Play Eight: Giving Head!
NSFW/MDNI
Our fantastical acting troupe camp in the woods and encounters a dullahan who has a proposal for them!
Kinks for this chapter include: MFF threesome, cunnilingus, face fucking, sleep sex, brief cuckolding, public sex, and wake-up blowjob.
The wind cut through innumerable leafless trees. The air was cold, but not enough to cut through their coats as they made camp within the darkened woods. A couple hundred years prior, such woods were home to beasts like Walking Mushrooms and Snallygasters, but both creatures are all but extinct, confined to the history books and local myth.
Jessup blew air through a harmonica, trying to keep the mood light, but as the night grew on, their music became more and more dower as if there was something external siphoning joy from the goblin.
“Cripes,” they said, pausing to stare at the campfire.
“What ails you?” asked Ailuin, who was in the process of cooking bacon over the open flame.
“I dunno,” said Jessup. “I just feel this coldness. It’s odd, it’s like it comes from my belly, y’know?”
“No,” said Ailuin, serving up the bacon on a plate and offering it to the goblin.
They shook their head, and then Ailuin offered the bacon to everyone’s favorite stand-up comedian, Vial, who took it and greedily hogged down fistfuls of the fried meat strips.
“You need to eat more,” said Glasha. “Do you think we can get far without feeding?”
“To be fair,” said Jessup. “You two are monsters that feed on blood. So it’s a touch different than eating bacon.”
“Not that different,” said Glasha.
They didn’t hear the carriage approach. It cut through the night silently. Or that’s what they chose to believe because in one instant there was an open dirt road and the next there was a coach pulled by black horses occupying the once empty space. They only took notice because the coachwoman made noise as she dismounted the carriage and stepped towards them.
“Gods above!” shouted Jessup. “She doesn’t have a head!”
The headless coachwoman was otherwise dressed in a white button-up shirt, form-fitted tan riding trousers, a bag hung on her side, and a loose half cape that was thrown over her shoulders. If it wasn’t for the lack of a head attached to her body, the assembled crowd might have considered her incredibly attractive.
She walked over to the carriage and opened the door, disappearing inside before returning with the head. She had skin that was the same pale shade as moonlight, black eyes, but had a slight magical shimmer to them, and short dark hair that was a mess from the body holding her up by it.
“Evening all,” said the head as the coachwoman stepped towards their campfire.
“You best get back, demon!” growled Jessup, stepping between the group and the headless coachwoman.
The monster raised a black leather-boot-clad foot and, easily and gently, knocked Jessup over.
Glasha pulled out a revolver and took aim, though, to be honest, she wasn’t sure if bullets would do anything against a dullahan.
“You can put away your little cap gun there,” said the Coachwoman. “I’m a traveller, same as all of you. I represent a very select group of people who wish to be entertained. Entertained in a way only your troupe can provide.”
Glasha holstered her revolver, and she and Ailuin stepped closer.
“Tell us more,” said Ailuin.
“I represent the Lascy Family,” said the Coachwoman. “My name is Hilde Everard.”
“Okay, Hilde,” said Glasha. “That doesn’t tell us what the show entails.”
Everard pulled a sack from her bag and tossed it to Glasha, who deftly caught it because she’s a champion among champions. Our leading lady undid the tie around the sack and found inside was a mess of antique gold coins.
“So, I think you’ll find that’s persuasive enough,” said Everard. “You will all need to accompany me in my coach on the way to the Lascy Mansion. Especially your stand-up comedian.”
“I don’t particularly want to go,” said Vial. “This all sounds scary.”
The dullahan’s eyes became lit by black flames, and her mouth opened in a horrible, silent scream as obsidian bile oozed past her parted lips.
“Fuck!” shouted Vial. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.”
The monster’s expression reverted into a smile, and suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened. The flames and ooze vanished, and she was simply a normal disembodied head again.
The body offered Everard’s head to Glasha, and she delicately took it . Kind of like one might take a live chicken if offered. She felt rather awkward holding her head.
“You can sit me down on the seat of the carriage, I have a little basket that I rest in,” said Everard as her body climbed up the side of the carriage, remounting it.
The interior of the carriage was lit by a single glass lamp that rested in the dead middle. There was room enough for everyone, though Ailuin had to sit on Glasha’s lamp. (Like he wasn’t always wanting a seat on his wife’s lap). There was a basket where Glasha laid down Everard’s head. Unfortunately, it was next to the basket where Jessup had to sit, trying not to look at the monster woman’s head.
“So if your headless body is piloting this carriage,” said Glasha as they started down the dirt road. “How do you know which direction we’re going?”
“I know because the trek of everything has been preordained. You were always going to enter the carriage, and we were always going to find our way back to the Lascy Mansion,” explained Everard.
“That’s terrifying,” said Ailuin, adding nothing to the conversation as always.
After a beat, the horses started in a hard gallop, panting loudly as they rocketed down the road, nearly slamming the occupants of the carriage from side to side as it made its way down the darkened path.
After a two-hour journey, the carriage came to a screeching halt. I mean that in a very literal sense, as outside of the carriage, there was a horrible wailing that would have made Ailuin’s blood run cold, if it wasn’t already.
“Is that a banshee!?” asked a terrified Jessup.
“No,” said Everard. “None of the Lascys became Banshees. Bit difficult to wail over the soon-to-be dead if there’s nobody left alive.”
“So what’s our audience look like?” asked Ailuin. “Vampires? Revenants? Ghouls? Mummies?”
“Nothing with a body like me, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Everard.
The door to the carriage was torn open by Everard’s body, and Jessup let out a small, irritating scream. The body clambered inside the carriage’s cabin and grabbed her head.
“If you’ll follow me, please, I’ll introduce my employers,” said Everard.
Everyone followed the dullahan out of the carriage. The Lascy House was oppressive in its scale. It seemed impossibly large and looming with paint that was perhaps once white, now rendered into a peeling grey. It seemed oddly heavy as well. The gigantic ancient mansion took up more room in their minds than it ought to have.
The old doors were thrown open with a loud creak that cut through the night air and drew everybody’s attention.
Once Everard was presumably out of earshot, talking with whatever had opened the front door, Jessup turned to their employers and began to whisper in his most conspiratorial tone.
“I think we should start walking and get out of here,” said Jessup. “That’s a dullahan. An evil spirit. They kidnap and kill goblin children.”
“And are you a child, Jessup?” asked an incredulous Glasha.
“No,” said Jessup.
“Then you should have nothing to worry about,” said Glasha. “You’re putting more weight on this than what is deserved.”
Jessup huffed, and soon Everard returned to the group. “Please follow me.”
The pornographers made their way up to the door and stepped inside. They were greeted by an empty antechamber. Well lit, but exposing years of rot and decay. The air was heavy with the smell of wood rot and dust. That’s when the hosts appeared.
The first of the hosts seemed to be made out of silk, being spun out of the air itself and weaving until it took on a lightly human shape. In life, the ghost must have had an impressive moustache as it took up most of his face and connected to his ears. The top of his head was, however, devoid of hair, it seemed.
“Good Evening,” said the phantom. “My name is Sir Edmund Lascy.”
The air behind him did a repeat of the previous trick, spinning nothing into pseudo-material. This mass of lightly grey nonsense became a woman who, in life, had hair, unlike her husband, and eyes that were hard and intelligent, like those of falcons.
“This is my wife, Lady Marcine Lascy,” said Sir Edmund.
“Charmed,” said Lady Marcine. “We understand that you’re smut provisioners.”
“I mean, that’s kind of a roundabout way of describing us, but yes,” said Ailuin.
“We at the Lascy Mansion play hosts to all who have died horribly in this sacred land,” said Lady Marcine. “These are people who haven’t had sex in decades if not centuries.”
“Okay,” said Ailuin, who was gradually losing interest.
Glasha stepped in. “That works for us. What were you thinking?”
“Well,” said Sir Edmund. “We were initially thinking that we’d just have your elf there fuck Hilde, but now that we’re seeing the two of you, how do you both feel about having your way with her?”
Everard stood off to the side, smirking over at the married couple and exaggeratedly waggling her eyebrows.
“Can she act?” asked Glasha.
“Barely,” said Lady Marcine.
“I’ll take that,” said Glasha. “What about you, husband?”
Ailuin made a so-so gesture with his hand.
Everard kind of frowned at that.
---
Turns out the Lascy family in life had something like a built-in stage in their home. Sir Edmund explained that he was a patron of the arts, but mostly in the sense that he would hire prostitutes and homeless people from the local town to pretend to be characters from stories his wife would write in her free time.
The curtains were moth-eaten and smelled like mildew. Vial complained about this before he was shoved on stage to an audience of ghosts from various stages in history. None of which is all that important.
“Cripes,” said Vial, smirking and naked. “I would say that I haven’t seen a crowd this dead in a while, but this is livelier than most of my shows! HEYO!”
Stone cold dead. The audience just stared at him as he ran through the rest of his tight five. Not a single disembodied laugh or chortle. Not even crickets.
He quickly wrapped everything up and introduced the show normally. The curtains parted, and it was Ailuin and Glasha lying in bed, feigning sleep.
A bare naked Everard cut across the stage, carrying in one hand a lantern, and her head in the other. She seemed almost as luminous as her spectral hosts with her pale body beneath the lights. She saw the sleeping married couple and licked her lips before setting the lantern down. She turned her head to the audience and pressed a finger to her lips, shushing them.
A mechanical apparatus manipulated the bed, turning and lifting it so that the audience could view the sleeping couple as if from a bird’s eye view, but without throwing them out of the bed or knocking away their blankets.
Everard slowly pulled the blankets back away from where Ailuin was asleep, revealing that he was wearing only a sleeping shirt, and his soft, but monstrous cock was exposed.
Everard moved her head near Ailuin’s crotch, and she guided his limp length into her mouth. She took it in and began to greedily suck. Her hand gripped the back of her and began pumping like she was using herself as a sex toy on Ailuin.
Slowly, the vampiric elf’s eyes fluttered to life, and he saw what was happening as a groan escaped his lips.
“But what of my wife?” he asked in a breathy tone.
Everard slid off of Ailuin’s cock now that it was nice and hard. “Oh, you want her to have some fun too?”
Everard tore the blankets off of the sleeping Glasha, revealing that she was entirely naked beneath the blankets. Her body had been covered in oil, so she shimmered beneath the glow of the magical stage lights.
“What demon nonsense is this?” she asked as she pretended to sit up in bed.
The bed apparatus lowered the bed, and Ailuin and Glasha sat up for real so the audience could see them clearly. Everard sat up on the bed and straddled Ailuin’s lap, while placing her head in Glasha’s. She rolled her hips, grinding Ailuin’s length against her pussy, making both of them moan.
Glasha, meanwhile, wasted no time squishing Everard’s head between her muscular thighs, the pressure threatened to crush her head like a watermelon, encouraging the dullahan to start licking Glasha, her tongue probed past her lower lips and inside, curling as her nose rubbed up against her clit.
Ailuin worked the length of his cock into Everard’s pussy, trying hard to focus on her body without looking up to notice that she was bereft of a head. To remedy this, he leaned in close and took one of her breasts in his mouth and began to suck as he thrust his hips hard, working his considerable length in and out of the monster with something approaching glee.
Backstage, in addition to finding it difficult to cum to the sight of a dullahan, Jessup watched the audience as their spectral forms gradually took on more light. It was soft at first, a light, white glow, but then it became a problem that was too intense, transforming into bright balls of impossible light that threatened to outshine the stage lights.
Ailuin had made a mistake. He’a gotten Everard’s body on its back and was above her, thrusting in and out, but from how he was positioned, he couldn’t bury his face back between her breasts to avoid looking at the head stump, so instead he cocked his head over and focused on his wife getting toyed with by a head. That was a bit easier for him to work with, to be honest, even if it was close to him being made a cuckold.
Glasha looked over at her husband and kind of hopped over towards him with Everard’s head locked in place between her thighs. She seized the back of Ailuin’s head and pulled him into a kiss. Ailuin briefly parted from the kiss to make a soft and hungry growl before retreating into the embrace of his wife.
He pulled the length of his cock free of the dullahan and shot ropes of sticky, old semen all over her abdomen. The body worked her hands down and began to rub the seed into her skin. It wasn’t long before a climax cascaded over Glasha and left Everard’s head soaked.
The white light of the audience grew and shot up through the ceiling, piercing the night sky like a spear. Or some other phallic weapon. The group watched as the walls and fabric around them unraveled, revealing the natural world. Everard’s body sat up and freed her head from Glasha’s legs.
“Oh shit, my employers have climaxed!” shouted Everard.
“That’s good, right?” asked Glasha, sitting on her knees on the bed.
“No!” shouted Everard. “It means I don’t have a job anymore because they’ve ascended to the final dwelling of the dead…They’ve reached the afterworld. So that means that their will that was holding the hollow reality of the house together is disappearing with them.”
“I wonder if our souls entered the afterworld…Or if they’re trapped in these bodies of ours until we’re destroyed,” mused Ailuin. Orgasms make him weird and existential.
