Mechina, mistress of mechanics

You are Mechina, Queen Bromgotta's chief mechanician, deviser, and maker of wonders. Your long, slender fingers and keen senses complement your insight into how things work and move together. Smaller and slighter even than most Gnomes, your spiky braids make you look like a sly girl. Stuffy people always look at you like they think you're going to climb the curtains or switch salt for the sugarcubes.

Behind the doors of the Armory, back beneath your regular workshop, Queen Bromgotta's advisor Tryck has come to check on how your most important project is going.

"Well," you tell him. "It will come down to what's needed, how much, how soon. Perhaps shelf life. I'm not the bestest little alchemist, you know. Though bless Radagore, he works so fast. We have the formula down now." You chuckle. "Oh yes. And I'm sure the Queen will want to see a little demonstration." You smile and nod your head vigorously, making your braids dance.

Tryck pulled at his short beard. "The armaments themselves? How are they shaping up?"

"Such an earnest, no-nonsense fellow you are," you say. "The air darts work up close, and we have lots and lots. Fewer dart pumpers as yet. The dust-loads for the crossbows and catapults are easy to make, but they still go wobbly. The foot-spikes are all ready. The limpets are great fun to test, but maybe a little impractical."

"And the delayed-action armaments?"

"Regular blow-darts, thorny tangle-wire, and 'paint' for the berry bushes, with a delayed action formula. Should be good for causing confusion in camp and on the march." You do a little skip and toss your head. "Those elves will fall on their faces with shame when they see what we've done to their brave warriors!"

"Would you be ready to demonstrate for the Queen tonight, after her banquet?"

"It would be my pleasure," you say, making a little jump for joy. "If you can be there, perhaps you can assist," you say, darting out a long finger and tickling his tightly packed cock and balls.
You tell Tryck what you have planned, and he smiles, winks, and takes his leave.

While the Queen enjoys your banquet, you prepare the scene. Two low padded beds are set at opposite ends of an side room near the dungeon. Two securely blindfolded prisoners -- a male and female elf caught spying -- are restrained on the couches. Side tables hold sex toys, feathers, teasers, and slappers. Comfortable benches are set up for the Queen and her entourage. Two of the kingdom's best ticklers, teasers, and arousers are assigned to tantalize each recalcitrant elf. And in your apron pocket, you have two doses of the kingdom's new secret weapon.

When Queen Bromgotta arrives, you give her your best curtsy. She tips her chin in reply and takes her seat quietly, arranging her skirt. A guardsman sits close on either side, then a few of her close court advisors. Tryck stands to the side. At your signal, the teasers go to work, acting as if it's a regular questioning session. The elves each protest their innocence, claim diplomatic immunity, and threaten that any more ill-treatment of nobles such as themselves could go ill with the Gnomes. Notably, the teasers aren't getting anywhere with the elves. Their tickling brings no laughter. The male's cock is limp as a noodle, and the female is rigid, stiff, and (you check) dry.

You take a dose of powder and pour it on your palm. Salty, musky. You wave back the teasers from the female elf and blow the powder into her nose. Fast-acting this way. She arches back and sneezes, then continues her complaints. You cross the room, take out your second dose, and blow it into the male's nose. His face flushes, and he coughs and sniffles, complaining bitterly. Within a minute, his cock throbs its way from limp to erect. He stops complaining and starts moaning quietly and shifting his hips. Across the room, the female elf is doing the same. You stroke a finger down his side, and he shivers and moans with pleasure. You touch his feet, and he cries out and shakes, his cock weeping pre-cum. The female elf moans in sympathy and tries to shift her bonds to touch her cunt.

You reach under your apron and rub your hand over your own moist cunt, then hold it just over the male's nose. Smelling your cunt, he bends his neck forward and rubs his face all over your hand. "Oh, please," he says. "Please! Somebody fuck me! Please! Anybody!"

The female elf twists in her bonds. Hearing the other elf's pleas, she shouts out, "No! Me! Fuck me!"

You ask the male elf, "Anybody for your noble self? Even a gnome, after all those nasty things you said about us?"

"Yes, yes, a gnome!" he says.

"Even a BOY gnome?" You toss your head and your braid clips jingle.

"Yesss!"

"No, meeee!" squealed the female elf.

Tryck steps forward with a grin, freeing his erect cock, and you and your assistants move the male elf's restraints so his knees are pulled back and his butt is at the foot of the low bed. The elf's long, jellybean-shaped balls are pulled up tight to the root of his long, hairless cock. His anus is a shy little puckered star. You rub Tryck's cock and the elf's ass with warm oil, and guide Tryck's cock toward his target. The elf lets out a long sigh as Tryck enters him, and as he starts thrusting, says "yes, yes, yes!" following his rhythm.

With barely a dozen thrusts from Tryck, the male elf tenses up in his restraints and sprays come onto his chest and belly. "Yes! Yes! Fuck me!" he shouts. But it's not over. As Tryck keeps gently thrusting, the elf's cock slowly comes erect, and he starts moaning again.

The female elf is sobbing on the other bed, and straining against her restraints. But she just can't seem to rub up against anything or squeeze her legs together.

The Queen is smiling broadly, and her cheeks are flushed pink. One hand is busy under her skirt, but she looks ready to jump up and join the demonstration.

You feel dampness between your thighs. Your clit is warm and throbbing. You have to do something about that. Or someone!