Johari's body does the job her intellect cannot. Michaela gets some techniques demonstrated on her. (part 1)

Hesitantly, the exotic beauty Johari walked up to the chair where the leader of these hardened dogs of war seems to be getting quite 'hardened' himself. Even though Johari doesn't wish it, the three-inch heels on her shoes make it impossible for her not to sway her hips from side to side as she walks, and the skull-themed brassiere tightly clinging to her large breasts does nothing to stop them from jiggling all the way there. For a moment she decides what she wants to do, before apparently deciding that if she's going to be molested she may as well not be looking at him, and turning to face away from him, giving him a nice view of her barely-covered willow-brown backside. You aren't so sure what her problem is, really - much older men aren't generally your cup of tea, but as far as that category goes, this one isn't bad at all. Compared to a couple of fat old dukes you've been with, having those scarred arms with thick, corded biceps wrapped around you wouldn't be so bad.

"Sir Nasheim," you say, "I know that you are thinking - perhaps you could go ahead and enjoy touching my necromancer, but then go on and turn against us anyway? Well - if your entire reason for facing near-certain defeat by defying me now is to hew to some notion of honor or professionalism, I think that such a principled stand will be rather hard to maintain if you go very far. So if you just want to hear what she says before you make up your mind... I suggest you resist doing anything besides feeling the weight of her in your lap. If you can."

With a wrinkle of her nose, Johari gingerly settles her ass onto the old man's lap and sits there stiffly. His callused hands rest themselves on her knees, though even before she begins speaking, one of them starts sliding up her side, tracing over her ribs and coming tantalizingly close to her breast before squeezing her shoulder.

"Tell me, young lady," he grumbled to Johari hungrily, "are you a visitor from a far distant land? You have such an interesting appearance..."

She snorts. "If you must know I am, in fact, descended from the original hard-working settlers who built this city before thuggish interlopers from the crownlands came and took over to leech off of its prosperity, as nobles do. That is why Zoe over there is so unhealthily pale and so many of the citizens have a similar pallor, or shades of it. Not that it even matters - skin tone is such a trivial, unimportant thing to care about. Ahem - I will use simple language so one such as you can easily understand. You like GOLD, right? Money? Even though Zoe and her family always want to make everything about shortsighted sensual entertainments that is the actual purpose of Undrek. Surely you can appreciate it. If you'll allow me I will explain our trade routes, and not only how profitable they are now - that is all a simple mind would care to note - but their potential for exponential growth in the long term. Zoe likes to play these games but... you should know that I am quite independently wealthy, as are all members of my order. If you would PLEASE refuse to play along with Zoe's ridiculous games and restrain yourself, I can arrange for a generous gift to be delivered to you on a personal basis... Four, no, six ounces of pure gold, let us say?"

You snicker, flopping down onto a nearby bedroll casually and relaxing. "Oh Johari. You're always talking about how I am nothing more than a glorified whore, especially when you think I'm not listening. But if you are such a great philosopher and thinker, tell me this: what, exactly, is the meaningful difference between taking money from a man in return for allowing him to fuck you, and offering money TO a man in return for allowing you NOT to fuck HIM?"

Even a salty mercenary like Sir Nasheim seems a bit surprised at such blunt discussion of the subject, especially coming from the mouth of a delicate-looking young woman like yourself. Johari grits her teeth and stares daggers at her but continues. "So, to start with the tanning industries... of course I will summarize my explanation of each area with pertinent details about how such profits could support, and may even necessitate, regular guard and escort duties by a well-equipped company..."

"Speaking of escort duties," you say, turning your head, "I think that Michaela, there, is one of the talented ones who never had the need to sell her body to support herself while seeking to become established, and the one she was apprenticed under was a woman as well. So, Claude - I won't tell you she's a virgin, because she probably isn't - " Michaela sniffs and shoots you a dirty look but doesn't object directly, "...but she's still far from broken in. So, if you want to wait a while and get some walking-around-money to visit some of the more presentable, better-experienced ladies of the city proper, I wouldn't blame you."

"Pshaw!" Claude says with a hearty, surprised laugh. "You think I'd go out of my way to seek out the most heavily used goods when you just told me how fresh this sturdy, white-haired hammer-maiden is? Perish the thought! Er, considering what might end up happening with that slut in the skeleton-underwear over there, I think I would rather go talk with her privately..."

"I'm afraid that can't be allowed," you say with sharp shake of your head. "She's my quartermaster now, and my most promising new armorsmith. I can't risk her being ****. She'd be positively wasted being chained up in some sell-sword's tent as his wife and or pleasure ****."

You turn then to Rella. "Well, how about it, you two mud-streaked poachers? Those Amazons are honorable types, I'm sure Lady Rella would dismiss her two guards and let you try and take her on one at a time. She's smaller than either of you, surely you could overpower her?"

Yig and Ulf look to you, then back to Rella, who gives them an absolutely unyielding stare that makes both of them flinch. "Erm... if we don't, can we stay and watch, at least?" That draws a condescending titter from you, but you nod. Rella shakes her head again and mutters in disgust.

"Well, sounds like your path is clear, Lady Rella," you say. "I suppose I'll bid you adieu for now, and see you later upon the battlefield?"

"You're trying to embarrass me into running off?" Rella says, folding her arms. "I'm a warrior, I know what men want and where babies come from." You hear Johari stumble over her words and wince in response to that. "Our warriors are well aware of what is bound to happen to them if they're captured in battle in a land like this. Knowing that, or seeing some weak-willed Itherian woman taken as a prize, doesn't bother us. If you are going to let me stay here and overhear valuable intelligence just for the sake of your own ego, I'll gladly take advantage. Reporting it will help please the Lord who hired me and my sorority. Perhaps a reminder of who they'll be facing the sword of will keep Sir Nasheim and his misbegotten lout of a son from wavering."

A few tense minutes pass. Claude keeps his hands to himself at first, but when a nervous Michaela begins explaining why armor can be made so cheaply in this region, he says he needs to give his feet a rest, and pulls Michaela down onto a bedroll, sitting right next to her. His hand drapes over her shoulder, starting to gently rub there as the girl continues to speak.

When Michaela pauses to hesitantly ask him if he has any questions - *about the work*, she hastens to add - Claude just flutters his eyes at her and pulls her in closer, pushing close to her and kissing her on the mouth. She place her hands on his chest as if to push him away, but he doesn't respond to her hesitant shove and brings his other hand over to start undoing the straps of her heavy apron. "Oh hell... Are we really going to... are you..."Michaela whines, biting her lip. She is clearly growing quite excited herself, as a practiced eye like yours notices her crossing and uncrossing her legs. Well - she had damn well better be. You had enticed the best-looking man into choosing her for himself, it would be a direct insult to you if she were to ungratefully spurn his advances now.

Michaela continues explaining new methods of construction, new hinges and articulations and a revolutionary 'sliding rivet' that will make armor almost seamlessly interchangeable. But her voice grows meeker and squeakier with each strap of her own outfit that Claude undoes. In contrast to the brutal Gaelicans, this particular mercenary is downright gentle and cajoling, slowly and gingerly peeling off her apron and unbuttoning the tunic she had on underneath. Soon he is pulling it off over her head, leaving Michaela sitting next to him in just her trousers and boots, breasts completely exposed. Before she can get back to her spiel he leans forward and presses his mouth against one of those firm, milky white hemispheres, feeling the pleasant squish of it against his lips, tickling her nipples with his well-trimmed beard as he laps up and down over her. "Perhaps..." she says in a quiet voice, her hand straying over to his own trousers and unbuttoning them, "...I could go ahead and take care of you quickly so that we can get back to real business."

Appreciatively, Claude lays back on his back, putting his hands behind his head and smirking insufferably as he lowers his trousers to the knees and exposes his long, turgid dick. You chuckle. "Tch! It's a shame to have a beautiful hard cock like that sent out on the battlefield where one unlucky swing of an axe could cut it right off. You really ought to stay in Undrek, I can tell right away you'd be popular with the girls. Even a wallflower like Michaela can't help but want to suck it."

"Countess, please! Could you just stop?" Michaela says to you with exasperation. But all the same, she kneels in front of him and rests her firm breasts on Claude's hairy thighs before hesitantly placing a kiss on the head of his erect banner-pole. Soon she pushes lower and engulfs it entirely in her mouth, taking it until she goes a bit too deep and gags, causing Claude to chuckle affectionately. He urges her forward and uses his hands to push Michaela's impressive breasts closer to his crotch while she cranes her head forward to bob up and down on the rod.

Meanwhile, you notice that despite seemingly sitting still, Sir Nasheim has allowed his hand to gradually creep over to Johari's crotch. First he teased his fingers over her navel. Then he rested them against the front of her panties, feeling the slit behind that image of a skull woven into tissue-thin fabric. Then he digs his fingers past the stretchy rubber band holding them up and begins rubbing insistently at her nether lips. Johari's voice, dedicated to rattling off facts and numbers, grows less and less steady by the minute as the sensation bites into her concentration.

"I..." she pauses in her explanation and turns back to look at the lusty gaze Sir Nasheim is giving her, changing tack. "I'm not just wearing this... ridiculous outfit to show myself off you know. Tasteless as it is the iconography has meaning. I am a black magician, a coaxer of the dead. Just this morning I helped embalm and prepare the corpses of two homeless men who turned up dead in the gutter, one from drowning in his own drunken vomit and one from being knifed in the back after trying to steal a traveler's saddlebag. I cut them open and, by hand, pulled out-"

"Don't worry, good sir," you say in a singsong voice, "I made sure she had a nice long bath after dealing with her icky hobbies, she is plenty clean right now. And really, Johari - you think a veteran of campaign like him is going to be disgusted and chased off by those words? I'd bet twenty gold coins that he's seen more corpses than you have in his time."

"What an interesting, learned, spirited girl you are," the man grumbles into her ear, reaching down with one of his free hands to unbutton his breeches, making Johari gulp. "How old are you, anyway?" Jaw clenched, Johari clears her throat. "Twenty six, if you must know. I don't see why it matters..."

"Well there you have it," he says confidently. "That's six years more than my boy Claude. How can you go saying that I'm too old for you, then?" You smirk and give Johari a wink. "Oh, but think of it the other way around, sir," you say. "If Johari is to accept that you are, hmhmhm, an old bag of bones, with one foot in the grave, as it were, that would make it all the more appropriate for her to get very close and intimate with a certain bone of his." The mercenary chuckles coarsely in turn and shrugs, letting a very thick shaft poke up through his undone breeches and start rubbing against the supple brown skin of the comely woman's inner thigh. You could see that the heat in Johari's face and the quickened pace of her breathing was starting to fog her glasses up a bit, much to her chagrin.

In spite of her initial **** Michaela was warming up to this attractive stranger she'd been served up to quite quickly. She was devouring him with downright enthusiasm, and even slid one of her hands down past her own waist to begin rubbing between her legs through the rough cloth of her pants. Claude gave her a clap on the shoulder. "Come on my dear. Those mannish pantaloons must surely be chafing you. Why don't you get out of them? And you two," he glared back at Yig and Ulf, who suddenly jerked their hands away from their own crotches in unison, "I can't have you thrown out but don't you dare get too close."

Michaela nodded with a soft sigh, her lips pursed and nervous but not objecting. She comes off of Claude's cock, letting a string of saliva trail off of the head to her lips, and unlaces her boots, tying the laces together after kicking them off so they don't get separated - a practical woman to the core. "I hope you won't go spreading this around, Claude," she says softly. "I don't want the other council members or guildswomen to think I'm just another... you know." she can't bring herself to say the 'w' word.

"You're a model citizen, Michaela. I'm proud to have your support." you say cutely again. "Talented, pragmatic, independent, but still temptingly feminine, and not ashamed to admit to partaking of the pleasures of the bedchamber. Well, the proverbial bedchamber..."

Claude's hands tug down her pants as he plants a line of kisses over her breasts and down to her belly button. Unlike many of the girls who do it for a living (or the witches who were compelled to do so), Michaela doesn't bother trimming, shaving or waxing the spot between her legs... but Claude doesn't complain as he sticks his head between her legs. Soon she's wrapping her thighs around his head and breathing heavily. "Ah... oh yes. That feels good. A little... a little higher, high-AHHH! Mmm-ghhh... yes, right there." The noise of slurping soon gets quite noisy, and makes you a bit envious of her... a young man who actually liked to give oral and didn't make his lover beg for it? Damn - perhaps you should've kept him for yourself. But then again, that would rather undermine your power relationship at the moment and, as a general rule, you have been persuaded that you should only let men of noble blood go all the way with you, and you can't see Claude being the sort to settle for a little oral. You aren't sure if Michaela knows it or not, but odds are she isn't leaving this tent without any cum in her.

And speaking of which... it seems that the elder Nasheim has lost none of his lechery and is rushing ahead with taking advantage of the beautiful dark sorceress (in both senses of the word 'dark'). Hilariously, even now with her cunt being fingered greedily, Johari is still rambling away about trivia. "...and so, the collected urine is no longer a supply issue in a city of this density and the zombies can handle the foulest first step of the process, and because the slaughterhouse use knives that are curved and press-forged instead of hammered there will be as much as a tenth more usable leather per head of cattle... Unh... Mi-Michaela, tell them about the knives. The wicked, razor-sharp, flesh-rending, organ-removing knives..."

You giggle. Clearly Johari hasn't given up on taking the wood out of Sir Nasheim's vintage pecker by bombarding him with unpleasant topics of conversation or speaking in a deadpan voice. No doubt many court ladies would have the mood thoroughly killed if their beau started discussing gory, unsanitary topics, but a man's lust is a more resilient thing than that. The man's hand creeps up along her chest to give one of her breasts a squeeze through the brassiere as he rubs his exposed cock up and down between her ass-cheeks. Soon it escalates even beyond that, by the way Johari squirms, you can tell that he's sliding it around inside her panties, coming perilously close to her crotch.

"Oh... yes... the knives... They are very, um, good, and very sharp, great for... going very deep in one stroke, and..." Michaela blushes and leans closer to Claude. "I-I'm sorry sir... I haven't had very much practice flirting or saying bawdy things... I hope I'm doing alright.... um, and I also hope that my flavor is to your liking." She ran her hands through his ruffled brown hair affectionately. "I think I'm ready, Claude. I'll need you to guide me though, I'm not sure what position you'd like. I've never done it any way except just laying back... Should I get on my stomach or roll over onto my side, or...?"

"No, no, of course not." Claude says with a hearty chuckle as he climbs atop her, resting his hands on her breasts. "Why would I want these treasures facing away from me? Besides, I want you to taste how excited I've gotten you." That makes Michaela gasp and kick her feet excitedly as he leans in for another kiss, supporting himself with one hand and stroking his exposed shaft in anticipation with the other.

Johari groans in exasperation. "Damned sluts everywhere in this city... you're no help at all, some damned blacksmith you a- AHHH! H-hey! Slow down, you old mule!" Her breath suddenly catches and her fists ball up as Nasheim pulls her skull-faced panties to the side and lets the straining purple helmet of his most prized 'soldier' slap against Johari's shaved pubic mound. He has slid his pants down to the knees now, letting you see his 'twig (branch, rather) and berries', with similarly greying hair to his face, with perfect clarity. Pffft - just like Johari to complain at such a time like this. That was a fine-looking, thick piece of sausage. Just watching the whole scene you have to keep crossing and uncrossing your legs on account of the dampness starting to build up in your own undergarments.

Even as the man's hands are sliding down, to grip her ass in one hand and her stocking-clad upper thigh in the other, Johari is looking at you with pleading eyes. "Countess," she says, using the honorific she so disdains, "you, you remember what we were talking about earlier? The 'thing'? You said you'd see?" Sir Nasheim pauses for just a minute, intrigued to see where this talk was going. Even Claude pauses in his motions towards sheathing himself in Michaela's furry little mound to turn and look.

"It must have slipped my mind Johari," you say, unable to stop yourself from grinning toothily and fluttering your eyelashes. "could you be a bit more specific?"

"Grrrrr!" Johari's eyes blaze with dark fire but then she looks back over her shoulder at Nasheim around the sides of her glasses and sees only uncompromising lust. She knows there's no way she'll get out of this with just a hand-job or a little rub - that thick club is going inside her imminently. "I mean the sponge, obviously!"

Nasheim chuckles, slapping his turgid cock against her nether lips again, making her flinch. "Sponge? The sort for bathing? We can continue this in the baths later if you like, you wicked minx, but I made a point of having a bath just this morning - it's the wise thing to do whether you're going to be meeting with nobility or fighting a bloody battle. If one is covered in dirt and filth, the first arrow or spear-poke that draws blood from you will produce a corrupted wound that is the end of you. Yes, you like that kind of filthy talk before getting fucked, don't you?" He leans up so he could lick her earlobe and the side of her neck.

"No you filth-spawned dullard! Ugh!" Johari wrinkles her nose. "Gah! That is, yes, actually...! The sort for bathing, but a tiny piece cut off from a fresh one and securely placed inside the female sex. You're twice my age and I have to explain the basics of how human bodies function to you?! Stupid, shitty old goat! How do you think most of the working girls in this lust-besotted city avoid getting... pregnant?" she winces and reaches up a hand to straighten her glasses after that last word.

You wonder if Michaela would be perturbed by this conversation but Claude has already slipped inside of her, her legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer, and she doesn't seem to be able to hear anything except her own heavy breathing and that of her paramour. She is already gasping and biting her lip with pleasure after only a half-dozen strokes... seems the girl was more hard-up than you'd thought.

"Cock-sucking, sodomy," you count a few things off on your fingers, smirking, "proper timing with the menstrual floods... the most common way is just brothel rules that say the visitors have to pull out of the woman before they climax. But don't worry Sir Nasheim, she's already perfectly positioned for one of them. Don't you know, she won't get pregnant so long as she is on top? That's why the more nosy bishops and cardinals preach that the only proper way to make love is for the woman to be laying on her back." You say it with some confidence - part of you actually hopes it's true, for your own sake rather than hers.

Sir Nasheim seems satisfied with that - Johari emphatically is not, her eyes practically spitting fire at you from behind their glass portals as the man's strong hands squeeze and knead her ass cheek and thigh. "NO!! Damn it Zoe, you uneducated WENCH!! That is a stupid myth that the seasoned workers at the bordellos spread maliciously to new girls who don't know any better in hopes of sabotaging the competition! Do you emerge from the swaddling of your luxurious little manor bedchamber so rarely that you don't see a fifth or more of the whores either working with swollen bellies or begging for alms in the street once they're too far along to draw customers? My order has tried many times to educate them about that and other myths but there are always more naive waifs ready to be taken in by lies!"

You wave your hand at her dismissively and shrug, looking over and enjoying the sight of Claude's muscular ass rising and falling, slapping against Michaela's creamy skin as she wrapped her hands around his arms and craned her neck up to kiss him passionately, getting a taste of her own juices. "It has worked for me, so far. I've been available for over a year now. I'm forbidden from using sponges, potions, pessaries or anything of that nature - family rules, you know - but I've yet to suffer such a fate."

"That's because most of THEM, the ones having a go at you, are fat gluttons who drink too much, not because of anything YOU think you've done!" she sneers viciously at you. You run a hand through your hair and give a theatrical, ladylike yawn. "And besides, " you continue flippantly, "if it's true that being on top doesn't help, mightn't that be for the best? You are always concerned about the city losing population to emigration. Seems like a bit of self-sabotage that your order is engaging in, there. And no, to answer your original question - you can't have a piece of sponge. If I can't why should you?" In fact, just today, you'd had the bathhouse girl assigned to help tidy Johari up give her a very 'deep cleaning' just to make sure she hadn't anything hidden away in her honey hole. "Hwmf... in any case," you conclude airily, "he's clearly past his prime, I'd wager his seed doesn't have much potency left."

All of this crude, bawdy talk devoid of any euphemism seems to be exciting the man in whose lap Johari is sitting more and more. He teases the head of his stiff manhood against Johari's delicate little slit of a pussy once again, flicking a thumb over her clit to make sure she stayed good and wet for him. "Can't say I've ever given it much thought, myself. I don't stay in one place much so it's not a real concern. Only one that was ever around long enough for me to know for sure was the curvy seamstress who traveled with us for awhile and became my dear Claude's mother. Mmmm..." he grinds the head of his tool against Johari's entrance, nearly going in, as he reminisces pleasantly. "I recall I was having her warm my bed for at least a few months before I noticed a bulge growing under her dress... Always had her under me, though, t'was all I knew at the time. Oh she was a fine catch... such a shame she didn't make it when we had to flee the field against those dragonfolk. I hope they only made her a **** instead of their dinner, at least."

"Gah!" Claude stops with his cock halfway inside Michaela's velvety folds for a moment and winces, sighing heavily. "Would you shut up old man? I don't want to hear any of that rot right now, can't you see I'm trying to enjoy myself and put the fact that a grimy old troll like you has his pants off just out of my field of view?" In spite of his 'standards', it is about two seconds before he grabs Michaela's ankles in his hands and bends her legs back up over her so he can drive himself into her cunt with maximum ****, filling the tent with the sound of slapping skin and making the blacksmith squeal lustily with each thrust. "You don't mind if I come inside of you, do you, Michaela? My fine, strong, beautiful bloom of the ironworks?"

"Uhh.... hmmmf... ah.... unh... I... well I hadn't thought about it," Michaela manages in between grunts of ecstasy, "but you'll be... working with the city in the future and coming around a lot so... I guess it's okay if you want to, if it would feel better for you that way." She swallows and begins panting so heavily that her tongue is hanging out, her short, pale blonde hair more unkempt than ever. "But please hold on a little longer, I can feel my pleasure building, I really want to come around your big, hard cock!"

Johari squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth for a moment, feeling her hips being lifted up again and knowing that the inevitable would be delayed no longer. "Damn it, damn it, damn you Zoe... You, mercenary!" she haughtily addresses Sir Nasheim again, looking over her shoulder to meet his flinty grey eyes. "What I said earlier... all the gold that I promised, I'll still pay you even if we... copulate," she says, reaching for the driest word she could think of, "just so long as you promise you'll warn me when you are about to release your seed so I can get up off your lap, alright?"

Nasheim lets out a casual, good-natured chuckle - which, considering the circumstance, made him come off like a bit of a cad. "Well, a man can always use more coin, I suppose..." he says noncommittally, giving her butt such a hard squeeze with his hand this time that it makes Johari squeak a little. "but you've put off doing your duty to your ruler, scandalous a woman though she may be, long enough, my lovely grave-digging wench. Put your hands on the arm of the chair, lift yourself up, and sit down on my nice hard pike. You can continue whining and nattering all you like once I'm wearing your lovely hairless cunt.."