A Message from your Once (and Future) Lover

The happy couple lair inside the top floors of a handsome townhouse. A gift from her father, the Dean, to celebrate their wedding. The husband is absent when she calls for you on a rainy afternoon, the message sealed with an imprint of her lips.

You enter with some trepidation, a maid in black and white uniform leading you up the stairs in decorous silence. The Dean’s Daughter awaits you in her attic study and, in greeting you, dismisses the domestic.

Daylight shines through a large window, allowing view of the well-kept backyard garden underneath. Her desk is cluttered with documents and books, an avalanche of paper that spills out all across the floor. You approach, careful to avoid stepping on handwritten notes and priceless first editions.

"Something’s come up," she says. "I had planned to – but I need to leave."

She is dressed for travel. A comfortable cloak hides her pants, shirt and mannish jacket. The open hood frames her face, and she might pass for lady-like if not for the riding boots peaking out from under the dark double hem.

"And I have a favour to ask. It’s nothing much, nothing bad, but I feel like I’m..."

You reassure her with kind words.

"No, you’re right. You're always – it might even be of some use to you. I feel terrible to impose on you all of a sudden, after all these years of separation, I really do. But something’s come up," she pauses and smiles. "I said. And you must have mentioned it, in passing, I am sure." She clears her throat. "I made enquiries. Nothing salacious, only what propriety and bureaucracy demand. And I have other sources, but none as close or as convenient." She chooses one pile of papers and dumps it into a dark leather briefcase.{if Connected: The Dean’s Daughter = 5} It snaps shut just as your once and future lover melts into your embrace. She steals a greedy kiss and gropes your cock. {else} Her fist slams down on the lid with ****, the latches snapping shut.{endif} "I haven’t got time. And you are going to the Saltisle. Northport-something-or-other. There is a bookshop there. And here is the address."

{if A Secluded Address = 2}

A note is thrust into your hand, detailing the steps needed to reach a hidden place.

You have gained [Another] Secluded Address

You study the description. The provided instructions presuppose a familiarity with the Saltisle you lack, but they are not unknown to you. Your cock stirs, roused by memory. Though ready for use, the Cerulean Maven denied you her ass. She offered her eager mouth and strange wisdom instead. And the same address. You hint at first, but the Dean’s Daughter claims to not have taught her before. She is, however, interested in the details of your encounter, asking until you tell her. About a careful massage followed by a measured slap. And how you took your pleasure from an inexperienced mouth instead, bedecking her face with hot relief and making her drink the rest.

"A student, huh? And I recognise the rituals. Or parts, at least. I only wish we had more time." She licks her lips. "There is so much we missed. But it proves my lead is good. And I have some reading to share. Here and take that one too."

You are putting together the pieces surrounding a hidden location on Northbeachisswamp

"Look alive, First Officer, we are getting somewhere. And speaking of somewhere – come, come, I don’t have much time."

{else}

A note is thrust into your hand, detailing the arcane steps needed to reach a hidden place.

You have gained [1] Secluded Address

You have unlocked a hidden location on the Saltisle of Northbeachisswamp

You study the description, hoping the provided instructions will make sense once you reach your destination.

"My tip is good, I am sure of it. And there should be little risk of getting lost on an island that small. But thank you, First Officer, I do not know what I would do without you." She pauses long enough to catch her breath. "With me. Come, come, I don’t have much time."

{endif}

She leads you down a second set of stairs and straight into the bedroom. Her marriage bed, white linens and a stylish metal frame, and the very floor around it are covered with her articles of clothing. The maid, keeping her decorous silence, works between the piles, ready to pack them into two open suitcases at her mistress’ command.

"Those, those and just that one. Thank you, dear. White underwear to go with the crimson. And my husband will need assistance tonight. See if it closes. You don’t mind staying longer so he can use your holes?"

"Not at all, ma’am." The maid, a Devoted Domestic, does break her silence when spoken to, but the most outrageous demand cannot keep her from focusing on the task at hand.

"Good. Good. I have to be off soon, but..." The Dean’s Daughter pauses and smirks. "Why not stay a while, First Officer? For a snack, at least. She won’t mind. Won’t you?"

"No, ma’am."

"Good. And you are not horny, First Officer, are you?"

The Devoted Domestic has finished packing and placed both trunks by the door but now returns to the bed. "May I offer myself to the gentleman first?" She, curtsying, lifts her skirt, revealing lacy garter and naked skin.

"You may. May she not, First Officer?"