you hope...

Continuing up the road, hopefully to the location of this ‘villa house’, you pass by a group of burly men wearing red and white, who acknowledge your existence with only narrow eyed stares. Their heads turn as you pass, large muscles and the irregular bulges of hidden weapons dotted about their forms, and you thank the moment you chose to acquire the boob hiding carapace as you leave them behind. The malevolence they level at you is palpable, and you feel yourself hunker down as they watch you go, retreating into your amour like a turtle into its shell. If you were a woman wearing the colours they hate, it would probably be much worse than a few dirty looks thrown your way. Your mental congratulation is soured somewhat by the slight pain you still carry in your breast, reminding you of its cost and leaving you pressing your hand to the leather and feeling little comfort through its hard surface.

Continuing up the road, past some old stone gateposts at the end of the village and along a path that leads through some woods, you eventually lay eyes on your destination, appearing just as the village is hidden around a bend. The ‘villa’ title given is a little inaccurate as it looks more akin to the stand alone mansions of the principalities than any sandy southern refuge. The single building looks to be quite a size from where you walk towards it, but it’s far from the largest you have seen; bigger than a noble’s town house, yet smaller than one of their country estates. That it’s here at all though is quite a shock; the large stones used, as well as all the other material, must have been transported here from the mainland and cost its builder a fortune. Many dark windows line its walls, tall and arched, showing both a ground floor and a single upper one as well, and though you feel a little conspicuous walking towards it alone, you see no faces watching you from them, nor guards of any kind on the grounds or the roof. Surrounded by trees and a large grassy lawn, it’s quite well hidden from the rest of the island, which is likely intentional, the original owner wishing to avoid seeing the peasantry at work. That’s typlically the way of it.

You follow the path with a confident strut you don’t quite feel, dirt turning to gravel underfoot as you approach, while the looming silhouette of the building swallows the moon out of the sky. The path snakes towards the house but splits into two directions as it nears, the most prominent of which leads you around the right side of the house while the other leads to the left. Following the right and stepping back into the lunar glow with a manly stride, you see the splintered light of a closed door scattered about the lawn ahead. The front door comes into view, heavy and old, the scant gaps of its light-bleeding frame promising activity within. Its set in an inlet on the side of the building, and standing next to it, leaving against the wall, is an equally heavy but far less old guard. He wears armour similar to your own, but coloured white and red and slightly more ornate, with a heavy axe at his belt and a deep frown on his harsh angled face.

As you approach, he bluntly greets you.

“No armour. Strip, or piss off midget.” His voice, emotionless as slate, delivers the words with cold indifference. Is it because of the colours you wear? It seems not; his ultimatum directed solely at your stolen hide and attitude bearing only boredom.

“But, er, I need to go inside.”

Your manliest voice seems to get the attention of the guard in all the wrong ways. He leans in close and studies your face, still hidden beneath the helmet, and you get an up-close view of his frown deepening. The idea of somehow stabbing him below his outstretched chin, like you did the two others before him, comes to mind, but the heavy axe at his waist and his clear suspicion convince you otherwise. Instead, you try to stand tall under his scrutiny, but your spine betrays you, leaning back from the sharp angles and sunken features of his face.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me ‘boy.’” He doles out his words to you, piece by piece. “Strip. Or. Piss. Off.” You don’t like the his tone when he said ‘boy.’ Was that doubt, or simply dismissiveness? His flat growl made it impossible to tell, and his later words give no leeway to interpretation.

You quickly come to the conclusion that forcing your way past or revealing your deception are not options, and with all of your previous words failed, you decide to retreat away from him, hands held up in mock surrender before turning calmly and walking away. You feel his eyes on your back as you leave the alcove, all the way to the corner of the house that finally hides you from his view. You don’t hear the crunch of footsteps coming after you, for which you’re grateful at least.

‘Well,’ you think, ‘that could have gone better.’

With the front door lost, you continue your walk down the path until the split you found earlier. Looking at the path less travelled, you see that it goes around the other side of the house, hopefully to a backdoor, and, looking all around you and the empty night, you go to a particularly shady spot of moonless ground and begin the word of undoing the straps of your armour. It’s fiddly in the dark, but after a moments struggle and a couple of whispered curses, it comes free. Taking the helmet off your head and folding the armour free, you place them both on the grassy ground, trying to position them in a way that will not draw attention to any casual observer. The warm night air feels a lot better than its claustrophobic embrace, but you do feel a little **** now. Chest lighter, you take a deep breath, straighten your jacket, and consider your next move more carefully.

The guard you just dealt with was evidently put there because he was smarter than the average pirate. He got a good look at your face, or the unhidden parts at least, and it wouldn’t take a genius to link the rest of your face with your height and recent visit. Trying the front door again would be an idiot’s gamble, but you consider carefully the back. The path is far less trodden, and not the way anyone would usually go to gain entrance. At best it will be guarded as well, and at worst it will just be locked or barred or both in some manner you cannot navigate. Either way you’re facing a fresh opponent whose suspicions haven’t yet been razed, and it seems the best option you have left. It’s a second chance, without the previous setback. Perhaps the last chance as well.

You start walking down the slightly overgrown path to the back of the house. Bushes line its way, leaving it a quiet and secluded walk, though through them, you see a lit window, the shape of a man looking out with features as invisible to you as you are to him. You move on, passing around the corner and seeing a man leaning lazily against the frame of an open door, the same distance down as the front, marked by the similar careless spill of the houses light across the open ground. With the exception of the guard, it’s practically an open invitation. Hopefully he isn’t as smart, but with no armour this time, it shouldn’t matter.

As you walk towards him, you try to simply walk through the open door, hoping that such things are allowed. He reaches out and grabs your arm, pulling you back. Evidently they are not.

“What you doin then?” he asks. You look at him close up, keeping a calm expression on your face. He’s tall and thin, not unlike the man whose clothes you’re wearing, but with more muscles, tattoo’s, and something else. Experience maybe. He looks roughly the same age as well; slightly older than you, but he stands and moves with the confident ease of someone much older. He has short brown hair and several dangling ear piercings, and tanned skin not too dark to see the poorly inked tattoos across this chest and arms. His clothes are also red and white, obviously, but instead of an axe, he is armed with a long wooden bat resting against the door behind him.

“I need to go inside”, you answer calmly, trying to mimic the uneducated drawl that most criminals use.

“Oh yeah? Use the front.” His outstretched arm shoves you away, and seeing you suitably staggered back, he continues his leaning. You rapidly think of a plausible excuse for not doing so.

“Can’t. Not with im on watch.” You gesture vaguely through the house, to the front.

“Oh yeah? Whys that then?”

The excuse comes slowly. Why is that then? You buy some time by looking at the floor, scraping your foot and mumbling,

“Uhh...you know.”

A big wicked smile cross his face out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh yeah? You an ee…uh, you know...”

His face makes a number of odd gestures and expressions, none of which convey any understandable meaning to you. Not knowing completely what he’s referring to, you think it best to simply let him come up with his own convincing story and nod your head in a begrudging manner. ‘Yup, you got me,’ you try to convey.

He chuckles, sucking his teeth and continuing.

“Yeah, never forgets a face that one.”

That explains why he was so interested in yours, and why he was put on guard in the first place. Looks like the front door is definitely no longer an option, and you put a second strike through it in your mind.

You press forward with your only remaining chance to enter, focusing on the man and asking him conspiratorially,

“So can I go in?”

He considers for a moment, umming and ahing to himself.

“Well now. Unlike your old boyfriend...” Boyfriend? Oh, wow, you really should have figured that one out sooner. You remember all the odd nods and facial spasms and his toung pressing into his cheek, attributing new meaning to them for future reference. “...I’m not unreasonable. You pay me. You go through.”

Damn! You really don’t like where this is going. You give him a shrug and a chuckle.

“Sure, let me in and when I’m done, I’ll go back to the ship and get som-“

“Nope, not that reasonable. Pay upfront or don’t come back.” He looms over you as he continues, “You know, they had a party at the inn, but am here, stuck as can be.” He picks at the shoulder of your jacket. “Makes my dick itch. What you gonna do about it?”

Your face pales slightly as you start to consider all the options, but really, this is the only one. Of course, leaving the island is always on the table, but you didn’t come this far to run away at the first hurdle. There are people counting on you to end the kind of monster found in this place. There were some of those people in the inn you past through. Considering the building, you can’t let the other guard see you again or you’re captured. There was no way into the house from the direction you approached; no drainpipes to climb, no cellar windows, no ivy laden balconies. You can’t go around either of the guards to the other side of the mansion without raising their suspicion to breaking point. This is the only way in for you now. You could kill the guy, but there’s no place to hide a body without dragging it across open ground, and he doesn’t look light. Before that, you would have to do it silently as well, with who knows how many guards inside ready to rush out. He doesn’t look weak or drunk or distracted either, so nothing like the others you’ve matched against. While already proven, you note that he is obviously not the type to go for vague promises either, dwindling your options down to a near nothing.

You’re not the type to ever do this, but you decide to negotiate, if nothing more than to buy time.

“What would you want me to do with it?” You ask the question in a much less confident voice than you expected. He fills your vision, half illuminated by the door to his side. His lit eye looks you dead in yours.

“All I want is for you to put your hands on that wall and bend over.”

Absolutely not. You would never do...that, to complete your mission, no matter what you have heard about other agent’s proclivities. Besides, with the way the moon is and your cycle... You don’t want to birth some bastard child with some scumbag criminal.

“Ain’t gonna happen, er, sugar. How about somthin else?” The words feel strange in your mouth. You prefer reason to seduction; the latter not something you ever felt comfortable with. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you towards him, pressing your crotches together.

“Well I guess you could get on your knees and open wide. You got to swallow though.”

You smell the tangy sweat coming off his chest. You’re not completely clueless to what he wants; you’ve heard of whores performing similar... operations on their clientele. You never thought you would have to do it yourself though, and you’re not completely sure what he means by swallow.

Oh Gods! You hope it doesn’t mean that!

You shake your head at the prospect of it at the same moment his hands slide across your hips, under the waist of your trousers and onto your bare behind.

“What’s the matter? Should I ask your old flame if you gulped for him?” He begins to fondle your petite cheeks, looking for your reaction to his question. You feel his hard manhood press against you.

“I. Uh. N-no..”

Your mind is too focused on your rear you think of a better response, feeling his groping fingers travelling down, getting closer and closer to your-

“Fine.” You push away from him and his hands slide out of your trousers. The look of smug satisfaction on his face makes you reconsider killing him, even if the whole island heard it. You decide, with a great mental shudder, to follow his instructions and lower yourself to your knees, hoping to get the humiliation over with as quickly as possible. He looks at you expectantly and you remember his full instructions; ‘on your knees and open wide.’ You choose to ignore the rest for now. You open your mouth and look up at him expectantly. You’ve taken a man into your body once before, and surely taking one into your mouth will hurt significantly less. You were strong enough that day, you’ll be strong enough now. How bad can it be?

He unties the belt around his trousers and lets them fall, his fully erect member bouncing up and down above less tanned thighs, wavering before your eyes. Your mouth closes, partly to gulp and partly because you want to. You take a moment looking at the device, eyeing it as though it could bite you; it seems so long and think; surely they were not all like this? It holds your attention as you kneel before it, like a pilgrim before some dominating monolith of a shrine.

“Well? Come one then. It ain’t gonna suck itself.”

Unsure how one ... proceeds in this situation, you shuffle forwards slightly and bring it up to your lower lip, resting it there, unable to proceed. Mouth half open, you desperately think of some other way.

There’s a sigh, and an impatient hand grips the back of your head, pulling you forward as he jerks his hips. He slides down your tongue and immediately hits the back of your mouth.

You gag slightly, more at the taste than anything else, and seal your lips around it in an effort to breathe through your nose. The tip scratches at your throat, eager to slip further. You put your hands on his bare thighs in an effort to steady yourself and push away from him as your vision fills with the unwelcome sight of his curly black hairs. You taste nothing but sweat and dirt as the member sits on your tongue, mocking its function.

For a moment he rests there, his disgusting manhood laid in your mouth. You put more pressure on his legs to try and **** the intruder out of your mouth, or at least away from your throat, and he slowly slides across your tongue and lips, slightly pulling them out as your need for air still beats your desire to touch as little of him as possible. You push him back so his flared head rests only on the tip of your tongue, and breathed deep, filling your lungs with his musk as best you can without gagging or descending into a coughing fit. You feel the breath form your nose break on his shaft.

“Oh Yeah,” comes a whisper from above your head. Hot shame runs shivers down your body. You glance your eyes up and see his lecherous stare reflecting back at you, his grin wide and piercings twinkling.

With both hands now on your head, One holds you while the other pulls at your tight bun, loosening it and spilling much of its contents down to the middle of your back, running down the valley of your shoulder blades. You wander, through the haze of deep disgust and shame, what he could possibly be doing. What more satisfaction could he gain from making a mess of you? Before long, he holds two handfuls of your hair, bundled thickly in fists close to your scalp. Hoping against hope that the ordeal was over, and wishing to ask him if your part is done, you try to remove the fleshy hard shaft from the last part of your mouth, pulling the bell shaped head to the exit of your lips. This act was repulsive and you don’t think you will ever-

He pulls your head forward again using your hair as leverage.

Twin pains bloom on your scalp as once again, his manhood rushes to meet the back of your mouth, your shocked resistance the only thing that saves your throat form its deep touch. Tears instantly stream from your eyes as it reaches further than before your back arching, your palms pushing. You feel a hair tickle your nose as one again you try to push and push and push him out, and in a moment, there is no resistance. He slides himself to your mouths entrance of his own accord. Struggling to understand his movements, you’re caught completely off guard when he rams his member in again, moaning as it punches to your throat. Then out again. Then in again, gaining pace with each thrust. Water pours from your eyes now, partially from his humiliating use and partially from trying not to retch. A slick, wet noise adds to his increasingly appreciative grunts and groans; saliva turned to dribbling rivers and churned to bubbled froth under the length of his invasion. A new and unfamiliar taste soils your mouth; a salty bile that mixes with your spit, steadily pulled from your mouth to spill down your chin.

Your scalp is on fire as he pulls you back and forth. Each pull matched by an equally vigorous thrust of his hips. You fight the urge to scream, to bite down, to draw your dagger and do some thrusting of your own. ‘This is punishment’, you think, ‘punishment for violating that woman, it must be’. Your world shrinks to the invading dick, suffocating all of your senses. All you see is the wall of curly black hair, growing and shrinking and growing again as his hips move to and from your face. All you hear are the grunts, pants and curses from the animal hunched over you. They mix with the grotesque sounds your wet face hole makes; sounds you have never heard it make before; not just the sound of wet invasion and choked coughing and the inevitable retching that sings into the night, but the sounds that reverberate through your head alone; the rubbery sound of your lips sliding along his member, the rasp of his skin moving against your tongue, the wet slosh as his tip mixes its foul milk to a soup.

You feel the all-encompassing humiliating shame of it. To be used like this. You picture yourself, kneeling in hard gravel path, hamds gripping his thighs, hair a mess in his hands, head forcefully bobbing back and forth, the look of despair on your face and the look of glee on his.

This, you realise, must be what being a whore feels like.

His tempo suddenly changes as he finally lets go of your hair, one hand moveing to the very back of your head to keep you in place as he recovers, breathing slowly and deeply. He still rests much of himself in your mouth, and you, like him, take the chance to breathe freely and catch your breath, though for very different reasons. You praise the gods that it’s finally over. How long had he been using your face for his pleasure? Minutes? Hours? You-

He grabs the back of your head with both hands and suddenly pushes his member in as much as he can.

It actually enters your throat.

You feel sick immediately rise up to meet it, to cast it out, as even your body rejects what is happening. It goes no further than the stopped cockhead that you feel rises your **** swallows. Your eyes go wide, unable to breathe even through your nose, and you begin to bang desperately against his thighs with your palms, begging him to release you. Your nose bends against his hips, lost in a tangle of hair, and you feel his sack cover your sopping chin as he hold you in place. Your lips go wide in your attempt to suck down a breath, bared in a silent terrified snarl. You can see why the last one of these you observed ended the way it did.

You jerk and twitch as your limited air runs out. Should you bite? Ten seconds. He’d scream. Twenty seconds. You’ll die. Thirty seconds. Your eyes begin to roll upward; past the hair, past his face and its expression of open mouthed transcendence and into the dark world of your own head. You feel him slide back and you open your eyes as you breathe deep. Panting breaths squeeze past your lips as if you had just come out of a lake of drowning water. The first thing you see are his eyes staring back at you and whatever he sees in your tear streaked dazed red eyes seems to send him over the edge as he thrusts forward again into the back of your gasping throat, releasing a torrent of salty semen.

You don’t hear the long appreciative sigh that slides out of his smiling mouth. He releases into your air hungry neck just as you were trying to fill your lungs with air. Your lungs, in turn, reject the offer of your oral guest to fill them with something else and trigger a fit of coughing. This sends a hot stream of ejaculate back up with great ****, bypassing your rapidly filling mouth and opting instead to come out of your nose. This all goes very much unnoticed by the gasping and spasming door guard, even as it jets directly into his pubic hairs.

He pulls out slightly from your throat, enough for you to breathe and cough more freely. He continues to spray his seed into your mouth, leaving a growing pool on, around, and beneath your tongue, swilling about your teeth and painting the full length of your neck. It tastes awful; like salty stagnant rainwater. He withdraws his vile manhood from your mouth, finally, and your eyes unwillingly trace the long lines of slime that connect the two of you together, between lips and shorthairs. You feel your stomach finally rebel in earnest, hot sick traveling up your throat. Unthinking, you swallow in an attempt to keep it down, unwittingly taking what that man had given you into your core. Gods! Doubled up, you wipe your mouth and chin on your arm, and wish on all the stars that you had but a single cup of water.

You sit back and rest on the ground, taking deep, stomach calming breaths, as the man leans forward, hands on his knees to rest as well. It is not he who speaks.

“Ahh damn. I squirted just from watchin. Send er up ear next!”

Your head snaps up from its reprieve and you see a guard looking down at you from the roof. Instantly, a feeling of absolute humiliation pours down on you, fighting to both turn your face crimson with shame and to rob it of all colour with horror. He. Saw. Everything.

“Fuck off Narnen! This is true love!” Wiping himself off on his trousers, your ‘business partner’ tucks his member away and offers you his hand. You hold your shaking hand out, unsure if you should take his. He grabs your arm, pulls you up and pushes you towards the door with a slap on the rear, sending you through without a word. Turning back up to his vertically superior fellow guard he continues his mocking conversation as you make your way inside.

You see no one and nothing as you walk forwards. Not wanting to be seen, you quickly grab one of the lanterns hanging on the wall and slip down a dark nearby hallway. You see many rooms and after checking several of them, you find one containing a plain, dull mirror. You shut the door behind you and walk up to it only to see a stranger looking back at you through the silver backed glass.

She stands at your height, has your features and hair and eye colour, but she is not you. Her hair is out of place, neat bun now half the weight it should be with dangling strands hanging haphazardly down her face and about her head, as well as twin clumps of tangled knots decorating each side above her ears. She has lines of wet tears down her face that link to a mouth and chin damp with some slimy excretion that extends down her neck and on to some of her chest. Her face is drawn tight with fatigue and her eyes look on the verge of crying. Lost...and scared. The woman before you looks tragic.

This is not you. This is someone else. Some sad whore you hope never to see again. Putting the lantern down and spitting out the taste in your mouth, you set about fixing this woman, making her go away. You fix her hair into a tight bun, you wipe her face and neck and chest clean, and you make her take deep, meditative breaths. For some reason she keeps spitting and even snorts some creamy liquid out of her nose, but after a while she disappears and only you remain in the mirror. Prim and proper and dignified, if still a little sweaty. Breathe in. Breathe out. The moment has passed. A high price paid. You will deal with the awful memories later and you will never experience it again. You focus.

Returning to the hallway, you move about the house until you come to its main foyer through a small door by a large set of stairs.