A sweet feast to mutual exhaustion, averted with STAMINA

It's the best kind of sensual abandon, you feel. Hunger, feeding, satisfaction. Tension, amplified and redoubled, to a long and echoing climactic resolution. Cook takes you up through a cycle to your first spend, exclaiming how wonderful you taste, then pauses hardly a moment before building you up again, playing your senses like a harp with a thousand strings resonating together. In Minerval, you'd be on the edge of visionary insight. Here, defrocked and initiated Beavertail, here it was another dive into the senses for redoubled energy and desire.

"Cook, Cook please, it's my turn, let me touch you, let me taste you," you beg of her.

"Why, young witch, it would be my pleasure," she says. She stretches out upon your bed, nearly filling it by herself, and shifts you up on top of her.

Every part of Cook which might be a different musk, stink, or scent, a sweet, bitter or salt taste upon a a lover's body, her sensual glamour makes into a different savour of food or spice. Overall a baked apple tart, sweet and buttery, but each fold in her skin, each patch of hair, each drop of fluid carrying its own delectable taste plucked from your own desires. For Cook's taste was whatever you craved the most, and for you it was a dozen spicy sweetnesses.

Morgan, your scarecrow shadow second self, Morgan? Cook's scent was your own in her nostrils, Cook smelled like Fay Applebum. You feel that terrible, wonderful twist of being desired, and quickly bury your face in Cook's deep, wet split before a tear can form. Wonderful, delectable, the intense sweetness of boiled-down apple syrup. More, more, more. Cook laughs as you feed at her soft-lipped trough, seeking the pearl at her centre, then cries out as you find it and suck deeply at the swollen nub.

"Ah! Miss Fay. Ah!" Cook cries out.

And round again and round, each of you feeding your desire from the other, playing expertly or awkwardly with her partner, until you sink into wonderful, sweet exhaustion.

"Fay?" you hear.

You blink yourself awake. It's Morgan. You sniff. Oh dear. No longer apple tart and caramel sauce and butter, but rather the strong scents of sexual debauch, sweat and spit and split and all.

"Morgan," you say. "Is it really true that Cook smells like me, when you're near her?"

"Usually," Morgan says. She's sitting at the little dressing table in the corner of your shoebox dormitory. "Once she smelled like really rich broth. I think I'd skipped a meal or two." She sniffs. "Hmm."

"Cook made a meal of me today," you tell Morgan. "I think..." you frown. "I think there's something in how she does magic. Like, I don't know, like she's way stronger than you would expect, for her being Cook. And she was using her lips and her breath where you or I might use our wand, or words, or fingertips, you know? I wonder if she's really the secret Wardress or something, and Jeremy Burl is a blind for her."

Morgan laughs. "Or whether Cook's just a total beast of sex and does all the new Beavertails to extract their youthful essence."

"That might not even be a joke," you say. "Anyroads, ah. Ahem," you cough. "Anyway an immediate change in my linens seems in order."

Morgan grins. "I'll help you out and you can tell me about Cook."

"And you can tell me what's up and what's down with House Beavertail. And what I missed in lecture," you say.

Morgan laughs. "Or in Lectura? Haha, I didn't see Tess all day, Warden Jeremy bustled her off to do something she was not at all interested in doing, but duty called."

"Wonder why it wasn't me getting her arm twisted? Maybe because it was Tess who sneaked us into the in-between-spaces apartment, and I was just the baggage. Come to think of it, I have been called a baggage, from time to time."*

"All right, you, no calling yourself names, Fay. Up and at the linens," Morgan says.

*"a baggage"
A sassy, lively or high-spirited girl, a little pepper pot, one who smarts off, doesn't respect authority. Regency English, late 1700s, but girls were called this into the 1940s. Less of a hobag, more of a cute pain in the neck.

You have to watch that Mary every minute, she's always up to something. She's a little baggage.

by Bluejay February 21, 2005 (The Urban Dictionary, definition #1074203)

When you HAVE SEX with Cook, on a 7-9, you have a rocking good time to mutual exhaustion, with CONSEQUENCE averted using STAMINA. Gain +1 XP.

You have 4 XP.

You have Ambition +2, Bravery -1, Cunning +2, Diligence +0
FRIEND: Morgan, who also owes you a FAVOR.

Golondrina should return soon as your third roommate. You have cause to confer with Tess, who knows so many secrets and wants you, the one who got away from her back in Minerval.

What's next for you at House Beavertail, Fay? Golondrina, Tess, more House Service, or has Morgan returned with interesting news?