COMMISSION: The Untraveled Path

Author's Notes: The show must go on! Here's a li'l commission I just finished up! I was asked to make the setting 'gothic' so I gave it a spin, trying to make a conforming mood and language style, so this turned out a little different! Hope you all enjoy!

[Fu(xmany)/F] [more below]

_______________________________

Flakes of snow, like angel’s tears, scatter across the night sky above me, falling down in unceasing concord. Already, the ground beneath my booted feet is stiff and cold, encrusted with powdery ice, and the chill of winter air bites through my travel garments and into the bones beneath. That the most difficult part of my upcoming apprenticeship would be the journey into town, when no coach or carriage would dare fetch me through cold air and icy descent, was not a challenge I had foreseen.

Whether through determination or foolishness I set out nonetheless, insistent on not missing such a crucial opportunity to set the course of my own future. The air, when I’d left home, had been chill but not dire, and the wind quite still – but that had been then, and now, things were rather different. What gentle melt the sun had coaxed from snow already fallen had now grown hard and slick, and as day fell to night, the wind had picked up. Now, my fleece jacket, leggings, and gloves, warm as they are, do little to shield me from the penetrating claws of winter.

Forward steps grew slow and heavy as my strength began to leave me, legs aching as even the slightest of natural slopes grew treacherous with ice. I’ve not seen a tavern, nor even a cottage, for what feels like miles, and the seriousness of my error grows ever more crisp in my numbing mind. I would give anything, now, simply to stop, though it would mean never to wake. Bootfall after bootfall, though, the slow oblivion of a long, cold dream seems ever more the preferable mistress to the shivering anguish of my continued sojourn.

Whether the enchantment of a weary mind, or a sort of undeserved salvation, I am spurred forward by the glimpse of a warm orange glow, cutting through the dark silhouettes of leafless trees and the glittering white of fallen snow. It comes from ahead, and above, reflecting off the ice, like heaven opening its gates, and I follow. Step after step, mindlessly, I pursue the haze of heat and light, struggling onward as it grows ever more bright and bold.

As the trees part, my path leads me to a hilltop, itself surrounded by more hoary, dormant forest, but atop the hilltop itself is the source of that glow. It streams through countless windows, dotted along the complex face of an estate, or mansion – nearly a castle in its size and dark majesty. Many of its details are obscured in the gloom of night, but it is what the manor symbolizes that is most important, and that is deliverance.

My snowy dirt path gives way to uneven flagstone road as I draw near, finding its wrought iron gates ajar, as if beckoning me forward. More details of the mansion come into view as I approach, such as its slender, severe spires and chimneys, and the stone statues that stand silent sentinel both at its steps and upon its rooves. At a glance, I assumed they would resemble the animalistic grotesques so known for decorating the estates of the lordly, but upon closer inspection I find them anything but. They take the form of stone women, unclad and perfectly carved, frozen in various states of eternal dance. At the apex of the manor’s central roof, where a cathedral may bear a steeple, two such statues of greater size find themselves intertwined – not dancing, but embracing as eternal lovers, arms wound around one another as lips gently touch, a sapphic display made immortal in granite.

I seems impossible even for me to reach the colossal double-doors, but I do. Drawing gloved hands from cold pockets, I knock, and I wait, though only for a moment before desperation seizes me. Choosing to ask forgiveness rather than permission, I push firmly on the door, and find it unlocked, allowing me entry to this unanticipated safe haven.

At first, I cannot even feel the warmth coming from inside, can feel little beyond the soul-sapping chill already within me. I click the door shut behind me and stumble forward, steps clumsy and uneven, taking in the feast of dark visuals the manor has to offer. These are the first colors I’ve seen in some while, beyond the orange glow without – rich rugs of midnight blue line the floors, illuminated by lanterns in wall-sconces and a tremendous chandelier not so far in the distance. Portraits line the walls, largely of what I presume to be pallid ancestors, though I also spot pedestals sporting such trinkets as marble busts or chalices. There is no room for doubt that the owner of this place is someone of tremendous means, and I pray they see my trespass only as an amusing dalliance, rather than an offense.

“Can I be of help?”

Were I not already so numb from the cold, I would have been startled from my very skin when a voice sounds from behind me. I turn unsteadily to see a woman, uncertain how she managed to get behind me in the first place, finding her tall and of a quite lovely sort, dressed in the stockings and short dress of a servant. Black hair is bundled into multiple tails, cascading elegantly around slender shoulders, her skin milky and eyes an innocent clear blue.

“I’m very sorry, I… yes. I want only shelter from the cold, I did not mean to intrude.” I stammer, but she offers an understanding nod.

“Let me take your coat, you must be deathly chilled. I’ll take you to see the Lady right away; I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you,” she smiles, slipping behind me to coax my jacket down from around my shoulders, and it’s only now that I feel the warmth from the mansion’s interior begin to seep past my skin. I’m left in a short, dark tunic, clinging to only modest curves, but only now am I growing confident that I may survive the night.

The servant leads me deeper into the estate, though not terribly so before I find myself in a sort of banquet hall. This is even more brightly lit, with ever more rich blue carpets and tapestries – along with who I may only assume is the ‘Lady’ spoken of, this place’s patron.

“Ahh, there you are,” she says, gliding towards me as if not using her feet at all. She’s frightfully tall, moreso than the average man, wearing a flowing sable dress that glimmers scarlet in candlelight. She, like her servant (and rather also like myself), is of a wintery countenance, though somewhat more ethereal in palette and demeanor – I swear I can see glimmers of opalescent blue and violet along her throat and temples, her eyes the color of a rich port, hair and lips as the very blackest coal. She lights a hand on my shoulder as she approaches, her touch warm and strong, gaze cast quickly down to meet my own. “I’m so glad you managed to arrive before being claimed by the cold. Please… make yourself at home in the manner. Azalea, fetch her wine and lamb.” She waves a hand at the maid, shooing her off, and she silently flees to do as she was asked.

“Thank you,” I say softly, still shaking off my final few shivers. “You have a beautiful home… w-what do I call you?”

“I have gone by a few names,” the woman says, offering a vague smile. By the time she can finish her answer, a brass cup of warm, spiced wine has been placed in my hand – not by Azalea, but by another servant, identically clad and groomed but a hair taller and more swarthy. “Call me Eisheth, if it pleases you.” She gestures to one of the many vast, prepared tables of this feasting hall, upon which already lays a hot, decadent meal.

“Eisheth, then,” I stammer slightly.

“Eat, sweet traveler… and tell me your own name.”

I hesitate only for a moment, sitting at the table and picking up a beautiful silver fork, taking in an eager mouthful of hot braised lamb, then a swig of the wine I’d been given. “Ophelia,” I confess. “I was heading to the city for an apprenticeship, but hadn’t realized how dire the weather would become.”

“Apprenticeship?” the woman purrs, sliding close behind me, setting a hand on the back of my chair. The way she looms over me makes me a little uncomfortable, but something about her presence is… soothing, almost enchanting, like I couldn’t protest to her even if I chose to.

“As a scribe,” I answer, taking another few quick bites, letting the warm food thaw my icy veins. “I’m able to read and write, and was told I could serve in the observatory, gain some higher learning in the philosophies. I wonder, now, if I’ll arrive in time… but it’s better late than not at all.”

“There’s no time for such troublesome thoughts,” Eisheth lets out a rolling coo, sitting coyly at the edge of the table, watching me as a hunting cat may watch an unsuspecting beetle. “It already grows late. Eat, drink to your heart’s content, then follow one of my servants to a room – we’ll see you into dry clothes and a warm bed, shall we not?” Despite framing her words as a question, they leave little room for argument, her voice bearing a gentle authority along with an unusual accent I’ve never before heard. Nonetheless, I nod, offering my gratitude as she slips away.

I take some time to relax, eating and drinking, letting the cold seep slowly out of my body as I’m nourished by Eisheth’s hospitality. I also grow somewhat inebriated, wondering if the wine was fortified by more than just spices, but the cozy glow that it fills me with is certainly worth a slight loss of senses. When it’s clear that I’m done, another of the Lady’s servants offers to lead me to a room, and I graciously accept.

It’s up a few flights of spiral stairs, and the room itself is wondrously lavish, larger than some homes I’ve lived in and doubtless worth far more. A four-post bed of tremendous size dominates the place, along with a wardrobe, window, and small table – it’s clear that this is intended for guests, and has been upkept without being lived in. A hamper for my wet clothes sits nearby, and a transparent gown lays on the bed, and suddenly I find myself eager to get out of my travel garb and into something more luxurious than I’ve ever worn before.

By the time I can offer thanks and farewells to the servant, she’s already gone, the door shut behind her, giving me privacy at last. I let out a deep breath, and finally remove my boots and top, beginning to shimmy my trousers down past the flare of my hips, my lack of undergarments leaving me imminently nude. I take only a moment to pause and reflect, considering what may have happened tonight if I’d not so fatefully stumbled into this place. I slip into the little gown, finding that it fits as if tailored for me – it’s clean, dry, and pretty, perhaps the softest fabric I’ve ever touched.

“It looks lovely on you.”

I gasp and turn around, finding none other than Eisheth in the room with me. The door behind her remains closed, though I have little time to wonder how she managed to approach without me hearing her. “My lady!” I say nervously, “I… didn’t realize you planned to check in on me. How long have you… been there?”

“Long enough,” the woman says, drawing closer, reaching out to gently take my chin between her fingers, tilting my head up so that my eyes can meet hers. They bore into me, transfixing me with their dark, vivid colors and fierce, regal intensity. “You’re quite beautiful.”

“I… I a-apologize for my immodesty in your home, I only meant to change into the gown you provided.”

“And I’m pleased that you did.” Her hand caresses down my side, to my hip, and I shiver visibly. Her touch is… strangely intoxicating, dominating, irresistible. I find myself almost as if in a dream, my thoughts and actions not entirely my own. My eyes drift down, if not terribly far, past her throat and to the woman’s bosom, her dark dress offering a lush valley of cleavage to drown my thoughts in. Why am I thinking these thoughts at all, though? Of course the Lady – Eisheth – is undeniably beautiful, but there’s something more than that. Her touch, even these small, innocent ones, draw my mind to how it might feel to touch her back.

Almost without thinking, I do so, moving my hand up to one of her hips, feeling the smooth tautness of her body, letting out a soft, shuddering breath. “I apologize,” I whisper, not moving my hand away.

“Feel no need to,” Eisheth whispers back, drawing ever closer to me, our bodies nearly touching now. “I have given you food, drink, and shelter from the cold. I would also give you pleasure… if only you ask.”

I find myself frozen for a moment – not taken aback, but merely paralyzed by the eager bluntness of the Lady’s statement. Moreso, I find myself coming only to a single answer, as if any alternatives had scrawled themselves from my thoughts, melted away like ink on burning letter. Yes is the only answer I know how to give, though not out of obligation or gratitude, but a deep, intoxicating desire, flaring to life within me where I had never known it to be. “Do whatever you like to me,” I coo softly, my free hand finding Eisheth’s other hip. I lean up slightly, barely at the tip of my toes, and press my lips tenderly against hers.

In a moment, everything seems to shift, like giving her my ‘permission’ has given her a sort of control over me that she did not already possess. Her lips meet mine, and we share a long kiss – but by the time we part, I find myself no longer standing. Rather, I am flat on my back on the bed, arms and legs splayed, the bottom of my nightshirt lifted as Eisheth dots kisses up along my thighs, to my hips, to my stomach, drawing the garment away bit by bit as she does so. I feel lips and tongue at my now-exposed breast, only a subtle swell in comparison to her own fuller figure, and a moment later the gown has been removed completely, leaving me bared to the bewitching creature who now looms above me.

I meet her eyes again, only scarcely noticing that she, too, has managed to disrobe without my knowing. Those eyes – such a curious off-red color, or so they had been, now showing off a hazy internal light, hypnotizing, tantalizing, orchids carved from glowing acid. Poisonous, intoxicating, sorcerous. It is now, as she kisses me again, and I feel her breasts press against my own, that I begin to indulge the fantastic delusion that Eisheth is not entirely human, that she is an eldritch presence in an equally foreign environment, and that I have been spirited forth to a place of which dark tales are told. It all seemed to happen so fast. I do wonder if the snowstorm has carried me to some lower plane, that I perhaps did not survive the cold at all, but it is a question for which I have no answers, nor mind to conjure them.

There’s a shudder, a flinch of uncertainty as I feel something warm press against me, something I’d not noticed in the dreamlike haze of Eisheth’s embrace. Even as she continues to kiss me, I feel it – thick and hard, burning hot, pressing against my lower belly. One hand trails down to explore it, finding it shapely and cylindrical. “You have…?” I whisper uncertainly, gripping my fingers around it, growing more confident that the Lady does, indeed, have a penetrative member… and quite an impressive one.

“I do, little lost thing,” she purrs back, nibbling at my lip as she rolls me gently onto my side, sidling up behind me, causing my heart to suddenly begin to pound, “and it is all for you, tonight… and as many more as you’d like.”

I swallow hard as her fingers press against me, though not against the entrance I’d expect. My womanhood has already grown soaked by my heated contact with Eisheth, but it goes neglected as if it were not present at all, her fingertips teasing against my backside. “What… w-what are you…? Nnh…” I suck in a breath through my teeth, but find myself unable to truly protest – though the Lady’s choice of entrance is unexpected, it is nonetheless thrilling, and I let out a soft whimper as her fingers push deeply into me.

“Some paths are better off untread,” she says cryptically, nibbling at my ear from behind. “Let me show you the path I prefer.”

I wince as her fingers push deeper into my rear, two at first, though a third slender digit finds its way inside of me. I bite hard at my lower lip, shivering as Eisheth’s lips find their way to one of my nipples, sucking tenderly at it as she pleasures me from behind. It is only now that I begin to sense that we are not alone, my thoughts returning to me enough that I can look once again around the warm, opulent bedroom. Surrounding us, waiting patiently, are Eisheth’s servants, four in total that I’m able to count. Their uniforms and grooming is all near-identical, with short dresses and hair styled into a coif of slender tails, though there are physical distinctions between them. They are closer to my height than Eisheth’s towering stature, with some variance, their hair ranging from black to red but complexions spanning the breadth of Europe and the Mediterranean.

“Why… why are they here?” I ask tentatively. Questions are bubbling up before they have time to be addressed, though I confess I find myself excited.

“They won’t do anything they aren’t asked,” Eisheth assures me, free hand caressing along my side as her fingers push deeper – then, suddenly, slide out of me entirely, leaving me empty and tingling. “But with their aid, I can push you to your limits, show you the edge of pleasure.” She punctuates her statement by pressing something back against my backside, no longer fingers but something assuredly larger and firmer, something that pulses in its yearning to be within me. My breath catches in my chest, but I glance over my shoulder, offering the Lady a cautious nod.

Being the shy girl from a small village, ever buried in my books and scrolls, I’ve never found myself in a position to be made love to – much less in so profane a way – but find myself ever more eager to feel her inside of me. Though my womanhood cries out for attention, there is a distinct thrill in its neglect, the thought that Eisheth knows what my body needs more than it does. I gasp as I feel her crown press against me from behind, biting back a rising squeal in my chest. There’s a moment of discomfort, then something very intense… and after a moment, I feel my backside swallow her, letting her throbbing member slide in deeper than her fingers ever could have. I tremble, holding my breath as I grow accustomed to the size of her inside of me, my senses melting as I give in to her. It’s only a moment before Eisheth begins to shift her hips forward and back, pushing that thick pillar of rosy flesh deeper into me, sliding outward before driving back inside, filling me, letting the warmth of her eager shaft radiate out through my body. “U-unh…!” I gasp, nails clutching into the bedsheets as I reflexively press myself back against her, growing quickly captivated by the sensation of her steely member buried inside of me.

“There you are… you’re adapting,” Eisheth whispers, kissing the corner of my lips. “And so quickly, too. Perhaps I’ll call for assistance sooner than expected.” I’m not sure what she means – not yet, anyway – but I cooperate with her as the Lady lifts me upward, shifting in place and setting me firmly on her lap, facing towards the door. I let out a hiss of pleasure as I feel her become planted more deeply in my rear, filling me so intensely, and I once again glance at the maids surrounding us… only to discover something new and unexpected. Like Eisheth herself, each of these servants sports an erect penetrative member, not quite so large as the Lady’s but plenty imposing. They’ve all begun to shyly stroke themselves, dresses in various states of dishevelment, a breast or thigh exposed here or there, faces growing flustered as they watch their mistress so confidently claim my most sacred of holes.

“Assistance…?” More questions bubble to mind, but fade before taking form. Eisheth is already doing quite a lovely job on her own, thrusting ever deeper inside of me, making me squirm with unexpected pleasure. Though, I suppose, my womanhood remains unattended – perhaps the assistance is for my benefit, and the servants will see to my other needs? I would not have thought myself as open to being the center of this sort of attention, but as my own restlessness and desire builds, I strangely look forward to it.

One of the servants is already crawling towards me, though, tossing aside the remnants of her dress to reveal only stockings and a few curious tattoos beneath. She leans close to me, her forehead close to mine, lips not quite within kissing distance as she situates herself between my spread legs. For a moment, I assume my prediction to be true, that she intends to fill my currently-unused passageway and maximize my pleasure… but I am quite incorrect.

“The true path does not become untrue merely because it grows more heavily traveled,” Eisheth whispers in my ear. It’s only a moment before I take her meaning, as the maid over me presses not into the dripping sheath of my girlhood, but against the entrance just below, already occupied by Eisheth herself. I suck in a deep breath as it seeks and finds purchases, breaching my backside despite no space being clearly available for it. The intensity of what I’ve been feeling is, appropriately, doubled, my rear passage struggling to stretch and accept the second heated shaft, clearly challenged by the task – though through a mist of discomfort and excess, there is a clear, pure note of pleasure that rings out within me, something that not only endures this type of improper handling, but revels in it.

“Ghaah!” I gasp out, clenching my teeth tightly shut as I adjust to this new rhythm of thrusting, one member sliding back and forth against the other, one always deep within me while the other retreats for a renewed assault. I glance back over my shoulder at the Lady, and meet her gaze, wondering what devilry she’s woven that our relationship has been so irrevocably transmuted. Still, those blazing, unnatural eyes, so dark and yet so enchanting. I do not resist as her lips meet mine for another kiss – though in the periphery of my gaze I can sense more of Eisheth’s servants crawling up onto the oversized bed, discarding bits and pieces of their uniforms.

They descend upon me like vultures. I can feel lips and fingers exploring every little part of me, even though my focus is elsewhere, and after a moment more I find both of my hands occupied with yet more of these thick, turgid columns of glistening flesh. As if by instinct I begin to stroke and caress them, taking another into my mouth while my backside is treated to a deep, fervent reshaping by two of them in similitude. I am as a tandem bicycle, carrying two riders despite a lack of additional wheels.

It is somewhat difficult, in all this increasing tangle of limbs, to gather my bearings – as more bodies insert themselves into the scenario (and into me), so too must things shift and cavort to include them. I find myself shifted about, feeling one of those thick shafts slip free of me as I’m twisted about, and after a moment I find myself in a very different position. Now, I find myself sitting up, straddling Eisheth’s waist, her member still buried so deeply inside of me. I can gaze upon her more easily, this way, her gaze holding mine as her servants surround us, caressing, prodding, kissing, licking, sucking. I wince and let out a groan of pleasure as the second rod pushes back inside of me, overfilling me once more, and I reach out to take one of those glistening shafts in each hand, stroking gently back and forth.

The Lady’s words are beginning to make sense – my back entrance is one that, my entire life, I have eschewed as a potential source of pleasure, a path that I had not dared tread, to my own detriment. Now, I am being taught its value, taught to walk a different path, and to devote myself to that path, my resolution forged in the flames of excess and climax. “My… m-my ass…!” I gasp between licking and sucking on one of the throbbing meat-staves before me, rocking my hips forward and back, strangely eager for more, as if my limits had not yet met their true test. It is a lustful fervor, a sin-drunk hunger that Eisheth reads as easily as words upon a page.

She sits up, draping her arms loosely around my waist. I turn slightly from the servant I’d been ‘servicing,’ and the moment the girl’s member leaves my lips, they are seized by the Lady in a long, adoring, possessive kiss. “Take more, Ophelia,” she whispers, thrusting deep inside me, making my toes curl and knees weak, a spasm of pleasure slithering through me, a murmur of impending climax. “Find divinity. Find me.”

Find her…? What does she mean? I kiss her back, but present neither inquiry nor debate – shuddering as one of the myriad servants squirms beneath me, a third prospective ‘traveler’ upon my path. I know it is dire folly to welcome her, but desire triumphs, as it so often does, over logic. I offer no resistance as I feel the third shaft prod against my back passage, the neglect of my more proper, womanly entryway now given way to open mockery. Ever more, though, I experience a swelling thrill as my drenched petals are abjured in favor of the quivering, overfilled tunnel of my other hole.

“Ahhn… ffhh-h-h, nggahhh…!” I wail out as I feel the third shimmering pillar of flesh push into me, gliding past the inherent resilience of my backside as if utterly undeterred. I feel it slide in, feel its depth and girth, feel the way it forces me to contort and adapt. I can scarcely wrap my thoughts around the idea that not one, but three steely members are buried inside of my rear, submerged in a place never before explored, an intrepid expedition to a deep and hallowed place. I cry out, not in pain but in unexpected joy, feeling the quivers of release dancing up and down along my skin like serpents of lightning. Muscles contract, and I feel the sheen of sweat along my skin. An orgasm, but which? Merely a spike along a long chain of these waves of pleasure, or the turning point where my pleasure finally reached its peak? Have I, along with these three travelers, reached the summit of the path Eisheth set me down?

Then, there are no more thoughts, only actions, only sensations. The increasingly crazed thrusting inside of me, my own frantic gripping and stroking of the shafts that surround me. I feel a bolt of something hot and creamy hit the side of my face, a reward for my dedication, my own pleasure continuing to mount. I feel one throbbing member unload its sticky gift inside of me, sliding free, only to be replaced by another. Three, I do believe, is my realistic limit, but the Lady and her servants ensure that I remain at that limit… the ‘edge of pleasure,’ as Eisheth herself had described it. Climax after climax wracks me, leaving me feral and feeble-minded as I surrender to total anal euphoria. Another few hot shots of creamy seed lace across my chest, then yet more across my face, but I persist – I grab, suck, and thrust myself against anything that comes near me, and never wonder how many servants Eisheth has under her employ. All I want is this, to reap the rewards at the end of my long journey, sheets of snow still descending beyond the bedroom’s massive rear window.

More thick, bubbling seed pumps into me, beginning to dribble free of my ravaged rear, my head filled with the moans of Eisheth and her maids, only my own elysian wails breaking through the living, breathing wall of sound. Finally, the Lady herself releases her torrent of warm, sticky cream into me, holding my gaze all the while, and I throw myself down to her, locking lips once more in a long, dream-like kiss. An emptiness I’d never understood has now been filled, and I find in that fullness a sense of near-spiritual devotion. I kiss her again, and again, quivering as rod upon rod finally finishes and slips free of me – leaving me, finally, empty, my backside reformed as a yearning, dripping cavern, not yet able to close itself of its own muscular volition.

I pant softly, eyes drifting shut, letting the ache of excess sink at last beneath my skin. I cling to Eisheth, not letting her leave, though she never makes the attempt. She understands that I belong to her, now, my savior and guide. Why go to town and become a scribe, when I can remain here, in this mansion, in the long, deep shadow of my conqueror?

_______________________________

[gangbang] [anal/DAP/TAP] [light mind control(?)] [oral/handjobs] [bukkake] [light D/s]