Oathbreaker pt 2.
Content warnings: Dubcon Sex, femdom, feminization, more plot than porn. Dante flees with Amina into the swamp, and has to manage not only a traumatized witch, but his own treason, and a question of his own identity.
Part 1
Dante gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he stumbled after the witch, who seemed not to have been slowed by anything that happened to her. Her curls flew behind her as she walked with as much dignity as she could into the forest, with nothing more than borrowed clothes, a broken staff and no shoes at all.
Him, on the other hand, kept nervously glancing behind him, as though his squad would claw their way back out of the ground and come after them for revenge. This wasn't what he expected, any of it. The war itself, the way that they had destroyed a civilian village full of normal people who couldn't hope to fight back against horseback knights, the sheer glee in the way they raped the witch, the speed at which he saw his fellow knights devolve into feral savagery.
He couldn't understand it, but he couldn't just do nothing about it either, but that hadn't turned out how he expected either.
He felt like a lost fawn, stumbling after the witch in unknown territory, completely uncertain for what the future might hold except for the distinct dread sinking in his stomach that he had utterly fucked it all up.
He was never the most decisive man in the world. His tutors called him a dreamer, his mind distracted and his head always in the clouds. He had no ambition to work for more than mediocre grades, and he had been perfectly satisfied with sitting home in the family home being ignored. He only ended up enlisting because his parents had threatened to cut him off.
So how in the world had he ended up here? His one decision to free the witch had not been an antidote to his confusion as to what exactly he should be doing. Should he even be following her like this when she had killed so many of his countrymen so easily? Daven, Granson, Ulfric, he knew them, had trained with them, and while he didn't particularly like any of them, their deaths horrified him. Was she the sort of person to simply shrug that loss of life off so easily?
And the fact she was a witch at all wasn't-- well it had been explained to him that it was blasphemous, but, well. Sure he went to church services with the rest of the family but he was never really devoutly religious either. What had been done to her had been so plainly wrong on the face of it, that of course he had to do something about it.
And either way, he was concerned about the witch. What she had gone through wasn't something a person could simply shrug off. Her feet must hurt terribly on the uneven ground. If he had betrayed the templars, then he should probably stick with what allies he could, right?
"Um," he said, stumbling after her. "Hold on, ma'am, I- perhaps you should- I could carry you, if-"
The glare she sent his way was deadly poison.
"Don't touch me," she said, the end of her broken staff stabbing against the ground.
"You're not even wearing shoes!" he exclaimed. "I think we'll go faster-"
"We're almost at the edge of the swamp," she said, her voice curt and short. "You'll need to take your boots off if you don't want to lose them in the muck."
And that was it. She said nothing more. Only the slight awkwardness of her gait made it apparent that she was in any pain at all. Which she surely must.
Dante hurried after her, glancing backwards, worried that he might hear the other knights of Lerina in pursuit. The ground became mud, which became puddles, which then became water.
The witch stopped at its edge. "Take your boots off," she said, without looking at him. "Tie their laces together and put them around your neck so you don't lose them."
Dante bent to obey as she hiked her own skirts up, typing the heaps of fabric around her thighs so they wouldn't get in the way.
"So," he said, trying to take advantage of the small pause. "I'm Dante. What's your name?"
She shot him another cold look. "You can keep calling me ma'am," she said, and walked off again, splashing into the swamps.
The water rose to knee height as she used her broken staff to keep her footing through the muck. Dante picked up a branch himself to help him ford the swamp, mud sinking between his toes as his boots thumped against his chest with every step. He was beginning to get the feeling she didn't actually want to have him around.
"I just think," he tried to venture again. "That it might be best we be on friendly terms? I know you've been... hurt, but-"
The witch whirled around her eyes flashing, and pointed her staff at him again. Immediately he stopped, raising his hands.
"You don't know anything," she snapped. He could see her shoulders trembling though whether it was rage or fear he didn't know. "Do you think releasing me absolves you of your sins?"
"My sins?" Dante exclaimed, startled. "I didn't touch you!"
"You didn't stop them either!" she screamed. It was uncontrolled. It was unhinged, her eyes wild as she shook her staff at him, sudden rage and fury surging up like a geyser. "You invaded my village! You killed my people! You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand!"
He gaped at her, hands still up. He had fought, that night, cut down a farmer who tried to stab him with a pitchfork. It wasn't something he enjoyed, but he also didn't enjoy the prospect of losing an eye either. "I-" He stammered. "I- then- why... haven't you?" She could have killed him with the rest of his squadmates, but here he was.
She had to gather herself visibly, panting, her thick curls shaking over her face as she closed her eyes and brought herself back under that cold control he had glimpsed earlier.
"With the faint hope you might be useful," she said icily, spinning on her heel to move forward again. "Come on."
Stunned, Dante followed her. What was he doing? Following a witch who loathed him into an unknown swamp? Away from the only home he ever knew. If he went back to throw himself at the mercy of the knights, said that she bewitched him and only barely managed to escape. Her fate wasn't any skin off his nose.
The image of her, bound and gagged, blindfolded and sobbing, while the men of his squad surrounded her and stripped her down, flashed unwillingly in his head. The other naked woman who had been raped next to her dead husband. The corpse of the farmer, whose blood he cleaned off his sword. His first kill. The nauseous sense in his stomach that this wasn't right.
Then, in the distance, he heard the distant sound of shouting. It was pursuit. The witch heard it as well, spinning to look, her eyes wide and frightened. She lunged to run, panicking, but he immediately knew all that splashing would be much too loud. Dante grabbed her around the waist before she could take much more than a step, clutching her to his chest. She struggled, inhaled, and he had to cover her mouth before she screamed.
"Shhh, shh," he tried to calm her frantically as she savagely bit his hand. "Wait, you can't run, they'll hear you! We have to hide! I won't hurt you I promise, I promise."
She shuddered against him, still struggling, splashing. He couldn't be sure that she was even hearing him. Fuck. What was he going to do?
He wrestled her against a tree, making all too much noise, and pushed her back against it so she could see him. Her eyes were entirely wild, the whole of her iris visible, the whites of her eyes stark against her brown skin. Her pupils had shrunk to pinpoints in her dark eyes.
"It's me," he whispered at her. "It's me, it's me, okay? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I- we have to hide, alright? The water is murky enough. All we have to do is hold our breaths, and lie very still, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, I just couldn't let you make so much noise. I'm really sorry."
He rambled his apologies until he could feel her breathing slow down underneath him, and she recognized him again. Then, behind his hand, she nodded, her teeth releasing its grip. Thank Lerina. He let out a relieved sigh and let go of her.
Together they sank into the dark waters of the swamp, among the roots of the trees. He couldn't see what she was doing, but he did his best to grab handfuls of mud from the bottom of the swamp to smear on all his exposed skin, so he would be less visible from above the water. With her brown skin, he supposed she wouldn't have to worry about the same.
It was just in time. Sound traveled in the water just as it did through the air. He heard muffled voices shouting directions he couldn't understand, heard people splashing through the swamp. He felt a hand grab his, and squeeze it tightly. As scared as he was right now, the witch must be ten times as frightened, if she was willing to hold his hand like this.
His breath welled in his lungs as he bit his lips, straining to stay under the water for as long as possible. All it would take was one person to spot his nose and he would be killed. Something brushed his bare foot and he nearly lost it, his fingers digging into the witch's hand to keep from jerking. But fear was using his air as fuel and he was quickly running out.
The desperate urge to open his mouth was starting to become overwhelming. He put his other hand over his mouth so he could hold it shut. The witch clung to him, and he felt her press her forehead against his shoulder, before moving upwards. She returned, using him as an anchor to tow herself back down to the swamp. She must have braved exposure to take a breath. He would have to do so too.
He pushed up, tilting his head so only his mouth would be exposed, sucking in as much fresh, precious air he could in two breaths before sinking back down again into the swamp. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, taking turns to breathe and listening for any sign their pursuers had left the immediate area.
Even after he thought he couldn't hear them anymore, they stayed underwater for several more minutes, before Dante wanted air more than he was afraid of getting caught. He sat up, blinked the algae from his eyes. They were alone. He sighed with relief, then tugged on the witch's arm too, until she surfaced as well, little bits of floating plants stuck in her curls.
She gasped for air, panting, her eyes scanning the horizon. "They're gone?" she asked.
"I think so," he said, his own chest heaving. "I think we lost them."
The witch closed her eyes, putting a hand against her wet chest, as she murmured something under her breath, that must be a prayer of thanks. "Okay," she said. "I- I suppose we ought to go in a different direction from them for now."
Dante nodded, standing again, though the water in all his clothes weighed him down quite a lot. He extended a hand for the witch to take. She hesitated, but took it. Her clothes must be even heavier, with the amount of fabric in her skirt.
"Thank you," she muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. Embarrassed that he had saved her? He let himself feel pleased and smug about it for one moment before he remembered that she was only in this position because his fellow soldiers and him had destroyed her home. Did this absolve him of his sins?
If he was honest with himself, he definitely didn't think so.
"It's nothing," he said softly. "C'mon. You know where to go?"
Her fingers hesitated at the bite wound on his hand, where she had bit him. It was still dripping red, mixing into the swamp. "I'll heal this, when I can," she said, and it almost sounded like an apology.
"You can heal?" he said, a little surprised. "Like, magically?"
She sighed. "You really don't know anything," she said, drily. But she sounded less terrified now, so Dante would accept this assessment of his abilities.
"I didn't really pay a lot of attention during the briefings," he admitted.
She bent down to fish her staff out of the water, then started to wring water from her hair.
"I doubt your troops know the intricacies of magic anyway," she said. "Healing something like this is possible, but only with the control granted by a wand. I'll have to make one before I heal anything."
He blinked. "How do you make a wand?"
"I grow one," she replied simply. She leaned over to a small branch that sprouted from the roots of the tree they hid under and snapped it off into her hand. "By the time we find a place to make camp, I'll have a small wand."
Under his amazed eye, the branch began to sprout new budding leaves, that the witch pinched off.
"Wait," he said, blinking. "You just- you just took off the growth?"
"Too fast," she replied. "It needs to grow slower. Come on."
Dante sighed, rubbing his head ruefully. How many times in one day could his world be blown apart?
They were both soaking wet, but they didn't have much by way of other options so neither of them mentioned it. They would dry off as they walked. They still didn't speak as they walked deeper into the swamp, but the silence this time was less hostile, and Dante could put it down to exhaustion instead of hatred.
He hadn't slept particularly well either, after everything that had happened.
The swamp itself had a strange beauty to it too, the sun filtering through pale green leaves to cast shimmering light on the water. He'd never seen a place quite like this, far from the mountainous forests at home. The birds called cheerfully in the canopies, and he glimpsed a large lizard sunbathing on a root. He didn't really understand why they had even invaded, if this place was like this. It was certainly not as the captain had painted it, full of savages who sacrificed their children for power.
The only savages he saw were the ones in armor fighting next to him. It was a slow dawning realization that Dante hadn't really wanted to acknowledge, that he had thrown his lot in with something he didn't really understand. The army felt more like an enormous, armored monster rolling across the countryside than a band of brothers, fighting back the wicked. And he had been part of that monster.
In front of him, the witch began to sway, her steps slowing, then began to tilt altogether. Dante lunged to catch her, his arms circling around her waist as she fainted dead away in his arms, clutching the branch-wand-thing in her hand.
"Shit!" he swore, looking around wildly to see if there was anything that might tell him what to do. He couldn't just put her down, there was water everywhere. At the very least, he had to find a place to put her feet up. And if she couldn't walk on her own, he guessed he'd have to carry her.
It was what he had suggested in the first place anyway. He got his arm under her knees and swung her up. She was heavy with water and he was more aware than ever of the body underneath those borrowed garments. He gulped, and focused on taking one step after another instead. His arms ached under the weight as he forged through the swamp.
Eventually, the water level grew lower and lower, turned to mud, which became dry land again. Panting with the exertion, Dante nearly toppled over when he put the witch down on dry ground nestled in the roots of a large tree. She was still breathing evenly, almost peacefully. Two fingers pressed to her neck revealed a steady pulse. Perhaps it was just exhaustion then. Dante sighed, ignoring his own aching body as he began to gather the things he needed for a fire. It would still be a risk, but they had to get dry, or exposure would get them before the knights did.
Bushcraft was part of his training as a soldier, and he still had his sword and knife. He began by carving a hole in a chunk of wood and twisting some marsh grasses into twine, to make a fire starter. He made quick work of it, got a bit of tinder to smolder and it wasn't before long that he had a small fire going. The heat coming from it felt good on his mud caked feet. He stretched them out in front of the fire as he worked on building a simple frame to dry their clothes on from a few more branches he had cut from the trees around them.
He didn't dare undress the witch in her vulnerable state, so he settled for undressing himself only, hanging his shirt and trousers up to dry, before settling in to pick dried mud out from between his toes. When he glanced back up again, he startled. The witch was awake, just, watching him. Her dark eyes reflected the firelight back at him, Dante flushed and let go of his foot.
"I-" he stammered. "Um. I- uh- sorry?"
She simply looked back at him. Her face was calm, cool, as she took her time to say in return, "For what?"
He didn't really know what to say to that. He gestured around to the small fire. "For um," he said. "Not finding something better?"
"We're in the middle of a swamp."
"I risked lighting a fire?"
The witch tilted her head at him, squinting, like he was a puzzle box she was trying to decode. "Would you rather I be angry with you?" she asked.
"Well," Dante said, hesitant. "No?"
"I'm not mad," she said, her head still tilted. She turned it the other way, as though he might look different from another angle. "You're still protecting me?"
He nodded slowly. "I- I understand you have no reason to trust me, really," he said. "But I- I- don't know."
She didn't respond, simply looked at him, and he felt compelled to keep talking. "It's been... I- it's just been so confusing and difficult. I don't know really know what the right thing to do is, but- I- I've just been trying, it's hard, it's just hard."
"Yes, I'm sure it's been so difficult for you," the witch said, dry.
Dante flushed in return. "I'm not trying to compare myself to what you've been through!" he wailed, anguished. "I'm just trying-"
She laughed at him. It was a rough sound, and it shook her whole body. It was the first time he had heard any kind of humor from her, and even if it was coming at his expense, he couldn't help but feel like he deserved it.
"Come here," she said, gesturing for him to come forward. He obeyed, hesitating as he knelt next to her, one hand self-consciously covering his naked chest. Was she going to hit him or something?
Instead, she grabbed his hand, the one she bit, and prodded it with the wand in her hand. A soft light bathed the bite wound in his hand right before it began to sting like mad. He startled, tried to pull it away from her but she held on tightly.
"Hold on," she said, as he watched the wound begin to close with amazement. In seconds, there was only a faint scar left.
"You could have warned me about the pain," he said, ruefully, rubbing the scar. Her face broke into a terrible grin.
"What's the fun in that?" she said. "It wasn't so bad anyway."
But her color looked worse,after that exercise, sickly in the firelight, and she laid back again, panting.
"You used something up to do that for me," he guessed. "When you're this exhausted?"
That was confusing too. She didn't like him. The way she treated him had more in common with the bullies in the army barracks than with any genuine respect. But here she was, risking some part of her to help him.
"If you had let that go untreated for much longer," the witch said. "You'd lose the hand or be dead in a week. Wounds need to stay clean, and you submerged yourself in a swamp."
"I had to!" Dante protested. "I was trying to save both of our lives, if you remember-"
The witch pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh, letting go of his hand. "Yes," she said. "I remember. I'm not blaming you, Dante, I'm simply explaining what what needed to be done."
Dante hesitated, rubbing the side of his face. "Yes," he said. She wasn't acting like she was particularly angry with him right now. Just perhaps a little annoyed. "Um. Yeah. Right."
She bit her lip, her teeth working her brown mouth as though she was thinking over a particularly difficult decision. "Why did you free me?" she asked. "Don't you have family to return to? Why did you risk it all?"
Dante swallowed. To be honest, his family hadn't crossed his mind, really. "I-" he scratches the side of his face, sheepish. "I guess my family and I aren't very close. We, um. I don't know, I just couldn't really watch you go anymore, you know?"
"No," the witch said, and there, the frigid tone of her voice dripped back in. "I wouldn't know anything of the guilt I might feel after invading someone's home."
Dante took a deep breath, letting it go slowly. "I don't mean to offend," he said. "I'm afraid- I'm afraid I might not be able to give you the answers you're looking for. I participated in the sacking of your village, it's true. I- I don't know what I can do to make up for it. I-" he swallowed again. "It would be uncouth of me to ask for any kind of forgiveness."
His head kept circling the matter like a nervous pacer working its way through the floor. She was hurt badly and he bore some responsibility for that because he had been a part of the attack. But she was the enemy still, and that had been the purpose the entire time. He shouldn't have to care what she thought, because he was just doing as he was supposed to. But then the sickening feeling of sticking a sword through a living man, and the wretched sight of her naked body, and all the murder and rape that happened last night would flash through his head, and he couldn't ignore that she had been hurt badly. And that he had some responsibility in it.
"You're right," she said slowly, her voice ice cold. "You don't have the right. After what your people did."
"Please don't shout again," Dante whispered, a little frightened by the look in her eye. "We can't risk being caught."
The witch played with the wand in her hand, considering it, and Dante stiffened, watching it. She could probably kill him with that stick as easy as anything. He had put his sword next to the fire, to make sure it dried out of its sheath. Nervously, he scooted backwards in the dirt, to grab the hilt of it, though he wasn't quite brave to point the blade at her.
They stared at each other, as Dante bit his lip, his whole body taut, watching her hand carefully.
Then the witch sneezed, loudly, shuddering. Dante blinked. "Um," he said. "Perhaps you should um, let your clothes dry some? You'll catch your death of cold."
A chuckle escaped the witch. "Aren't you afraid of me?" she saiid, and let go of the wand. Dante relaxed minutely, though his hand still stayed near his sword.
"I-" he stammered. "I still have a duty of care."
"Do you?" she said, and began to undo her skirts. "You've already freed me, hid me from your fellows, and dragged me halfway across the swamp. And yet I cannot find it in me to forgive you even a little." She sat up, and stepped out of her skirts, leaving only the long linen shift underneath. Dante's mouth went very dry as she walked towards him.
"What are you doing?" he gasped, slapping a hand over his eyes.
"I don't think you really understand what you people did to me," she said, her voice vibrating with rage. "To my people." His eyes flew open as her hand grabbed his throat, pushed him to the ground and climbed onto him. She looked down at him, eyes wide and furious, and again, like she wasn't really seeing him. Her hand didn't squeeze, just held him down. And it shook though he could not tell whether or it was exhaustion or rage.
He gripped her wrist, shocked and bewildered.
"I don't think you really understand the kind of position you've put me in," the witch gritted out, and even more confusingly, with tears beading up in the corner of her eyes. And worst of all, she wasn't wearing wearing anything below the waist. The dampness between her thighs on his stomach could just be swamp water, but it made him terribly nervous. Heat traveled down his spine and he swallowed hard, trying to will his traitorous body not to react. "I- I can't even try to explain the violation, the humiliation," she snapped, her fingers clenching around his throat.
"And then I have to simply move on?" she choked out. "I have to travel with my enemy, and listen to him try to broach forgiveness?" The last word ripped out of her throat with a ragged shout.
"I didn't mean that!" Dante exclaimed, his heart leaping into his throat. "I really didn't- I was trying to explain that I wasn't expecting forgiveness!"
She did the last thing he expected. She reached back and grabbed his cock, tenting in his loincloth, and squeezed it far too tight to be comfortable. Dante made a strangled noise, his hands leaping to his mouth at the implicit threat.
"You have no idea what it was like," she said, her voice cold again. "I can only show you a fraction of the taste."
She twisted and pulled as though trying to yank his cock from his body and the delicate vulnerability and pain of his position had Dante muffled his cries between his fingers. No one besides him had actually touched him like this before and tears sprung to the corners of his eyes. That disgusting sense of humiliation that slunk into his chest-- that was violation.
"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have said anything."
"You shouldn't have," she replied, cold, grabbing him by the balls this time and tugging on them too. He arched with the sudden pain. "You think one change of heart will fix everything? You think you can play savior and be forgiven?"
"No, no," he whimpered, though, he had felt as though she had been ungrateful. "I don't think that at all. Please..."
"This is only a fraction of what I endured," she snapped. "A fraction of what you people dished out, and here you are, shaking and crying already. You'd make a good woman."
Her words hit him deep, making him shudder with- with something. It was so confusing. The pain and humiliation and violation were intense and still he couldn't bring himself to believe he deserved any better. And strangest of all, there was something seductive about the pain she was doling out onto him.
"How many women have you raped, huh?" she demanded, letting go of his balls to slap his cock. He cried out again, unable to help himself. "How many women have you unwillingly taken?"
"I-" he stammered, as tears really did start to flow. "A-actually I- I'm- I've never touched a woman before. I-I'm a v-virgin."
That was its own mark of shame, when boys five years his junior were already tumbling through the hay. But it made the witch pause, let him go. Some mix of emotion crossed her face, realization, disgust, anger, he couldn't quite follow. But she got off of him, subdued.
It took a little longer for Dante to gather himself together, sitting up next to her. His own shoulders were shaking and trembling, as he wiped away his tears.
"It's okay," he said. "I- I think I understand what- what you were trying to tell me. I- I think I understand more of- of what it felt like."
The witch pinched the bridge of her nose again, her face scrunched up in irritation.
"Why are you like this?" she exclaimed. "I- I- I hurt you, I scared you, and you're still here, making excuses for me? I- I haven't even told you my name!"
Dante didn't really have an answer for that either. "I- I don't know," he stammered. "I just- I don't know, you're- you're hurting." And now so was he.
The witch shook her head. "You are..." she said slowly. "Stupidly difficult to hate. My name is Amina."
Oh.
"Amina," he said, holding the name in his mouth as carefully as a retriever dog would hold an egg. "Um. Hello, Amina."
She shook her head again. "How old are you, Dante?" she asked.
What did that have to do with anything? "Twenty," he replied, a little hesitantly, and Amina shook her head again, but made no further comment.
"What," he said, a little defensively. "How old are you then?"
"Thirty two," she retorted, then rubbed her face. "I apologize, for my outburst."
Dante bit his lip. "Is it- is it strange to say I- I didn't really mind? I- it was- it was certainly a new way of looking at things. And I didn't think you would really kill me."
Another look he couldn't interpret crossed her face. Some kind of disgruntlement?
"Your standards are not very good," she said finally. "You should have something better for your first time, no?"
Dante just shrugged, shy. "I don't think I wouldn't mind being shown what it's like to be a woman," he said, embarrassed. He couldn't quite look her in the eye, but the proposition was more tempting than any other he's ever had. Amina took his chin in hand and made him look at her, tilting his head towards her. There was an intense, serious look on her face, and Dante had to appreciate that she was a beautiful woman, firelight flickering off the warm brown of her skin, on the delicate bones of her face.
"I-" he stammered. "If- if you're okay to? I mean- you just-"
"Shut up," she said, seriously. "I could use something like this right now."
And she kissed him. It was brief, demanding, and made his head spin. His first kiss. He couldn't help but kiss her back, leaning into the tenderness of her mouth. Her hand went back to his cock, but this time the pressure she chose was much nicer, just tight enough to feel good.
He moaned into her mouth as she laid him back down next to the fire, and separated again.
"You want to be a woman tonight?" she said, panting.
"I-" he stammered, blushing. Was that a thing he got to want? "I-"
"Make a decision," Amina demanded. "Yes or no."
Well, it sure seemed like a decision that she wanted him to make. "I- uh," he squeaked. She squeezed his dick unpleasantly. "Yes!" he exclaimed, in a hurry, suddenly able to find her words. "Yes! I-"
"Then be a good girl," Amina said. "And shut up."
His jaw clacked shut audibly, his cock throbbing in her hand. "O-o-okay," he stammered, then put a hand over his mouth again. Her mouth?
Amina ran her hand lazily up and down her cock, her dark eyes scanning hungrily up and down Dante's body. Her whole body felt like it was on fire under her attention. She made more noises into her hand as her cock slowly stood higher and higher at her attention. It was so wholly different than when she had her own hand on herself.
Precum leaked from her tip and Amina swiped it up with a finger. "Look at that," she said, soft, teasing. "You're wet."
Dante shivered, full body, as Amina pushed her legs apart. "And when a woman gets wet," she said, soft, "It makes it much easier to push inside her."
Dante licked her lips, her eyes wide, intense with anticipation as Amina prodded her back entrance with that slick finger. "A-ah," she stammered. "I- you can- there?" Just the tip of her finger prodding there felt insane, intense.
Amina nodded. "Yes," she said. "You can." And she pushed in, just the tip. A noise Dante had never made before escaped her throat. Slowly, she fucked that finger tip in and out of her. Never mind everything else that happened before, this was intense. She moaned wildly, stifling the noises she made back into her mouth as Amina's hungry mouth bent down to take a bare nipple into her mouth.
Dante didn't know what to do with her hands, clawing at the ground underneath her. "Fuck!" she cried. "I- holy shiiiit." She had never felt anything like this before, her cock aching with how hard it was.
"Good girls don't curse," Amina murmured, low against her chest. Dante swallowed around a heated lump in her throat.
"Sorry ma'am," she squeaked in return.
Amina kissed her way down Dante's stomach, as she bit her lip hard. "I- I-" she gasped. "I've never- not like this-"
Her mouth swallowed down her tip and Dante moaned loudly, shaking, trembling, as Amina worked her tongue over her cock. Slick pleasure sent electric bolts up her spine as she arched underneath her. She couldn't last much longer. Dante whimpered, loud, and came into Amina's mouth with a shuddering and blinding white orgasm, leaving her panting and spent.
Amina pulled out of her, and spat the mouthful of seed back onto the ground, wiping her mouth. "There," she said, sounding smug though her shoulders trembled too. She laid down next to Dante, not touching, except for a brush of the arm that she was hypersensitive of.
Dante closed her eyes. "Wow," she said quietly. "I didn't know my body could do that. I- Did you want me to- for you?"
"Don't touch me," Amina said comfortably. "Get some rest, we have further to go tomorrow. I'll keep first watch, since I had a bit of a rest."
Dante didn't need to be told again. She settled back into her own skin, curling up and uncaring of anything but getting a little bit of rest, and fell dead asleep.
