Mira froze. She had been expecting more humiliating fucking, yes, but with Marus or his minions, not with a lithely beautiful creature like this. She had never even conceived of looking at another woman with lust – her faith taught that to desire one of your own gender was a blasphemy against the gods.
And yet her eyes were drawn to the curve of Jasmine’s breasts and hips, to the pink nipples that peeked through the gauze of her top and to the cleft almost hidden at the juncture of her thighs. She tried to focus on the fact it was the potion and Marus’s spell making her think this way, but her mouth was dry with lust. She wondered if this was how men felt when they looked at her – if this was how Marus felt when he looked at her – and to her shock, found she hoped it was.
“She seems to like the idea…” Marus commented dryly, and Mira realised that her hardening nipples must be clearly visible through her own translucent garment. “Jasmine, why don’t you… encourage her.”
With a saucy smile, the slavegirl moved forwards, swaying like a snake. She kissed the paladin, a deep, intimate kiss that Mira was too stunned to respond to. Then, she felt an eager hand on her breast, stroking it through the fabric. The dress exposed her log, elegant legs, and Jasmine’s other hand began to stroke Mira’s thigh. After a moment, it moved up under the high hemline to tease her pussy-lips with the lightest, most delicate finger-strokes. Mira was unable to restrain a moan of longing, desperate for satisfaction.
“Enjoying yourself?” Marus asked. “Don’t you want to return the favour? After all, she’s your friend…”
“Bastard!” Mira spat through clenched teeth as she struggled with her lust. “I’m no friend to – ah! – to any of your whores!”
“What? Don’t you recognise the fourth highest priestess of the Sun Goddess?”
Mira was about to shout another insult, but then she looked at the wanton, lustful face of the woman who was caressing her, and her eyes widened. She wasn’t surprised she hadn’t recognised her. The features were the same, except for only for the small trace of make-up ‘Jasmine’ wore to accent her beauty. But the last time she had seen that face, it had worn an expression of stern, pious serenity. The flowing black hair had been tied back under a priestess’s wimple, and that body – she never knew it was such a luscious body! – had been hidden under simple priestly robes. For this was indeed Aleira, fourth highest cleric of Mira’s religion and the paladin’s own personal confessor and advisor - and yes, friend. The last she heard, Aleira had gone into a nunnery to meditate a month ago. But the woman she had known had been pure and devout, resolute and chaste – quite unlike the harlot who was now toying with the swollen lips of her snatch.
“Impossible!” she cried, denying the evidence of her eyes. “No priestess of the Sun Goddess would–”
“But she’s not a priestess of the Sun Goddess anymore,” Marus said, interrupting. “Jasmine, tell her what you are.”
“I’m you’re slutslave, master,” Aleira said happily. “I’m a cock-hungry bitch willing to do anything for something big and hard thrust into one of my tight holes – or a chance to have some fun with a tasty pussy.”
Mira realised what Marus had intended by bringing Aleira here: a clear demonstration of his power, of his skill at breaking virtuous women – and of what he intended to do to her… |