, little mouse. Because I will not be repeating myself again.” 

SMACK! SMACK!

He goes on, speaking over your wailing moans. “For as long as you are here, you are subject to the will and whims of a Fatui Harbinger. Even if you think of Zandik as your true master, don't forget that I am the one who hired you and you would not be here right now if it were not at my discretion.” 

SMACK! SMACK! 

“And even if only by virtue of my title, I still hold the greater authority over you. That means if I tell you to jump, you should be leaping at the opportunity to ask me how high.” SMACK! “And if I ask you to explain yourself to me, then I expect the truth. I’m afraid you’re more than a few decades too early to think you can pull those sorts of childish tricks over on me.” SMACK! SMACK! “I don’t doubt that you did see that bumbling idiot given your accurate description of his mask,” SMACK! “But something tells me that was because you were wandering somewhere you shouldn’t have been.” SMACK! “Am I wrong?” 

You sadly shake your head, hiccuping a thick sound around his fingers, and he rewards you for your answer with yet another blistering swat. 

“As I thought. Then I hope you’ll excuse me for choosing to punish you like this, but I’m sure you know exactly why I thought it necessary.” SMACK! “Don’t you?” 

This time you force yourself to nod, even as you cough and spit up a bubbling sheet of drool that slowly oozes out to drip down your chin. 

“Then let’s try not to have a repeat of this most unpleasant experience, hm? I don’t mind playing the villain, you know. I’m quite good at it, in fact.” SMACK! SMACK! “So hate me all you wish. Prefer that old wretch over me if it suits you, but don’t test my charitable disposition where you are concerned again.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! “Considering that I would be well within my right to take you by force or even kill you if I so wished it, I’d say I’ve been very considerate of your autonomy up until now. Which is far more than most people can say of me. Do try to keep that in mind the next you find yourself in my presence, won’t you?” 

Sniveling so violently you snort some awful, unbecoming sound, you stiffly brace for the next strike. But it never comes. 

It takes you a long, drawn out moment to realize the Doctor has grown still above you and his hand is not lighting up your sore cheeks anymore, but that hardly comes as a true relief. It feels like your ass is on fire, somehow even hotter than your face, and it’s nearly impossible to wrap your reeling head around the sheer agony of it. Even if you had not already been spanked by Zandik you were sure it would have hurt just as much, no doubt about that. But to have those heavy handed swings pepper your behind on top of the lingering bruises … oh, it felt like you’d never be able to properly sit down ever again. 

All you can do is lie there, stretched across his lap, trying to catch your breath and failing miserably at it. You felt like you might really throw up and he doesn’t help combat that when the fingers in your mouth twist, hooking into the corner of your cheek to slightly pull you more to the side. A numb squeak of surprised confusion rattles out of you at the shuddering strings of spittle that drip out over your lips, unable to stop it like this. That glistening thread of saliva just keeps stretching lower and lower until it finally snaps, and the wad of spit hits the floor underneath you with a tiny plap.    

“Are we at a mutual understanding now, dear mouse? I trust I won’t have to have this conversation with you again, will I?” 

“N - nrohh shir …”

“Wonderful. I won’t be half as merciful a second time.”

His other hand returns to slide over your ass then, making you jolt so hard you nearly come right up off his lap, squealing. But all he does is smooth that gloved palm over the aching curve of one globular cheek, rubbing the hurt in to make you hiss a wounded groan. 

He does the same to the other side and then, cooing a soft sound of approval, he reaches up to unlatch your aching fingers from around the knotted tie of your apron. It takes longer than it should when your digits seem to be locked in place from how tightly you’d been clutching at it, but at last he manages to pry you loose. And then, surprising you a great deal, he directs your arm lower down to manually curl your trembling fingers into the meat of your own ass. 

“That’s a doll. Spread yourself open for me. Let me get a good look at you.” 

There’s nothing else you’d like to do less but, certain that you did not want to invite any further discipline from him, you hesitantly obey, pressing your fingertips deep into the plushy give and pulling to the side. 

“Good. Now, the other. Go on. Use both of your hands, darling.”

Sucking in a painfully hitching breath, you awkwardly shift atop his thighs, struggling to work your left hand between the press of his body where you’re tucked in against his front. Finally, you manage to extend your reaching fingers far back enough and you grab at the aching flesh even when it hurts to shyly tug your cheeks apart, baring you fully to not only the cool waft in the room but his piercing gaze too. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to block it all out, but it’s nearly impossible. The self conscious twitch of your puckering hole, the fleshy press where your labia meet to form a pudgy slit. You’re hyper aware of all of it, especially the insistent, throbbing pulse across your ass, only heightened by the grip you have on yourself. 

The Doctor coos at you once more, something quiet and nonsensical, as he slips his hand between your thighs again. It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to let go, not to shield yourself from his probing inspection and go scuttling away, but you force your thrumming body to stay prone and pliant for him. 

Even when he proceeds to slowly drag the pad of his thumb over the wrinkle of your asshole, lightly pulling at the flesh to make it slacken in the middle, you just groan a hissing breath. And yet more drool spills from your mouth, tongue lolling uselessly, to softly pitter patter on the hardwood beneath you. 

“According to 25, you seemed to rather like this sort of stimulation. Is that true?” 

You shake your head, noising a muffled, “Nuhh-uhh.” that makes you sound like you’re drunk. 

Snorting an amused chuckle, as if to say he doesn’t believe that, the Doctor takes a moment to just simply caress over that tight hole until it gradually starts to raise up under his ministrations. Coaxing it to relax, which it does completely against your will. And it becomes harder and harder to stop yourself from squirming, especially when you start to feel an unmistakably eager thrum start up in your lower gut. Was he really going to penetrate you like that? Could you actually take his finger without the excess of lubricant the surgeon had used? 

But then, a drawn out moment later, he abandons your pucker to reach further down and you can’t quite seem to decide if you were disappointed or relieved about that. He doesn’t give you the chance to figure it out, either, because he finds the apex of your pelvic mound where he sets in to lightly rub in slow, persuasive circles, encouraging you to warm up to his touch. 

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s handling you much more gently now, and the contrast between his rough fingering in the library as much as the toe curling spanking you’d just received has left you primed for a soft hand, or if it’s simply a matter of your cunt being just as overeager as Zandik liked to say it was, but you do give into that coaxing gesture. Almost embarrassingly fast. You can’t help it though as you shudderingly cant your hips into the source of your stimulation, much too eager for any amount of comfort or sympathy after everything that’s happened to make a better choice. 

And you positively hate yourself for it as soon as you do it, sobbing a broken, unhindered little sound that rattles and breaks off at the end, punctuated by the drawling laugh he croons at you. 

“Yes, you’re a good girl indeed. I don’t imagine I should have any further problems with you from here on out, will I?” 

You shake your head as much as you’re able to but the fingers hooked in your cheek make that difficult. He was right, though. Never again would you invite this sort of treatment from him, you’re quite sure of that. 

Especially when he then slips those deft fingertips away to press into the center seam of your body, pinching the skin just ever so slightly when he worms them into the meaty grip of your labia where he proceeds to hum a feigned sound of surprise. 

“My, what do we have here? I do believe you’re wet, little mouse. Is this all for me, or did you simply enjoy your spanking that much?”

Noising a tiny sound of protest, you subtly shift against his legs, fighting the urge to squirm. But he remains ever unperturbed, just slowly dragging those digits through the delicate creases and folds, smearing liquid arousal, with an utterly casual swipe of his hand. You’re ashamed at how much it actually makes you want it, to have him touching you like that. But any relief, any amount of gentle care, anything to distract you from the pain radiating out from your sore cheeks was much appreciated, and you reluctantly press back on him in supplication. 

The sharp rush of alleviation that comes when he obliges you, finding your sticky entrance and slowly pushing in, one fraction of an inch at a time, is almost enough to have you shattering to pieces right then and there. You just screw your eyes closed, breathing out a slow, shuddering breath, while that gloved finger slides up inside you on a mortifyingly smooth glide. 

“Oh, isn’t that cute. Your little hole twitches when I enter you like this. I take it you must rather like it, then?” Chuckling at your halfhearted groan of denial, the Doctor turns his wrist so that he can continue to finger your open with his first digit while his thumb comes up to rub slow, patient circles over your pucker again. 

“I think 25 was right and you do rather like being touched like this. If I were more of a tyrant I might choose to take offense at your fibbing, but don’t worry. I can tell this is still new to you, and I imagine your brain just hasn’t had a chance to catch up with the rest of your body yet. I’m quite certain you’ll come to love it in due time though. Who knows? You might even start to crave it. But, well. Given how greedy this little cunt of yours is, I doubt you’ll ever want anything more than to have it stuffed full and leaking. What do you think, hm? You want it all hours of the day, don’t you?” 

Such an intense tremor works through your body at his sultry, purred words that you need to readjust your clammy grip on your ass cheeks, struggling to keep them spread for him. Your neck droops bonelessly to one side, losing all of your strength and the will to keep fighting it the more he keeps touching you like that. 

But the Doctor is quick to tug on the inside of your cheek, using his hooked fingers to pull your head back up at an angle that makes you keen a weak sound. You can’t help feeling like a fish being reeled in, further humiliating you, and with the change in position the cool sheets of drool running down your chin start to dribble a slow path along your straining neck. He was making such a mess of you …

“Yuh - yeshh shir.” You stammer at the jostling nudge he gives you. 

“As I thought. It really is such a shame that I can’t stay and play with you more, but I fear my time for leisure is starting to draw to a close. Perhaps that old fool would like to have his way with you some more in my stead.” Heaving a somewhat dramatic exhale, the Doctor slides the hand between your legs out — much to your groaning frustration and dismay — to leave your quim vibrating after him, always eager for more. More, more, more. 

He was right to say you had a greedy pussy. 

The finger in your mouth also retreats to leave you gingerly working your jaw and swallowing hard to lubricate your dried out throat. Quickly letting go of your ass, you bring a quaking hand up to wipe some of the spit from your face, grimacing at the sticky mess you find. You’d have to stop in your room to freshen up first once you were allowed to leave. 

“You may stand.” He says, and you fumble to do just that even when your legs almost refuse to cooperate. 

But you manage, somehow, unsteadily pushing yourself upright to awkwardly settle into place at his side, standing at attention with no shortage of effort. Your hands tremulously clasp together in front of you, head bowed, and you give the Doctor a stiff bow. “Th - thank you for having this discussion with me today, and also … your correction of my behavior, sir. I swear it will not happen again.” 

At his gracious nod, you start to reach for your panties with every intention of pulling them up so you can beat a hasty retreat, but he stops you with an almost rueful cluck of his tongue. 

“Ah, ah. Not just yet, little mouse. Don’t you still have a mess to clean up?” 

You shoot him a bewildered, tear stained look, but he just nudges his chin down at the small puddle of drool you’d left behind on the flooring. It should be physically impossible for your face to get any hotter than it already is and yet, somehow, you manage to do just that, flushing in indignation. You wished you could snap at him and point out that it was his fault, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself. 

Instead, you snifflingly reach into a pocket in the apron to withdraw your handkerchief, leaving your panties tangled in the garterbelt clasps for the moment while you step forward to kneel down between him and the coffee table. Unfortunately you don’t make it much further than that. 

His hand is suddenly in the back of your hair, gripping only tight enough to stop you from scuttling away. You yelp in surprise, swaying unsteadily where you’re knelt when he forces you forward, making you go down on your hands and knees. He says something to you then but you can’t really hear him over the violent pounding in your ears. You’re almost too shocked, too stunned to properly react to anything that’s going on. 

All you know is that he drags you closer to the puddle by your hair and then, to your roiling revulsion, starts to shove your head down. You try to fight it with frantic urgency, one hand reaching back to grab at the unbudging wrist behind your head while the other abandons the handkerchief completely in favor of shoving at the ground in a blithe attempt to stop this from happening. 

It’s no good though. He’s much too strong, physically bigger than you, and his elevated position sitting on the edge of the sofa gives him far too much leverage when you were under him and on your knees. Despite your best efforts, Dottore finally gets your head nudged down enough to press your cheek into the wood grain next to the puddle. Just as if you were an untrained dog being forced to look at the mess they’ve made in their masters home. 

And was that really all that far from the truth?

“I didn’t say you could use something else to clean it up, did I?” He intones lightly, almost conversationally. But that doesn’t truly detract from the haughty, twisted edge in his voice somehow. “I told you to clean it up. Use your mouth.”

“M - my lord, please!” You warble sadly, sounding nearly hysterical even to your own ears. 

“Do it, little mouse. Or do I need to take you back over my lap again to encourage your obedience?” 

A frantic sob catches in your throat, almost choking you on it. You’re sure you’d rather die but you just can’t risk him spanking you again. You knew it would kill you. Submission was the only choice you really had. 

Even seeing the truth for what it is isn’t nearly enough to stop you from internally cringing so hard you’re half convinced you’ll faint dead away on the spot. But you do relent, even when your wilting pride screams at you not to. 

You have to consciously force yourself to relax, allowing him to pry your cheek up from the floor with a harsh jostle so he can then redirect your face towards the puddle of spit. He doesn’t shove your mouth into it though, simply waiting until you hesitantly part your lips and stick your tongue out. Only then does the Doctor bark a cruel laugh and press on the back of your head, guiding you into place so you can start lapping up the fluid with mortified, recoiling kitten licks. 

“That’s a good pet. And don’t you look lovely like this?” 

The Doctor pushes up to stand then, evidently confident that you would continue to obey, and you do, even as he shuffles behind you a few steps to get a better look. Standing near the corner of the sofa now, he neatly folds his arms behind his back and just watches. Observes. 

And you’re sure you must look a mess at that moment. On your hands and knees, mouth to the floor, with your bare ass up in the air and your panties twisted around your thighs. Pussy out, empty and waiting, but somehow so terribly wet for this monster. 

You can’t bring yourself to conceal your hate for him, glaring back at the Doctor from that awkward angle even as you clean away the spit from the ground with your tongue. He already knew how you felt about him anyway and it clearly doesn’t bother him one little bit as he smirks at you in return, his mouth cutting a sharp line across the lower half of his face. 

Good at playing the villain, indeed. 

“Oh, don’t look so upset. You’re free to hate me as much as you wish,” he purrs, sounding like the thought thrilled him really quite a lot. With a heavy clunk of his boot and a groan from the floor, he takes a perfectly measured step towards you. And then another. “Or you could even try to find some way to kill me, if you think you’re up to the task. Frankly, I’d applaud you for it if you did. Just remember who holds the most power here, little mouse.”

Coming to stand over you now, he gives his head that infuriating tip you were starting to hate so much. 

“It is not that feeble invalid Zandik. And it certainly isn’t you either.” 

His foot comes up then to press down on the back of your head. The pressure sedately forces your mouth to the floor until you’re laying in what remains of your own drool and your cheek squishes against the wood. You let out a tiny sound of protest but it doesn’t do anything at all to deter him. He just holds you there like that for an incomprehensibly long time without ever fully stepping down and crushing your skull even though some small part of you almost wished he would. At least it would be quicker than dragging the inevitable out like this. 

But, at length, he finally removes his boot and you’re able to gingerly pry your face up, wincing when the skin tries to stick. The Doctor is already turning away from you though, pacing back over to the corner of the couch where he peers down at you as if you were a filthy animal that’s wandered in off of the street. His somewhat agreeable mood from earlier is completely gone now. Vanished. Like a magician’s trick. 

“That will be all for today, little mouse. I really must be going soon, so do hurry and pick yourself up. And don’t forget to fix your clothes while you’re at it.”

Weak and shaky, you fumble to get your feet back under you again only to nearly collapse in a heap on the ground. You have to use the side of the sofa to steady yourself enough to get upright where you sway unsteadily for a moment even as you tug your panties into place. The caress of soft cotton over your blistering bottom nearly makes you sob even as you’re made painfully aware of how very wet you are between the legs after his rude probing. It really is like some sick joke. 

“Come, come.” He says, urging you to speed it up. “Do not dawdle, now. I’ll escort you back to the old man on my way out.”

You shoot him a miserable look, very conscious of the tears and residual spit on your face. “B - but, my lord, I need to - -“

“What you need to do is listen.” The Doctor huffs as he reaches out to snag your elbow in a tight, pinching hold which he then uses to drag you, stumbling, closer to him. “Haven’t you learned this lesson yet? I did not bring you here to think, only to obey.”

Pausing, he takes a moment to chidingly tug your much wrinkled apron back into place where it was twisted askew. You try to take that chance to wipe the moisture from your cheeks with the heel of your palm, but in regretfully short order he’s pulling you into motion with him. 

Unlocking the door with a decisive click, Dottore pulls you out and into the hall, just the same as he’d done last night. He neither slows his pace or shortens his strides to give you a chance to keep up, and you’re left simply tripping along after him as you self consciously attempt to get yourself sorted out in time to face Master Zandik. It’s a resounding effort in futility though. Between the hurt in your body as much as the damage to your ego, the mess he’s made of you, it’s nearly impossible to keep your emotions in check. 

So much so that by the time he reaches the library and yanks this door open, you’re rapidly blinking through a swimming sheen of fresh tears that have welled up in your burning eyes, completely unbidden. 

Zandik, still sitting at the studiously crammed desk, lifts his head to glance across the room when you’re rather unceremoniously shoved inside to stand front and center. His expression slackens to deepen the wrinkles that mar his skin when he sees the state you’re in; flushed and wet faced, clothes untidy and rumpled. 

And with a final slam behind you, the Doctor takes his abrupt leave. 

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For a long, drawn out stretch of seconds the two of you just stare at one another from opposite sides of the library in mute silence. 

But then the dam seems to crack and crumble with all the sudden destruction of a crashing maelstrom behind it, and the tears are suddenly coming full force. 

Zandik stiffly moves as if to stand and come to you, but he doesn’t need to do that. You’re already crossing the room in a disoriented, nearly blind rush, unable to stop the blubbering sob that wells up within you from escaping. He only has a split second to realize you were running to him, not away, and he has just enough time to turn in his chair before you make it around the desk where you all but throw yourself into his arms. 

There are no thoughts of decorum or decency in your head as you shudderingly cling to him, pressing your face tight into the knobby curve of his shoulder. For the span of a single heartbeat he almost doesn’t seem to know what to do with this. What to do with you. 

And then his cool, faltering hands slowly come around you to press into your back, holding you against him. 

That alone is enough to have you breaking into pieces, wailing a muffled sound of despair while you soak the fabric of his jacket in your tears. It’s just too much. The pain and the loss of your innocence, the ever present threat of impending doom that seems to lurk around every corner in this old, creaky mansion. And that was to say absolutely nothing of the dreadful situation with your mother. You couldn’t leave this place to check on her yourself and there was no telling when Lord Regrator might grace the sprawling grounds with his presence again. Or even if he would honor your request of him in the first place. It was slowly tearing you down, bit by bit, and you felt hopeless. Lost and vulnerable. 

But Zandik manages to surprise you enough to pierce through the misery by some small margin when he softly tuts at you, wrapping his bony arms more securely around your shoulders so he can gather you tightly to himself. 

“Stupid girl.” He softly murmurs, petting over your bowed head with one hand. “You came back.” 

You nod into his shoulder, much too busy crying your eyes out to speak, and you weren’t sure what you would have said to that anyway. Yes, you’d come back. But what other choice did you even have? Not only did you doubt that the Doctor would ever let you escape this place alive but you also knew you couldn’t leave him here at the mercy of his own demented segments. Who knows how long he’d even last with them in charge of his care. He could be dead for days before they noticed given how infrequently they seemed to check in on him. 

And it just wasn’t fair. Not to him or to you. And gods, what did Pantalone think of all this if he knew how the younger parts of Zandik were as the Doctor had claimed he did? In retrospect it really was no wonder why he would want you here taking care of the old man in his stead. 

You just weren’t sure how much longer you could continue to do it before your sanity chipped away though. 

“There, there.” He’s saying, trying to comfort you. Stroking over your hair. “It’s alright, isn’t it? Calm down. Before you make yourself sick.”

You give your head a stuttering, miserable little shake, clutching at the front of his white jacket hard enough to make your fingers hurt. 

Quietly sighing into the side of your head, Zandik lets you carry on for another moment longer. Consoling you and rubbing your back. But when the tears still won’t stop, and you start to sadly hiccup, struggling to pull in short, gasping breaths, he finally gives his tongue a small click as he gently nudges at you. 

“Come here, girl. Let me see you. You’ve got my shirt soaked straight through, you know.” 

Sniffling very sadly, you let him tug you closer until you have no choice but to take a seat atop his thigh, even when it makes your bottom throb hotly at the pressure. You’re almost too wretched to care in that moment, although you do still catch yourself self consciously fidgeting at both the pain and the worry that you might crush him. He just feels so very thin and frail under your soft, filled out figure. 

It is not so different from when he’d pulled you into — not over — his lap previously though, and you gratefully settle into place against him, keeping your face tucked into the crook of his neck to stubbornly hide from him. But Zandik successfully surprises when he reaches down to somewhat unsteadily grab at your calves, pulling your legs up to drape them over the opposite armrest. A fluttering note of surprise curls through your constricting chest when you realize he’s cradling you to the front of him while the arm behind your shoulders carefully rocks you now. Just like one might an inconsolable child. 

Rather than embarrass you, though, the thought actually makes your heart ache with real affection. He really did care about you on some level despite that unfortunate ordeal in the dining room downstairs. You wouldn’t have thought this tangible proof of what you’d quietly started to suspect would make you feel so indescribably … happy. 

“That’s better, now.” Zandik murmurs at you when the choking sobs and the full bodied shakes start to slowly subside, soothed away by his unexpectedly gentle hands as much as the comforting smell of him as it fully envelopes you. “Just take a moment to breathe. There. You’re alright. You’re still in one piece, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh a thick, half strangled sound at that. “Relatively speaking, I suppose …”

He gives your tense shoulder a doting pat at that. “Sometimes that’s all we can truly ask for, eh?” 

Slowly nodding your head once, you bring a careful hand up to wipe at your face. You’re not quite ready to look at him just yet though, keeping your head ducked down while you try to get yourself a bit more under control first. In some ways you couldn’t really believe you’d just come crashing down like that. But even when you were admittedly a little embarrassed about it, you can’t exactly say that it wasn’t without good reason. The exchange with the Doctor had taken a lot out of you and in the aftermath of your pitiful sobbing you just felt … empty. Barren, just as the mountainous, snowy plains outside were void of much of anything. Just a desolate white wasteland inhospitable to most life. 

And yet, Zandik does a surprisingly excellent job of warming you back up again, of filling in the empty spaces within your fractured mind as he dotingly pets you and rocks you in his lap. It was — nice. Really nice, in fact. You were quite certain you could have simply stayed like that with him forever without any complaint. 

But just as all things must eventually end, so too does this quiet moment between the two of you draw to a close and Zandik finally stirs against you some moments later. 

“Are you able to talk again?”

With one last sniffle, you gather your courage enough to lean up from his shoulder yet you still keep your face turned away for the time being. Somehow you got the feeling that looking at him too soon would just bring the tears right back. “Yes, Master …”

“Good.” He says shifting under you to dig into one of his pockets. A real challenge given how thoroughly curled up on top of him you are. “Allow me to speak first. Here. Blow your nose, silly girl.” 

He holds a handkerchief up to your face, making you belatedly realize you’d left yours on the floor in the office. But you can’t seem to care much about it as you lean into his hand and do as he’d asked of you, feeling really quite awful. 

“There you are. Now, listen to me well. I owe you a real apology, don’t I? The irony is that, even for all of my supposed intellect, I can't seem to figure out what to say to you that might even come close to being enough. I’m not sure how to express just how sorry I am that there wasn’t more I could do to protect you, and for … not listening to you, when you tried to tell me I had it wrong when you came up from the cellar with him. Those two explained everything to me after you left. I’m surprised you even decided to come back like this.”

You have to take a moment to self consciously clear your throat, finding your voice hoarse and thin when you try to speak. “Yes, Lord Dottore said that he and 25 had a long discussion with you. About me, and … us. I’m glad he was telling the truth about that.” 

A spark of genuine confusion cuts through Zandik’s remorse, making his pale brows knit slightly when he glances into your face again. “25? What in Teyvat are you talking about, girl?” 

“O - oh. That.” You offer up a sheepish laugh. “I know that probably sounds a little silly, doesn’t it? I just wasn’t sure if I’d be able to remember names like Omega, Beta … and that wouldn’t really help me keep track of who’s who either. So, Lord Dottore said for the sake of simplicity I could call them by their ages instead. Is that — alright with you, Master?”  

He gives a slow, rather owlish blink to that before stiffly leaning back into the chair with an almost disbelieving huff. “He really told you everything, didn’t he? I have to admit, that does surprise me a fair amount. The only other person who I’ve ever fully divulged the entire scope of my folly to is …” 

“Lord Regrator, sir?” You take a swing, earning yourself a sharply barked laugh. 

“That’s right. Clever little thing.” He starts to send you a rueful yet fond look, wanting to smile at you, but he seems to realize what he’s doing and quickly sobers. Much to the silent aching of your heart. “But you still came back. Why? After everything that’s happened and the way I acted towards you … I was sure you’d decide to go back home to Snezhnograd.”

“Honestly, I might have felt so inclined if I truly believed he would let me leave.” Shyly lifting your gaze, you send him a meaningful glance from under the wet clumps of your eyelashes. “Or if it were not for you, Master.” 

A silent beat passes over the room, and the intangible spark that seems to pass between you and him is only punctuated by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. 

Then, ever so slowly, Zandik nudges his chin up to squint at you — though it lacks any of the usual bite or critical assessment you were used to. 

“So, you do realize it then. Quite clever indeed, aren’t you? All that studying and reading your mother made you do has served you incredibly well. I was … I don’t mean this as a jab, girl, but I didn’t know if you would realize it or not. How much danger you’re actually in.” 

Hearing him say it doesn’t exactly feel great, not when it only solidifies what you’d already started to suspect regarding your ultimate fate here, but it does make you feel slightly less crazy. 

“Yes … I realized it yesterday. When we were down in the cellar. It is — unfortunate, of course. That this is the state of things, and the circumstance of our meeting has to be so tinged in melancholy. I must confess to you, Master, that I’m deeply worried about my mothers condition and I wish I could go to her. Even if it was only for one day. Knowing she is at one of the best hospitals Snezhnaya has to offer doesn’t give me much comfort when I have yet to hear any word from her. It’s starting to feel a bit like I’ve been erased from the outside world. Like I only exist here. With you.”

Zandik straightens slightly with the slow breath he pulls in at that, as if he wanted to respond but he doesn’t know what will be of any comfort to you. What wouldn’t just be the same pretty lip service the Doctor had chided you for. Or maybe he simply isn’t sure what he can say that won’t send you spiraling into another fit of anguish again. 

It doesn’t really matter though, not when your choice has already been made. Not today, or yesterday, or even the day before, but back at the Northland Bank, and you carefully bring your hand up to brush your thumb over the deep frown lines on one side of his mouth.  

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out when the time comes though. Perhaps … if he’s feeling generous enough, I suppose it’s possible that Lord Dottore might decide to keep me on as his own personal maid? Or maybe he’ll decide to pass me off to Lord Regrator. They might even want joint custody of me, if they can’t decide who should have responsibility of me after the divorce.” 

That earns you a real laugh, the sound punching out of Zandik’s chest with a vaguely wheezy cough. Almost as if he was unaccustomed to vocalizing such sounds, and it had been a very long time since he last laughed with the sincerity of his whole chest. 

But it pleases you almost as much as it surprises you, making your stomach flip and light up as if a whole fleet of fireworks was erupting inside it. 

Feeling strangely emboldened now, you offer him a far easier smile than you would have thought you were capable of after everything you’ve endured. “I don’t know if I actually believe that. I’m sure it’s just as likely that they will find me not worth the hassle of keeping alive and that will have to be the end of the road for me. But really, Master, I’m glad you’re talking to me like this again. I really do hate to see you upset with me. I’m sorry for disobeying you.”

Zandik holds up a hand to stop you, looking really quite pained at the reminder of his behavior. “Keep it. I don’t deserve your apologies and, frankly, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m afraid the majority of the blame belongs to me. There were any number of things I could have done to better equip you for navigating this situation on your own. Being truthful with you is right at the top of that list.”

Breathing out a terse sigh, he tips his head back against the chair and closes his eyes while he gives the meat of your leg a rather amicable pat. 

“But if he already told you everything then there’s no excuse for me not to be honest with you as well. And now that you know what I have done, the lengths I’ve gone for the sake of progress and in the name of results, I find myself admittedly a bit … amazed, that you still wish to be close with me like this. It’s only natural if you saw me as a monster and yet, you evidently do not. As always I expected the worst.” 

You sit with that for a long moment, turning it over in your head while you fiddle with the loose tie around his collar. “Was it the same for Lord Regrato too?” 

A mild scoff. “His situation was quite different from yours. Ah, but not entirely dissimilar, I suppose. He saw me at my worst when I was still young enough to be a threat to anyone and everyone around me, but somehow he still accepted what I am. Heh. You could probably even argue that he made me worse, in a way.” 

You’re not so sure you believe that when, in light of all that you have learned, it occurs to you that something must have happened at some point in his life to facilitate the changes in him that then culminated into the man sitting before you today. Although there were certainly shared traits and habits between Zandik and his younger selves, there was also no denying that he was noticeably different from them too. He wasn’t so — rigid and unrelenting, so caught up in his own ego that he couldn’t see the forest for the trees. There was a capacity to be soft within him, a desire for closeness even if he didn’t always know the best way to show it or ask for it. Could that really have been Pantalone’s doing? Had he healed some part of Zandik’s soul in his open, unburdened acceptance of who he was as a person? 

The thought makes your mind wander back to what the Doctor told you regarding the other segments, how they represented various age ranges with Dottore himself firmly planted in the middle and two that came after him. Forty-five and sixty-five, respectively, if memory serves. And you find yourself even more interested in them now, wondering if they, too, had been softened in the face of Pantalone’s influence. 

“Will you tell me about it?” You ask when you can’t seem to keep your pressing curiosity held at bay any longer. 

“Hm. Perhaps later. It is, after all, a rather long story, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Rousing himself, Zandik tips his head back down to look at you with a sober expression. “I think I'd rather talk about you for now. Are you sure you’re alright? What did he do to you?” 

Internally withering at the reminder, you tuck your chin down and avert your gaze. “He spanked me …”

The old man gives a tiny jolt at that. “Again? After I already …” Cutting himself off with a sharp click of his tongue, he slides the hand on your back higher up to cup around the curve of your skull, pulling you back down into his shoulder again. And you’re glad for it as you hide your face against him, hating the hot flush that creeps across your cheeks as much as the rising sting of fresh tears. “That damned brute. I knew he wanted to add on to your punishment, but I thought — well, I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? What’s done is done, I suppose. Oh, your poor bottom.” 

The bony hand on your thigh slides higher up to grab at soft pudge, lifting the back of the skirt slightly when he pulls on your hip to rotate your pelvis towards him. You tremble at the waft of cool air on blazing cheeks and squeak a small sound, balled hands clinging to him all the more fervently. 

Zandik just softly coos at you, however, as he leans forward to peer down at what he can see of your ass from this angle. The way he immediately hisses, pulling in a slow breath through his teeth, makes your stomach roil as you start to fidget in his hold. 

“Look at what he’s done to you. And after I tried to tell him I’d already taken care of it too.” Exhaling a terse breath, he carefully reaches up to smooth a soothing hand over the tender flesh of your topmost cheek. 

You whimper quietly at the renewed stabs of discomfort but quickly relax into the touch as much as you can when his cool skin proves an unexpectedly effective balm. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but at least it makes the tanned surface area not feel quite so warm. 

“I don’t know how you can forgive me for treating you that way in front of him. I should’ve known better. It might have been one thing to have Feofan watch while I spanked this cute bottom of yours. We very well could have turned it into a game to play with you, but …” His wizened fingertips find the edge of your panties and slip under the material to rub over a greater expanse of your behind, gooseflesh erupting all over you when you shiver. “I guess I always did enjoy taking out my frustrations on others, and somehow I still haven’t fully moved on from that bad habit yet. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and I most certainly should not have said those terrible things to you either.”

Squirming slightly when the touch of his hand so very close to your neglected cunt makes heat curl low in your stomach, you shift in his lap to turn your face inward. You leave your head resting against his shoulder though, not quite brave enough to look him in the eye just yet. Who knows what you might say or do. 

“You needn’t apologize, Master. I sort of deserved it, didn’t I? Even if you were mistaken about my reasons for doing so, I still broke your trust in me. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Not another word of that now, girl. They told me everything. That you’d claimed to have seen one of them skulking about, and I can’t say I don’t understand why that might concern you.” He murmurs, still petting over your sore ass which faintly twinges at that unintentional reminder of what the Doctor said while he had you over his knee. He’d seemed to know you hadn’t been completely honest about how the one in the half-mask had first come to your attention, but did Zandik? You weren’t so sure you were willing to admit you’d only stumbled into that perverted weirdo because you’d gone off on some foolhardy mission to investigate that strange noise. 

The strange noise you suddenly realize you haven’t heard all day. How curious. 

“Yes, I … I thought I saw someone through the window when we were in the library the other day.” You admit, deciding a tiny half truth couldn’t possibly get you into any more trouble. “That roused my suspicions enough, but then I happened to catch a glimpse of someone in the house when I — got up to fetch a glass of water in the night. I was very thirsty after the lesson in your bed, Master Zandik.” 

He stiffens slightly when you give the soft pudge on his side a playful pinch, emphasizing that reminder. Despite knowing full and well that it was technically wrong to leverage your sexuality like this in hopes of distracting him enough that he won’t think too hard about your story, you just can’t seem to stop putting your hand in the fire. Even if it was not with ideas of your own self preservation in mind, there’s simply no denying that you were still eager to invite his gently tempered attentions upon your body. 

The Doctor had been right about that too, as it turned out. You were so needy, so hungry to feel that carnal rush again that it seemed very little could actually deter you from seeking it out. A strict hand or a doting one. Evidently it didn’t matter. Not even the lingering throb across your ass could dissuade you for very long. 

And the best part is, it seems to work. 

Zandik shifts slightly underneath you, sinking lower into his chair so he can gather you more securely to his front. The hand in your underwear even slips out to grab at the meat of your thigh, using it as leverage to adjust the way you’re sitting in his lap. 

Suddenly you find yourself laying out on your back while he cradles you not unlike a baby to his chest. That almost manages to embarrass you and quell the stirring flame that flickers at your loins, but then his wrinkled hand comes to rest just at the twisted hem of your skirt, his long bony fingers stretching out over your soft thigh to give it an almost possessive squeeze. Much too close to your eager quim for you to think of anything else than him touching you there. 

And yet, Zandik’s attention remains on your face, not on what’s between your legs, keeping his chin tucked down as he looks over your expression. Reading your mood, maybe even your mind, taking you in and drinking up the sight of you curled so sweetly on his lap for him. 

“Were you, now?” He rumbles at length, his tone noticeably dropping an octave. Yes, yes, you were quickly getting the hang of this little sex kitten minx act, weren’t you? “If my memory serves me well, and I haven’t gone completely senile yet, I seem to recall you also had another lesson right here in the library that same day, didn’t you? What a greedy little girl you are, to demand two orgasms from me in such a short period. Do you remember what I taught you the first time I used my fingers on you here?” 

You slowly nod, biting down on your lower lip to chase away some of the hazy fog falling over your mind. It seemed inevitable when he talked to you like that, though. None of the segments made you feel the same way, not even close. 

“Yes, sir … you - you taught me how to ask for my cunt to be played with.” 

“Mmm. Very good. You really are a clever girl. And how do you ask for it, then?” 

Stamping down the urge to fidget and shy away from it, you sedately spread your legs for him so that they fall into a wide v where they’re hooked over the opposite armrest. The shift nudges your flouncy skirt further up with a near silent slither of the fabric, and you shoot a quick glance between your thighs to find that the edge of your panties is now exposed. 

Zandik turns his head to look as well, humming a soft sound of approval, encouraging you to keep going. And you do, reaching down to just pinch at the bulk of the material so you can slowly inch it up, up, exposing another tiny strip of your underwear at a time. Soon enough you can see that the cotton is plastered to the outline of your cunt, moulded to the pudge of fat little lips, and you almost start to have second thoughts about this. Maybe you should have cleaned up first. After all, the Doctor had teased and probed you only enough to get your excitable cunt drooling for him before taking his abrupt leave. Would Master Zandik take offense to that? 

The thought is out of your mind in an instant, dissolved like sugar in warm water, when he doesn’t hesitate to reach down and cup his palm over the puffy mound of your cunt. You shudder intensely at the sensation as much as at the visual, the latter making you feel almost dizzy with want. 

His hand just looks so thin and bony, with long spindly fingers that seem to stretch along the whole length of your slit and sharp, jutting knobs for knuckles, especially when framed against the soft, supple curve of your bracketing thighs. His skin wrinkled and worn while yours was smooth and glowing in your youth. Something about that sharp contrast seems to drive you crazy, and you needily buck against his hand, nudging your pelvis up into that territorial touch. 

“Very good.” Zandik croons at you, rewarding your sweet supplication of him with a stilted caress. “What a nice little student you are. I’m glad to see you were paying attention. Sometimes I have to wonder if you’re not doing so much of your thinking with this insatiable cunt that you don’t always hear everything I tell you.”

Whimpering a soft sound at that, you cant your hips again to tentatively grind yourself into the broad palm of his hand, seeking out your pleasure from him. “That’s not true, Master. I — I always listen. I want …” 

You trail off, suddenly overcome by stage fright and innocent bashfulness, but Zandik turns to glance down at you again, even while he continues to slowly rub over you. “What do you want, girl? I can’t know unless you tell me. Go on.”

That was certainly easy for him to say, wasn’t it? 

But you still do your best to be brave, even though you can’t quite bring yourself to look him in the face when you speak it aloud. 

“I want to … be good for you, Master Zandik.” 

What a humiliatingly infantile thing to say to someone who was old enough to be your grandfather!

And yet, it seems to strike a sensitive chord in him, and he shudders faintly with the low groan he breathes out, hand stilling against your cunt while he tries to wrangle his response back under control. 

“Is that so?” 

“Y - yes, sir. I do. I promise.” 

Rumbling a low sound that seems to vibrate through him and into you, Zandik gives your pussy an almost thoughtful pat, pat with his fingers. Then, seemingly making up his mind, he gives your shoulders a light nudge with the opposite hand. 

“That’s a very sweet thing of you to say to me, girl. Thank you for that. Why don’t you stand up for me, hm? If you want to be so good.” 

You aren’t sure what to think of that request but you don’t really stop long enough to question it either. The heated way he looks at you guarantees you don’t have the brain power for much thinking at the moment as you gingerly work to get yourself straightened out and then push up to stand. 

But when you try to turn around to face him, his hands come up to grab hold of your waist and stop you. 

“Stay like that for just a moment.” 

The following sensation of him grabbing the knotted bow of your apron manages to cut through the fog and surprise you enough that you give a little jolt. “M - Master? What are you doing?” 

“Something I probably should have done a long time ago, if you want the truth.” 

Even though you have no idea what to make of that answer you still obediently stand there while he works the bow loose with shuddering old fingers. The sensation of the garment soon falling open to hang from your shoulders makes you shiver slightly but he doesn't tell you to turn around just yet. Instead, Zandik reaches under the back of your skirt to locate the tops of your thigh high stockings where he spends a long stretch of moments simply fumbling with the little clasps holding them up. 

You start to strongly suspect what he’s doing now, but you can’t quite seem to find your voice when he finally reaches up again to grasp around your waist. Giving it a mild squeeze, he indicates for you to spin around. And you do, slowly, keeping your chin tucked down so you won’t have to peer into his face when you were so sure yours was probably pinched in alarm. 

It surprises you a great deal though. He’d never once tried to get you naked, only exposing your cunt to the air and to his machinations, but … even that night in his bedroom, he could have just as easily unbuttoned the top of your housekeeping uniform to pull your tits out and he hadn’t. You probably wouldn’t have even complained about it all that much in the hazy heat of the moment. Instead, he’d simply caressed and pinched, and kneaded your tit straight through your clothes. 

Now, however, something seems to be noticeably different. Zandik just has so much of his sharp attention fixed on you that you can’t help the way you start to feel self conscious or how vague little thoughts of worry begin to flash through your mind. What if he didn’t like your body as much as he currently thought he did? Were your breasts too large? Too small? And the love handles on your sides … 

Suddenly you don’t feel quite so eager with arousal anymore as you stand there, awkwardly fidgeting, while he takes his time ever so carefully pulling the apron from your body. He drops it somewhere down at his feet and then, same as before, he reaches under the dress to fiddle with the front clasps on the garterbelt this time. 

“M - Master?” 

“Hush. There’s no reason to start getting shy with me. I’d just like to see you, that’s all.” 

You don’t have the heart to reject his request, although you do secretly wish he’d at least leave you some small strip of clothing to give you even just a tiny sense of security. Even if it was entirely fake. To be perceived in the nude like that by a man was …

“There. They don’t make these things easy, do they? Lift your foot for me, girl. Put your hands behind you on the desk if you need to.”

Snapping out of your swirling thoughts, you peer down in plain faced uncertainty. But even when your heart pounds a wild, violent rhythm you still obey without question — such a stark difference from your interactions with the Doctor — as you carefully curl your leg up as he’d asked. 

Noising a vague sound of approval, Zandik bends to the task, head bowing, while he works to unlatch the two shiny buckles on your shoes. It’s clearly difficult for him, the tiny eyelets and clasps much too petite for his stiff, arthritic fingers, but he stubbornly keeps at it until he has both of them undone. 

Your shoe is summarily removed and dropped to the floor next to your apron before he goes back in to roll your stocking down the length of your leg. Once that’s gone, he allows himself just a brief moment to cradle your foot, pressing in on sensitive nerves and the chords of ligaments, squeezing the appendage softly, and then letting it go. 

At his instruction, you switch to the other side so he can repeat the process there too, and this time you need to use the desk to brace yourself. Despite how embarrassing this undoubtedly is, it’s still somehow fascinating to watch him work. The concentration along his wrinkled brow is regrettably attractive in a way that makes your chest and your pussy ache for him terribly. That serious set of his mouth, the way his eyes squint down at the small buckles as he grumbles something unkind under his breath about the shoemaker responsible for them. 

And it hits you at full force like a sack of bricks. 

Gods, you’ve never known anyone you found more attractive in all your life. 

In some utterly inexplicable way even his own segmented younger selves couldn’t quite compare with their variously covered faces and the lack of any truly unique identifying traits that you’ve seen thus far. 

You understand, then, why the Doctor hated Zandik so much. As long as he was alive, as long as he was still whole and kicking, he would always be the total sum of their individual parts. They were nothing more than redundancies of him. Even Omega, the one that was supposed to be in the prime of his life, intelligent and powerful, couldn’t truly match up to the whole and completed picture that was Zandik. 

It’s almost enough to bowl you over on the spot, but you say nothing of what you’re thinking when he at last gets that shoe and stocking removed as well. At his behest you lower that foot to the ground to stand before him, about an inch and a half shorter than you normally were. 

But if he notices it he certainly doesn’t seem to care. He’s a man seemingly on a mission now, and you suck in a slow, halting breath when he then reaches up to start fiddling with the first button at your throat. 

“Would you … like me to help you, Master?” You cautiously hedge, earning yourself a light scoff. 

“Impatient girl. That shouldn’t be necessary. I think I can manage this much on my own.” 

Even though he says that it still takes him a moment longer than it should for him to get the little fasten undone before he can move onto the next. Now he has something unkind to say about the garmentmaker, and the Doctor for giving this outfit to you, and you soon find yourself giggling over Zandik’s predicament even when he sends you a sharp look of warning. 

Your girlish titters are quick to subside, though, when he eventually gets the last button loosened and starts to nudge the top half back over your shoulders. It occurs to you then that he’s actually serious about undressing you right there in the middle of the library, regardless of who might walk in. 

A fluttering thrill zaps through your body as you move to oblige him, shrugging out of the top half of the dress and then pulling your arms through the sleeves. Then, with his help, you shimmy it down over your hips and step out of it to leave you standing in only your slip and the garterbelt underneath it, and your decidedly very damp panties. A small fraction of your earlier eagerness returns when you wonder what he planned to do with you, but he gives your fingers a halfhearted swat when you reach for the hem to pull the top half off. 

“Eager little thing.” Zandik softly chides you, slipping his hands underneath the breezy silk slip to find the garterbelt instead. “I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been patiently waiting for soon enough, but you must let me do what I need to do first. Nice things will only come for good girls that can wait. Do you understand?” 

You offer up a stilted nod of your head, torn equally between excitement and insecurity now. It was impossible to say when the last time was that someone saw you naked. Sometime long ago in your childhood, perhaps, but in this context … 

Trembling fitfully at the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your lower stomach while he makes quick work of relieving you of the belt, you abruptly find that it is getting harder and harder to breathe. Your skin aches for his touch so much that even just the faintest sensation of his fingers on your body makes you shudder and quake. It feels very much like you’re a firework set to go off at any moment, especially when he hooks into your panties and tugs those down as well. 

Now the only thing standing in the way is the laughably thin, flimsy barrier of your slip, but in all truth you’ve never felt quite as naked as you do then. Your nipples are tight and hard, seeking where they stick straight up through the silk, and your bare cunt … 

“I’m going to take this off now.” He warns, no doubt noticing the stricken look on your face. At your disoriented glance, confused by your own thoughts, Zandik stretches his arm up to curl a finger under the strap on one side of the garment, inching it down to hang off your shoulder. 

A quickly ratcheting thread of tension settles low in your gut as you nod to him, much too busy focusing on pulling oxygen into your lungs to respond verbally. Eager now to set his eyes upon you, Zandik wastes no time tugging the other side down and then ever so carefully inching the slip down the length of your body, one tortuous fraction at a time. Your tits are the first to spill free and you suck in a sharp little rattling gasp at the sensation of silk being drug over those painfully hard points before they hit the air. Bare and vulnerable.

Then it trails lower and lower, down the length of your stomach to briefly bunch around your hips before he can nudge them the rest of the way down where they finally pool around your ankles. 

And suddenly you’re as naked as the day you were born, standing in front of the old man who unabashedly drags his eyes over every single inch of you. He neither shies away from any one part of your body nor does he skim past anything in a way that would suggest it was unimportant to him. It’s as if all of you inspires some amount of fascination in his mind, even the most benign places you wouldn’t have even thought to give a second glance. 

Yet, Zandik lingers on your arms and your clavicle just as much as he does the full weight of your tits. The grabbable pudge at your sides you’d felt so self conscious about a moment ago he now caresses almost lovingly with his eyes, and the soft swell of your lower tummy gets the same attention too. You’d thought he might expect perfection from you but, on the contrary, it’s almost as if the proof that you were simply human, nothing more and nothing less, is what endears him the most. 

The potent fertility of your young body has never been so starkly obvious as it is when he reaches out with a thin, faltering hand to palm over the side of your hip. You sway unsteadily at the contact of withered fingers on your bare skin, thrumming for him at an intensity that nearly immobilizes you and renders you mute. 

This should feel wrong to you. It should have you shirking away and choking on tears, mourning the loss of your innocence as much as your dignity. 

But it doesn’t. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, dragging the cool pad of his thumb over the faint crease along your waist. “What a lovely little thing you are, girl. I wonder how I got so lucky as to have you at this late stage. The things I would have done to you even just twenty years ago …” 

Breathing out a heavy sigh through his nose, Zandik nudges your hip now to indicate that he wants you to turn. And when you comply it feels like you’re moving through molasses the way your limbs feel so distant and numb, slowly shuffling to the side where his bony hand slides forward to palm across your tummy, holding you in place. 

His other set of fingers come up to lightly trace over the curve of your ass to make you twitch, whining a low sound at the sensation. Your bottom still feels hot to the touch, tender and heavy where it sits on your backside, but the thought of pulling away from him doesn’t even occur to you. He’s perfectly gentle in the way he caresses the sore skin with wrinkled fingertips before then placing his palm across one globular cheek to rub it. Slow and soft, apologetic even. 

Carefully turning your head, you glance back over your shoulder only to feel a tiny little thrill curl through you when you find Zandik peering up at you. Watching your reactions even while he tries to rub the lingering hurt from your bottom. 

“I’m sorry I spanked you without knowing the full story first. I truly mean that.” He tells you quietly, and you’re sure he means it. 

Your mouth starts to move but nothing comes out so you have to pause, swallow down the rock lodged in your throat, and then try again. “It’s alright, Master. I … I understand why you were upset with me.” 

“It’s really not.” He insists, dropping his gaze when he bends close to press a lingering kiss to your hip where he keeps his head bowed for a long moment before coming back up. “I should’ve known better. I knew you weren’t a bad girl, so I’m not sure why I jumped straight to assuming the worst. I said such terrible things to you.” 

Carefully reaching down, you find the crown of his head with your fingers and gently run them through the wavy strands, smoothing it back slightly. As much as it had hurt in the moment, both the smack of his hand and the barbed words he’d spit at you, it still pulls at something in your chest to see him like this. You would have forgiven him even without his apologies, understanding on some level that you’d invited those consequences into your life with your own behaviors. But when he drops his pride enough to show you this much remorse for his actions …

“Please don’t continue to beat yourself up about that, Master. Sometimes it does feel like this place is going to slowly turn me into that, so it may not have been so far from the truth. But if I’m allowed to be a little selfish, I … I’d like to give you all of me before anyone else can take it first. I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

Groaning some quiet, long suffering sound, Zandik bows his head again, pressing the wrinkled line of his brow against your soft hip. He recovers quickly though and the hand on your ass slides up to cup the swell of your cheek, lifting it slightly as he ducks down to press another kiss to the aching flesh. 

You suck in a sharp breath at the sensation of his mouth so very close to your nether regions, but then he straightens in his chair and pulls you around to face him again. At his nudging insistence, you shuffle right up into the space against his legs and watch, wide eyed, as he leans up to catch one stiff nipple between his lips. 

Your mouth drops open in some startled amalgamation of shock and arousal, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away when he gives the teat a quick suck and then pulls back with a wet little pop to leave it coated in a thin sheen of saliva. Zandik rolls his eyes up towards your face at the sound of your stilted inhale, observing your reaction, watching you as you watch him slip his tongue out to lightly flick at the coiled bud. Just nudging it up and down. Up and down. Slow and steady, deliberate. 

Such an intense shudder tears through your body that you nearly levitate straight up onto your toes, stumbling when your knees nearly give out. But the hand that once rested along your ass now comes up to lock around your back, to hold you in place and stop you from scuttling back. At the same time his other hand slips into the space between your legs, bullying the tight press of your thighs apart where you’d been squeezing them in a blithe attempt to alleviate some of the pressure there. He finds your slit with familiar confidence, using the long press of his fingers to rub over the dimpled apex in casual, knowing circles that only make you crave him so much more than you already do. 

Groaning a wavering sound of fast building pleasure, you tip your head back to bask in the rush of sensation while your hands come up to latch onto his thin shoulders. Zandik gives your back a brief squeeze of acknowledgement, encouraging you to give yourself over to him more, to relent more and to offer more of your body up to his perusal. 

And you do, gladly. Happily. Your mouth drops open on a wounded little mewl when he takes your achingly stiff nipple between his lips again to noisily suckle at the teat, making sure you can hear the way his mouth works around the bud. The way his jaw flexes against the meat of your breast, the heated exhale he breathes out through his nose, the hand dragging over your cunt to smear liquid arousal, encouraging you to make more for him … 

It all culminates to have you very close to the edge by the time he finally pulls back, seemingly with no shortage of effort when he forces himself to disengage from your thrumming body. You can’t help the way you whine a needy sound in response to the loss, but it quickly morphs into an eager, salacious groan when he reaches up to palm at your waist with a possessive pinch. 

“I want you to sit on the desk for me. Right on the edge.” He tells you with a noted hint of urgency. 

You shuffle back half a step, bumping into the table behind you harder than you’d meant to. But you feel well and truly drunk now, intoxicated by the hot urges of your own skin, and you blindly grip at the ledge of the table as you turn to glance down at what’s already on top of it. 

The book he’d been referencing for the last few days is still sitting open, pen set aside as if in wait for him to resume his note scribbling. Zandik quickly leans forward, however, and he shoves everything directly in front of him to the opposite side to nearly send the tome flying. He does knock an orderly stack of papers off in the process though, along with a small screwdriver that goes rolling across the floor, but he doesn’t appear to care about any of that right now. 

At his encouragement, you somewhat awkwardly shift to get your butt lifted up onto the desk, hissing at the hard pressure, and then you use your hands to pull yourself a bit more securely on top of it. Your heart slams out such an incomprehensible rhythm against your ribcage that it seems to make your eyes vibrate as you watch him sit forward in his chair, grabbing at your ankles to direct them out to either side. 

“Brace your feet on the armrests for me. That’s it. Good girl. Don’t be shy.”

A very real part of you can’t believe you’re doing this. Everything feels so surreal, hazy and immaterial around the edges like some sort of fever dream, and yet there’s no mistaking the utterly shameless way you let your legs drop open for him. There’s still a self conscious thread of uncertainty in the back of your mind that just won’t seem to go away when you’d never been looked at in this way by a man before. You’re not sure what to expect from him. 

But Zandik’s reaction is resoundingly enthusiastic when he groans a quiet, rumbling noise of desire when he looks upon you, fully opening yourself up to him in this way. His sharp gaze fixes intently on the spot between your legs where he takes a moment to just drink you in, studying the fleshy press of your slit, the curls framing it and the hint of petal soft folds that peak out at him. 

His attention is so profound, in fact, that you eventually start to squirm, almost painfully aware of how your clit preemptively throbs for him and the way your pussy just keeps weeping for more of his touch. 

And when he finally gives it to you, winding his hands under and then up to latch onto the cushiony grip of your thighs, tugging your pelvis right to the very edge of the desk, you feel like you just might faint dead away. Even when you half expect it, even when you’re silently begging him for it, watching him bend his head over your defenseless cunt still shocks a flustered squeak out of you. 

“M - Master Zandi — eek!” 

The tip of his tongue just nudges your swollen clit but it’s enough to nearly send you jolting right up off the table. His spindly hands dig deep into the pudge around your thighs to hold you in place while he slowly, lazily flicks that pulsing bud back and forth. Back and forth. Teasing it with the suggestion, giving you a much needed chance to process and come to terms with what’s happening. He was really putting his mouth on you. Just like he’d said he would. 

Trembling uncontrollably now, you first twitch back from that strange feeling and he simply follows you, insistent that you would acclimate and let him eat you the way he wants. It’s more than a little overwhelming, not to mention embarrassing to see him bent to your cunt like that. But, to your surprise, you warm up to it quickly, relaxing into the sensitive judders rather than trying to run away from them. 

You hiss a strangled sound and haltingly roll your pelvis towards him now, digging your heels into the armrests to leverage yourself. Zandik hums a quiet sound of approval into your pussy, retracting his tongue for a brief moment to wet it and swallow the taste of you. Then he comes back up to press the flat of his tongue to that receptive pearl, lightly dragging it from side to side. That fleshy bud rolls with the motion, grinding under his attention, and you beautifully heave for him in response as you lean back on your braced hands so you can stretch out for him. Languid and luxuriant in the way you offer your pussy up to his wicked machinations. 

Pulling back a moment later with another low, gravel edged groan, he gives his head an almost disbelieving shake. “Gods, girl. You really are going to be the death of me at this rate.” 

“I … I don’t taste — unpleasant, do I?” You shyly ask, peering down at him over the swell of your tits and the crease of your belly where he sends you a sharp look of warning. 

“Not even a little bit. As expected, you’re just as sweet as you look. And don’t ever utter such nonsense in my presence again, do you understand me? I don’t like to keep repeating myself.”

“Mm … y - yes, sir.” 

Nodding once as if to indicate that this matter was put to rest now, he shifts slightly in his chair to get comfortable or perhaps even to find a better angle from which to attack you. Giving your trapped thighs another bony squeeze, he leans down again. 

But this time instead of going straight for your clit, he takes a long, wet swipe from the bottom of your cunt right up to the top. You give a full bodied twitch when he passes over the delicate button at the top and then huff a vaguely impatient groan when he redirects his mouth back down towards the center of your slit. 

Here, Zandik tips his head slightly to one side so that he can kiss you; big, sloppy, open mouthed smooches that leave behind the sticky residue of saliva and slowly works the puffy press of your lips open. This only seems to highlight how very soaked you are, honeyed and drippy where the byproduct of your own excitable youth gathers in a copious mess along the seam. And he drinks from it as if you were a fountain, greedily lapping up the excess so he can swallow it down his gullet. 

It makes you throb, stiffly squirming there atop the desk when you’re so primed and ready to feel him mouthing at the spot you really want him to focus in on again. But he takes his time with this instead, slowly turning the opening of your body into a viscous, creamy mess, driving you wild in the process. 

And you very nearly sob in relief once he finally — finally! Worms his tongue into the malleable grip of your labia to tongue at your entrance, poking and prodding, and just dipping it into the tight heat of your cunt. It’s an odd sensation but not exactly unpleasant, and you heave a sucker punched noise when you feel your insides try to clamp down on that hot, wet appendage when it slips inside. There’s nothing for you to squeeze or cling to though, and his tongue just seamlessly glides back and forth for a drawn out stretch of seconds, fucking you with it. 

Your toes painfully curl on the armrest as your head lolls back, boneless and stupefied to mewl another helpless moan up at the ceiling. “Master, please! I need you …” 

Scoffing a muffled laugh into your cunt, Zandik gives your gooey hole one last, vigorous suck to make you yelp before pulling back with a faltering yet deeply pleased sigh. “Yes, yes, girl. I’m well aware how needy you are. You’re lucky I feel like spoiling you a little bit today, but be warned. Next time I just might hold you down and make you take whatever I decide to give you.” 

Just the thought of that sends intense, hotly sparking shockwaves through your already thrumming system to leave you shaking on his desk. The old man between your legs chuckles at the reaction, clearly enjoying the way you respond to him almost as much as you love the way he seems to give you no choice but to respond in such a noticeable way. 

You can’t quite manage to stop it or get a hold of yourself as you tip your face down, chin tucking close to your chest, so you can look at him through the hazy fall of your eyelashes. Zandik gives you a sharp little crook of his mouth while he slides one of his hands off your thigh, moving inward, to find the aching bundle of nerves at the top of your slit with his thumb. 

“Is this what you want, darling girl? Do you want me to put my mouth here again?” 

You eagerly nod, not even trying to hide how desperate you are for it. 

But he only hums a brief sound of acknowledgement as he lightly brushes the worn pad of his thumb over your clit. Barely nudging it back and forth. “I know you want it, but how badly? You’ll have to use your words to tell me.” 

The tight knot in your chest seems to swell, nearly choking you up. “I … I want it very much, sir. I want to c - cum for you.” 

“Mmm. Not a bad answer.” Zandik rewards you by increasing the pressure on your clit somewhat, speeding up his ministrations only enough to nudge at it more keenly. It still wasn’t enough though. “But how do you want it? What method shall we use to get you there, hm?” 

You can’t help the way you whimper at that. Even knowing he was taunting you with it, coaxing the words out of you, even when he’s got his face between your thighs, you hesitate to give it voice. You’d never spoken so crassly before. 

“Oh, that is an adorable look on you, but there’s nothing for you to fret over. You can do it. Use your big girl words, now.” 

Trembling so fitfully you have to close your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself in reality, unable to keep looking at him like that, you give your head a numb, slow motion shake. “Nghn! Ooughn … I - oh, blessed mother — I want you to … put your mouth on me again, Master. Please. Please luh - lick me some more until … until …”

“Until what, sweetness?” 

“Mmnghn. Until I — cum on your tongue. Sir.” 

A visible tremor works through Zandik’s body, culminating in a low groan that falters from his mouth. He wants that too, and it makes you feel marginally better about what you’ve just said, what shameful words you’ve spoken to your Master, even when your head seems to spin dizzily fast. 

“Such a good girl you are for me. And how could I possibly ever deny you any request when you ask it of me so nicely?” 

He dips his head then, sliding his thumb away to possessively curve over the soft pudge of your lower belly instead, and you hold the air in your lungs so hard it hurts.  

But that breath instantly punches out of you when he flattens his tongue to that swollen little pearl to drag and grind it in an abrupt rush of wet, fleshy friction. Such an explosive thrill of delight shoots through your thrumming body that you nearly come completely up off the table, the sharp jut of his hands the only thing keeping you pinned in place. 

And yet you quickly recover, using your feet braced on the armrests of his chair to rear against his mouth in a blind, supplicating search for more. Luckily he seems to be perfectly happy to give it to you now that you’ve politely asked for it, and he laps vigorously at your pulsing cunt even when your thighs start to quake around his head. 

It almost shocks you how rapidly the tension in your gut swells, doubling and then tripling, to have you weakly swaying on top of the desk in pure, doped out bliss. As much as you’d loved the friction of his fingers playing in your pussy, his tongue seems to be on another level entirely, and your eyes soon begin to roll back in your head while you inch ever closer towards the edge of oblivion. 

What finally sends you into a convulsing fit of spasms another moment later are his hands, abandoning your thigh and your stomach to slide up the quivering length of your body. Zandik finds the meat of your tits and squeezes them tight before finding the sharply pointed nipples with his fingers. He gives them both a stinging little tweak and a fleshy tug and, just like it did down in the cellar, that seems to send you careening straight into a vertigo-inducing free fall when the thread suddenly snaps. 

The orgasm slams into you full force as if you’ve just been consumed by a tidal wave that crashes over you and swallows you up in an instant. You jolt hard enough that the desk vaguely rattles underneath you, squealing a dire sound of immense pleasure as you dig your toes into the armrests and instinctively lift your pelvis in an attempt to escape his tongue. But it’s no use, he’s got you situated in front of him in such a way that no amount of mindless bucking and shuddering can seem to dislodge him from your cunt, and all you truly succeed in doing is grinding yourself on his mouth even more. 

Your arms quickly grow too tired to hold you up any longer as you judder through the throes of your release, wailing a threadbare, faltering moan as your upper slowly body sinks down lay out across Zandik’s desk. And still, he just continues to hungrily eat at you even when your pussy seems to flood around his tongue to a truly obscene degree. You’d never felt so copiously slick in your entire life, but somehow that helps to ease you down from that heart pounding high over the next long stretch of minutes while you gradually fit yourself back into your own head. 

The rosy aftermath leaves you panting for breath, sweaty and so very, very turned on you almost can’t stand it. Even before he gives your clit one last, lingering suck, starting to straighten up from your sopping wet core, you know you still want him to touch you more. Lick you more. Caress and pinch, and hold and squeeze you more and more, and more. 

It felt like it could never be enough. Not truly. 

“My goodness, girl. You’re certainly a leaky little thing, aren’t you?” He rumbles, snapping you out of your lolling stupor enough to bring your chin down, looking at him along the heaving sprawl of your body. 

You watch, feeling somehow hungrier than ever, as he swipes at his mouth with a shaky hand to rid it of some of the pussy juice coating his skin. It doesn’t really work though, and you can still see it glistening faintly when he takes his fingers away. And something about it stirs a surprised chord in the back of your mind. Had you really cum that much? 

That thought seems to stoke at the simmering heat within you, and you eagerly bring your thighs together in a tight press that, of course, catches his attention and brings his gaze back up. 

“Please, Master … can we — keep going?” 

His grumpy brows lift in unconcealed surprise. “And you don’t know how to quit while you’re ahead, either. You’ll have to make do with my fingers though. I can’t eat needy little girls out all day, you know.” 

“N - noooo.” You whine softly, rubbing your thighs in a tighter press to match your quickly ratcheting excitement. But you couldn’t think of anything else at that moment. You had to have it. “No fingers, sir. I — I want to have your cock …” 

Zandik goes very still at that shy admittance. He just looks at you for a long stretch of moments, watching the way you not so subtly writhe in place there in front of him. Too eager to sit still and so caught up in the low pulse of wanting in your cunt that you don’t even seem to care about how very nude you are. 

Ready and wanting. For him. 

Finally clearing his throat with a thick cough, he sits up a bit straighter while his mouth tugs into a serious, contemplative frown. 

“You don’t mean that.” He murmurs at length. 

“I do, Master. I really do.”

Zandik shoots you a plainly tortured look. “Yes, you certainly think that, don’t you? But as much as I may want to, there’s something that you simply must understand. I am but an old man, you silly girl. I don’t know how good I can actually make it for you in this state.”

You slowly push up on your elbows to get a better look at him, meeting his gaze head on. And you give Zandik a tremulous little smile as you implore him with hopeful eyes, trying not to turn bashful. “I don’t care much about that, sir. I swear. It’s just … I want it to be with you, that’s all. Not somebody else. Even if it only lasts for a moment or two, I’ll be happy as long as you’re the one who — takes me first. That’s all I want.” 

He starts to turn away, screwing his eyes shut as if you’ve just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. “Burn everything, girl! You can’t say things like that to a man who’s old enough to be your father! No, it’s even worse than that! I could be your grandfather!” 

“B - but it’s true - -“ 

“Dammit! I don’t care if it’s true or not!” 

Abruptly shoving his chair back with a scrape of the legs on the floor, Zandik stands up so fast he nearly unbalances and tips over. A quick hand slapped against the desk next to your thigh is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he heavily hunches over you as if he were some kind of heaving, snarling, half starved beast.

It startles you more than a little bit and you peer up at him with widened eyes, yet so utterly, perfectly calm even when his lips pull back to sneer at you that he can’t seem to catch the laugh that barks out of him. 

Hanging his head as if in defeat, he reaches up to remove his monocle which he sets aside with a sharp little click on the desk. He stands there for another moment longer, just letting his head droop between his shoulders, before he finally gives his neck a stiff shake. 

Then, scoffing a harsh sound, he pushes himself upright to loom over you, prone and pliant where you’re spread out in willing, open invitation before him. He barely even looks at you now though, as he sets in to yank rather aggressively at his belt, and it does not escape your notice that his fingers seem to falter more than usual. 

“Damn stupid girl. Look at what you’re doing to me.” He grumbles under his breath, his narrow chest heaving slightly against the front of his shirt. “Look what you’ve asked me to do to you. There must be something wrong with you in the head to want to give yourself over to the likes of me. Do you really think I’m someone who deserves to take your virginity?” 

“I do.” You tell him honestly, sounding distant and dreamy. Unable to hide your excitement at his acquiescence, your victory. 

But he shoots you a brief, no less grumpy look of warning before dropping his attention back down to focus on the unbuttoning of his slacks. “You’re a damned fool. I really hope you know that. You’re supposed to want better for yourself.  You should want to be on top of a comfortable bed right now, not sprawled out on some old man’s desk. You should want it to be with someone — special to you.” 

“You are special.” 

He stills, the set of his brow truly anguished. And yet, he only takes that short moment to collect himself, to relocate his mile wide ego and steel himself with it. 

Grunting a tight, anticipatory sound in the back of his throat, Zandik at last gets his pants unfastened and he shoves them down his hips, along with his underwear, to a quiet rattle of the loose belt. One wrinkled hand comes up then, sliding under his shirt and drawing up his stomach to lift the material, while the other grabs at his bobbing cock to give it a tight squeeze. So tight it makes his knuckles protrude through the paper thin skin over them. A strange detail for you to notice when he points it down at you, right at the messy spot between your legs. 

“Is this what you want?” He grumbles wretchedly. 

You’re almost too fixated on staring at his cock to respond, dumbly nodding your head in a mute affirmative. Eating you out must have been an exciting experience for him, and the final nail in the coffin had likely come when you’d asked him to deflower you. Because he is hot and hard, the ruddy pink glans winking at you when he gives his length a savory pump to make the foreskin momentarily bunch in a noticeably sticky pucker before then drawing it back. Exposing the head and tucking the sheath of extra skin back behind the raised ridge. 

Gods, you could watch him do that a million times and you’re sure you wouldn’t grow tired of seeing it. The sight alone is enough to have your pussy eagerly throbbing for him, clenching around nothing, as you impatiently fidget, and he seethes a pained hiss at the shameless display. 

“Then show me how much you want it. Go on, then. Spread your legs wide for me, girl. Let me have a good look at your little pussy before I take it for myself.” 

You’re vibrating at such a hitherto unknown frequency that you don’t even really stop to consider what you’re doing or who you’re inviting in. You just immediately drop your legs apart into a wide v and present your weeping cunt to him without an ounce of hesitation. He was right. You did want it bad. 

“Gods. Just look at you.” Slowly reaching out, Zandik lightly runs the tip of his fingers down your slit to smear the excess of arousal gathered there, tracing over you a few times before pulling his hand back. 

And you watch, your throat a suddenly bone dry wasteland, as he proceeds to wipe that liquid arousal over the tip of his rigid length, mixing your juices with his own tiny, glistening bead of precum to leave the skin visibly coated in a fine sheen. 

“I’ve never seen a girl want cock like you do. You look like you’re starving for it even after I already made you cum once. Greedy.” 

“I … I’m sorry, Master.”

“Don’t be. It’s unexpectedly endearing. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also a heady ego boost on top of that. Now …” Releasing a slow, wavering breath, Zandik lifts his unoccupied hand to gently nudge at the back of your nearest thigh. “I want you to grab under your knees and fold them up towards your chest for me. Make sure you don’t let them go until I tell you to, alright? I need enough space to work you open first before you start pawing at me.”

Your chest tightens slightly at the admonishment, but you know he’s right. Already you want to grab him and yank him against you, to rub yourself on him like a cat in heat, and he hadn’t even stuck it in yet. How embarrassing. 

You do as he’d asked though, slipping your hands down to hook behind the bends of your knees so you can hold them up in the air. This position lifts your shoulders from the desk enough that you have a perfect view down your front and you can see the way your puffy cunt lips spread slightly in the stretch. Zandik sees it too, and he groans a rattling sound even as he shuffles right up to the edge of the desk to stand over you. 

Using the one hand to guide himself, he angles his cock close to brush the head against exposed, velvety soft folds. Just acquainting you with the touch of him there, giving you one last chance to make a better decision and allow him a moment to steady himself. Then he presses in a little deeper to sink into the fleshy embrace of your inner labia, letting the fleshy pudge grip around the glans for a moment while he slowly drags it through the sticky mess he’s already made of you. Up and down. Up. And then back down again. Sedate and steady. 

A breathless moan slips out as you watch him, his head bowed in concentration to let the wave of his hair hang down in his face. You’d never seen someone look so good before, and you also hadn’t realized how nerve wracking this would be even when you want it more than anything else. There’s a certain apprehension in the back of your mind, a nervousness that can’t quite be quelled by your arousal. Once you let him do this to you there would be no coming back from it. 

But you were already sinking deep into the pits of hell and had been since the first day you arrived here. No. Even before that. Likely since you stepped foot inside the Northland Bank. That was the true cause of your downfall. This was just the end result of it. 

And you hold your breath tight in your lungs when you realize he’s working his way up to it, ensuring both you and him are adequately lubricated when he carefully flexes his hips to send that galvanized flesh skirting up the length of your slit. Slow at first, but he seems to quickly pick up the pace, letting his own urges take over while he fucks himself within the meaty press of your cunt lips. 

Huffing harder now, faster, Zandik finally angles his narrow hips back to pull away from you. Then, in one shockingly fluid motion, he angles his cock straight out and leans back into the cradle between your thighs, spearing through tender creases and folds on a stilted push to find your entrance. 

He hits it dead center, too, and he immediately starts to sink in. A rough, wheezing gasp catches in your throat, mouth dropping open, but not even a peep comes out as you watch the length of him gradually disappear inside of you. 

The glans is easy to accept, your inner walls so soft and gooey, swollen with the intense need for this, exactly this. But the more of it he feeds into you the more you start to feel the stretch. Even when you're slippery and puffy for him, it’s still the first time you’ve ever taken anything like this. And it doesn’t exactly help how very hot he is, how heavy, how he seems to pulse within you when he lets out a faltering groan of immense pleasure. 

Shuddering intensely there on his desk, you shyly roll your eyes upward to look at him. Zandik is too busy looking down at your cunt spread open around him, watching the way you take him, watching how well you take him, to notice where your attention is at, and you’re free to sear this image of him into your brain. His head cocked slightly to one side, his brow knitted half in concentration and half in stricken agony at the tight heat of you encompassing his cock. The little frown that tugs at his wizened mouth as if he was so absorbed in the experience of you that it was taking all of his focus to fully appreciate it. 

Maybe he was committing this all to memory too. You knew you would certainly never be able to close your eyes without seeing the image of him hunching over you like this for the rest of your life. 

“Ooughn. That’s one hell of a grip you’ve got, girl.” He hisses at last, when he’s forced to come to a halt when he’s wedged only half of the way inside. Pausing to catch his breath. “You need to relax a little bit. It doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

You shake your head, still too stunned to speak. And you do try to relax, but it’s so terribly hard to do when you feel like a livewire set to go off any given second, wound too tight and panting for more of his cock. 

Zandik heaves a stuttering breath, releasing his cock so he can reach out and find your clit in the slippery mess coating your pussy. Softly nudging it with the broad width of his thumb, he uses his other hand to shove the front of his shirt up again, exposing more of his body to your voracious eyes. 

You’re not entirely sure if it’s the added stimulation he provides or if it’s just the sight of his soft, slightly rounded tummy pressing in on your pubic mound like that, the wispy little hairs that lead straight down to the base of his cock, but something about it makes you positively gush around him. You can feel it oozing out of you like warm honey, wetting anything and everything it comes into contact with, and you shake helplessly. 

And when he stiffly pivots his hips back, withdrawing from your tight clutch so far that he nearly slips out of you only to come gliding right back up a split second later, he sinks in even deeper this time. This was likely what he’d meant about needing the space to open you first, you realize, groaning a haggard mewl as you glance down to watch in rapt fascination while he does just that. His thrusts just keep getting smoother and smoother, longer, the more he fucks into you like that, using tiny little jabs of his cock to coax your pussy into relenting to him. Even if it wanted to deny him, and you’re quite sure it didn’t, his cock turns out to be very persuasive. 

Soon enough he’s executing fuller thrusts and you can’t seem to stop the mindless bleating that punches out of your chest. He never quite works his way up to a hard and fast tempo but those long, drawn out, patient strokes are more than enough to drive you well out of your mind. 

“There! That’s it. Mmmnghhn. And doesn’t that feel better, girl? Look at how nice you’re taking me now.” He croons at you, praising you, even while he pants heavily at the exertion. “How do you like that cock in your little cunt, huh? Better than my fingers?” 

You frantically bob your head in a delirious nod, chest hitching as you struggle to find your voice. “Yuh - … yes, sir, yes, I do! I do. I love it, Master! I — ooughn! I love your - your cock! It feels so good …”

He has to close his eyes to brace against what you’re saying, the rhythm of his hips faltering slightly before he can recover. “Fuck. You really have no idea what you’re doing to me. I can’t take it at this age. You’re going to have me shooting off like an over eager schoolboy here in a moment … ughhn! And you feel so good too. Wish I could stay in this needy pussy all day. Ahhn, but I’m sure you’d like that just as much as I would, wouldn’t you?”

A keening sob slips out of you. “Yes, Master! I - I would! I want it …”

Rumbling a deep, uniquely masculine grunt, Zandik lets go of his shirt again and hunches further over you, smacking that palm down on the desk next to your head. You whimper slightly as you peer up at him through the inebriating fog hanging heavy over you and he peers right back, watching your expression closely while his hips continue to sedately fuck into your dripping cunt. For a split second, you wonder how you must look to him in that moment. 

But then he leans down, swooping to catch your mouth in a heated kiss that sends a tingling zap of static electricity racing through your body, right down to the tips of your flexing toes. You’re so pleasantly startled by the sudden gesture that you almost forget yourself, recalling his instructions at the last second, and you stubbornly readjust your hold under your knees. Even as you crane your neck up to meet him, kissing him back with wild abandon, you continue to hold your legs open for him so he can freely jab away at your cunt. 

His thrusts turn a little sharper then, evidently spurned on by the unhesitating way you kiss him, and you groan a heady sound into his mouth when your eyes start to edge back in your skull. Your pussy really feels like it’s melting for him now, so sensitive and thrumming, swelling with a kinetic energy that tells you another orgasm isn’t that far off. And you’re glad for that, so happy you could just weep, especially when Zandik proceeds to snake his tongue into your mouth, claiming every possible inch of you.  

He soon pulls back though, huffing and puffing in the scant space that separates you from him now. The old man takes this chance to study your pinched expression up close, lingering on the way you stare up at him as if in a drunken, dreamy haze. 

Something he sees must strike a chord in him though, because he winces, stricken, and tucks his face in close to press his forehead against yours. For once, his skin is not the perpetually cool balm you were accustomed to it being. 

“Burn it all, girl. I’m about to cum. Where do you want it? Quick.” 

For a delayed moment, you’re not quite sure what he’s even asking. And then it hits you. 

And such an intensely powerful shudder wracks through your sweat coated body that you feel yourself get that much closer to the drop off into oblivion too. 

“Oughnn! In … inside, Master, please! I want it — wanna’ feel it …” 

He seethes a vicious sound, twitching hard against you. “Damned idiot. Aghn! You’re giving me far too much of yourself, you know that?” 

Gasping much like a beached fish, you tip your head back to nudge at his brow and a tiny flutter of pure delight dances through your chest when he cracks his eyes open to look at you. 

“I want you to have it, Master … I want you to have every part of me. Mmnghn, please — please, let me choose who I give this to.”

“Ooh. You don’t need to ask for it so sweetly, girl. You can have whatever you want from me.” Pausing to pull in a raggedly clipped breath, he stiffly pushes himself up just enough to drive his hips into you a little harder, more urgently, tipping his head back with a groan. “Let go of your legs if you want. I’m close. If you’re going to change your mind, you’d better do it fast.” 

In truth you don’t even give it so much as a second thought, but you are quick to release your knees so you can throw your hands up around his neck. The loose tie under his collar lightly sways between the two of you, dragging along the center of your bouncing chest, and your nipples turn into painfully tight puckers at the sensation. Your flooding cunt, too, tightens to an almost incomprehensible degree, squeezing him like a vice, while you watch Zandik start to tremble over top of you. 

His thrusts gradually turn stilted and uneven before devolving into a near frantic bucking of his hips, jostling you against the desk. It’s clearly taking a lot out of him, this level of exertion, and the limited range of movement in his old body seems to frustrate him more than he’d likely ever admit aloud. But he stubbornly keeps fucking into you, even when he suddenly lurches with a wounded groan, needing to use both hands braced on the table to steady himself while he simply relies on his momentum and center of gravity to slam into you once, twice, a painfully tense third time, and then —

He freezes up, grimacing at the sheer force of how hard he cums inside of you. And you know that’s what it is because you can feel it pumping deep into your guts, the way his cock twitches and throbs, contracting to deposit his sticky load so far into your body you can’t help but wonder if it will ever come out. Maybe you don’t even want it to, though. 

It passes quickly however, much faster than your orgasms seem to subside, and Zandik goes completely boneless over you in what seems only a matter of moments. His shoulders hunched and shuddering while he struggles to catch his breath. Your pussy gives a distant little throb of wanting but you decide to ignore it for right now as you reach up with a careful hand to brush away some of the hair sticking to his face. 

That appears to catch his attention enough to have him focusing back in on you again, and his mouth promptly tugs into a halfhearted smirk. The cad. 

“That’s what you do to me.” He says at last, clearly trying for rueful but it doesn’t really work when he’s still softly wheezing. “You’re going to put me in an early grave at this rate. I’m sure that egomaniac will be quite pleased with that end result. Maybe that’s the real reason he brought you here.” 

“Don’t say that, Master.” You murmur, sliding your hand into place to cup his wrinkled cheek now. 

Scoffing, Zandik reaches up to grab at those fingers, giving them a tight, shaky squeeze before lowering them from his face. “Don’t mind me. I never was very good at pillow talk. Perhaps you can ask Feofan about that some time.” 

Groaning a spent sound of complete and utter satiation, he starts to gingerly ease himself back, slipping out of you. Your body gives a sensitive twitch when you feel him slip free of your clinging grip and you can’t help but whine a needy sound at how very empty you are in the aftermath. Even when you can feel the hot, simmering presence of his seed deep within you, it’s still somehow not enough. Never enough where he was concerned, it seemed. 

“Don’t pout.” Zandik exhales a very heavy sigh as he leans over you again, one hand braced on the desk next to your hip while the other — 

His fingers are suddenly in your cunt, spearing up into your guts on a seamlessly unhindered glide to fill you up in place of his cock. You go ramrod stiff, eyes wide and unseeing as you supplicatingly arch your back hard enough to make your tits bounce. And you quickly find yourself twisting in a helpless writhe on those insidiously long digits, squealing a harried sound of delight when he jabs them into your quaking guts. 

“How are you still not tired yet?” He murmurs, giving his tongue a chiding click. “I really can’t keep up with you like this. I guess that must be the reason old men aren’t all that popular with young, pretty girls, hm?” 

You think you should probably respond to that, that you should tell him you didn’t want anyone closer to your age, only him, but you can’t seem to find the oxygen to speak. His fingers are considerably more vigorous than his cock in the way they fuck into you, hare and fast, delving deep into the clutching grip of your pussy to drive you nearly mad with it. He churns your insides up like this, working his own spend into a frothing, bubbly mess that you can feel slowly dripping and oozing out of you. 

Your cunt positively eats it up though, thrumming in rapturous delight as your impending orgasm starts to creep up on you again. It turns your mind melty and empty of anything other than thoughts of him. How good he’d felt with his cock buried deep inside your body, how his fingers seem to pluck you to vibrating fever pitch as if he were a professional musician. How good he smells. How handsome. How devastatingly intelligent. 

How being with him like this seems to make all of your suffering over the last day or so feel totally worth it and that you just might do it all again if it meant this was waiting for you at the end. 

And then he bends his head close, catching one of your stiff teats in that wicked mouth of his to suck and flick, and lick, and you nearly levitate right up off the desk when you cum with a frantic sob. 

This one seems to rock you straight down to your very core, and you wheeze as if your soul is actively trying to leave your body while you mindlessly buck and judder for him. Soaking his fingers even while they continue to work at your squeezing cunt to ride you through it, making sure to eke out every last drop of your release — likely in the hope that it will be enough to tire you out. 

Even when you finally go limp a long stretch of seconds later, gasping raggedly, you’re not so sure if that will work on you, but you certainly appreciate him trying. At least he had not left you waiting and wanting as so many others in this godforsaken place seemed to like doing. 

Giving your throbbing tit one last, lingering suck, Zandik slowly pulls back and straightens up to give you a critical look over. Even in your lolling stupor you can tell he’s taking in all the minute details most people probably wouldn’t even notice, like the amount of perspiration on your skin and the dilation of your pupils, the exact color of your stiffly pointed nipples and even the kind of belly button you had. If the way his gaze hovers over that spot is any indication, at least. 

“Was that enough to sate you for a while?” He says at length when he draws his attention up to your face again. 

You swallow hard, still working to steady your erratic heartbeat. “Maybe … for a little while.” 

Snorting an amused sound, he gingerly straightens up on unsteady legs to get his pants pulled back into place, but he doesn’t even bother to fasten them before plopping back down into his chair. Completely drained, by the looks of it, but satisfied. Pleased, even. 

Rousing yourself, you slowly sit up as well, facing him once again in your nudity. Zandik sends you a slow look from under his brow and something seems to pass between the two of you then as you just look at one another, for he shifts back in his seat to make room for you. 

“Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

The eager flutter you immediately feel in your chest almost seems a little juvenile after everything you just did together, but you can’t seem to keep the smile off your face when you carefully slide down off the desk to take your place in his lap. You almost start to feel a bit shy about your nakedness now that the rosy afterglow is beginning to fade – wondering if your stomach doesn’t look too soft or if your tits sit nicely like this – but he’s quick to gather you close to his chest before you can truly get lost in your own head. And somehow that just makes you even more incomprehensibly happy than you already were. For someone always so grumpy, he was certainly sweet. 

For a long, blissfully peaceful stretch of minutes you and your master simply cuddle up together, sharing each other's body warmth and listening to evened out breaths. It’s almost more than you would have ever dared to hope for after the last harrowing twenty-four hours you’d somehow survived despite such unfairly stacked odds and the sheer absurdity of it all. 

In fact, the quiet lull is nearly enough to have you dozing off on top of him. 

But then you hear the downstairs bell clanging and you’re so startled by the sudden sound that you come very close to bolting right up off his lap. 

“It’s Tuesday.” You blurt the moment that thought slams into you like a wet rag across the face. You’d completely forgotten. 

Zandik stirs against you with a tired grumble, giving your hip an affectionate albeit idle squeeze. “Hm? It’s just the weekly delivery. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.” 

“No, no. I have to let them in. I always keep the back door locked, especially after I started to suspect that there was some strange intruder in the house.” 

You quickly clamor up off his lap, bending to retrieve your discarded pile of clothes. Unfortunately it occurs to you quite immediately that there are far too many layers for you to get dressed in a hurry, and you frantically try to figure out what you can skip. Oh, you really should’ve known better than to let him get you completely naked like that. 

“Just relax. They’re grunts at best. They can wait. Here.” He says behind you, and you turn in time to catch him stiffly shrugging out of his white outer coat, much to your shock and surprise. “Put your underwear and your slip on, then put this over it. It’ll do to answer the door.” 

A very strong voice in the back of your mind urges you to argue against it — just think of how that would look to them! Grunts or not! — but a second, noticeably more impatient ringing of the bell quickly makes up your mind for you. 

Yanking your panties and slip on, you accept his coat from him with a murmured word of thanks, already making your way towards the door while you button it up lightning fast. And you didn’t even have your slippers to slide into thanks to that perverted little freak! 

As a result the hardwood is nearly freezing under your bare feet as you race down the hall, descend the stairs, trip along the corridor and finally go sliding through the kitchen so fast you nearly trip and break your neck. The stone floor is the absolute worst in here though, and you hiss a seething sound as you fumble to get the door unlocked and throw it open to reveal a group of very cold looking masked Fatuus. 

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak, shivering at the blustery, ice laden wind that blasts into the house and straight up your slip by the feel of it. “I was — getting ready to take a late morning bath. I - I forgot it was delivery day.” 

They don’t look like they particularly care about your excuses as they hasten to get the crates inside, and you quickly retreat to the far corner while they work. Making sure to give them plenty of space as you wrap your arms tight over your chest in an attempt to stop the chilly shudders, but it’s no use. It’s like every last ounce of warmth has been sapped from your body, and your teeth soon start to clatter too. It wouldn’t do to leave the milk and eggs out though, so you force yourself to stand there and wait even when you desperately wish to return to the safety of Zandik’s lap. 

A few minutes later it looks like they’re finishing up, but one of the Fatuus — a young woman, hardly older than yourself — breaks apart from the rest to step over to you. Your brows lift in surprise at that, and understandably so. They hardly even acknowledge your presence most days, so you’re not quite sure what to make of it when she halts in front of you. 

 “Here.” She says, holding out a small, unassuming, utterly benign package. “Lord Regrator asked us to deliver this to you.” 

You’re so startled by what she’s just said that for a delayed moment you aren’t even sure if you’ve heard her correctly. Pantalone? He sent you something? 

Slowly, the masked woman begins to uncomfortably shift at your continued silence and blank staring, so you mechanically reach out to accept it from her. “T - thank you. I appreciate all your hard work.”

Looking mildly relieved to be rid of the thing, she nods once and starts to turn away, but an impulsive thought has you jumping to stop her. 

“Wait just a moment. Please. Can I ask you something?” 

She doesn’t look entirely sure of that but when she doesn’t immediately say yes or no, you decide to press on. 

“I was just wondering … where are you stationed at? I mean — where will you be returning to? After this.”

“We’ll be making the return trip back to Snezhnograd, miss.” 

“Oh.” You send a slow look over her shoulder at the other Fatui operatives who indeed seem to be slowly filing out. 

And they don’t even appear to notice the two of you standing together. Not yet, at least. 

The idea that pops into your head is terrible, awful, stupid, ridiculous and asinine, all rolled into one, given the still sore state of your poor bottom. But you know you can’t afford to hesitate or second guess yourself. You may never get another chance like this ever again, even if it will just be inviting yet more trouble to your doorstep. And yet, you try to reason with yourself, you wouldn’t technically be breaking any rules. Not any that had been stated plainly or outright. A mere loophole, perhaps, but it was one you could exploit.

You decisively snap your attention back to the other woman just when she’s starting to inch away from you as if you were a mangy dog that looked like it might bite. 

“I have a favor to ask of you. Since you’re going back to Snezhnograd anyway, would you be kind enough to deliver a letter for me?” 

Her mouth pulls into a small frown. “I’m not sure if Master Dottore will - -“ 

“He won’t mind.” You insist, almost shocking yourself with that blatant lie. “I — already ran it by him, you see. I’ve been worried about the post running behind all the way out here in the countryside, so he told me I could ask if I thought it would do any good. I just … since you’ve already delivered something from Lord Regrator, I naturally figured it might be within your capabilities to transport a measly little letter back. Considering it’s on your way.”

She seems to hesitate, thinking it over, and then one of the other Fatuus calls after her. “Sileny! Are you coming?”

Giving her teeth a sharp suck, she shakes her head. “I can tell them to wait for five minutes but if you’re not back by then there’s nothing more I can do for you.” 

You nearly drop the package in your hands from the overwhelming flood of relief that washes over you. “Yes! Yes, just one moment. I’ll be right back. Thank you!” 

Spinning on your heel, you go rushing back out into the corridor where, thinking of the nearest room with paper and a pen, you duck into Zandik’s lab at the far end of the hall. This one was much more humble than the one in the cellar but it has what you need, and you’re well acquainted with it enough not to have to go digging for it. 

Quickly locating a loose sheet of parchment in his desk, you toss the gift from Pantalone (was that really what it was?) down on the flat surface and snag a pen from the holder at your elbow. Your hand shakes as you bring the nib close, hesitating at the last moment. 

This really wasn’t a good idea. If the Doctor found out about this … 

You at least have to try though. Clearly your mother wasn’t getting your letters, or you were not receiving any of hers in reply, and you were determined to figure out which it was. If you could just establish this means of communication perhaps she could hand off her own correspondence to the masked woman before she left the hospital, and you would only have to wait until next Tuesday to see the other woman again. That didn’t seem so bad given the resounding silence since you first arrived here. 

Brow knitting in stubborn determination, you hurry to put pen to paper. 

Dear mama,

Please forgive me for the haste in which I have written this letter, but I do not know how much longer the person I’m about to entrust it to will wait for me to get my thoughts in order.

⭐

Cross posted: here

[wri0thesley]

country mouse - dottore x fem!reader x pantalone (20k)

you are new to snezhnayan society. and that, to some, makes you a challenge.

cw: chubby fem reader, not sfw. extremely dubious consent bordering on non-consent. virgin reader. yandere-ish. fem reader. dottore has a pierced dick. cunnilingus, fellatio, public fingering, coercion, threats of blackmail, anal. historical society-style rules and clothing. pantalone and dottore are mean here!

this was a commissioned work.

The maid has laced your corset too tightly. 

It's the first thing you think when you enter the ballroom and you see the crush of people at the first society ball of the season - your first society ball, now that your family have decided that your prospects would be far better here in the capital of Snezhnaya and not on the outskirts of the far smaller town that your family owned. You have never seen such an excess of . . . everything, really. 

The chandelier above your head drips with jewels, second only to the sparkle on every young lady's dress as she whirls past you with a dance partner or to pick a bonbon from the glass dishes heaped on one of the covered tables. All manner of pastel confections lay before you, some that you - with your clearly sheltered country tastes - have never seen before. You would turn and ask your chaperone - the aunt with whom your family are staying - but she has already seen someone she knows and is barreling towards them herself, her duty towards you clearly forgotten. 

You had gotten the impression that you were just a convenient way for her to finagle invitations to balls this season, but you had not yet had it proven - as your aunt leaves you there, adrift in the sea of strangers, you are rather more certain of it. 

Yes. You feel breathless and dizzy, and it cannot possibly be because of the scene around you. You were born into a family who is used to such scenes; this glamour and glitter, this silk and satin, this is your birthright. Your maid must have laced your corset just a touch too tight, and that is why you cannot catch your breath and why it feels as though the room is spinning. You must ask her, quietly so as not to arouse your aunt's ire, to do it just a little looser next time--

Another group is coming in behind you, and you find that you must move further into the belly of the beast. You see your aunt sitting against the wall, and you decide that the safest course of action would be to find her. You would hate to make a social faux pas at the very first gathering of the season! She has been upbraiding you on your countrified manners and your 'common' pronunciation of Snezhnayan since the moment you arrived. It would be just like you to not know who some grand duke or other is, or to allow your first dance to be taken by some notorious womaniser who will besmirch your reputation merely by dancing with you. 

You take a handful of your skirts - your own are fine silk, but not nearly so embellished as the other young ladies present are wearing. Your hair, you fear, is also rather out of fashion, and you can see now that the simple pearls you are wearing are not at all in style with the complicated dripping jewels of the most fashionable attendants of the ball. You are well-dressed, in well-made clothing cut to show you at your advantage, but it seems that you ought to have bowed to the pressure your aunt was exerting towards ostentation. 

No matter. It is easy enough to embroider gowns. You'll have to ask your aunt when you return, tail tucked between your legs, and agree mildly as she crows that she was right. 

You are halfway across the room, dodging the hems of other ladies gowns and a few gentlemen who have tried to introduce themselves, when the atmosphere changes all of a sudden. The hubbub of bright voices and chatter and laughter over the string quartet that are playing fades; the air grows strangely frosty. You try and work out where the change is coming from, but are unsure - until you turn your gaze to the grand staircase of the ballroom, and you see that a group of figures that have just arrived are the ones causing the stir. 

You do not recognise them. 

You are the only person in the room who does not. 

There are five of them, all told; three men and two women. One of the women is tall and imposing, dressed improbably in a suit that would look rather more at place on a gentleman but that somehow seems to work with the angles of her face and her severe haircut. The other woman is dressed in a short white dress, with a blindfold over her eyes - she does not seem at all concerned about the party, and is instead looking slightly up at one of the skylights set around the chandelier, as if she would rather be up amongst the stars and the moon. 

One of the men is short and older, dressed very well, beaming with joy as he looks at the assembled throng. The other two men--

Well. One of them has a sneer on his face as if he has been dragged to this soiree against his will, his hair a strange shade of blue where it hangs down a handsome face. He is not dressed for a ball; his necktie is sloppy, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, very much the sight of someone who does not find the need to make an effort for such things. The man next to him is as much his opposite as could be; he has a smile on his own face, his person perfectly appointed, and even from here you can see that the jewels glittering on his glasses chain must be worth a fortune. 

You are so busy looking at them, in fact, and wondering who they are, that you do not realise that the crowd around you have all sunk into bows and curtseys until the well-dressed one elbows the other and both of their gazes turn to look curiously at you. The only head that is not bowed. The only gaze that looks back at them, curiosity shining in your eyes. 

The only prey that has not yet learnt to play dead in the face of the predator - for it is hard to know such a thing when you do not yet know just how dangerous the predator in question can be. 

You learn from your aunt, when she has brought you back with horror in her eyes at your lack of knowledge, exactly who those two men are. You know of the concept of the Fatui Harbingers, of course - but their names or what they look like or, indeed, what their own particular roles are within the organisation? That kind of thing has never been within your interests. 

"An embarrassment," she says to you, "and the Doctor, especially, with such a reputation - I can only hope that they'll accept your background as a reason for you to be so rude!"

You're drilled on what to do next time, and when you return to her home your aunt makes you sweep into a graceful curtsey so many times that you swear you can hear your knees groaning in pain every time you walk. You were always expecting to go to bed late after your first ball, but you weren't expecting it to be for such an uncomfortable reason. Even when you're ascending the stairs up to your guest room, you can hear her wringing her hands and muttering to herself about the shame you've brought upon the family name. 

So you're more than a little frightened when the next morning, as you both sit together in the drawing room and you attempt a piece of embroidery (another skill your aunt had been horrified you hadn't learnt at home; she was aghast all together at the things your family had missed whilst educating you to be a proper young lady), one of your aunt's servants enters with his face blanched pale and says that there are visitors at the door for you. 

"Who?" Your aunt asks, with a raised eyebrow. "She barely spoke to anybody last night." 

"My lady," the servant says, "I . . . Two of our Lord Harbingers are waiting to be shown in." 

Her eyes widen, as you look up from your embroidery (you are grateful to have been embroidering roses; the beads of your blood do not show so much through the red). She looks to you with fury in her eyes, and then forces herself to calm, as she tells the servant to show them in and to ensure that the finest tea and cakes are sent through as soon as possible. 

The two men are shown into the room in short order, by a maid who looks shell-shocked to be dealing with it. The one with the blue hair - the Doctor - peers around the room with a detached kind of interest, but the one with the bejewelled glasses - the Regrator - has eyes only for you. 

"We're so terribly sorry, My Lords--" Your aunt starts to say, but Regrator waves away her excuses with an airy hand and a smile on his handsome face. 

"There's nothing to apologise for," he says. "One can't expect those outside of the capital cities to know too much, nor to recognise us by face and nothing else. No, no. It's of no bother. Rather, we came to welcome your lovely niece to her new life." 

You look at them with great surprise, fighting to stop your mouth from opening, as they take seats across from you. The Doctor has a kind of nervous energy, as if there's somewhere he'd far rather be, but the Regrator is perfectly at home. His gaze does not leave you even when he speaks to your aunt, and you can't help but feel a little exposed in the gauzy white day dress you'd put on that morning. 

It's one of your favourite of your new wardrobe, being simple and well-made and comfortable to wear - but the neckline is low and the ruched fabric emphasises the softness of your arms and your chest. The Regrator seems to be charmed by quite how much of your soft skin is on show. 

"Did you enjoy your evening?" He asks you, with a smile, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks against your will at his undivided attention. Last night, you hadn't spoken to any gentlemen, but your aunt had made you very aware of what the process of being courted would be like. To have your first gentlemen callers to be two such powerful men, even if they were here for an entirely different reason . . . well, it's hard not to think too much about it. 

"Very much so, My Lord," you say, with a shy smile. You can't quite meet his eyes, feeling hot and shy. "I've never been somewhere quite so beautiful."

"Ah," he says, with a satisfied smile on his face. "Then it's gratifying to know that the venue matched you in its loveliness. I'm very pleased to hear it." 

He declines any of the cakes the maid brings in, but the Doctor takes two and eats them without caring about a plate. Your aunt, ordinarily, would say something - but she seems shell-shocked to have them in her house at all. 

The Regrator asks you questions about yourself, seeming truly interested - you shyly admit to your interests, and when you mention a passing interest in science (you see your aunt have to bring her hand to her mouth to muffle her groan; she does not think education overly important for a young lady), the Doctor's eyes seem to sharpen where you can see them through his mask. 

They stay for far longer than you'd think they would have time for; surely two such important men are far too busy to spend so long having tea with someone as unimportant in turn as you are? But as they turn to leave and you stand to bob your curtsey and thank them for their time, the Regrator pauses. 

"One of our fellow Harbingers," he says, "is organising another little soiree. Rather more exclusive than last night's, but then again, the Rooster has always enjoyed mixing with society more than most. If your guardian is willing to cede her claim on you for an evening, we would be very pleased indeed to take you as our guest." He turns his gaze on your aunt, who has gone white and wide-eyed. The Regrator's smile is pleasant, but there's ice behind his eyes. 

"O-of course," she babbles out. "She'd be honoured, My Lords . . . I'm certain you'll take good care of her, and it's truly a privilege for her to even be asked--"

"Good," he says, with a smile - and turns his attention back to you. "You're happy to accompany us, my dear?"

The pet name has an edge to it, too - a satisfaction, like a purring cat. His eyes are hungry, and you feel all the more caught by the two of them. The Doctor looks at you, too - and though he doesn't smile, you feel a hunger coming from him just the same. You don't understand - you are a poor country mouse, after all. A provincial little girl who can surely offer them nothing. But it would not be just rude to refuse - it would be dangerous. 

"Of course," you say, as you sweep a curtsey and try not to flinch at just how much more of the soft curve of your breast and the bareness of your shoulders is revealed. "I-if you'll have me, My Lord Harbingers." 

For the first time, a smile tugs at the corners of the Doctor's mouth. 

"Well," he says, "I think we'll be very pleased to have you indeed."

You do not know what you were expecting them to do - perhaps send a carriage for you - but you were certainly not expecting Pantalone to come to your aunt's home to collect you himself. 

"I apologise that it's just me," he says, with a smile on his face that suggests that he's rather pleased to have you to himself, "but my colleague has locked himself into his laboratory for the night to finish some mad scheme or other. With any luck, he'll appear an hour or two before the end of the evening . . . but until then, it seems I have the pleasure of being your sole gentleman companion." 

He offers you his arm and, assuring your aunt that he'll have you home safely no matter how late the hour (with any other man, you're sure she would not be so quick to agree), he leads you into a luxurious carriage outside of the building and settles you both into the back. 

You know, dimly, you ought not to be alone with a gentleman - but it is a carriage, that is all, and you are with a respectable man, and you are on the way to what you hope will be a respectable party . . . so you try to ignore the crawling confusion in the back of your throat as Pantalone (that is what he has insisted you call him, his title - he says - being rather formal for someone he is escorting) smiles at you and lets his eyes travel the length of your body in the emerald green dress you're wearing. 

"You look very pretty tonight," he says to you. "That colour is lovely on you."

You had told the maid you had worried your corset last time had been too tight, and she had laughed at you not unkindly and said you were most likely just nervous, though she'd promised to lace you a little looser this time. You are not currently feeling the effect of that loosening; you feel just as tight and concerned as you did before. 

"Thank you, My Lord," you reply to him, the flush rising to your cheeks despite yourself. "I didn't quite know how to dress for such an event." 

He laughs. 

"Ah," he says. "A beauty like you could make the most banal dress look ravishing, I'm sure. I'll be pleased to have you on my arm."

"I really am sorry about the first night I saw you," you say, trying not to flinch at the memory. "You must think me terribly uneducated. I simply didn't recognise you, or I would have been more . . ."

"It's refreshing," Pantalone says, with a small smile. "And if you had bowed like everyone else, we would not have been able to see your lovely face and would be unaware of your charms. It's been a most winning mistake, I feel. I for one am very glad you did not." 

He lays a hand upon your thigh, over the silk of your dress. His hand is bare of gloves, though there are beautiful silver-set bejewelled rings upon his fingers, one of which is a near-perfect match for the fabric of your dress. The sight of it makes you feel strange inside; you have never had a man touch you bare-handed who was not related to you, much less somewhere like your thigh . . .

But Pantalone is a gentleman. Perhaps men of his class of society - one removed even from your well-placed aunt - do not think of such things as scandalous. You do not voice your complaint, as strange as it seems to you. 

You do not notice the keen eyes of Pantalone upon your skin, waiting to know if you will protest - seeing how far he can push you. You do not realise that the self-assured smile that settles on his face is a realisation of just how unworldly you are - and you do not know that his mind is swimming, now, with ways to be able to manipulate your naivety. 

All you know is that as the carriage pulls into the driveway of the Rooster's abode, Pantalone dismounts the carriage first and offers you his hand like a chivalrous gentleman - and even through your own lace gloves, you can feel the heat of his palms. 

"Shall we?" He asks, that smile not leaving his face for a moment. "I cannot wait to spend the evening with you. I daresay I'll be the envy of every gentleman in attendance." 

"I . . ." You stumble over yourself, unused to such flattery. "I'm afraid I'm rather nervous - though, of course, I'm honoured, truly. I know how lucky I am to be given such a chance, and by you and your colleague of all people--"

Another of those low chuckles, his voice like fine black silk. His gaze travels over you - the nip of your waist by the corset, the way it pushes your ample chest up to ripe swells, the way the emerald green silk hugs your sweet, full figure and the pretty, innocent roundness of your face. You look terribly out of your depth, and that expression is almost too sweet for Pantalone to be able to take. 

Right there, it's impossible to think of you as anything other than a blooming rose that is ripe for the plucking. And Pantalone intends for he to be the man to do so - an intention made all the easier by Dottore's foolish desire to finish his work before meeting you, though Pantalone knows from the way the Doctor had spoken of you he was rather intrigued about much of the same things Pantalone was. 

Still, how foolish for Dottore to only start noticing what a fresh, sweet little thing there was before him when you'd mentioned off-handedly your interest in the scientific arts. Your mouth, as lovely as it is (and Pantalone thinks of the fullness of your lips like petals of a lush flower), has more interesting uses than merely speaking.

"No," he says, coming back to himself. "No need for you to be nervous, my dear. In fact . . . I'd venture to say that I am the luckiest one here."

It is, if it is possible, even more beautiful than the house you had been taken to for your first ball. You assume this is the abode of the Rooster, Pulcinella, the Mayor of this city - and truly, he has decided to outfit it in a way that is most suitable for a Mayor. Pantalone smiles as he points out a beautiful fountain, showing the Tsaritsa in all of her icy beauty. When you enter the house and Pantalone is announced - with your name following his, in a way that makes you feel hot all over at the attention it will bring - you stand still for a moment, overwhelmed by the blooming flowers and the tables heaped with silverware and tidbits. 

The party you had attended was beautiful and luxurious, certainly - but not to this extent. Not like this. This is the true upper echelons of wealth and society. And somehow you, a plain little country mouse, have found yourself at the epicentre of it as Pantalone draws you into his side and begins to move around the room. 

He is like a magnet. People are drawn to him; to his soft smiles and his power and his regal bearing, his self-assuredness. You realise after a few moments and a few thinly veiled requests (you are not so innocent as to not be able to decode such things, even wrapped in silk) that they are drawn to him, too, for his wealth and the riches of Snezhnaya he seems to control. 

You had known he was rich - you had assumed all Harbingers were - but you had not realised to what extent the man who has you tucked into his arm seems to manage the wealth of your nation. You try not to look at the jewels on his fingers and think about how much they are worth, but the light seems to catch every gem on him and suddenly you can see all of the smaller signs of money that he wears with pride. 

A few people comment on you, asking Pantalone your name and where you came from - and to them all he smiles and pulls you closer into him, like a king hoarding a treasure. The way that some of them look at you almost makes you feel grateful for this - Pantalone, at least, disguises the way he drinks you in like he owns you. Some other men who gaze at the companion the Regrator has brought do not even think to hide the raw hunger in their eyes. 

The crush of people is so that you are grateful when Pantalone turns to you and asks, with only the faintest smile on his face to belie his attentions;

"Shall we retire somewhere a little cooler? You're looking a touch flushed."

"Please," you reply. You can indeed feel the heat in your cheeks and you're aware that the shoulders of your gown have slipped somewhat; you have not yet found the proper moment to pull them up. Even more of your bosom is on display than when you started - and though you've heard no complaints from your companion, you'd be grateful to be somewhere slightly more private in order to put yourself back together again. 

"Lovely," Pantalone says, and he begins to move across the dancefloor with purpose. Everybody with whom he comes into contact seems to realise he's on a mission, and they part for him (even as they throw glances that you misread as disappointment that he cannot be detained). 

In fact, Pantalone's speed is the reason that you almost miss what Pantalone must have already noticed and been preparing for. At the entrance to the ballroom, the butler is announcing the newest guest: a man with hair a strange shade of blue, in clothing more casual than anyone else's here with his shirtsleeves rolled to his forearm, wearing an ornate bird-like mask. 

You only hear the beginning of the announcement - the words 'presenting the Second Harbinger--', before Pantalone has neatly hurried you out of the ballroom and into a corridor beyond. 

This corridor, too, is full of people - but your escort finds his way through them with only polite smiles and inclines of his head, and before you know it you two have emerged onto a balcony into the cool Snezhnayan night air. 

Snowflakes are falling, but there are enough braziers lit with Pyro energy that you feel only the barest chill, and you are once more struck by the view that the Rooster has over the city. The twinkling lights of houses that still have their lamps lit, the blooming gardens and the stars in the sky like diamonds studded into velvet. 

"How beautiful," you breathe, and only then do you realise that once more, you have allowed yourself to be alone with the man. 

"Mm," Pantalone whispers, and he's suddenly behind you. His breath tickles your bare neck and shoulder - the necklace you had chosen to wear had broken its clasp just before Pantalone had arrived, and your aunt had been in too much of a fluster to do anything about it. A fingertip comes to rest, lightly, upon your shoulder. "I quite agree."

"My Lord Pantalone--" 

You try to speak, but find that you have been firmly turned around, and your back is pressing against the balcony balustrade as Pantalone takes your first kiss from you with force. He is no gentleman here, where nobody can see him - he kisses you like a man who is very used to getting exactly what he wants. His mouth is cool upon yours, and he tastes like frostflowers and spearmint - but it is a kiss against your will nonetheless. You are too frightened to deny him, at first - but then your hands come up to his chest and lightly push him away, your eyes wide. 

If you could, you would stumble backwards, but he has you trapped. 

"My dear?" Pantalone asks you, tilting his head to the side, looking for all the world as if you pushing him away has puzzled him. 

"I just . . . Sh-shouldn't we go back inside?" You ask him, trying to give him a smile despite how it feels as though your lips quake. Pantalone chuckles lowly under his breath, and steps closer once again. His hand comes up and brushes tenderly over your cheek, though you feel how cold the bands of his rings are against your heated flesh. 

"Come now," he murmurs, "you can't have thought I brought you here out of the goodness of my heart?" 

"M-my aunt . . ."

"Would be displeased if she knew that you weren't being a nice, agreeable young lady, don't you think?"

You bite your lip. You know your aunt would, indeed, be frustrated if she knew you were denying a Harbinger anything he wanted - but you know, too, that there's nothing she'd hate more than discovering you'd let yourself be despoiled. Alone, with a man! Alone, with a man, kissing you! 

Pantalone smiles at you again, that simpering, slow smile that makes you feel frightened and confused. 

"It's all just a game of give and take, don't you think?" He asks. "I bring you to a lovely party and take care of you and stop all of the other wolves at the door - and don't think they weren't sniffing around you, pretty little unspoiled thing - and perhaps tomorrow, I send a lovely gift of jewels to your door . . . And in return . . ."

His hand slides down, from your cheek, over your throat and the swell of your bosom, where it rests. You bite back a squeak as he gives one of your breasts a slow, savouring squeeze over the fabric of your dress - humming in pleasure. 

"I won't ruin you," he says. "I simply . . . wish for a return on some of my investment. And you're terribly lovely, you know. There are many men who could break you into pieces - leave you for the slums. I could pay several men right now to do exactly that - but I'm not the kind of man who'll leave you in the gutter. It's really very simple," and he brings his mouth close to yours, his lips brushing over yours with the lightest of touches. His eyes are half-lidded. "Quid pro quo." 

You think of what he said, about the wolves at the door - about the looks other men were giving you. You think about your aunt fawning over him, about the luxury of the party. And you think of the thinly veiled threat, too. The warning that he could make sure you were ruined, if not by him. 

"I understand," you whisper, and Pantalone smiles at you and pulls you into another kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist and his hands sliding over the dip of your back to take handfuls of your rear and pinch and squeeze at it. 

He's not a bad kisser. He smells good, and tastes good, and by all accounts he, too, is handsome - and you have just managed to convince yourself that really, this is not so bad, when another voice rings out across the balcony, sharp and a touch amused. 

"Well," it says, "for all you talk about my louche manners, Regrator, this isn't proper at all."

Dottore crosses the balcony easily, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face beneath the bird-like mask. Pantalone's mouth curls in frustration, but he turns to his companion. Dottore comes to stand next to him, towering over you. 

"This poor little country mouse," Dottore says, in mock horror. "You've gotten her all tangled up, Regrator! Look, she can't tell which way is up and which way is down."

"She's perfectly fine," Pantalone bites out. "Look at her - see those flushed cheeks and those pretty eyes? What kind of young lady doesn't like to be wooed by a handsome man at a ball?" Dottore laughs outright at this, his teeth showing strangely white and sharp. He reaches out for you, and Pantalone's eye twitches but he doesn't stop the other man as one of Dottore's hands cups your cheek.

"I wondered where you were taking her off to," he says, off-handedly. "Now, of course, I see you were just planning to have your wicked way with her - which, by the way, is deeply unfair of you as someone who always pretends to care so much about contracts and exchange." His thumb brushes over your cheek, and then drops to your mouth, where he traces the plumpness of your lower lip. Despite his hand on you, he continues to address every sentence he says to Pantalone instead. 

You may as well be a statue, or mute, for all that they seem to care what you have to say. 

"And why is that?" Pantalone raises one eyebrow and tries to step even closer to you, as if trying to shield you and prove his ownership over you all at once. "Did I not see her first?" 

Dottore snorts. 

"I think you'll find that was me," Dottore says. "But even if it were you - isn't it proper to let a lady decide who she wants to woo her, rather than monopolising her time and hiding her from other likely suitors?" Dottore grins at you again, his teeth sharp. "I don't know how much you've heard about me, sweet little mouse, but I don't like to be denied. Regrator here might find a way to bankrupt you - but what I could do to you would make you wish you were poor and ragged and freezing in the snow instead." 

Your heart thumps double time in your chest. It feels as though someone has poured cold water down your back. 

"You want to make her choose?" Pantalone sounds mildly interested. "Oh, but how terrible for the one who loses." 

"I b-barely know you," you whisper, panic flaring behind your eyes. "I c-couldn't possibly make any kind of decision--" 

"Oh, I think you could." Dottore steps closer, and now the two of them are so close you can smell their own individual colognes, see everything about them - now they're close enough that you're effectively surrounded. Even if you wanted to bolt away and run back into the crush of the ballroom, you wouldn't be able to. You let out a ragged breath. 

They've both made it clear to you that they won't hesitate to seek vengeance if denied - and you might not be the most knowledgeable young lady in Snezhnaya, but you know enough to know a Harbinger would not make idle threats. 

Pantalone ruining you. Dottore hurting you. 

"I--I'd have to spend more time with you," you say, desperately, looking up at them through your dark lashes with tears brimming in your eyes and your bottom lip sticking out. You do not know just what that expression does to the two men in front of you, but you see the way that Dottore's tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the shuddering breath that Pantalone draws. "C-couldn't you both . . . share, until then? I'll do whatever you desire, I promise--!" 

It's a foolish promise to make - but it's a foolish position to have found yourself in, too. 

The two men take a moment to consider your proposition. 

"How novel," Pantalone says, eventually, smiling. "The idea of sharing. Well - I'm not entirely opposed to it. Are you, Dottore?" 

The Doctor tilts his head to one side as he considers it. 

"For a little while," he says, eventually. "Until we decide you need to make a real decision, little mouse. One can't remain indecisive forever. Eventually one has to commit fully to an idea, much like in scientific endeavours." He pinches your cheek, just a touch too hard for it to be entirely affectionate. "But until then . . . yes, I think we'll share." 

"Marvellous," says Pantalone, with a grin. "Well. I think it's getting rather late. Dottore - I need to drop our little flower home, unharmed. Would you like to escort her in the carriage with me?" 

There's something hidden in his words, underneath the layers - something you do not yet understand. But Dottore grins at you both. 

"Oh," he says. "I'd like that very much." 

You are grateful for Pantalone's obvious enjoyment of luxury and excess. If he were not so interested in festooning his personal carriage in draperies and finery, or in making sure there was adequate space on the floor between the seats for comfort, you would be struggling. 

Because of Pantalone, your knees do not feel so uncomfortable on the soft carpeting, and you have enough room to kneel before them. Pantalone has given the carriage driver a pouch full of Mora to stop you all in a quiet, empty street and go off to the nearest tavern to buy himself a hearty meal (and a single flagon of ale, Pantalone had warned, saying that as long as he then eventually delivered everyone home safely he'd receive another to do with as he wished). 

"There," Pantalone clucks, looking at you on your knees. "Isn't that a lovely position on you? Don't you agree, Dottore?" Dottore makes a hum of agreement, leaning down to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. You peer up at them, your eyes wide and anxious, your dress pushed down your shoulders to reveal the expanse of soft skin of your throat and collarbone. 

"I don't think she knows what you're going to ask her to do," says the Doctor, off-handedly. "A pure little country mouse, after all. She may require . . . talking through it." 

A shudder whispers down your spine. You do not know, exactly, what it is that the two of them want from you - but from the way Pantalone had earlier stared at your mouth and the part of them you are currently eye-level with, you are beginning to have some idea. You try to keep yourself from panicking. There is too much on the line. 

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head," Pantalone says, again, relaxing into the upholstery of the carriage. "We shan't expect too much of you just yet."

You swallow. 

"I'll even help," he says to you, with a smile, and he reaches for the placket of his trousers. Now that your gaze is forced to be there, you can see that there's a stiffness pressing against his crotch - and it takes all of your grace not to flinch and whimper as he slowly, slowly, pulls out his cock from within the confines of his clothing. "Come a little closer, now. Use your mouth. A kiss, perhaps?"

It feels humiliating, as you press a chaste kiss to the head of his cock - his own particular musky masculine scent wraps around you. He groans in pleasure, and the hand not holding onto his own length reaches behind you to tangle into your hair, keeping you pinned exactly where you are. The head of his cock is damp, silky smooth - and, still afraid, you let your tongue dart out just a touch to kitten lick against his shaft. 

"That's right," he murmurs. "Get used to me before we ask you to play with Dottore," he chances a glance towards the Doctor. "He's rather less used to a beginner, I think."

You do not understand what he means by this, but he is at least smiling and his voice remains soft and lilting, and you do not want to think too hard on what will happen next. You open your mouth wider, and - your cheeks hot - take in the head of his cock entirely into your mouth. Your tongue lathes across the head, the salty taste of his precome flooding your senses. 

"Good girl," Pantalone says, a thickness in his throat. The fingers in your hair tighten. "Come now - take me a little deeper, won't you?" He does not do anything so degrading as push you further onto his cock, but you still understand what he wants, and you try to take more of him down into your throat. Your tongue licks and flicks against all of the warm skin that it can, and you're rewarded with his eyes going half-lidded and his breath coming heavier. 

"Bob your head," Dottore says, his voice sounding amused. "Take it in and out. It'll get boring for Regrator if you suck and don't vary a little." 

"Good advice," says Pantalone, with a smile - and, so, you try to do as they ask, sliding your mouth down the length and then back up it. It's a strange, unnatural sort of feeling - but there's something about the way that the two of them are looking at you, the way that Pantalone's breath sounds in the carriage, the taste of him in your mouth . . . you feel a strange stirring low in your stomach, a wetness between your thighs that you don't want to admit to. 

"A little faster," Dottore says, and he has moved forward on his seat to get a better view. "It's always nice to start slow, but . . ."

You do as the Doctor says, and Pantalone lets out a stuttering laugh. 

"You'll get me too excited far too soon," he says, but he does not stop you from continuing to try and please Pantalone. In fact, as you suck and lick and work your mouth up and down his shaft, his fingers keep tightening and you feel the flesh in your mouth twitching. Feeling bold, with your next bob, you try to take as much of his length into your mouth as possible - and find yourself surprised as it bumps against the back of your throat. Pantalone's fingers suddenly still, and as you go to pull back you find that he is keeping your head there, and you almost cough and sputter around his cock. Your panicked eyes go up to meet his - and his gaze sparks in desire as he keeps you pinned.

Something in your expression - your wide eyes and the fear and the fact you can feel them watering, tears threatening to spill over the plump roundness of your cheeks - seems to stoke a fire in him, and after a few more moments he finally lets you go with a groan. 

You're too scared to stop sucking and licking and working his cock, though - so you continue to do it, your throat clogged and tears brimming in your eyes. 

"Faster," Dottore goads you. "Come on, pretty thing - can't you see how close you're getting him?" 

And it's all you can do. There is no other option, down here on your knees in the carriage, losing your virtue every moment that passes. You suck desperately, your tongue lapping at the slit of his cockhead - and as a tear finally slides down your cheek, Pantalone lets out the loudest groan so far and his cock twitches in your mouth and suddenly it floods with a thick, hot, salty substance--

"Swallow it," Pantalone says, panting - and you do, trying not to cough, trying not to show your disgust - trying not to show that the experience has somehow only served to intensify the slickness between your thighs and the strange feeling in your stomach. 

After a few moments, Pantalone eases you off his cock and neatly tucks himself back into his trousers, looking at you. 

"Aren't you just the picture of debauchery?" He asks, with a smile - and you cannot see yourself, of course, but if you could you would know he was right. Your full lips swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes bright and shiny with unshed tears and your dress all a mess as you rest on your knees. "My, Dottore . . . I almost feel jealous I didn't make you go first."

He lets out a harsh laugh. 

"She needed the practice," he says, with a strange smile on his lips. "Come, shift over here a little. Ah. There we are. Very nice." You move so that you are level with Dottore's crotch instead, already anticipating what is going to happen. But you have done it once, you tell yourself, so how bad can it be to do it again? You have already protected yourself from Pantalone's threats. You need now just protect yourself from Dottore's, and you can return . . . and if you feel hot and excited, and you are given some gifts tomorrow by your new suitor and manage to keep hold of your new place in this dazzling society, then surely it is not so much of them to both ask? Certainly, it's not as if they'll send you home with a child growing inside you, just from you using your mouth upon them--

Dottore unbuttons his placket and lazily pulls out his own cock, and you swallow audibly around your suddenly dry throat. 

It is not that it is so different - but Dottore is thicker, and there is a piercing decorating the tip, silver balls resting against the flushed pink of his head. A thick vein winds its way down its shaft, and altogether it feels a more daunting prospect than Pantalone's - you understand, now, why Dottore had said you would need the practice on Pantalone first. 

"Now you've proved yourself once," Dottore says, with a smile on his face that shows off the flash of sharp teeth, "I'm sure you understand better how to please a man. If you don't do a good job . . . well, I'll continue to provide instruction to you. You may find I'd like you to be a touch rougher than Pantalone does."

It takes more of your courage to approach his cock. As you do, Pantalone reaches out - pushes your sleeves even further down, almost low enough to show the spill of your breasts over your tightly laced corset. He lets out a sigh. 

"It would be a lovely sight indeed to have you bare for us both," he says. "But perhaps not tonight. Your maid may find it unusual if your corset is laced again incorrectly. For now . . . this will do." 

Dottore chuckles. 

"Oh, she's pretty enough without it to keep me interested," he says. "Though . . . I can always think of a few enhancements--"

"Let's leave it natural for now," Pantalone says, raising one eyebrow. "If you win our little game, and she chooses you in the end . . . perhaps she'll let you experiment a bit."

Your eyes widen in fear as to what Dottore could mean, and the Doctor makes a soft little laugh. 

"Oh, but aren't you cute scared?" He murmurs, leaning forward and wrapping his hand around your cheek. "My, my. Pantalone wouldn't know what to do with that, but I . . ."

"You're frightening her," Pantalone says, mildly. "Come now. Take him into your mouth. Don't mind the piercing, you won't hurt him." 

You swallow, and then you lean forward and, like Pantalone had taught you, you use your tongue to lathe across the head of his cock. The metal of his piercing sends a strange shock through you, but you ignore it in favour of trying to make sure that Dottore is pleased with you. Your tongue works over him, licking and swirling - you have a little more bravery than you'd had before, but you still (after licking for a little while) give up in the end and hollow your cheeks and begin to suck on him the way that you were told. 

He has a different taste to Pantalone; something deeper, almost metallic - not entirely because of the piercing. It is not unpleasant, and once again the roaring in your lower stomach makes itself known. Dottore's hand doesn't move from your cheek. 

"That's right," he murmurs. "Oh, very good. You're a fast learner, aren't you?" 

There's approval in his voice. You continue to work your mouth over his cock, trying to win more of that approval - something about how he sounds so pleased is making your heart beat faster, sending more and more pleasurable sensations throughout your body. 

"She's rocking," Pantalone says, off-handedly. You hadn't realised, but as you suck Dottore's cock, you realise you have been rocking on your knees, pressing your thighs together without realising. "Oh, when we finally get to touch you . . ." He chuckles, shaking his head fondly. "That's right, darling. Carry on. How deep can you take our dear Doctor?" 

You fulfil the request, but you do not get as far as you could on Pantalone; Dottore's length stretches your mouth, making your eyes water - his cock bumps against the roof of your mouth, the balls of the piercing making you shudder. 

"Hmm," Dottore says, and this time his tone does not sound quite so pleased - and, remembering what he said, you reach up hesitantly and cup his balls with your hand. This wins a seething hiss of pleasure from between his teeth, and he bucks his hips forward and his cock breaches that final gap to fit snugly against your throat. As you fondle his ballsack, you try to remember all of the other things you've learnt - keep your tongue moving, work yourself back and forward, suck and lick and try to please him--

But Dottore gives a soft laugh, and gently pushes you off his cock. 

"No," he says. "I think I've gotten enough from watching you work over Pantalone, little mouse. I shall have my fill another time."

"D-did I . . . Was I not agreeable to you, My Lord?" You look up at him all wide-eyed and frightened. Those threats he has made will not leave your mind. Dottore gives you what he must think is a soothing smile. 

"Ah, you were very agreeable. But . . . we shouldn't want to deliver you too late to your aunt now, would we? And I think I just heard the coachman returning - hopefully not full of too much firewater. No, no, little mouse . . . I'm very pleased. I'll simply let the agony of waiting prolong my eventual pleasure." 

The next day, Pantalone is true to his word and sends a bouquet of flowers to your door. They are expensive blooms that one would never normally see in Snezhnaya; hothouse flowers from Liyue and Natlan, perfectly balanced in colour and size. With the bouquet is a card telling you how much he enjoyed his evening, and the gift of a diamond bracelet that makes your aunt's mouth drop open. 

In the afternoon, another gift appears - a basket of expensive cakes and breads from the most luxurious bakery. Your aunt tells you that she has never managed to even enter the place, the sweet treats sell out so quickly. This one is from Dottore, and promises a visit the next afternoon. 

"You've made quite an impression on them," your aunt says, fanning herself as she looks over at the bouquet of flowers and the cakes that have been heaped onto a little serving tray. "You know, I've already started receiving more invitations than usual . . . I thought I would, having you under my roof, but this . . ." She shakes her head. "I don't understand it, my dear, but one must never look a gift horse in the mouth!" Her eyes sharpen as she looks at you. "You won't do anything foolish, will you?"

Your heart skips a beat. Does she know about last night, on your knees in the carriage for two of the most powerful men in the country? Does she know you are ruined and despoiled? Is this a warning? 

She heaves a great sigh. 

"Don't put them off," she says, and you realise that she knows nothing. She was only warning you to try and keep their attention. To not do anything foolish that may make them lose interest in you. 

If only she knew. 

Dottore is as good as his word. At 3pm the next afternoon, he is at the door - and though your aunt twitters that she is about to leave for her bridge club and she ought not to leave you unchaperoned, Dottore smiles and reminds her that he is a Fatui Harbinger and no harm will come to you whilst he is with you. 

"You surely don't believe I would make a move on your niece's virtue?" He asks, with one raised eyebrow. His smile is, as always, full of sharp teeth - and there's a matching sharpness in his voice. "You would truly worry about her with a Harbinger? Throw . . . distrust on Her Majesty's most honourable lieutenants?"

Your aunt must hear the warning in his voice, because her cheeks go hot and she shakes her head, stuttering out her apologies. 

"We'll merely speak a while," he says, with a smile, "and I have another outing to invite her to. Upon my honour, good lady, your niece will not be harmed by me."

He inclines his head, in a way that clearly means that she is dismissed - and though she is standing in her own sitting room, though this is her own space and she ought to be the dragon guarding her hoards of treasure . . . she acquiesces in front of him, bobs him a curtsey and hurries out of the room calling for her driver. 

You sit on one of the low, chintzy sofas. Your maid has picked out a day dress of cornflower blue today; you realise with a start that it unconsciously has matched the shade of the Doctor's hair. He takes his seat opposite you with all of the leonine grace of an animal ready to pounce upon its prey and devour it. 

But he does not speak, as he lifts the cup of tea the maid had brought in as he was shown to the sitting room. He takes a slow, considering sip. 

He is waiting for you to speak. Seeing what you will do. If you'll break first. 

You are only young. You are unversed. You do not understand the world you have found yourself in; you have not been raised to know that gentlemen play with young ladies virtues like this. 

"Last night," you whisper, twisting your fingers into the fabric of your skirts. "I . . ."

"Yes?" He says, clearly enjoying it - watching you fumble for the words. Heat rises to your cheeks. You try to get your thoughts in order, but they slip from your grasp like fish below a sparkling stream. 

"I . . . I did not think . . . I did not realise--" 

"No," Dottore agrees. "I'm sure you didn't. Pantalone can have that effect on people. He's always been good at getting what he wants by any means necessary. To tell you the truth, little mouse . . . I rather pity the position he's gotten you into."

You look up at him, confused. Dottore has been a part of this, surely? Is one of the reasons you have found yourself in this position? 

"I came today with a proposition for you, in fact," he says, leaning back as he puts his teacup back on the sofa. "As I have said - Pantalone can be a . . . cruel master. Oh, I know you're thinking that surely I can be one too, and you're correct - but Pantalone loses interest in toys far quicker than I do, and then tosses them aside. He's looking for one particular jewel, and the ones that do not meet his requirements tend to get trod into the dirt. I, however . . . when I have an interest in something fascinating and lovely like you, I prefer to keep hold of it." He gives you a wolfish smile. 

"Wh-what proposition do you have?" You ask, your throat dry. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift awkwardly on the sofa, and you do not realise just how desirable you make yourself seem to a man like Dottore when you do such things. All pretty and nervous and unspoilt. 

"I will protect you," he says, with a smile. "I'll make sure that Pantalone loses interest in you naturally. I'll make sure everything remains . . . pleasant, for both you and your family. You do not want to see the Regrator when he is frustrated and disappointed, I assure you. What he can do to a family name and a reputation and a fortune is far, far worse than what I could do to a physical body." 

You shiver again. You had never meant to get caught up in something like this! You are just a girl from the country, trying out a taste of high society - you don't understand how somehow you've found yourself trapped between these two men! You have never considered yourself prettier than any other girl, or more interesting - but suddenly two of the most powerful men in the nation want you, and are willing to do all kinds of things to one another to ensure they're the ones who come out on top. 

"A-and what would you want in return?" You ask, your voice deathly quiet. Dottore throws his head back and laughs. 

"Ah," he says. "Now you're getting it! Of course you'll have to make it worth my while - I was thinking that perhaps we could . . . finish what we began last night?" 

Ah. That's not so bad, is it? Not for protection? You begin to rearrange your skirts, ready to sink to your knees - but Dottore raises an amused hand. 

"No, no. Not like that." He gets to his feet, and you look at him in confusion - and the confusion only grows as he crosses the room, around the table, to get to his own knees in front of you. His hands grasp the hem of your skirt, beginning to raise it - and as you squeak in alarm and try to push it down to preserve your modesty, he chuckles. "Ah. I thought I'd finish what we began by putting my mouth to use on you. It's not only the man who can find a tongue pleasurable, you know." 

"I--"

The idea of it makes you feel dizzy with heat; confused, frightened, and excited all at once. It's something you've never really considered before. Something, you think, that is more the domain of dens of iniquity and of women with far more experience than you. But Dottore's fingertips are on your bare thighs, pushing up the thin fabric of your day dress, brushing over the gossamer silk of your stockings and the only thing that is escaping your mouth is a soft little gasp as a knuckle brushes over the gusset of your underwear. 

He looks up at you from between your thighs, a smirk quirking the corner of his lips. 

"I suppose I ought to take this off," he murmurs, and he reaches to remove the mask. The deep wine-red of his eyes catches your gaze, and heat spreads over your cheeks. He's as handsome as Pantalone is, in his own way - his mouth surprisingly full and sensitive, his nose long and straight, his eyes just a touch too sharp. "I'd hate for you to get cut on the sharp edges. Your skin is so . . ." His fingers dance over the plush of your thighs, and that smirk does not leave his mouth for a moment. "Terribly soft. Unmarked. Lovely." 

You squeak as his mouth finds that spot over your stocking and he grazes his teeth over it, the edges of his canines just a little sharper than you were expecting. 

"How sweet," he says, his eyes not moving from your own even as he does it. "You're really the country mouse you pretend to be, aren't you? Not an inch of pretense about it. How darling." 

"I d-don't understand," you whisper, but Dottore's fingers are now working under the lace of your underwear, gently urging the scrap of satin and lace down your full thighs. You feel as though you must flush even deeper at the sight of your own arousal dampening the crotch, but Dottore has other things that are more interesting to him as he works it past your thighs, and calves, and then ankles and leaves it upon the floor. 

"Some girls," he says, rocking back on his knees to look at you with his eyes narrowed and a smile still on his face, "think that it's rather fun to pretend to be artless to get a man snared within her trap. You, though . . . you really don't understand what you're doing to us, do you?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "My, my, my. That makes it all the sweeter, you know. Regrator would be inconsolable if he knew I was getting to be the first one to use my mouth on you. Still," and he flashes you a grin, a better look at those sharp, white teeth. "That's what he gets for hesitating. I prefer to get as close to my experiments as possible, as quickly as I can. And I do not see your body complaining much about it." His fingers walk up the expanse of your thigh again, soft and full and unmarked as he said - only this time, your underwear is not there to stop the inexorable path of his fingers, and a soft noise escapes you as those fingertips brush over your hot, slick sex. 

"Aren't you a feast?" He murmurs, as his fingers slip between the lips of your sex, stroking down your slit from clit to perineum. You whine softly, burying your face helplessly in the soft skin of your shoulder - and Dottore sees it, and you see through your lowered lashes that the smile on his face only grows sharper and hungrier. 

He sinks down back onto his knees, now. He presses his mouth against your knee, your thigh, dropping kisses further and further up, interspersing them with bites and nips of his teeth and suckling of the soft skin there that you can't help but feel will leave marks. 

And then his mouth is between your legs, on your sex, his tongue hot and wet and certain - and you cannot breathe at the sensation of it. Your hands helplessly clutch at your aunt's expensive upholstered sofa - his head, tousled pale blue, is within your reach too, but it feels far too intimate for you to grab hold of that--

Besides. You do not think he is the kind of man who would take to it kindly. 

And there are, at any rate, far more pressing sensations than the way the upholstery feels beneath your fingernails. There is the hot muscle of Dottore's tongue, stroking across your sex as if he wishes to learn it by heart. Flat and strong, as he works over the slit - as he takes every bit of you in, as if he is feeding on your arousal like it is thick honey. 

He starts low, using his tongue like a scoop to flick up and up your sex, pausing just briefly at your entrance as if he is considering entering you with his tongue (you have never had anything inside of you belonging to a man, and the idea that the first thing might be a tongue)-- 

Before he slides further upwards, and flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit teasingly, once and then twice and then again, sending hot little zaps of electricity through your body that makes you feel as though you're liable to become boneless and soak into the upholstery yourself. 

His hands find purchase on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh there - definitely deep enough to leave marks, you think, and then you wonder if perhaps that is the point. If Dottore wants Pantalone to see that there are marks all over you that he has left; if Dottore wants the other man to know you have been claimed in this way. The idea that the two of these powerful men are playing games beyond your comprehension makes your head ache - so you, instead, give yourself up to the feeling of Dottore's tongue. To the sensation of his mouth fastening around the pearl of your clit and suckling on it, making your vision flash white for a moment and another helpless cry escape your mouth. 

"Oh," Dottore murmurs, pulling back, his mouth wet with your own slick. "You really are just too sweet."

You don't know whether it's a compliment to your looks or your naivety or your taste - or, indeed, whether it's a compliment at all. Words become difficult to understand with Dottore's mouth on you. With his tongue and his lips and the sensation of it all coming crashing down upon you, when you've never felt such a thing before. 

By all rights, this kind of thing should have been saved for your wedding day. You should be on a bed in ivory satin with a man who has promised to take care of you for the rest of your lives. You should not be on your aunt's settee in the middle of the day with one of the most powerful men in Snezhnaya lapping you up like fine wine. But that is where you have found yourself. 

One hand coming up, letting go of your thigh. You stiffen as you feel one of his fingers pressing against your entrance - but then Dottore is murmuring sweet platitudes against your clit, and his tongue is stroking the button with a practised intensity, and the finger is pressing inside of you without you even noticing--

First to one knuckle, and then the next, and then the entirety of his digit is sheathed inside of your tight virgin channel even as Dottore's tongue is still twirling and stroking and drawing forth curls of heat that have begun to feel more like towers of flame. 

You have never felt like this before. You try to open your mouth, to ask if this is right - for surely this feeling licking up your spine, this strange tingling sensation coupled with the building of pressure in your abdomen cannot be how it is supposed to feel - but your tongue is too heavy to do anything. You cannot breathe. You cannot think. You squeeze your eyes shut--

You are teetering on the edge, ready to fall into something you've never been in before. 

And then, all at once--

You plummet. 

You're pushed over the edge with one final stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers, and the pit in the middle of your stomach seems to send tendrils of pleasurable heat through your entire body, fireworks going off behind your eyes, your fingertips and toes twinkling with what feels like sharp electric. Your body cannot support you anymore - you do indeed melt into the sofa beneath you as the shocks of your orgasm rock your body into a strange, malleable state. 

The feeling of wading through toffee; of your body not fully belonging to you, of every nerve ending in your skin being aflame. You may have made a noise, but you feel so floaty and strange that you can't be sure if you only did that in your head. 

Dottore's tongue keeps stroking over you, your body overheated and oversensitive, guiding you over peaks and valleys of the feelings. But he does not let it calm; he does not slow down the inexorable laps of his tongue until you whimper and try to press your thighs together at the onslaught of it all. 

Only then does he let his mouth separate from your sex with a wet pop, a chuckle falling from his wet lips. He stays there only for a moment, looking at you all in a state of disarray with your skirts hiked up and your skin marked from his teeth and wetness dripping down your thighs and your eyes blown wide. Only then does he laugh again, and get back up onto his feet, tugging down his shirtsleeves back to his wrists and looking at you with the keen eye of a predator. 

"Not playing at being unschooled, then," he says, the smirk not leaving his face. "No one but a virgin would have fallen apart for me so prettily. Oh, Regrator's going to be devastated." 

"I . . . is it always like that?" You ask, your vision still fuzzy. You manage to pull yourself back together enough to sit up from your ungainly position sprawled over the cushions, to grope helplessly for your underwear to pull it back on. 

"If you're with someone who knows what they're doing," Dottore allows, and then looks at you much in the way a successful inventor looks at his work when it has performed its purpose for the first time. "And I am not in the habit of doing things that I have not studied to perfection." 

He reaches into a pocket of his waistcoat to find a handkerchief and uses it to wipe his mouth of the glimmering wetness of your sex, uncaring how the sight of it makes you feel hot and embarrassed all over. 

"Mm. Thank you for a most . . . enjoyable afternoon, my dear. I'd go to the powder room before anyone else sees you. As for the next time I'll see you . . . well. I'm sure it will work itself out."

When your aunt returns, after you have washed your thighs and tried to put your hair back in place and repositioned your dress so it does not look as though you spent the afternoon with it rucked up around your hips with a man between your thighs, she is all a-twitter. 

"Your social life is becoming more interesting than mine!" She says, her voice only a touch hysterical. "We received an invitation for you to the theatre tonight, from Lord Pantalone - oh, I have no idea what you'll wear, and we truly were expecting you to be home . . . but one does not keep a Harbinger waiting!" She pauses and takes you by the shoulders, stares into your eyes - and for a moment, you think that she can see the secret that you're hiding from her. You think she must be able to tell you have been ruined. 

But the moment passes, as she calls a maid up to help you dress, and you are hurried out of the sitting room and upstairs into your bedroom whilst everyone but you whispers about what dress you can possibly wear tonight and you try to ignore the strange, unsure feeling in your stomach. 

"Dottore has had much to say about your afternoon together," Pantalone says, when the two of you are finally alone - or as alone as one can be in a box at the theatre. 

It's a fairly secluded one, at least. There are other boxes that are more in view of the audience - the kind of box where one comes to be seen, rather than to see. But Pantalone had refused what the usher had referred to as his usual box, citing that he wanted his lovely companion to have a wider view of the stage, and so you had been shown to one set further back in the dress circle where other people were not likely to see you unless they were truly looking for you. 

You suppose you ought to be thankful - you are not quite ready to be the subject of gossip magazines and tabloid newspapers and society rags - but you know that Pantalone is not the kind of man who does anything without having a reason for it, and the many reasons that he may desire a more secluded place to take his companion do not escape your notice. 

"Did he?" You ask, trying not to let the fact that it feels as though your heart is going to beat out of your chest show. "I hope he . . . only had good things to say." 

"There's no point beating about the bush, my dear." Pantalone places a hand upon your thigh, over the fabric of your dress. You look up at him through the fringe of your lashes, aware that your cheeks have gotten hot and that your throat has gone dry. "Oh, don't look like that. Of course I don't blame you. It's difficult to say no to a powerful man, isn't it?" 

Despite what he's saying, his eyes behind their glass remain flashing with something that might be anger. You feel yourself shiver in fear. You do not want to say the wrong thing! It was so much easier in the sitting room with Dottore, away from prying eyes - but here, in the theatre? In public? Anything could happen, and you do so wish to avoid a scandal. 

"Still," Dottore says. "It was impolite of you both to . . . go behind my back. I know Dottore can seem persuasive, my dear, but you must really learn when to pick your battles and when is indeed the right time to push back." He reaches over, and a gasp dies in your throat - but he only tucks a strand of stray hair behind your ear, the gesture easy, comforting. Protective. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, contrite. You are sorry. All of the things that Dottore had said back then seem much harder to fulfil when you are faced with Pantalone beside you and the reminder of all of the power that he, too, wields. 

There is no winning. Not really. 

"A pretty apology," says Pantalone, with a smile. "I'm sure you're willing to back up your words with actions, are you not?"

A Fatui Harbinger. You give a demure little nod, your cheeks going hot all over, and Pantalone lets out a slow, considering breath. You wonder what he will take from you. You wonder what kind of apology he will ask for. Surely he would not push you onto your knees here, when anybody could turn around and notice that his companion was not in her seat? 

"I wouldn't do anything so louche in public," Pantalone says, smiling, as if he has read your mind. But then the hand on your thigh slowly begins to tug up the fabric of your skirt. "I intend to ensure that anybody who glimpses us in this box merely sees . . . two patrons of the theatre enjoying the artistry they are being permitted to hear. Anything else would be an affront to the performers, don't you think?" 

The cool air hits the bare skin of your thighs, over the tops of your beribboned stockings. Pantalone smiles at them, giving one of the ribbons a playful tug. 

"I agree," you whisper, though your voice comes out as barely more than a squeak. "I . . . I'm a properly brought up lady, My Lord--"

"Oh, I'm sure," Pantalone replies, with a crinkle of his eyes. "And a properly brought up young lady knows to keep her eyes on the stage, does she not?" 

His fingers slide over the soft pudge of your stomach and slip into the waistband of your underwear, and you have to bite down into the flesh of your lower lip to stop yourself from crying out in surprise. 

His hands are cold, even through the satin gloves he wears. He turns his attention back to the stage, where the actors are having an argument about something or other - you know that this is a retelling of some Snezhnayan fairytale, but having Pantalone's hands slowly slide down over your mound to cup your sex is somewhat scrambling your ability to pay attention to the plot. 

"Remember," Pantalone murmurs, his voice as delicate as a snowflake and just as cold, "keep your eyes forward. We wouldn't want anybody to notice anything awry now, would we?" 

One finger slips between the lips of your labia, coolness against heat, and you press your lips together and clutch at the programme that Pantalone bought you so as not to give anything away. The glossy paper, thankfully, does not become crumpled in your grip. It is only your thoughts that seem to fold and scrunch, as he pushes further in and his wrist brushes against the strip of skin over your waistband so he can get more of a handful of your sex to toy with. 

His index finger brushes over your clit, and with a pleasant smile he leans back over to whisper (breath cool against your ear);

"Spread your legs for me a touch, darling. There's a good girl." 

You are helpless to do anything but obey, even as you can feel the muscles in your thighs tensing in fear. You pretend to rearrange yourself on the red velvet seat, giving him more access to the vulnerable apex between your thighs. At least it gives you a moment to get used to the sensation of the cool silk against hot slick wetness. But as he moves his finger, rolling the pearl of your clit beneath his fingertip, you're sure that you won't be able to keep hold of yourself for long. 

Pantalone, though, is practised in this art. Once he has whispered into your ear, he returns his gaze to the story playing out onstage, his smile perfectly practised and his eyes seemingly entirely focused on the performers who are working for his attention. Even as his finger begins to circle your clit, teasing at you, he doesn't so much as twitch his lip. 

You, on the other hand . . .

You try to think of things that are solid and immovable. A rock, a pillar of stone, a marble statue, the brick walls of a house. You try not to let the squirming heat of his practised fingers get to you. The little frissons of electricity that the brush of silken gloves send ricocheting through your body. The way that your throat has gone dry and your cheeks have gone hot. 

He slides his digits further down, until it is his index and his pointer finger that are sliding between the plump lips of your sex to line up beside your entrance. You should feel ashamed of how easily those fingers glide through your wetness, but you have a more important task to do now: not to let Pantalone know how much he is affecting you. Not to give it away if any curious patrons of the theatre turn to see the Harbinger and his companion in their box. 

A soft noise escapes you despite your best attempts otherwise, as he slides those two fingers inside of you in a fluid, practised motion; and Pantalone makes a soft click at the back of his throat. 

"Yes," he says, "how easy she makes it sound." He is pretending to be passing comment on the lovely soprano who has taken centre stage, but you know better - as his fingers begin a slow but inexorable rocking motion inside of you, you know that he is talking about the ease with which his fingers have made their home inside your channel. You can hear your heart beating, and it feels as though your sex is pulsing around the digits inside of it with the same rhythm. 

"Ah," he says, leaning forward as a way to hide that he has angled his chair just so, closer to you, to be able to get more of a range of motion in his wrist. "There's an understudy on, you see?" 

You try and blink back the diamonds at the edge of your vision, where it seems to be whiting out. Pantalone inclines his head at some man or other onstage, but he does not stop the ceaseless motion of his fingers. You can barely keep the plot of the show straight, let alone whether the images in the programme match the performers onstage-- 

"Distracted?" He asks, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. You open your mouth to respond, but he chooses that moment to swipe his thumb across your swollen clit, and any words that you had prepared for him seem to fall out of your ears. "The costumes for this piece really are something, aren't they? The producer took out a sizeable loan from the Northland Bank, but I think it was worth it--" 

"Yes," you manage to squeak out, your voice as dry as a Sumeru desert. "Yes, they're beautiful--"

His thumb, circling your clit, pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. His fingers, rocking in and out of you, your slick saturating the silk of his gloves. His knee pressed against your own. 

"But not as beautiful as you," Pantalone whispers just loud enough for the women seated closest to the box - just in front of and beneath - to hear it, and they coo and steal glances back at you. You do not know what they see - if they see your hair a mess and your face aflame and your lips bitten to plumpness, and if they mistake them as the flush of young love and not for what truth is actually happening-- 

The music swells to a beautiful crescendo, and for a moment you think that the show is over - but Pantalone lets out a happy sigh, smiling beatifically at you. He slides his fingers as deep inside of you as they will go, his thumb not ceasing in its practised circular motions.

"The first act of seven," he says. "Aren't you having the most marvellous time?"

Pantalone and Dottore wage a war over your affections fought in bouquets of roses and beautiful fabrics and expensive trinkets sent to your aunt's address. 

They do not see you again - Pantalone had kissed you on the cheek as he'd dropped you off home after the theatre, your thighs slick with your own arousal, and had told you he was throwing a ball in a few weeks and that he would be delighted to have you as a companion there, but business was taking the Harbingers away from society until then. You had secretly sighed in relief to know that both he and Dottore would be occupied with other things - but Pantalone had still taken your chin in his hand before you could go, his smile as sharp as an icicle. 

"Don't forget," he had said, "that you are dallying with the man who holds Snezhnaya's purse strings, my dear. Dottore, I understand, can be rather intense . . . but you will thank me when you realise what it is he does with the things he becomes interested in."

In its way, it's rather like the warning that Dottore had given you about Pantalone, and it leaves you with far more questions than it does answers. It leaves you all the more rattled and unsure about where exactly your place in all of this is - and what exactly it is about you that seems to have captured the imagination of two of the most influential men in Snezhnaya. 

They do not stop needling at one another, even within the gifts. Dottore sends you a first edition of some scientific book about life cycles, with a note reminding you that those stories often told in opera and folk tales do not necessarily reflect the way things would go in actuality. Pantalone sends you a beautiful watercolour set with a note about how one must see the beauty in life. Dottore sends clockwork automaton music boxes with their gears exposed, and Pantalone sends you trinket boxes with delicate enamel paintings. Dottore sends you a seedling in a glass terrarium, some brand new species of rose he says he will name after you - and Pantalone sends you a bouquet bigger than you, full of Liyue and Sumeru blooms that you have only ever seen illustrations of, for they would be too expensive to grow in the hostile, cold climate of Snezhnaya. It is like they try to outdo one another in both luxury and excess, to make you think the first gift from the other man was a trifle compared to theirs - but you are amazed by every one. 

Your aunt, too, is delighted with every gift. They often send huge bouquets (of rather more pedestrian flora, but still perfectly formed) for the house and chocolates for her, too. They are to show their appreciation of her taking you in and introducing you to society - and before where she would pull you up on your manners and your country ways, now she laughs and pinches your cheek and wonders aloud every time she receives an invitation to bridge or tea with a lady who would never before have given her the time of day. 

You, though, do not feel quite such a simplistic pleasure over it all. 

You feel lost and adrift, all at sea; unsure what the correct path is to take. The fact that the two of them seem to be arguing over you makes your stomach swirl with anxiety. Who are you to be so wanted? You look at yourself in the mirror and try to see what they see, but find yourself unsure as you peer into a pair of frightened eyes. You pluck at your clothes where they cling to the plump curves of your frame, speak aloud and try to hear if there is something beautiful in your voice, but come up feeling just as unknowing as you did before. 

But it is you, still, that they want. It is you, still, that they snipe over and send gifts to and touch and take from, who they ruin in ways that make you feel dizzy and afraid that you rather enjoyed it. 

You do think back on the way they touched you. Of their cocks in your mouth and Pantalone's fingers inside of you and Dottore's mouth upon you - and as a proper young lady, you know you should be disgusted. But that is not all you feel. You remember how it had felt, you remember the sparks inside of you and the way your heart beat faster and you let your own hand slip between your thighs and your pillow muffle your quiet cries in a way it's never really done before. 

There is something to be said for being wanted. There is a joy in knowing you are being looked at and found pleasing - you only wish that perhaps it had been some other man. 

Not two Fatui Harbingers, who could hold your fate in their palm and decide it on a whim. Not two of them who argue amongst themselves about you, who could bring you down with them based entirely on petty jealousies and nothing else. But such things are not for you to think about.

After all; you are simply the poor relation. You are simply the country mouse who ought to be grateful for scraps who has somehow found herself at the head of the table with a feast laid before her and princes by her side watching her with hungry eyes. 

You are the Cinderella story, the one who is heaped with jewels and fine fabrics and dressed up like a pretty doll whilst people gossip behind your back about your ascent towards grace. All you can do is follow the path that fate, and Dottore and Pantalone themselves, have carved out for you. 

So on the day of Pantalone's ball, you dress for it and steel yourself and wait for him to pick you up. You have no other choice. 

The dress is sent to you and signed as being from both of them; it seems that in this, at least, the two of them have been united. It's rather more risque than you're used to, and your aunt's eyes widen when she sees it - but she does not dare argue against the dress that has been designed for you and paid for by two of the Fatui Harbingers. 

It is beautiful. The colour glows against your skin, the neckline dipping to show the ripe swell of your bosom, the waist nipping you in to emphasise the tantalising curve of your hip. The sleeves drape over the plumpness of your shoulders, and you know from the moment you stand in front of the mirror with the jewels that Pantalone has sent you to wear with the dress that neither of the Harbingers will be able to keep their eyes off you all night. The thought is at once exhilarating and terrifying. You touch your lips, where the lipstick has reddened them - you rearrange a ribbon, a piece of lace . . . and then you have to admit to yourself that there can be no more stalling. You must face Pantalone's carriage, and the man himself - and then, once you are at the ball . . . you must face Dottore too. 

Despite the fact the two had managed to get along long enough to organise your gown, it is clear when you enter the carriage and sit nestled against Pantalone as he indicates that the rivalry between them has not dimmed in intensity. 

"He'll be terribly jealous to see you on my arm looking so delectable," Pantalone says, his eyes flashing behind his glasses as he takes you in. "Ah. It fits you like a glove, my dear. You'll be the belle of the ball; not a single person could outshine you." 

You flush. 

"I'm sure you're just being kind," you whisper, and Pantalone takes his time reaching over to tilt your face towards his, the smile on his lips playing at being generous. 

"I don't waste my time with flattery for flattery's sake, darling," he says. "Other people do that to me. When I give a compliment . . . I mean it. You're a vision. From the moment I saw you, I knew we could mould you into something special - and as in so many things, I've been proven correct. Won't you give me a kiss in thanks for your dress?"

You cannot very well refuse, when you wear expensive silk and lace draped over the curves of your body - so you lean into him, and his cool lips brush against yours. It's not the most intimate the two of you have ever been (you think of fingers inside of you, of your mouth wide around his length) - but still, kissing him feels . . . different. Like giving up a different part of yourself. 

It is a far cry from the demanding way he had taken your first kiss from you what seems like years ago but has only been weeks. 

Pantalone pulls back with a smirk on his face. He uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth of a stray smudge of lipstick. 

"You taste just as divine as you look," he says to you. "Though I know Dottore may have rather more to say on that than I do. Not for long, I hope." 

Your cheeks are hot, and you keep your hands folded as demurely as you can manage in your lap. You know Dottore will be there, of course - but the last time you'd seen him was, indeed, the time he had chosen to become acquainted with the taste of your most intimate parts. You have not seen the two of them together since you knelt in the carriage for them. 

Since then, the atmosphere between them has seemed frosty. They have made promises to you that go directly against one another; implied a rivalry that makes you feel dizzy with fright at the implications. They've argued with one another on perfectly calligraphied notecards accompanying presents that have been both gift and barbed dares to one another to try and outdo the luxuries. 

You do not know what will happen when they are faced with one another in the ballroom. It's one of Pantalone's properties, you know that - but Dottore seems to put far less stock in wealth and assets than Pantalone. You doubt the fact that he's in one of the other man's homes (and how luxurious it seems to you, to have more than one home!) will stop Dottore if he wishes to cause a scene.

Perhaps they will be civil; perhaps they'll only speak in sharp, tight sentences and send glares across the chandelier-lit dancefloor. But you know Dottore's reputation too well to imagine he will be satisfied with such a thing. You know that he has never been regarded as a polite party guest, that he sees society as a whole as rather beneath him--

And it makes you bite your lip and hesitate when Pantalone dismounts the carriage and holds out a hand to escort you down in turn. 

"I just need a moment," you whisper - and though Pantalone's eyes flash, he gives you a patient smile and watches you as you try to pull yourself together. 

"I could wait all evening for you," he says. "Every head will turn when they realise I have the most beautiful girl in the world on my arm, after all - it's only when we enter the night will truly begin."

They're pretty words. They do not do much to soothe your fear, but you tremble as you give him a smile nonetheless. What could Dottore truly do, with you on Pantalone's arm? What would Pantalone do to Dottore, when he is the one with whom you have come?

It is those thoughts that eventually make you pull yourself together, and you step out of the carriage and into the jaws of the wolf as the two of you pass through the beautiful entrance of tonight's glittering society party. 

They do not say anything to one another, but you can feel the tension as Pantalone leads you over to Dottore. You see the way that the latter's eyes scan hungrily down your body, drinking in the way the new dress highlights the curves beneath - and he does, at least, give you a hungry smile. 

"It suits you," he says. "It cost half of Snezhnaya, but at least you're worth the dressing."

Pantalone stiffens, and then gives Dottore a tight, barely perceptible nod. 

"Certainly it's of more use than some dusty old book or other," he says - and Dottore looks as though he will rise to the bait for a moment, before he turns his back on you both. Pantalone takes your hand and leads you onto the ballroom floor, his gaze returning to you with obvious satisfaction. 

You dance, though you're sure that your movements must be clumsy and Pantalone is almost certainly used to more graceful partners; still, if he has any complaints, he does not voice them. Instead, his arm goes about your waist and he pulls you in tight, your body pressing against his in a display that other people might say was inappropriate - but Pantalone is the Regrator, and nobody would dare raise their dissent. Not when he could so easily bring an end to any business proposal or place in society with nothing more than a slight incline of his head. 

The moment Pantalone stops and tells you he will fetch you both a drink, though, Dottore sees his chance. The Doctor swoops in to you like a great raven, and he has replaced the other Harbinger without so much as a backward glance. This dance feels even closer, the music slower - the air around you feels hot and sticky with the promise of something reaching boiling point tonight. 

You try your best to answer his questions, to be lovely and polite and not to give anybody around you fuel for the gossip machine - but your entire head feels fuzzy and full of static. Your breath feels short. Your heart is pounding so quickly it feels a wonder that the other guests do not see it even through your gown. You wonder, briefly, if the maid has once again laced your corset far too tightly. 

Dottore repeats a question, and you look up at him with your mouth pressed into a moue of confusion, your eyes wide. He has asked you something, you know - but there is so much sound and colour and the mere existence of your body in this space is making you feel light-headed. 

"For Archon's sake, she'll faint," Pantalone is there, suddenly, at Dottore's side. He sneers at the other Harbinger; "For a doctor, you seem to be failing in the one duty your name most implies." Pantalone's hands on your shoulders. Dottore, though, has not let go of your waist. 

"Or are you merely trying to get me off her?" He asks, his voice as dangerous as a snake ready to rear up. "Are you simply trying to monopolise her time?"

"I brought her here, didn't I? Dressed her? Ensured she was prepared? Your mind is too wrapped up in your books and your experiments to do anything so practical, you just expect things as you always do--"

"Perhaps I don't need something to be trussed up like a pig to market when it's already beautiful on its own?" Dottore fires back, and your cheeks burn hot as you realise he's talking about you. It all just serves to emphasise that you're dizzy enough that the room around you is spinning. 

You've tried so hard to forget the war being waged over you by the two Harbingers. You've tried so hard to balance what the two of them want from you, to understand why it is you've been thrust into a limelight you never asked for - but the two of them there, in public, with their hands on you . . .

Your eyes fill with tears.

"Please," you whisper, helplessly - but somehow, Dottore hears you, and his gaze (his crow-like mask has been swapped out for something smaller, a fine dark metal filigree) shifts to you. "Please, don't fight over me . . . I'll do anything you want--"

Pantalone's head snaps to the side, too. The hand on your shoulder moves to cup your cheek. His hands are blessedly cool through the silk gloves he is wearing. 

"Oh, darling," he murmurs. There's a smile on his face. You look through tear-blurred eyes to see that there's one on Dottore's face too, a sharp uptick of one side of his mouth. You don't understand why the two of them are smiling. 

You're getting the strangest feeling you don't understand anything at all. 

"Why didn't you say so before?" Dottore asks, and there's an echo of a laugh in the back of his voice. "Regrator? I think we ought to go somewhere more private, don't you?" 

You've somehow walked yourself directly into a trap; a fly caught in the web of two spiders who you thought were sizing one another up. Who have somehow used their honeyed words to move you directly into the centre of their playing field. 

And you have absolutely no idea how. 

Pantalone smiles at you, a cat who has gotten the cream - and it suddenly occurs to you that in order for the two of them to have been able to fight so neatly on the cards attached to your gifts, they have to have known what was being sent. They have to have been aware of one another's moves. 

And the ways they both spoke to you, so perfectly attuned to the fears that one another stoked in your heart, and the way they somehow managed to time their visits so perfectly around one another--

"I've had a bedroom prepared," Pantalone says, and arms are locking about your waist and your feet are moving despite themselves. "Oh, darling. We've been waiting for this." 

Anything they want. 

You've made a promise you're going to have to keep. 

"You were playing with me the whole time, weren't you?" You ask them, your eyes wide, when Pantalone has drawn you into the well-appointed bedroom that he was obviously speaking of earlier. The room is beautiful, decorated tastefully and expensively - but the thing you cannot help but notice the most is the large bed in the centre of the room, with the sheets freshly laundered. 

You know what that bed will be used for. 

"Perhaps," Pantalone says, with a small smile, as he perches himself on the edge of the bed. "But you've been such fun to play with. Even kept Dottore's amusement. That's no small feat, my dear."

Dottore takes a seat beside him, so you are standing before them as if you are being put on trial. You feel exposed, like this; their eyes taking you in, the dress that they've chosen to put you in, the position that they've somehow managed to gently manipulate you into. 

"You've taken it all admirably," Dottore agrees, his gaze not leaving yours. "We both felt it was time to make it official." 

"Official?" You say, voice trembling - but you do not need to ask. Not really. You know exactly what the two Fatui Harbingers are implying. 

And it terrifies you, of course. You're a proper young lady who has been taught to be sweet and modest and biddable; who has learnt that her innocence is an asset that should be protected until marriage. 

But you have also been taught to respect your betters. To play your cards right to ensure protection; and you know exactly what the Harbingers before you are capable of doing. Your nice things and your aunt's delight with you and the precious jewels and presents can all be taken away from you in one fell swoop, as could your life if the two of them willed it so. 

And . . . would it be so bad? When you have already given up so much for them? When they have both endeavoured to ensure you feel pleasure in your meetings with them, too? When what they've done to you has made your breath catch and your head swim and introduced you to a kind of physical pleasure that you didn't know your body was capable of? 

Pantalone gives you that patient smile again, and stands. He approaches you slowly and pulls you into a kiss that is slower than before; heart-stoppingly intense, mouthing at you and slipping his tongue between your lips to tease yours in return. He still tastes like fine wine. Your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you, and they only open as he pulls back and you find that Dottore is behind you, his fingers on your bare back as he slowly unbuttons the bodice of your dress. 

You can't help but gasp as the cool air hits your heated skin, but Dottore bends his head and presses a kiss against your neck. His teeth graze across the sensitive skin there, and you find yourself unconsciously shivering and leaning into the touch. Pantalone's hands help, tugging at the expensive fabric as if it's nothing more than an old apron and not the most luxurious thing you've ever owned--

And then, your dress has been pulled off you, skirts pooling around your feet, and you stand bare in front of them in your chemise and corset and stockings, your cheeks gone warm, your eyes blown wide, your lips swollen from Pantalone's kiss. 

"Well," Dottore purrs, pulling back from you. "Aren't you something to look at, little mouse?" 

Pantalone's hands find the curve of your waist, where your corset pulls you in; his palms trace the swell of your hips and then back up to the way your bosom curves out the upper portion, his touch upon your body hungry. 

"You'll be all the lovelier without anything on at all," Pantalone says, and Dottore understands and the practised, clever fingers of a doctor begin to unlace your corset. You feel the loosening of the laces, and you make only the softest noise of surprise as it, too, falls to the floor. Your chemise is next, and then your underwear--

And as Dottore slowly rolls your silk stockings down your plump, full thighs, you are left entirely naked before the two of them and shivering at how exposed you feel. 

Neither of them have removed so much as a glove, but you stand there without a scrap of lace to protect your modesty. 

"Oh," Pantalone breathes. "Look at you."

Both of them are touching the new, bared skin. You cannot quite keep hold of whose hands and fingers are where; is that Dottore, pinching at the soft flesh of your thighs? Is that Pantalone, testing the heavy weight of your breasts in one hand? Which one of them is it who runs his thumb over your nipples and wins a whimper from you as the buds tighten and harden under the pressure? Who dares to slip a silken-gloved finger between your legs first and chuckles like velvet when it comes back slick with your arousal? 

It doesn't much matter, in the end. 

"Let's get you on the bed, then," Pantalone murmurs against your ear, and you feel rather like a doll as you're pulled towards the centrepiece of the room. As you're laid out, naked, like a beautiful sacrifice to two hungry Archons. The fabric beneath you is expensive, too - Pantalone, it seems, does not miss a single detail. 

"Mm," Dottore whispers. "I can barely wait--"

"But you will," Pantalone turns, a warning tone in his voice. "As you're in my home, and I took the brunt of the preparation . . . I daresay that you won't deny me the pleasure of using our lovely country mouse first?" 

"Haven't you ever heard of deferring to the guest?" Dottore asks, but then a smirk quirks the corner of his lip again and he lets out a low chuckle. "Ah. I suppose you are rather gentler than I. You're probably a better choice."

You know what they're discussing. You think of the size of them, of how they felt in your mouth - and you, too, are grateful that it will be Pantalone who will be the one to take you first. 

Pantalone works off his gloves before anything else - and, yes, it was him who slipped fingers between your thighs, for he takes a moment to savour the lingering taste of you on the fingertips of his gloves. Beneath them, his hands are slender and practised, and you are fascinated as you watch him remove his tie and his jacket and his shirt, as graceful as if he were dancing. 

"Don't fret," he murmurs, as he gets onto the bed and you see his cock, standing to attention, flushed against his thigh. "I shan't hurt you, my dear. I'll go as gently as you need. You're giving me something precious, after all - it's only polite for me to treat it as it deserves."

He gently urges your thighs apart, and you hear Dottore let out a chest-deep groan as the sight of your sex is revealed, all folded petals dotted with beads of your own arousal. The idea that either of them could fit inside of you seems ludicrous, but you remember how it had felt when they'd had their fingers inside and you swallow back any protestations. 

He's above you, knelt between your legs - and one hand goes about the back of your head, pulling you in for another kiss. 

It is no less impassioned than the earlier one. His mouth seems even hungrier for you - his teeth tugging at your lower lip in a tease that makes you whimper. You know why he is kissing you - you can feel his cock dragging along your inner thigh, smearing his precome on the soft untouched flesh there . . . but you are grateful for it nonetheless. It is so much easier to have something to concentrate on. 

The thick head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you whimper and find yourself suckling on Pantalone's lower lip to soothe yourself as slowly, slowly, he pushes you open. Pantalone merely lets out a huff of laughter and lets you - and nervously, your hands come up to cling to his shoulders, looking for purchase as your lower half is split open. 

Several sensations at once. Pantalone's cock as his head pops inside of you; his mouth against yours, his body pressed up to you, his hands in your hair. Your heart, beating so quickly. It is no wonder that you do not notice what Dottore is doing until the other man lets out a polite cough and Pantalone pulls back from the kiss but not from slowly driving his hips towards you so his cock continues to sink into you inch by slow inch. 

You turn your head, feeling dizzy with the excess of it all - and find that Dottore, too, has entirely disrobed. His cock is in his hand, the piercing glinting in the light of the room, the entire thing thick and pulsing with desire. 

"I hope you don't mind," he says, and steps closer to the bed. "I was feeling a little neglected."

Pantalone lets out a huff of amusement. 

"She needs something in her mouth to distract her," he says. "Lest she bite my lip to death. Yes, I think you ought to keep her occupied too. It will do her good to learn to multitask."

"And you?" Dottore says, his gaze turning upon you - free of his mask, his eyes are like pools of red wine. "Will you take care of me too?"

You could say no. But you are not so foolish - and . . . they had been so complimentary, the last time your mouth had been on them. Perhaps it would be a distraction from Pantalone as he finally bottoms out inside you with a groan of pleasure. Perhaps it would help to quell the buzzing inside of you. 

In answer to his question, you open your mouth and win a sharp-toothed grin from the Doctor as he lays his cock upon your tongue. 

He slides his cock deeper into your mouth at the same time as Pantalone pulls his cock partly out of you, and you're grateful to have his cock as a distraction at the strange feeling of knowing how completely you have been stretched out; how deeply inside of you the other man is reaching. 

"That's right," Pantalone whispers, as his cock continues to slide in and out of you, as he searches for a rhythm. "You're being such a good girl for us."

He's let go of your hair so that Dottore can take his place, and the Doctor looks down at you with a smile on his face. 

"Keep your attention on what you're doing," he murmurs. "Your tongue, please--" 

You do as he says. You suck on the head of his cock and try to work your tongue along the slit of his cockhead, the tang of metal mixing with the salty musk of him. You let go of Pantalone's shoulders to try and keep yourself leveraged on the bed with the two different men and their different rhythms. Dottore is not so cruel as to begin thrusting his hips towards you with abandon, but even he cannot help the slight twitch of his body as your warm, wet tongue travels over his cock. 

Inside of you, things are stirring that you haven't ever felt before. You have felt pleasure, of course - but the spots that Pantalone's cock is hitting feels like nothing else before. The pleasure feels bone-deep, like it sinks down to your spine. 

Pantalone does not quite have the same worries about his rhythm as the Doctor. He, after all, needs to use more of his body. And the soft noises that his movements are pulling from your throat do not seem to frustrate Dottore at all - in fact, he makes a low, pleased hum as the vibrations travel up his cock and it twitches in your mouth. 

He reaches the hand not in your hair towards one of your own, and guides it up to toy with his balls as you suck. Pantalone's head lifts, and he takes in the sight of you sucking Dottore's cock as he fucks you and take your virginity, and it seems as though the visual pushes him over the edge. His hips begin to raggedly thrust into you, and you sense that he is close to something. 

"I'm going to come in you," Pantalone groans out, between thrusts. "I'm going to fill you up, my darling; I'm going to make sure you know that you belong to us, now. Oh, Dottore - if you could feel how tightly she squeezes me--"

"I have no complaints about her mouth," Dottore says, sounding amused. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't itching to take my turn too." Pantalone's hips are growing wilder now. It's the only time you've ever seen him come close to losing control. Dottore lets out a low laugh. "It seems as though I won't have to wait too long, at least." 

A breathless laugh in response to Dottore's words. 

"Mm, I wish I could take longer over it . . . but I've been rather pent up by everything since we met you, my dear."

His voice, too, comes out more strained than you have heard it before - and then he lets forth a chest deep groan, and a thrust that is just a bit rougher than the others, and you feel how he comes apart. The twitch of his cock inside you. 

The way that his cock lets out thick, hot spurts of his spend inside of you, and the weak after-thrusts push it further and deeper into you at the same time as some of it oozes out of you. Dottore watches as it happens, his own rhythm slow and luxuriant. You get the impression he does not wish to spend himself so early - or, at least, not in your mouth. 

Pantalone rides out the waves of his orgasm with slow, stuttering final thrusts, until he lets out a long, drawn-out groan and slides his cock out of you along with a little rush of his come. 

You, on the other hand, feel rather unfulfilled as Dottore slides his cock out of your mouth in tandem. The feelings that Pantalone was beginning to stoke in you were so different from the others you'd felt, and you could tell - on the edge of the pleasant buzz - the peak that he would have brought you to would have been something far different. You're so busy thinking about that, in fact, that you don't realise what Pantalone has taken from you until Dottore gives a little laugh. 

"What a cute face," he says, taking hold of your chin. "I think she's feeling rather put out that you didn't make her come, Regrator. No matter, little mouse. I promise I'll let you, now Pantalone has taken his spoils and it's my turn to be inside." 

His spoils. You realise, with a start, he means your virginity. 

"Now, now," Dottore chides. Pantalone has moved to sit on the edge of bed, obviously getting his breath back after his orgasm. "Don't go getting fixated just yet. Come now. Let's move you around for this. Regrator, you'll want--" The second man raises his head and gives a brief nod, and Dottore chuckles. "Yes, yes, I thought so. You'll get to be on top this time." 

Dottore does not give you time to worry about what he's saying; you're being manoeuvred onto your feet, and the Doctor is taking his place on the bed, giving his cock a few slow pumps to spread your saliva all over the thick shaft of his cock. 

You only have time to think about how you must look to Dottore, underneath, when he drags you above him and makes you spread your legs either side of his narrow hips. Then, you worry about the curve of your stomach and the heaviness of your breasts and the soft roundness of your face and chin - right up until Dottore's cock slides through your folds and you give a little shiver at the sensation of his piercing brushing over your swollen clit. 

The head of his cock meets your entrance, and Dottore does not feel the need to give you a distraction as Pantalone did. Instead, he grabs hold of your hips and pulls you down onto him. 

There is less friction this time, aided by your own excitement and Pantalone's lingering release still inside of you. Dottore is thicker, but he slides into you with an ease you were not expecting - though it still knocks the breath out of you, and wins a whine from your throat let out into the bedroom. 

You feel the stretch; the way his cock presses against all of those same spots that Pantalone, earlier, awoke in you. Dottore growls in pleasure, his hands digging into your hips. He's stronger than you realised, as he makes you lift yourself a little, and then pulls you back down. 

It feels like it all happens in moments, but surely it must have been longer than that - for Pantalone's mouth is against your ear, and it seems as though he has recovered some of his breath. 

"Lean forward," Pantalone murmurs, and you do as he asks. Dottore clicks his tongue in impatience, but he says nothing else - and then Pantalone is using one hand to spread the cheeks of your ass. 

"Don't be afraid," he says. "It might feel strange, but . . . I won't hurt you." 

You start when you feel something blunt and cool and slightly wet press against the opening of your ass, biting back a surprised noise. 

"Wh-what are you . . .?"

"Did you know you can fit two cocks at once?" Pantalone asks, his tone conversational. "If we're careful with you, of course. Stay still whilst I stretch you out, my dear--" 

One finger slips inside of the channel of your ass. 

It's an even tighter fit, if that's possible. Pantalone coos at you, gently pumping the finger in and out, and you squirm where you're speared on Dottore's cock. The latter laughs, not unkindly, and he takes your cheek in one hand and pulls your gaze down to him. 

"Look at me," he says. "Keep your eyes on me. Let me help a little with the discomfort--"

The hand still on your hip moves, and slides between the two of you where you're leant over him until it's pressed against your clit. Slowly, as Pantalone pumps his finger in and out of, Dottore begins to draw gentle, distracting circles over the little bundle of nerves. 

A soft moan drops from your mouth, and Pantalone uses this as an excuse to slide his finger out of your ass - and then back in, accompanied by another. You whimper again, squirming, as he scissors the fingers inside of you, stretching out your ass - but through it all, Dottore's finger is still playing with your clit. Still sending hot shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Still feeding the whisper low in your stomach that promises a payoff to all of this. 

You give a little jerk against Dottore's fingers, trying to coax him into using more pressure - and Dottore laughs. 

"I think she's ready, Regrator," Dottore says. "She's being greedy."

"Good," Pantalone says approvingly, and he slides his fingers out of you. "It's lovely when a girl knows what she wants . . . and thankfully, my dear, I'm feeling deeply inclined to give you exactly that." 

Dottore's fingers move from your clit, and Pantalone uses his hands to spread the cheeks of your ass wider and places his cock against the rosebud opening of your anus. You give a little shiver of fear - but then Pantalone is easing himself into you, just as gentle as he was earlier--

And you have never felt so full. 

Until Pantalone and Dottore were both inside you, filling you from either side, you had no idea what it even was to feel full. But now, both of them are inside - you can feel that they're both there, separated by only the thinnest layer, and your heart beats in your throat and in your ears and in your cunt all at once. 

They give you some time to acclimatise to the sensation, but even they cannot resist for too long. 

Before long, they are moving. Dottore's hips coming up in little thrusts - he seems to have realised that with Pantalone in your ass, you cannot be moved around so freely as before - and Pantalone slowly working himself in and out of you, mere inches at a time. 

Both of them seem, rather than chasing their own release, to be taking their pleasure from the way you shiver and shake on their cocks, at the very sensations of being filled like this. Dottore's fingers even return to your clit, back to drawing his slow, inexorable circles to see you squirm and hear the way your soft squeals fill the air with every slight change in pressure and speed. 

You must look a mess for them. You must be ruined--

But oh, for the way it feels inside . . . It's almost worth it. 

For it is pleasurable, in its way. You can hear how Dottore's cock slides in and out of you with wet, sticky clicks. Pantalone leaves kisses along your shoulderblades, digging his teeth in to surprise you and leaving lovebites blooming like marks of ownership.

And through it all, their cocks pulse inside of you and send little thrills ricocheting through your body. The pit inside of you yawns, an aching chasm of want, as what feels like some strange invisible string grows tighter and tighter and tighter with each swirl of Dottore's fingers and breath you take. 

Dottore's hips rock up into yours and he groans. 

"Bear down," he says, with a low growl. "Tighten yourself around us, little mouse. I'm going to come in you, too. Paint you just as prettily as Regrator has . . . I've been denying myself for far too long. But I just want you to give me a little more--"

You try and do as he says, but as he gives the order he changes what he's doing with his fingers, and you realise that he's hit a spot inside of you that feels different from the rest, and everything seems to go all hot and white and desperate at the same time--

You come for them. With Dottore inside of your cunt and Pantalone in your ass, with fingers on your clit, with your virginity in ruins around you - that string inside of you snaps, and your orgasm washes over you with a fierceness that is almost painful. 

Stars exploding behind your eyes, whiting out your vision like the coldest Snezhnayan winter. A final cry escaping from your lips, as Dottore groans and his cock twitches inside of you too, hitting that spot over and over again as his come shoots up to fill you and mix with his coworker's. 

And you. Coming so intensely that it feels as though you know what it is, for a moment, to be an Archon. Being filled all over again, with Dottore's come too. With their cocks. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as the inexorable waves of pleasure rock your body, your shoulders tensing, the muscles in your thighs jumping - your entire body marching to a rhythm that you've only right this moment heard for the very first time. 

Your shivering, whimpering orgasm pushes Pantalone over the edge for the second time, though he pulls out of your ass just in time for his come to spatter against your bare back instead of inside you. You do not know how you would have taken that. 

Your sex pulses weakly, the aftershocks of your pleasure washing over you. You feel adrift; left alone on the bed as both men pull out of you and survey you like you're a masterpiece the two of them have been working on. Your heartbeat finally begins to quieten in your ears. Dottore gently pushes you onto your back, removing himself from underneath you. 

And now you are on the bed, alone, and everything floods you at once.

You are ruined. 

"W-will one of you . . ." You swallow back the fear from asking. A girl is worth only her reputation, and yours is smeared forever now. Your voice is very small. "Will one of you marry me, now?"

The two Harbingers are stood, now. They exchange a look over the ruin of your body. The sheets beneath you, saturated with slick and come and sweat, lovebites bitten into your throat and your shoulders, your hips aching from the places they grabbed you. 

At the same time, they lean over you. Dottore smiles. Pantalone reaches out, giving your cheek a gentle pinch. 

"Why would we go and ruin our fun doing a thing like that?" Pantalone asks, his voice soft and wheedling. "Besides . . . darling. Doesn't 'Mistress to the Fatui Harbingers' have a far better ring to it?"

[aphelion789]

This thought jolted me back awake and I'm making it every one elses problem.

Creatures that need souls to live, in nearly any context usually want human souls for their "deliciousness and/or filling nature". But if every living thing has a soul, would that make insects, like, soul rice?? There are billions of insects and they reproduce quickly and sustainably and it would take a lot, probably, to be filling.

So, like do they use soul rice and what not as filler between more 'filling' meals, or a side dish to complete it?? Or is that like the "vegetarian" option for such a being?? Could they be allergic to shellfish souls???

[angel-fruitcake]

i can handle one (1) Event™ per day. whether it be a phone call, an appointment, trip to the grocery store, play date with a friend, etc. only one, that's it. any more than that and i am Stressed

[aphelion789]

Work? I am now useless and must go lie down like the fainting Victorian woman that I am.

[kidzbopdeathgrips]

*slams you with my fucking PUSSY

[were-ralph]

[bonersniper]

CUNT force trauma

[aphelion789]

[localgasmaskliker]

Knightfuckers and robotfuckers actually have alot in common. for example:

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG

[dilucssv-deactivated20251203]

@belphegore

[everybidenjusthavegoodtime]

*releases pack of dads into home depot* go……be free

[hotcommunist-deactivated2019032]

invasive species encroach on lesbian territory

[dreaming-shark]

This is a common misconception because they’re such similar environments, but you should be aware that dads are native to Home Depot, while lesbians are actually native to Lowe’s. At this point, however, both dads and lesbians have made themselves at home in both Home Depot and Lowe’s to the point that trying to separate them back into their original ranges would probably do more harm than good to the delicate ecosystem of large chain hardware stores.

[ailithnight]

A properly raised and socialized Dad will be perfectly comfortable cohabiting with Lesbians. Its not really “encroaching on another’s territory”. You wouldn’t say that about foxes in a forest that also homes bobcats, would you? No. It’s just two different species that have both evolved to live in similar/the same environment. As long as they recognize each other as equals, Dads and Lesbians are more than capable of cohabitation.

Now, if you were to release a pack of Lumberjacks into a Lowes or Home Depot, that’s where chaos will reign. Being adapted to a far harsher and more demanding environment, the Lumberjacks would simply push Dads and Lesbians both out and also consume far more than a sustainable amount of resources. It would be like releasing bears at a country club.

[chequerootlurks]

As a former timber-harvester… I feel this is potentially accurate in theory. But highly improbable in actuality.

Lumberjacks, like most megafauna species generally require more space than the average hardware store, even a big box store could provide. The misconception is that Lumberjacks are a social species because of how they often work and live together.

This is a matter of necessity, not preference, and a survival technique for thriving under the LogBoss.

A “pack” of Lumberjacks, if not under the environmental pressure of a LogBoss will naturally disperse until they each have a wide territory.

Lumberjacks rarely fight for territory.

One on one, a Lumberjack could drive out a Dad or Lesbian, however the latter tend to travel in social packs.

Lumberjacks will passively retreat on the presence of large numbers of people. Kind of like Sasquatch.

Getting a “pack” of Lumberjacks assembled would be hard enough unless they were forced into a Hardware Store by a LogBoss. In that case, they would already be in a heightened and potentially agitated state far above their natural behavior. This artificial scenario can be likened to a circus animal running amok. If it had been in the wild, the incident would not have occurred.

Free-roaming Lumberjacks are the cryptids of the Hardware ecosystem. They are surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive.

Please stop labeling Lumberjacks as dangerous roving social predators. They are intermediate level omnivores and remarkably peaceful unless threatened.

[thatdisasterauthor]

As a hardware store worker I can say that this is all 100% accurate.

[swindle94]

now how in the FUCK am i supposed to leave tumblr when a god tier post like THIS is just is just waiting for me daily?!?!?!

[omnibread1]

zhongli and a lil companion

[bintro]

[aphelion789]

As someone who also has KPDH brain rot, imagine watching the movie with one of the genshin guys(gn), or any characters that have a 'second form/identity', and trying to explain why the Saja Boys are so hot. Like sure they are cute as humans, but did y'all not see them sing Your Idol?!??? *Feral screaming* The claws?!? The markings, the eyes, the teeth JUST EVERYTHING????!??

And they are just sitting there thinking...I...I could do that. Because obviously WE don't know that side of them yet. Now they are having devious ideas.

Just...just imagine it guys. The potential, the teasing, the lead up, just ugh. They have been trying to be normal for so long and now they know you're a freak like that? I could ramble forever.

[cal-kestis]

i love arm

[amikoroyaiart]

Siblings being siblings

[maefinity-deactivated20240118]

made for us | neuvillette & wriothesley

pairing: neuvillette x f!reader x wriothesley

genre: smut

wordcount: 7.6k

synopsis: being the therapist of the most stressed out men of fontaine means that you run out of solutions for them rather fast. as a result, this has led y/n having to suggest the most desired men of fontaine to try and relieve themselves of their stress through sexual methods. however, y/n found herself unable to wriggle her way out of her eventual involvement.

tags: threesome, gloryhole, safe word, oral (reader! receiving), unprotected $ex, dirty talk, creampies, squirting, handjob, cumsh0t, neuvillette and wriothesley are HUNG, neuvillette dragon cock (w/ visual link), SPOILERS for 4.2 AQ.

a/n: I’ve seen some vids of gl0ryh0les and I couldn’t help but keep thinking of wriothesley and neuvillette making use of me like that. So here you go, a beautiful 7.6k words about gloryhole with wrio and neuvi 🤭 ps. I’m not a therapist so don’t flame me for inaccuracies, ITS FICTION DJDHDNDB

© I do not condone my works being posted anywhere but on my own tumblr page.

Looking at the assistant of Wriothesley and Neuvillette in front of me with absolute bewilderment, the two of them started scratching the back of their heads with an embarrassed look on their faces.

“We know it’s an absurd request, but both of them just cannot stop… ahem, complaining about their stressful schedule ever since the latest events with the now ex-Hydro Archon,” Wriothesley’s assistant explains as her shoulders slump, looking at the ceiling with an exhausted expression. Neuvillette’s assistant nods her head in agreement, making me sigh. 

“Do they really not have partners of their own? From what I know, those two are the most sought after men in all of Fontaine, I’m pretty sure they could find a partner within a snap to satisfy their sexual needs,” I retorted, still trying to find a way out of their desperate request to me.

Like the two ladies said, both Wriothesley and Neuvillette have gotten an increasingly more packed schedule ever since the departure, or rather passing, of the Hydro Archon. Wriothesley had to deal with finding inmates that had managed to escape during the flooding, and Neuvillette had to deal with now having become the ruler of Fontaine now that Furina has decided to keep living on as a normal human. Safe to say, neither of the men had time to sit down and relax, which led to them voicing their frustrations to their assistants all day every day. 

With desperate pleas, they asked me what else they could do to make the men get a grip of themselves. Why me you ask? I was their physical as well as psychological therapist. Having earned numerous accolades from all regions of Teyvat, I ended up becoming the two gentlemen’s therapist, Neuvillette being my first client and Wriothesley becoming the second after the former introduced me to him. 

Being aware of the two men basically having a non-existent romantic life due to both of them being so occupied with their work and other personal matters and issues, it was no surprise that neither of them had sexual experiences with a partner. To be completely honest, I found that a surprising fact as, just like the other women and even men of Fontaine, I also considered the two of them very handsome men with good personalities. In short, I thought that they had all the factors needed for anyone wishing to be in a relationship with them. 

However, after my many therapy sessions with them, I figured out that Neuvillette simply could not because he had an identity crisis for over 500 years and only now has he started to truly understand himself. Wriothesley on the other hand, still had severe trust issues due to his past that was unfortunately filled with many heartbreaking memories. All their personal issues led to them not giving anyone an opportunity to become their romantic partner. 

Often, I had suggested they try and find such a person, however, both of them would always come with the excuse of having no time and that they found it a waste of time to comb through many people trying to find the worthy one. While it does sound quite ego-inflated, it was valid in the case of theset wo men due to the positions that they were responsible for when it came to the governance of Fontaine.

Now, back to the assistants in front of me. The two of them had suggested that I personally help the two men with their sexual needs as I had told them that sexually relieving themselves will be a very efficient method for relieving themselves of their stress. However, as I had just explained, neither of them put in the time nor effort to find a romantic partner with whom they could do that with. As a result, that led the two assistants to me as I was the only person that the two men trusted greatly. 

“Listen, I’m trying to stay as a professional therapist here, I do not want to ruin my relationship with my clients,” I explained, trying to make them understand that I could not help them with their insane request. Of course, I was curious as to how they would treat their partner behind closed doors, however, I did know that it was important to separate myself from my clients and that I should never let things get complicated like that. Besides, they were my only two clients as I did have a rather hefty price attached to me and I did not want to lose them as my clients as I did enjoy my time in Fontaine.

“We understand y/n, but we really have no other choice, you know we cannot help them like that, were both married with children, and you… don’t have either,” Wriothesley’s assistant continues begging, making me look at her with a difficult expression, my eyebrows drawn together. “Y/n, I’m sure you’re sexually frustrated as well! After all, in the years that you’ve spent here in Fontaine, I have never seen you around with anyone, if anything, I’m convinced you need a moment of relaxation… and pleasure just as much as those two men,” she adds, making me roll my eyes at her.

Wriothesley’s assistant was not wrong about that. Ever since I came to Fontaine, I had never romantically or sexually involved myself with anyone. My last partner being in Sumeru, I was quite attached to him. However, due to conflicting schedules and different goals in life, we had to go our separate ways. Me becoming a wandering global therapist while he became the Acting Grand Sage. Although it was an unfortunate break up, we did end things positively and no hard feelings were harboured. 

“That’s not a valid enough reason for me to become their designated person for sexual relief,” I sternly replied making Wriothesley’s assistant pout, this being the cue for Neuvillette’s assistant to step in. 

“Look y/n, we understand you do not want to lose your clientele who are essentially also your livelihood, however… I think it’s important that you know that our bosses are romantically interested in you,” Neuvillette’s assistant reveals, my eyes widening while I glanced at Wriothesley’s assistant who only looked away in embarrassment. 

“What? Where did that come from? Why would they be interested in me like that?” I asked in genuine confusion as I started recounting all the meetings I had with the two men in the past, trying to find the catalysts that made them become romantically interested in me. I was convinced that every meeting I had with them was strictly professional as I did not want to give off a bad impression to the two incredibly influential men in Fontaine. 

Neuvillette’s assistant glanced at the other lady, “Like my colleague said, both of them put a lot of trust in you, they have never opened up to anyone the way they did with you, I guess it is safe to say that their trust in you grew into the desire to have someone like you by their side as a romantic partner even.”

Ah. That explains it.

Heaving a deep sigh, knowing that the two assistants would not give up until I agreed with them, I saw hope spark in their eyes. “Fine, however, you two must find a method for me to conceal my identity… I will not ruin my professional relationship with them, so please ensure that there is a way for them to not become aware of the person that will help them sexually,” the two assistants exchanged glances with each other, Wriothesley’s assistant now standing right next to Neuvillette’s. 

“Miss L/N, have you ever heard of a gloryhole?”

—

The entire night, I was unable to get proper rest. After the two women fished out of me that I also had some degree of interest in the two men, and then explaining that a gloryhole would be the most anonymous method for me to help them, they told me that they would organise the entire set up and that I would simply have to show up. 

The idea of a gloryhole wasn’t unfamiliar. However, my knowledge about it never went any further than having seen a video or two about it. During the night I did some research about how the two women would possibly organise this, and by doing that the gears in my brain never stopped turning as they thought of all the possible moves the men would enact upon me as I would lay still, not being able to do anything but accept. 

Arriving at the Fortress of Meropide, Wriothesley’s assistant led me to some obscure room below his office that was used for confidential meetings which I obviously never attended. 

In front of me they set up a wall with a hole in the centre which was just wide enough for my upper body to fit through, and a metal table turned into a bed of some sorts fitting through that hole. “Lords, I have never even done this with my own husband, I can’t imagine what this will be like,” Wriothesley’s assistant comments, not directing that to anyone in particular.

I frowned at her which made her flinch, quickly turning her back to me as she rushed off to do something in preparation for whatever insane event was about to occur. Looking at the contraption in front of me once more, I saw two cuffs hammered into the wall above the hall making me tilt my head in confusion. “How are you two expecting me to get into this contraption?” I asked with genuine confusion as my head could not wrap around what they had in mind for me even though I did look at all kinds of footage yesterday evening. 

“Well… we thought it’d be most comfortable for you and our bosses that you lay down on your back and have your feet tied to these cuffs… so that, uhm, ahem, your legs are spread wide for… ahem, easy access,” Wriothesley’s assistant explained awkwardly as Neuvillette’s assistant chose to remain quiet.

Wriothesley’s assistant walked up to me with a stack of towels in her arms, giving me an apologetic look. 

“Stop looking at me like that, we’ve already come this far, there’s no point in being regretful about it now,” I said, making her nod in agreement.

“Well, if you’d allow us, we’d like to help you get ready and make sure you’re all comfortable before we go,” Neuvillette’s assistant suggested as she pointed towards the gloryhole contraption with her hands, making me audibly gulp.

—

As I was finally set up in the gloryhole the reality of what was about to happen finally set in. Coming to the realisation of how big of a thing this would be if this were to be exposed to the public woult set me up for complete exile from Fontaine; not even the Fortress of Meropide would accept me. In addition, if the two men were to figure out that I was the one they were having intercourse with, I would lose my two biggest clients that I have possibly ever had. Sighing at my thoughts I looked at the hole which I fit through, not being able to see my legs at all which were up in the air as my ankles were cuffed to a higher part of the wall. All I could see was less than an inch on the other side of the wall, and I prayed that the two men would not think of taking a glance through that small gap. 

Suddenly I heard footsteps approaching the room I was laying down in, not being able to move anything at all besides my upper body. As I was only in my panties, I started to become nervours, a shiver running up my spine as I now knew that there was no going back. Grabbing the blanket above me that the two assistants gave me, I covered my upper body while ensuring that the two men would not be able to glance through the hole, preparing myself for whatever was about to happen. 

The door creaked open, the familiar voices of the two men immediately booming throughout the silent room as I even tried to breathe as quietly as possible. “Sir Neuvillette and Sir Wriothesley, please remember the rules we told you and make sure that everything that happens within here stays here,” Wriothesley’s assistant instructed, making me look around in nervousness. 

“Wow, this is quite the unique contraption you two set up,” Wriothesley spoke as he sounded obviously amused at what he saw in front of him. “Wriothesley,” Neuvillette said sternly at which Wriothesley only scoffed, making the two assistants sigh. “Alright, as we said, this will take an hour and the lady who volunteered, wished for her identity to be kept secret, and as a result neither of you two will know who this person is, even after this occasion has concluded,” Neuvillete’s assistant explained once more at which Neuvillette hummed, not hearing anything from Wriothesley’s side.

“Alright Sir Neuvillette and Sir Wriothesley, we will now take our leave, and if either of you, or even the lady require anything, you will be able to find us upstairs in your office,” Neuvillette’s assistant concluded as the two assistants officially bid their temporary goodbyes to the two men before the door of the room slammed shut. 

There was officially no going back now. Archons.

—

“Hmm, I have to be honest with you Neuvillette… I have in fact never had sexual intercourse with anyone,” Wriothesley spoke, making me frown, being genuinely surprised that he never had sexual intercourse. I’ve been to multiple cafes, overhearing conversations of young women wanting to have atleast one chance with the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. These young women always voiced their imaginations about how good he might be in bed, and how he’s probably had multiple one night stands despite being known to have never been in a relationship. It was genuinely never my intention to listen in on their conversation, but could you blame me when they were talking about my client? 

“Ah really? Hmm, I can’t say I am not in the same situation as you are, despite me having experienced many years in this current life of mine, having a partner with whom I could do such activities with has never crossed my mind,” Neuvillette responded at which Wriothesley laughed. 

“No wonder you’re still learning human emotions,” Wriothesley commented, making Neuvillette hum at him. 

Neuvillette being a blank slate is something that did not really surprise me on the other hand. The only thing that surprised me is that in all the 500 years that he has lived, he has never given anyone an opportunity to become his romantical partner. Yes, he was still learning human emotions, however, I considered part of that lesson to be in a relationship atleast once. 

“Well, do you have a preference for going first?” Wriothesley asked, snapping me out of my inner thoughts, realising that this whole thing was now about to officially begin. “No, I am fine with going after you Wriothesley,” Neuvillette replied.

“Alright, suit yourself Iudex.”

Suddenly I felt Wriothesley’s roughed up hands on the back of my thighs, making me flinch which made Wriothesley chuckle. “I understand you want to remain anonymous, so if there’s anything you don’t like please say ‘exile’, understood?” Hearing him tell me to make use of a safe word I couldn’t help but feel a little touched at his consideration for me despite the weird situation the three of us found ourselves in. 

I loudly hummed letting him know I understood.

Not being able to see what the two men on the other side of the wall were doing, I nervously fumbled with the blanket as I waited and anticipated every move they would make. 

Wriothesley’s rough hands started stroking my inner thigh, thumb ghosting over my panties every so often, making me shiver. Hearing the men on the other side of the thin wall not say anything, I tried breathing even quieter as I was scared that they would recognise my breathing. Suddenly I felt Wriothesley’s hands on my buttocks before his fingers hooked onto the waistband of my panties, ripping them off with a swift motion, immediately exposing my private region to the two most desired men of Fontaine. 

Instinctually, I tried to close my legs, but due to my ankles being cuffed to a higher part of the wall, my knees couldn’t even touch each other, resulting in my attempt only making a loud rattling noise of the cuffs. Wriothesley laughed amusedly, making me bite my lip nervously. 

Even after my embarrassing movement, the two men still did not speak a word, making me feel a strong urge to speak myself as I was desparate to hear some form of communication. However, my thoughts soon got interrupted as I suddenly felt Wriothesley blow on my pussy, making me flinch harshly, bumping my knees against the wall. “Wriothesley, do not go to harsh on her,” Neuvillette suddenly spoke

“Yeah yeah, I’m sorry, I did tell her to use a safe word if there was anything not to her liking though, and also, you can’t blame me for being curious, no?” Wriothesley spoke back. Neuvillette did not reply back and instead I heard him walk around before he possibly sat down on one of the chairs that the assistants set up.

“Alright Miss Volunteer, I will be using my mouth to pleasure you now, remember the safe word, understood?” At his order I immediately hummed loud enough for both of them to hear, hearing a chuckle from Wriothesley and shuffling from Neuvillette. 

Without being given a second to prepare myself, Wriothesley’s tongue was pressed flat against my folds, making me flinch. I felt Wriothesley’s lips curve into a smile as he dragged his tongue upwards, flicking his tongue against my clit, my legs thrashing around at his surprisingly professional-like movements against my clit. Suddenly, Wriothesley pushed in two rough thick fingers, curving them upwards, on a search to find my sensitive spot. 

This man was most definitely not unfamiliar with sexual activities based on his tongue against my clit and fingers inside my hole.

Wriothesley suddenly started sucking on my clit, making me wildly move my hips around, making him wrap his arms around my thighs, keeping me in place as he now dragged his tongue downwards to plunge his tongue into my hole, his nose nudging against my clit every now and then. Keeping his left arm tightly wrapped around my thigh his other arm let go off my right leg to instead start rubbing his thumb against my clit. 

I severely underestimated how this would be easy peasy for me. It has been a few years since I last had sexual acitvities with another person, and having someone as skilled as Wriothesley perform cunnilingus on me was something I was not prepared for after so long. 

Feeling my orgasm approaching faster and faster, my legs started thrashing around, making my knees continuously bump against the wall, while Wriothesley’s hold on my left leg tightened even more and his right thumb sped up the circles he rubbed against my clit. The thread inside my core holding onto my release snapped, making me cum right into Wriothesley’s mouth.

As I rode out my orgasm on his tongue, I harshly bit down on my lower lip trying to keep my moans at bay as much as possible, some whines managing to slip out. As my hips started to calm down, now resting on the bed only twitching every so often, Wriothesley let go of my leg and retracted his hands from me, giving my cunt one last lick from my hole to my clit, making me loudly gasp. I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth, hoping that he did not recognise the way I gasped. 

“Hah, I’m glad I managed to make you gasp out loud, seems I haven’t lost my skills when it comes to giving oral,” Wriothesley commented, making me shake my head from side to side at his cockiness. Taking a deep breath, I blinked harshly, trying to recover from the intense orgasm as fast as possible so I wouldn’t absolutely lose my mind at what was to come next. 

“Do you want to give this a try Neuvillette?” Wriothesley asked, making me push myself up with my elbows, getting nervous at the fact that the Hydro Sovereign would maybe also perform cunnilingus on me. 

Neuvillette was not exempted from the many imaginations of the young women of Fontaine. Just like Wriothesley, many women wondered whether Neuvillette has ever had a partner and whether he has ever done it. Many knew that the Iudex was solitary and even stayed inside his home whenever it was sunny when possible. Neuvillette completely eliminated any chances of anyone trying to get closer to him. However, despite his personality being determined to keep people away from him, many still remained curious about him. 

Most regular Fontanians did not know that Neuvillette was the Hydro Sovereign, however, it would be a lie to say that I never thought about whether this man had any draconic features despite having a human body in this lifetime of his. I have once imagined that he might have a private part that was not like a regular human’s. I have also once imagined that maybe he might have a different tongue as many dragons did appear to have snake-like tongues.  

“I have never done this, but I will give it an attempt, I just hope that I will be able to pleasure the lady sufficiently enough,” Neuvillette responded as I heard him stand up, the heels of his boots resonating against the metal floor as he made his way over to me. 

“Miss, just as Wriothesley has done, I would like you to use the safe word if anything is not to your liking, hopefully I will satisfy you sufficiently,” the moment he finished his sentence, I felt his bare fingers slide between my folds, my arousal gathering on his fingers as he did so. His fingers retracted making me wonder what he did, but the moment I heard sucking noises I realised that he tasted my arousal. 

“You taste delightful Miss,” after his compliment Neuvillette immediately plunged his tongue into my cunt, his tongue definitely being an inch or two longer than Wriothesley’s. Feeling the tip of his tongue lick against my inner walls, my hands slammed against the wall at the foreign feeling of someone’s tongue reaching that far inside me. Neuvillette stopped his movements at my hands slamming against the wall, but not wanting to speak, I raised my hips, grinding myself agains this mouth, hoping that he’d understand that I want him to keep going. 

“Hah, guess your dragon-like features do come in handy in sexual contexts huh?” Wriothesley commented, making Neuvillette grunt against my cunt. Neuvillette started languidly rubbing his thumb against my clit while his long tongue continued to lick up against my walls. My hips continued to grind against his mouth, desperately chasing my second orgasm of the evening. Neuvillette removed himself from my cunt making me whine. “Patience, Miss, we are far from done this evening,” Neuvillette spoke as he caught my whine. 

Being desparate for him to continue pleasuring me with his tongue, he instead inserted two fingers inside me, curving his fingers in just the right way, making the tips of his fingers massage against the sensitive spot within me. Loud moans slipped from between my lips, not being able to keep my moans at bay anymore as Neuvillette only added more pleasure to the orgasm which Wriothesley brought me to. After two thrusts, Neuvillette suddenly added another finger making me wince at the stretch of my cunt. “We must properly prepare you for the main event,” Neuvillette explained as he caught wind of my slight discomfort as he noticed me slightly pull away from his fingers. 

As he slowly thrusted his three fingers in and out, his free hand started rubbing slow circles against my clit, distracting me from the slight discomfort of the wide stretch. Feeling my orgasm approach once more, my nails started scratching against the wall, signalling Neuvillette that I was close to releasing. After a few more thrusts of his fingers, and his fingers rolling my clit inbetween his fingers, arousal flooded out of my hole, onto the bed below me. 

Having let go of my lower lip which I had been biting on for quite a while now, loud gasps were freely slipping past my lips, as I tried to regain my breathing from the intense orgasm that the Hydro Sovereign brought me to. 

“The Miss seems properly prepared now, would you like to go first Wriothesley?” Neuvillette asked the other man as I was still trying to regain my breathing as well as calm down from the intense orgasm I just experienced. 

Shit. 

I had no idea how big the two men were, but based on their large stature, I always assumed that they would be quite hung down there. And after having Neuvillette use three fingers on me, I felt that my hypothesis would be quite on the mark. 

“I do not mind, however, sexual intercourse is not something I have done,” Wriothesley responded as I heard him stand up and make his way over to me, his heavy boots making the sounds it made against the floor bounce against the walls. “Ah I see, you only have experience with oral sex I assume then,” Neuvillette commented. Hearing nothing from Wriothesley I assumed he nodded at Neuvillette’s question.

“Well, what I am trying to say is that I think it would be better for her to do it with an actual human first… rather than something… inhuman,” Neuvillette explained, making me widen my eyes and Wriothesley laugh. 

“Wow, okay then, are you saying I am much smaller than you?” Wriothesley joked at which Neuvillette gave him a stern look (which I did not see). “No, however, like you said yourself, I do possess some draconic features which would possibly make sexual intercourse a bit more intense,” Neuvillette explained, making Wriothesley scoff.

“Alright Hydro Dragon, I get it now, you’re just trying to make our dear volunteer understand that you will be way better than I am, you will give her an experience so out of this world as you are a dragon, no?” Wriothesley teased, making me nervously bite my innerlip for him as he might have been getting on Neuvillette’s nerves. 

The two of them did have a relatively good relationship with one another. While their past with each other was quite complicated due to Neuvillette being the one having sentenced Wriothesley, but him also having helped Wriothesley getting into the position he is now, they still remained close to each other. 

“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette spoke with a stern tone, making Wriothesley roll his eyes at him, “I am not saying that, I am simply saying that my appendage is not like the one of a normal human and I am afraid that it might hurt her if she does not experience someone who is of similar size but does have a normal human appendage.”

“Ah… okay, uhm, I am not sure why you think we have similar sizes, but-” Wriothesley got cut off by Neuvillette. “If you look downwards, they do seem to be quite similar, now please, you may go first,” Neuvillette walked back to the chair, his legs spread as he observed how Wriothesley would have sexual intercourse with me. 

“Alright Miss Volunteer, last reminder that you have a safe word you can use if things are not nice,” Wriothesley reminded once again, making me hum in response. 

Tightly gripping onto the sides of the bed I was laying on, I prepared myself for Wriothesley’s cock that was about to enter me. I had not calmed down from my orgasm yet, my walls still pulsing and clit still feeling sensitive to the cold air hitting it. 

Hearing a belt being unbuckled before falling onto the ground, I squeezed my eyes shut, not knowing when Wriothesley would push his cock in. Wriothesley’s hands rubbed against the back of my thighs, before he placed one hand on my left hip while his right hand was splayed on my lower stomach, his thumb massaging my clit. His right hand retracted from my stomach and the next second I felt his large bulbuous tip being massaged against my folds, nudging it against my clit a few times before he finally pushed his tip in.

Only having his tip inside me, I already could not hold back my moans, nervousness as well as extreme pleasure washing over my body as I was anxious that the two men might recognise my noises for some reason. “Ah shit, you sure are tight even after all the prep we did,” Wriothesley commented as his grip on my left hip tightened, making me think that it might leave a light bruise. 

His right hand now also gripped my other hip, and before I could process what was happening, he pushed his full length into me in one swift movement. The tip of his cock pushed right against my sensitive spot making me uncontrollably tremble within his hold, my fingernails digging into the bottom of the bed as short but loud gasps slipped past my parted lips. 

“Shit, she’s a real tight fit, she’s gonna make me come real quick, that’s quite embarrassing,” Wriothesley spoke with a breathy laugh, obviously also speaking to Neuvillette, as his eyes focused in on how we were connected, my pussy lips stretched to make his thick long cock fit. 

“Ensure she feels good as well Wriothesley, while this was set up for us, it is only fair that she feels good as well,” Neuvillette commented making Wriothesley scoff at him. “What do you take me for Iudex? Of course I’ll make sure she feels good.”    

As the two had a small banter, I was desperately trying to adjust to Wriothesley’s large size and girth as fast as I could, but before I could, Wriothesley readjusted his grip on my hips and started pulling his cock out until only his tip remained inside before ramming his cock right back in. 

“Shit!” A loud curse left my lips as his thrusting made me shift up the bed, but Wriothesley quickly regained his grip on my hips, almost using me like a ragdoll as everytime he thrusted his large thick cock in, he tugged my body towards his, making his tip ram against my sensitive spot repeatedly. 

“Damn, her voice sounds kind of familiar, ahh, don’t you think?” Wriothesley asked Neuvillette as his unrelenting thrusts continued, loud wet noises being bounced around the room. Neuvillette didn’t respond, but instead his focus on the noises that I let out, got way more focused. 

“Archons, look at all that cum around my cock,” Wriothesley commented, making me clench down on him at the filthy words that he used. “Hah, you like dirty talk don’t you?” Not being able to verbally answer his question, I instead nodded my head fervently even though he could not see it. 

“Ngh, I wouldn’t mind being able to have this pussy on my cock everyday, you really feel good after all.”

As he continued his dirty talk, my hands now gripped onto the bed from above my head as I tried to meet his thrust everytime he thrusted in. Unlike the previous orgasms, I now felt a familiar but also unusual feeling build up within my core. This was a feeling I hadn’t felt since my last relationship, and realising what was about to happen I was desperate to warn Wriothesley, however, his unrelenting deep and harsh thrusts made all the words in my throat become clogged up. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezing on me real tight, are you a virgin as well?” Wriothesley asked as his thrusts started to become more messy, making his tip bump against my sensitive spot from all kinds of angles.

“Ngh, shit, I’m coming!” I moaned out loud, completely throwing out the personal promise of keeping my identity hidden as I did not even attempt to fake my voice. 

Before Wriothesley or Neuvillette could say anything though, the unusual familiar feeling inside my core burst loose, as arousal started squirting all over Wriothesley’s chest while tears flowed from my eyes at the intense state of pleasure I was brought to by Wriothesley’s cock. 

“Oh wow, look at that, didn’t think I’d make someone squirt like that for my first time,” Wriothesley commented with an amused tone as his thumb started rubbing against my clit, making my arousal splatter around even more messily, while he continued to thrust his large thick cock into me, still chasing after his own orgasm. 

After a few more thrusts, Wriothesley pushed down on my hips as his cock was pushed inside of me to the hilt, his cum spurting into the deepest parts of my hole. “Ngh, shit, that felt really good,” He commented as I noticed him bump his forehead against the wall, his cock pulsing inside my walls, still spurting out thick cum until it slowly started seeping out due to my hole being filled to the brim with just his cock. 

“Ahh, wow, that was unlike anything I ever felt y/n, I hope Neuvillette will be able to do you just as good as I did.”

Hearing Wriothesley speak my name, I wanted to break myself loose from this gloryhole contraption. However, still experiencing an orgasm, and Wriothesley’s cock still inside me and pulsing, I couldn’t even reply due to overstimulation. 

After a few more deep thrusts, his pubic bone pressing against my clit, he slipped himself out resulting in our mixed arousal flowing out before dripping onto the metal floor. 

“Seems I made her unable to speak, you’re free to go ahead Iudex.”

Neuvillette’s familiar footsteps approached me once again, and not even having recovered from the orgasm brought upon me by Wriothesley, I felt Neuvillette rub his ridged cock against my folds, making me gasp. 

Shocked at the unique texture of Neuvillette’s cock, I pushed my hands through the hole, gripping onto its edge, preparing myself for Neuvillette. “Well, that ring on her index finger sure does belong to y/n, why don’t you make her feel good now Iudex?” Wriothesley spoke from up close, making me realise that he was standing next to Neuvillette, observing our sexual intercourse from up close. 

“Wriothesley, do not interrupt me,” Neuvillette spoke with a voice filled with authority. “Oh geez, don’t worry Neuvillette I’m not stealing your spot now,” Wriothesley began trying to make Neuvillette regain his senses as he obviously seemed a bit more feral now, “Since her hands are out in the open now, I thought I could make use of them, no?”.

Neuvillette hummed at him, and before I could process what was happening, Neuvillette started pushing his long and thick ridged cock in which also happened to have a different texture. Instead of the smooth texture such as that of Wriothesley’s cock which had a few veins decorating it, Neuvillette’s cock was slightly more rough. Instead of Neuvillette finding my sensitive spot like Wriothesley, his cock instead forced me to feel intense pleasure through the entirety of my innerwalls due to his ridged cock perfectly rubbing against my walls. 

My left hand was now wrapped around Wriothesley’s fat long cock making me feel the differences between the two cocks even more vividly. Adjusting his hands on my hips, Neuvillette pushed his cock into me to the hilt, making me moan out his name unashamedly. 

“Hah… keep calling out my name like that y/n,” Neuvillette spoke as he languidly thrusted his cock into me, making my entire body shiver as his ridged cock made me feel a different type of pleasure I had never felt before. 

“Hey hey, don’t forget about me now,” Wriothesley commented, making me resume my movements on his cock, massasing his tip within my fist as I heard him grunt. 

Neuvillette’s cock and movements, made the same familiar unsual feeling approach rapidly making me sob out loud. “Do you want me to, ngh, stop, y/n?” Neuvillette asked as his grip on my hips slightly loosened. 

“No! Please no, please keep going!” I begged as I desperately thrusted myself on Neuvillette’s cock while I sped up the circular movements of my hand on Wriothesley hearing his moaning and grunts increase in loudness. 

One of Neuvillette’s hands rested against my lower stomach, before he pressed down, making me feel his slightly more pointier tip prod against his hand that was pressing down. Neuvillette’s thrusts increased in strength and depth, a mixture of Neuvillette’s and Wriothesley’s name slipping from my parted lips as the orgasm came even closer.

Suddenly I felt Wriothesley’s cock twitch within my hand, a few spurts of cum landing on my hand, but before I could retract my hand, Wriothesley grabbed that hand and I suddenly felt warm liquid being released onto my stomach. 

“Ah fuck, look at how filthy she looks with all that cum soaking her lower body,” Wriothesley commented, making me clench down on Neuvillette. 

Neuvillette’s rough and deep thrusts stuttered as I clenched down on him, making Wriothesley chuckle. “She feels good doesn’t she? Almost like she was made for us,” Wriothesley continued, making me thrash my legs around, my knees starting to bruise due to the continuous bumping against the wall. 

“I am going to cum inside you y/n,” Neuvillette warned as he suddenly grabbed my hands, his thrusts having an even stronger impact due to him forcing me down on him, his pointy tip now also bumping against my sensitive spot while his ridges continued abusing my walls. 

“Ngh! Neuvi-, agh, -llette, I’m gonna come!” I screamed out as I once again felt arousal squirt out of me and onto Neuvillette and Wriothesley. As I was squirting my juices all over them, Neuvillette’s thrusts did not cease their deep and rough movement, making my arousal splatter all over them even more messily. 

“Ahh…” moaning out loud, Neuvillette finally came inside me, his cum noticably more warm than Wriothesley, making me wince and try to pull away as the amount of arousal that accumulated within me almost made it feel like it would all explode out of me. Noticing me try to pull away from him, Neuvillette’s grip on my hands tightened, making me unable to move.

His pulsing cock continued to spurt his hot cum inside me, the mixed arousal of Wriothesley, Neuvillette and me, flowing out because of inadequate space within my walls. 

“Ah, there’s so much, I feel so full, please pull out,” I begged as I wriggled my hips, making Neuvillette’s cock only stimulate me even more. “You know you have a safe word y/n,” Wriothesley reminded, making me groan.

Yes. I had a safe word. Everything felt like too much. However, at the same time, everything I felt was unlike anything I ever felt and I wanted to indulge in it as long as I could despite the intensity of it all. 

Hearing no response from me, Neuvillette thrusted into me a few more times, as if he was trying to push all the mixed arousal as deep as possible, hoping that at least some of it would remain within, as if to mark me. 

Feeling myself still squirting, although less intense than a few moments ago, tears streamed down my face as I was drunk on pleasure coursing throughout my whole body, not even noticing that Neuvillette had now slipped himself out. The mixed arousal of us three flowed out of me and onto the floor making the two men give each other amused looks.

“I could even say she’s more beautiful than the Fountain of Lucine,” Wriothesley commented, making me try and squeeze my legs shut at his inappropriate comment. 

Neuvillette uncharacteristically rolled his eyes at Wriothesley and instead decided to help me get out of the gloryhole contraption as I felt his hands touch the cuffs around my ankles. 

—

After the two men had helped me get out of the gloryhole and even helped me get cleaned up in the bathroom next to the room we had intercourse in, we made our way up to Wriothesley’s office after the assistants took their leave. 

“You know, I did not think that the one behind suggesting we sexually satisfy ourselves would also be the one on the receiving end of that sexual satisfaction,” Wriothesley began as he handed me a cup of his finest tea. 

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand, “Listen, this wasn’t even my intention, but you guys’ assistants were incredibly determined to have me be that person, I didn’t realise they just did not want to go through all the trouble of having an absolute stranger be in on this.”

“If I may support their reasoning, we would not have agreed to this unique setup had they not said that the volunteer was someone we knew and could trust for remaining anonymous,” Neuvillette spoke up, sipping on the tea that Wriothesley also gave him. 

“Oh wow, well who did you guys even think that it might be if they said it was someone you both know?” I asked curiously, thinking that they might not have minded anyone else as long as it was someone they trusted. 

“Well, had we not known it wasn’t you and it actually wasn’t you we would have left and let the assistants deal with the aftermath,” Wriothesley explained as he had now finished his own tea, and took a seat next to me, placing a pillow behind me so I could lean back comfortably. I softly thanked him. 

“Hmm… so you’re saying that this conversation would have never happened if it wasn’t me,” I asked, making Neuvillette and Wriothesley nod. 

“Well, since the cat’s out of the bag now, what would you guys hope happens now? It will obviously be difficult for me to not feel some degree of uncomfortable-ness during our therapy sessions now,” I immediately went to a serious topic, seeing no point in continuing to talk about what happened a while ago. 

Neuvillette, who was seated in the chair behind the desk, sighs deeply, “Would you be willing to continue these kinds of sessions with the two of us? We both believe that there’s a lot of trust built between the three of us so we find it suitable that you help us while we of course also help you.”

Flabbergasted at this suggestion, many thoughts started running through my mind. 

Yes, the two men were absolute gentlemen despite the odd situation we found ourselves in. 

However, now they suggest friends with benefits, no… colleagues with benefits? The two most desired men of Fontaine asked this type of relationship from a simple therapist?

Noticing me deep in thought and hesitation swirling in my mind, Wriothesley then adds on, “Of course if you dont want that, that is fine too and we’ll keep whatever happened today just between the three of us, but I believe it is important you know that this suggestion of ours is also because we have a genuine romantical interest in you and we’d be very honoured if you’re willing to have an exclusive relationship with us.”

Romantic interest in them was not non-existent for me. These thoughts have always swirled around in my mind every now and then after they were a bit more gentleman-like rather than client-like during our therapy sessions. However, I never thought they’d both desire me and that they’d even suggest a polyamourous relationship. This suggestion of course made me concerned about many things. 

Wriothesley was the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide and Neuvillette was the Hydro Sovereign who has now essentially taken over the duties of the now deceased Hydro Archon. What would happen not only to me, but also them once people discover that the two highly desired men are in a polyamourous relationship with a mere therapist?

“I am assuming that you have worries about being a relationship with the two of us due to our occupation, however, it is essential that you know we highly value privacy and do not intend to ever expose our private relationships to the Fontainians,” Neuvillette reassured, making me think he read my mind as he gave an answer to all the worries I had. 

As I was still keeping quiet despite his reasonable explanation and reassurance, Neuvillette awkwardly coughed, “Ah, I see it is an absurd suggestion after all, I am deeply sorry we suggested something like this, it must be disrespectful as well, my apolo-”. 

“I don’t mind, however,” I began, interrupting Neuvillette and making Wriothesley put all of his attention on me as he put down his tea cup on the low table in front of us, “there is a lot that needs to be discussed seeing as we’re both entering a type of relationships we’ve all never had experience with.”

The two men nod. “We understand y/n, and were not in a rush to settle things immediately, if time is what you need, then we will give you time, we are just very honoured and glad that you reciprocate our feelings,” Wriothesley speaks as he holds my hands, giving them a tight reassuring squeeze. 

Looking at the two men, Wriothesley holding onto my hands, a soft smile on his face, and Neuvillette sitting behind the desk, finishing up his cup of tea with a satisfied smile, I couldn’t help but think that I could probably stop my job as a therapist for a short while.

Had to give a link to what I was visualising neuvi’s cock to look like lmao

Anywho, this will officially be my last fic for quite a while as I have exams this upcoming week and the weeks after it and then I’m celebrating my birthday and then we have the festivities of Christmas and new year and then I have the Genshin concert 🫶🏼 very busy busy period, anywho, lemme leave this banger smut behind before I meet you guys in the new year 🙌🏼

[hwaitham-deactivated20240620]

𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚

al haitham x f!reader . nsfw — mdni . established relationship ﾉ dry humping ﾉ foreplay heavy ﾉ praise ﾉ finger sucking ,, :3c ﾉ cervix fucking + creampies ﾉ petnames [ darling + baby + sweet girl + princess ] ﾉ clit kissies ﾉ haithie is only a teensie bit teasing n' supa dupa sweet ᰔᩚ disclaimer tht this is a rewrite + repost frm m old blog ! !

“you’ll never hear the end of it if kaveh catches you with that.”

you paw at the thick book al haitham has laid over the thigh that you aren’t occupying, shying into his neck at the image painted on the cardstock page he’s flipped to— one of a man and woman adorned in fine jewelry, gold silks tumbling off their limbs as they embrace each other in what appears to be a rather compromising position.

you’re not exactly sure what's led your haitham— someone who has rarely ever indulged in the pleasure-oriented faculties of life— to pick up such a text about sex and eroticism as the kama sutra.

regardless, you can't seem to deny that the mere thought of him analyzing the images on each page, fantasizing about you and he bound together in such positions, limbs draped and damp and hot, is enough to coil your insides with anticipation.

“there’s far more to the kama sutra than just… fornication. it’s more so a guide to living well and the nature of love. a whole section is dedicated to finding a life partner—”

“awh, does that mean you’re gonna…?” you giggle, playfully wagging your ring finger in front of his face.

al haitham’s ears tinge red at your insinuation, but he carries on with the faintest of smirks on his lips that he’s trained to remain invisible. at least, invisible to you, “— and there’s another chapter solely demonstrating when and how to commit adultery.”

and just like that— your toothy smile turns to a frown, nose twitching as you anxiously toss your hair. “you'd better not be reading that chapter,” you mutter into the warm skin of his neck, lips curving into a weak, half-hearted kiss that you lay over his pulse.

it’s almost amusing to him, the prettiest pout on your lips and brows knitted taut as you try to hide your disappointment from him, turn your head away from his when he attempts to face you. “sweetheart, look at me.”

“no.”

“you child,” he huffs out a sigh, endeared to your petulance. shaking his head, he gently grasps your chin to hold you in place and lays an apologetic kiss atop the apple of your cheek. “i never said i’d be paying that part any mind, did i?”

"still..." bashfully, you pick at the jade of his breastbone, soft voice crackling with nerves that you forcefully keep lodged in your throat.

and al haitham can't deny that it's cute; it's very, very cute when you get like this.

he can't deny his heart leaping and stopping and leaping again until he feels the sweet burn of it at the back of his tongue, the strong pulse jumping into his head and the tips of his fingers and southbound of the waist of his pants.

it beats quickly, quickly, grows untamed.

such intense feelings are perhaps thought by most to be unnatural for someone like himself, but fitting, for someone madly in love.

so, al haitham does what his heart tells him to do— he sets the heavy leather-bound tome aside and leans over you, holding you down against the couch by the handles of your waist. hikes your thigh over his shoulder before lowering his face to the crotch of your panties, skirt pooling flimsily at your hips. “when a woman reproaches a man, but at the same time acts affectionately towards him, she should be made love to in every way,” he quotes from the kama sutra.

the warmth of his breath reaches through the thin cotton and your cunt begins to weep, clenching and oozing out slick in a silent plea for his fingers, his tongue— anything to relieve the weight of desperation that settles heavily on your stomach. and before your hips can involuntarily wiggle against his face in search of respite, al haitham is already tugging your panties to the side to place a sweet, lingering kiss on your clit. 

you tremble at the sudden warmth, soft features overcome with a dazed expression as if that alone is enough to knock all the thought out of your pretty little head. “‘h-haitham, what’re you doing…”

“putting theory into practice.”

and then he’s licking up the length of your slit, collecting your sugary slick in the dip of his tongue before letting it dribble past his lips in a mix of saliva onto your swollen clit— giving it another kiss, and another, and then some— until your chest begins to heave with pitchy whispers of his name, candied with a burning behind your eyes from how badly you need more, all of him.

“patience, darling,” lips are replaced with a growing bulge as his face levels to meet your own, sapphire-tinged emerald dancing across your features, from the delicate pinch of your brows to the flex of your neck. al haitham presses into you deeper, your bare and puffy folds moulding to the shape of his cock through his slacks, drenching the fabric with your milky cream. "all in due time, now..."

his crotch catches onto your clit and in an instant, you’re curling your fingers woefully into the linen of his shirt, puffing out hot air against his jaw as you keen sweetly— haithieee, f-feels nice, feels... o-ohh...

oh, what a pretty, tender, needy thing you are— clinging onto his bicep and painting his ivory skin with crescents of red, every slow grind of his clothed cock against your achy cunt drawing another eager, desperate whine from your throat. and you only fall more lightheaded as he nuzzles into your ankle dangling off his shoulder, kissing the bone before making quick work to remove the noisy anklet adorning it, because all he wants, needs to hear are the sounds he coaxes out of you; all the pitchy moans and cute little hums are the most dulcet sounds to grace the earth, he’s absolutely sure of it.

“w-wanna… kiss…”

“what’s that?” he whispers against the inside of your knee, the swell of your breast, the hollow of your clavicle as he travels lipwards— covering every inch except the place you need to feel him most.

“i wanna kiss, haitham! lots 'nd lots 'nd lots...” you throw a tiny fit, and it’s nothing short of adorable when your tongue does a poor job of biting back your impatience. the uneven pout of your lips and the twitch of your nose have his veins aching with such a strong need to dote on you, tend to you until he rids you of the pain of your burning desire and all you’re able to voice is fifty different whimpers of his name. "i want a kiss on my lips, please?"

“oh, but if i kiss you here,” your haitham teases as he runs a thumb over the dainty curve of your mouth, stopping it at the swell of your bottom lip before releasing a strained laugh, chest knotted up with half-pleasure and half-pain, for all he wants to do is kiss and suck and lick and nibble the soft flesh— feed on it, even— and with a generosity wherein you’re ready to offer anything, everything, he’s almost positive you’d let him. “i’m afraid i won’t be able to stop.”

“don’t want you to stop… never ever,” your eyes are hazy with the light of the stars and you’re looking up at him with so much ardour, busying your lips with soft suckles on his thumb while he hastily frees his cock from the confines of his slacks. his gaze stays on you all the while because you look so pretty like this and your words settle in the deepest depths of his soul and he thinks he could just devour you whole.

patience be damned.

“never ever, hm?” he muses, eyes swimming with a shimmery pool of silver mirth. you shiver and twitch under his gentle hold, where he kisses the corner of your parted lips, nosing along your cheek to place another on your brow, a final one against the hot lobe of your ear. his breath fans over your neck as he teases your little cunt open with his leaking tip, and you feel him smirk against your skin when you obediently spread your legs wider to accommodate his size. “you wouldn’t be able to eat or drink anything ever again.” 

it’s nearly tragic— the soft, dreamy lulls of your head, the cute whimpers of his name, the saliva that pools and spills around the thumb he pops out of your mouth— he’s barely gotten the flushed head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle and you’re already so complacent, pliable, perfect for him. 

“don’t care… s’long as i have you,” you sniffle, fingers grappling weakly at the tufts of platinum and sage that curl around his neck, trying to lean up and bump your nose against his. “please, kiss me?”

and it’s in the way you ask him: with dew clinging to your lashes and a timid quiver to your breath that makes him submit all at once, because what kind of a person would he be to deny his lover when she asks so sweetly?

and just as al haitham’s lips meet yours, he’s reprimanding himself for not giving you a kiss sooner. because on your tongue he tastes the spice carried through the sumeru wind and zaytun peaches and all the fluttering pieces of romantic prose you eat and gosh— al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet— but surely, he doesn’t need any kama sutra to teach him about the love he holds for you in his heart.

he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you some more— smirking against your lips when you sigh happily and melt into the palms that smooth up your waist, moulding and shaping you into the perfect princess of his that you are. “pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

“uh huhhh, wanna be everything for you,” you respond wetly through the spit bubbling at your mouth and the blood that flows straight to your brain as he begins to fuck you languidly with his tip, watching your slick drip and ooze around the red, bulbous head.

he shushes your sobs sweetly, the pads of his thumbs dipping just at the edges of your eyes to collect any tears before they have a chance to be shed. “shhh— f-fuck— s’okay, you’re doin’ so well— doing so well for me. oh you sweet girl.”

you begin to pant against the hollow of his neck as he eases his full length into you, all the ridges and veins decorating his cock that you’ve come to memorize over the past months perfectly snug against the warmth of your delicate walls. his head falls forwards and his forehead bumps against yours, a harsh, erotic groan escaping him when your little cunt begins to squeeze and clench around his cock, sucking him in further, further, all the way until he’s knocking at the sponge of your cervix and his pubic bone is flush against your clit.

your hips jerk at the sharp pulses of pain and pleasure that build in your abdomen as he grinds into your womb— the sweetest, breathiest whines of h-haithie, ‘haitham, s’biiiig flood his brain because he’s deeper than he’s ever been, with the backs of your knees sticky against the bridge of his shoulders and your body quivering under him from how full you feel.

he does all he can to wash away the aching pinpricks in your tummy— slipping a palm between the couch and the back of your head to cradle it, pressing hot kisses to your forehead as he continues drawing his hips back and forth, back and forth, maintaining a steady rhythm with his cockhead as it slides against the sponge of your most sensitive parts.

and he continues fucking into your womb like this, thumb sliding in the thin space between his crotch and your clit to rub sloppy stars on the puffy nub, and— oh, it feels like heaven.

“feels like heaven?” he’s asking, charmed by your guileless wonder as you wrap your arms around his neck and meekly tug his face closer to yours, rubbing your nose against his cheek like a pet endeared to her owner.

"mhmmm, feel you here, haithie… in my tummy,” you giggle in ecstasy, at the thought of his cock twitching wildly in you and his cum filling you up there, hot and sticky and oozing like sweet milk down your thighs— you want it so bad; you want it everywhere— in your womb, dousing your skin and in every crevice, in your brain. to have him mark you with his seed as a physical manifestation of his love makes you think you might cry.

and you do, because you want him— all of him so, so bad.

you sniffle when you feel the tears rush down your face and al haitham can only groan at how overwhelming everything is: the wild pounding of his heart against his ribs and the starry night reflected in your eyes and your walls hugging his cock so tight like it loves it. “h-hey now, ‘m gonna cum if you keep sucking me in like that— o-oh, fuckkk.” 

he’s worked you up to that soft, dreamy headspace— where you’re hiccupping on shallow breaths and your bambi eyes are glazed over with honey and the words come tumbling out of your pretty lips before you have a chance to think them through. “cum in me— pretty please, wan’ your cum in my tummy, wan’ it everywhereee—!"

it’s all so much, and it’s all too fast, because it’s only been a short while but your words send a glow of mind-numbing pleasure through his head, down his chest to his cock— and then he’s cumming— thrusts jerky before he plunges into you completely, spurt after spurt of thick white ribbon filling your womb, flushing your limbs full of warmth.

you’re right there with him as the head of his cock twitches and drags over that one spot nestled deep in your cunt and his thumb continues its assault on your clit, gravelly voice spewing sweet nothings into your hair while you mewl for him sweetly.

and it’s so pretty— you’re so pretty when you cry, so pretty when you cum— he tells you as he clears your face of any stray hairs before thumbing your tears away. the next few moments are silent and he takes them to admire you, the heave of your chest as your breath steadies, the almost doll-like pout of your lips, the precious way you suck your cheek in between your molars to defy the flustered grin that forms under the curious gaze of your lover.

“don’t hide from me,” he speaks to your lips as he gently tugs the skin free from between your teeth, the most tender smile gracing his face when you begin to giggle shyly, eyes beaming with starlight and mouth curved up like the most daintiest of petals. “so long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

another passage from the kama sutra, you presume. the delivery of the line, words thick and dripping affection like ginger molasses would’ve made you swoon if it weren’t for the mere fact that it was al haitham saying them. in a failed attempt to suppress the onslaught of laughter, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, only for your lover to tut you with a playful roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

“i... suppose such poetry is unbefitting for me, huh?”

your legs slot under his arms to wrap around his waist more comfortably, heels resting against his back dimples and fingers tracing hearts over the dips and grooves of his biceps. he’s picked it up as one of your habits— something you do when you feel particularly endeared to him. “you should leave the lovey-dovey stuff to me, haithie.”

perhaps you’re right, he tells you through bated breath— perhaps he’s the furthest thing from a poet, a romantic, but there’s no denying how you make him feel like he could compose the greatest love story in all the universe— and it’s silly, he thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind. 

perhaps al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet, but if you were to tell him he was your world, he would tell you that you’re everything that makes the world good and beautiful and pure. tell him you’d die without him, and he’d tell you that he could still exist without you, but that’s all he’d ever manage to do.

but al haitham is a scholar, not a romantic, and such poetry is unbefitting for him.

right?

my early birthday gift frm me 2 u ^__^ i apologize for it only being a repost ,, i will try my vry best to post a new fic for our haithie over the winter break 🍪🥛 so please cheer me on & look forward to it ! ! !

[aphelion789]

As I was falling asleep last night I had a thought that woke me up so fast in a fit of laughter.

Any cat breed hybrid reader with Childe (or any other orange haired blorbo) would have orange kids. They'd be fucking orange cats!! The poor little babies would have to share the braincells.

[unpretty]

The Outbursts of Everett True was a comic strip that ran in papers from 1905 to 1927, wherein the aforementioned Everett True regularly beat the everliving shit out of rude people as a warning to anyone else who might consider being rude. Men have not only been taking up too much room on public transport for about as long as public transport has existed, but the people around them have been irritated about it for at least a hundred years. The next time someone tries to claim that manspreading is a false phenomenon, please direct them to this strip so that Everett True can correct their misconceptions with an umbrella upside the head.

[guyalice]

I have never before heard of Everett True, but if he “regularly beat the everliving shit out of rude people as a warning to anyone else who might consider being rude,” I have a strong spiritual connection with him.

[froginakettle]

[hotcocoachia]

I fucking love him

[jaynavajasso]

i can imagine this guy’s voice very clearly in my head but i couldn’t put a name to it 

[iamtypinglike98madmen-deactivat]

He also jabs racists in the eye!

[tumblunni]

I love the justice grandpa of fists

[cursedcharley]

I’m very lucky to own a book that’s a collection of most of these comics (sadly not all of them) and would highly recommend hunting these down if you can. Sorry for the lack of a scanner but phone photos will just have to do.

He was a enjoyable cuss who didn’t care for war mongering.

Especially profitable war mongering and excuses for it!

He certainly didn’t like selfish husbands and fathers!

Politicians who turned on their words once they got theirs weren’t safe.

He said fuck the police!

He absolutely didn’t like people ruining little things for kids.

He stood up for foreigners. Especially those doing their best to communicate with limited second language knowledge.

He was not having any tomfoolery when it came to gun safety and laws. Especially with youth involved.

You had better not abuse a animal with him nearby. He’d right that wrong real quick!

And best of all him and his wife were both prickly cusses together. Relationship goals.

[biglawbear]

I have a new role model

[briarchubnj]

😍

[runcibility]

“justice grandpa of fists”

[arquus-malvaceae-deactivated202]

It’s nice to see a fat dude in a political cartoon that’s NOT being used as shorthand for greed and corruption.

[charismat1c-megafauna]

Hes like the personification of motherfucker unlimited

[bogleech]

Reblogging this newer version of this thread with so many more strips I haven’t seen…why did this character ever disappear. Where did you go, Everett.

[tramampoline]

we need him more than ever…

[emperorclaudiusofficial]

sorry to make a long post longer but I feel like we could all really use some Everett True Beating Up Anti-Maskers content: 

[dduane]

He’s a hero, our Everett.

[dollsahoy]

Just found out there were live action Everett True shorts (silent films, though, so the outbursts were largely body language)

[unseen-alumni]

Reblogging to always have it to hand. :)

[shiryusirofthesiesta]

Its of proper education for always reblog the good deeds of Everett.