Scryer as Fuck - ch.1

Author's Notes: New commission for a client who would remain anonymous! Due to the niche success of "Moonwell Playtime" this piece got pitched, and I had a lot of fun working on it -- actually, it sort of has the wheels turning as well. Since we're using the same setting, and the same kinks, how long until a Scryer Playtime crossover happens? WHO KNOWS. But I'll be putting some thought into it for sure.

[story] [futa/f] [small/weak dick] [titfuck] [oral]

___________________________

“Wait... let me get this right,” A smirk crosses the blood elf’s face, those long blonde brows of hers tilting up in an expression that combined abject derision, mirth, and genuine pity, all aimed directly at me. “You’re a Scryer? Here? A draenei, in Shattrath, a Scryer?”

I clear my throat awkwardly, folding my arms across my small chest and rolling back on what would be heels if I had feet. “Uh, yeah. You betcha. Scryer for life, right here. Scryer as fuck.” She had a point, of course -- the Aldor and Scyer factions were glorified racial segregation, an elaborate way of separating two cultures that, within the same city, would never be able to come to peace. Splitting them apart and giving them dual leaderships made coming to agreements easier, in that way, especially when it could typically be agreed upon to pool resources against the Burning Legion.

So I, a draenei, didn’t really have any business signing up with the Scryers when I finally reached Outland. And if the immediate reaction from the elves here was any indication, I was going to have a very difficult time with my decision... not that I didn’t have reasons for making it.

Firstly, anyone with half a brain knows that mages are better-trained and more highly valued among the sin’dorei than among the draenei. Their connection with the arcane is simply more innate, less distracted by shamanic connections or posturing for the Naaru. Secondly, being ridiculed by rivals hurts quite a lot less than being ridiculed by peers, and ridicule is something I have generally come to expect no matter where I go.

The elf girl sighs quietly, waving her hand over an ensorcelled quill and willing it to write my name down in the massive, cloth-bound ledger in front of her. “Okay. Rimikku, draenei... unusually short, unusually slim. Any special skills?”

“Oh, um. I’m a mage. I studied with the Kirin Tor for a little while.”

That brow arches, now, and a scoffing smile widens on the elf’s face. “Dropout, I presume? Okay, ‘mage,’ let’s get one thing straight.”

I steel myself. I’m gonna get kicked out. I can feel it. Kicked out before I ever even join.

“Nobody’s interested in a scrawny little draenei in Scryer academies practicing Scryer magic. You want to play elf, we’ll set you up with the workers on the lower levels. I’m sure someone will find a... use, for you.”

That could have been worse. I let out a breath of relief that the blood elf woman is visibly surprised to hear. “Thanks. If you can give me directions, I’ll try to find a place to stay.” Slums was better than nothing. At least I can work myself upwards from there. Not that I probably will. I’m getting to the point where ambition is a lot more trouble than it’s ever been worth.

She grimaces, like actually going out of her way to assist me in any way is more hassle than she expected to have to endure, but she does tell me where I need to go. From what I eventually gather from her grunted replies and half-sentences, a part of Shattrath City’s lower levels are discreetly operated by the Scryers... very discreetly. It will be a place to stay as well as a job, though I’m not sure exactly what job that’ll be yet. Probably something shitty like a janitor.

I leave the embassy and make my way downwards, wading through the arakkoa flea markets, goblin scam artists and street performers, and the occasional glimmering, bandage-wrapped ethereal. I still don’t understand what the hell those things are, no matter how hard I try, and it doesn’t seem like anyone’s offering that information up. A lot of things feel strangely familiar to me, though -- while this place is very different from the Exodar where I was born, the influence of draenei technology, magic, and architecture can be seen very clearly. It’s comforting in a way, if alien.

Making my way through to the area I was designated towards, it’s actually remarkably nice in a shabby-chic sort of way. Sort of buried into the inner core of Shattrath, brightly-colored banners make it stand out against the dull greens and browns of the rest of the city -- it’s somewhat saccharine, though, cheaply extravagant and designed to stand out in exactly that way. To draw in the people from the slums, give them respite.

The entrance is a pair of large double-doors, engraved but flimsy, moving stiffly out of the way as I push my way inside. There’s no mistaking a place that stands out like this one does, it’s definitely where I was told to go... and it appears as though the Scryers took “hiding in plain sight” more seriously than I’d imagine anyone would be willing to.

“Hello?” I mumble as I walk inside, the smell of strong, foreign incense hitting my nose straight away. The place is dimly lit with a hazy, purplish glow on the inside, and the look of sin’dorei architecture can be seen instantly: Leaning couches, small lounging pagodas, drapes, rich colors in red, gold, and violet.

No sooner do the words leave my lips than I’m borderline-accosted by a blood elven woman, her hair so deep a crimson that it was clearly dyed that way. She’s curvaceous for one of her kind, a lot moreso than I am, and while I get the impression that she’s older, her elven blood ensures that it’s only a feeling, nothing more. “Ohhh myyy,” she all but purrs, drawing close to me and immediately laying her hands on my shoulders. I may be short for a draenei, but I’m still a good deal taller than her, so I get a stupendous look at the display of pale cleavage being shown off by her snug black minidress. “You’re the new girl? The draenei Scryer who thinks she’s a mage, that’s right?”

Shit, word sure does get around fast, huh? I clear my throat and decide to answer in a way that will probably only get me in more trouble than I’m already in. “I am a mage.”

“So cute. I think we’ll get a lot of use out of that spunk of yours,” the elf smiles widely up at me, getting uncomfortably handsy -- her red-painted nails drag lightly along the smooth cloth of my tunic, making me squirm a little as she paws at my breasts, however small they may be. “Pretty too, and exotic I suppose. Not a lot of draenei girls working in here, and definitely none that look like you do. I take it the Naaru weren’t too fond of you?” She grins like she’s the first one to ever come up with that joke.

She’s not. I’ve been getting made fun of for my physique since I was a teenager -- all the other girls on the Exodar were rocking those permanent high-heel butts and chests to make anyone jealous. When I never really “developed” they mocked me for not drinking my milk, not being “filled with the Light in the right places,” and whatever other cracks they could come up with. There’s really no joke I haven’t heard. “Thanks,” I grumble, shying back a little bit from her invasive touch, which seems to annoy her. “What is this place, anyway? Can I, like, study here, or whatever?”

The elf woman frowns slightly, half confused and half disappointed, glancing back towards the rest of the building’s interior. In the moment of silence it starts to dawn on me -- soft moans come from the back rooms, a slim mithral pole takes up the dais in the center of the lobby, and the incense and cheap colors all start to make more sense. I’m not in an underground Scryer academy and I’m not in a halfway house, I’m not anywhere I want to be. I’m in what can only be a Shattrath cathouse. “That would depend on what you’d be studying. The Arcane... most certainly not.”

“They sent me here to be a whore.” I say flatly. Everything is clicking into place, even the red-haired elf woman who came to greet me so enthusiastically.

“Well, I’d try to sugar-coat it by saying something like ‘lady of the night,’ but we’re an all-hours establishment, so...” she shrugs and grins, taking my hand and starting to lead me deeper into the building. “It’s not so bad, and the benefits are actually quite nice. Workers here typically get free training in other fields, so becoming a mage -- a real, Scryer, elf mage -- might not be entirely out of your realm of possibility.”

That gets a spark of interest in me. The ability to get real training for free might actually make this entire deal worth it, and... to be honest, despite her jokes, it feels kind of nice to be valued in whatever way. I exhale through my nose and follow along behind her as we push through another veil of purple fabric, into a hallway, then into an even hazier room with a large seat and another pole. While I wouldn’t exactly frequent cathouses or strip clubs -- even Goldshire gets a bit uncomfortable for me -- but I know what this room is for. This is for “private dances.”

“What are we doing now?” I grumble. “And who even are you, again? Like your name?”

“Oh, sweetheart, my name faded away a long time ago. But you--” she pauses, turning to boop my nose with one fingertip, “--can call me Madame Valentine. You’re Rimikku, yes?”

“Uh, close. It’s pronounced ri-mee-ku. But yeah,” I fidget a little, crinkling my nose a little at her touch. “What are we doing here?”

“It’s time for your inspection, sweetheart,” she grins. “Just sit down in the chair and I’ll see what use I think I can get out of you, how does that sound?”

Horrible and awkward. “Fine.” Wait, shit, no. Is it too late for me to back out of this? If she finds my, um... my down there....

I don’t have time to change my mind -- “Madame Valentine” already has me sitting down in the chair (which is delightfully comfy), straddling me and tugging at the buttons holding my tight blue tunic together, though she does make a show of it, taking her sweet time and giving me an even better view of her pale cleavage as she leans in close. Her hands are deft and pleasant, moving like silken shadows along my body with little caresses, and I can tell how she got this job. She clearly has a combination of both talent and experience, and I’m feeling it. I haven’t been this close to a woman in quite some time... in all fairness, it’s rather nice.

I don’t even fully notice the moment when she gets my top off, exposing small-yet-perky breasts of a pristine white color, not the pale peach of Valentine’s own flesh, but the uniquely snowy skin tone of the draenei. My nipples stiffen as her lips meet mine in an embrace that I feel is technically against the rules of cathouses, but I’ve been wrong before -- and at the moment, I’m lost in a turmoil of regretting coming here and being really happy that I did, cooing softly as she trails her fingertips along my stiff, pale blue nipples. There’s still always the issue of what’s down below, which worries me quite a bit... I’d say we’d get to that later, except for the fact that her hands are already traveling downwards, distracting me with her ruby lips as she slides her hand into my panties, now fully exposed with my tunic having mysteriously disappeared.

“Oh, my my my, what’s this...?” Valentine coos, fondling me briefly before her playful expression fades more to one of confusion. It happened just around the time that she realized the “present” she thought she’d be recieving was already fully erect... and wouldn’t be getting any larger than the unremarkable two-and-a-half-inches it stood at. That’s another one of the reasons I’m used to being ridiculed and ultimately outcast -- it never takes long before someone learns about the embarrassing little worm between my thighs, and after that, it takes even less long for word to spread. “Is it, um...” she knits her lean, scarlet brows together, mumbling under her breath. “...Really big clit...?”

A deep cerulean blush claims my cheeks as she scoots down a little, hooking her fingers into my panties and drawing them downward, freeing the astoundingly small little bean of my girl-thing. Vibrant green eyes fix on it, examining it almost stunned, before-- “Pfffftthahahaha! Wow! Like wow!”

“Thanks,” I mutter, looking away and trying to distance myself from the whole thing. This was a serious mistake, coming here. I would have been better off with the Aldor -- at least then I wouldn’t have been put in this situation and could have made my own mistakes.

“Does it... I mean... huh.” Madame Valentine is truly befuddled now, making me wince a little as she flicks the stiff thing, watching raptly as it wobbles back and forth. “It works and everything?”

“Uhm... yeah, usually...” I answer quietly, looking down at her before looking away again, my chest heaving with anxiety and a little bit of arousal -- embarrassed by her (nonetheless expected) reaction to me, but still squirmy from her light touches to my naked body.

She doesn’t seem entirely pleased with my answer, opting to explore the situation herself. Leaning in close again, she extends her tongue to lightly trail it along the side of my miniscule shaft, though the short distance forces her to repeat the motion fairly quickly. A soft, somewhat anguished moan escapes my lips as she flicks her tongue back and forth across my little stiff thing, though as lewd as her actions are they seem more investigatory, almost clinical, than lustful. She wraps her lips around the tiny thing, as if aiming to suck it, but ends up more kissing it than anything else, massaging her lips across the stiff, pale white nub between my thighs.

“You need to... s-stop...” I groan quietly, chewing my bottom lip and starting to tense up. Despite the flush of embarrassment in my face I’m nonetheless starting to really feel my body hum with pleasure, heart racing in my chest as she licks, kisses and nibbles at the edge of my foreskin, starting to lean in a little bit now to press her cleavage against my stiff little bud, the soft skin massaging in her tingling elven saliva a little more now, making me start to squirm in my chair. “I can’t... I mean I’m... I c-can’t....”

“Can’t last that long?” Madame Valentine coos curiously up at me, licking the tip of my little thing again and squishing her boobs around it easily, completely enveloping the throbbing, infantile draenei shaft -- and then it happens all at once, so sudden and fast that she barely notices it. My climactic yelp is the only sign that anything has reached its zenith, and the little squirt of thin, sticky fluid that shoots from my tip is almost unnoticeable against the coating of saliva that already covers it. “...Oh.”

“I... tried to tell you,” I pant softly, looking away again, folding my arms across my chest but keeping my thighs spread apart a little. She releases my little stub from the clasp of her breasts, only a little bit sticky between them.

“Oh, and it’s already down,” she says, her curiosity fading to strange surprise once more as she backs up a little, reaching out to take my tiny girldick and wobble it from side to side with her fingers. It’s completely limp, instantly, with no sign of coming back to life any time soon. “That’s it? Just that fast and it’s dead?”

I swallow, and nod a little bit. My cock is completely lifeless and inert between my thighs now, a little sticky but nothing more, drawing another little giggle from Madame Valentine. Despite her clear disdain, she continues to lightly play with it, idly stroking and massaging it as if trying to see whether she can get it back up again. She can’t. I know very well at this point that it will be a day or more before this thing works again. “Um... sorry,” I finally murmur. “Yeah, it’s dead. I guess you probably don’t need me to work here, do you?”

“Nonsense,” the blood elf says with a grin, sitting up a little and giving my limp shaft -- which has shrunk to an even more insulting size, now -- a playful squeeze. “I’m sure it’s someone’s fetish, after all... plus you’ve got a nice tight ass, I’m sure. If nothing else I can have you work the poles for a few days until I find someone who’s interested.” She leans up to lick my lips playfully, biting the bottom one and giving it a slow, sensuous tug, straddling me again and caressing her hands along my exposed figure. I really feel like this is a bit more intimate than is necessary, even for this place, but it’s not like I have any secrets from her anymore. Plus, her hands feel kinda nice.

“I’ll show you to your dorm,” she coos, finally standing up entirely and reaching out to take my hand. “You may have to share it with a couple other girls. You can leave your clothes here, too... we’ll need to find you something that plays to your charms a bit more nicely. Tell me, Rimikku, have you ever considered getting any piercings?”