Parley (1.1)

I

Letters

Long on the night of salty sea,

Cup of rum and eel fancy,

Does the black flag fly in shadow borne

Of gold and gem lust and legs of whores.

Buccaneers slash and swashers buckle

When walking the plank after midnight scuffle

Under Captain’s watch they splish and splash

Drunken and star-eyed, keelhauled aft.

But Lowhands ere ruin half the fun

Take half yer prize and a quarter of rum

After all ‘‘twas a noble lady ya stole it from,

A bitch of a broad named Sanna.

Should’ve known they’d come ya bastard son

Long on the night of salty sea.

• The last entry in the log of Captain Jolly Davey

Eleri was always a prodigy with her sweet spot. Dark fuschia lips kept the peak of Arwyn’s vulva suctioned between them, tongue slowly flicking and wagging across the little button at the top. Countless tingles shot out through Arwyn’s body, propagating goose flesh on her skin and pinging in her head as each pass seemed to go deeper into her soft flesh. Moans filled her ears, both muffled and unobstructed, soft and loud, in between murmurs, whispering, and heavy breathing all around.

One hand slid up to cup her breast, as the opposite elbow pushed her into a half-reclined position. She opened her eyes to see her fellow Ealanite lost between her legs. The rest of the harem was arrayed around the semi-open rear courtyard of Tamshaw Castle, mostly nude and preparing themselves for Queen Seraphine’s arrival as requested.

They were a diverse crowd — ‘one of every kind’ as the Queen would say. Thirty men and thirty women from various places around Teleria: Menelas, Manea, Duneida, Nihen, Kamet, Kathey, Mulkarth, Castilla, Jinnin, Slevi, Lanka, and beyond. Three Ealanite natives rounded out the bunch: Arwyn, Eleri, and a man named Gryffin. A few had been purchased for this purpose, but most were here out of choice. Being a member of a royal harem, or a mistress or paramour in a noble’s household was a fast track to comfort. Hard work was for those with reservations or boundaries about getting ahead, and the messy world of politics and business were for sadists and masochists alike. Harem life was easy once you got there, as was prostitution, which is what drove so many of lower means into the likes of The Silken Dragons, S’ile’s Temples, and Troborg’s famous coastal inns and taverns.

And, of course, here.

Under keterine torches and glowing blue pavers they played with each other, smoking hookah pipes and drinking wine by the bottle. Cocks were either slicked or swallowed, vulvas fingered, massaged, or devoured. Hardly a single article of clothing was in sight, and what was left were merely opened robes.

Mateja, the newest addition, smiled sheepishly as Arwyn’s gaze swung to the right. The young Myndosian’s girthy, upturned cock was rigid and slick with oil, making his olive-red skin shimmer. His hand teased it with full but leisurely strokes that further soaked her and gave Eleri a sweet treat.

Arwyn smiled back as she reached for the nearby hose. Mouthpiece clacked on teeth and she inhaled sharply, taking the light, fruity tobacco deep into her lungs. A thick, fragrant haze filled the air as she let it out and giggled, watching Mateja begin to struggle. White seed trickled out and down his shaft. He held his hands back, nervously eyeing his cock.

“Doing alright, freshy?”

Mateja grunted. “I didn’t come here to be a prostitute,” he replied in his choppy accent. “I’m not used to having to perform in such a capacity.”

Arwyn pressed her lips together and shifted over in her seat. Eleri followed, unwilling to let her vulva go — nor did Arwyn want her to.

“Let me give ya some tips, then,” she said softly, holding out the hose. “First things first. Take this. Longest draw ya can. And then…”

Eleri groaned unhappily as Arwyn moved onto all fours. Hands gripped her hips firmly and tugged even as Arwyn inched away on her cushion, dragging the hungry woman with her. That tongue once again slid across her, straight through her slit like a snake after thorough suction around her asshole.

“Let go,” Arwyn instructed the man, fingers with a firm hold on his wrist, pulling it away from his cock. “Put it behind yer head and don’t touch it anymore. And close yer eyes.”

He did as instructed, but his body was still just as rigid as his erection. With gusto, Arwyn took one of his balls in her mouth and sucked. Mateja jumped. The hand behind his head shot down to press against her shoulder, but Arwyn didn’t release him. Not yet.

Writhing about like a worm, Mateja groaned incessantly as she mimicked Eleri’s motions on the testicle in her mouth. It was a good fifteen seconds before she finally let it plop back out.

Mateja babbled like a lunatic. His breaths were choppy and short.

“Hand back behind yer head, freshy. Ya need to get used to these sensations. The Queen’s a kinky gal. And ya’ve gotta hang.”

Mateja hesitated, deep green eyes locked with hers, mouth agape.

“And stop breathing through ya mouth. It’s fucking gross. Deep breaths. Through ya nose. And fucking relax. Yer having sex not being tortured.”

“I’m just not used to this.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Arwyn again translated the movements of Eleri’s tongue, but this time along the underside of his shaft, tasting salty seed as it trickled out once more. Mateja quivered, causing Arwyn to giggle.

“Who knew a man could be such a little baby about a beautiful woman sucking him off? Ya might have to fuck the Queen, ya know. Or fuck someone else while she watches. If ya can’t hang, ya won’t make it in Troborg.”

“I didn’t want to be a prostitute. I want to be a pirate. Or a lowhand.”

“And what do ya think they do at sea? When they’re not fighting or sailing, they fuck each other. And when they come back to shore, they go to the taverns and fuck girls like me, hoping they get lucky and land one of S’ile’s Priestesses so they can take part in those orgies for the rest of their lives. Troborg’s like to fuck, Mateja. All Ealanites do. Gonna have to get used to it. Now take another draw. Close yer eyes. And fucking breathe.”

She lapped his cock into her mouth via tongue and swallowed it whole. Mateja moaned.

“Is this what you always wanted to do then?”

Roughly two minutes passed before Arwyn answered. She pulled out every trick she could: swallowing him to the base, flicking her tongue along his shaft, even sticking a finger up his bum. All of it only served to stiffen him more.

“I always wanted to be a mistress,” she finally replied. “To some Prince or High Lord. Or one of those Priestesses. Like I said, Troborg’s like to fuck.”

She once gain took his cock down into her throat.

Mateja moaned. “What about when you’re older?”

Arwyn’s teeth sunk gently into hot flesh. Mateja yelped.

“Troborg’s finest will still be drooling over me,” she insisted. “But maybe I’ll become a Crone so I can have even more fun. Keep meself young.”

Mateja laughed. “A noble goal.”

“We can’t all be pirates and privateers,” she said between mouthfuls of cock.

“We could.” Eleri shared, finally coming up for air. “But why would we when fucking is a much easier way to acquire the comforts of life. How’s he doing?”

“Better now that he’s not in his head.”

“Mm.” Eleri placed her hand beside Arwyn’s and stroked. “Should we volunteer him then?”

Arwyn giggled. “Maybe we should. Think ya can handle the Queen’s vulva, freshy? Or should we let ya feel ours first?”

The two women looked at each other and, in the silence that followed, communicated their desire for the latter. Arwyn helped position Eleri, then brushed locks of chestnut hair behind her ears as she settled onto him, groaning into Arwyn’s mouth as they briefly kissed.

“Oh…” she gasped as Mateja bottomed out. “Are all Myndosian men similarly well endowed?”

The freshy struggled mightily as she began to bounce, but managed a joke in reply, “We can’t all be Minotaurs.”

“Got a thing for Minotaurs?” Eleri probed, increasing pace.

“No.”

“Well the Queen certainly does,” Arwyn remarked dryly, glancing over to where Tri was slobbering profusely as she sucked on the bulls’ knob.

“Don’t we all?” Eleri groaned, the flesh between her legs becoming soaked as she watched the Jinnin work. Mateja winced.

“They’re really good for breaking freshies.” Arwyn smiled. “Maybe we can work something there.”

“Mmm…”

Before the brainstorming could further unravel, the thick wooden doors at the entrance to the courtyard thudded and creaked open on their old iron hinges. A small profession entered, but by no means humble. Two members of The Red Guard led, dull, plate cuirasses fastened above red and black gambesons barely registering in the light. Behind them strode their Queen, a regal woman with skin the color of warm honey and hair to match. Nothing but a red, silk robe hid the alarmingly seductive figure beneath, likely preserved into her obvious maturity by the Deithe themselves.

“Hello, my darlings,” she drawled, letting the robe fall as the doors shut behind her.

“The Queen…” Matej admired, hands bracing for impact as Eleri rode out a climax. Seraphine smiled at the sight.

“I hope you’re all so properly warmed up. I know I certainly am. Parley is such wonderful foreplay sometimes.”

“She just leaves us here as if the matter is settled? Ha! The nerve,” Grand Lady Four Eyes sneered, pressing on the bridge of her spectacles with a single finger to keep them from falling.

“The matter is settled, dear,” High Lord Gold Tooth reminded her, making an irregular tear across the middle of a bilberry turnover before stuffing the pastry into his mouth. His next words were comedically muffled, “That’s how Parley works. Finish yer tidbit and we can be on our way.”

“Ya would like to leave, wouldn’t ya? Running back to Mervyn like ya always do. I swear ya love that man and ya ship far more than me,” the lady complained, pushing her bowl of seafood chowder away in disgust.

“I wonder why…”

The High Lady’s backhand met the back of his head with a smack that sent crumbs of turnover flying towards the table. A trail of purple compote stained his lip as he coughed. She broke out into barely restrained laughter that was shared by all around the table. When it settled, High Lady Four Eyes turned to Captain Blackjack.

“Blackjack, what do ya make of these conspirators? Some of our own kin assisting The Syndicate — I can barely stomach the thought. The treachery.”

The man’s reactions were always alarmingly measured. Unassuming eyes like the color of russet potatoes met the lady as he sighed, bunching up one of his cheeks. “Concerning — but piracy in Plaedoran waters isn’t what it once was. The Dominion has seen to that. I’ve been warning of this years.”

“And with the Imperial ships assisting them in The Humrhood, the only options left are smuggling for The Syndicate, robbing The Syndicate, or competing with the Duneidans for a share of diminishing Redfang spoils,” Captain Two-Face added. Lady Four Eyes gave him only a passing glance, having never grown used to the sight of what the Crone’s curse had done to him. “We’ve all been warning of this.”

“But a Parley with The Domitor?!” she shrieked, outaged. “Ugh. Seraphine is mad.”

“I agree,” Two-Face grumbled. Gold Tooth assented with a grunt.

“I see some sense in it,” Blackjack argued.

“Sense? There’s no sense at all, Blackjack!”

“It shows we’re not conspiring against them.”

“They’re Sakruxi!”

“And Gilvusi.”

“That’s not any better!” The lady’s words came in exasperation as she slumped back in her chair. Then, she came forward, finger pointing as if to accuse The Lowhand alongside the conspirators. “Need I remind ya what their kind have done to us over the ages? Go out to The Cold Toad Bogs and look for yerself. Read the tales. The senseless wars. The raids. The rapes. The destruction. That’s what Plaedorans do to us. Sakruxi. Gilvusi. Sakvusi. Dominion. Redfang. Hardscale. All of them. To trust them at all is madness. Absolute madness.”

The other men dared not intervene against the lady’s righteous indignation even as she huffed and caught her breath. Captain Blackjack’s reception of her outburst was stoic, but his face grew angry as the lady added, “Maeve would be ashamed of such blasphemy against our people.”

“Calm, dear. We’ve passed the issue now. No personal attacks,” Gold Tooth finally interjected, placing a hand over his wife’s to bring calm.

Seeing no further value sticking around, Captain Blackjack rose from his seat and left the reception hall, ready to go home. Had he stayed another second, he likely would have wound up spending the night in The Brig as a hypocrite before his own crew. It was always difficult to keep civil in the presence of Grand Lady Four Eyes, though. Even her own husband spent as little time with her as possible.

Though as much as he hated to admit it, she had a point.

But what was a world where Grand Lady Four Eyes was the sensible politician? The same world in which Ealanites were smuggling on behalf of their mortal enemies. The lamb skin scroll which bore the Letter of Reprisal crunched beneath his fingers as he walked down the castle steps, eyes trained on the city sprawled before him, where, below its red-painted roofs, rested traitors. No matter how the Plaedorans were dealt with, this much was clear: executions were coming for those involved. And more than likely, it was Blackjack and his crew that would deliver them.