Saga's Website

Chapter 4

Spindle Takes the Job

Spindle’s frustration carries her as far as the lounge area on the second floor mezzanine. If Sugin can open her door anyway, she might as well sulk somewhere comfortable. She sinks into the cushioned sofa with a groan and stares dejectedly at the wall.

Sugin does her the courtesy of waiting ten whole minutes to come after her. Probably mollifying the client. But come after her Sugin does, her footfalls heavy on the creaking staircase. “Spindle?”

“What.”

“I just thought we should go over the terms of your sentence one more time. I wasn’t lying when I said we were a package deal. Where I go, you’re required to go, and the other way around.”

“Yeah. You’ve made that very clear.”

“That being the case, I should tell you that I’ve decided to take the Holy Dedicant’s job offer.”

Spindle twists around on the sofa, snarling inarticulately. “You can’t fucking force me to--”

Sugin throws up her hands, shaking her head. “That’s right. I can’t force you to work. And I have no desire to.” She narrows her eyes. “But. You cannot force me to stop taking work for three months. I still need to eat.”

“So what, you’re just going to drag me along?”

“If you make me.” Folding her arms, Sugin leans against the wall. “The Holy Dedicant is offering quite a lot of money for our help, Spindle. She understands that this is a long and demanding job, and that we need to be compensated fairly for our effort and skills. That’s a rare and desirable trait in an employer.”

Clenching her fists, Spindle hisses through her teeth. “Ugh! You are the worst!”

Sugin puts up her hands again, looking helpless. “Hey, this sentence wasn’t my idea. Take it up with the magistrate.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Spindle. I’m doing my best to look after your interests here. Trust me, a lot of the folks in the guild would not be nearly as gentle with you.”

Spindle scowls deeply at her, but no snappy report rises in her gorge. Something in Sugin’s face gives her pause. A peal of muffled laughter rises up from the first floor, filling the silence.

With a shrug, Sugin pushes away from the wall again. “So, you have two options. You can come along, complaining all the while, and not have to do anything. Or, you can stop fighting it, take the job, and make some actual coin for yourself in the process. From where I’m standing, the latter seems like a better deal for you, in the long term.”

The frustration is steadily ebbing out of Spindle. Without it, she just feels hollow and resigned. If this is to be her fate either way… “Fine,” she concedes, “I’ll do it.”

A small smile graces Sugin’s face. “Good. Let me just finalize things with Llywa, then,” she says, turning on her heel. “We’ll start preparing for the trip tomorrow.” She creaks her way back down the stairs.

Spindle flops back down onto the sofa, staring dully into the glassy eyes of some leonine beast-head on the wall opposite. Ugh. The worst part is, she’s right. Like it or not, the Blind Boar Circus phase of her life is probably over. That expertly-planned sting had caught every single member, and the magistrate deliberately scattered them to the four winds to prevent them banding together again. So no more comfortable routine, no more reliable work. I need to start figuring out what my next move is.

And I could do worse than to have some nicks in my pocket for it.

Spindle squirms against the press of strong, handsy soldiers around her. They’re groping and kissing paint off of her body, sliding hot and wet into her and moaning against her neck. The bells on her deliberately stupid hat rhythmically jingle along with the slap of sweaty flesh. She stammers out a bratty provocation, and someone shuts her up with another cock. Whining delightedly, Spindle allows herself to be carried away on a delirious rush of passion.

Soon after her dozenth orgasm, she realizes it’s the magistrate’s tongue in her mouth. Then, she notices the telltale ridges on the dick inside of her – right before it ejaculates a disappointing load of runny liquid. “I’m just – hah – looking out for you, Spindle,” Sugin whispers breathlessly into her ear, startling her awake.

Woozy and hot, an echo of the dream still throbbing in her nethers, Spindle sits up. She takes stock of her surroundings. It’s the couch on the mezzanine. She must have drifted off, the sleep she lost this morning coming back with a vengeance. She rubs her head.

A creak on the stairs draws her attention. She shoots to her feet and whirls around. Her face automatically twists into a scowl, which only slightly slackens when Llywa’s golden locks crest the landing.

Llywa waves. “Hello, darling. Is now a good time?”

Spindle shrugs exasperatedly. “Not like I’m doing anything else, is it?”

“Sugin has filled me in on your situation—” Yeah I bet she “filled you in” all right, Spindle almost interrupts— “and I’d like to say I am sorry for earlier.” Wait, what? “Now that I know, I completely understand your frustration, and I regret adding to it. You must feel quite poorly about this already.”

Spindle scoffs. “Yeah, it’s a real crock of shit, isn’t it? Almost would’ve preferred prison.”

Llywa’s eyes crinkle into a heart-melting expression of concern. “Oh, honey,” she coos, striding closer with her arms wide open. “Would a hug help?”

Spindle swallows, eyes traitorously wandering downward to Llywa’s chest. The warmth from before, that was already starting to fade, rushes back.

“Or perhaps something else?” Llywa adds, teasingly. Her smile returns.

“...Let’s start with the hug,” Spindle retorts. She clears her throat. “Don’t push your luck.”

But, as always, Spindle’s appetites overrule her sullen streak. A sweet-smelling hug becomes a kiss, which naturally becomes a deeper kiss. Before Spindle knows it, Llywa is pressing her up against the hallway wall, exploring her greedily with both hands and her mouth.

As expected from a disciple of a sex goddess, Llywa is good at this. It’s as if she knows Spindle’s body better than its occupant does. Spindle whimpers, fighting to stay standing as Llywa’s hands unravel her without even coming close to her crotch.

Llywa also proves to have a surprisingly dirty mouth, to pair with her rich and velvety voice. Even if she is a dedicant of Nyna, hearing a holy woman whisper “You kiss so sloppily it makes me wish I had a cock to fuck that mouth of yours with” in her ear is still a downright maddening experience that Spindle won’t soon forget.

Furthermore, and perhaps most overwhelming of all, Llywa has a propensity for effusive praise. Not used to such earnestness from her partners, Spindle is a little embarrassed how weak in the knees it makes her.

“Spindle, darling,” she purrs, tracing her palm down Spindle’s side to her hip.

“Yes?” she manages to respond, in between labored breaths.

“It makes me so happy when you let yourself make those noises. You sound so beautiful!”

“Fuck...” A jolt of pleasure crackles down Spindle’s spine. “Can’t exactly... help it...”

Llywa traces a hand up Spindle’s inner thigh. “Do you think you’re ready now, love?”

Spindle has never been more ready in her life. The inside of her legs are soaked all the way down to her feet. “Yes, yes, I’m – mnh, oh, Summerkiss—” Her entire body trembles.

“Please, darling, We’re surely close enough by now for you to call me by my first name?”

“Ahn-- Llywa, please—”

Llywa slides her fingers down the front of Spindle’s trousers. “Good girl! Oh, look how wet you got for me. Thank you so much. You did such a good job, holding on for this long.”

Spindle can believe that praise is genuine. She can very distinctly imagine someone less experienced climaxing just from Llywa’s foreplay. Her legs threaten to give out again.

But Llywa leans closer, holding Spindle against the wall with her body weight. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” As she says it, she slides her middle finger in, questing, then joins it with her ring. Her thumb briskly rubs at Spindle’s clit, while her long elven fingers probe ever deeper, looking for–

Spindle almost blacks out at the sensation. Her hips buck involuntarily. She keens desperately, wordless and shrill. She is aware, dimly, of Llywa cooing with delight, but the part of her mind that understands language seems to have disengaged. Spindle comes, and comes, and comes undone.

When she can think again, Spindle finds herself sitting on the floor, back against the wall. She’s drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. “What the fuck,” she stammers, “was that.”

A hand combs through her hair. “You did such a good job,” Llywa marvels.

Spindle shudders bodily, weathering an aftershock from the praise alone. “I didn’t – fuck oh fuck – haaah, I didn’t do fucking anything, Llywa, I barely—”

Llywa kisses her on the forehead. “On the contrary. You were remarkably resilient. It was actually quite a challenge to perform at my usual level for that long. And you made such wonderful sounds for me!” She strokes her hand down Spindle’s cheek, leaving a moist trail and a persistent tingling feeling behind. “Would you do me just one more favor?”

I’d do anything for you, Spindle’s addled mind supplies immediately. Oh, what the fuck. Where did that come from. “Sure,” she mumbles, dizzily.

“Could you open your mouth for me, please, Spindle?”

It’s open before she even finishes the sentence.

“Perfect, darling.” Llywa puts her dripping fingers on Spindle’s tongue. “Now, would you mind—” But Spindle is already dutifully suckling. Llywa’s digits taste like sweat and pussy, which reminds Spindle...

“Pah,” she pants, drooling, when Llywa finally extricates her hand. “Hey. My turn. Lemme eat you out.”

Llywa squeals excitedly. “Oh, would you? That would be lovely, darling!” She pats Spindle on the head. “Let me get you something to drink first, though, okay?”

As Llywa says it, Spindle realizes that she is, in fact, quite parched. “Sure,” she rasps, letting her head fall back against the wall.

“Just wait right there for me, darling!” Llywa scurries down the hallway, rounds the corner to the stairs, and descends out of sight.

As she does, the dull haze around Spindle’s brain gradually starts to clear.

What the fuck is this? it finally occurs to her to wonder.

Spindle takes a deep breath and gets unsteadily to her feet. I don’t... do this. Whatever this is. She rubs her head, which is starting to develop a dull ache. Even when it isn’t for the circus, she always makes a quick exit after getting fucked. It never hits her this hard. She glances – longingly? no no no no – after Llywa. And what the fuck’s with her, anyway? Pampering me and shit. Treating me all gentle. Fuckin’ weirdo.

Spindle staggers over to the couch on the mezzanine. Leaning heavily on the back of it, she stares down at the cushions. Am I losing my edge? she grimly wonders. That bodes ill for this adventure I’m about to go on.

But, before she can pursue that line of thinking any further, the stairs creak again. Spindle turns around to face them. “Llywa?”

“It’s me,” Sugin cheerfully replies, as she reaches the top step.

Spindle feels the corners of her mouth droop. What the fuck. Was I smiling. What the fuck. She scowls at Sugin, trying her best not to appear wobbly by resting her rear against the couch. “Oh,” she sneers. “What do you want.”

Sugin wears a positively impish grin. “Having a good time up here?”

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“You aaaare,” Sugin teases. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

“Go away.”

The scalefolk raises her arms in mock surrender, still chortling. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to it.” She turns on her heel and starts back down the stairs, only to pause. “Oh, hello Llywa.”

The stairs aren’t wide enough for the two women to pass side by side. Instead, Sugin stoops to enfold Llywa in a tight embrace, and pivots around to deposit her on a higher step. This casual, intimate maneuver makes Llywa giggle excitedly.

Fucking showoff. Spindle grumbles to herself.

Llywa bids Sugin farewell with a blown kiss, then hurries up the stairs, suffused with joyous energy. “Here you are, dear!” Somehow, through all of that, she managed not to spill the glass of water she was holding. She offers it to Spindle with both hands.

Spindle swipes it and drains it in one go.

Llywa giggles. “Should I have brought more?”

Shaking her head carelessly, Spindle tosses the glass behind her. It lands on the sofa, as she planned, and doesn’t shatter. “Nah. I’m fine. C’mon.” Suddenly, for some reason she can’t quite discern, Spindle feels a terrible urgency about this endeavor. Capturing Llywa’s hand in hers, she briskly strides to her room.

“Well? How was that?” Spindle proudly asks, muffled by the trembling thighs pressed against both her cheeks.

“Hah, oh, Spindle…” Llywa pants, clutching at her chest. “That was truly a… union blessed by Nyna…”

Spindle smirks, levering Llywa’s thighs apart. “So, you got no problem with me tagging along, then?” She wipes her mouth on the back of her forearm.

Llywa turns her flushed face down towards Spindle, with some difficulty. “Problem? By Our Gravid Mistress, no, of course I don’t! I never did! You were exactly the person Sugin made you out to be, and I found you perfectly suitable for the task from the first.”

Huh? Sugin was talking her up? Why would she do that? Spindle blinks. “So what was… all that stuff about compatibility then?”

Llywa giggles. “That was a pickup line, darling.”

Groaning, Spindle lets her head fall forwards onto Llywa’s stomach. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I do have Nynan sight, that much is not a lie. And Nyna did tell me that, for this voyage, I should choose companions that I would not mind having intercourse with. Honestly, though, I would have done as much even without her direction!” Llywa breathlessly laughs. “So yes, Spindle. You were excellent. I hope you will continue to be excellent for me.”

“Maybe I’ll forget how to fuck overnight just to spite you,” Spindle sullenly mumbles into Llywa’s bellybutton.

“Then I would simply have the pleasure of teaching you all over again.” Llywa reaches down to tenderly stroke Spindle’s head. “Can you answer one question honestly for me, Spindle?”

“Depends what it is.”

“Do you want to have sex with me again?”

“...Yes,” Spindle admits, levelly.

“So why not simply ask? You don’t need to put on airs with me, darling. You don’t need to provoke me into fucking you. I’ll happily do that anytime you ask.”

Spindle feels her face heating up. “That’s a second question.”

Llywa laughs, cheerfully, freely. “So it is, darling.” She sits up with a grunt and pulls Spindle into a tight hug. “Would you like my tongue this time?”