Penetration

Do they find anything to help their infiltration?

Yes/No (Likely)

[4,1] Yes but... Zeya’s head isn’t quite in the game.

—

An ambushed guard and a looted suit of armour later - Daemon-Zeya, it turns out, is packing, Lavorra tries very hard to forget - they have made their way past the outer guards, and slip their way into a more ornate command tent, decorated with disturbingly fleshy hides and beautifully maintained skulls.

Zeya had bound Lavorra’s hands behind her back, loose enough to give the Paladin room to free herself should things go awry, and marched her straight up to the encampment.

Though Zeya’s performance as a Daemonic soldier leaned a little into the territory of large ham, the plan had worked like a charm, Zey bluffing that the buxom little Elf was being taken for “interrogation and impregnation”. The swift spank she’d added to Lavorra’s rear undoubtedly helped sell the performance.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” One of the guards, a squat Daemon with a forked tongue had asked.

Great improv Zeya.

They sidled together into the command tent, Lavorra quickly shaking off her bindings while Zeya kept watch at the entrance. Or that was the plan.

Lavorra rummages through a heavy black-stone chest, searching for anything that might guide them through the bastion, and get them to the prisoners as swiftly as possible. She pauses, stiffening, sensing a presence behind her.

“Has anyone told you, you have the most incredible arse?” The rumbling voice of Daemon-Zeya comes from somewhere above her.

Lavorra sighs, before returning to her search.

“Yes. Several people. You have, in fact. While your fingers were inside me. Please stop being horny and guard the entrance.”

Zeya grumbles something about an entrance she’d like to guard, but slopes back to the mouth of the tent.

On a set of wooden shelves, Lavorra finds a bundle of vellum marked with a sinister-looking seal, and busily unwraps it.

Perfect.

Carrying the notes to a hunk of rock that seems to pass for a desk. She spreads them out, quickly scanning what seems to be a full map of the bastion. She notes the area referred to as the Fleshworks, and an annotation indicating that this is where the prisoners are held. Looking further, she finds a sheaf of scrawled notes, and reads them over.

“A Daemon-Lord named Kulrakan seems to be the one in charge. He has a private chamber on the lowest level. It says the Sorceress is being held there, serving at Kulrakan’s pleasure. Matron, that must be poor Melira.”

“Private chamber. Sounds kinky.” Zeya chimes in, her voice a little ragged.

“Would you focus? This is serious. Melira’s there and she’s being…” Lavorra snaps, then does her best to settle herself. “Sorry. I get it. I’m nervous too. Let’s just not joke. Okay, so she’s there. And the Dark Elves… oh Gods - they knew they were coming, and set a trap for them. They plan on breeding Daemonic mages - like we thought - but for a sacrifice. The resulting magical energy will…”

Lavorra’s eyes grow wide. She hears Zeya’s heavy masculine breathing growing closer. “Oh Holy Matron. It’ll permanently open a Daemongate, joining their realm with ours.”

Leant over the desk, she straightens up, only to find herself colliding with Zeya’s armoured chest, her transmogrified friend stood close behind her.

“Careful Zey! I-“ Lavorra yelps, turning around and backing up against the desk, staring down at the thick, slightly upwards-curving member that Zeya has a vice grip on, as it throbs and twitches, hard as the desk behind her.

“What in the name of the Matron are you doing?” She squeals, unable to tear her eyes away from the throbbing Daemonic member.

They don’t get any easier to look at. But they are… powerful.

“Lavvy I’m sorry.” Zeya groans, her disguised voice thick with lust and longing. “I can’t help it. I think the potion worked too well. I’ve got the sex drive to match… I tried ignoring it, I just, well look at you…”

She gives Lavorra a hapless grin, her hand stroking slowly over her new member.

“Oh so it’s my fault?” Lavorra glares, tempted to swat at Zeya’s pumping hand, but not sure that’s all she’d be likely to do down there. “Stop it! We need to get moving!”

“I know.” Zeya moans. She leans her other hand on the rocky desk, trapping Lavorra against it unintentionally, gasping as she continues to stroke herself. “I just… I can’t focus. Lavvy, please. Could you just touch it? Give it a little kiss?”

“You can’t be serious! I’m going to have to leave you here.” Only she can’t, she knows that. She needs all the help she can get right now.

Needs…

Surely it won’t take long?