Scryer as Fuck - ch.3

Author's Notes: More of this one, what is getting to be one of my favorite things to write. Building up more characters and possible obstacles, so I'm hoping we can get some more cool story stuff when the next chapter finally comes around. Enjoy!

[story] [futa/f] [grinding] [anal toy] [piercing (pretty tame)] [weak dick/cum]

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It takes a while for me to catch my breath, after... what happened. Not climaxing makes things worse, and I quietly curse myself for not even being able to get a single measly erection in what will probably be the only time in my life that I’ll be with two beautiful women, regardless of whether or not one of them happens to be weird as fuck.

My body tingles and hums with pent-up lust and I feel my dick flex weakly between my thighs before toppling again, a pitiful little death throe of its general failure to perform in any way. I let out a long, slow sigh and sit up on the bed after what feels like an eternity of quietly coming down from my anxious sexual high and contemplating my situation.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Ni’mea murmurs from my side, and it dawns on me just how little time has passed, how little has happened. I’m still in my bed, while the kaldorei girl has curled back up on her own, still naked as the day she was born, though she’s recovered from our “playtime” faster than I did. Now, she’s set herself to what appears to be sketching or scribbling something, a little pad of papers in front of her and a stick of charcoal between her now-blackened fingertips.

I inhale slowly, and nod. “Yeah, yeah I did.” I withhold the sort of that drifts past my mind. Nim has enough problems without feeling rejected by me. I can feel an anxiousness inside of me, a new kind of frustration. Typically I alleviated my natural urges for sex by trying not to think about it -- now, that was impossible, but my lack of release had remained very much intact. Still, I had had fun. Sort of.

“Auntie will probably, um...” the pale elf licks her lips and looks up at me, tilting her head slightly. “You’ve been making Auntie wait a long time.”

“What, five minutes?” I balk, but I start getting up anyway, wandering to my makeshift, actual-hole-in-the-wall closet and starting to look for the clothes I had with me when I got here. There are a few towels, but I ultimately find the “wardrobe” empty of anything I can actually wear. “Um... Nim?”

“Your garments have been reclaimed,” Nim says distantly. It’s already starting to get frustrating, the way she can answer my questions before I ask them, like she can read my mind. Then again... it would explain a lot about her, wouldn’t it? “Auntie likes to remove the girls who come here. Replace them. Who you were, she discards. Leaves someone else.”

“That’s... creepy. I see she failed with you, though.”

To my cold horror, Ni’mea doesn’t reply, doesn’t agree, but just remains silent. The sound of her charcoal scribbling along the paper becomes the only sound in the room for a long moment, and I finally break the silence by asking a different question. “You don’t have any clothes that would fit me, do you?”

“Go as you are,” the elf says softly, her dreamlike voice remaining even and showing not the slightest sign of her being agitated by what I’d said. “Auntie will find something for you.”

I exhale through my nostrils; something told me she’d say something like that. Well, I knew I’d have to get more comfortable being naked in public at some point. I guess I just have to start earlier than I’d thought. Straightening my back, I notice my tail lashing behind me of its own accord, a physical manifestation of my anxiousness that I’m having difficulty quelling. “Alright, well... see you when I do, I guess.”

Ni’mea doesn’t reply, but as I walk past her to head for the door I do see what she’s been drawing, despite immediately trying to forget it. The drawing seems to be nonsense at first, swirls and swirls of blackness forming a deepening, darkening spiral. Only after I’ve moved on do I realize that the little marks at the core of the spiral were rows of teeth. It does make it a little easier for me to bring myself to leave the relative comfort of my -- our, I guess -- room.

The smell of cheap incense hits me again when I go out, finding myself in a hallway with darkly-stained wooden walls and red, carpeted floors, dimly lit. A few paintings or even actual photographs line the walls, mostly pinups of beautiful young elven women, all taller and bustier and sexier than me. They sport delicate, hairless pussies or thick, virile dicks -- both draw a spark of envy but only the latter gives me a jolt of shame that I don’t need any more of. In my current state of nudity, the constant reminder of my limp, lima-bean sized dick is plenty to keep my cheeks darkened with embarrassment. But the show, sadly, must go on.

I’m actually rather proud of myself for managing to find the entrance on my own, not to mention stealthily avoiding the other girls and patrons alike moving to and fro through the establishment, but I fall still and silent when I hear voices coming from where I’d expected Madame Valentine to be. One of them is familiar, belonging to the sin’dorei madame herself, but the other is most assuredly the accent of a draenei... not something I’d expected to hear in Scryer territory.

“I assure you, there’s no problem at all,” I hear Valentine’s voice say. Sidling up beside a wall adjacent to the main parlor area, I peek around the corner. It’s her alright, and a female draenei -- tall and imposing in a full set of black armor, the dark plates hugging to her impressive curves. Her skin is nearly as pale as mine, her hair long and snow white. Not a vindicator, for certain. Nothing I’m familiar with, actually -- what kind of draenei carried herself in such an intimidating way? “We completely respect the boundaries of your... faction. Saffron Paradise is but a simple house of comforts, we play no part in politics, especially not those so tense as the relationship between Aldor and Scryer.”

“Let us hope that’s the case,” the draenei woman growls. There’s a clink of metal as her gauntleted hand curls into a fist, then loosens, her eyes narrowing at Madame Valentine. “If it does turn out that any Aldor have... vanished, at your establishment, then mark my words. I shall-- who is this?”

It’s as if each and every bone in my body has turned to solid ice as the dark-armored draenei’s gaze flickers to me, seeing me peeking from around the corner and locking her cold eyes onto mine. “You told me not a single Aldor resided in your house of comforts, Al’thessa.”

Following the draenei’s gaze, Madame Valentine turns to look at me, a sudden scowl on her face. Clearly I’ve arrived at an... inopportune, time. “She’s one of mine, here of her own volition. Just because she is draenei does not mean she is of the Aldor.”

“Yet you keep her naked, as a pet on a leash. Tell me, why is that?”

“I-I, I just, um--”

“She’s being fitted for new ones,” Madame Valentine interrupts me before I can say a single incriminating thing. “She’d be cleaned and dressed now if not for this... unannounced arrival. She’s been fully registered with Scryer censuses. Like it or not, she’s one of ours.”

My throat goes dry as I watched the draenei woman’s gaze turn from me, back to the madame -- but this time she takes a step forward, extending one gauntleted hand to take Madame Valentine’s chin, tilting the elf’s head upward to gaze darkly into the redhead’s eyes. “I’d advise you to learn to speak to me differently, Scryer. I can make your world a very, very dark place to live in, should I choose to.” The world seems to go still as I watch the long, silent exchange of gazes between the two, though to her credit, Madame Valentine never backs down, never flinches.

“I’ll endeavor not to,” she finally whispers back.

Another moment of silence, and the draenei releases Valentine, turning halfway to leave before her gaze settles on me again. She weighs me with her eyes, measures me, judges me. Finds me wanting. “You can keep her, if she really is a traitor. Whatever that frail little thing is, she isn’t draenei. Maybe a Scryer whorehouse is the right place for her.” She exhales through her nostrils and turns to leave completely this time, offering one last dark warning as  her armored hooves clunk their way down the crimson carpet. “I’ll expect my payment by the end of this week, Al’thessa. Not a single day late.”

With that, the woman finally leaves, and the air seems to grow warmer with her departure. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, hiding somewhat behind the corner of the wall again and watching Madame Valentine, keeping my eye on her body language. It takes a few moments for her focus to fade, for her shoulders to slump back to a relaxed position, and she turns her ruby-lipped, smokey-eyed countenance back to me. “I hope you don’t end up being a problem for me, little draenei.”

“I didn’t mean to be,” I murmur under my breath.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t mean to be. I didn’t think... I mean, I didn’t even know the Aldor had... whatever she is. What was she, again?”

“She’s new,” Valentine sighs, walking back over to me and laying one hand lightly on my shoulder, guiding me out of the main parlor and towards a spacious hallway leading towards one of the side wings of Saffron Paradise, a place I have yet to explore in any capacity. “An Aldor ‘Inquisitor,’ whatever that means. Her name is Zorah... I didn’t think the draenei were even capable of employing such a creature as her.”

Quietly rethinking my decision to join the Scryers at all, I follow Valentine into a bigger room that’s a bit less polished, a bit less decadent, as the rest of the building. This is a place of small hallways and semi-closets, a place of wardrobes and workbenches. Paint splatters and the smell of nail polisher remover dominate this place. It’s also one of the few places I’ve seen with people in it -- several other girls working for Valentine are working on sewing new outfits, trying on different wigs, practicing dance on a lacquered hardwood floor that takes up the upper-right-most corner of the room, or in the case of one goblin girl, rigging together what appears to be some kind of self-rotating hand grips for pole-dancing.

“But enough of that,” Madame Valentine sighs, leading me towards the back wall of this new wing. I feel her hand slide down the small of my back to give my ass a soft squeeze as she sits me down in a large, high, and fairly comfortable chair, suspended with springs and metal to keep it aloft. “Are you ready for your makeover?”

“Make... over...?”

“Come now. I know you’re new, but I like to think you aren’t dense. I can’t sell you if you’re, just... the way you are, now can I?”

“Um. Maybe.” Probably not. My lank brown hair and general lack of any noticeable physical characteristics (excluding the obvious embarrassment of my dick) are unlikely to draw the attention of any wealthy patrons, not when there are other girls to pick from.

“Oh, honey,” the elf sighs, pulling a lever at the side of the chair a few times to sink me downward, enough that I’m about eye-level with Madame Valentine once again. “Now, since I don’t see why I shouldn’t continue your... ‘training,’ while I work on your look...” she turns, calling out a name I don’t recognize. After a moment, the call is answered, and “Jidda” comes scampering over to the two of us, wiping sweat from her green brow.

Jidda’s the goblin girl I noticed earlier, and while she’s definitely pretty in that hippy, short-stack sort of way, she’s out of place here. Simple pigtails and an outfit consisting of a lot of oil-stained leather and not the tiniest amount of lace makes her seem much more like a mechanic than a stripper. “Whatcha need, Auntie?” she squeaks in a thick accent that, extremely similar to the Bilgewater goblins that recently joined the Horde, but just a little bit... “off.” Gadgetzan, maybe? I’m going with Gadgetzan.

“Fetch me that little seat application you made for me, will you darling?” Valentine says, caressing the goblin’s cheek in a way that blurs motherly and romantic. Jidda nods, quickly scurrying back to the workbench she’d been at before and returning with what looks like a strap-on dildo -- though with only two visible straps and a lot more... parts. Lifting both of my legs a little and propping them on the arms of the chair, Madame Valentine grins widely as she straps the toy onto the seat itself, so that the shaft of it points directly upward, and drizzles a little bit of lubricant onto it from a flask at her hip.

Flicking a switch at the bottom that makes the thing start to frantically vibrate, “Auntie” turns her grin back up to me. “Have a seat, sweetheart.”

“Um--” I start to say, but then wince as Madame Valentine tilts the head of the toy downwards so that it rests against my asshole, the slickness from the lube allowing about an inch of it to ease into my pale hole.

“Have a seat,” Valentine says, more firmly this time. I bite my lip and close my eyes, sitting down fully again and gasping out as I feel myself get filled up by the sizeable toy, spearing its way into me as I sit down all the way in what would have otherwise been quite a comfortable leather seat. “Good girl.”

I grit my teeth, letting out a few puffs of breath and making a strained “Nnnnghhh” noise as I feel vibration start to flood invasively through my body. My arousal from earlier -- that which had been efficiently quelled by the encounter with Zorah -- flares back to life immediately, and my fingers clutch into the arms of the seat. Stirrups hold my hooves snugly and keep my legs spread apart, giving Madame Valentine a good view of my stuffed white anus and my flaccid dick, laying inert against my stomach as I recline.

After a few moments of squirming in my seat and trying to adjust to the hefty, buzzing toy buried to the hilt up my ass, I feel both Valentine’s and Jidda’s eyes on me -- specifically on my dick, which lays entirely at peace on my stomach. “Wow, uh... don’t think I’ve nevah had a chick get not hard before. Not with the Dildomatron in,” the goblin murmurs, narrowing her eyes and leaning in a little to get a better look.

“Let’s just say her turnaround time is... very long,” Valentine replies with a sigh. “Rimikku, sweetie, don’t hold back. Let Jidda see you can get stiff.”

A deep flush stains my cheeks as I try to comply, really wishing that the focus of the morning hadn’t shifted from makeovers to mocking my useless cock. I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, focusing on the stretching and the buzzing inside of me, trying to imagine my dick getting stiff. There’s a small pulse, a little throb, and finally, a single strand of precum that leaks out of my cock to pool in my navel before it flops back into uselessness, completely still and nestled against my almond-sized balls. “I... I’m trying....”

“Well, I suppose it was worth a try,” Valentine grumbles, noticeably annoyed now. “Let’s get on with your makeover, then. Jidda, you can go back to work now.”

“Gotcha, Auntie,” the goblin says, offering a lazy salute before returning to her workbench, accidentally spilling a bucket of screws once she arrived. With a few curses and growls, she bent over to start scooping them back up, and Madame Valentine turned her attention fully back to me.

“Alright, sweetie. First, the hair. That just... we need to do something about that. I’m thinking black.” She pauses, twirling the seat so that the back of my head faces the appliances in this corner of the workroom, which included a basin, a faucet, and multiple rows of different colored dyes. “Actually, that just might work for you. All that pale skin, maybe I can sell it. Dark hair, maybe some dark lipstick... ooh. I think I might be able to make a woman of you yet.”

“A... s-stripper, you mean...” I grumble through my teeth, my breath starting to grow more labored. Despite the madame’s nonchalance, I’m still being forced to endure this thing buried in my ass, and it’s not something I can try to get used to -- the vibration is incessant and only seems to build within me, spreading through my body, so fierce against the inside of my asshole that I begin to feel almost numb. Numb but for the shrieking sensations coursing through my body, demanding my attention, causing this deep, sinful pleasure to build and build and build.

“Well, yeah, a stripper. Or an... ‘escort.’ Depends on how eager you are to get those school credits and start learning Scryer magic.”

I grumble softly under my breath, chewing at my lower lip and squirming in place a little more -- but each wiggle lets the thing embedded in my butt find a new angle of attack, a new part of me that it floods with that infernal vibration. Grumbles fade into a soft whimper, and Madame Valentine grins. “That’s what I thought. Done complaining now?”

I nod very slightly, wincing as the blood elf pimpstress sets an even more critical eye on me, if that were possible. She goes about my makeover like it’s just another day at the office, cranking the chair back and lowering my head into the basin. She had some difficulty working around my horns, at first, but that’s honestly nothing compared to the insufferable sparks of forced ecstasy pulsing through my body, clouding my mind and making me little more than putty in her skilled hands. At that moment I couldn’t care less about what she was doing with my “look,” I’d never really invested all that much thought into it anyway. The only thing that matters is this swelling feeling that’s building in my lower abdomen, this weird signal that my body can’t handle any more of this without some kind of reaction, some kind of release. The way that buzzing spreads against every tender part of me, inside me, flooding me, filling me... fuck...!

Valentine, on the other hand, barely even tries to hide her perverse grin as she washes and dyes my hair, making a few cuts along the way when she finds something particularly offensive. She gives me bangs, which is certainly different as far as I’m concerned, though leaves most of my hair long in the back -- though it becomes gradually rendered a shade of glossy corvine black. I try to clench my thighs together, try to pull my hooves out of the chair’s stirrups, but quickly find a few slaps to my thighs discourage me from any more misbehavior. “Squirm all you like, sweetheart, but you stay in this chair... we’re not done yet. Not quite.”

I groan and wiggle at the suggestion, my breathing more like a steady panting now as low, whining groans escape me. “W-what... what are you... gonna...?”

“Well, if we’re going to make you look like a bad girl, we’ll need to convince the clients, don’t you think?” the elf coos, wrapping my wet, freshly-dyed hair up in a towel and moving around to my front, hiking her long, divided ruby skirts a little as she crawls into my lap. “Hair will help, lipstick will help, but we need something more convincing. Something more... mmrmm... permanent, I think.”

“I-I don’t... I’m not sure tha-- is that a needle?”

“Shhhh, don’t be such a big baby,” Madame Valentine whispers, grinning and pressing down against me a little, the chair easily holding both of us and giving me greater faith in goblin engineering as a whole. She straddles me fully now, hiking up her skirt a little as she pins me to the back of the seat. I can feel her against me -- warm, and surprisingly wet, making me wonder just how much she’s enjoying tormenting me. I can feel her grind forward a little, a playful coo escaping those crimson lips as she rubs her slick pussylips against my limp girlcock, rubbing the little slack thing back and forth without actually managing to penetrate herself with it (though I expect she’s trying).

She doesn’t stop there, though, reaching over to the basin table for a needle as she leans down, dragging her tongue firmly along one of my aching, pale blue nipples. Now, these were stiff enough as is, to be certain -- something about having a huge, vibrating mechanical cock stuffed up my ass has made it so that arousal is not exactly a problem, but Auntie isn’t content with that. She lightly licks, kisses, then bites, her teeth raking across the skin of my stiffened bud (still the only part of my body that’s erect) until that nub of flesh is so agonizingly perky I feel like the little thing will burst. She suckles tenderly at it for another moment, still grinding her slick cunt firmly against my hopeless penis, before pulling her lips away, kissing between my small breasts -- and that’s when I feel the needle go in.

“Nnnphhh!” I hiss, eyes widening. “What the fuck are y-- ohhhh...” I sigh out softly as I feel the sharp pain end as suddenly as it came. A soft glow comes from the madame’s hand and I feel the tiny wound seal, my nipple healing completely around the needle. I squeak in pain as she removes the needle and pierces the other, but that, too, is healed just as quickly. “How...?”

“You didn’t think I was born a madame, did you?” the redhead smirked, leaning in to nibble my lower lip but not fully kissing me, just a little tease as she removes the needle once more and sets it aside. “We all have our pasts, Rimikku.”

I fail to find a suitably reply, though to be fair I’m not really trying to find one -- between the feeling of Valentine’s pussy sliding back and forth across my limp girldick and the “Dildometer” buzzing up a silent storm inside of my ass, I have a lot more to keep my attention on than even more cloaked words. I get enough riddles from Ni’mea without Valentine starting to do it as well.

I wiggle my hips anxiously in a slow, undulating circle as Auntie fixes my new piercing-holes with two shiny silver bars, fitting one into each nipple and fastening them into place, pausing for a moment to admire her handiwork before reaching for a makeup kit. That takes a long time, almost longer than I can bear as I feel pleasure and frustration building inside of me -- Valentine’s grinding against me is insistent, never stopping, never slowing, sending waves of pleasure across my dick. She applies lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner, all in black, perfecting the image she’d created for me, ignoring the fluctuating expressions of my moaning, screwed-up face as she continues to decorate me. It isn’t until my body starts trying to betray its own laziness that she arches a brow, pausing her delicate painting of my countenance, and gasps softly.

“Are you... getting hard...?” she breathes, blinking down at me as I twitch and wiggle underneath her. I can feel something happening, like the prolonged, intense stimuli has pushed the boundaries of my own body. I feel it build, then ebb, then spike -- I feel my little girldick flex hard, gaining a tiny bit of stiffness before a sharp series of spasms shoots through me, my entire body quivering and a long, hoarse scream echoing through the Saffron Paradise work-room.

Her gasp of excitement and anticipation quickly fades to a huff of disappointment as my forced orgasm fades, and the tiny spark of life in my dick immediately fades away, the tiny thing wilting beneath her with. Only an oily trail of precum, indistinguishable from the wetness she’d left herself, provides the legacy for my half-assed erection.

“Well, um... that’s progress...?” Madame Valentine says with another little blink, finally sitting up and getting off of my lap. Her tone is hard to distinguish, an odd blend of disappointed and truly pitying. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re all done. You can say hello to the new Rimikku.”

As if trying to avoid talking about our close encounter altogether now, she turns my chair to face the mirror at the other end of the basin. It’s long enough that I can see the entirety of my pale, waifish figure, my small tits now decorated with completely healed piercings, my hair jet black and sporting an edgy cut, and dark makeup now transforming my face. Against all odds, Madame Valentine made a “bad girl” out of the most unthreatening draenei to ever live. And, against all odds, I... kind of like it.

“Cute, right?” she says with a little grin, though not one of her cruel, perverse smirks. This one seems more gentle, more nurturing, another side of the madame. Maybe this is “Auntie.”

“Yeah,” I stammer, my breathing finally starting to slow. I close my legs a little bit to hide my slick, limp dick, and for a moment I try to forget my shame and just feel pretty. Feel sexy. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad thing. But I find myself changing my mind about that constantly, so who knows what will come up next. I’m just going to do my best to enjoy what small pleasures I can find.

“Feel free to show some of the other girls and grab some breakfast,” the elf says as she straighens her clothes, giving my chair one last playful twirl. “Get back to the main parlor by evening and we’ll see if we can find a use for you, how does that sound?”

Terrifying. “Okay.”