The Geas of Gwedhiel (MC,Mf, Ff, Oral)

The Geas of Gwedhiel (MC,Mf, Ff, oral)

by Decker

Disclaimer:

I wrote this. This is an original work of fiction, bearing little to no resemblance to reality. This is neither intended nor recommended for minors, the faint at heart, or forums/areas/locales where such depictions are proscribed, censored, or illegal. This has been posted with the kindly aid and permission of Simon bar Sinister, who also correctly notes, “The situations described here are at best impossible or at worst highly immoral in real life. Anyone wishing to try this stuff for real should seek psychological help and/or get a life.” Please do not repost, publish, or distribute in whole or in part without the author’s explicit permission. Other stories by this author and many others may be found at MC Stories.

Synopsis: Becca doesn’t understand her roommate’s fascination with role-playing games. After all, aren’t there better things to do on a weekend?

* * * * *

Becca heard the door open again, and stuck her head out from the kitchen. Another nerd arrives for the weekly ritual, she snickered, and turned her focus back to the frozen pizza aromatically resolving itself in the oven. Her dinner held her attention until Callie stepped in, crumpling a soda can in one hand.

“A watched pizza-pie never bakes,” Callie misquoted, flipping her brown-with-streaks-of-blonde hair out of her eyes, one of her few completely feminine habits. Callie was a tomboy; she’d dated a few boys that Becca knew of, giving lie to the occasional lesbian rumor, but growing up with six brothers and no sisters had left an indelible mark on her psyche. Once the initial awkwardness of meeting her new roommate had passed (a stranger’s going to be living in my apartment? For years?), Becca had taught Callie how to properly apply makeup (and not just use a brush here and there whenever she remembered), how to dance (Callie had yet to do it in public, though), and helped upgrade her wardrobe to include something beyond t-shirts and jeans. In return, Callie had tutored Becca in Calc, taught her how to drive a stick shift and change her own oil, and even introduced Becca to yoga and meditation, a lifesaver when midterms came.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you see in all this,” Becca said, fingers sweeping to indicate the boys settling in at the dining room table. Marcus, who’d probably never worked out a day in his skinny life, was pulling book after heavy book from his industrial-strength bag, most of them decorated with fanciful pictures of mythological beasts. Charlie was fiddling with a stack of dice in about a hundred different shapes, sorting them by some scheme only he knew of. “I mean, role playing? Isn’t that, like, a sex thing?”

Callie sighed dramatically. She’d explained it to Becca early on, but the dark-haired beauty liked to razz her about her hobby. “Yes, Becca, some people do role-play for sexual purposes,” she said, assuming a bored, clinical air. “Popular themes include cheerleading, domestic animals, superheroes, and even domestic servants… as I believe you’re aware.”

Becca flushed; she’d been a French Maid for Halloween last year, and she’d let her boyfriend at the time talk her into wearing the costume to bed a few times afterwards. Which wouldn’t have been bad, except for that he’d bragged about it afterwards to his asshole friends. “So what’s the theme here? Dorks on parade?”

“It’s a mythological medieval adventure, like I’ve told you damn near every week for like, a year and a half,” Callie said, pulling a cold six-pack out of the fridge. “Honestly, don’t you listen?”

“I listen, I just like hearing you defend it.” She grinned disarmingly and took her pizza out of the oven with a towel, sucking her fingers where they’d overheated. “And,” she admitted, “It’s weird to me. I mean, what do you see in it?”

“There’s a lot to it,” Callie told her. “It’s like modern-day storytelling. No hack Hollywood screenwriter contriving yet another teen horror sex comedy for mass consumption. Think of it as a story that involves the listeners, so dynamic even the author doesn’t know how it goes.”

Becca fumbled in the drawer for a pizza cutter, came up empty, and started hunting for a clean knife instead. “So you’ve got three boys all to yourself for hours on end, on a Friday night, and the best thing you can think of to do is to sit around talking about what your alter egos are doing?” She found a knife, wiped it on a dishtowel, and started cutting away. “Sounds like a date-killer to me.”

“Oh,” Callie said, “not as much as you’d think.”

* * * * *

Princess Gwedhiel peered out of the open window for what had to have been the hundredth time. He has to come, she thought to herself. The foretelling said he’d not be a full day in Midessa without visiting this… place.

The shame burned through her like a falling star, an arcing streak of humility that seemed to leave a reddening welt across her purity. That she should be reduced to this! But the Redthorn Plague ravaged her nation, and the Goddess had foreseen that only she could find the cure in time, so the Princess had donned common clothes and made her way to the human town of Midessa to lay in wait. Her people needed her, and her Goddess trusted her ability to overcome the adversity she would surely find in her quest. To whine of discomfort, to complain of circumstance… those weaknesses were unworthy of Gwedhiel’s station, anathema to her bearing. Had not her father commanded the Elvish legions against the Broken Tooth horde? Had not her mother quested long ago to discover the Chalice of the Winds? Noble by birth and descended of great adventurers, Princess Gwedhiel was twice-destined for greatness.

No one said it would be easy, she mused, carefully adjusting her gartered stocking. She was accustomed to wealth, but silk stockings were an outrageous luxury for those around her, so she took care to maintain them as the treasure they were to most. They caressed her pale skin, highlighting her smooth calves and firm thighs to their maximum advantage, drawing the eyes of males inexorably to them, and then upwards… Quite the reverse. I just never thought I’d be… that I would…

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her mounting horror. Jalphar was a powerful mage, it was said, a stalwart defender of good and clever in the arcane ways. His mastery of magic, it was rumored, surpassed that of all but the eldest of elvish spell-weavers, and they all had agreed that he would know where to find the lost alchemical formula for the cure. They spoke with begrudging respect for his acumen, his practical knowledge born of a lifetime of wayfaring, his bravery in battle with the Dark Ones. But none had mentioned his dark side, his less-public proclivities. No, that unhappy task was left to her Goddess, who appeared in a vision and told her how and where to find him.

“Powerful and wise he is,” She had said, her radiance overwhelming her servant Princess even in a dream. Gwedhiel had fallen to her knees, unable to bear more than a glimpse of her Lady. “Skilled and knowledgeable, he has the information you seek. But the road is long, and trials await that will test your patience, your resolve… perhaps even your very self. Are you truly willing to undertake this quest?”

Gwedhiel had cried yes, praising the wisdom of the Goddess and pleading for Her protection on her journey. “You have it,” She had replied simply, bidding Gwedhiel rise and take counsel. “Go then with stealth and cunning; no one must know of the Elves’ plight. Enemies lie in wait: waylayers, bandits, all manner of fiends who prey on the unwary traveler. But with a steady hand and a prepared mind, you will overcome all adversaries.” And she had; with bow and wit and magic the Princess had dispatched one obstacle after another. Some nobles idled their lives away in luxury unearned, but Gwedhiel was the daughter of heroes, and had been raised strong and resourceful. Less than a moon after she’d left the safe borders of her realm, the Princess had arrived in a city of Men to await Jalphar.

But the Goddess was kind, and had further instructed Gwedhiel. “Jalphar has won his knowledge hard, through daring and skill, and he will not easily part with it, no matter what your station or suit. Come as a haughty princess, and he will stride on, unmoved by wealth and birth. Guile must be employed, or all your efforts will come to naught.”

“But how may I receive from him what he will not give?” Gwedhiel had faith in her Lady; She would not lower Herself to visit Her servant without excellent cause. “If neither riches nor the gratitude of a nation will sway him, what then?”

She looked kindly at Her servant, stroking Gwedhiel’s arm with a tenderness that threatened to overcome her senses. Touched by the Goddess! “I tell you now that you may be prepared, sweet child. Jalphar has…tastes, no doubt acquired from a life of hardship. In battle is valiant, and in counsel, wise. But when he removes the robe of his profession and seeks to rest from his travails, it is kind company he seeks. Warm comfort of a common variety, seeking surcease of care in the embrace of a beautiful woman.”

Gwedhiel’s brow furrowed. She understood that anything living had needs, and some had needs more coarse than others. “This… should be no great thing, my Lady,” she replied cautiously. “Once arrived in this town, I shall secure for him the finest whore to be had, at whatever price, and present her as a gift to him, for his efforts on my people’s behalf.” It troubled Gwedhiel to say this, envisioning herself a procurer, but lesser sins would be forgiven in service of the greater good. “Should none exist there to meet his standards – whatever they are – I shall travel further afield, searching the –”

“No, dear girl.” Her Lady smiled sadly, and Gwedhiel wanted nothing more than to return that beatific smile to Her lips. “No common streetwalker will suffice for his appetites. His tastes are for the exotic loveliness, for uncommon splendor. Too experienced is he, too jaded, to be drawn to the throngs of hussies who infest the back alleys and taverns. No, Jalphar will seek out a true beauty, one whose rare looks and exceptional demeanor set her far apart. And twixt here and there, only one such woman exists, Gwedhiel. My loyal servant, my brave warrior princess… He will settle for no less than you. Know that, and decide now the fate of your people.”

Gwedhiel had awoke then, shivering despite the sheen of sweat that covered her body. She was no stranger to bed-play, but this… to become unchaste, to offer herself up for a low-born human’s pleasure… could she? Could she submit to his pawings, his coarse fingers wresting her guarded treasures from her? Could she give him leave to trespass where so few had been invited, to invade her most treasured sanctum in trade for what he knew?

Could I not?, she had responded to herself. My people depend on me. My family looks to me to prevail, to bring back the cure that threatens our lands. And my Goddess… my Goddess believes I can.

“I will, my Lady,” she had whispered into the clean night air. “For my people, for my quest, for You… no sacrifice is too great, and no task is too odious, not even this. Nothing will turn me asidefrom my task.”

Brave words, they were, Gwedhiel mused. I meant them with full sincerity. How easy to speak then, and how easy now to quail at their consequences! It had taken but a few coins to persuade the local madam to admit Gwedhiel to the brothel, the safest place for her to lie in wait. Many more coins had gone to obtain vestments suitable for her role; if a princess was to play the part of the most expensive of doxies, she must look the part as well as act it.

Established, Gwedhiel had set her cost high – too high for any but Jalphar, she’d hoped. The madam had grumbled and cast aspersions, but her cut of Gwedhiel’s earnings was such that she had no real cause to complain; one hour’s visit to the elven beauty would easily pay for her room and board for a fortnight. The other girls were jealous, spit barbs behind her back and impugned her to their clients – but what did she care? She cared not for the opinions of a pack of shameless alley cats, and wanted the attentions of no man but one. She ignored the imprecations and waited impatiently, anxious to be done with this most shameful chapter of her story.

But word had gotten out, and men flocked to gaze in awe at the newcomer. Her price was high, it was true, but not unattainable by all. Gwedhiel’s pure elven blood lent her an air of seduction and sensual mystery that no slattern could match and no man could long resist. Only one night had passed before one summoned the courage and resources to purchase her time, arriving unannounced while Gwedhiel looked out her window in vain for the magician’s arrival. She’d stood dumbly as her suitor introduced himself, sweatily praising her many charms at length. So taken aback was she that the Princess hadn’t realized the reason for his appearance until he’d placed a clinking velvet bag on her dresser, heavy-laden with the price she’d set for herself.

With a sinking heart, she’d realized it had not been high enough, as the merchant’s son stammered his way through a wretched poem he’d composed to her beauty. It was by far the most awkward foreplay she’d ever sat through, but she bore through it, pasting a false smile on her regal face that held until after he’d withdrawn from her body and chambers. Sobbing, the Princess had bathed herself for an hour before falling into a dreamless sleep, rising early the next morning to instruct the madam of the house to double her price.

It wasn’t enough. That evening saw her alone, ignoring the madam who carried the bitter complaints of her admirers. But the next night saw her with a paying guest: the nephew of a merchant baron who wished his protégé to have nothing but the best for his induction into manhood, price be damned. Gwedhiel half-hoped that his speedy culmination would lessen her reputation for amorous skill, but instead it had enhanced it. Ashamed of his performance, the young man’s tale of the superhumanly-skilled seductress spread like wildfire throughout the shire.

On the sixth evening, her fee thrice doubled, Gwedhiel despaired at the jowly merchant baron who’d arrived to investigate her talents in person, with cash to command her services for the greater part of the night. She gave up any pretence of eagerness or warmth to her supplicant and serviced him without a word, hoping to turn away further seekers with an icy demeanor. Briefly, she believed her tactic to have worked, as she was left alone the seventh eve, only to have that notion shattered on the eighth by the appearance of the mayor himself, attracted by tales of the alien beauty who could bewitch and beguile without a word, whose cold aloofness could inspire a man to perform over and over, then rave about it afterwards to any who would listen.

Please, Jalphar… come tonight. Nearly two weeks had passed since she’d arrived in Midessa, and she’d lain with five men in that time. Five men had spent themselves in her womb; five men had found release in the loins of a princess without knowing it. Five base, common, humanmen…

A knock came at the door, a hasty, commanding knock that heralded the madam’s impatience. Is it to be six, now? Goddess, no! Gwedhiel strode to the door, petticoats swirling in her wake, and flung open the door. As expected, the aging whore’s lined face greeted her, frowning up at the high-born girl.

“You’ve a caller,” she said, fairly cackling in her glee. Gwedhiel was making her rich; each time her price rose, her fame and popularity soared. “He’s paid for an hour’s time, with an option for more if he’s of a mind.”

Such arrogance! Were I not in disguise, the wretch’d be slain for rank impudence! Gwedhiel smothered her ire and brought her wrist to her fair forehead, eyelids fluttering. “Alas, I’ll not see him,” she announced loudly, should her paramour be lurking in the shadows somewhere. “My head fair swoons with a headache. Mayhap tomorrow I-“