Precious Cargo - ch.1
Added 2017-07-15 01:06:32 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: So after going through a bit of a "commission tango" of people cancelling and resuming their orders like a kind of rotary musical chairs, I've started working on the 8th (!) chapter of Love and Sin, though it's going rather slowly due to me being in a little bit of a creative funk (and having just started replaying the first Baldur's Gate). Fortunately, lags like that are why we have various other content on the back-burner to upload.
This story was an old Master's Journey for someone who is no longer a patron here. It went for a few installments before ending, but seeing as it takes place in an original universe of mine -- Starlight and Lace's "Southworld" -- I've taken a bit of an interest in it and decided to brush it up. Will I give it another chapter and see where the intrigue of the first chapter leads? Quite possibly. I have too many ideas for it to drop it entirely.
Anyway, this chapter is primarily story and world-oriented, with only a bit of smut for those who are just out to fap. To fully understand the world and the recent events that have taken place there, I strongly suggest you read Starlight and Lace first, which in my opinion is a pretty good read and definitely worth your time if you haven't already checked it out. This has all been edited to read like a story instead of a CYOA, similar to the remastering treatment of Fuck Yeah Space, along with a boatload of editing help and tips from Darknest's Hoghog15.
With all that said, here we go!
[story] [trap solo] [anal masturbation] [edging]
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I nestle down a little into my cushion on the floor, flipping the page of my book to the side to reveal the next scene. While many other cultures had abandoned something as childish as the pop-up book long ago, we Vay had turned it into an art form: increasing the complexity and delicacy of the scenes they displayed, and eschewing text altogether for an entirely visual, three-dimensional, and portable experience known as daha stories. Certainly, they did see the most use by children and juveniles, the latter distinction I've only just barely escaped myself.
Nonetheless, it’s not a hobby I’ve ever felt pressured to abandon. Not looking away from the new scene that’s unfolded before me -- a depiction of a young female Vay dragoon battling against a majestic and betentacled monster with her lance -- I reach down and to my side, taking up the small silver skewer that comprises the majority of utensils in Endwood, spearing a little piece of food from the bowl sitting beside me. Leaning my lean, slight figure down and a little to the side, I open my mouth and stuff the little morsel inside. I immediately squeak with enjoyment as I chew into the light, fried cube of cheese, flipping the next page of my daha book.
“Are you ready to head out, young master L’a?”
I blink my big, sapphire-blue eyes, leaving the book open and quickly spearing another bite of food into my mouth before turning to face the source of the voice. A Vay man, one I’ve only seen a scarce few times in the past -- I know he worked with my sister, and was assigned to my vanguard regarding the journey ahead. His name was... Jahk, or, Jahn, or... yes, that was it. Jahn. Dragoon-turned-private-enforcer, big for a Vay.
“Can I finish the story, please?” I murmur up at him, deciding to ignore, for now, the man’s insistence on calling me ‘master’ rather than something nice, like ‘lady.’ I’ll let it slide for now, hopefully I won’t be with him for long.
“I’m afraid not. The helinauts that were sent out as a decoy have already set sail -- we need to get you on the caravan heading to Al’Karok within the hour, and that means you’ll need to get dressed.” He pauses, eyeing me up and down in a way that is hard to entirely figure out. “Properly dressed.” It could be judgment. It could be lust. I see both frequently enough that I'd think I could easily tell them apart, but still it eludes me.
I let out a little huff, carefully folding the book shut and getting up off of my little cushion. “Fine...” I sulk quietly, making my way towards the little alcove at the far corner of my room, a sort of walk-in closet that I hastily enter. “No peeking, okay? Pervert...” I grumble the last word under my breath, snapping the closet doors shut behind me and pressing my hand against a spongy, organic patch of wall at the entrance. It gives way and then clicks, activating a sequence of soft, phosphorescent lights that spread and glitter across the enclosed space, bathing me in a cool bluish glow.
Taking one more quick glance behind me, I wiggle my way out of my loose silk pants and the panties underneath, then tossing away my light, airy half-shirt along with them. My entire waifishly delicate, milky-skinned body now exposed, I sift through clothing, looking for something just defiant enough, something adorable yet classy.
Sorting through my clothes, I pick out a simple, creamy lilac minidress, pressed snugly around my completely flat chest, the bottom of it hugging to my cutely round, slim hips. Skimpy, but not too much so, the warm, pale fabric gives way to an open oval-shape around the stomach, showing off my narrow, streamlined torso, navel, and the delicate chain piercing that dangles from it. My thighs and legs, as well, are left quite exposed, the latter somewhat made more modest by my pair of fitting, violet lace stockings... but the wrong sitting position would become quite a lewd affair in record time.
Lacing up a pair of soft, black leather sandals, I quickly brush the snarls out of my straight, shoulder-length hair -- also a pale lavender color, complementing the dress -- and slip a dark purple hairband into it.
I brush myself off, looking towards the long, thin mirror at the edge of the closet and doing a little pose for it, grinning widely at myself. Skipping back out into the more spacious area of my bedroom, I nod to Jahn, who is packing a few of my things (along with some provisions) into a small, mauve backpack. “Took you long enough,” the ex-dragoon grunts, tossing the light bag towards me. I manage to catch it with a soft “ooph,” stumbling backwards briefly before swinging it over my shoulder. “You finally ready?”
“Ouh,” I murmur softly in my native tongue, the equivalent of a softer, more feminine ‘yes.’ The trip ahead is actually one I’ve been pensively excited for -- a trip by guarded caravan on a pilgrimage to one of the Dragon Shrines at the northern tip of Endwood, closest to the World Sea. The whole thing is being paid for and arranged by my older sister, who, for the most part, takes care of me. While I can’t be entirely sure whether she’s genuinely interested in letting me make the journey to the landmark that I’ve wanted ever since I was a little girl, or she just wants me out of her hair for a couple of weeks, it’s nonetheless a thrilling prospect.
“Good. Let’s get out of here. With the war still going on we don’t want to let the helinaut escorts get too far ahead of us.”
I nod, and follow behind the tall, armored Vay as Jahn descends the staircase down into the main atrium of my sister’s sizable manor, L’a Estate. Leaving the tower-like, organic structure entirely, he leads me towards the small, sleek caravan where I’ll be riding. “Jahn?” I murmur softly up at the guard as he starts opening the side doors for me to enter the automated, squat-legged vehicle. “How come you never tell me anything about the war?”
“If I wanted to talk about it I’d still be in it, Auralie,” Jahn grunts in my direction, then ushers me forward. A few more guards and private security pull up on their own mounts -- sleek, leggy, sure-footed reptiles known as draganna -- nodding to Jahn as I slide into the cozy, cushioned interior of the caravan. The door clicks shut behind me and I sigh softly, unslinging my pack from around my shoulder and opening it, fishing for my daha book.
As I open the pages again, trying to find my old place, I feel the caravan grind to life and start moving forward, its excessive number of stout, sticky, steam-powered legs allowing it to easily crawl and move along the cluttered, forested paths that constitute Vay highways. The way vegetation grew in this place, enough that most homes were composed of fungal or wood fibers, no amount of traffic was able to truly keep it down. Not that there wasn’t some strategic benefit to that -- typically, only Vay were able to competently traverse Endwood’s landscapes, making them exceedingly difficult to invade by land.
I let my mind drift away as I snack idly from a bag of chana nuts, slowly turning the pages of my storybook, the paper scenes flickering to life with each flip and showing a new chapter in the long story. A story of a strong, yet beautiful princess who learns to fight from a blind, grizzled old dragoon, meets the love of her life, and saves Endwood from an encroaching darkness. A story I’ve re-read time and again, imagining myself as the princess each and every time, no matter how much Jahn, my sister, and everyone else tells me that I shouldn’t. My mind wanders, and the clunky rhythm of the caravan starts to become more and more soothing, the sounds of squashing vegetation and hissing steam blurring out the sounds of chatter from the guards outside.
But, as the hours drift away, I find that a single storybook will not keep me all that entertained for a journey promising to take several full days of travel. I huff a dissatisfied breath out of my nose, rolling onto my stomach on the cushioned interior of the caravan, eyes open and gazing up at the wood-and-glass roof. I watch the darkness of snow-smattered trees rush past me for some time, hoping it might put me to sleep, or at least into some form of trance.
It does not, and boredom swiftly descends, rapidly reaching a point where it can no longer be ignored. My restlessness demanding that it be addressed, a playful idea enters my mind. I hold still and silent for a moment, listening to what’s going on outside. The sound of my carriage crunching over moss and vines, along with the sound of the vehicle itself, provide most of what I can hear, but there are a scarce few other sounds. Birds, perhaps, and the idle chatter of the guards escorting me to the Dragon Shrine. They’re preoccupied. Good.
I sit up a little more, cross-legged on the flat, cushioned interior of my carriage, and reach for my bag again. Sliding the daha back inside, I reach a little deeper into it, feeling around for the hidden pocket I myself stitched into the backpack’s lining. Inside I find my little secret, and bite my lip with anticipation as I draw it out of its case. Streamlined, slightly curved, and pale blue in color, this little toy has brought me through quite a number of lonely nights and feisty days alike, and since it seems like I’ll have plenty of time to enjoy it, it may be time for it to make a comeback.
Scooting back against the rear wall of the carriage, I chew idly at the inside of my cheek, already caressing one small hand up along the front of my tiny dress, pawing at my completely flat chest as my playful mood gets more and more insistent. Setting the toy down for just a moment, I spread my legs a little and pull my panties aside -- not removing them, simply displacing them just enough to expose my pale, delicate back entrance.
“Nnnn...” I coo lightly through pursed lips, toes curling a little into the cushions as I reach back for the toy, pressing the smooth, rounded tip of it against my back entrance. My slim, feminine dick remains hidden beneath my panties, but rapidly starts to grow stiffer as I tease my backside, making a cutely petite outline against the soft white fabric of my panties. “O-oh fuck,” I whimper quietly, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment as I start pressing the toy forward a little more insistently, my anal ring finally giving way after a long moment and the tip sinking inside of me.
Its texture is firm but a little pliable, rigid without being unforgiving -- my mind flickers back, briefly, to a memory: One of me stealing the toy from my sister’s secret drawer, the one she didn’t know I knew about. Hearing her stomp around the manor for the next few weeks had me in gigglefits so strong I could barely suppress them, but the whole thing had been worth it the first time I’d used the toy on myself. It had been amazing, the sensation of getting penetrated, that fullness and that feeling of submission, even if it was to my own hand. It symbolized a lot for me, and that moment had been decidedly... developmental in my attitude towards my own expression and identity. Thus, even if I had to keep it hidden, my little plaything was something I wouldn’t give up for the world.
Hitching the bottom of my dress up a little more, my cheeks begin to redden as I tease myself, shallowly rocking the toy against my backside a little more before starting to gradually ease it in deeper, my breath catching in my chest as I force it inside. I can feel the toy’s bulbous tip inside of me, stretching a little, though it doesn’t hurt in the slightest -- I’ve had plenty of practice with this specific implement that my body recognizes it, knows it. All I feel is pleasure, the rhythmic rocking and swaying of the caravan soothing me and letting me focus on that pleasure, that deep, swelling feeling inside of me that only grows more intense with each slow, deep pump of the artificial phallus into my tight, girly ass.
I do my best to stifle a moan as I take a firmer grip on the toy, not taking myself too roughly, but certainly not going easy any more either. I'm getting so incredibly stiff, it almost hurts, but just that tiny bit of denial is making me even hornier -- neglecting my boy-parts to be even naughtier as you drill my toy into my tight butt, all made and dressed up, the sluttiest little sweetheart with nobody to watch me.
Before long, though, temptation becomes too much for me to bear, and my free hand goes from hungrily pawing and rubbing along my flat, boyish tits, southwards -- tugging down the hem of my panties just enough so that the creamy tip of my rigid little member is exposed. I’ve already left a few wet spots on my panties from the precum, which turns me on even more as I start to gradually stroke my little cock, just big enough to get my hand around but achingly hard.
Gentle strokes become faster, now, my breath picking up, body tensing as I rapidly pump my hand across my cock, still sliding that toy in and out of my tight ass. The feeling is exquisite as I try to match my rhythm, biting my lip and feeling that strange pressure swelling up in my lower abdomen, that sensation that I'm about to blow, that I can’t take much more... and that when I do explode, it will be a truly scandalous thing. I might even ruin my new dress, and without my sister to buy me a new one? Why, I'd just have to keep wearing it. Imagine how... how naughty, that would be....
“NNnahh...~” I whine out, gritting my teeth in a last-minute attempt to muffle the sound, stroking faster and faster. My cock starts to throb harder and faster, and I can feel the muscles of my anus contracting hard around the slender toy that’s so ruthlessly abusing it, filling me up, making me want to squeal. My eyes open wide as I feel that burst coming any second, and--
“Hold there! What are you doing on this route?” Jahn’s voice, muffled by the walls of the carriage. The sound’s coming from outside, and I freeze in place, biting down on my lower lip, hand squeezing around my girly little cock to try to keep myself from cumming. I feel my dick swell and surge, trying to unload the climax I’ve coaxed out of it, but I do my best to prevent it anyway -- now tightly squeezing my thighs shut around it, the toy still buried in my narrow back hole.
“That should be obvious, wouldn’t you say, dragoon?” the other voice is feminine and most assuredly not Vay. It’s also audibly hostile. “You have cargo that now belongs to the Iron Academy.”
There’s a moment of tense silence, and I wince as I try to hold my climax back. One tiny jet of cum finally shoots out of me against your will, lacing itself shamefully across my face, but I still need to hold on tight to prevent any more from unleashing itself. I hear Jahn’s voice again, a strange combination of bravado and fear in his tone.
“I think you know better than to tamper with L’a family affairs. Our benefactor will stop at nothing to retrieve our... cargo,” he says. I can hear the other dragoons moving around, a few swords drawing. There’s a click of pistols, as well.
Then the woman’s voice again, her voice bearing a thick island accent. Not Estyan... something else. “I’m counting on it, fucker. Now give your dragoons the opportunity to run. I don’t suggest fighting.”
Before Jahn says anything I hear the sound of one, maybe two, of the other dragoons turning and making a break for it, back into the forest, back south. “Stand your ground, men!” I hear Jahn say. There’s more movement, more positioning, the readying of weapons.
“Very well. If you won’t give him to us, we’ll take him.”
The ensuing fight doesn’t seem to last at all as long as I imagine battles should. It isn’t the wide-scale, epic affair that I’ve read about in dahas or heard from bards. It’s short, and there’s a lot of screaming. There’s silence for a long moment then, and I find myself trembling, pressed against the back of the carriage, my thighs clenched tightly together and the hem of my little dress barely covering my throbbing cock, now as stiff from fear as it is from lust.
The silence continues for a long while, and my frail little body trembles, eyes clenched shut. Finally I hear that voice again, the woman’s. “Well, that was easier than I expected. Can one of you fetch me a pair of clean gloves?” There’s a murmured response, then a resolved sigh. “Well, I guess it’s time to see what we’ve won....”
There’s a creak, and the door to the caravan opens. The woman who won the battle -- who now owns me -- is Nathenet as far as I can tell. Diluted perhaps with some other blood, but I can definitely tell from her pale blonde dreadlocks, smooth reddish skin, and longish arms that she’s more Nathenet than anything else. A number of scars decorate her face and upper arms, and her left eye is concealed by a swatch of black cloth. From her makeshift array of skimpy robes of segments of leather armor, I have difficulty telling whether she’s a mercenary, assassin, or some kind of monk. Regardless, I have more pressing concerns at the moment.
“Well, look at what we have here,” she coos, her dour, blood-splattered expression lightening when she sees my waifish form cowering in the corner. “I thought we were coming for a boy, not a girl... although, judging from that tent in your dress, it looks like I might be wrong about that, too.” She grins widely, taking on a more relaxed posture with one arm leaning against the inner buck of the door. “Already have something in your ass, too. Keep that enthusiasm, sweetheart, you’ll need it.”
“W-who... who are...?” I stammer, wincing, still trying to stretch the fabric of my dress out to cover my activities prior to the attack.
“Who am I? Nobody to fuck with. I’m also the person who owns you now, for the time being at least. For the sake of cordiality, though, you can call me Ziah.” She pauses, accepting a pair of clean, fingerless white gloves from one of the shock platoon of Nathenet soldiers that are with her. Slipping them on casually, she turns her attention back to me. “And, if my information’s right, that makes you Auralie L’a. You have a very important family, cutie. Shame they got you into this mess.”
I shiver a little, curling up in the corner. I’ve never felt so scared in my life, and now, what the future holds is nothing but a terrifying mystery. I feel powerless, I feel vulnerable, and I'm lacking the information necessary to make any kind of competent play in this situation... but nonetheless, I need to decide how I'm going to deal with this situation.
I'm barely given a chance to pull my panties up and hide my toy back in my bag before I'm seized by a small contingent of Nathenet mercenaries. Squirming and whimpering weakly as I'm taken, they drag me from the comfort of my carriage and out into the rolling, starlit glades of Endwood. The thin, pale light from beyond the dense canopy of bluish, deciduous leaves kisses my exposed body, making my Vay skin naturally gleam beneath the cool, gentle rays.
“Wh-what are... what are you doing with... where are we going?” I stammer out shyly, trying to stumble to my feet as I'm rushed along, managing to almost sprint on my tip-toes as the mercs drag me along behind them. I turn my soft blue eyes back to Ziah, the woman who seemed to be in charge, silently pleading to her for some sort of an answer.
“We’re taking you to the fella who hired us,” Ziah grunts, following along slightly behind and wiping off one of her large, heavily-modified pistols with a clean white cloth. “And I think it’s pretty obvious why we can’t leave you in the same carriage that brought you this far.”
“I-it is?” I stammer, turning my gaze from the mercenary woman to my eventual destination -- another carriage, though distinctly dissimilar to the one that brought me here. This one is far, far larger, hooded by a shadowy cloth covering and quietly humming about two feet off of the ground. A hovercraft? My mind skims through old dahas I’ve read and stories I’ve heard, considering all I know of the Nathenet people, which is quite little. I remember stories of them being brash, wayfaring warriors of the sea and skies, only out of their element on solid ground. In that light, it rather makes sense that they’d bring a seafaring hovercraft to handle the rough terrain of Endwood.
“Considering that your caravan probably has some kind of fractal beacon tracking it, and can be easily recognized by anyone familiar with the L’a family? I’d say so. The insignia on the side kinda gives it away.”
I pause, looking back, remembering the symbol painted on the side of your carriage. Letting out a defeated little sigh through my nostrils, I turn back to the vehicle ahead of me. “Um... right,” I finally say, almost under my breath. “B-but, wait, what about, um...” I'm stalling, scrambling for something to say, something to ask, coming up with nothing. I'm not even completely sure what I'm buying time for -- my entire escort has either fled or been killed by these mercenaries. Nobody’s coming to save me, certainly not in the next few minutes.
“But um what?” Ziah scoffs, then gestures back to the hovercraft. “Load him on. Or is it her? You’re really gonna have to fill me in on all that once we get moving. I’m genuinely curious.” Stowing the cloth and holstering her gun, the mercenary hops onto the opened back side of the hovercraft, moving towards the front while the grunts beneath her load me on behind, then crawl in and seal the flap behind them.
The inside of the hovercraft starts to feel incredibly claustrophobic, or perhaps agoraphobic, or a strange blend of both. While the vehicle is large and spacious, constructed mostly of wood and some strange rubber derivatives, its inhabitants are quite large -- even Ziah, the only woman I see on board, looks to be over six feet in height. Quite the contrast from my slight, short, slender physique.
What it most assuredly is not, is as comfortable as the carriage that had been bringing me on my pilgrimage to the Dragon Shrines (which, against all sense of priority, I’d still really like to visit). Cushions are replaced with a hard leather seat, to which I'm strapped in place and my hands bound with strap of cloth, not too rough on my delicate skin, but with no give whatsoever. The entire process of seating me and binding me in place takes barely a minute -- clearly the process is a well-practiced procedure for these mercenaries.
I sigh as they begin to take seats of their own, a few hopping back outside to keep watch and escort the vehicle, and it begins to move. Gone is the rocking, lurching, crawling motion of my old Vay carriage, though; this thing moves smoothly, gliding across the rough, mossy pathways of Endwood in another direction that the one I'd been going in.
There’s quiet for a long time then -- well, sort of. I sit still and listen to the other Nathenet chatter amongst each other in a language I don’t understand, while Ziah sits towards the front of the vehicle, keeping an eye on the crude readout of its trajectory while she writes out some sort of letter. It takes around twenty minutes before my heartbeat slows down enough that I work up the courage to speak again.
“ZeE-- Ziah?” I call out, my voice cracking from unease, though I get it right the second time.
“Busy.” The woman states firmly, not looking up from her writing.
“What... um, what happens if I have to pee?”
The woman exhales through her nostrils, looking up at me through her one good eye, a clear, glassy violet color. “Fuck,” she whispers under her breath before speaking up. “You don’t have to pee, do you?”
“N-not really,” I murmur. “I just wanted to know. Because I did have a lot of tea earlier, and I don’t know how far we’re going, a-and--”
“You’ll pee when I say you pee, alright?” Ziah grunts. “There’s a neutral outpost near the edge of Endwood where we should be able to take a pitstop.”
I chew my lip quietly, squirming a little in my place before settling down again. I did get some information out of her, even if it means that the other Iron Academy mercs are giving me dirty looks now. The only “neutral outpost” within Endwood I can think of is Flatgrove, near the eastern edge of the territory. It may not be information I have any means of using, but it does give me something of a feeling of peace. I know where I'm going. That’s... something.
As the murmuring of the Nathenet resumes, I glance back in their direction. Their voices are more hushed now, and I start to reevaluate the looks they were giving -- are still giving -- me. No, not dirty looks at all. Hungry looks.
My eyes flicker from man to man, all of them imposingly large and all of them looking at me from their seats, their weapons beside them. One moves a large, dusky red hand over the front of his trousers, grinding his palm across his own crotch, his eyes fixated on me and causing me to shyly cross my legs, which... after a moment, I'm not certain was a great idea. It seems to rile them up even more.
Their grumbles rise into chatter once again, and I desperately wish I could understand them, though from what I can hear none of them speak a word of Vaya besides Ziah. They’re getting visibly riled up though, finally enough that Ziah lets out an exasperated sigh through her nose and turns from her note to look at the men. “If you want to fuck him, fuck him! Just shut up about it and let me finish this, alright? We need him alive and intact, nobody ever said unspoiled. So spoil away.” She pauses, glancing back to her note, then back up to me. “Sorry kid. Erm... have fun.”
My eyes widen as the Nathenet mercs start to unstrap themselves from their seats -- a few of them anyway. Three now standing, a fourth looking restlessly conflicted about the entire thing. One of them takes a step towards me, the one who’d been “brandishing” himself at me moments ago, his heavy boot thundering against the wood floor of the hovercraft as he starts teasing at the buckles of his gun-belt, eyes fixated on my girlishly slim, squirming figure. “Vay, girl,” he grunts in a very thick accent. “Err... Vay... toaster. Vay boy. Yayeyayeya. Use mouth on...” his eyes go unfocused as he thinks of the word, not finding it. He settles for cupping his hand back over his dick, which I can see swelling against the rough leather of his pants. “Using mouth. Or take behind.”
I swallow hard, gaze flicking from him, to the two flanking him. My throat goes dry and I don’t have many options at hand. What in Southworld am I going to do?