Legends of Belariath

Zophiel

Expatriate

Chapter One

To describe the sea voyage from Islasoros to Coral Bay as unpleasant would be exceedingly generous. The vessel rocked up and down, listed from side to side, and was even taken aback once by a particularly nasty storm. Zophiel wondered more times than he cared to count just why he ever dreamt of becoming a corsair in the Islasoran Navy. Would this have been how he spent most of his days, sailing across open stretches of sea, nothing to see but water, and far too much of it at that. There were hardly any pirates in these seas any more, for the past generation of corsairs had done a fine job of hunting them down and scuttling their vessels, often with the survivors of the boarding skirmish tied to the masts.

The destruction of his childhood dream left Zophiel feeling listless and despondent, and it was only two days into the journey. By the captain’s estimation, it would take five days to reach Coral Bay, at best. With nothing interesting to do, Zophiel decided he might as well make himself useful. He assisted on decks when the seas were choppy, but the stormy season was several months off, so there was precious little to do. Even the ship’s crew had become restless. They passed the time telling tales, teaching one another various dances they learned in countless ports up and down the coast, practicing their dagger-throwing, and showing off their swordsmanship to one another.

The camaraderie did lift Zophiel’s flagging spirits a bit, but by the third day he was struck suddenly by the realization that he hadn’t gone without a woman’s touch for this long since he first discovered the pleasures of the flesh. Unfortunately for him, women were expressly forbidden from sailing on cargo ships, as it was commonly believed to bring the most ill of fortunes to any such vessel that carried one. Damn the superstitions of sailors! For that matter, damn the Celestial Order! Were it not for their zeal, he could’ve booked comfortable passage on one of the few passenger ships used to transport wealthy merchant-nobles to the mainland and back. Ah, but that was exactly what they would have expected. Islasorans were so driven by wealth and status that it never occurred to the Order that a man of such high birth would deign to secure passage on a common cargo ship. Even if he was only the second-born, and marked a heretic, surely he would never stoop to mingle so closely with the common folk.

Reflecting on this gave Zophiel an idea, and so after convincing the captain to part with a few sheets of parchment, some extra ink and a spare quill, he began to write. The last two days passed much more quickly as he put to paper his reflections on his homeland. He just might be able to sell it to a rival nation or city-state, for surely someone’s spymaster could put this intelligence to use.

Mercifully, the weather cooperated and the ship put to port in Coral Bay in time for lunch on the sixth day of the journey. Never having visited any city outside of his homeland, Zophiel was dumbfounded by the racial integration of Coral Bay. Passing through the market, he noticed dwarves and humans and elves, and several other races whose names he didn’t even know, all haggling and hawking and bartering together. And then he saw a fellow human in shackles, hobbled and barely clothed, led by a leash carried by an elf. He swallowed hard and ducked into a tavern to regain his composure. Such a thing was simply never done in Islasoros. Having been born of human stock, Zophiel never needed to fear servitude. Clearly, he would have to adjust his worldview if he was to survive in this foreign land. But first, he would have to secure lodging.

"Excuse me, have you any rooms available?" he asked of the bartender, a broad-chested man of tawny complexion. With a band of iron around his neck and a little metal tag dangling from a ring in front of his throat. A slave. A male, human slave. Quite naturally, Zophiel’s eyes widened, and he stared rather ungraciously.

"Only if you have coin," came the large man’s reply, in a tone that seemed to insinuate that Zophiel was some common beggar.

His rising ire at the implication snapped him from his shock. He reached into his pouch and tossed a few coins onto the bar, then locked the taller man with a withering glare. "I have coin enough, if Islasoran will suffice." He knew that it would. No port city for thousands of miles turned down the gold currency minted by the prosperous island nation.

"Y- yes," stammered the barkeeper, humbled somewhat by the display of wealth tossed so casually before him. He collected the coins, and then quickly deposited them in the strongbox. He fetched a key and handed it to Zophiel, motioning toward the stairs. "It’s the door with the blue trim, third on the left. One of our finest. Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Zophiel thought for a moment, hand unconsciously coming to rest on his chin. He felt the growth of beard and realized that he had gone as long without a proper shave as he had without a woman. He grinned coldly and nodded, "Wine, a hot bath, a shave, and a meal. Have them all seen to by a woman, and if I find the woman satisfactory, you shall be generously rewarded in the morning."

Chapter 2 - Talia

She was so excited to have finally found work outside of her parents' clothing shop. They had forbidden her from finding employment elsewhere until her eighteenth year, hoping she would grow complacent and stay with the family business. Unfortunately for them, she was rather willful and wanted little more than to be free of her parents' close supervision.

The Cockatrice was hardly Coral Bay's finest tavern and inn, but it was certainly among the most reputable. And to add to the excitement of her very first day, she had been entrusted with the care of one of the wealthy guests. They were known to tip very well, and as such were usually entrusted only to experienced staff members. She looked herself over in the polished metal sheet that passed for a mirror, adjusting her bodice and straightening her stockings and fussing over a few unruly locks of her curly hair. Satisfied, she gathered the tray containing the guest's meal and walked carefully up the stairs. The heeled shoes that were part of her work outfit made the trek up to the guest's chamber somewhat treacherous, so she took slow and deliberate steps, careful to keep the tray balanced.

She rapped lightly on the door, then waited for the guest to open it. She straightened her posture, poised the tray on one hand, its edge resting on her shoulder, and spread her full and slightly roughed lips into a wide, white-toothed smile. The door opened just a crack at first, and she could see the silhouette of someone peering out at her. After a brief hesitation in which her smile faltered a bit, she recovered and spoke softly, "Service, Sir. May I come in to deliver your meal?"

Zophiel looked at her, eyeing the lovely young woman standing before his door with a predatory hunger. Even in those heels, she couldn't have been more than five and a half feet tall, with mahogany skin, dark curly hair, and wide hazel eyes. Her figure, no doubt enhanced and flattered by the bodice she wore, was enticing just the same. He could see the contours of her legs, encased by stockings though they were, for the skirt she wore stopped at mid-thigh, something that would have been considered blasphemously indecent on the islands. Judging by the swell of her hips, taper of her waist, and fullness of her bosom, he concluded that perhaps the bodice was a lessor contributor than he thought. Perhaps he should find out...

Then he caught the scent of the food on her tray, and his stomach growled angrily at him, forcing him to focus on his primary hunger first. He stepped back and pulled the door open fully, sweeping his free arm to gesture toward a table off to the side. "Yes, thank you. Please set the meal down there."

Talia nodded and stepped inside, moving carefully still as she had yet to become entirely comfortable walking in these shoes. She masked her confusion and distaste well when she looked on the guest, dressed as a peasant, his long dark hair unkempt, several days' growth of beard obscuring the lower half of his face, and the briny smell of ocean that clung to his clothes. Small wonder he requested a bath and a shave, she mused quietly as she set the tray down and laid out the meal. Picking the tray back up, she turned to the guest, smiling once more. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I will draw the water for your bath." Waiting only for his terse nod, she quickly exited the room and closed the door behind her. As she went to fill the first bucket of water, she couldn't help wondering if this had been some sort of mistake. After all, he hardly looked the part of the affluent foreigner.

***

Fresh, hot food was a godsend, and the wine rolled like ambrosia across his tongue. Zophiel sighed contentedly, glad to return to something approaching his privileged lifestyle. He ate the roast beef and vegetables silently, watching the serving girl ferry up bucket after bucket of water. When the tub was half full, she lit the little furnace under the bath and allowed the embers to begin heating the water. The sight of her moving so carefully brought a grin to Zophiel's face, as her steps put a lovely sway to her hips. Perhaps she knew what she was doing and perhaps she didn't, but when she bent to light the furnace, she kept her feet together and long legs straight, offering him a lovely view of the very bottom of her backside, covered in high-cut silk panties as it was. She did this several times, pausing at every other bucket to check the water or the hot coals.

He had eaten his fill by the time she poured the last bucket and turned to regard him, smiling radiantly. Her breasts bounced just slightly when she turned and stood, empty bucket in hand. He grinned wolfishly at her. "Is my bath ready?"

"Yes, sir. I'll return momentarily with the razor and cream for your shave." He nodded, more slowly this time, she noticed, but before she turned to leave he motioned her toward him.

"Please take these dishes away. I'm finished eating for the time being," he pushed the mostly-empty plate forward to emphasize his point, and she minced over in her heels to collect the dishes. She leaned over the table, standing across from him, and this afforded him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. Her breasts were full, firm with youth, and every bit as darkly-complected as the rest of her skin. He licked his lips unconsciously, eyeing her without shame. She noticed, blushed deeply, and straightened quickly. Zophiel noticed, much to his delight, that her nipples had hardened and were now pushing against the thin, cream-colored cotton of the bodice that restrained them.

Flushed with embarrassment and arousal - it was oddly exciting to be looked at like that, she was surprised to discover - she left him to his privacy once more. Once the serving girl had closed the door, Zophiel stood and slowly began removing his clothes. He tossed them all into a pile in the corner, wrinkling his nose when he realized how much like seawater they smelled. Thus disrobed, he walked to the bed, where his belongings were bundled in a sack, and laid them out carefully. His usual clothing was wrinkled by the storage, an observation that elicited a long-suffering sigh from him. He turned from the garments to approach the tub. He was halfway across the room when the door swung open.

"Ohmy!" she exclaimed all in one gasp, nearly dropping the clay bowl and its contents in her surprise. Zophiel had turned to face the door, weight shifting to the balls of his feet in readiness to receive some would-be assailant. When he saw that it was simply his serving girl, he chuckled and continued on his way to the tub.

Talia had never seen a grown man in the nude before, and this one was something of a specimen. It was obvious that he kept himself in good shape, and the more-or-less uniform swarthy tint to his skin confirmed for her that he was indeed of Islasoros. While his skin was lighter than hers, the Islasorans were the only people other than the native humans of the Coral Bay region to have such complexions. She was staring, she realized in the back of her awareness, but at the same time she seemed powerless to stop it. She watched his muscles ripple beneath his flesh as he walked, his gait easy and self-assured. Her eyes drifted down his abdomen to his groin, and while he was flaccid, the novelty of the sight put a strange tingle in her belly. He stepped into the tub, moving impossibly slowly, and only when the object of her momentary obsession vanished beneath the water did she regain her senses.

Blushing even more furiously than she had when she noticed him eyeing her breasts, Talia walked to the tub and carefully set the bowl on the floor as she knelt by his head, which was resting against the leather-padded lip of the large basin. "May I shave you now, sir?" she asked, trying with only nominal success to suppress the nervous, aroused huskiness she felt in her voice.

Zophiel, who had closed his eyes to savor the embrace of the warm water, opened them and tilted his head slightly to look up at her. This close to him, she could feel the intense scrutiny of his gaze, see the glint in his eyes that seemed simultaneously dangerous and alluring. He smiled after locking her gaze for a long moment, then nodded and closed his eyes again. He sat up straighter, letting his head tilt back as it rested atop the tub's lip. "I've not allowed another to shave me before. This should be pleasant."

She stifled a small giggle against the back of her hand, then emptied the razor and pot of cream from the earthenware bowl. She dipped it into the water, moving forward and pushing her breasts against the edge of the tub, nearly causing them to spill out over the top of the bodice. Zophiel glanced over at her, pleased to see that some of the water that had splashed to the lip of the tub soaked into her top, making it more translucent and revealing one round, dark nipple. He turned his attention toward the ceiling, deciding it would not be wise to make her nervous while she was going to be holding something sharp and metallic against his throat.

Calmed by the routine of lathering the area to be shaved and sharpening the razor, Talia was ready to divest this stranger of his facial hair. Her movements were sure and quick, for she had quite a bit of practice with shaving her legs and trimming the dark, curly thatch of hairs covering her sex. While not required by the Cockatrice's management, she found that the tiny panties that were part of her outfit looked far better on her once she had removed the majority of that hair. Shaving the man's face reminded her of the last time she had shaved, and the effect it had on her when she trimmed away her pubic hairs to a small, slender, and close-cropped strip. She felt the silk panties rubbing against her bald mound as she shifted and turned to keep the area she was working on in view, and a moist heat slowly began to grow between her thighs. She became all too aware of how her breasts pushed against his face when she leaned forward to get at the far side of his neck, one still-pert nipple scraping along his cheek. The last few strokes with the razor took an agonizing eternity to finish, but finally she had completed the shave. With a clean rag moistened by the tub's water, she wiped the remaining cream from his face. Shaven now, he looked far less bedraggled and much much more dignified, the angular prominence of his jawline and cheekbones and the straightness of his nose indicators of his breeding.

Zophiel remained still during the shave, though his breathing increased with the woman's proximity, the faint scent of lavender wafting pleasantly from her. He noticed how steady and practiced her hands were, reveled in the caresses of her fingertips as she sought out any stray hairs she may have missed. When she finished wiping his face, he raised a hand to his chin and felt all about, smiling after inspecting the work. "Perfectly executed. Now, if you would be kind enough to wash my hair." He smiled at her, his full lips spreading into a wide and comfortable grin. He glanced over her, brow creasing just the slightest bit. He reached a wet hand up and rubbed his thumb against her breastbone, coming away with a bit of the shaving cream. In the process, his palm pressed lightly to her breast, hard nipple rubbing against his palm. He watched her carefully as he did this, noticed the dilation of her pupils and slight flare of her nostrils when he touched her. He pulled his hand away and swished it in the water to be rid of the cream.

Too surprised and excited to speak, her flesh tingling where he touched her, Talia simply nodded and moved to kneel behind his head. He sat up and leaned forward, using his fingers to comb his hair forward as he settled his lower back against the tub. She rose up to lean over him, her arms coming around to cup bathwater and raise it to pour over his long, dark hair. It was matted and oily, but after seeing the drastic improvement brought on by shaving him, she remained hopeful. Her breasts mashed against his back, the water clinging to his skin dampening her bodice noticeably. Rather than pull back, however, she decided to remain in that position. Having become more aroused by this stranger with the passing moments, she found herself thrilling in the tease, and even wiggled her hips slightly to feel the now-damp silk of her panties rub against her cleft. The fabric caught between her folds and pressed against her hardening little nub, eliciting a barely-stifled gasp. She tried to cover it by clearing her throat and focused her attention on washing the travel from his hair.

As the serving girl finished sifting her fingers through his hair, freshly cleaned and scented slightly with rose oil now, Zophiel snapped a hand up and closed his fingers slowly around her slender wrist. She inhaled sharply with surprise, and he brought his other hand up to push his wet locks behind him as he straightened and turned to face her. Her eyes were wide, chest heaving with the labor of her deep breathing. He smiled as he watched her breasts push against the bodice, now clinging wetly to them and hiding nothing from his sight in its transparency. "And now the rest, if you don't mind," he stated casually, leaving no room for retort or negotiation. He turned her palm upward and leaned forward to kiss it lightly, then released her hand and stretched back in the tub.

Talia didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded and picked up the sliver of lye she brought with her. She had thought he'd was himself off, but she had already done more than she intended, and her arousal had gotten the better of her. She knew she would enjoy continuing the tease, and so she began at his feet, lathering and caressing away the soap all the way up one thigh, and then the other. His arms were next, and finally, she began on his torso. By this point, her bodice was hopelessly drenched. As her fingers were rubbing their way down his abdomen, nervously hovering closer to his manhood, he reached a hand up and casually tugged at one of her bodice ties, deftly unraveling the bow with a flick of his wrist. "You should really take that off and lay it across the table so it can dry. You don't want to be walking through the tavern like that."

She knew he was right, and in that moment, she hated him for it. To have her breasts exposed through the wet garment at least allowed her to feel clothed if she didn't think about it, but there would be no escaping the exposed feeling with the bodice gone. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded reluctantly and stood. She unlaced the bodice completely and peeled it off, the cotton clinging tenaciously to her chest. She draped it over one of the chairs at the little table, then returned to the tub, kneeling once more, breasts bared completely and nipples hardened to little pebbles. Talia expected him to leer or grope at her, but he did neither. Rather, he nodded for her to continue and resumed staring blankly at the ceiling.

It took her a moment, but then she remembered where she had paused. Already kneeling with her hands under the water, she knew it would be too late to back out without risking his ire, and she simply could not allow that to happen. She might lose her position here, and then she'd be back in the clothing shop with her family. Bravely, she soaped up his groin, her fingers moving tentatively over his sac and up along his shaft. She felt the flesh of his pole fill out, expanding and hardening as she soaped it up. He turned his head to regard her as one of his hands found hers and closed her fingers slowly around his shaft. He smiled knowingly in response to the nervous, panicked glance she shot him, then started moving her hand slowly up and down his length.

The flesh in her grip was so hard, but seemed somewhat spongy. She squeezed her fist experimentally, watching his face as she stroked him with inexperienced fingers. The heat and wetness only increased between her legs, and the bunched panties pressed more tightly to her little clit with her involuntary squirming. Her breath came heavier. It was maddening, the desire and fear colliding about inside her. Then suddenly, without warning, he removed her hand from him. Worried that she had done something wrong, her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to stutter an apology, but lost the words in her throat as she watched him rise from the tub. Standing in the knee-deep water, beads of it glistening off of his chest, his turgid arousal jutting prominently forward, he grinned down at her and stepped from the tub onto a small mat.

"The room's a bit cold," he commented nonchalantly, eyes flicking from her to the towel rolled up near the clay bowl, then back to her. She understood immediately and turned to grab the towel. Quickly, she began rubbing the water from him, again starting at his feet and then seeing to his arms. He seemed determined to stand in place, so she was forced to slip her arms around him to squeeze his butt with the towel, and then run it up his back. Her naked breasts crushed up against his torso as she did this, and rubbed further as she reached up to squeeze most of the wetness from his hair. Arms stretched up and body extended, she was forced to lean more heavily against him, and she felt the heated firmness of his length against her bare belly. It felt so smooth on her flesh, and without pausing to think on it, she sank slowly to her knees, rubbing her body against him, the steely pole of his manhood pushing between her breasts as she slid lower. Surprised by this, she blushed and giggled nervously, leaning back as she dragged the towel down his chest. His strong hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he eased her closer to him again. She became nervous then, feeling the underside of his shaft push against her breastbone, her firm fleshy mounds flanking it tightly.

This drew a throaty moan from him, and he grinned down at her, eyes glinting still. She swallowed hard, watched as Zophiel brought a hand up to slide his fingers through her hair, and felt her head angled downward. She stared at the rod pushing up between her breasts, the dark, smooth head scant inches away. She could see glistening moisture well up from the very tip, seeping out of the slit and beading there. "Please me," he whispered softly as he held her head in place.

"But I've never-" she began to reply, but he pushed her face closer, the silky, flared head pushing against her soft lips and smearing that bead of liquid against them. She was forced to close her mouth before it pushed in further and ended up kissing the crown of his length.

"You'll learn fast enough." She knew then that he would brook no argument, and the increasing pressure against her head confirmed this. He pushed her down, pressing the tip firmly against her lips, and she knew what he wanted. She opened her mouth slowly, trying to remember the few things she had heard other girls mention about this sort of thing. The head of his shaft pushed forward, rubbing along her tongue as it slid past her parted lips and probed ever deeper. She felt it plunge into her mouth until it hit the back of her throat, forcing her to gag around it. Her lips closed and tongue pushed up against it reflexively, which elicited another moan from him. Talia panicked, fearing that another such thrust could well choke her, and so she brought her hands up to dig her nails into his hips, try to push away. She slid her lips back along his length, flesh now slickened by her own saliva. She tasted something unfamiliar as her tongue dragged against the cleft on the underside of his tip, salty-sweet and not at all unpleasant. She whimpered desperately and looked up at him, her eyes pleading for mercy even as her lips remained closed around his girth.

Zophiel grinned down at the servant girl, savoring her struggle, her desperation. He pulled her face toward his groin again, forcing her to take his flesh into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. More prepared this time, her gag was not as pronounced. "Very nice," he sighed encouragingly, voice heavy with lust. "You're going to make a good cocksucker."

The words hit her like a slap, the sting worsened only by the ease with which he spoke them. She had heard the term before, but never flatteringly. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to back away, and the tight panties wedged between her folds pushed at her button once again. She shivered as an electric jolt of pleasure shot up her spine, then rocked her hips slightly back and forth to continue the sensation, feeling the crotch of her panties jammed between her lips doing little to stop the increasing wetness slipping out from her. Unconsciously, she tightened her mouth around his pole and suckled it slowly, looking up at him for approval. Unable to deny the pleasure she felt from this lewd behavior, she knew then that what he said was true. She would make a good cocksucker. She liked his cock, enjoyed touching it and feeling it in her mouth. She wanted it when she first saw it, though at the time she didn't understand what that feeling meant.

Her grip at his waist relaxed, and bobbed her head in accordance with his will. She timed her thrusts with his, meeting his plunging meat and gagging less and less, until at last she felt the spongy tip shove its way into her throat. She moaned and stared up at him, proud of her accomplishment. He watched her, desire blazing in his dark eyes as he met her gaze. It was simply too much for her, and she quivered helplessly as she fought to restrain the impending climax that she feared would tear her apart.

Her moans came louder, vibrating his cock while it remained lodged in her mouth, her head jerking back and forth desperately as her whole body trembled with little spasms. Surrendering himself to his own ecstasy, Zophiel's moans joined hers and filled the room as jets of hot seed roped into her mouth, splashing against her palate and across her tongue. The sudden feeling and taste intensified her own orgasm, and her head jerked back. Mouth free of his cock, his seed spattered across her face and chest, pearly droplets scattering over her breasts.

He dropped his hands away from her head and shakily settled against the lip of the tub, staring dazedly down at the servant girl, streaked with his cum, smiling her own vacant and blissful grin. When they caught their breath, she looked down to see the mess across her chest. She brought her long, slender fingers up and scooped at the droplets, licking them off her fingers in turn. She did the same with the lines across her face, smearing his semen into her skin as much as wiping it off. She blushed when she looked up to notice him watching her, then dropped her head and rose slowly. She turned and gathered her bodice, happy to discover that the thin garment had dried sufficiently. She hurriedly pulled it back on and made her way to the door, but he moved faster.

Blocking the doorway, pouch in hand, Zophiel grinned lasciviously. He reached into his pouch, withdrawing a coin. He stepped closer to her and tucked it between her breasts. "The service was exceptional. I expect dinner promptly after nightfall. I trust you will see to my needs."

"But sir, I- This establishment isn't-" she stammered, then paused as she felt the cool gold coin slowly warmed by her body's heat. She understood then, this was what the other girls on the staff meant about the tips. This establishment was exactly 'that kind of place', it was just more discreet than the others, hence its reputability. And she did like what they did, after all. She nodded her assent and smiled demurely at him as she stepped out. Walking down the hall, she realized that she was beginning to look forward to dinner, to look forward to touching and tasting his cock again, and that made her nervous. What if he tried to... do more to her? No, surely none of that would happen.

Chapter 3 - Employment

Cleaned and sated, Zophiel dressed himself in his usual clothing, finely woven cotton black breeches and crimson tunic, his belt applied over the clothing to allow him easier access to the weapons he carried. It felt considerably more comfortable than those commoner's rags he had felt it necessary to wear while at sea, and was far much more befitting a man of his means. Of course, his means were dwindling gradually, and he knew that he would have to find work in order to maintain the lifestyle he deserved. And given that Coral Bay most likely had very inflexible property laws, finding work for him meant finding a plausible cover as well. With dusk a goodly handful of hours away, he left the Cockatrice and wandered through the market once again.

It unnerved him a little to see, but he was becoming more used to seeing enslaved humans as he walked the streets of Coral Bay. The racial variety astounded him, but he learned quite a bit by observing individuals' mannerisms and dealings with others. He was in the midst of this social voyeurism, noting the interaction between a man with large, feathery wings and a dark-skinned elf, when a placard dangling from a jewelry shop across the way caught his eye. Painted on a piece of neatly-trimmed and whitewashed wood in bold black Elvish lettering were the words, "Seeking Apprentice". He grinned broadly and crossed the street, stepping into the small storefront. This couldn't be better. He could case the store, learn the owner's routines while he trained, and pilfer a few easily-moved goods. The money he could earn from a few months of such activity should cover whatever the local guild required for membership, if thieving was conducted at all similarly here to the way it was in Islasoros.

"Can I... help you?" The voice was lyrical, pleasant, but a bit detached. It took Zophiel a moment to realize that he was being addressed in Elvish, which irked him just a little. While he knew a fair amount about the elves of the region and had learned their language from one of his favorite playthings, he was quite obviously of human stock. That being the case, Zophiel concluded that the owner of that voice -female, definitely- was making a point.

"Yes, I believe that you can. My name is Zophiel, and I'm here to inquire about this shop's need for an apprentice," he responded as he turned to face her, speaking her own tongue rather fluidly for a human. She was standing only a couple yards to his left, behind a counter displaying several finely-crafted silver necklaces and rings. She was beautiful, as elves are wont to be, with lustrous honey-colored hair pulled into a single thick braid, almond-shaped blue eyes, and a petite but temptingly feminine figure. He offered her his customary smile, polite but humorless. The smile she flashed back at him succeeded in being both polite and humorless as well, but it was also rather demeaning. Something for which he was ill-prepared, indeed.

Her eyes locked with his as she considered his words and how to react to them. "So do you read my peoples' language as well as speak it, or did somebody translate for you?" She crossed her arms over her chest, crushing her breasts more closely to her, and arched a single brow.

"I am nearly as fluent with your language as I am with my own." Not wanting to cross his arms now that she had already done so, Zophiel dropped his hands to his belt to rest his palms on the pommels of his rapier and stiletto. This was not how he imagined it would go at all.

"Very well," she remarked icily, clearly unimpressed. "These are the terms of apprenticeship: you will do the work I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. You will be here within an hour after sunrise every day and clean the store before you begin working with any jewelry. You will not assist customers. You will work until the onset of dusk, when I close the store. If I elect to work later into the evening, you will work later into the evening. You will secure your own room and board. I will pay a fair apprentice wage, as dictated by this city's crafters' guild. In one months' time, you will join this guild. In exchange for the education I will provide, you will compensate me by performing the usual household duties. Lastly, you will speak only Elvish while you are under this roof."

Zophiel listened to the litany in silence, then nodded curtly. It didn't sound like fun at all, but in his line of work, one did what one had to in order to secure the best payout. And now that he decided he really didn't like this woman, he knew he would cherish robbing her blind once he was in proper with others of his profession. "I accept. I will be here tomorrow morning. Before I leave, may I have your name?"

"No, you will go upstairs and dust my quarters. You may call me Amaranth, my favorite flower. I doubt you could correctly pronounce my given name." She smirked, then turned and motioned for him to follow her.

On the way up the flight of stairs that led to her rooms on the second floor, Zophiel entertained thoughts of simply killing her and taking everything of value. Ah, but that would be foolish in more ways than he cared to count, he chided himself. While the city guard would probably be easy to avoid, he was not sure if she was paying the guild to protect her, and if that was the case, then he shuddered to think what their assassins might do to him once they caught him. Which they would. Thieves and murderers are notoriously good at tracking down and eliminating their own.

Chapter 4 - Dinner

The cleaning was nightmarish. Not wanting to resort to using what little magic he knew -it would be best for his mark to underestimate him as thoroughly as possible- he had been forced to engage in actual labor! Zophiel left not long before dusk, dust clumps in his sweat-matted hair.

As soon as he made it back into his room, Zophiel stripped down to his breeches and called on the cleaning spell he knew. It simply wouldn't do for him to be filthy for dinner, after all. He had plans for his little serving girl, and smelling foul was certainly not among them. Mixing a musky oil in a fresh bowl of water that Talia had apparently been kind enough to leave while he was away, he sponged the scented liquid lightly over his body and used a handful to moisten his hair. The practice was not uncommon in this area, where the daytime temperature could be politely described as balmy, or more accurately described as sweltering. A little sponging-off in the evening allowed one to enjoy the considerably cooler nights without reeking of the day's perspiration.

The sun had begun its descent past the horizon, painting the sky in oranges, pinks and yellows. A cool sea breeze drifted over Coral Bay and into Zophiel's open window, and it felt exquisite against his skin, still just a bit damp from the sponging. He was staring out at the city that would become his home for the next handful of months, when a quiet rapping emanated from his door behind him. He half-turned to face it, still clad only in his breeches. His hair spilled down his shoulders behind him, the locks terminating roughly at the midpoint of his shoulder blades. "Enter," he called out, feeling almost like he was home again.

Talia undid the door latch with her elbow, then backed against the door, shuffling with it as it pushed inward under her weight. She spun with the door, turning to face Zophiel at the end of the little maneuver, tray of food held carefully in her hands. The food smelled exquisite, game hen and seasoned potatoes with a small heap of steamed vegetables on the side. A bottle of wine with an empty glass beside it completed the meal. "Good evening, Sir. I have your dinner, as requested," she spoke softly, flush coming to her cheeks as the sight of him brought back memories of what they did earlier in the day.

"Excellent. You may set it on the table, and then please close and lock the door." He smiled at her, so full of authority and confidence that she had begun moving to obey him before she had quite figured out that in order to lock the door without a key, she would have to do so from the inside.

Fear and excitement warred within her, and even as she shut the door and slid the bolt into place, she offered a feeble protest. "But Sir, I must help the other staff downstairs. It's very busy at this time of day." She looked at him, her large eyes meeting his for a moment before she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"Your employer will be compensated for the inconvenience," he stated calmly as he padded across the room and seated himself at the table. The reply left little room for argument, and Talia felt simultaneously relieved and worried. Perhaps he did intend to do more tonight, after all. Of course, she expected that he had every right to, given the way she acted earlier. And there was the tip. He had paid her generously for the lunch and other services she provided, so it stood to reason that he would do so again after dinner. Thinking on that, she rather liked the way he handled it. She could tell herself that the money was for delivering his food and drawing his bath. The rest had simply happened. She was not a whore this way, which greatly helped her accept what was to come.

Zophiel sat at the table, watching her for a moment while she stared blankly down at the food. "Talia, I'd like to eat now," he said quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice and ghost of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. This brought her back to the present, and she jumped into action immediately, mumbling several clumsy apologies as she portioned out his meal, poured a measure of wine, and then moved to stand a yard to his left, hands clasped before her and waiting quietly. Before she could take more than the first little sidestep, his hand shot out and grasped her wrist. His grip was firm, but not ungentle, and she became acutely aware that he could make it otherwise if he wished. She felt herself becoming heated by this, though whether it was the power of his touch or the contact of their skin -or perhaps both- she could not fathom. He nodded to the seat across from him and grinned, a silent invitation to join him. The offer made, he released her, though he dragged the pads of his fingers across her wrist caressingly as his hand slid away.

Talia hovered for a moment, indecisive, and then moved around the table to sit gingerly. Zophiel followed her with his eyes, roaming over her stocking-clad legs and enjoying the way her heeled slippers made her backside roll with every step. "Help yourself," he commented casually, then began to eat.

Dinner passed pleasantly. Zophiel seemed to be in no hurry, and so Talia took her time with the food as well. There was only one wine glass, so Talia drank directly from the bottle. this brought a blush to her lips with the first sip she took, as it was commonly accepted that only boors and drunkards behaved in such a fashion. They chatted idly about the city and the goings-on, Zophiel diverting the conversation away from himself whenever she became curious. This did not go unnoticed, but Talia decided it would be best to leave well enough alone and not press the issue.

When they had finished, Talia gathered the plates and piled them up on the serving tray, then stood uncertainly with the tray in her hands. Zophiel grinned and stood, walking around to stand behind Talia. With his eyes on her the whole time, Talia felt transfixed, paralyzed by his gaze. He slid his arms down hers as he pressed his torso lightly to her back, his groin brushing against the top of her rear. With his hands over hers, he set the tray on the table once again, then he leaned forward, tilting her body over the table as he guided her hands to push the tray away from them. He straightened and took half a step back while one hand came to rest on her shoulder.

Talia was certain that her heart was going to shatter its way out of her chest at any moment, her breath coming in heavy rasps as she felt herself turning to face him. She was only dimly aware of her body's slight tremble, and as she turned she parted her lips to say something, only to forget it when their eyes met. She saw the hunger in his and recognized it. It sent an electric thrill down her spine and straight to her little cleft, which had by now become quite damp.

Zophiel stepped forward, slid his arms around her slim waist, and pulled her into a slow, smoldering kiss. He parted her lips with his tongue, and she timidly slid hers forth to meet it. Her movements were uncertain at first, but as she thought less and felt more, she became much more confident. He felt her hands sliding around him and drifting up his bare back, and he pressed even more insistently against her.

She felt the table bump her backside when he moved in closer and became nervous. Even in her heels, she was forced to rise to the very tips of her toes to meet his kiss, and she clung to his back as much for support as to feel the heat of his skin. She inhaled deeply through her nose, lips still occupied by his, and smelled the scent of the musk he wore. It was heady. It was divine. She was falling backwards, she realized suddenly, but just as she began to panic, his hands were at her shoulders, and he eased her onto the table. Her legs splayed obscenely to either side of him, and she felt the steeliness of his arousal rubbing her wet, panty-covered crotch. She broke the kiss then, breathing heavily, her breasts straining against her bodice with every intake of air.

"What, what are you doing?" she asked somewhat distractedly, put off balance by her awkward position on the table and the sensations of pleasure coming from between her thighs. He leaned back and grinned down at her as he slid his hands from her shoulders, settling her against the table. He stood upright, sliding his hands along her body, kneading her breasts for a moment before caressing his way down her sides.

"After dinner comes dessert, yes?" He asked rhetorically, then slowly sank to his knees. Zophiel traced his fingertips along the outsides of her silk-covered thighs, then slid them up toward her hips again, dipping them under the scandalously short skirt she wore. His seeking fingers found the ties of her panties, and with a deft tug on each side, they were undone. She tensed under his touch and tried to press her legs together, but he was already between them, and so she only succeeded in trapping him there.

"Y-yes. I'll go fetch you something. What would you like?" She propped herself up on her elbows, heartbeat thundering in her ears as she looked down to see how far the spread of her legs had pushed up the skirt. The tiny panties were entirely visible to him now, and even worse, their white silky material had been made transparent by her moisture, revealing the neat trim of her little bush and the pink, smooth folds of her sex. She wanted him to touch her there. She wanted him to step away. She whimpered softly, hating that she felt so torn. She knew what was proper, and this was certainly not it. But she also knew what was fun, and every signal her body sent her gave every indication that this had the makings of something much more than 'fun'.

"You," was his only reply to her question, and with that, he pushed his face forward, nose and mouth disappearing under her tiny skirt as he stared up at her with his rich brown eyes. His teeth found her panties, and he tugged the wispy fabric away, peeling it from her desire-moistened flesh. The feel of her thighs, bare this close to her body, was soft and exquisite. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, he darted forward again, his tongue pressing at her folds and rubbing upward. He curled the muscle and pointed its tip, scraping her swollen little clit with it before his tongue withdrew and mouth closed.

Accompanying his very approving "Mmmm" as he tasted her, Talia inhaled a sharp "Oh!" of surprised delight. Propriety be damned, she wanted more! That was nice! Unconsciously, her hips nudged forward and she sank back onto the table. His hands pressed at the backs of her knees, and she could feel her legs being propped up onto his shoulders as the entirety of his mouth pushed against her hot little mound.

Zophiel found her hard nub and pinned it between his lips, torturing its tip relentlessly with his tongue. He snuck a hand up under his chin and slid a finger inside her slowly, rubbing against her walls, savoring the tight clasp of her muscles around his probing digit. He could feel the heat, his nostrils were filled with the scent of her arousal, and her heady taste lingered on his tongue. He moaned, releasing her clit and lapping at her neatly parted folds, delighting in her flavor.

It was more than Talia could bear, far more intense than the little climax she experienced previously that day. The novelty only adding to the potency of these sensations, she was overwhelmed by a dizzying surge of ecstasy before she could understand what was going on. She flooded his mouth with her nectar, her muscles spasming around his finger. She felt her belly flutter and body quiver as she was caught up in the headlong tumble into bliss, and he was doing nothing to save her from it now. Every movement of his mouth, every swipe of his tongue as he drank her in, was acutely felt, and it all added to the torturous rapture.

As she slumped back in the lethargic, full-body relaxedness that follows a powerful orgasm, Zophiel unfastened the ties of his breeches and stood. He let the fabric fall to his ankles, then stepped out of it and leaned over her. The underside of his cock felt so good against her blazing, soaked pussy. He smiled down at her, his lips and chin glistening with lingering traces of her fluid.

When his lips touched hers, she was drawn back to her body. She could smell herself, even taste herself on him as their kiss deepened, and then she realized that the head of his manhood was toying about her entrance. Startled, her hands flew to his shoulders, and she pushed feebly at him, but her muscles were uncooperative at best. Mercifully, he broke the kiss and leaned back enough to look down on her face. "Please, not that! I've never- It wouldn't be right- Don't! I'll suck on you again!" The words poured out in a frightened, nervous torrent. His shaft rubbed up against her little throbbing button, then down against her folds, parting them around its underside as she felt the ridge of his crown and then the smooth fullness of his engorged tip prodding teasingly.

"You're going to enjoy this," he whispered softly, his voice full of authority despite the lack of volume. He grinned and pushed forward, parting her tight lips slowly around his cock head. He paused and sighed appreciatively when her folds pressed against his flesh just behind the tip, distended by the intruding rod.

"No! I'll- I'll scream!" She gasped, surprised by sudden penetration. Having held his shaft in her hands, she knew there was still a great deal left, and the thought of being impaled on him like this panicked her. She began to draw in the breath for a good, deep belly-scream, when suddenly she felt him surge forward, that shaft stabbing into her. Something inside her tore, and she knew enough of these things to realize that she had been robbed of the last vestige of innocence she may have held. She was sullied now, maidenhead broken. She was too shocked by the thundering reality of it to control the ragged groan that escaped her lips, leaving her breathless. Talia squirmed against him, raised her arms to claw at his face and wriggled her thighs up to try to nudge her knees between them and dislodge her.

Zophiel knew she would resist. They always did at first, conditioned as they were to value their virginity. He deftly grabbed her flailing arms by the wrists, strong fingers squeezing as he forced her hands down over her head. The dinner tray was pushed off the table, its contents clattering raucously to the floor. He stared down into her eyes, saw the betrayal and fear, and savored it. His hips pumped rapidly, wasting no time. She was fighting a losing battle against her will. She had experienced enough to know how good he could make her feel, enough to make her wonder how much better it might become.

The pounding of his meat into her terrified Talia at first. She wasn't ready for this! But she was incredibly slick down there already, having been brought to that amazing climax only moments before. His rod plunged into her, delving deeply until she felt his tip mash lightly against something inside her and his sac slap her upturned backside. She struggled even harder against him, only to discover that her writhing was heightening the sensation of his invasion, forcing her heated walls to squeeze and rub against him.

"Enjoy this," he repeated. Zophiel ground his hips down against her, filling her tight pussy with the entirety of his turgid length and mashing her clit hard against his pelvic bone. He felt his balls tighten and knew his own climax was soon to come. Her sheath's grip around him was exquisite, the molten velvety flesh pressing in against his cock as he drove it into her.

His words echoed in her mind, leading Talia to understand that his previous statement was a command, not a consolation. Her pained groaning had given way to more heated sounds, and she focused her eyes on his face, hovering over her own. His gaze was filled with desire, and the hunger in his dark orbs as he stared down at her stirred something within her. She felt indescribably powerful, knowing that such a man as this craved something she had. The revelation was heady and intoxicating, and her stocking-clad legs slid down to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing. She tried to meet his thrusts, panting heavily with him, her lips curling upwards at the edges.

Zophiel both saw and felt the change coming over the young serving girl, and he knew in that moment that he had her. The triumph of his conquest sent him tumbling over the edge, and he jerked his hips forward one last time before his cock throbbed and pulsed, then released the thick jets of his seed. He watched her face as he came into her, the surprise followed by the bliss that triggered another orgasm within her.

It was several moments before either of them could move, Zophiel's weight pinning Talia to the table while her tight pussy squeezed around his shaft, suckling it even after they had descended from the crest of their pleasure. Finally, he shifted and pushed up, then stood shakily and smiled down at her. He withdrew his softening member slowly, eliciting a petulant little whimper from Talia. Despite the pain and fear it had inspired within her, by the time they had finished their coupling she was disappointed to feel its presence withdrawn. She looked out the open window and saw that night had long ago fallen.

She bolted up, eyes wide with panic, and hurriedly fumbled her panty ties back into place. She hopped off the table and tried frantically to put herself back in order. "It's late! Father's going to have my hide!" The words came out in a rush as she did all this, though she paused when she heard Zophiel's amused chuckle. Irritated that he found it all so funny, she whirled to glare at him.

He caught the anger in her stare and calmed himself, then offered a soft, almost apologetic smile. "The dinner crowd was bigger than usual. You had a lot of extra cleaning up to do afterwards." He gestured to the mess their tumbled dinner plates had made and winked at her, then walked over to his belt and opened his pouch. He produced several coins in the native currency and handed them to Talia. "Fortunately, though, the patronage was generous and you were tipped well."

She pursed her lips, wanting to remain angry with him for... well, for all of this. Lust subsided, she felt more than a little guilty for having been so irresponsible. Mother would be heartbroken if she found out. If she found out. Which she wouldn't, Talia reasoned as she took Zophiel's money and tucked it into her bodice. He was kind enough to help her clean the mess, for which she was grateful. She mumbled a quiet, "Thank you," and left the room.

Zophiel cleaned the sex from his groin and his face, knelt by the window to offer homage to his patron god, and then tucked himself into the first proper bed he had slept in for almost a week. He could get used to life in Coral Bay, he decided before sleep took him.

***

When Talia changed out of her working clothes to don her more simple peasant garb, Talia felt a trickle of their mingled fluid seeping down the inside of her thigh. She swiped it away with a fingertip, then without really thinking about it, brought it to her lips. She tasted it, then smiled. She made him do that. Not take her, but climax inside her, and she realized that if she could do that with someone like him, she could have the same effect on any one.

It would surprise her later, as she was falling asleep, that she really liked the idea of that.

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