by A. J. Markam
“See?” Alaria giggled. “You’re a fashion sensation.”
“I think you’re the sensation,” I said.
“No, no – it’s you they want. You should be thanking me for burning your clothes.”
“Next time you want to burn some, burn your own.”
“I don’t think the diaper would look quite as sexy on me as it does on you.”
“If you don’t wear anything on top, I guarantee it’ll look better on you.”
When we got to the town, though, none of the shops were open. The windows were shuttered, the doors were closed, and there were signs out front saying ‘Closed.’ Every single one.
Well – except for a certain foul-mouthed old lady.
As soon as I opened the door, Sylvester’s granny looked up at me sweetly from her knitting. “Hello, how are y– ”
Then she recognized my face.
“Oh, it’s you,” she grumbled, then sniffed. “At least you don’t smell like a hobgoblin’s ass anymore, but what in Utark’s greasy crack are you wearing?”
Then she saw Alaria walk in right behind me.
“Wonderful,” the old lady sneered. “You brought a devil whore with you.”
“It takes a whore to know one,” Alaria said sweetly, “devil or not.”
I immediately panicked. That’s all I needed: for my only possible source of clothing to take offense and throw us out on our asses.
I was about to yell at Alaria when the old lady cackled.
“I like the mouth on your strumpet,” she snickered. “Spicy – although I’m sure that’s because it’s usually wrapped around a sausage.”
“No, but I could arrange something for you to suck on, if that’s what you want,” Alaria said.
Ew.
This was an old granny lady we were talking about.
I did not want that image in my head.
“I need a shirt and pants,” I interrupted before the two women could get back to their sexual insults.
The old lady grunted. “Five silver each.”
“What?!” I shouted. “That’s outrageous!”
“You don’t look like you’re in a position to argue,” the old lady smirked.
Greedy old bitch.
“Fine,” I grumbled, and pulled the coins out of my purse.
Stig suddenly appeared from behind Alaria’s legs.
“Lovely,” the old woman sneered, then looked at my succubus. “Did you squeeze out that devil spawn after your last go round in the brothel?”
“No, he’s just an acquaintance – although everyone’s telling me he looks like you as a child.”
“I was far better looking than that,” the old lady cackled. “And I looked better than you, too, until my tits sagged down to my knees.”
“Oh God,” I groaned. I was going to have to wash my brain with bleach.
“No God in these parts,” the old lady sneered. “Just a goddess with her cooze clamped shut.”
“What?” Alaria asked, surprised. “Are you talking about Chalastia?”
“The one and only. I hear she takes it up the ass so she can maintain her virginity.”
“Can I please just have my shirt and pants?” I moaned.
“Wait,” Alaria said with a frown. “Where are we?”
“In my shop,” the old lady snapped. “What, did you suck on one so big it dislodged your brain?”
“What region are we in?” Alaria snapped. As she said it, there was of the sound of fire flaring up – although I didn’t see anything.
Kind of scary.
The old lady was taken aback, too. “Ostmere,” she said warily. “The town of Fernburg.”
Alaria staggered backwards like her legs had suddenly grown weak, and her face looked like she had seen a ghost.
“Are you okay?” I asked her in alarm.
“Somebody make you walk funny, Dearie?” the old lady said nastily as she slid my pants and shirt across the counter and pocketed the ten silver coins. “Stick something big where it didn’t belong?”
“Where is everyone?” Alaria asked, all business. “The other villagers – where are they?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We were wondering about that.”
“It’s the beginning of the high goddess’s festival,” the old lady said. “Evening services start tonight, and no one’s allowed to dingle anybody’s dongle until next week. I just think the old bitch wants everybody to be as miserable as her.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked.
“Do I sound like somebody who goes to church so I can pray to some old withered hag? I got one right here I can talk to in the mirror.”
“We need to get out of here,” Alaria said to me.
“Can I get dressed first, at least?”
“Fine – get dressed,” she said, but there were no jokes. She was all business.
“Do you mind if I…?” I asked the old lady as I held up the pants and shirt.
“Go right ahead, Dearie.”
“Will you turn around so I can have some privacy, please?”
“No,” the old bat said.
“What you mean, ‘no’?” I asked in surprise.
“It’s my shop. I intend to look. I haven’t seen any man up close flesh in quite awhile.”
Perverted old lady…
For a second I considered going out and dressing in the street – but then dozens of players would see me.
I gave the old woman a sideways look, then started unwrapping the bed-sheet diaper.
“Stig – hold one end of the sheet up, and Alaria, you hold the other. No peeking.”
“I don’t care about you being naked,” the succubus said brusquely. “Just get it over with.”
My temper flared. “Do not talk to me that way.”
Alaria’s face went blank. “I am so sorry, master. Of course I will hold the sheet for you,” she said in a monotone voice.
That was better.
“Must not have anything to write home about if she’s not excited to see it,” the old lady cackled. “Of course, I’m sure she’s seen a lot.”
Alaria didn’t even bother to respond.
Something must really be bothering her…
I undid the sheet and handed Alaria one end, then handed the other end to Stig. “Okay, hold it up, guys.”
I was just about to step into my pants when Alaria dropped her end of the sheet, leaving me fully exposed.
“What the hell?!” I exploded. “I told you to hold it!”
“You didn’t say anything about not dropping it,” she said coldly.
The old lady was standing on her tiptoes to get a good look at my crotch.
“Yup,” she said with a snort. “Definitely nothing to write home about.”
18
As we walked outside – with me fully dressed but still holding the crumpled-up bed sheet – I gave Alaria a piece of my mind.
“I’m more than happy to send you back to whatever hellhole you came out of,” I snapped. “If you keep acting like this, I’ll never call you back here again!”
Alaria closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead like she had a headache. “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.”
I was surprised by the sincerity in her voice. She actually sounded like she was apologizing. No coquettishness, no teasing – just a lot of stress in her voice.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you acting so weird?”
Alaria hesitated, then finally said, “I have a former master in this town. A real son of a bitch. I didn’t realize where we were until the old lady told us.”
“Oh.”
My mind raced, and I remembered what she’d said back at the river.
There have been previous masters who have commanded me to sleep with them.
Did you kill them?
…not yet.
I had a few questions, but I was tactful enough not to ask them right now.
It didn’t matter – she answered them f
or me, almost as though she was reading my mind.
“And yes,” she said, her voice full of hatred, “he did take advantage of his position.”
Shit.
“Are you afraid of him?” I asked quietly.
“Not afraid, no. You are my master now, not him. I’m not worried about what he can do to me anymore.”
“Should we get out of here?”
“What I’d really like to do,” she said, with serrated daggers in her voice, “is kill the bastard.”
Before she said ‘kill the bastard,’ it was like her eyes had been dead – and then suddenly they sparkled back to life.
She turned towards me. “Actually – can we kill him?” she asked, her voice full of hope.
Suddenly a window appeared in front of me.
Exes and O’s
Find Alaria’s former master – and kill him.
1500 XP
Scepter of the Servant:
+40 Intelligence
+20 Stamina
+10 Critical Strike
Special Ability
So this wasn’t just a random act of vengeance. It was a game-approved quest, as well.
There wasn’t any money in it, but the experience points were pretty awesome, not to mention the scepter with all its additional bonuses.
And what was the ‘Special Ability’ all about?
Plus, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the appreciation and gratitude of a certain hot-as-hell babe.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s do it.”
Alaria squealed with joy, clapped her hands, and jumped up and down – which gave me the most spectacular show of breasts bouncing up and down I could have imagined. I was basically mesmerized all over again.
“Thank you!” she cried out, then pecked me on the cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and again I smelled that gorgeous cinnamon and vanilla smell.
Stig wasn’t quite so enthused.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled.
“Do you know her to find your ex-master?” I asked.
Alaria stepped back, a blank look on her face – and then frowned. “No.”
“Don’t you know where he lived?”
“I didn’t even realize I was in the same area. I mean, I suppose I could find it if we looked around long enough…”
“Or,” I said, remembering what the old lady had said, “maybe we could just go to the church where everybody in town is worshiping tonight and ask people where he lives.”
“That would be great,” Alaria said, “except I don’t think the devotees of a chastity goddess are going to take too kindly to a warlock showing up with a succubus in tow.”
I thought for a second. “What if we could go in disguise?”
“Wearing what, exactly?”
I pulled the milkmaid’s dress out of my bag. I had stuffed it in there when we ran away from the screaming woman and baby.
Nothing ever happened by chance in the game.
“How about this?”
Alaria grinned – a real smile, not some seductive put-on. “That would be a good start – but what about my skin? It’s just a tiny bit redder than an average human’s.”
“I have an idea about how to deal with that. We just need to find a merchant.”
Lucky for me, the porno-theater-looking guy who’d sold me the bar of soap apparently wasn’t the religious sort, either. We found him outside the inn, hawking his wares to passing gamers.
I bought a sack of flour from him, and five minutes later we were out in the woods trying out my plan.
Alaria dipped her hand in the flour, then drew it out. Although her skin quite obviously looked dusty, the white powder hid a fair amount of the redness.
“Not bad – but what about these?” Alaria asked, unfurling her wings.
“I’ve got a plan for that, too.”
I used the bed sheet to strap her wings down, tying them as tight as possible to her back.
“Is this hurting you?” I asked.
She made a face as I knotted the bed sheet in front of her midriff, which pulled the wings down level with her shoulders. “I’m find with it if it helps me kill that bastard.”
“Just think of it as a sports bra for your wings,” I joked.
She looked at me, puzzled. “What is a ‘sports bra’?”
Oh yeah. They didn’t exactly have spandex and Lycra in this game world – and there was no reason for a succubus to wear one, anyway.
“It’s a piece of clothing women wear that straps their breasts down,” I explained.
Alaria looked absolutely horrified. “Why would they want to do that?!”
“So they can exercise.”
Another bewildered look. “Why would they want to do that?!”
“Not everybody has your perfect body.”
She shrugged. “Just tell them to sell their soul to a Hell Lord.”
“Half of Los Angeles probably would,” I muttered. “All right, let’s get you in the dress first, then throw a bunch of powder on you.”
“Even if I’m able to pass for human, what about him?” Alaria said as she pointed at Stig. “He can’t walk in there like that.”
I grinned and reached in my bag. “I have a plan for that, too.”
19
It was fairly easy to find the church – we just followed the only people on the roads who were dressed in farmers’ clothes. They were all headed towards a modest building on the edge of town.
It looked a lot like churches in the real world, except there was no steeple, and the symbol on top of the building wasn’t a cross, but a circle with a smaller circle overlapping it at the top. It looked like Chalastia was the goddess of Venn diagrams.
And so, as the sun went down and twilight fell, a Warlock, an imp, and a succubus found themselves in the house of the Goddess of Chastity.
The flour had worked out remarkably well on Alaria. Ever seen a movie where an aristocratic woman in 18th-century France looks ivory-white? That’s sort of what Alaria had going on. The white powder on her skin was obvious, but in the dim light it hid the red skin just enough to get by. Actually, it just made her look pink and dusty, but you had to take what you could get. Her black hair had been messed up by the flour as well, but she’d stuffed all her hair up into the milkmaid’s bonnet on top of her head.
Frankly, though, I was surprised they would let her inside the church of a goddess of chastity when she was spilling out of the top of the milkmaid’s dress. Like, literally. I think the bust size was about two cup sizes too small for her breasts, and her boobs were literally overflowing the laced bodice.
Not that I was complaining, mind you.
The only problem was, her wings being strapped to her back didn’t do her any favors. She looked like a cross between a hunchback and a Playmate who had been close to a grain mill when it exploded.
“I look hideous,” Alaria complained as we walked up the steps of the church.
“Not as hideous as our baby,” I said.
“Not nice, boss,” Stig grumbled.
He was wearing the baby’s dress and the grapefruit-sized bonnet on his head, with his long ears stuffed up inside. However, the clothes did nothing to camouflage his gray skin, his glowing yellow eyes, or his two slits instead of a nose. So I told him to keep his eyes closed (“Pretend you’re asleep”), and Alaria hugged him as close to her bosom as possible.
I would have given quite a bit of money to be in Stig’s position, but since he was an imp and not a human male, he didn’t particularly seem to be enjoying himself next to those heavenly globes.
As we entered the church, I saw dozens of farmers and their families packed tight on wooden pews. Many women were holding fussing babies. Children sat with bored expressions on their faces – and those who moved got a sharp rap on the back of the head.
So, basically, the worst church you can imagine, straight out of 1850’s America.
Up at the front was a raised stage with a wooden pulpit, just like anything you would
see back in the real world. Silk banners hung from the walls, emblazoned with the same circular symbols I’d seen on the roof outside the building. There were also a number of green boughs hanging on the wall, and some ceremonial copper bowls filled with water on a table at the front.
Torches flickered along the walls, casting the only light inside the dimly lit building. The gloom quickly deepened as the sun set outside.
“Now I know why so many people join organized religion,” Alaria muttered as she looked out over the hushed audience.
“Why’s that?” I whispered back.
“Because everybody’s having so much fun,” she said sarcastically.
Suddenly a chipper voice assaulted us from our left.
I looked over to see a middle-aged, short, fat, blonde woman in a dress that looked like she’d sewed it out of sackcloth.
“Welcome! Blessings of the Goddess be upon you! I…” She paused and looked at us in confusion. “I don’t think I know you.”
“We’re new in town,” I said with a forced smile.
Our blonde welcome wagon looked over at my ‘wife’ – or, more accurately, stared at her overflowing top.
“You are followers of the goddess Chalastia?” she asked doubtfully.
“Oh yes,” I said. “We love her.”
“All night long,” Alaria added with a simpering smile.
I elbowed Alaria lightly in the ribs to reproach her. Seconds later, I felt her tail whack me in the ass – which she only could have done if her tail was protruding beyond the hem of her dress. I just prayed to God – or whoever else was listening – that nobody had seen it.
Our chubby church greeter seemed a little taken aback by our lack of religious graces. “I see…”
Then she saw the baby clutched face-first to Alaria’s chest.
“Oh, you have a baby!” she cried out, suddenly much friendlier again. “I remember mine at that age! So cute!”
“Eh,” Alaria grunted unenthusiastically.
“Can I see the little darling?”
“He’s sleeping,” I said, hoping Stig would take the cue not to move or open his eyes.
No such luck. He shifted his head away from Alaria’s boobs and gasped. I couldn’t really blame him – he was probably being suffocated in her cleavage.