Inf. Ink, Inc.

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INF. INK, INC.

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CHAPTER ONE

Fade to Black.

Executive Liaison Hexley Sweet. What a delight to think about one's own name. Her tall, red heels clicked against the obsidian tiles of the Dark Lord's tower with all the deliberate menace of a professional who understood that lateness, like sincerity, was for amateur succubi. And Hexley was no amateur. As of this morning, she was a fully-accredited Liaison, a 'sexecutive', in trade lingo. And for no less a firm than Infernal Ink, Incorporated. That's Inf. Ink, Inc., to those in the biz.

Assignment one, here we go, Hex. She would have to be flawless.

Up the dingy, dusty back stairs she clacked, to the simple loot room behind the boss fight chamber of Dreadmaster Bierkhan, Lord of the Cold Ones, up and coming young necromancer. Her higher-ups thought he might just be the next big thing, so here she was to get him under contract and secure his soul, if he still had it. It was her big chance to shine.

She gave the barest of nods to the skeleton guards, both, according to their name tags, named 'Bob.' Looking about the bland, unremarkable little room was a bit disappointing. Why did it seem that every Big Bad Evil Guy spent so much gold on the adventurers' entrance, and yet scrimped and pinched coppers on the back? What guest would choose the labyrinth of traps and increasingly intimidating hench-monsters, when the rear entrance was right there, begging lustily to be used? Not a single one, of course, and so not a one would ever see the (she assumed) far more impressive antechamber. Waste.

That said, this was a perfect time to poke around his treasure hoard and see just what caliber of Dark Lord she was dealing with.

Bob looked at Bob. "Oi," he whispered. "Shouldn't we stop her?"

Bob shook his head. "Nah. As you know, Bierkhan leaves the loot lying about on purpose so visitors can check it out."

"Ah, right," said Bob. "Now I remember. It's a common practice among Dark Lords. We're supposed to let the guests wait here a bit so they can be impressed by his hoard. Clever, that."

"That's right Bob. Well, let's see what she looks at!"

Conveniently for the author, it turned out to be a mirror that Hexley looked at. It blinked sleepily back at her. A posh, burbly voice came forth. "Careful, fairest one, stand here long enough and the narrator will take the opportunity to describe you."

"Darling, if a girl can't enjoy the poetry of her own presentation, what's the point of existence?" She tested a more alluring pose, waiting.

The mirror frowned. "Yes, but it's cheap writing."

Hexley surreptitiously brushed a speck of weak prose from her lapel. "Darling, nothing about me is cheaply written. I am more than ready for publication, I assure you."

The mirror, wisely, did not disagree, but settled back into stillness and allowed her to observe.

Hexley regarded her reflection. Yes, she was final draft material indeed. More perfect even than she expected, the torchlight playing off her form in ways it shouldn't in this dim space. (Torchlight, or narrative spotlight? One never knows.) Wait. She tapped the glass.

"Mirror?"

The face swam back to the surface. "Fairest?"

"Are you flattering me?" She fixed it in her fiery gaze.

"Apologies, it's my default enchantment." The image began to dull, ever so slightly, the lighting to harshen.

Hexley held up a hand, first-day nerves getting the better of her. "No, it's fine. Flattery settings on high, love. Let's not undersell perfection."

Her image reverted to the prior vision of curated excellence: smooth, black horns emerging from sleek, dark hair, pinned with infernal precision above the perfect, purple skin, lips the color of nobles' blood, eyes that flared like burning contracts, (yes, that's 'contracts' not 'contacts', you read it correctly) and a close-fitted blazer and skirt, black with pink pinstripes, suited for boardroom and bedroom both.

She adjusted her bloodstone choker by a quarter of an inch and stepped back, considering. She popped one more button, exposing just a bit more cleavage. Turning one way, then the other, she examined the skirt. She hiked it up just a smidge. A bit of cheek? Always a bit of cheek, Hex. Short skirt, long jacket, that was the way. Presentation was everything, indispensable for backroom deals, frontroom deals, and in particular, the time-honored fallback plan of persuasive anatomy. Seduction, that is. More than Bards could play at that game.

She adjusted her grip on the clipboard with only the slightest of jitters, set her shoulders with only a twinge of tension, and with only the barest of wobbles on her impractically high heels, stalked through the door into the short, dark hallway to Bierkhan's boss room.

Epic fight music began to play.

"What tackiness." She glared back at the skeleton guards. "Darlings, isn't there a mute button? Be a couple of dears, won't you?"

One of the clattering figures fiddled with a panel on the wall, and the music silenced. So much better. The bone-boys grinned at her as she passed. She winked and returned the grin, adding just a glint of fang. Bob dropped his spear. How delightfully adorable.

The throne room of Dreadmaster Bierkhan, Lord of the Cold Ones brought a resigned sigh from her full, heaving bosoms, up her delicate, feminine throat, out through her luscious lips, also dripping with femininity. It was every bit as distasteful (the room, that is, not her description, of course!) as any other upstart overlord: absurdly tall ceilings, decor chosen by someone who thought a 'spikey' personality was something to be echoed in the furnishings, and far, far too many brassieres. Sorry, braziers. It reeked of a villain trying much too hard to be fearsome, as if sprung from the mind of a writer trying much too hard to be meta. It also, unexpectedly, reeked of patchouli, like a shop for middle-income patrons trying much too hard to be counter-culture.

She stopped just inside the room and called out. "Bierkhan, I presume? Your decor could use improving."

Always start them on the back foot. Never wait to be addressed. Stalk in as the dominatrix, and you can always let yourself melt into the innocent damsel under their 'fearsome presence'. But, come in all meek and pliable, and you'll never gain the upper hand. Initiative is half the battle. The other half is contract law. And cleavage.

Bierkhan, slouching on his throne at the far end of the room, did not respond, unless a glower can be considered a response. The Dark Lord's seat was elevated by a dozen unnecessarily dramatic steps and flanked by yet more spikes, curved like black claws into a half cage. Hexley crossed the high-peaked hall without waiting for an invitation, breaking its stillness with the swish of her tail and the echoing percussion of her heels. Her entrance was so much more effective without that ridiculous orchestra.

Surprisingly, the necromancer himself was a tall, dashing man, with a hero's haircut. He seemed very much out of place in his many layers of dark cloth, with a cloak that looked to be cut from a material suspiciously similar to the black curtains on the walls. His crown rotated in the air above his head, black-spiked to match the chair. That, at least, was an impressive touch.

Hexley nudged aside some of the scattered bones in her path, and came to stand at the foot of the overwrought stair.

Dreadmaster Bierkhan stirred, and his low, ruined voice scratched a hellish response into the musty air. "You're Sweet?"

"Thank you, you're too kind." It was a well-worn quip, but it would be new to Bierkhan. He didn't appear to appreciate the depth of her humour, however. Well, keep trying, Hex.

"Your name is Sweet? Hexley Sweet?" Dark eyes flashed green. That too was a neat trick, for such a new Dark Lord.

"Call me Hex, darling." Her voice was sugar and it was acid, in equal parts. "I trust you do not intend to carry out our meeting seated on that silly perch of yours."

Bierkhan ignored the jab, and pointed one bony finger in accusation. "If you're Sweet, you're early, you weren't supposed to be here unti--"

"I'm efficient."

"... then you're late."

Late? Had she missed a joke? She wasn't late in the slightest. But, best to move on and not bog down the pitch in quibbling. She tapped the clipboard with immaculate, pointed nails. "'Late' is the status of your licensing, so consider my earliness compensatory punctuality."

Bierkhan growled and slumped somehow yet lower into the spiked seat, straying from disdainful arch-villian slouch to something dangerously close to pouting-child slouch. "Dunno what you're on about. Been busy conquering."

"Yes. We've noticed." Hexley examined her nails after the clipboard tapping. Still perfect. She let her voice drift towards the acidic end of the flavour spectrum. "It's why I'm here."

His voice rasped, harsh and sullen. "I don't appreciate your tone."

"It's imported."

"What does that even mean?"

What did that mean? Good question. Move on. Distract. Confidence. "You ask too much and think too little. Now come down."

The skeleton guards chattered to each other in the doorway. "Gosh Bob, they sure use up a lot of words for not much exposition."

Bob clacked his teeth. "Sure do. We could have got all that out in two lines."

Bob nodded. "Reckon we could've, at that."

There was a pause. Bob turned to Bob and whispered into his temporal bone. "Cute though, ain't she?"

Bob smacked him with an oddly long hand. "I don't need to hear about your boner, Bob."

Bob wished he still had lips. He would have liked to frown. "Low quality pun, that."

Dreadmaster Bierkhan, Lord of the Cold Ones did at last come down from his throne and relocate to the much more sensible, yet still spiked, desk in the corner of the room. Hexley made sure to settle herself into his chair before he made it over, relegating the necromancer to the far side of the desk. She sat there like a serpent--a sweet serpent, but a serpent nonetheless, daring him to tell her to move. He did not.

"Right then." She slapped the clipboard down with a crack like a whip. Did he like that sound? Difficult to say. His head snapped up, but that could mean many things. "Business. You are currently running this operation unlicensed, that is correct?"

"Unlicensed?"

Hell, what a grating voice. An affectation, surely?

He continued. "Since when does a necromancer need a license?"

Hexley slapped him with her most intimidating stare, and caressed him with her most saccharine tone. "Since long before your time, I would imagine, and mine. But your necromantic philanderings are not my concern; take that up with the local AHJ. I'm here from Inf. Ink, Inc. We provide Dark Lord Licensing at competitive rates."

"AHJ? What's that, some damn bureaucracy?"

"Yes, love. Authority Having Jurisdiction. Your local town council, or planning departm--"

"Killed 'em." He pointed at a pile of bones and robes to the side of the throne. Hesitating, he indicated a second heap. "Or maybe those ones. Hah! Don't need their license now I guess. Still think I need yours?"

Not good. The pacing was slipping away from her already. "Oh, civic engagement, well done." She smiled sweetly. "You'll find Hell ever so slightly more difficult to deal with, so if you'd care to consider our--"

"Know this, succubus. You paper-pushers hold no terror over me. I am lord in my own domain!" He lifted his arms dramatically towards the spiked ceiling high above, and his sawtooth voice rebounded in (presumably) magically-enhanced echoes.

"Yes, I'm certain you are, darling. And you may continue to lord over your domain, just so long as you comply." She tapped the forms with pointed nails. "Hell will have what's due to them. Compliance just saves time. And blood."

The surly Dreadmaster shifted in his seat. That was more like it. Stay uncomfortable, Dark Lord.

Hexley tapped the pen against her lips. She ran it back and forth, and let her tongue slip out to flick at the tip. Her eyes burned into his. "You don't need to get your license through our organization, but you will need to acquire one somehow. I suggest you listen to our offer."

Bierkhan shifted again, the weight of her words clearly pressing on him. "And if I don't?"

"Well." Hexley's lips quirked up at the corners as she leaned forward, making sure to let a hint of both sharp teeth and soft tongue show. "They could invoke the Clause of Demotion, and then reassign your territories. Permanent reassignments, love. Maybe even a soul forfeiture, if you give them enough trouble." Her eyes glittered. "Or they might opt for a full extraction. It's messy, my little sweet. I don't recommend it."

He glared at her, but the glare got a bit squishy, turning into more of a sloppy stare. A sandpaper sigh leaked out. "Look. I'm in the middle of a conquest." He ran a hand through his hair, a strikingly human motion. "It's hard."

"Already? And I haven't even touched you." Hexley raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a bored, dismissive look on her face.

Bierkhan squirmed a bit, but managed a laugh. "A witty one, heh? Look, I don't want trouble with Hell, I really don't. I just haven't looked into all the paperwork yet. I've been busy..."

"Being pathetic?" She stretched out a leg under the desk, settling the toe of her shoe just between the Dreadmaster's thighs. Arch-villain eyes widened like a guilty puppy's. "You're good at it. I'll give you that." She looked down at the clipboard in front of her. "But I think we both understand that there's only so long you can keep playing this role. Not without help. Your affairs are a mess, that's clear from the outside."

Bierkhan began to respond, but his scratchy voice cut out on him. Hexley took the opportunity.

"And darling, if we can tell from the outside, just imagine the audit."

For the space of several heartbeats, neither of them moved. The air between them thickened, electric, sizzling with an unspoken game of power and pretense. In the time it took for him to break, a lesser villain would have monologued. But at last, Bierkhan's attempt at composure melted, and he looked up in submission at the succubus. "Fine. Where do we start?"

She raised a brow, pleased with his swift surrender. "Well, now, you've found your manners." Flipping through the contract on her clipboard, she clicked her pen with a click that was just a touch clickier than it should have been. The necromancer jumped, and she suppressed a smirk. "Please remember, it's not Inf. Ink, Inc. that requires this licensing. We merely assist you in securing it."

Mindful of the hard shoe pressed into his balls, he reached for the contract. His eyes skimmed over the dense text.

"Let me get this straight," he rasped. "As a Dark Lord, my soul belongs to Hell on my death by default. But if I'm not licensed, they come take it right now? Is that it?"

"My sweet little plaything. Do you really think the details of the contract are important for the plot?" Hexley wiggled the shoe between his legs, pressing just up against something soft. "It's obvious to any reader that the author just needed a device to get me here, negotiating with you.

"But you're largely correct. If you license through Inf. Ink, Inc., we'll handle your soul for you, in the event of your demise. We can pull a few strings, give a tug here and there, maybe get you a better room, that sort of thing." She tapped the paperwork. "Ready to sign?"

The eyes flashed green again, and Bierkhan pulled the forms closer. "Not at all. What's all this about 'Further Acquisitions'?"

"Ah yes, expansion," she purred, running her fingers up and down the shaft of the pen. Her voice came now lower, slower. "We'd love to see you expand, darling. I'd love to. You're more than welcome to erect your banner over as many new conquests as you desire, we'll just be there to help you with the more bureaucratic elements."

"But it says here, that ownership of..."

"Bob, I'm confused."

"Why's that?"

"Well, are they forming a contract, or trying to bone each other?"

"I thought you didn't like 'bone' jokes."

Bob shrugged. "Har Har. Accidental pun, that. But really, which is it?"

"Well, as you know, succubi secure all their contracts with orgasms. You come, you bind your soul to whatever deal you made with them." Bob tapped his spear knowledgeably on the tiles. "It's why they make such great lawyers."

Bob nodded. "Aaah, that's right, I remember now. Thanks for the refresher Bob!"

"Any time, Bob." He cocked his skull. "Oh, looks like they came to an agreement, while we spared the readers any more vaguely described legal stuff. I think she's about to charm him into a mutually beneficial position with long-term metaphysical consequences."

"... Wut?"

"She's gonna fuck him for his soul."

"Oh." Bob's empty eye sockets looked down at his oddly long feet bones. "Coulda said that the first time."

"Alright," choked the necromancer. "I'm ready to sign."

Hexley smiled, victorious. "Good boy."

He gulped, hesitating, suddenly looking every bit the upstart human. "Erm, so how do we...?"

Hexley may have had to study to learn lawyering and sales, but certain skills came natural. She was a succubus, and seduction was an instinct. "How would you like, darling? I'm ready for whatever it is that gets the ink out of your pen the fastest."

"The 'ink out of my pen'? I'm, I'm really not sure I--" He coughed, tried to speak, and coughed again, harder. "Achk. Sorry, this villain voice wrecks my throat."

"As you'll wreck mine, perhaps?" Her pointed tail whispered for a fraction of a second at his thigh under the desk, and she was rewarded as the necromancer's face stiffened. Likely, other parts stiffened as well.

He didn't answer. His breathing was fast, and his face slack.

"Darling?" She waved a purple hand in front of him. "Are you in there?"

Dreadmaster Bierkhan, Lord of the Cold Ones, nodded meekly, and made a little noise in his throat that might have been, "Mhmm," or perhaps, "I am," or maybe even, "Yes Ma'am."

Hex regarded him. The she rose, and rounded the desk, and took him by the hands. He followed, docile, dopey, neither dread nor master. With a fiendish smile on her face, she spun, and led him back to his throne. Every step was an artful exhibit of lewd hips and intoxicating, swaying spine. The cold breeze on her cheeks told her they were both still, ever so slightly, on display. Just wait till we get to the steps, Dreadmaster.

At the foot of the stair to the throne, she turned. "I thought we'd do it up there, darling, would you like that?"

A dazed nod. This would be a quick signature.

Up they went. Hexley made certain to arch her back, the better to show off everything her skirt had kept half hidden. The stumbling sounds from below were proof of her success. She stopped on the dais, and turned to him. They were close now, close enough to smell each other. His scent was mixed, caustic chemicals and old leather... no, scratch that last. Jerky, not leather. Wait, jerky? Don't think about it.

Hexley whirled, and pushed him down onto his own throne. She dropped to her knees in front of him. "What do you think, love, time to 'wreck my throat?'"

Romantic music swelled, strings and harps mingling in a passionate melody. The braziers glowed with soft candlelight, and then the world began to dim, everything darkening, fading...

Bob chucked his spear in frustration. "Ah, damn it all, we're in that kind of story?"

"What kind of story is that, Bob?" Bob asked.

"We're fading to black! I wanted to see!"

"Oh, that all? The spice settings are right next to the audio, ain't you never noticed 'em?"

But Bob was already clattering exuberantly over to the boss room controls.

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CHAPTER TWO

Bad Necromance

Pointed nails traced up Bierkhan's thighs. His eyes rolled up and his head flopped back and banged against a spike of his black throne. Hexley pretended not to notice as he winced and rubbed at his skull. Efficiency, that was key. No time to worry over bruises. Let's get that soul bound, Hex.

Without ceremony, she yanked down his pants, to find bright orange briefs with fashion-forward, black, tiger slashes across them, and a wide waist band that read "jHUNG-L LORDE" in a bold font. An imported brand? Probably a knock off.

But knock off or not, the flashy fabric was strained to its max. She freed the poor thing inside from its prison, and a respectable, hefty, double-fistful sprang out. Well then! A challenge, but nothing too unmanageable. Sometimes, she knew, Big Bad Evil Guys could go to unthinkable lengths to achieve... unthinkable lengths.

She glanced up. Bierkhan was panting, gazing down at her with an unfocused look to his eyes. He was really taking this hard. One might have expected a more dominant persona, even from such a new Dark Lord. Was he, perhaps...?

"Darling." She wrapped a hand around his shaft, and leaned forward, resting her cheek against it. A little whimper rewarded her. "Tell me this isn't your first time. Be honest love. I'll know." She squeezed a little.

More whimpers, but otherwise no response.

"Bierkhan, oh Dreadmaster mine, are you a virgin, little love?"

A pause, and a slow nod.

How delightful. How very delightful. Mastery of a small realm, hordes (or at least some amount) of undead at his command, and never had he ever?

"And would my little virgin like to come for me?" She slid her face up along his length, so her lips rested just over the end of it. "Down my throat?"

Bierkhan shrugged, and looked away, cheeks beginning to blush. Adorable, simply adorable. This would be so very easy.

She licked, just a flick of tongue across the tip, and his head fell back again. "No, darling, my eyes. Watch my eyes. It will be better that way."

He did. It looked as though it took an effort, but he brought his evil eyes to bear on her own. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she parted her lips and slid down, letting his cock spread her mouth wide and fill it, sliding back over her tongue, and seamlessly down into her throat, until her nose was buried against his stomach.

Their eyes were still locked. Hexley winked hers, and Bierkhan's rolled back in his head. He began to shudder. He began to quiver. A harsh moan grew in his chest. His cock swelled and grew harder in her throat. Hells below, was he already about to--

And there it was, hot cum flowing out of him and straight down into her stomach. The rigid shaft pulsed with each blast, and his body writhed on the throne before her. She could feel his soul binding to the contract, the link growing firmer with every throb. At length, he relaxed, and she let him slide from her throat with a slick, sucking sound and a pop, the last of his cum drizzling down from her lower lip.

It seemed almost... no not almost, it did seem unfair for his first time to be so short. And Hexley too, didn't she deserve something for herself? More important still, the chapter was just getting going; surely to end things now would be... premature.

"Dreadmaster, would you--I'm sorry, darling, are you awake?"

A faint nod came from the necromancer. He half looked as though he would need to ply his dark skills on himself.

"Well, my love, it's within my purview to give you a second round. As..." She brainstormed possible explanations other than pity and her own horniness. "As an indication of the goodwill of Inf. Ink, Inc. towards this new partnership."

A limp arm lifted and gave her the briefest of thumbs ups. That worked. She bent his cock to the side and let go. It twanged side to side, still plenty hard. Time for a ride!

Hexley climbed up on the throne, one foot on either side of the half-comatose Dark Lord. She had intended to make a show of this, but his eyes were closed, so without ceremony she pulled off the lacy, red thong, and knelt down astride him.

His torso still trembled between her thighs. She pressed her slickness against his stomach, and slid back until she felt the hard shaft pressing against her tiny skirt. Leaning forward, she licked and toyed with his lips until he parted them. Succubus and necromancer pressed their mouths together, soft at first, then hard, sucking hungrily at one another.

She ground against his shaft, letting it slip up under the skirt and press between her executive cheeks. Up along that length she slid, until the tip pressed just against her wet lips. Then, in one decisive motion, she slammed down, taking him fully into her pussy. The heat of his cum-slicked cock was infernal.

He moaned loud into her mouth, and she began to ride. Up and down, long strokes, fast and rough. She had come in a thousand different ways, with a thousand men and women and others; this time was for the pleasure of this sweet little virgin Dark Lord. Faster, deeper, harder.

He was rousing now, the green light filling his eyes. Her passion awoke something in him. Suddenly, he stood beneath her, his powerful hero's physique now apparent, and pulling out, bent her over the throne. Hexley was only surprised for a moment, as her face was pressed against the sex-warmed seat. Then a devilish grin was on her lips. Oh, this boy learns fast!

A hand pushed down on her back, pressing her lower. He grasped her hips and tugged them up higher, and threw her skirt up, exposing her to the dank air of the room. Looking over her shoulder, she could see him gazing down at her holes with green-eyed hunger. Which would he choose? The answer was swift and decisive.

In a flash, he stuffed her pussy full once more, driving, thrusting, slamming into her. His balls slapped again and again against her clit, bringing her passion ever higher, forcing her ever closer. He leaned in over her back, and growled in her ear, "I'm gonna crack you open, you little slut."

That did it. She came. Waves of pressure rode her up and down as she squeezed and clamped against his hardness. Then the wet heat of his orgasm splashed out within her, each rough thrust filling her with a soupy, gushing mess.

They collapsed together on the black-spiked throne, sweat and cum and souls all mixed.

Where had all that come from? He was a Dark Lord, of course, but just moments ago he'd seemed a blushing virgin. Then a beast had awoken. It seemed Inf. Ink, Inc. had had been correct to see promise in this young upstart...

Bob and Bob stood motionless for a long moment. Bob looked down at Bob's pelvis. "No bone for you either, huh?"

"Cut it out, will ya? Wasn't funny the first time."

"Puns are all we have left, Bob."

The two settled back into silence, skeletony wistfulness no doubt filling their empty skulls.

Hexley ought to have packed it up then, with efficiency and professionalism, but something about the Dark Lord made her linger. There was an undefined exceptionalism within him, she could feel it. He just might be the next big thing. Continent level big. But first, someone needed to fix his style. Too 1980's. So, snuggled against him on the wide seat of the throne, she made her pitch.

"Honestly, Bierkhan, this place needs a renovation. Something with color. It's drab, and it's dated, darling, dreadfully so."

The necromancer stirred, drifting up from his post-coital, necromantic fugue. "Hmm? Nonsense. It's called 'Gothic annihilation'. The décor, that is. The throne." The necromancer sulked. "It's very 'in' right now."

Sore spot, seemed to be. But Hexley wasn't one to back down, especially not on questions of style. "Gothic asphyxiation, more like. Have you considered natural lighting? Windows won't kill you, love, that's vampires. Know your sub-genre."

Bierkhan pushed away from her and stood up, glowering darkly in the sickly glow of the braziers. "Natural lighting?" He sneered as he spoke, his voice a growl that matched the sinister energy of the room. "Do you think I care about such aesthetic trifles? I deal in undeath and torment, not--" He coughed.

"That villain voice too, I was meaning to say. It does you no favours." Hexley held him in a reproachful gaze. "It's unnecessary melodrama."

Bierkhan was still hacking away violently. He grasped at a little bell beside the throne. The moment it rang, a side door sprang open, and a man in a poorly-sewn skeleton costume scurried in with a tiny silver platter and rushed up the steps to kneel, presenting the Dreadmaster with a single cough drop.

Hexley stared, aghast. "And why, may I ask, do you have cosplay skeletons on staff?"

Bierkhan squinted at her, cough slowly subsiding. "Eh? Cosplay?" He glanced down at the black-clad man, his eyes narrowing. "Hmmm. Sorry Hex, would you mind handing me the 20-sided die from the little shelf the author just invented, conveniently under the arm of the throne there? Should be near the front."

Bemused and confused, she reached under and found the little die, black and hollow, with glowing green smoke drifting out through the cut-in numbers. She handed it over.

"Thanks. I'll only be a moment." He rolled. Two. His eyes snapped up to Hexley's, then down to skeleton-suit man. The tray was shaking now in the black gloved hands.

Something about all this was very odd.

Bierkhan looked back to Hexley, indignation etched across his heroic features. "Cosplayers? How dare you! My servants are all formed from the tattered remains of my fallen foes, mighty and--" he stifled another cough and popped the lozenge in his mouth, sighing in raspy satisfaction. "Anyway, they're all real."

The skelly-man sighed, bowed, and scuttled away.

Well, if Bierkhan wanted to play at true overlord status for now, let him. He was a one-dimensional character so far, a little half-pint of a villain. But there was plenty of time for growth, especially as a necromancer. Eternal time, even. For now, as long as he moved the plot along through the scene, he was playing his part. But even so, the complete lack of depth, the shallow motivations...

Now where was she? Oh yes.

"But really, love, you might reconsider the stylistic choices. I shouldn't be telling you this, but the bosses at Inf. Ink, Inc. have great hopes for you. They think you might really have what it takes to do some seriously malevolent domination. And after your performance on this throne?" She slapped a hand against the damp surface. "I'm inclined to agree."

Bierkhan choked.

"Again, darling that voice! It needs to go."

Bierkhan kept on choking

"You see what I mean? Think about it; you can't monologue if your voice gives out every few lines."

Yet more choking.

This wasn't right. "Bierkhan?"

He clutched his throat, staggered from the dais, and tumbled down all twelve steps like a melodramatic sack of polyhedral dice. A long, slow wheeze escaped his mouth, and with it the lozenge, dripping a black, oozy substance onto the tiles. That also didn't seem right, did it? Either that right there was a cursed cough drop, or he'd just choked on a plot twist. Hexley felt his soul, bound to her as it was, leave his body and speed on its way to headquarters.

Yes, this was very, very not right.

Silence.

One of the braziers flickered out, embarrassed.

"Say Bob, wasn't the main point of signing him so that the licensing corporation could gain partial rights to all subsequent conquests?"

"Sure was, Bob." The skeleton nodded sagely. "Looks like they've lost their investment on ol' bargain-bin Sauron."

"So now they're responsible for his soul, but they get nothing out of it?"

Bob grinned. (He was a skeleton, he always grinned, but this was a grinnier grin than usual.) "Well, that Hex girl, she got something out of it, seemed like. Right out of his--"

Bob fixed his sockets on Bob's. "Don't do it. Don't say--"

"Out of his bone."

"Damn it Bob, if you only have one joke, we'll never make it into chapter three."

Bob shrugged his shoulder bones. "Eh. I figure with Bierkhan gone, we're probably not long for the narrative anyway. Let's face it, skeleton side characters rarely make it past their introductions."

Bob hung his skull, mumbling. "I don't know, I'm hoping we have a chance to be fan favourites..."

Not good not good not good not good. This was very not good. First assignment as a Sexecutive, and what had she done? Got the BBEG killed, that's what she'd done. The young idiot was a necromancer, that was the irony of the whole thing, hadn't he set up a failsafe? A death ward, plot contrivance, anything?

She looked down at the half-naked corpse below her, and slumped lower in the throne.

There was paperwork to file. A literal dark lord's realm worth of bureaucratic shuffling. The soul transfer wouldn't even be the hard part, it'd be the narrative lag. Stories didn't like it when important characters died off-cue. Authors might find it funny, but audiences can be fickle.

Back at Headquarters, they'd be receiving the soul soon, and they'd know she'd bunged it all up. What to do, what to do? She leaned back in the throne, staring up at the ceiling. The scent of cum still lingered in the back of her nose, and the wet drip of it pooled between her thighs. At least one thing had gone right. Though technically speaking, it had gone in and out, rather than right. Whichever way it had went, it was time now to pick up the sloppy pieces.

The tower trembled. Hells, what now? Was this a collapse-when-the-BBEG-dies sort of tower?

Above her, bright green runes ignited along the arches of the high ceiling and smoked, moodily. The braziers glowed green to match, and crackling flickers of magical static flew forth and stitched themselves together in the air, linking each flame to the next. Where had this flair been for her visit? Had he saved all this for his death scene like some edgy theater kid?

The boss music began to play again. A little message glowed into existence on the arm of the throne:

"PARTY OF FOUR APPROACHING. BOSS FIGHT IMMINENT."

Oh.

"Hells. Devil nuts and fiend tits." Hexley rubbed her temples and looked down at Bierkhan's crumpled corpse. "Darling, it was so thoughtful of you to last as long as you did, at least the second time. But let's be honest, this is the climax I really needed you for."

The heavy doors to the adventurers' entrance crashed open, and the party exploded into the room in a confused jumble.

First through the door was a young woman with bagpipes and little in the way of clothing. She ran in and stopped, gawking across the floor at Hexley.

Next came a young man with shaggy hair, in tight-fitting black leather with daggers in his hands. He looked about wildly and scuttled up to crouch just behind the piper.

Third in was a cat girl of some sort, in long blue robes. Or, possibly just a woman with a cat-ear headband? Hard to tell from this distance. She ran in, ran left, ran right, and stopped back where she had started, next to her friends. Her hands burst into a blue glow.

Last came a huge, hulking orc, with a massive wooden shield in one hand, and a giant butcher's cleaver in the other. He stomped in roaring like, well, like a huge, hulking orc. He charged forward with his shield up and his blade held high, and smashed straight into his assembled party. He came in like a wrecking ball, and he--he wrecked all three.

They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and squeaking bagpipes. The doors clanged shut behind them with a boom that echoed through the hall.

Hexley stared in disbelief for a moment at the heap of adventurers. Succubus, exit stage left? But first, she needed her clipboard. That was essential. It still sat far across the room on the desk. And the party was rapidly disentangling themselves.

The rogue was gone already. Wait, no, there he was, hiding behind the Orc now. The blue-robed mage had stumbled to her feet. The presumed bard stepped forward.

She wore a tiny skirt in the same plaid as her pipes. It made Hexley's own apparel look modest by comparison. Actually, it was less a skirt, and more a wide, floppy belt. Long red hair streamed down over her shoulders, providing more coverage than the tiny crop-top that pretended to cover her tits. Well darling, when you look like that, it's malpractice to hide yourself away in the fine print.

The red-haired bard squawked once on the pipes, a musical war cry, or possibly the grisly torture of goose. Pointing to Hexley on the throne, she cried loud to her little band. "On, my Four Players, on! To glory, and the death of the necromancer!"

The orc raised his cleaver once more, and charged.

Think, Hex, think! What does a Sexecutive do in this situation?

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CHAPTER THREE

Fara's Four Players

Hexley stared at the charging mass of muscled meatshield, and her brain stopped working. Not the job I signed up for nononononononoo! Fight, flight, or freeze, they say. Hexley was learning that, in combat, she was as cool as could be: a freezer. She squeezed her eyes shut. Was this really how it would all end?

(Spoiler, no, of course not. She's the main character, and we've barely cracked chapter three.)

Her pulse pounded behind clenched lids. Her fingers clutched the arms of the throne. Sticky reminders of her prior inefficiency dripped down and cooled faster than her options, adding to the puddle where she sat. It was quiet. She dared to let one eye open a slit. The adventuring party was all watching her, expectant. But expectant for what? Undead hordes? A monologue?

... A strip tease? That at least she could do.

She eyed the orc. He was snorting in rage, head down, eyes furious, but he had halted his charge twenty feet short of the steps to the throne. Hexley swallowed. Her throat still had that cloying cum-feel to it. OK, Hex, focus. Something was up, something was definitely up. She just needed to figure out what. She checked the two male adventurers: neither of them was, so it must be something else.

Relaxing a bit, she tried to assume a more casual posture. She smoothed her skirt, settled herself, and addressed the little party with her most Executivy tones.

"What a lovely foursome." She looked at each in turn. The rogue avoided her eyes, though he was clearly visible behind the waif-like figure of the blue-robed mage. "I'm certain your journey here was long and hard." She paused for effect. "But I've saved you the trouble of a boss fight. Dreadmaster Bierkhan, Lord of the Cold Ones, lies dead." She pointed at the corpse, still completely naked from the waist down.

There was an awkward silence. The bagpipe bard stepped forward with a squeak. "That chud? You expect us to believe this naked, dead guy is the Big Bad, while a literal demon sits on the throne above him?"

"I understand your confusion, darling, but trust me, I've no interest in running this sort of operation. Too many fluids, and I only like some of them. Too much drama. I was here on other business when he had his little death. And I'm no demon."

The bard walked up to the corpse and nudged it with her toe. "You look like a demon. And he looks like a hero to me. I think he was just the last to attempt to defeat you, that's what I think."

The rogue poked out from behind her. "I don't know, look at him, and look at that." He pointed over Hexley's head. "I think something else was going on."

She looked up, and found her red thong hanging from one of the spikes, a conqueror's banner. "Trust a rogue to notice the thirst trap." She tugged suggestively at the hem of her skirt, and smiled down at the dark-clad man, who wilted and hid once more behind the bard. "I was here for Bierkhan's soul, and I've claimed it. There's nothing left for you to do. My apologies if that's a disappointment."

The huge orc stamped his feet. "Bob no trust sexy lady! Bob want fight!" He looked down, brow furrowed for a moment, as if contemplating something complex. "Or fuck. Bob no mind order!"

The two skeleton guards looked at each other.

"Hey, that's our name!"

"Sure is, Bob, sure is."

Bob didn't look thoughtful, since he had no features, but if he'd had them, he would have. "Isn't he a touch inarticulate for an orc?"

"Right again, Bob. Orcs are perfectly intelligent. Dimwitted orcs are just an unfortunate fantasy trope from a bygone era."

"That's what I thought. Do you suppose the narrator just wanted a big, dumb meathead and figured relying on outdated stereotypes would do the trick?"

"Aye, reckon you're right. But hush now." He pointed with his spear at the scene in the boss room. "We're disrupting the narrative tension."

The party was getting aggro again. The bard called out more encouragement, and blew lustily on the pipes. The kitty-cat wizard waved vaguely with her blue-glowing hands. The orc snorted and grunted. The rogue stayed 'hidden,' poking out on both sides of the skinny bard.

This was getting a bit much. Action was needed, and for action, she needed her clipboard. With a clipboard, people would let you do anything. She stood, and began to descend the stairs.

"Hey hey hey!" the bard yelled. "Who said you get to move?"

Hexley stopped, and fixed the half-dressed girl with her most dominating stare. "I said so, darling." She took another step, and paused again. One of the skeleton guards was tottering dryly across the floor towards her, waving his arm bones for attention.

He clattered up and leaned in close. Aged jawbone clacked and clicked as he whispered in her ear. "Apologies for the intrusion, oh sexy one, but I think you need to roll initiative before you do anything."

That was, to Hexley, a meaningless statement. "I'm sorry, I need to what?"

"You roll the twenty-sided die before combat." The skeleton shrugged. "It's what Dreadmasters do." He ducked his skull and scurried bonily back across the room.

Hexley responded loud enough for all to hear. "Darling, I have no intention of engaging in combat, and if I did, I wouldn't be rolling any dice about it."

The Bard jerked the pipes from her mouth. "You have to!"

"Do I, darling?" Hexley stared at the young woman, trying to look imposing, and to ignore the warm, lingering evidence of earlier exploits still running down her inner thighs. "And what if I don't? I won't be some pawn on your grid-paper battlefield, darling."

She turned her back and strode off towards the desk. With my clipboard, they'll let me do anything, anything at all...

There was a tearing sound, as of a rulebook being shredded into many pieces. From behind her, she heard charging footsteps once more. A dagger flew past and clattered to the obsidian floor. Hexley ducked involuntarily and spun, bringing her hands up.

"Hells below, I'm not the boss, and I don't want to fight you, you little twerps!"

The party stopped advancing, looking as uncertain as she felt. "Look, lovelies, I don't know your rules, and I'm not a battle-ready character. I'm a contract lawyer! Let me get my paperwork, and I'll leave you to your adventure, alright?"

"Bob want fight!" The orc stamped his feet. "Want loot!"

"Bob, that's your name, yes? Ok Bob, I want you to listen to me. We don't have to fight. You're more than welcome to the loot room. It's right over there, past those two skeletons." Hexley gave the Bobs a wave. "You might try talking to them. Who knows? Perhaps you'll find something in common."

The party members hesitated, looking at one another.

Hexley turned her attention to the young rogue, now hiding behind the orc's knees. "And you, sneaky boy. I've seen you everywhere you've gone. Stop hiding will you? You're embarrassing us all."

The rogue hesitated, then stood, hands at his sides. The bard gestured her party in to a huddle, and Hexley took the opportunity to stride to the desk and retrieve her security clipboard at last. Clutching it imperiously on one arm, she felt twice the succubus she had. Let's see them try to deny her now. She whirled about, her flair for the dramatic on full display, emboldened by the orchestra that still swelled in the chamber. She was a very picture of power: clipboard in hand, tail swirling around her, thighs still slick with the memory of her conquest. That stuff just kept dripping out of her, more even than in certain unfinished fantasy series. But no one saw it. The party was clustered around the loot-room door. The skeleton Bobs stood off to the side, looking on complacently.

Through them was her exit, so towards them she went. And halted. The red of her dangling thong up on the spikes of the throne caught her eye. The party was distracted, she had her clipboard, things were turning around. She had time. The author wanted an opportunity for the party to draw line of sight to her buttocks. She climbed the steps and reached up high for the skimpy undergarment.

"BOB SEE UP SEXY LADY SKIRT!"

Hell's Balls, that orc must have good eyes. She turned. All the party was looking at her. What now?

"We can't get in without defeating you," the bard called up to her.

Hexley brandished her clipboard, and with all the sensuous poise of a professional sexecutive, descended the stairs. She stalked straight for the little group. "My charming little things. I will open the door for you, and you may loot until your desire is filled."

They parted before her. She strode through and laid her hand on the knob. With a dismissive glance over her shoulder, she turned it. Or, she tried to. It didn't budge. She tried again, harder. No movement. Heat rising in her chest at the failures before the little audience, she held the clipboard between her thighs, (still damp with cum, remember?) and yanked on the knob with both hands. Defeated, she turned to face the adventurers.

One of the skeleton Bobs raised a hand.

"Yes, Bob, what is it?"

"Bob want loot," the orc grumbled.

"Not you, Bob."

The skeletons shuffled their foot bones. "Sorry, oh sexy one, but the doors are locked until the Boss Fight is over."

Hexley closed her eyes. Patience Hex, patience. You survived HR orientation. You can survive this.

"And the adventurers' entrance? Locked as well?"

The skeletons squirmed under her gaze. "Very sorry, oh sexy one, but yep."

She drew a long, long breath, and let it out slowly. "Bob--Not you, Bob! Bob, if I assume the role of the Boss, will that unlock the doors?"

"Yes, oh sexy one, after the encounter."

"And does it have to be combat, the encounter?"

"Erm..." The skeleton Bobs consulted. One of them clattered over to Bierkhan's desk, and returned with a sheaf of papers. "We're not sure, oh sexy one. Can't read." He held out the papers.

"Excuse me a moment, my little angels, I'll need to peruse this." Hexley stepped aside, and scanned over the documents. There were a great deal of fascinating requirements here, she'd have to keep these to explore later: a bit of insight into the affairs of BBEGs. But, there were more important things now. She found the subsection about doors and boss fights. 'Top Level Encounter Resolution: Egress and Fire Safety.' Short of starting a conflagration that would threaten the tower, it seemed the Bobs were right. Either she or the adventurers would need to be defeated. But, combat was not specifically mentioned.

She turned back to the group. "Adventurers, if you would come with me, we can sort this out." Without waiting for an answer, or even looking to see if they would follow, she turned and clicked her way towards the desk. Halfway she stopped. "Oh, and Bob--NOT YOU BOB! Bob, be a dear and mute the music, won't you?"

Skeleton Bobs were left behind. Bob looked at his partner. "Seems a bit contrived, don't it, Bob?"

"What do you mean, contrived?"

"Well, the main character getting roped into defeating the adventurers. Seems like it's just a thinly veiled plot device to enable more sex scenes."

"Eh, Bob, you get more cynical every century. Just sit back and enjoy the show." He stretched his lack of muscles. "Which one of 'em are you most interested to see boning?"

Bob shook his skull, but didn't comment on the pun. "Keep it to yourself, Bob."

Hexley surveyed the adventurers arrayed across the desk from her. "To begin with, I'll need all of your names." She held her pen ready, and pointed to the bard. "You seem to be the leader."

"I am!" The nearly-naked piper puffed out her chest, crop top flipping up to fully expose firm, pleasantly rounded breasts. She hurriedly smoothed it back down. "I'm Fara, and we're the Four Players. Fara's Four Players, adventurers all!" She honked once on her pipes. Hexley winced and wrote down the name.

"Next, you." She pointed the pen at the rogue. "And do stand up, love, I can see you behind the desk. I'm right here."

He pouted, but stood. "I'm Slink."

"It's not his real name," Fara whispered.

"Is too!"

Hexley held up a hand. "If you answer to it, it will serve." She looked to the orc. "You, I know, Bob. But you?" She jabbed the pen at the cat-girl. "Your name is...?"

The blue robed wizard turned her face from Hexley's gaze, and mumbled, "Sara, miss. Just Sara."

"Sara. Lovely." Hexley caught each of their eyes, one by one. Actually, she caught their gazes one by one. Their eyes, she caught two by two, obviously.

"Here is my offer, which you may accept or reject, as you choose. If you reject it, I suppose we will all just have to get comfortable here." She let the silence stretch, tense and expectant as a zipper being slowly undone.

Fara, Sara, and Slink all nodded. Bob just stood there, eyes locked on her cleavage, until Fara elbowed him in the hip. He nodded too.

Hexley's hand flew across the page as she delineated the terms of the contract. She drew four lines for their signatures.

"Each of you will compete against me in a duel of sexual endurance, one on one. If any of you defeats me, the encounter is over, and you are the victors. If not, I win. Everyone understand? Good. Bob, do you understand?"

(Dr. Plot B. Logic would like you to be aware that she was on a smoke break as this scene was being written. Mr. Horni d'Lust had taken over at the writing desk.)

Bob blinked several times, then shook his head.

She sighed. "You and me. Compete. Try to win. Yes?"

Bob grinned, and lifted high the cleaver. "Bob Fight Sexy Lady!"

Hexley shook her head swiftly. That was an idea that needed to die faster than an old man's erection. "No, darling, no fighting. Fucking. This is a duel of desires, not destruction. First to bring the other to orgasm wins the bout. Do we all agree?"

And just like that, the adventurer's campaign had pivoted from a quest to defeat the Dark Lord who ravaged their lands, into an extremely NSFW side quest with a succubus lawyer.

"Oi, Bob. Still think I'm cynical?"

"Yes."

"But you admit this is contrived?"

"Oh absolutely. Now shut up and watch."

"Think they'll all agree?"

"If you'd shut up, you'd have seen that they already have. Signed and everything." Bob tilted his head, and rubbed at his jawbone. "Well, the orc just kinda stabbed the pen through the page, but I guess that counts. Hush now, I don't wanna miss this."

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CHAPTER FOUR

Four Play, All Win

Hex considered her options. She got to choose the order of opponents, that had been written into the contract of course. What fools the little things were, giving up their one avenue for strategy. Well, low level adventurers for low level bosses, after all. But, that put all the power in her hands. And in her mouth. And thighs. Ass, pussy, wherever. Point is, she had the power here. She could almost thank them, but gratitude wasn't among her many kinks.

Riskiest to easiest, that was the way. Rub the hardest challengers off the list first, then mop up the sloppy seconds. But which were the dregs? And who was most dangerous? She surveyed her options.

The cat-girl mage didn't look like much: a little slip made of awkward motions and nervous glances. But magic? (Butt magic?) Magic could mean anything, couldn't it? Best to do her first. If the young thing had powerful tools fit for such an orgasmic competition, best to face her fresh and cool as refrigerated produce.

Hexley frowned up to the sky. Seriously, narrator darling, what a terrible simile. ''Refrigerated produce'? Why not, 'cool enough to make nipples salute.'? Or literally anything else. Do better, won't you?

Anyway, if the slim feline turned out not to be hiding any wizardly surprises under those blue robes, so much the better. Then Hexley would just be off to an easy start.

(It was at this moment, the author decided Hex needed more of a challenge. Keep insulting the prose, and see where it gets you, succubus!)

The rogue should obviously be next. If any class was prone to getting prone, it was rogues. Yes, bards might be flirtatious and bag their fair share of pipes, but no one beat a rogue for devilry in bed. Very skilled at sliding their weapons in from behind. Plus, Hexley liked being stuffed with dick enough to tip the balance in the young man's favour.

The bard would need to be next though, and she'd likely put up a good fight. With that skimpy outfit, she gave off serious try-hard vibes, but Hexley thought that try-hard-ness might translate to this cum-petition as well. And in any case, she'd certainly be more of a challenge than Bob.

Bob. Oh, poor Bob. The big, dumb orc was already half-gone for her, the bulge in his loincloth was proof of that. He would have to suffer through the erotic defeats of his three companions. If he didn't blow his load just watching, she'd make quick work of him. Just starfish and let him jackhammer away for 90 seconds, that ought to do it.

(As with all plans shared with the readers, it could go only one of two ways: as planned, or awry. And, seeing as it's boring for plans to go as planned, awry it would have to be. Take note, always be wary of telling the audience your plan. The author will never let you complete it unless you keep it a surprise.)

Hexley pointed to the blue-robed mage. "You first, sweet thing. Let's see if innocence is a tactical advantage."

Cat ears twitched, and Sara looked around, as if searching for someone else to whom Hexley might have been pointing. Finding no one, she inched her way forward.

"Erm, so how... do we start? With, ah, touching? Or...?"

"Robes off, darling. I'll tell you what to do."

Wide eyes looked back at her. Sara swallowed, and a little mew escaped from her throat. Nerves, or excitement? Or both? Hard to say. The cat-girl complied though, pulling the blue fabric off one shoulder, then the other, and letting the robe slide down to the ground. Smooth shoulders and a slim figure stood bare in the chilly room. Kitty knees trembled.

I'll make her tremble for entirely different reasons.

"No undies at all, Sara?" Fara's voice was loud and a bit giggly. "Guess someone's been traveling light in more ways than one. Never would have guessed it. Naughty." She produced a cat-call whistle from her pipes.

Motion caught Hexley's eye. The rogue was leaning out of hiding with eyes wide. There was something there, certainly there was.

Hexley looked at her prey. This girl would do as she was told, that much was obvious. Shaking legs, big eyes.

"Come here, love. Let me touch you."

With hesitant steps, Sara drew near, coming to a stop a few feet in front of Hexley.

"Oh, kitten. The more you blush, the more I want to bite." The succubus closed the last bit of distance, and placed her hands on Sara's slim waist. Her voice was a whisper of lust in the cat-girl's ear. "You'll come for me, won't you, sweet thing? Say yes, for the readers. They're rooting for you."

Sara mewed a little and draped herself against Hexley, warm and pliant.

Purple fingers trailed sharp nails down the girl's skin, across her stomach, then lower, to one hip, the other, then dipping low to run back up her thighs. Sara whimpered and panted.

"Don't you want these inside you, darling? You only need to ask..."

Sara nodded, her amber eyes misted with lust. This girl will be easy pickings after all.

"Do something, Sara!" Fara's face burst on screen beside them. She blasted out a few honks on her pipes. "You got this!"

Sara seemed to recover a bit and pulled away from Hexley. She set her feet, steadied her shaking knees, and began to weave patterns in the air, blue mist glowing and drifting from her hands. Finally, some initiative. Shame it took public nudity and bardic inspiration to get there.

From the black stone floor all around Hexley, ghostly blue tentacles burst up, surrounding her. Well, this was a surprise! Perhaps her first assumptions about the risks of the wizard had been correct. She took a step forwards, but the tendrils whipped out and grabbed her by the arms. They pulled tight, holding her fast in a warm, slimy grip that slid and slithered over her skin like a very forward masseuse. She cocked a brow at the cat-girl.

"Tentacles? Really, Kitten? At least buy me dinner first."

Sara bit her lip, looking at the waving blue appendages with bashful eyes. "Erm, I usually use them for other things. Not... this?"

She gestured, and two more slithered up Hexley's ankles. For a moment, a nervous tingle welled up inside the succubus, but she swiftly mastered it. It wasn't her first tentacle time, far from it. She had well-holed punch cards for this. But these cool blue ones were unusual. They smelled fresh and... minty?

"Don't apologize, if this is how you want to play, my little kitten." Hex smiled dangerously at the cat-girl. "Come join me, and we can enjoy them together."

Sara took a step, but then hesitated, looking to her teammates. Fara was shaking her head vigorously.

"Don't disobey me, girl." Hex narrowed her eyes. "You owe me your compliance."

But the naked mage only shook her head, and backed away. A tentacle trailed up Hexley's thigh, leaving a cool, spicy feeling in its wake. It certainly was a pleasant sensation. The slick tip groped higher, higher, and she tried to keep her mind on dominating the shy little feline before her. It tickled her lips with its fresh zestiness, and Hexley froze. It pressed just inside, and she gasped. Everyone gawked. Then with a slow, sinuous motion, it wriggled deep into her hot pussy, spicy and icy inside her.

Hexley let out a long groan as the tingling tentacle stretched her wide. And wider. It went in deep, she could feel it squirming around, and it got girthy swiftly. Well, she had chosen the wizard first because it might be the hardest of the bouts. From the pleasurable pulse already starting in her core, that seemed to have been a wise choice.

A second tentacle began to nudge at her ass. Two at once? It might be the end of her. She tried to remember the fine print. The doors would open with the defeat of either side, right? She could just give in here, get double-stuffed with minty cream, like a succubus Oreo, and let the adventurers have their little victory. No, Hex, you don't give up. Not even for amazing, toothpastey orgasms.

Her tight hole was beginning to accept the tip of the fresh-making tendril, and her stomach clenched in anticipation. At this point even the braziers were blushing. A third length crawled up her body and pressed at her mouth. No, no she needed that. Taunts and dirty talk were essential to the strategy. It was now or never.

"Sara, you little pussy, you'll do as I say, or I shall be very displeased!" With satisfaction, she saw the cat-girl's head snap up, guiltily. "You've been very disobedient, you deserve to be--pleghk!" She spat out the tip of the tentacle and tried again. "And you deserve to be punished! Release me, and I might go easy."

Sara melted. As easy as that. She nodded furiously, mumbled something that might have been, 'sorry, miss,' and dismissed the tentacles. Wetness glinted between her thighs. The poor little pussy was obviously beyond worked up.

Hexley gasped as the tingling tendril that had stretched her wide instantly vanished, and she stumbled to the floor. Recovering her inner dominatrix at once, she straightened her skirt and blazer. Well, that was easier than negotiating with HR, at least. She stalked like a tiger up to the little cat.

"On your knees."

Sara dropped. Hexley was a strong motivational speaker.

"What are you doing, Sara?" Fara was furious. "Get up and fight back!"

Sara looked at Fara. She looked at the executive succubus looming over her. Now was the moment to take her and break her.

Hexley stood, legs spread, hips right in front of the kneeling girl's face. "Your fingers. In that undeserving little pussy. Now!"

Sara threw one last glance at the incredulous Fara, then back to Hexley. She threw a third glance at you, the reader, hoping you weren't witnessing this. She mewed again, and cast her eyes down. Both hands flew to the glistening heat between her thighs. Two fingers from one hand slid inside, while the other hand began rubbing in earnest at her clit.

"That's better, sweet thing. When I say 'finger', you say 'how deep'. Don't stop until you come."

Sara nodded meekly, eyes still on Hexley's red shoes. "Yes, miss." She worked away at herself, starting to shake already. She was close. Fara's continued protestations from the sidelines seemed only to push her nearer to that edge.

Hexley kept at her. "You like being told what to do, don't you, my kitty? Now come on, come for me. I want to see you come on your knees. You're nothing but a bit of amusement for me." Just a bit more, and round one would be a solid W. Corporate kink would be undefeated.

"Fuck that little pussy, cat, stuff yourself and come for me. Now! Come!"

And that pussy did. Goals for the first quarter were met. Mewing and crying and quivering, Sara finger fucked herself on her knees on the cold stone floor of the boss chamber, and she came.

Fara had turned away, a fierce look on her face, but now her eyes slid back to watch the end of the show. Slink had come entirely out of hiding, his roguish mouth gaping wide. Sara snuck a glance to the side to make sure he was still watching. Definitely something there, with those two.

"Wow, Bob. Did you see that coming?"

Bob looked at Bob with empty sockets. "We both did. She wasn't subtle."

"No, Bob, I meant the tentacles. What a shocker!"

"I don't think the tentacles came, Bob."

Bob shook his head. "I can't with you."

"Come? I'd hope not."

"Stop punning. Open mic isn't till Friday."

"Eh, chill yourself. Here, Round Two is starting!"

"Now you, Rogue. Slippery Slink, or whatever. Come out and play." Hex crooked her fingers, summoning the young man in his skin-tight leathers. He leaned out from behind orc Bob. An obvious erection pointed down one leg. And who could blame him? But Slink shook his head and ducked back behind the meat shield.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Fara strode over and dragged him out of hiding, pushing him towards the waiting succubus. "Grow a pair and go rogue her up!"

Hexley just smirked at the dark figure. He looked to and fro wildly, as if unused to being out in the open.

"Aw, darling, are we a bit shy?" Hexley took a step towards him, and he stumbled backwards. "Come now, it's only all your friends watching. Now how about we get naked, hmmm?"

Slink shook his head. Time to take matters into her own hands. She strode up to him, and began undoing buckles. So many buckles! It was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in mysterious leather, trying to figure out how to unlock this dark little youth.

He made a half-hearted attempt to unbutton her shirt as she worked on him, but she batted his hands away. He tried to reach up under her skirt, but she just squeezed her thighs and turned her hips. Every advantage counted.

"Aw, look at you trying, love. Adorable." Hexley continued unwrapping the enigma of the reluctant rogue, relentless.

At length he was naked, pale and shivering in the green light. His hands dropped to cover his cock, but hard as it was, it was a hopeless attempt.

"Are we that shy, love? Opening night nerves?" Could have saved that one for the Bard, Hex. But then, she doesn't seem the nervous type. Hexley laid her fingers on his hands and gently pulled them away, exposing his hardness to the watching party. And to the skeleton Bobs, can't forget them. Slink's cock leaped, and a drop of sticky pre-cum beaded at the tip. Oh, not just shy. An exhibitionist, perhaps? Hexley had a plan for that.

She left him there with his friends and walked away across the room, hips swinging, to ascend the stairs to the throne.

"Come, my little rogue!" she called. "If you wish to test me, we will do it here, on full display!" She crossed her legs, and leaned back imperiously in the seat. The naked young man tried to hide once more, but Fara grabbed him and pushed him forwards, muttering angrily in his ear.

With stumbling steps, and many glances behind him, he climbed up to stand before Hexley. He didn't even attempt anything. So much for a rogue's competence in matters erotic.

She pulled him down beside her onto the seat. "They're all watching you now. They can see everything. Sara's watching. You better hope the lighting's flattering."

He shivered, and his cock twitched again. She took the head between two fingers and her thumb, and began to rub in small circles, moving less than an inch, just a gentle teasing. He was very hard. It wouldn't take long.

"Do you know, darling, I got fucked right here on this throne, just before you barged in. You barely missed it."

There was a little moan, and his hips tensed.

"And now you're going to come, right here where I got stuffed, and all your friends are going to see you. Let's give them a show. That's what the fans want, right? They're going to see that thick cock of yours spurt. She's going to see, she's going to watch as you--"

That was all it took. White jets shot high into the air, landing all over his chest, Hexley's hand, and the throne itself.

She stood, wiped her hand on Slink's stomach, and descended the steps, victorious.

Both skeletons were silent. Then Bob spoke.

"Kinda weak performance, eh, Bob?"

"Very. Bit embarrassing."

Bob glanced over. "Who you rooting for?"

"I was on team Bierkhan, so now I'm just here for the show."

"Same. Really starting to like that lawyer lady though. Something about that competence just rattles my bones, you know?"

Bob showed no reaction. He was quiet a moment. "Just watch round three, alright Bob?"

Now for the bard. The mage had been easy, once Hex had brought her to heel and got rid of the tentacles. The rogue hadn't even tried to resist her skills, he'd been nothing more than a reset, some time to cool off. But Fara? She didn't seem like someone who would go down without a fight.

Hexley was about to point to her, but Fara stomped right up of her own accord.

"Alright, time to get serious. Think you can take me on?" She shook out her long red hair, and straightened the minuscule skirt and top.

Hexley smiled sweetly at her. "The choice of opponent is mine, darling. It's in the contract."

"And you choose...?"

"And I choose, that's right." The faced off, nose to nose.

"Who do you choose, demon?"

"Succubus." Hexley drew out the word, sex dripping from each syllable. "I choose you."

Fara threw up her hands and tossed her head again in frustration. "Ugh, then let's do it! You're in trouble."

Hexley didn't find that likely, but this fiery bard was doing something for her, something hot and delightful that tickled at her insides.

Fara joined the combat with a kiss, fierce and sudden, lips locking and sucking. Hexley's eyes popped open wide, but she recovered and gave back in kind. Lips grappled, tongues fenced. Fara smelled like cinnamon spice. Was this a candy themed band? Mint from Fara's tentacles, and now this? But now was not the time to speculate; there was a saliva-fueled battle under way.

And it was not the only engagement of the war. Soon, hands were groping and stroking and fondling. Tops were yanked violently over heads, skirts were torn from around hips, and the two women stood naked, pressed together, purple skin and creamy tan-lines, red hair and black, a swishing tail and some bagpipes, all tangled together in a sexual melee.

Hexley started a new battle between Fara's thighs, fingers wriggling and teasing and pressing and rubbing in the wetness. Fara returned fire, and shot two fingers up inside Hexley as well. She was nimble, dexterous from all the piping no doubt, and Hexley was soon moaning into the Bard's mouth. Both of them were panting, gasping, hips rolling, backs arching. But this was trench warfare. It was a slow-moving grind, and victory would not be had swiftly.

Fara seemed to sense it, and escalated, engaging on a new front, kissing her way down to Hexley's breasts, sucking at her erect nipples, then sliding her tongue down across a tight stomach, a smooth mound, until at last she dove in between quivering thighs.

For a moment, as the skilled tongue of the piper wriggled inside Hexley's clenching walls, and the hot mouth sucked around her entrance, she almost forgot and gave in to the pleasure. But just as the rolling heat started to build within her core, she pushed Fara's head away, sweeping out the bard's feet and pinning her to the ground.

"My turn, darling. I'm thirsty for a taste." She buried her face into that delicious opening, tracing the folds and around the delightful little bud, sucking, nibbling, tasting the sweet syrup, smelling the spicy musk.

Fara was moaning now, wordless and wild. Her hips were bucking up hard against Hexley's mouth. But she must not have given up the fight just yet. She spun around under the succubus, until her head was between the purple knees, with a dripping prize just above her face.

Well, let the girl try. Hexley was confident she could win, and the bard's eagerness indicated that a bit of extra eroticism wouldn't hurt. If the girl wanted more succubus pussy, she could have it. Hexley hovered there, with Fara's face squeezed between her soft thighs, and her own pussy eager and ready above the waiting mouth. The girl's breath was a hot wash across her soaked lips. She felt a trickle of the cum still inside her pour out and spatter down onto the face and mouth below. Fara must have liked it, because her hips surged up under Hexley's attentions.

At first, Hexley kept her distance from Fara's lips and tongue, trying to keep her own orgasm as safely distant as possible. But she soon noticed that the more she ground onto the bard's face, the more the girl's body writhed and squirmed, and the harder she fucked back against Hexley's tongue. This adventurer liked getting her face messy, didn't she?

Hexley let her have it, crushing down with her hips to pin the red-head's head to the ground as she gave her head. So many heads. She ground hard against that willing mouth, pressing in, knowing she was starving the bard for air. She let up, hearing the desperate gasp as oxygen was returned. This girl was close, that was obvious. She liked it when she couldn't breath? That was a gift the succubus could give. Hexley plunged her pelvis back down, squelching wetly against the sopping face, dripping with lubricant, saliva, and the last of the Dark Lord's cum. Her tail snaked out and wrapped around Fara's throat.

Hexley squeezed, and the end arrived. Fara thrashed and writhed under Hexley as the orgasm shot through her, but the succubus held her pinned until it was all over. Only then did Hexley stand up, staring down in victory at the exhausted party leader, smeared and glistening with fluids. Hexley met her eyes and grinned.

"How was your first taste of succubus, darling?"

Fara only panted.

Gingerly, Hexley stepped away from the nearly-comatose bard. Whooo, that had been a close thing, at the end. Let's just hope the orc was as unskilled and dull a lover as his dialogue suggested.

Bob and Bob clapped.

"Best one yet, eh, Bob?"

"Sure was! Not hard though."

"You're not?"

"Huh?"

"You're not hard?"

"Lay off, Bob."

"Alright, Bob." Bob shrugged. "Bob's turn now, I guess."

"Bob's turn, Bob, that's right. Let's see how he does."

Hexley turned to orc Bob. The big fellow already had his cock out. Hexley gasped a little. There was no problem, only... well, his member matched his body in size and then some. She could take it, she was a sexecutive after all, but even so...

"Bob fuck sexy lady now?"

Bob was tracking more than might be expected.

"Yes Bob, it's your turn to fuck the sexy lady. Come here darling, and--"

He was already doing it. In a mad dash, the orc crossed the short distance between them, lifted Hexley in two hands, and slammed her down, legs splayed across his powerful hips.

Hexley moaned loud as the huge cock impaled her, stretching her as she'd seldom been stretched. The bulge of it was prominent in her stomach, driving in and out like a piston. The orc was a jackhammerer alright. Hexley was bounced around like a boneless ragdoll on his hips, held tight in his massive hands. And hells below, she was already close. She thought of everything she could to keep the orgasm at bay: forms, clauses, poor style decisions, overuse of colons and semi-colons, anything. But nothing could distract from the oversize pillar of orc dong slamming into her already worked-up pussy.

No matter what she did, that pleasure and tension kept rising within her, until she knew she would lose. It had barely been a minute since the orc had first speared her. This was humiliating. But, being flounced around like a marionette, she was helpless to stop the wild ride.

And then, inexplicably, Bob stopped it. He dropped her to the ground, sliding the immense, meaty schlongus from her. Hexley tried to sieze the moment.

"Now, darling, let me show you how a succubus uses her mou-glruapppshMMM!"

Bob seemed more than eager to find out about succubus mouths. He grabbed her by the horns and, in one well-aimed thrust, buried himself deep in her face. Her throat bulged against the bloodstone choker, her jaw stretched, her eyes widened and watered, and Bob?

Bob fucked.

Plunge after plunge, thrust after he thrust, he reamed her throat. It was only a few seconds, perhaps two dozen deep drives into her mouth. He slammed his hips home, and she felt the first gush of his cum spurting down her throat. Then the second. A third, and she was gagging. Hexley Sweet, Executive Liaison, couldn't handle it. She pushed away, slapping at his thighs, and the heavy meat slipped from her throat, the rest of the orcish load splattering across her face, tits, hair, and all over the floor.

Bob released her horns, and she collapsed, gasping, down into the creamy puddle.

Bob raised both fists in the air, roaring his victory to the echoing hall.

"BOB WIN! BOB WIN SEX FIGHT WITH SEXY LADY! BOB WIIIIIN!"

Hexley stared up at him. His team all stared at him. The skeleton Bobs stared at him. Even the camera crew stared at Bob. Nobody spoke. Nobody wanted to be the one to explain. At length, Sara stepped forward, and tapped gently Bob on his side.

"Erm, Bob? The rules were to make the other person come." Her eyebrows drew together sympathetically. "I'm glad you had fun though?"

Fara just rubbed her sticky face and sighed. "Next time, we're doing a traditional dungeon."

Bob stopped mid-celebration. "Bob Won," he said again, but less forcefully. "Bob make big boom-shoot."

"Bob," said Fara. "You were supposed to make her come." She pointed at the dripping mess that was Hexley.

Bob squinted at her. "But she a lady. How make Lady come?"

Hexley, not feeling quite steady enough to rise from her squishy seat on the floor, wiped a large splop of white goo from her face. "Darling, I'm so sorry if the rules were unclear. I did try to explain."

The orc hung his head and turned to his team. "Bob sorry. Bob boom too soon. Bob try again later?"

Fara patted him on the shoulder and turned to glare at Hexley. "So, fine. You win. What happens now?"

Hexley considered whether she was ready to stand. She didn't like discussing anything from such a disadvantageous posture. She climbed to her knees, then one at a time, managed to get her feet under her. Aside from the orcish glaze, the red heels were the only thing she still wore.

"Frankly, my dears, I don't give a damn. Leave, go wherever. I want out of this hall as much as you do." At her words, the green light faded away, and the great doors sprang open once more.

The defeated adventurers collected their scattered gear, wiped themselves down, dressed, and left in a sad, dripping cluster.

Hexley picked up her own clothes and looked around. Was there no way to get cleaned up in this hall? Well, necromancers weren't known for fastidiousness. She bundled the skirt and blazer under her arm, and went off in search of the red thong.

The braziers flared bright once more, the sparks flying between them, lighting the hall in a green glow. Boss music started up again. Same damn track. What fresh heaven was this, more adventurers?

The great doors clanged open, and in crashed a party of four, a red-headed, nearly naked bard, a shaggy-haired rogue in skintight black leather, a blue robed cat girl, and an enormous orc with a shield and cleaver, all of them looking somewhat damp.

Hexley whirled on them, still naked, eyes flashing with hellfire. "Can I very much help you? Did you not just leave?"

"Sorry." Fara twirled her red hair. "Autosave is both a blessing and a curse."

You're a sexecutive, stay calm. "So what then, we just repeat this endlessly, until...?"

"Until we win."

I hate to do this so much. I really do. But I hate being trapped in this cycle more. "What would you lovelies say if I decided to let you win, this time?"

"Bob want to win! No care how."

She surveyed the group. "Bob speaks for you, does he?" All three nodded. "Of course he does, darlings, of course he does. The orc with a cleaver. Adorable. Allow me a moment to check the rules."

Hexley fetched Tower rulebook, and consulted the fine print. 'All challenges must be entered into with intent to win.' Well, that was unfortunately quite clear.

"Alright, I can't let you win without a fight, it would seem." Hexley held up a finger. "But! We can change the nature of the competition. I want to leave, you want to win. Make it a four versus one, and call it a day?" She tossed her clothing aside. "Surely you darlings can handle me in that situation?"

"... I think there are a couple gaping plot holes in that, Bob."

"That's the point, Bob. It's a story about holes. Tight, gaping, doesn't matter."

"You're saying the author is aware, Bob?"

"You're catching on. Squint too hard at this prose, and it all falls apart."

============================

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CHAPTER FIVE

Eldritch Wigglies

Hexley surveyed her victims. No, not victims. She would be the victim here, if they could swing it.

"Alright, darlings, I'll give you a moment to form your plan. Make it a good one. I don't mean to sound selfish, but it's my turn to come, or none of us are leaving this building." She gave them all her best villain stare. "Well, get planning!"

The four adventurers huddled up, muttering and whispering, throwing glances at the naked succubus. In short order, they broke, and turned to face her. Fara looked determined. Slink looked embarrassed. Sara looked away. Bob looked at Hexley's cleavage. They all looked disorganized and uncoordinated.

Hexley caught each of their eyes in turn. "You have a plan, then? You're ready for me? I will not be going down easy." Her eyes roved up and down Fara's barely-clothed body. "And you can't expect me to fight fair when you dress like that, either." She flicked at the tiny plaid skirt.

Fara struck a pose. "It's got a +2 to distraction."

"It works, darling, it does, but you don't want me working, trust me. So, you do or do not have a plan?"

The foursome shifted their feet and looked around. Fara spoke for them. "Wouldn't tell you if we did."

"Bob thought you Boss, not bossy lady." The orc glowered at Hexley.

"So, no plan then. Adorable." Hexley circled Bob, looking at him like a meal. "So much meat, so little control. What will he do with all that mass and momentum? Will it help your strategy, I wonder?"

She stepped back to look at the rest of the group. "You need coordination. What do you do in a normal fight?"

Fara stared her down. "We're plenty coordinated. Bob takes the brunt of everything and hits back hard. I direct and distract. And Slink..." She looked sidelong at the rogue. "Slink slinks."

"Does Slink fight?"

"Usually?"

Slink slunk behind the massive orc.

"And what does Sara do?"

Fara shrugged. "Erm... Magic?"

Hexley looked to Sara. "What do you do, sweet thing?"

Sara shrugged as well and stared at the ground. "I just try to help."

"She does help. A lot." Slink's voice was shy and quiet, but sincere.

Hexley sent a quick glance his way, then leaned in close to the cat-girl, lifting the little chin with two fingers. "Adorable. So what are you then, a support class? Emotional support?"

Sara flinched away. "Please miss, no eye contact, miss? It does things to my... cooldowns."

"Again, adorable." Hexley let the chin drop. "My lovely little submissive."

"I-I'm not!" Sara melted in on herself. "I'm just... tactically non-threatening."

"What do you do?" Hexley enunciated each word.

Sara stiffened at the harsh tone. Her face went blank.

"Answer me, kitten."

"Sorry, this just..." She swallowed hard. "This always happens when women yell at me."

"What. Do. You. Do?"

Sara straightened up, still shivering under the gaze. "I keep them alive, miss."

"A healer?"

The cat-girl shook her head. "No. Just, just whatever needs doing."

Hexley sighed. "My delightful little playthings, you do not have a plan. You do not even have synergy." She held up the clipboard. "The rules say I have to try in earnest to defeat you. The rules do not say I can't give you advice. So listen up and learn how to make a succubus come apart at the very seams of her nonexistent backstory."

"Bob, hasn't she learned her lesson about making plans known to the reader before enacting them?"

Bob stroked his jawbone thoughtfully. "I think, and this is just a hunch, but I think this time she's relying on making a plan so raunchy the author can't resist fleshing it out."

"'Fleshing it out,' Bob, really?" Bob shook his skull. "Rub it in, why don't you."

"Out, Bob."

"Eh?"

"... Don't worry about it."

Hexley spread her legs and stretched, and began to explain how best the party should spread her legs and stretch her out.

"First, restraint. I enjoy it, and it will only help your chances if I'm unable to touch you. Practically a guaranteed win right there. The clever little kitten figured that out from the start, but she's too pliable, too submissive. So that's your second goal. You'll want to silence my mouth, if you want to beat me. Whatever you think will work best."

Sara shuffled her feet and looked away at the mention of her earlier defeat, cheeks reddening. Hexley watched her closely, then turned her attention to the bard.

"Fara. Your oral technique is exceptional. Truly a--"

Fara honked on her pipes. "These have plenty of holes and no shame. I'm well practiced." She winked boldly, and honked again.

"Class, darling, class." Hexley examined her perfect nails. "That's where you'll want to start for pleasure, but you'll need--"

"Hey, do your nipples count as weak points?" Fara reached out and flicked one, and Hexley jumped. "Asking for a friend."

This slutty little bard was really something. Hexley composed her face, reminding herself that she wanted to be defeated. Losing the initiative here was no problem, however much it went against the grain.

"Feel free to get creative, love. Only, I recommend keeping Bob here on standby until the finale. He's quite impressive, but perhaps a touch lacking in stamina..."

Bob nodded proudly. "Bob have big lack. Biggest lack you ever feeled."

"Yes, my treat, yes you do." Hexley gave him her sweetest smile. "Anyway, I won't fill in all the details for you. Shall we?"

Fara stepped in close, letting her lips graze against the succubus's. "You want a safe word, before we start filling in all your... details?"

Hexley blinked, heat already growing between her hips. "I won't need one, darling. You've no idea of my limits." She considered. "But if you it makes you comfortable, how about 'character growth'?

Fara ran her tongue lightly over Hexley's lips. "Good choice. You'll need it, you really will."

The party huddled up again, making their plans. They turned to face Hexley, and ripped off their clothes. Slink hesitated, but Fara smacked him on the ass and yelled at him to get a move on. Soon, all four joined Hexley in nakedness.

Fara nodded. "We're ready. Roll for initiative?"

"Darling. I told you last time, I don't play games." She lashed her tail through the air like a whip. "Three, two, one, GO!"

Sara burst into action first, swirling her hands around, and re-summoning the minty tentacles all around Hexley. They swung for her, but she dodged the first two. Much though she may have looked forward to being caught, the rules clearly required her commitment to victory. Even so, the tendrils caught her swiftly enough in their slick grasp.

First they tangled one ankle, sweeping her off her feet to land on her ass on the obsidian tile. A second snatched up her other leg, and Sara gestured for the slimy things to pull. Hexley's legs spread inexorably, the tingly lengths writhing up and wrapping from her ankles to her upper thighs, enticingly close...

Sara swiftly secured her wrists, and Hexley found herself stretched wide and held down to the floor by the writhing things, on display for the watchers. The cat-girl gave a nod to her party, and they closed.

Hexley recovered her composure immediately. She couldn't see the little mage anymore, but that shouldn't matter. She slipped into the role of dominatrix as smoothly as a well-lubricated sex scene slips into a trashy web serial.

"Sara, you disobedient little kitten. We've been here already. Need I remind you how swift your punishment will be? How desperate you are for my approval? How unfit you are to--mmmMMrplmMM!"

Fara, it seemed, was not about to leave that avenue open a second time. Good girl. Mage and bard at least, had taken Hexley's advice to heart. That said, for the girl to use her pussy to gag Hexley was perhaps on the riskier end of the options, given that the bard had already lost once to that particular skillset.

That's not to say it wasn't effective at limiting Hexley, though. With her arms immobilized in the slithering coils, and her thighs spread wide, and her mouth smothered by the dripping wetness between Fara's legs, what was a poor succubus to do? The bard was squeezing tight on either side of Hexley's head, cutting off her hearing as well. Even her sight was almost entirely blocked by the girl's ass and thighs. Nevertheless, she resisted. And her only method of resistance was to devour the messy meal that presented itself. So she did.

But her meal was not content just to ride Hexley's face and be eaten up, this meal fought back, and soon a warm, wet tongue was working away on a succubus snack as well. She was still worked up from the earlier one-on-one bouts, and the lapping tongue and slurping lips brought the irresistible urge to grind to her hips. A warm body with soft breasts pressed down against Hexley's, the bard's long red hair draping down like a curtain over them both, tickling their skin and driving Hexley's need higher.

Oh, she would be losing this one for sure, but she would be winning. Yes, this is what winning felt like.

A hesitant pressure pushed against the lips of her soaked pussy, and the bard's mouth drew back to focus on her aching clit. Was it Slink, down between her tangled legs, sneaking in for the attack? She couldn't see, but as the hot shaft stabbed into her, it did double-damage; it could only have been the rogue. Hexley moaned into the soft lips that mashed against her face, writhing helplessly in the restraining grasp of the tentacles, lost in the pleasure of a mouth and cock both working away between her legs.

There was something else down there too, lower. If Slink was in the adventurers' entrance, who was this working their way in the rear? It couldn't be Bob, it was far too small, and too gentle. And too minty fresh.

The tentacle teased her ass, pressing slightly in, then pulling away, then in again, and back out. In it went once more, further now, wriggling around just inside her tight ring, lubricating and loosening her, spreading her open as the tapered length worked deeper and deeper. Again, not her first tentacle, but the sensation of the slick things was always a breath-catcher. And the menthol, of course. That was new.

Hexley flailed around to no avail, penetrated in two holes, with a sopping pussy making a mess of her face, bound and spread wide by eldritch wigglies.

Her only path to victory lay in freeing herself from said wigglies, and the only way to do that, was to dominate the little cat-girl mage. And for that, she needed her mouth. And to get her mouth back, she needed to finish off Fara. Plan made, she redoubled her efforts, earlier lessons about plans be damned.

She sucked, she lapped, she licked, she slurped, she teased, she slomped, she slooped, she schlipped, she did a dozen other things with her mouth that hadn't until this moment, ever in all of oral history, needed to be named. Under the full, desperate attentions of a newly minted Sexecutive, Fara the Bagpipe Bard stood no chance. Soon, the mouth on Hexley's clit began to slow, getting lazier and lazier as the hips above Hexley's face ground faster and more furiously. You can't make it, my little songbird, not with Hexley Sweet as your opponent.

It was no secret when the orgasm ripped through the slender bard. Hexley's face was squashed and mashed, her ears popped by the squeezing thighs, her head yanked this way and that, then the bard collapsed to the side, and Hexley had her sight, hearing, and most importantly, her voice returned to her.

"Pussy cat! Get over here where I can see you, you naughty little thing!" For most people, it might have been hard to sound imposing, restrained on the floor, being vigorously double-fucked by a rogue and a tentacle, but most people were not Hexley Sweet, Executive Liaison. Her voice may have been jostled and bounced, but the sexual dominance that underlaid it never faltered.

Sheepishly, the cat-girl shuffled over to stand beside Hexley's head, naked, knees knocking.

"Now, my little sweet, you will release me, or I shall be forced to devise a particularly devious punishment for you." Hexley stared up from her back, flopping around from the vigor of the rowdy office party taking place down in her executive suite. "Although, I think we both know just how much you want that, don't--"

"Now, Bob, stuff that slut!" Fara, apparently, was not so out of the action as to have forgotten the task at hand.

A thunder rolled through the ground, as a one-orc stampede of heavy feet and heavier breathing crashed towards her, like a battering ram of long-restrained lust. Hexley had just time to see said battering ram lining up with her face, before it rammed deep inside her, still tasting of the batter from its earlier ramming.

Orc cock slammed ruthlessly in and out her throat, orc balls slapping against her forehead with each thrust. The other cock in her pussy pounded with all the speed of a rogue on an action surge, and the tentacle in her ass writhed like a tentacle in an ass.

Hexley's throat convulsed and gagged, but she reveled in the intensity of it all. Her ass tightened and pushed and spasmed at the flailing pleasure that thrashed inside her. Her soft walls clenched and squeezed on the rogue's cock. She was helpless to resist any of the pleasure that now ripped through her, flooding her with burning heat, and with minty freshness.

She was going to come. She was going to lose. That was the point, she had meant to lose, she had to lose, but it was still the antithesis of everything that was Hexley Sweet, of the endless drive for victory that was the result of some as-of-yet-undefined moment of her backstory. So close, she was so close, the orgasm was about to explode out of her.

Suddenly, Bob wrapped his hands around her neck and buried his massive length down her throat. Shaking and roaring, he held her there. His balls, mashed against her eyelids, pulsed and tightened with each gush of cum that filled her stomach. Oh Devils, she was close, so close, if only he would squeeze a little tighter...

Slink let out a high, rogue-y moan, and his already double-timing hips doubled time again. That's quadruple time, for those of you not currently too smut-addled to do maths. Hexley's back arched of its own will, the roiling pleasure wracking through her as the throbbing of the cock in her throat was joined by the hot wetness now spurting from the one in her pussy. The tentacles held her fast, stretching her limbs and whirling inside her spasming anus, and she joined them in bliss. All three of them screamed and wailed and thrashed and thrust, and fell at last into a puddle of sweat and cum and some sort of slippery, toothpaste-like substance.

Slink rolled off her, his softening penis sliding free with a delicious, wet feeling, followed by a gush of fresh cum. Bob slowly removed his own enormous dongus from her throat, still dripping white strings that drizzled across her face as it left. She drew her first glorious breath in what felt like a lifetime.

The tentacle slowed inside her, as if reluctant to leave, and then slithered its way out of her well-stretched ring. So empty. She was so empty. Ass, mouth, pussy, mind...

But no, the mind of Hexley Sweet was never entirely empty! Certainly not a climactic moment like this! Who had won? Who had begun their orgasm the latest? Bob had been first of course, by a few seconds, but between Slink and herself, it was a close thing, and not an easy one to evaluate after the fact. If it couldn't be resolved in mediation, this could lead to the sort of fact-finding that might drag on for months before any evaluation of the likelihood of success on the merits could be brought forward.

Sara stepped forward shyly, ears twitching, knees shaking, eyes wide. Thighs notably damp with arousal, but untouched. Ah, clever little thing. Hexley had nearly forgotten all about the subby kitten.

"Erm, miss, I'm sorry to have disobeyed." The mage examined her toes. "But you did say we were to try and win, and... I think we did."

Hexley staggered to her feet, still in the red heels. A true executive never takes off her shoes on the job. "Yes, my little kitty, and well done. Well done indeed. You've made me very proud. Perhaps you deserve a reward, after all your hard work. Would you like that?"

Sara's brows drew together, and she sucked her lips, but aroused as she was, there was only one answer she could give: a tiny nod.

"Good girl." Hexley smirked knowingly. "I can't help but notice, sweet thing, that you have not yet dismissed your mentholated summons, have you? Is there a reason for that?"

Cat-girl eyes grew wide, and she shook her head, lifting her arms as though to banish the tentacles, but Hexley interrupted her.

"Ah ah, little cat. You do nothing unless I say so. Now--"

"Hey, succubitch, we're done, right? We won?" Fara was always one to ruin a moment, wasn't she. "We got a room to loot, and a tower to ditch. Maybe you can play with some other pussy later on?"

Hexley whirled on her. "May I remind you, darling, this story is nothing but fan-service. The fans need servicing, after all. And..." She fixed the quivering cat girl in her gaze. "My biggest fan is right here. And desperate too, isn't she?"

Sara only quivered harder, a little mew leaking from her like a half-steaming kitty-kettle of lust.

"That what I thought. This pussy needs a quick petting, then you can all be on your way."

Sara almost collapsed. Hexley bared her teeth in something like a grin.

"So, pussy, let's get your fanny serviced."

Now Sara did collapse, falling to the floor in a puddle of anticipation for the next chapter.

=========================

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CHAPTER SIX

Hoisted by her Own Tentacles

"Say, Bob, you ever get the feeling the author is compensating for something?" Bob said, scratching his bone.

"Compensating? For what, you mean he's got a small--"

"Bob, I'm telling ya, it's 2025, and you gotta stop assuming everyone on the internet is a dude, alright? Naw, I get the feeling that at some point the author tried their hand at writing smut, and got distracted by boring stuff like plot details and the sort of subtle character development that only careful readers will ever notice. I bet they wrote chapter after sexless chapter, and now they're doing the opposite."

"You mean, now the author is writing something that's all fucking and no story?"

"Basically, yeah. That's my hunch."

"Huh. Should we tell them that creating a second unbalanced story won't balance the first one?"

"Naw, Bob, just be glad we're in the juicy one. Don't rock the bone."

"Boat, Bob. Boat."

"Whatever. Let's watch this pussy's pussy get tentacled."

Back in the center of the boss chamber of the dreadly-departed Bierkhan, the pussy's pussy wasn't the only thing about to get tentacled. Hexley was going to make sure of that.

"Listen closely, kitten mine." She traced a pointed nail from one cat-girl nipple, up to her throat, and then down to the other, tracing around and around until both were fully erect. "You will do everything I tell you to, without hesitation, without question. You will not come until I say so. Does my sweet little kitty understand?"

Sara mewed and nodded her head, not looking up from her toes.

"Good. Go stand in the center of your minty-fresh summons."

The girl did.

Hexley paused. "Do you need your arms free to control them?"

Sara nodded once. She looked up, worried. "Is that a problem for you, miss?"

"No darling, but hush. Miss is talking."

Sara nodded and looked down once more. A little shudder went through her and her knees seemed ready to give out again.

Hexley remembered the girl's earlier words. 'This always happens when women yell at me.' Hexley wasn't much of a yeller, per se, but stern disapproval seemed enough to get the job done.

She glanced at the other three party members. Fara was lounging naked on the tiles, trying and failing to look bored and disinterested. Slink was hiding behind Bob, as was his wont. And Bob... Bob was hard again, shamelessly stroking with a vacant look on his face. Hexley pushed the odd trio from her mind, and focused all her will back on the melting cat-girl.

"Sara." She spoke the name clearly, relishing the obvious impact it had. "Be a good slut for me, and lie on the floor. No, on your face. Let's see that round little ass of yours. I'm sure Slink would like to see it as well."

Sara twitched, and her eyes shot to the hiding rogue. Yes, Hex, you guessed well, as you always do.

"Now, I want you to restrain your legs as you did mine. Tightly now, from the ankles all the way up the thighs. I want you to feel that tingly heat right up against your little hole, understood? Just remember that hole is for me to use, when and how I want."

A nod and a little mew came from the floor at Hex's feet, and the tentacles wrapped up the slender legs, spreading them wide.

"Good girl, well done. Now lift."

Sara gestured weakly as she lay with her face on the tile, and the blue tendrils pulled her lower half up off the ground.

"Higher, kitten, higher. I want to see everything on display before I make you use yourself." This is where Hexley shone. Full control, empty holes, and a willing little toy. The only limit was her creativity.

Sara chest and face were squashed against the floor now, with her hips hoisted high above her, forcing her back to arch dramatically. She was panting already.

Hexley considered her options. "You don't need that cute little mouth do you, little kitty?"

With the tip of her pink tongue, Sara wet parted lips. She shook her head.

"Perfect." Every inch the executive, Hexley snapped her fingers. "Stuff it. Deep as you can, sweet. Right down that little throat."

The mage gestured again, and brought one of her own tentacles over to her waiting mouth. Without hesitation, she slid it in, already thrusting, deeper and deeper, until her jaw was stretched wide. A gurgling moan escaped around the squirming length, accompanied by a string of drool. She must be more practiced than she seemed. Then again, what's a girl who can summon tingly tentacles to do, in her spare time? What would I?

Hex felt ready to go again herself, just watching the little cat-girl use her own throat.

"Well done, my treat, I do so like to see you take some initiative. Now. Ass as well. Deep."

Compliance was immediate. A second ice-blue shaft snaked over and began working its way into the tight, little hole. It took a while to push fully through that clenching ring. Perhaps she was less experienced at this?

Hexley spared a glance at the rest of the crew. Fara was no longer pretending not to watch. Slink was no longer pretending to hide. Bob likely wasn't really capable of pretending anything, but he was still jerking away to the spectacle of it all.

Hexley moved away behind Sara, out of her view, and beckoned to the rogue, two hooked fingers and boardroom eyes that brooked no challenge. He came meekly over, and she whispered in his ear. His eyes widened, and flashed over to Sara, now being fucked from both ends, face down, ass held high in the air, legs spread nearly to a split. He shook his head, either in discomfort at the suggestion, or confusion at why the narrator was hiding Hexley's whisper from the audience, in such a close, third-person point of view.

"Sara, darling," Hexley drawled. "You'd do anything I told you right now, wouldn't you?"

A choked, unintelligible noise came from the floor, where the cat-girl's face slid back and forth in a puddle of her saliva and minty lubricant. But she nodded, enthusiastically.

Hexley smirked. "And, you want that little pussy stuffed, don't you?"

More nodding, and a gargled moan. The tentacles picked up the pace, squelching in and out of Sara's face and ass. Her entire frame was starting to shake. The moment would have to be now. A tentacle moved over and lined itself up with the girl's dripping slit.

"No no, little kitten. No tentacle. Not this time."

Sara moaned, in dismay now, and wriggled her hips helplessly against her own restraining summons.

Hexley leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Bind your wrists now, you won't need them any more."

Sara gestured, and a tendril imprisoned both arms in its slick grasp. Wide kitten eyes looked up at Hexley, pleading, above the thick shack that pistoned in and out of her stretched, drooling mouth.

Hexley whispered again, so close that her lips brushed against the cat-ear. "You want a cock in you now, don't you, you slutty little sub?"

The mage's eyes closed, and a long, high moan bubbled and gagged its way out past the writhing tentacle.

Hex stood up and walked around behind the girl, to where the slick length fucked ever deeper into that petite ass. She pointed, glaring at Slink, and this time he came.

(To clarify, he didn't come, he walked over. Sorry for the ambiguity.)

Anyway, this time he came. Erection bouncing before him, he inched over and stepped in between the bound thighs. Hexley slapped him on the ass and he stumbled forward, catching himself with his hands on the spread cheeks before him. His cock rested just against the sopping entrance there, right below the writhing, blue length. Shaking, he hesitated.

Hexley rolled her eyes, and coming up behind the young man, she grabbed his hips, thrust her own hard against his ass, and drove him deep into the waiting pussy's pussy. His mouth gaped open in a long, silent moan, and he began pumping away. Hexley stalked back around the slippery, writhing scene, and crouched down once more by Sara's head. The girl was gagging and gasping now, mew after mew bubbling out of her stuffed mouth. A little information, at the right moment, that's all it takes sometimes. You're too good at what you do, Hex!

"Sara, are you in there?" Eyes fluttered open. "Sara, do you know who's in your tight little pussy right now? Do you know who's about to pump you full of his hot cum?"

Sarah shook her head, eyes locked to her dominatrix's.

"And Sara, you want that little hole filled, don't you? Don't you want to feel that wet, warm load pouring into you, making everything so slick, so slippery, so hot? Don't you want to feel that gushing cream filling your little pussy, overflowing you, pouring down your thighs?"

The desperate girl nodded and moaned and writhed. Hexley threw a quick glance across the girl's shaking back. Yes, Slink was close too. The moment was now.

"It's Slink, my little kitten. Slink is fucking you right now, and--"

Sara spasmed, a wail growing louder and higher in her. Behind, Slink thrust in hard one last time and bent over her. Together cat-girl and rogue exploded in pleasure and passion, writhing around wildly enough to put the tentacles to shame. As they sank slowly to the floor, Hexley just stood back, stance wide, arms crossed, posing for the close of the scene.

A slow clap sounded from the sidelines. Hexley started and looked over. Fara was standing now, obviously trying hard not to look like she was shaking with arousal of her own.

"Wow. Quite the display. Anyone else want to fuck their own combat abilities, or are we set to go? Bob, you wanna try jamming the handle of that cleaver up your bum, or are you good?"

Everyone looked at Bob. He was looking down at the sticky white mess that covered his hands. "No. Bob all good. But good idea. Maybe Bob try later."

Collectively, bard, rogue, cat-girl, and succubus all shuddered. Everyone pretended that dialogue hadn't been written.

Hexley took up her dramatic pose again. She always looked best naked, in heels, covered in cum, and above all, dominant and successful. What an end to her first day as a--

Bob and Bob clacked the hands enthusiastically.

"Wow, good show that, what a chapter!"

"I'll say! Never thought I was a tentacle guy, but I might be a convert!"

The Bobs were silent a moment. Then Bob looked over.

"Touch short, do you think?"

Bob considered. "A bit, maybe?" He checked. "Naw, depending on the formatting I'd say it's at least five and a half pages, assuming mass market paperback. Not impressive, but fine."

"Five and a half ain't much, Bob."

Bob bristled. "I'll have you know the average is only a little over five! Five and a half is perfectly respectable. Slightly above average, even!"

"... We're both still talking about chapter length, right Bob?"

Bob blushed (don't ask how) and stammered. "I, uh. Erm, yes, yup? Why d'ya ask, Bob?"

"No reason Bob, no reason, just--Ope, sexy boss lady's coming over! Attention and all that!"

Hexley strode up in her red heels, still naked and dripping with confidence and fluids. "Do you mind? That's twice I've tried to close us out! Some of us would like to go home."

Bob and Bob saluted and clicked their calcanei smartly.

"Thank you both." Hexley bared her teeth in something that pretended to be a smile. "Much appreciated."

She spun on her heel, nearly overbalancing, and stalked away.

"Hey Bob?"

"Eh?"

"I don't think she read the fine print."

"Oh. Yeah, definitely not."

"I think we should tell her, don't you?"

"Oh yeh, I think you're right, Bob, we sh--"

"Cut it, you two!" Hexley wheeled, halfway across the room. "Your incessant babble is exhausting and repetitive!"

Back in the center of the room, Hexley resumed her pose. Setting her feet wide, she tilted her naked hips to the side, crossed her arms under her breasts to lift and do the opposite of separate. Concentrate? She surveyed the assembled party of adventurers. If they had won, it was only thanks to her guidance. She had been dominant, impressive... other adjectives.

Officially, she may have been defeated, but morally, the victory was hers.

Aaaaaand Scene.

With relief, everyone relaxed, bustling around picking up clothes and wiping down props. Stage crew rushed out and rolled away the animatronics. Soon, the floor was clean, the lights were dimmed, and everyone was heading out for a well-earned dinner, wondering just what the author might dream up for the next chapter.

Well, almost everyone. Alone now in the dark and quiet of the empty set, the Bobs held a whispered conversation.

"Hey Bob."

"Hey Bob."

"We didn't tell her."

"She'll find out."

"We should tell her before she does."

"Yeah. Should we talk about it now though, for no reason?"

"Probably?"

"Alright. You do it then."

Bob cleared where his throat used to be. "Well, as you know, the first person to seat themselves on the Dreadmaster's throne after his ultimate death, will themselves become the new Dreadmaster."

"Just so, Bob. And you'll recall, the sexy one sat there while his corpse was hardly chilled."

"Making her the new Dreadmaster."

"Precisely, Bob."

They were both silent a moment, then Bob spoke up.

"Tell her next chapter?"

"Eh, I think we do it between chapters, to spare the readers the needless exposition."

"Good call, Bob. Always the clever one."

"Thanks, Bob."

Bob grinned. "Oh hey. Gained a few pages from all that waffle. Much more respectable length now."

"How long?"

"I put it at just over eight, depending on the formatting."

"Ah, much better, Bob. Very impressive."

Double high-fives clacked loudly in the darkness.

==============================

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Executive Succubus cum Dark Lord

"Excuse you very much?" Hexley Sweet, Executive Liaison stared daggers at the skeletons. They'd gotten used to this in Bierkhan's service, however, and dodged most of them with surprising nimbleness, considering they were two dead guys. Hexley stared again, without the daggers this time. "It sounded like you said I'm contractually obligated to remain here as the new Dreadmaster?"

Bob pulled a dagger from his eye-socket, and Bob reached in and dragged out the one rattling about in his rib cage. "Very sorry, oh sexy one. But it's all in the rules over there, I'm sure. We just work here."

In a blur of anatomy, wrath and fury, (all three naked) Hexley spun. Once, twice: only on the third circuit did she catch herself, and stomped off towards the desk by the far wall. She needed answers, and she needed them fast, before HQ started asking the questions they went to. Eventually she'd get her clothes back on too, when she had 69 seconds to spare.

"Yo, Sucky!" It was Fara, as if summoned into the scene by the numerical reference. "We're just gonna loot and leave, if that's cool?"

Hexley paused, dripping with... well, with many things, but in this case we'll focus on the sardonic cynicism. "Darling. Is there any world in which you think I might care?"

"Hey, every girl's different, but usually when some chick's had her face buried in my pussy twice in an hour, she at least says bye. Or whatever." Fara shrugged, and honked out the chorus of a catchy, snarky, temporally-relevant break-up ballad.

Bard and liaison both turned, about face, and marched away from one another, to desk and door respectively, aggressively, ignoring the unresolved tension that saturated the room with its arousing musk. Bob clomped after Fara, a dazed smile on his face, half-dressed, with his loincloth askew. Slink and Sara wandered behind, arm in arm, glued together by post-coital sentimentality and goo, though they did throw a friendly little wave to Hexley as they passed by on their way to the loot room and the easy exit through it.

At the desk, Hexley reached out to pick up a stack of papers, and noticed the slimy, grimy state of her hands. Cleanliness before devilry, and all that. She walked over and yanked down one of the black drapes. Yes, it turned out Bierkhan's cloak had indeed been nothing more than one of these, tied around his shoulders. She glanced over at the body. Yet another problem for later. It took a bit of wiping. Bob was an impressively productive team member, or at least his member produced a lot. Eventually, she felt clean enough to handle some forms. Nice crisp paper, nice smooth pens, nice clear rules. She could use some of that simplicity. Oh, darlings and devil dicks, could she use some of that.

Realizing that those 69 seconds it would take her to dress likely wouldn't actually have any effect on the plot, but might prevent the author from gratuitously iterating on the topic of her nudity, she slipped back into her tiny skirt and businesslike blazer, and wiggled the red thong up as well. As fully dressed as she ever got.

Settling herself at the big desk, she looked around. Where to begin, where to begin...

"Sexy Lady?"

Her head snapped up. The big orc could be surprisingly quiet when he wasn't charging or fucking.

"Bob. Are you lost, darling? Your team is over that way, in the loot room. Through the little door." She turned back to the papers on the desk.

"Bob know. Bob just there." Bob shuffled his enormous feet, green skin blushing deeper green. "Bob rage sometime. When Bob fight. Or fuck." He poked his lower tusks out, looking like nothing so much as an enormous, verdant puppy.

"OK." Hexley looked him over, unsure what he was trying to communicate. "Well, Bob, is there trouble?"

Bob tapped his cucumber-sized fingers together. What is with the produce-based descriptions, darling? Paid by the green grocer, are we?

The big orc was still hesitating.

"Well, out with it. What would you like to ask me?"

He inhaled, and held it, puffed up with his lips pressed together like two squished avocados. Really?

The air rushed out, and with it the orcish confession. "Bob worry Bob too rough with sexy lady. Bob very sorry. Bob no know what he do when Bob rage."

Hexley sat stunned for a moment, looking up at the big green sweetie. Has this guy recently been to a mandatory consent workshop, or what? "Darling, I'm an executive succubus with Infernal Ink, Incorporated. It takes more than a rough fuck with a big dick to get me to say 'character growth'."

Bob didn't seem comforted, so she simplified. "It was nice. You were nice. I had fun. Thank you Bob."

He broke into a huge grin, terrifying mouth of splintered tusks and crooked teeth opening wide above her, like a jack-o-lantern carved from a green bell pepper. Her own smile grew fixed, both with fear and with vegetable-simile saturation. Bob reached down the front of his loincloth and pulled something out. Extending his fist, he offered the whatever-it-was.

"Bob find present. Pretty like sexy lady." He shook the fist, and with amusement and some degree of trepidation, Hexley held out her cupped hands. Bob opened his fingers, and a rock fell into her palm. It was greyish-brown, smooth on one side, cracked and rough on the other. It looked very much like it may have broken off the walls in the back hall at some point.

"Thank you Bob, it's lovely. You're a big, sweet, terrifying mess. I'll cherish it darling, truly I will."

Bob's horrifying grin widened. "Bob find it with treasure. Treasure for sexy lady!"

There was a honk from across the room, and orc and succubus both turned to see Fara striding towards them, holding something behind her back.

"Hey, Sucks, got ya a gift too. Found it in the loot. Perfect for power plays or playtime. Might come in useful if you and I ever cross paths again."

Hexley tensed; was that a threat? But Fara was still talking.

"Anyway, we're taking the gold and a couple small things. Upgrading some weapons. But we don't carry packs 'coz it ruins the look, so most of it's staying here, if you want to poke through."

Hexley opened her mouth, trying to think of a witty response, but nothing came. (There'd been plenty of that earlier.) She leaned back, trying to see what mischief the bard was hiding.

"Relax." Fara slammed the thing down on the table, twirled with a toot, (from her pipes, you immature child!) and skipped off across the floor. "Catch ya round, Suck-ya-puss!"

Bob smiled once more, then turned and followed the bard back to the open door.

With her heart gradually subsiding to a more lawyerly pace, Hexley looked down at the tangled thing now on the desk. Straps, rings, buckles, and a very large, very realistic dildo. A strap-on? She glanced back up to see the party just disappearing through the back entrance, and found a little smile tugging at her lips. Yes, she might just be up for round three with the fiery bagpiper, should opportunity present. And the rest of the Four Players, for that matter.

Well, not Slink. He was a bit of a dud, wasn't he? At least, compared to the tentacle-summoning mage, the siege-machine of an orc, and the bardicly-inspiring redhead.

But enough of that. She had work to do. What did it mean that she was now the Dreadmaster? Did she have responsibilities? Was this obligatory? Most of all, what would the higher-ups at Inf. Ink Inc say?

"Well, what would they say, Bob?"

"That's just the thing, Bob." He tapped his skull, knowingly. "It all depends what she can prove. If she can prove herself faultless, or even better, that she tried to prevent Bierkhan from taking the fateful cough drop, they'll likely clear her of any wrongdoing, and send her on to the next assignment."

"And if they don't?"

"Well, Bob, that's where it gets dicey. No, not that kind of dice, put those away. Oh wait, is that a new set, ooooh, look at the D20. Oh, these are so cool! Where did you--ah, you've got me sidetracked, tell me between our little interludes. Anyway, if they think she cracked ol' Bierkhan like a--well, if they think it was on purpose, she could get charged with Usurpation."

"And Usurpation's bad, Bob?"

"Oh, very. Trouble with a capital U, that. If a licensing firm gets a reputation for offing its clients, imagine the hubbub. Could bring about the end of the whole organization. Very serious stuff. Ominous music and sternly-worded letters are just the beginning."

"You sure know a lot about all this, for a skeleton guard in a Dark Lord's Tower."

Bob just winked a socket, and said no more.

After what the Bobs just conveniently discussed, it should come as no surprise that Hexley was stressing. This was still day one as an Executive Liaison: her very first assignment. Possible charges aside, her job performance was still very much in question. She needed to get back to HQ and explain to them precisely what had taken place, and why it was they had a Dreadmaster's fresh soul bopping around, when he was supposed to be finishing up the last bits of paperwork with Hexley, at home in his tower, preferably clothed and above room temperature...

She scooped up the Tower Rules and Regulations and any other papers she could find. First, to HQ with these, where she could pore over them with the help of her team, and provide her explanations. The rest could be cleared up later. She looked back at the half-naked ex-Dreadmaster. Later, Hex, later.

She swept across the room in rush of pink and purple and fluttering papers. The Bobs raised their hands to address her, but she dusted past them, and vacuumed through the back door with self-important suction. If she could sweep, why not the rest?

The loot room was largely still full. Fara hadn't been kidding, they really had taken very little. Why adventurers never wore packs was a mystery, when there was so much loot just waiting for them at every turn. Hexley headed to the door on the other side of the little chamber. Locked. Hells and bells, it was locked. She felt her temperature rise.

"Erm, Sexy One?"

She did not turn. Her sensual features twisted into a very not-sensual expression.

"Sexy One? Ah, have you read all that yet?" Bob came up and tapped the Rules with a finger bone.

Slowly, more slowly than the romance develops in certain other stories, Hexley turned. "No, Bob, no. I have not yet read all..." She flipped to the last page. "...496 pages of this. No. Is there someplace you suggest I begin?"

"Can't read, Sexy One, so sorry." Bob held up his hand bones.

Bob offered, "but, erm, maybe some parts about doors, and adventurers?"

"Bob." Hexley looked from one skeleton to the other. "And Bob. If you know why this door won't open, do be a sweet little pair of bone-bois and just tell me? It would be ever so much appreciated."

Bob and Bob looked at each other. The awkward silence dragged on, but Bob gave in first.

"Well, ah, the Dreadmaster has gotta be here for any adventurers to fight. Or, ah, fuck, I s'pose, begging your pardon, Sexy One."

"Hex is fine."

The Bobs exchanged a glance, and said in unison, "as you wish, oh Sexy One."

Well, there are worse titles, Hex, there really are. Dreadmaster of the Cold Ones, to start with...

"Anyway, Sexy--erm, Hexy One? The tower's got a strict attendance policy. All bosses must remain in their rooms while adventurers are in the building."

Hexley willed herself to remain patient. "So, once the Four Players have fully exited the building, this door will open for me?"

"Hexy One, no, very sorry miss, but erm, ah, well..." Bob trailed off, and Bob picked up the explanation.

"It's only adventurers that haven't made it here yet as count, Hexy One."

The Hexy One considered correcting them about her name again, but now was not the time. "So there's a second party approaching. Delightful. And how often does this occur?"

"It's seasonal, oh Hexy One, they like to come up in the summer when it's nice, obviously, but there's some skiing in the winter too, and--"

"Approximately?"

Bob hesitated. "Couple times a week, maybe? Oh Hexy One."

"And about how long does it take a party to make it to this chamber?"

"Many don't, Hexy One. Some take a couple hours. Some take all day. Especially stealth archers, we had a solo-player last month that took fully four days just to get here, and then save-spammed at the--"

"Thank you, I get the picture, love. So I have anywhere from minutes to days to prepare, depending on where they are."

"Yes, Hexy One."

"Look, it's literally just Hex, OK? Not Hexy One, just Hex."

Two skulls nodded. She thanked them, and returned to the desk in the main chamber. This certainly added pickles to her sauce.

(Not the euphemism you think it is, sorry. Fairly certain that idiom accidentally slipped in from the erotic fast food delivery story this one is filed next to. Although, with that under consideration, perhaps it's a euphemism after all?)

New plan then. Step one: don't die. Step two: everything else. HQ and their concerns only mattered if she survived long enough to escape the Dark Lord's lair she'd just apparently inherited. Not every party was likely to consist of a bard in a stripper costume, a subby, tentacle-loving cat-girl, an exhibitionist rogue, and a meat-headed meat-shield with a prodigious meat-stick. She couldn't rely on fucking all her challengers into submission. Most, perhaps, but not all. It remained her Plan A, but some parties might actually be prepared for combat, and Hexley very much was not. Normally, as a succubus, she had no use for Plan B. There were enchantments for that. But this wasn't normally.

She sat down at the desk. How had Bierkhan handled this? Had he summoned endless skeletons to overwhelm his attackers? Was he combat-ready himself? He'd certainly had the physique for it. After six years as a paranormal-legal, she ought to be able to find something here that she could use as a defense, whether or not it had been intended that way.

Opening the drawer, she found a disturbingly disorganized mess of paperwork, knickknacks, doo-dads, and other necromantic detritus. It was no surprise that the dead master hadn't filed for a Dark Lord license, with records like this. Unopened mail was mixed in with unpaid bills, unfilled forms, and empty candy wrappers. Bierkhan seemed to have had a fondness for Bone-Bons and off-brand gummy worms. There was an angry note from the local HOA complaining about, unsurprisingly, the number and height of the spikes in the front yard.

Hex sifted through the useless mess of paper and trash. All trash, really. What was this? A love note, it looked to be, addressed to a 'Tiff, Light of my Unlife'. It had never been sent. Just as well, she thought, noticing the 'check yes or no' at the bottom.

A little side drawer was empty except for a handgun. She lifted it, surprised at the discovery. Firearms weren't a part of the worldbuilding for this story. Perhaps it had slipped in through a narrative crack? She looked it over. A little engraving on the grip read 'Kalash Jackof & Sons'. It was loaded, but there was no extra ammunition. She tucked it carefully away. That would certainly come in handy later on. It wouldn't be at all surprising if it played a decisive role at a pivotal plot point, given the amount of words already dedicated to it.

In another drawer, mostly filled with green yarn and knitting needles, she found a sealed envelope, the front of which read, 'Do not open until Chapter Eighteen'. Always respectful of written requirements until they were proven extra-legal, Hexley tucked it away for later, with a mental note to reference it again a few times, and then let it fade into forgetfulness by Chapter Fourteen or so, so it could reappear with maximum drama.

The only other thing of interest her search turned up, was a well-kept record of Bierkhan's encounters with adventurers here in the boss chamber. It seemed he had been very successful, especially for such a low-level Dark Lord. In his three months here, he was undefeated after nearly 30 attempts. That was highly unusual. Dark Lords were generally expected to fall to the adventurers; it was tradition, after all. A one to one win-loss ratio would have been impressive, even for a more established BBEG. A scorecard of nothing but victories was unheard of. HQ was right, Bierkhan might just have been the next big thing. Felled by a lozenge...

There was yet another thing to be worried about, the man in the skeleton suit. Was he truly staff here at the tower, or an imposter, an assassin? So many things to consider, like the envelope that was not to be opened until Chapter Eighteen, but time was passing, and the next wave of adventurers was still approaching, somewhere in the tower below. She needed a plan.

She looked down the chart, reading the brief descriptions of each victory.

'1. Swarmed by skeletons

2. Souls devoured

3. Solo adventurer. Unarmed duel

4. Swarmed by skeletons

5. Swarmed by zombies

6. Accidental. DPS character lagging

7. Souls devoured

8. Stealth Archer. never fully entered, missed 12 shots, left

9. Swarmed by zombies

...'

On it went, none of it in Hexley's wheelhouse. What was her wheelhouse? What was a wheelhouse at all, come to think of it? A garage? Part of a mill? Tire shop? She shook her head, clearing the unnecessary digression. What was she good at? Contracts and Sex. And saying 'darling', of course.

If other romanceable parties showed up, she could deal with them as she had here. But for those too sexy, or too violent, or too prudish, she still needed a second option. If sex was out, that left contract law.

Springing into action, Hexley drew up a long set of release forms. Clauses within clauses. Fine print for fine print that had finer print below it, topped off with print so finely finer she had to use a jeweler's loupe to compose it. Section after convoluted, unintelligible subsection flowed from her supple pen, dripping and gushing inappropriately across the page until the editor complained that the verb and adjective choices were ill-suited to a paragraph about legal writing.

At the end of it, she had a labyrinth of pointlessly arcane language drawn up, complete with minotaur. It was enough to keep any adventurer puzzling for an hour at least. In the jeweler's-loupe-level fine print, a minuscule asterisk led to a yet finer footnote, which explained that any adventurer who signed the form agreed to consider themselves defeated, to leave, and to never return.

Hexley settled back in the dark lord's chair, kicking her feet up on the desk in satisfaction. Her short skirt rode up, just enough to reveal the thin, red thong that barely covered her hot, delicious pussy, and ran like a lucky tongue up between her perfectly round cheeks: a blatant attempt at fan service after several thousand words of not-even-tepidly erotic prose. Every BBEG deserves at least one gratuitous thigh reveal, darling.

A nagging doubt tickled at her though, more tingly and insistent even than Sara's tentacles, though less minty. With the Four Players, victory had resulted in an autosave-enabled do-over. Not until she had allowed herself to be defeated had the party actually left. Had she, Hexley Sweet, finally found herself in a situation where learning to lose was the smart option? Now that would be character growth.

A second thought occurred to her. Could this realization account, at least in part, for the lackluster performance of so many Dark Lords? Ill-aligned incentives?

Let's just get through this little spate of adventurers, Hex. Then we can worry about systemic issues with Dark Lording.

She had a go-to first line of defense: fuck anything that dared enter the room. She had a back-up for those unwilling: the form. Coercion by contract: every lawyer's wet dream. And for any that still chose violence? The gun, which, for plot convenience, she had an intuitive understanding of. She cast her eyes across the desk, hoping some other clue might have been missed, some better option, an unlikely clause, a loopier loophole, a deus ex machina in a drawer, that one weird trick that would turn the whole legal drama on its head.

But there was nothing, only the strap-on. Fara's words echoed through her head. 'Might come in useful if you and I ever cross paths again.' But which of them would wear it? She picked it up, noticing as she did that despite it's prodigious size, the dildo was really a sad, flaccid thing: hefty enough, but too floppy for any real use. Odd, that. Perhaps it was enchanted to respond as a real penis would?

On a whim, Hexley pulled off her thong, and slid the harness up under her skirt. It fit perfectly without adjustment. She lifted the hem to inspect. The cock that dangled there looked perfectly lifelike, so natural that it took her a full minute to notice it was now purple in color, an exact match for her skin tone. Astonished, and pleasantly so, she reached down curiously to lift the floppy appendage, and gasped, dropping it.

She could feel it.

With trembling fingers, the experienced, dominant succubus stretched out her hand once again, wrapping her fingers around the soft, purple cock she wore with all the trepidation and delight of a virgin in a sex shop. A little thrill ran through her body as she felt the soft grip wrap around her cock. Things I didn't expect to say on day one as a Liaison, 'My cock.'

Her cock responded, beginning to swell and stiffen in her grasp. What an odd sensation! She could feel the blood pulsing into it, stretching the skin, larger and larger, until a throbbing, frightfully hard shaft extended from her hips, lifting her skirt and poking out from under. It was an impressive piece. Not Bob-sized, (because who was?) but long and thick enough to do any humanoid proud.

There was a knock on the heavy doors to the chamber, because obviously there needed to be more at stake here. Hexley stiffened to match the large member that bounced before her. No music, no glowing runes or leaping braziers. Not adventurers then, so who? Swiftly, she pulled off the strap on--

Or attempted to. Because of course not. Again, more at stake. We need problems in layers, here! The thing didn't budge. The knock came again, louder and faster this time. Hex tugged and poked at the leather bands, peering down, looking for a release, something to loosen it. But it was her cock. She gaped at it. The base of the purple appendage seamlessly merged with her body, just where her clit should be.

More knocking. Could it be someone from HQ already? But surely they would use the back entrance? She tried to tuck the unruly thing under the skirt, but the skirt was tailored to conceal a woman's anatomy, and even that only barely. It hadn't the slightest chance of hiding an plus size erection. Woman's fashion is never ready for this sort of contingency, is it?

The door was opening. Whoever was on the other side was clearly tired of waiting. Hopefully not someone with questions of their own, or worse, a clipboard.

Hexley sat at the desk, concealing her new anatomy under the dark wood. As long as she stayed seated, things should be fine. And, if occasion required her to stand, well, what could one expect from an Executive Succubus cum Dark Lord? Unconventional genitalia should be relatively low on the list of shocking reveals, in the grand scheme of things.

The door opened the rest of the way, and a cliffhanger walked in.

==========================

==========================

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pen Pals and Plans

"Bob, I'm concerned?"

"Why's that Bob, that cliffhanger too much for you?"

"No Bob, that's just it. After all the suspense the audience were left in, I--"

"Now Bob, let's not use the passive. If you want to make accusations, just make them."

"Fair. After the narrator left us in such suspense, I worry that this so-called cliffhanger is a bit of a let-down."

"You're over thinking, Bob. Cliffhangers are just there to entice the reader on to the next chapter. They're not intended to be indicative of anything important. The idea is you get people to turn the page, and then--"

"It's digital, Bob."

"Right, well, you get them to navigate to the next chapter as their device permits, then. Once they're there, it doesn't matter if they're let down. They're already reading. Mission accomplished."

"Seems like a cheap trick. Bait and switch, and all that."

Bob snickered.

"What you on about."

"Bate and Switch."

"... Wut?"

"Tell you when you're older."

"Bob, I'm over 300 years dead, you schmunky little..."

We leave our unnecessary Bob intro, and move out into the main chamber of the Dreadmaster's boss fight room, into which said over-discussed cliffhanger had just walked. But really, she wasn't so much a cliffhanger as she was...

"Tiffany. Tiffany Tough. Friends call me Tiff-Tuff. Who's asking?"

With her newly-altered lap still hidden behind the desk, Hexley looked the young woman up and down: long legs, aggressive stance, fierce brown eyes, spiked brown hair, brown polo shirt and a brown name tag that read 'Hello, my name is Tiffany.' It was an introductory description worthy of a mirror scene.

"Hexley Sweet, darling. Executive Liaison for Infernal Ink, Incorporated." She gave Tiff her executiviest smile. "How may I assist you today?"

"Heeeey, that's usually my line! And I know you guys, you're top notch." Double finger guns at Hexley. Then by way of explanation. "I work first line customer service in Hell."

"Isn't that all customer service, love?"

Tiff laughed, easily and loud, striding across the room to slouch against the desk. "Yeah, looks like you would know. You Bier-baby's new secretary, or what?"

"Inf. Ink, Inc. doesn't subcontract succubi for secretarial work, darling. I was here for a meeting with your...'Bier-baby'. Might I ask your business? You don't strike me as the adventuring sort, love, I hope you don't mind my saying."

"Not at all 'darling'. I hope you don't mind my saying you look like you had your ass handed to you heading up here." Tiff's smile was... aggressively pleasant.

Hexley stiffened. Well, she was already stiff, that hadn't changed, but her demeanor stiffened as well. She was well aware of the crusty, disheveled state of her appearance. "On that note, love, how did you manage to get up here? You look unscathed, for a customer service representative who just came in the adventurers' entrance."

With a carefree examination of her nails, Tiff explained. "Like you said. Just gotta manage it. You wouldn't believe how much low-level BS you can skip if you just ask for a manager."

There was a brief moment while Hex tried to decide if this service rep was messing with her or not. "Are you trying to tell me, you I-want-to-talk-to-your-managered your way into a Dark Lord's boss room?"

"It's all in how you ask, lady. Me? I know it from the inside. Come in angry, you get nothing. First step, show 'em you understand the limits of their position, then explain how your problem is unique, and difficult to solve, and they'll practically throw you up the chain. Easy." Tiff batted her eyes, and mimicked Hexley's words back at her. "So on that note, love, are you gonna call Bier-baby for me, or do I have to ask for your manager as well?"

Hexley gave her a long, withering look that rattled the bones of the Bobs far across the room, but did nothing to ruffle Tiff. With deliberate drama, she pointed with a somehow still immaculate nail at the crumpled, half-naked corpse of the former Dreadmaster. "I fear he's beyond calling, darling."

Tiff followed the finger, peering through the gloom, then straightened up, mumbling under her breath. "Sonnuva..." She glared at Hexley. "You fuckin' killed him?" Then with faltering steps, she walked over, taking in the very-dead status of the necromancer, and his lack of pants. Brown hair flying, she whirled on Hexley once more. "You fucked and killed him?" Her footsteps were loud in the echoing hall, more impressive even than Hexley's had been, as she stomped back to the desk, heading for Hexley's side this time.

She stopped, obviously unable to miss the large, purple strap-on that still proudly lifted Hexley's boardroom/bedroom skirt. "You fucked and killed him?"

Hexley needed to stop this train of reasoning. Truth should do it, for once. "Darling, I did not fucking kill him. I did not fuck and kill him." She looked down at her lap. "And I very much did not fuck and kill him. This?" She pointed to her lap. "This is a recent acquisition. Post death, darling."

Tiff grabbed her by the lapel and hoisted her up off the seat. "Look, lady, if you didn't kill him, and you didn't fuck him, you're going to have to explain why my Bier-baby's half-fuckin' naked and dead, and why you're sitting at his desk with a big old lady-schlong flopping around."

"Mind the blazer, love, it's D'Inferni. But this lady-schlong, as I've already said, is new. An accident, darling, something I just slipped into a moment ago." She caught Tiff's eye. "Am I right to assume Bier-baby was your... lover?"

Tiff hesitated. In the awkward silence, Hexley remembered the little love note for 'Tiff, Light of my Unlife.' She also remembered to remind us that she hadn't forgotten the sealed envelope, not to be opened until Chapter Eighteen.

"Actually," she said. "I think there's something for you here." She opened the drawer and drew out the love-note.

Tiff's face grew less and less Tuff as read the sappy thing. "Aw, my poor Bier-baby." Slowly, she reached for the pen, and checked 'Yes'. Moist eyes looked up at Hexley. "He used to call customer service all the time, ya know? I always made sure I got the line. We had a bit of a thing going I thought, over the past few months. Then he stopped calling, so I came here to see what was up..."

After that, we can presume that Tiff dissolved into a sloppy puddle of grief and mourning for a while, and that Hexley fully explained the situation in all it's gory, gooey details, but we'll never know for certain, because Bob rolled his sockets and clacked over to the control panel and skipped several scenes until we arrived at a point where the two women were laughing and in good spirits, discussing best how to redecorate the chamber.

"Ya know something?" Tiff was saying. "I really thought he'd have better taste, the way he sounded over the phone. Anyway, whaddaya say we go loot that loot room and see if there's anything worth hauling out here?"

"Darling, that's a wonderful idea. I'm certain I saw some better drapery in there earlier."

Hexley stood up, unstoppable strap-on still bouncing around erect. Tiff's gaze dropped to it, and she paused for a second.

"I hope you don't mind this, love." The succubus batted the distracting appendage, startling herself with the sensation. "Haven't figured out how to get it off, yet."

Tiff snorted. "In my experience, it's pretty easy. Just rub 'em a bit and you're done."

"Droll, very droll. Are you offering to give me a hand?"

"I ain't jerking anybody that uses the word 'droll', especially not twice in one sentence. Plus, you just fucked my dead boyfriend. I'm grieving."

"I would like to clarify that he was alive, when I did." Hexley's lip curled at Tiff's imprecise use of language. "And, you don't seem particularly grief stricken."

"Well, naw, but that's just because it'd make for a shitty chapter. No one wants to read six pages of some bit character sobbing. Obviously, I was written in to get fucked, and I like to be in a good mood when that happens."

"Generally, I leave the fourth wall breaks to the Bobs, darling."

"Untrue."

"All the same, you destroy the tension when you let us all know what's about to happen." Hexley pursed disapproving lips.

"Aww, that's BS. Nobody never felt less anticipation because someone said, 'and later, we're gonna fuck.' Just not how it works."

In the loot room, they did indeed find new drapes, of a suitably sinister purple. Still evil, but not so drear as the muted blacks. They had the Bobs lug the heavy mass of fabric onto the floor, as well as a few other oddments. Some little knick-knacks; a crystal ball that seemed inert (oooh, foreshadowing); a partial set of ancient encyclopedias, from D to V; a xylophone made of bones, a xylobone, if you will; a solid gold set of goblets with a decanter and platter to match; over a dozen paintings of various creepy looking old men; some assorted potions to add to the magicky vibe; and of course, the enchanted mirror. They also had all the treasure chests they could find brought out, emptied. Tiff had suggested they could be a possible distraction for any adventurers who made it to the chamber. All in all, it was a decent starter haul.

"Say, Hexy." Tiff flopped down on one of the treasure chests. "This is great. Having an awesome time and all that jazz, but don't you have some adventurers to prepare for?"

The succubus sighed. "I suppose, darling. I do have a plan. Two actually."

"And they are?" the mirror asked.

Tiff jumped. "Well shit, it talks?"

"'He,' if you don't mind. My pronouns are right there on the frame. But yes, I talk." The mirror sounded affronted.

"Well so fuckin' sorry, I never saw a talking mirror before, alright? So ya got a name, or what?"

"I do not." The mirror's face fell. Right out of the frame.

Hexley looked at the other woman. "I can't imagine most mirrors have a name, darling, tragic though that may--"

"Lord Reginald." Tiff's voice was decisive.

"Excuse you?"

"That's what I'm naming him, if he ever comes back."

The mirror, or should I say, Lord Reginald, did indeed come back, his spirits lifting him on tiny flapping wings back into the frame. "Oh. Oh you wonderful woman, my heart brea--"

"Don't!" yelled both Tiff and Hexley as one.

"Seven years bad luck, love. Can't have that."

There was an awkward moment as the fine spiderwebs of cracks on Lord Reginald's heart quickly repaired themselves. "My apologies to you both. Know that I am most grateful for the name. I find it suits me." He reflected a moment to examine the tweed. "Ah yes, but now, might I hear your plans? I may be able to offer some insight and advice from my long stay here in the tower."

Hexley filled them both in on plan A, the battle of the flesh, and Plan B, the battle of the fine print. A battle of lust and a battle of law. Of passion and paragraphs. Of devils and lawyers, as if there was a difference.

Once Hexley had finished her awkward series of poetic juxtapositions, Tiff and Lord Reginald were both silent for a minute. Finally, Tiff spoke up.

"So, either ya fuck 'em with your dick, or ya fuck em with your lawyer stuff?"

"I hadn't intended to use the dick, but I suppose that's the essence of it, yes."

"So what happens if they just waltz up and bap you with a sword or some shit?"

"I have a Kalash Jackof."

Lord Reginald coughed politely. "Excuse me miss, a what?"

"A firearm. A gun."

Silence again. Hexley though neither one of them looked like they thought the plans were any good, though neither did either one look like they wanted to say so.

This time, it was Lord Reginald who broke the silence. "Truth or Dare."

"Dare!" Tiff jumped to her feet. "Always dare, every time baby, don't even gotta ask me!"

"Far be it from me to disregard your bravery, miss, but I was offering the idea of the game as a challenge which might be suited to the new Dreadmaster's skills. If accepted, Truths, and especially Dares, might be an excellent fit for her strengths. If rejected, the adventurers must accept defeat."

Tiff pumped her fist in the air. "Fuck yeah, love it!"

Hexley was skeptical. "It's a wonderful suggestion, darling, but I'm not certain I see the advantage over my current plan." She raised a neatly drawn brow. "It almost sounds like someone trying to force raunchy, humorous shenanigans into a plot with little to no planning."

Lord Reginald sniffed. "My dear, have you seen our genre tags?"

Hexley looked up at them. "Ah. I had not. Yes, well that does explain a thing or two, doesn't it? Very well, let's have the contrivance. Truth or Dare it is!" Hexley walked over to the forms she had drawn up, and shredded them, certain such impulsive behavior would not come back to bite her, literally or idiomatically.

(It was at this juncture that Dr. Plot B. Logic quit, grabbed her hat and coat, and left the building, never to return.)

"I might also suggest," huffed the mirror, "that you remove the previous Dreadmaster before engaging? I fear for what malevolences might befall his remains, were he to remain..."

The new and current Dreadmaster (Hexley Sweet, that is) shot a look at the Bobs. "Would you mind, loves? Take him away before he gets too foul?"

Bob pressed something on the wall. "Maintenance to the Boss Room for a clean-up, please? Maintenance to the Boss Room for a clean-up."

A few moments passed, and a trio of skeletons, all also wearing 'Bob' name tags, filtered into the room, each with a little apron of tools, hauling broom, mop, bucket, and various cleaning products with them.

"Wow," said a maintenance Bob. "Thought this guy was gonna last a long time."

"Good stuff, he was. Nice chappy too," said another.

"Aye, sad day, sad day," said the third. "Well, that's how they go!" He turned to Tiff. "Mind if we open the skylights for some light while we clean? We can close 'em again when we leave."

Tiff pointed at Hexley. "Erm, think that's the broad you want."

Hexley frowned at the 'broad', but let it pass. She surveyed the three new Bobs, noticing their empty gazes dropping to her still rigid expansion pack. "Skylights, did you say, my lovelies?" She threw her head back in overwrought delight, worthy of an arch-villain. "I told Bierkhan he needed some natural lighting. Please yes, Bob, and leave them open when you go, won't you?"

At last, the Bobs had scrubbed and cleaned and tidied, and put up the drapes as well, and then trundled out with Bierkhan's corpse balanced awkwardly on the mop bucket. Tiff tapped Hexley's elbow.

"Hey uh, Dreadmaster, I guess?" She quirked her lips and looked to the dusty beams of light now falling from the ceiling. "I was thinking we should probably test your plan. A mock battle, ya know? Training."

Hexley turned slowly. "My sweet little thing. Are you asking me to play Truth or Dare with you?"

"Naw." Tiff threw her a sardonic look. "I'm asking you and Lord Reginald here to play with me."

"Oh, oh dear," the mirror sputtered. "Oh, I couldn't possibly, Oh, most inappropriate, oh I quite--"

"Hey Lord Reginald, Truth or Dare?" Tiff pulled Hexley down so they were seated in a little circle with Lord Reginald.

"Oh sakes, are we playing already? Well then, erm, eh, hum, ahhh, well I suppose I'd better go with Truth than, hadn't I?"

Tiff grinned. "Yeah, I thought so. Ok then, who's the hottest person you've ever reflected?"

"Oh, that's simple. Two years back, a fire mage summoned a lava elemental right in the loot room. Can't imagine why he thought it was appropriate. I was dreadfully worried it might melt me into a puddle of glass! Terrible memory."

There was a disappointed sneer on Tiff's face, but she accepted the answer. "Ok, fair enough. Your go."

"Oh, my go? Oh, well then! Ah, Dreadmaster, I suppose, if you don't mind. Would you like Truth, or do you prefer Dare?"

"Dare, darling." Fiery eyes reflected in the mirror. (If you get in a staring contest with yourself in a sentient mirror, is it yourself, or the mirror against which you're competing?)

"Oh goodness, a dare already. Well, give me a moment, I hadn't thought of one." Lord Reginald looked inward, an odd effect, as his eyes rolled entirely backwards. The he began to chuckle. "Oh, Oh! I have a good one, yes. Here it is. Walk backwards around the room, flapping your arms, and clucking like a duck."

Tiff sighed. "I think I'm regretting this already. Have you read our genre tags, Lord Reginald? Also, ducks don't cluck, they quack. I'm saying that one doesn't count. Everyone get one veto, I've just decided."

Hexley shot her a thankful glace. "Well, that makes it my turn then, I suppose. Tiff. Truth or--"

"Dare! Always, I told ya. Dare."

"Adorable. Well then, I dare you to pose in front of the mir--in front of Lord Reginald. The sluttiest poses you can think of."

Tiff's brown eyes gleamed like they wanted to be gold, and she hopped up to view her reflection. It only took her a moment to notice the effect. "Oh daaaaammn, I look good!"

She tied up her brown polo, showing of her toned stomach, then tried out a few poses, ranging from the relatively mild, (wide stance, hips cocked, grasping her boobs) to about as many chili peppers as one can get when clothed, (Back-to, bent over, rubbing herself inside her work pants.)

Lord Reginald blushed more and more until all the mirror could show was a sheet of pure fuschia, functionally ending the dare.

"Well, I do say, if it's that sort of game we're playing I--I mean really, I never..."

Tiff finished up with one last squeeze of her tits, making sure Lord Reginald got a mirror full of cleavage. "It is that sort of game, Reg. So let me ask you. Truth or Dare?"

"Oh, Truth, fair one, I am very much a Truth sort of player, I confess."

With a nod and a smile, Tiff leaned back. "Alright then. What else can you do, aside from talk and make people look hot as hell?"

"Oh, what an excellent question!" Lord Reginald beamed, and the two women winced at the blinding light. "I can also show your past, some possible futures, let you speak to those with other magical mirrors, and of course, show your deepest desires."

The silence that followed his chipper statement was one of those silences often described as 'stunned'. How you stun a silence has always been a mystery, but read enough prose and you'll know it can happen.

Tiff turned slowly to look meaningfully Hexley. "Well, I suppose that makes it Lord Reginald's go again..."

"Mmm, quite, yes. Hmmm, well let me see, I suppose right back at you, Tiffany, doncha know! Truth o--"

"Dare! Third time I've had to tell ya."

"Quite. Yes. Well, Dare then, and in the flavour you seem to enjoy, no less. Right. Well, I dare you to touch the erect penis of the Dreadmaster."

Brown eyes narrowed. "Just touch it?"

"Goodness, isn't that enough? Yes, heavens, just a touch, miss. Gracious, what you must think of me..."

With a lunge, Tiff wrapped her hand around the hot length of Hexley's protruding cock. Hexley gasped at the unfamiliar feeling, and her hips pushed up ever so slightly of their own accord. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Tiff reached out with the pointer finger of her other hand, and tapped it lightly on the tip.

"There. Touched it." With the hand that still grasped it, she gave a few quick tugs, drawing a second intake of breath from Hexley. "Hexy-babe. Truth or Dare?" Their eyes locked.

Hexley recovered her composure enough to appear at least somewhat executive-ish. "Dare, love, give me a dare."

Tiff grinned. "Good girl." Only now did she release the purple length.

Hexley was surprised how much those words affected her, how much the warmth grew in her stomach, how much harder her cock grew.

"I dare you," Tiff breathed, "to lean back, spread those pretty purple legs for the mirror, and stroke that thing for sixty seconds."

Without a word, Hexley got to it. This was her field of expertise, and an experiment she was eager to run. She spread her thighs wide, showing Lord Reginald everything under her skirt, and began sliding her fingers lightly up and down the shaft. It was fascinating and overwhelming, being on this end of the business for the first time. When the sixty seconds were up, Lord Reginald had to remind her to stop.

"I say, fairest, I do believe the minute has passed." He choked up. "Erm, not that I objected, of course. And not that I enjoyed it either! Because of course--well not that I didn't of course, only that..."

Both women smirked at the bumbling mirror, and he trailed off to nothing.

"Tiff, love. I believe it's your turn for a Dare."

"Thanks for remembering, Hexy. Whatcha got for me?"

"Suck my cock."

Tiff licked her lips. "That an insult, or your dare?"

Hexley just grinned. Lord Reginald gulped audibly.

Crawling forward, spine arching, hips swinging, the customer service rep crept towards her prey. Her lips parted, pink tongue running along white teeth. With her mouth half an inch from Hexley's pulsing tip, she stopped, waiting for the succubus's eyes to meet her own. Then, with gazes locked, she let her lips drop to the soft flesh of the head, sucking hard, sliding slowly down, down, until she hit the back of her throat.

Hexley groaned, fighting the overwhelming compulsion to grab that brown hair in both fists and jam the girl's head down further. She could feel Tiff fighting, swallowing, trying to get more of the over-sized thing into her mouth. It was a different pleasure than she was used to, more visceral, but somehow not as deep, a bit separate from herself.

Tiff began to bob up and down, slurping noisily, as though with enough suction she could pull the cum right out. Now, there was a question. Would there be actual cum? The strap-on didn't come with balls. Could she even have an orgasm with it? It sure felt like she might be able to, but only experimentation would prove it for certain...

But then, heart-wrenchingly, the mouth was gone, and Tiff was grinning at her, wiping a string of drool from her lips. "Alright, Hexy, Truth or Dare?"

"I say, I'm feeling a bit left out here, don't I get a--"

"Dare, darling, of course dare." Hexley's voice was halfway between the purr of a cat and the warning growl of a much, much bigger cat.

"Right." Tiff's voice was suddenly casual, uninterested, almost. She unzipped her pants, sliding them down along with her undies, black and lacy. "Dare ya to fuck me?"

She leaned back on her elbows in front of the mirror, spreading her long legs. Hexley wasted no time. She was on the woman, both of them reflected now in an immaculate rendering by Lord Reginald. Hexley pressed the tip of her leaking cock up against the hot, wet entrance, pushing forward, feeling the resistance parting for her, the heat, the slick, sinful delight that waited. Tiff gasped at the pulsing pressure, and both women locked their eyes on their reflections, watching the thick shaft begin to slide inside--

Orchestral music blared, the smoldering braziers flared, green sparks leapt high. The great doors to the room burst open, and a cliffhanger charged in.

"Again?" Bob shook his head. "They're reusing that gag again so soon?"

"Eh, maybe they wanted to give us an excuse to critique. We've been pretty quiet this chapter."

"Oh aye, we were quiet because there was less that needed commenting on, but this is a bit--"

"Bob, just relax, will ya?" Bob spread his arms wide. "Appreciate what we're witnessing, and just trust that the author's gonna make it even juicer next chapter, alright?"

Bob looked as nonplussed as a skull can look, which isn't very. "I'm not worried about juice, Bob. If there's one thing this story has, it's juice. I'm just worried the plot is getting so threadbare it'll be naked soon."

Bob just grinned at him, a much easier facial expression for a skull. "We can hope!"

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CHAPTER NINE

Lord Reginald Shines

The long awaited, much discussed, and utterly unsurprising cliffhanger proved to be the approaching party of adventurers. Yes, dear reader, you predicted it! Gold star. Cue fanfare. Much rejoicing.

In dashed a tall man in white, shining armour, with a cloak like fresh snow if snow could be covered in gold embroidery. He thrust high a gleaming sword that rang at all sorts of unlikely moments, as if it had been a pet project for sound design. He bore a mighty shield, and he dropped now to his knees and smote it on the black tiles. A blinding light flashed, and a wall of white fire went up before him, sending an inviting wave of vanilla-banana scent throughout the room. Could one bake with holy fire? Never know if you don't try.

Immediately, before any baking could begin, a dark form darted off from behind that shining wall and vanished into the shadows of the room. Not a trace lingered. Whoever it had been, their sneak eye-con would be firmly shut.

Two more shapes moved about behind the white flames, hazy and indistinct. A flash of brilliant blue crackled through the air and shaped itself into a network of sizzling lines on the floor, just ahead of the celestial wall.

A golden glow too, began to form from behind the armoured figure, brightening and swelling, until a swirling cloud of warm, shimmering light hovered there, like a divine fog machine on full blast.

There was a pause.

Hexley sighed, as if mid-fuck battle-breaks were just the sort of annoyance one would expect from such a day. She slid her cock out of Tiff's dripping pussy and stood up, eyeing the adventurers apprehensively. They did seem just a touch more competent than the last band, but that, frankly, was a low bar. And perhaps they were a bit more... holy? Unfortunate, very unfortunate.

Tiff was left empty, gasping on her back. It was half a moment before she managed to stand as well to survey the new arrivals. "Well shit. Think they'll join in?"

"We can only hope, my sweet-ling, we can only hope." Hexley had to admit though, that this new party's idea of play looked as though it might be both disturbingly violent, and disturbingly righteous. And perhaps even disturbingly efficient.

The Paladin roared his challenge to the room. "Who doth commandseth here?" He thrust his shining sword at the empty throne. "Where doth hideth yon cowardly villain?"

Hexley wondered if he came with subtitles, or if she'd have to muddle through with just the audio.

Tiff nudged her erstwhile fuckbuddy. "Hey, he wants management, that's my cue. Be right back."

Straightening her work uniform, which at this point was just a shirt, she sauntered over towards the party.

"Halteth, ye!" the Paladin shouted. "Stopeth thine footeths, naked harlot, lest ye taste mine blade!"

Both hands raised in a pacifying gesture, Tiff haltethed and stopethed her footeths. "Hey, so you guys want to talk to the manager? Got her right here." She pointed back at Hexley, who looked extra devilish with her tousled hair and raging boner. "She'd love to talk to you guys and get you all set up with whatever you--"

"Back, servant of the foe!" The Paladin thrust forward his mailed hand, and a booming wave of force thrust Tiff off to the side and out of the way. As first line customer service, she was likely used to that sort of brusque treatment.

With a snapping sound, a second blue flash broke the air, and vibrant circles of runes and scrolling lines glowed into being about Hexley's red heels. Her stomach plummeted, and she tried to back away, but her feet were rooted in place. Worst first day anyone's ever had at the firm? Oh, I think so Hex, I think so.

Her head snapped back up as metallic footsteps rang through the chamber. The Paladin was advancing, the white wall moving with him, his sword held high. "Your doometh doth come, foe!" He thrust the shield above his head, and a ray of the sun came blazing in through a skylight, a searing, blinding beam that collected and began to charge up on the polished surface. "Prepareth to doth burn for your crimes! Doth, I tell thee, doth!"

A thousand possible responses presented and dismissed themselves in Hexley's head. Would the aggrieved party kindly--, no not that. If the party of the first party-- no, not that either. As indicated under statute-- no, definitely not... although, could he be lawful good? Perhaps there was something there to work with...

The blinding light was still building, when a black-feathered shaft sped from the darkness above and pierced with burning agony deep into Hexley's chest. Not at all the sort of shaft she been hoping to be impaled upon, especially with all the thrusting the Paladin had just been up to.

Pain ripped at her soul, or lack thereof. The blood rushed from her heart, or lack thereof. Fire burned in her lungs. She did have those. To be clear, she had a heart as well, that's where all the blood was coming from. And a soul too, everyone has one of those. The point is that she was dying, OK?

Hexley Sweet dropped to her knees, the world dimming around her. Swimming through her vision, she saw a blur of something brown, with a bare butt. Tiff, wasn't that her name? Not a bad visual to go out on... She was yelling something, what was it? Hexley could barely hear.

Hexley could barely hear, but for the reader's convenience, this is what Tiff was yelling.

"Hold it, Hold it HOLD IT! You absolute twit-brains! This is a puzzle boss, alright? If you kill her, you lock us all in forever. So lay off, you doth-stupidethly fucks!"

Was it the cleverest thing anyone has ever yelled during a dramatic death scene? No, but then again, Tiff was only a customer service rep. This was rather new for her. OK, now back to Hexley's POV.

The world was almost black, everything leaving her; ambition, fear, even the pain. Colour was gone, taste was gone, worry was gone, all that was left was darkness and the lingering scent of banana-vanilla.

Then suddenly, a golden hue came over the world, and the pain raced back, sharp and burning, but fading fast, and then everything was returning. Heaven, was this heaven? Odd, I had so hoped to avoid that tiresome place...

"Oh my gaaaawd, I'm so sorry!" A freckled nose and two big blue eyes filled her vision. "We thought we had to like, kill you and everything! I'm really so, so sorry! Really really!"

The young woman in front of her was a cute little thing, blonde hair, blue eyes, yellow robes, blue trim. Time had clearly been spent colour-matching. Golden light the color of the girl's hair streamed from her hands into Hexley, patching up the wound and removing all trace of it.

Hexley climbed up to her feet. She wobbled a bit, the ungainly heels hindering her balance, but the Paladin dove forward onto a knee, catching her elbow and stabilizing her.

"My lady. Thou shalleth not fall whilst I be here." He noticed the tenacious dick twitching merrily away beside his face, and released her elbow. His expression made it clear that, in his paladiny opinion, this was not the greatest and best dong in the world.

The wizard stepped forward now, scholarly robes of black and white whispering over the floor. "We are here to defeat you, in whatever manner is required. If puzzling is to be the challenge, I shall take the lead."

"Aw, c'mon Wiz." The cleric looked at him reproachfully. "She just basically got a death cutscene like 45 seconds ago, can't you wait a minute?"

"Thank you, darling." Hexley gave the girl an earnest, grateful smile. She saved those for once a year, and today was the day. "I am Hexley Sweet, Executive Liaison." She looked over the three party members with her best boardroom eyes. "If you wish to defeat me, it will be through your cleverness, honesty, and daring, not your strength of arms."

"You see, Claire? She does not mind." The wizard turned back to Hexley. "So. What must we do?" He adjusted his narrow glasses like an old man preparing to proclaim, 'King's Pawn to e4!'"

As long as he doesn't mate in a scholarly fashion in all arenas...

Tiff bounced back into frame. "The ancient rite of..." (Drums rolled in the soundtrack.) "Truth or Dare! Me and old schlongy-babe here, vs you three!"

"Four." A foreshadowing voice came from overhead.

Hexley and Tiff looked up, but there was nothing but above-shadows in the arched recesses of the high chamber, not a hint of fore among them. Then, a piece of the shadow fell away, and dropped to the floor in front of them.

A thin woman in night-blue garments stood before them. "I'm Ro, and I will be playing with my party." She turned to her friends and stamped the end of her bow dramatically on the tile with a woody thud. "You have my--"

"And my glass!" Lord Reginald shouted enthusiastically in a gross approximation of a highland brogue. Or something. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Erm, sorry, sorry," he murmured sheepishly. "Thought that was my cue." He slunk to a corner of the frame and picked sullenly at his wool. "But you should let me play for the home team, really."

At length, all the bad jokes and contractually-obligated banter were resolved, and the seven of them sat down cross-legged in a circle to play Truth or Dare. Well, Lord Reginald didn't sit, obviously, being a mirror. But he was part of the circle as well.

As the executive, Hexley gestured to the adventurers. "You may begin. You'll need the advantage."

The Paladin brightened. "Oh, we get advantage?" In his excitement, he forgot to spake dothly.

Wiz cast him a withering glance, backed by a disturbance in the force, as if a million DMs sighed and capitulated. "I believe she meant initiative, Pal. We have the initiative. And, that being the case, I believe I should begin, and so--"

"I dareth thee, Succubus, to renounce thy murderous ways!" Pal's thunderous voice reverberated lawful-goodily around the chamber. Hexley waited for the tormentuous (Yes it's a word!) echoes to fade before responding.

"Technically, darling, you need to ask me which I prefer first. I might have preferred Truth. But!" She held up a hand, stopping Pal's angry words before they escaped his mouth. "But, I accept. Done! I renounce my murderous ways. Having never killed anyone, and intending never to, it's easy enough to do so. Our turn, then?"

Wiz rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This will be a long, long game."

"Oh, I doubt that very much, my lovely wizard." Hexley's teeth were very white, and very pointy when she grinned. The key to successful grinning is to achieve a perfect balance of charming and terrifying.

"Oh, I say, if you don't mind, might I take this one?" Lord Reginald didn't wait for a response, bubbling with excitement as he was. Blowing the sudsy foam off his chin, he addressed Pal. "Sir Paladin, Truth or Dare?"

"Dare me if thou musteth! I fear not."

"Oh, very good, very good. Well then, I dare you to look into my glass and relate to us everything you see!"

Pal leaped to his feet with a clamourous clanging. "No sight in thine shiny depths shall doth me undoth!" When everyone looked blankly at him, he continued, slightly subdued. "I doth accepteth thy dare, oh tool of the vain."

He looked into the glass, and an image formed. Pal, on his knees, bound at the wrists and ankles, with a collar round his neck. Naked. Very naked, and not even pixelated. And before him, clad in skin tight red vinyl, stood Claire the cleric, with a switch in her hand. Everyone could see it.

Tiff frowned, and tapped the CC button on Lord Reginald's frame. "Sorry, we got some pretty strict accessibility requirements in Hell." The caption that appeared at the bottom read:

"Pal the Paladin's deepest desire," followed by the description already in the text above.

Hexley addressed the shaking knight. "Well, little Pal, are you going to describe what you see for the class?"

Pal hesitated, tearing his eyes from the image to glance furtively at Claire, whose freckles had disappeared into the general redness of her face. Pal's cheeks too, burned with holy fire. He clanged shut his visor, shaking his head.

Wiz shook his head as well, though for a different reason. "Oh for the love of all that's holey, Pal. It's right there, we've all already seen--"

But Pal had left the circle, and was crossing the room to sit alone, shaking, his helmet in his gauntlets.

Well done, my shiny little treasure, well done. I knew I would love this mirror when I first set eyes on it.

The seething wizard opened his mouth to speak, but Claire jumped in ahead of him.

"Haha, well, since I guess I probably have your attention..." Something very fierce came into her expression, something Hexley recognized, at a deep, spiritual level. "Me next. Succubus. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare, darling, dare me." Hexley was ready, maybe even eager for anything this intriguing, freckly cleric might have up her sleeve. Or up her robe, that would be fine too.

"I dare you to let me inscribe a rune of truth here on the ground. It will prevent any dishonest speech for the next hour."

Hexley shrugged, a little let down, but unworried, and Claire drew the rune. A golden mist rose from the floor, faint, and dissipated into the air around them. Hexley's nose tingled, and she saw others in the circle twitch their nostrils as well. Wiz finally looked, if not pleased, at least less grumpy.

"Neat trick." Tiff rubbed her hands together. "My go, ya ready? Alright cleric, Truth or Dare?"

"Truth." Claire shrugged. "I got no secrets."

"Oh yeah? We'll see. Tell us your deepest desire."

"Yeah, OK. We have to confess like all our vices and sins and stuff in my order, so I'm pretty used to it." Claire thought a moment. "Well, I suppose I probably would have answered something different a minute ago, but now I think my deepest desire is probably to dominate and utterly subjugate that big holy dick over there." Everyone stared at her. Even Hexley's mouth dropped open.

Despite Claire's professed dispassion, her cheeks still blazed. "What, I didn't say I was gonna do it! Just, like, I want to now, ok? Vow of celibacy and all that, so it's off the table, though."

Ro lifted a finger and spoke, and once again Wiz shut his clever mouth, unable to ask the question in time. "Truth or Dare, pantsless brown-shirt." She peered at the name-tag. "Tiffany, I guess."

"Tiff. Tiff-Tuff to my friends. I always choose Dare."

"Alright, Tiff-Tuff, Tru--"

"I said to my friends."

Ro paused, steely eyes narrowing at the customer service rep. "Ok then, Tiff, Truth or--"

"Dare. Told ya I always choose Dare." Tiff rolled her eyes. "Get on with it. Chapter's only so long."

Hexley looked back and forth between the two. That wasn't just sass it was... baggage? Something? Yes, definitely something. Something was there. She had trained long enough to recognize a something when she saw it.

Ro plucked at her taut bowstring. "Right. Dare you to put her cock back in you. Like it was when we got here."

"Seriously, are you trying to win or aren't you?" Wiz popped to his feet, black robes flapping about him. "This one has no pants on, and this one has been flaunting an erection since we arrived, and you think they'll baulk at a little fuckery? What next? A mating dance? An HR complaint form?"

"Chill, Wiz." Ro twanged the string again. "Just wanna see the rest of the show. Art, you know?"

Wiz didn't chill but he did shut up, as Tiff grasped Hexley's lapel and dragged the succubus back down between her thighs, wrapping long legs around that sinuous back.

Hexley leaned willingly into the embrace, feeling the tip of her cock press once more at the soft, slick folds. "Ready, darling?" Her voice was a whisper in Tiff's ear.

At the barest of nods, she slammed her hips home, feeling at last the hot, hugging walls all around her shaft. Both of them arched their backs and squeezed the other tight, pleasure and the thrill of the watching audience filling them. Tiff, obviously, was filled with dick as well as thrill.

Hexley began to move. One pump, another, a third, then she stopped. "I think that likely fulfills your obligations, under the rules of the game, wouldn't you say?"

Tiff's moan was soft in her ear. "Mmmm, three more?"

Hexley obliged, the three soggy slaps echoing throughout the chamber, and perhaps even the astral plane. Then, eyes on Ro, she slid slowly from that delightful heat, and sat back, cross-legged in the circle. The smell of sex was fresh in the room. "Our turn?"

"Yes quite, our turn," blustered Lord Reginald, blown off balance by his own voice. "Ah, Truth or Dare, young cleric? Claire, isn't it?"

Claire smiled sweetly. "Dare, this time, I think."

"Quite right, quite right. Well, Claire, I can show you scenes from your past. I was wondering, since you don't mind confessing and all that, if I might dare you to watch a particular moment I found, oh you'll know the one, it's from your training at the temple, that afternoon you were left alone, and you had all those peaches, and that tube of silicone bathtub adhesive... a sticky scene it was, if you'll recall?"

They never found out what precisely Claire recalled. She stood stiffly, turned without speaking, and left the circle to go and sit beside Pal, both facing away from the little game.

Hexley gave a little nod to Lord Reginald. Two victories, both by the mirror. Well done, my shiny friend, well done indeed.

"At long last, at very long last, the brains of our little crew gets his chance." Wiz leapt to his feet and cracked his fingers. "Now, now you'll find how it is to battle wits with a Sicilian! You, brown-shirt!"

"Tiff."

"Brown-shirt. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth." Tiff eyed him. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's a first for me, but I don't want whatever shitty dare you were gonna come up with."

"A classic blunder! Choosing truth against a wizard." Wiz threw back his head and cackled, fake and over-the-top. "And not just any wizard, the great Wiz himself! Very well, here it is. What are all the major schools of magic, and each of their subdisciplines?"

Tiff eyed him coolly. "No idea," she said, ignoring the obvious set-up for a smooth transition to exposition about the magic system.

"Out! You lose!"

Tiff stayed seated, incredulity twisting her features. A long silence stretched, wider even than Hexley had been with orc Bob. Eventually, Ro leaned over and murmured up to Wiz.

"Never played this when you were a kid, huh? She gave you a truth. A true answer. She has no idea." Ro pointed at the sigil on the floor. "Has to be true, right?"

Wiz just glared at Ro. He glared at Tiff. He glared at Hexley, and Lord Reginald. Lord Reginald glared back, and Wiz winced, shielding his eyes. Without another word, he spun on his heel and strode away to the far corner, where he began pacing and muttering to himself.

Hexley looked around the remaining group. "Is he... rage-quiting a party game?"

"Hey Wizini!" Tiff yelled. "You know you're not out, right?"

The black robed figure froze, and turned slowly. Then, with what was likely intended to be dignity, he walked back and sat once more. It was the dungeon's sulkiest walk of shame to date.

"Hey Bob."

"Eh? What?" Bob shook himself back awake.

"Riddle for ya."

"Ok, shoot."

"What's black and white and red all over?"

"That's as old as I am, Bob. Newspaper."

Bob pointed at Bob. "Ah, nope. It's our wizard friend here."

Bob turned to look as the tomato-faced wizard stalked past them. "Hah. Hah. Wake me up if there's more action."

Hexley felt it was her time, as Dreadmaster, to contribute. "Well, Wiz, Truth or Dare?"

The angry man sucked his lip, and spat. "Dare. I dare you."

"Let us pick your spells for tomorrow."

Wiz glared at her with all the violence of an Asiatic land war restrained behind his eyes. Silently, he stood again and stomped back across the room, muttering loudly enough that a variety of words too crude even for this web novel could be heard.

"Looks like it's me versus all three of you, is it?" Ro grinned. "Fortunately for you, I'm just here for the ride. Truth or Dare, Tiff?"

Tiff just raised a brow.

"Right. Dare you to jerk her off for one minute."

Tiff raised her other brow, and scooted over to Hexley. Eyes locked to the rogue's she reached out with both hands and deliberately wrapped them around Hexley.

They were smooth, desk-job hands. Hexley purred and writhed in their grasp as Tiff began to stroke. Twisting, sliding, rubbing the flat of her palm over the tip. This girl knows what she's doing. Poor old Bier-baby never knew what he was missing.

Sooner than Hexley would have liked, the minute was up. The soft hands were gone, and Tiff was already taking the initiative.

"Ok, rogue, dare you to strip for us in the mirror."

"I get to choose, don't I? Truth or Dare?" Ro's eyes locked onto Tiff's.

The tension was palpable, as tension so often is in prose. Hexley reached out and palped it. It twanged with a sound oddly reminiscent of Ro's bow's string.

Tiff stared back. "We all know what you chose."

The blue-clad woman stood, her gaze never leaving Tiff's, and slunk over to stand in front of Lord Reginald.

"I say! This is truly the best day I've had since I ended up in this loot hoard, no question about it!"

Ro loosened her belt, and slid it out slow, her pants sighing down just slightly in the front. She spun, leaning forward at the waist, and grinding her hips around in the air. Then, facing the mirror, she undid her top, button by button, shimmying out of the dark blue cloth and letting it fall to the floor. Her petite chest stood proudly in the perfected reflection. She hooked her thumbs in her waist band, and began inching down the pants.

As the rogue's perfectly round ass came into view, Hexley felt her cock stiffen even further, if such a thing were possible. (And in prose, it always is!)

All that remained was a simple black thong, snuggled contentedly between well-toned cheeks. This too, soon fell to the floor before Lord Reginald, panty-dropper extraordinaire. (As he now began to think of himself.)

Ro stepped sensually back to her place, and draped herself onto the ground, posing like one of those french girls, and not a tasteful one either. "My turn, I believe? Tiff. Dare you to eat my pussy while that succubus stuffs yours. One minute."

Tiff's mouth was already lunging for Ro's offered meal by the time the rogue had finished speaking. Her ass waved inviting in the air as she dug in. Hexley, struck by the unusual sensation of being a third wheel, decided she should make good on the rest of the dare. She grabbed the wiggling hips and steadied them, sliding once more into the soft heat that waited.

The girl moaned into Ro's folds as Hex entered her for the third time. One minute was far too short to be inside this brown-haired little treat, but Hexley Sweet made as much of those 60 seconds as an executive succubus possibly could. She fucked. When the minute ended, all three woman were panting and gasping.

Tiff caught her breath first, managing to get out a, "dare ya to do it again."

And so, for another minute, Ro writhed under the experienced tongue of the customer service rep, who writhed around the novice cock of the newly crowned dreadmaster, who in turn poured every ounce of her being into each resounding thrust. But once again, the minute was over as soon as they had got going.

"Make us both come!" Ro moaned, writhing still, before the three women had even parted.

Tiff got to it without pausing. Hexley, apparently the only one still mindful that a game was technically still being played, with actual stakes, asked the important question. "I hate to be the lawyer at the orgy, darlings, but was that a Dare?"

Ro and Tiff threw her synchronized thumbs ups, and kept sexing away. Hexley shrugged, and slammed her cock back into Tiff's clenching pussy.

It was more than a minute before she felt the roiling heat of the orgasm building up within her. More than a minute, but only just. With one final slap, she buried the long shaft deep into Tiff, as pulse after pulse of pleasure shot through her, from her pussy to her core and out through her cock. She fell back, gasping, and the harness slipped from her hips and fell to the floor, the dildo rapidly shrinking and softening where it lay. Get it off to get it off. Perfection.

Tiff was still tastefully occupied with Ro, licking and sucking as if there were no tomorrow, in some situation where the lack of a future would require one to eat a girl out.

"Say Bob, isn't that why they say to avoid cliches? They're overused, but also, they often just don't fit the scene, right, isn't that--"

"Bob, shut up! I want to watch her come."

Bob's jaw clacked shut, and his sockets snapped back to the action.

Just in time, too, we almost missed Ro's orgasm! She was a whiner, it turned out. Every muscle in the woman's body seemed to be tensed at once, frozen almost motionless except for a vibrating tremor than ran through her, as the long, high pitched sound came swelling up through her wide-open mouth.

Hexley watched, fascinated as she was by every orgasm, as the rogue seized up under Tiff's frantic tongue, and then fell limply across the floor. Merciless, the sexecutive leaned over and murmured in the rogue's ear. "Truth or Dare?"

The reply was long in coming, unlike its speaker. "... Dare."

Straightening up, Hexley called across the arched hall to Claire. "Oh cleric, love, how much longer on this rune, here?"

Claire checked her watch. "Uh, like 5 minutes?"

Hexley nodded. "Alright, my sweet little rogue. I dare you to, without moving from this spot, tell me a lie within the next 60 seconds.

Ro's gaze drifted blearily up the long, purple legs, past the now-restored succubus pussy, up past the perfect breasts, to Hexley's face. She smiled, opened her mouth, and--no sound came out. Frowning, she tried again.

Hexley let her most devilish grin melt over her features. "Rune of truth, darling. Better luck next go."

Ro returned the grin half-heartedly, and caught Tiff's eye. "Worth it. I'll lose like that any day."

Tiff looked like she was about to say something, likely about how she was still as unsatisfied as most of her clients after calling customer service, but a pretentious, wheedling voice cut in.

"I don't believe that was fair. You asked her to do something of which she was incapable. It's against the rules, it must be. It's inconceivable that it wouldn't be." Wiz glowered at them as he walked back towards the little group.

Hexley, Tiff, Ro, and Lord Reginald all rolled their eyes. Bob caught one of Lord Reginald's and fitted it into his own socket, pulling faces at Bob. Bob smacked him, and the eye popped out onto the floor once more.

"It's not a fair victory," Wiz complained. I demand to see the rules in full.

Hexley eyed the wizard and beckoned him over to the desk, sliding across the hefty Tower Rules and Regulations. There was of course, nothing about Truth or Dare in there, but what was more enjoyable than watching the opposition try to find a non-existent clause?

Wiz flipped through the pages briefly, examining the index, but it was obvious that, wherever such a ruling might lie, finding it would take longer than it was worth. In a huff, he rejoined his team.

Three of them looked dismayed at their easy defeat, as if unused to anything but victory. One looked like she was prepared to lose as many times as could be managed. You can guess which was which.

As the party shuffled back towards the main door, Tiff came running up, pants thrown over her shoulder.

"Before you leave, could I trouble you for less than a minute of your time?" Without waiting for an answer, she bulled on. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate this Boss Encounter?"

Three mumbles of "One" were drowned out by a single shout of "Eleven!"

Tiff seized Ro's hand and, with a little wave over her shoulder, trundled out of the chamber with the defeated party. The great doors shut behind them with their typical, thunderous clang, dust billowing dramatically in the silence that settled over the hall.

Hexley turned to Lord Reginald. "Do you suppose they also have a save point? Should we have let them win?"

"Oh, no, I doubt it, I do." He pursed his lips, gagged, then unpursed them. Fishing out the offending coins, he continued. "Yes, I should be very surprised if the author intends to make repeated use of that particular gag. The save point gag, not my literal gagging, you understand. Makes for a very repetitive story, doncha know?"

She nodded. The mirror was a surprisingly useful fellow, insightful and flattering in equal measure. She eyed her immaculate reflection, replacing a few strands of hair.

Suddenly, the doors burst open, and a cliffhanger walked in, but both Bobs launched themselves forward and threw it unceremoniously back out of the room.

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CHAPTER TEN

On Writing Women

Hexley Sweet fondled the new drapes. Is fondling an odd thing to do to a drape? Not if there's consent, darling. And what textile could refuse? The purple fabric lay across her purple hands, looking as if the material had been selected to emphasize her hue. Or, as if they'd been placed in the loot room to avoid a long shopping episode when the inevitable redecorating came around. Was it too matchy-matchy? Impossible. Cohesion is everything.

Something, probably hints from the stage crew, made her want to examine the braziers a bit more closely. Under the largest, central brazier, conveniently located but hitherto unmentioned, there was a colour dial. With a sensual stroke, she caressed the dial around and around, rolling it under her finger, back and forth, faster and faster until it... well, she turned it until the braziers all crackled with a lovely shade of fuchsia that matched the pinstripes on her skirt and jacket. Art. What a delight it was to set things up to match one's own personal aesthetic.

Aimlessly, she wandered around a bit, as management is prone to do, unnecessarily rearranging some of the bits and bobs from the loot room. No, not those Bobs. She left their bits alone, but she did ask them an important question.

"Bob, be a dear, would you?" She scratched at a flaky patch of dried goop. "Isn't there a place a girl can rub the sweat and cum off her luscious skin? One must maintain appearances, especially indecent ones."

One Bob's kneecaps gave out, and the other's jaw began chattering wildly. Hexley made a note to look into what dental coverage was available to Tower underlings. When they had recovered enough to communicate once more, they pointed her to one of several side doors, hidden behind the drapery. With a whirl and a twirl, she clicked away, leaving them to their aching bones.

The bathroom was a hideous affair, though clearly decorated with a very different effect in mind than the main chamber. Everything was tiger stripes, in bright oranges and yellows and slashes of black none of the shades particularly matching.

Hexley, perhaps caught up by the power of her new Dark Lord status, found herself unable to prevent a short monologue about the many sins of the jungle-themed nightmare. But, as villainous diatribes against poor design and vows to embark on quests of bathroom remodeling make for dull reading, the author has chosen to spare the reader.

In the interests of smut and gratuitous description, and against both better judgment and public decency, the author has chosen not to spare the reader a description of Hexley's bath. After seeking inspiration by trawling the entire internet for each and every last post bemoaning the poor writing of females, (especially by men) the makers of this trashy work of fiction are ashamed to present to you, 'Hexley Takes a Bath: an Exercise in Descriptive Prose'.

With languorous slowness, Hexley stepped in front of the obligatory, full-body mirror.

"I'm gorgeous," she thought, knowing it was true, as only a woman can know.

Her feet, elegantly arched, moaned their perfection to the tiles from within the erotic, red high-heels she effortlessly wore. Her calves were defined yet supple, smooth, as were her perfect knees, which were round like oranges or other roughly spherical fruit, and which cried out to be on the floor, as she knelt to service some throbbing, pulsing, unrealistically large manhood with lips that we will certainly describe in great depth later on.

Above those kneel-worthy knees, bare, silken, soft, spreadable thighs rose like the pillars of a temple to every goddess of sex ever worshiped, thighs which were, of course, also long and, once more, spreadable. Those long, spreadable, lickable thighs, that literally begged to wrap themselves around a man's back, (definitely a man's), ended at her skirt that was so short that her ass peeked out from beneath. Hang on. The ass is going to require its own paragraph.

Like twin, purple moons in paradise, orbiting one another in defiance of gravity, two orbs of temptation shone beneath that minuscule skirt. It was the sort of curvature that the great sculptors of the ages could only dream of, and once having dreamt it, must surely throw their chisels away in defeat, knowing such perfection could never be captured by cold marble. It was a curvature that no force of gravity, defied or otherwise, could ever impose upon space time. Like the platonic ideal of a peach, hanging from a tree in the garden of lust, the paired hills of glutey beauty peered forth, as if calling to the soul to be caressed. It was a good butt.

As the description reached her hips, her wide, feminine hips, her swaying, swinging, posing, preening hips, Hexley gasped in pleasure, unable to restrain her long, elegant fingers that were so perfect for stroking a man's massive member, as they began to undo the buttons of her blazer. With each button that popped open, her breasts... but we'll get to those later.

Her waist was thin, and it was curved as only a woman's waist can curve. It dipped, it was slender, it was many other adjectives that mean small. A man's hands on her waist could reach right around, fingers completely encircling her. Depending on the size of his hands, of course. Some men wouldn't quite be able to swing it. But, if his hands were large enough, some men might even be able do it with one hand!

And her breasts. O! What can be said of her breasts? To what fruit might they be compared which would not sully their perfection? Hers were the breast bests in the world, or out of it. They were perky yet heavy, firm yet soft, bouncing yet heaving yet high yet round yet full yet swelling yet jiggling yet luscious yet--Hermalimplizstiklrundlrumpyjumpatoonerbrinmumumbl-zergaplergaplazontlzimpoliziiiipstepped dripping out of the bath and dried off, ready now to explore the rest of her new domain.

"BOB!"

Bob pretended not to hear.

"Bob, I am asking you three times, did--"

"Hey now, don't you bring Kingkiller into this trash. You dishonor those treasures."

Bob eye-socketed him, skeptically. "Yeah, 'treasures', sure. Maybe if he ever actually finish--"

"Bob, don't even. Really. Just don't." Bob filled his empty rib cage and let out a long sigh. "Look, I know what you wanted to ask. Yes, I fast-forwarded through the bath scene."

"Why, Bob?"

"It was too much! It was over a page and she wasn't even naked yet!"

"No, I mean why use the VHS fast-forwarding? It's so disorienting, and we've had digital scene skipping for decades."

"Oh. That. Yeah, I just forgot. I'm over 300, ya know, cut me some slack."

Clean, refreshed, and clothed once more, Hexley pinned her hair back into its standard, perfect arrangement, pleased at having been, at last, described as fully as she deserved. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. (But worry not, reader.) With a little smile, she pulled a few strands near the front loose, letting them dangle on either side of her face. Yes, why not a little devil-may-care touch, for a Dreadmaster? Why not, Hex?

The (for her) messiness of the new look sent a thrill through her, and her breasts clenched and bounced, filled with erotic sensation at the sight, screaming for the touch of a man's rough hands, jiggling with <>

Now, ready and eager, Hexley Sweet, Executive Liaison, Dreadmaster of the Cold Ones, empowered by the reassuring weight of the clipboard on her arm, set out in search of underlings, and perhaps even further titles. Oh yes, but before she did, she stared dramatically for a moment at the sealed envelope on the desk that was not to be opened until Chapter Eighteen.

Through the great doors to the boss chamber, she found a long, dark hallway, lit only by candles that burned with eerie, ruby-red fire. Ominous music played, too quiet to be distinctly heard, a vibration that sat low in the stomach and, contrary to the reasonable expectations for this story when vibrations are mentioned, inspired only fear within her body. The air was drenched with a rich, comforting scent, like baking goods and seasonings. It was strangely familiar. She peered closely at one of the candles. Ah, 'Kitchen Spice.' That explained it. It didn't quite match the visual tone of the room but... Never complain about candles you didn't buy, Hex. Those things are expensive. Oh, Spank-mee candles no less! Bierkhan didn't skimp.

Overall, she approved of the vibe. Scary, yes. Creepy and dark, yet not dank.

Down the long hall she walked, up to the huge doors at the far end, malevolent black affairs nearly as large as the doors to the boss room. She burst through them and halted, all Sexecutive bluster abandoning her, all Dreadmaster dreadfullness scuttling away to hide with a good book and a cup of tea. Her innate succubus instincts, however? Those were touching up their lipstick, arranging their hair, and strutting to the fore.

In the center of the room, his back to her, an immense, winged demon stood, breathing heavily in an idle-animation. His wine-red skin, tight-stretched over muscles like those of a sweating bull, was bare except for a black, chain mail codpiece. Which, even adjusting for his height of well over twelve feet, was impressively proportioned. Even from behind, she could tell. And this demon most certainly didn't skip glute day.

Hexley took a moment to steal herself, but her pickpocketing skill was far too low, so instead she steeled herself. With her spine straight and her feet firm set, and only a hint of the lusty succubus urges showing on her face, she addressed the demon.

"Oh demon darling, turn and attend when your master enters!" She stamped a red high heel on the tile with an imperious crack. "It is I, Dreadmaster Sweet, Lord of the Cold Ones. Bow before your Dark Lord!"

It was a truly impressive bit of showmanship, but there was no response from the hulking hell-hunk before her. He idled on, back and chiseled butt still turned to her.

From down the long hall behind her, an urgent clacking came. She turned to find Bob rushing up.

"Sexy one! Oh, Sexy one!" He gasped for air, clattering to a stop before her. "You're not in his trigger zone!" He pointed to a barely-perceptible line on the floor just in front of her toes, an awkward seam between the hall textures and those of the room. "We thought you should know." With a bow, he backed away and then turned and rattled off down the hall.

Swallowing her pride and a bit of drool, she edged forward half a foot, and began again.

"Oh demon darling, turn an--"

Her words were lost in the cutscene. The demon tossed his horned head wildly, eyes blazing, and let free a roar that spoke doom for any squishy characters. Lifting high his hammer, he brought it crashing down to the floor. Splinters of rock flew outward, flames sprung up in the corners of the chamber, orchestral music swelled. It was set to a dated rock-beat, a guitar screaming over the top of it all. The huge monster turned to face Hexley, settling into a new idle, this time with his hellish hammer held ready.

She tried again. "Hi. Erm..." No, that was wrong. You're his boss, Hex, put him in his place! She cleared her throat, but her words still came out oddly shy. "Oh hi. Hey I'm Hexley." An involuntary giggle. "I'm ahhh, I'm the new Dreadmaster, it seems! Just popping in to check how everyone's doing, if there are any changes you'd like to see, any questions you might--"

"I will crush you to the stone, weakling! You dare to challenge me? I am Slatherbaz, Pounder of Flesh, and I..." His roar dwindled. "Sorry, did you say Dreadmaster?"

Slightly heartened, she lowered the clipboard from where she had just placed it above her cringing head, and stood a bit taller. Her eyes were just about level with the bulging chain mail. She settled her shoulders back a bit further and arched her spine. Just in case. A girl's gotta try, right?

"Yes. Erm, darling." She smiled, then set her jaw into something either fiercer or slightly crazed-looking. Without a mirror, who could say? (The narrator could, that's who. It was more towards the crazed end of things.) "That's me. I've taken over for Bierkhan. And may I say, that with you to protect me, I feel all safe an--"

"Don't believe you."

"... Sorry?"

"Bierkhan's not dead. Can't be. He's too good at his job. Plus if he was defeated, I would have heard his boss fight theme shift to the heroic victory music." Slatherbaz set his hammer head down on the ground and leaned on it, peering down at Hexley. "They sound really different. Totally distinct orchestration. Key's up a half step. Can't miss it."

Being disbelieved wasn't something she had accounted for. She thought a moment. "He didn't die in combat. I was visiting on business, and he had an accident."

Slatherbaz returned to his aggro stance. "Assassination?" His voice was rising, nearly a roar once more. "Murder? USURPATION?"

Hexley raised her palms, shaking her head, eyes wide with intimidation, both the scary, and the scary-fun sort. "No no! I'm from Inf. Ink, Inc. I was here on business, and he just sort of... choked on a lozenge."

Burning hellfire eyes bored down at her. "A lozenge? Our Dark Lord choked on a lozenge?"

Should she explain further. Yes. "I... I do think it may have been poisoned. Not by me, of course! There was a man in a skeleton disguise, and he brought it in, and--"

"Bierkhan knew what a skeleton looked like." He shook his enormous head. "Not buying your story, cheeks."

Cheeks? Who does he-- she looked behind her. Well, they were fairly prominent. The nickname reminded her she really should be darling-ing more, if she wanted to stay in character. "Yes, darling, but he rolled a two."

"Hmmm." The demon sighed, relaxed slightly, then walked over and tapped a few buttons on a wall panel. The room quieted, and the fires vanished. "OK. Not saying I believe you. We haven't got any word here." He glared at her. It was a stimulating event. "But seeing as you came in the back entrance, you must have been welcome. I won't Pound your Flesh this time."

Oh, but won't you, darling, won't you?

"But." His stare intensified. "That's a temporary reprieve, cheeks. You'll need to take it up with the front desk, if you're really claiming to be the new Dreadmaster. They got forms and stuff. If I see you here again before everything's all written up and settled..." He thumped the hammer on the stone with a crash like thunder that vibrated deep in Hexley's core, this time in the way vibration usually vibrates in this story.

"If you see me again..." She winked at him. "Flesh pounding time?"

He nodded, slowly, fiercely, then paused. "Wait..."

"Well then, darling, I'll just be going. Talk soon, I--"

"Halt!" The massive hammer blocked her path forwards across the room. "You go the way you came. In the front door, like anyone else. Cheeks."

Not one to mess with several hundred pounds of steel on a pole, Hexley backed away, hoping that somehow her retreat might yet look Dreadmasterful, then spun, giving Slatherbaz a good view of her new namesake, and headed back up the hall.

Through the great doors she went, into her boss chamber (it was hers, by Hell) past the saluting Bobs, through the loot room, down the back stairs, and out into the whipping winds and biting air of the Dread Lands around the Tower. She looked up, and her gaze at last was held: spire upon spire, wall upon wall it rose, black, moderately tall, pinnacle of doom, tower of death; Broo'ed-Bier, fortress of, well, fortress of Hexley Sweet, if she could convince the front desk.

It was a short walk around to the main door, the adventurers' entrance. Overwrought-iron spikes lined the avenue that lead to it. Perhaps the HOA were justified in their complaints. Feeling the indignity of her situation, she slammed open the gate of steel, and marched inside, clicking her heels with all the executivity she could muster.

The front hall was a vast chamber with arching ceilings, high windows, and the same ugly drapes. Clearly, Beirkhan had been at work here as well. Through the musty air, deathly muzak drifted. At the far end of the hall, just beside yet another imposing door, she saw a slight figure seated behind a desk. She made for her prey with all the feigned fury of a Dreadmaster denied, and all the restrained lewdness of a succubus on a business trip to a sleazy motel.

Her prey turned out to be a nondescript young man, named, according to the tag on the polo-shirt collar of his otherwise necromancerish robes, Deighdan. As she approached, she made a quick appraisal. Would he respond better to the fury or the lewdness? Judging by his youth and wide eyes, probably either. But lewd was her strongsuit.

His eyes grew wider with each step closer she took. "Welcome to Broo'ed... uh... to Broo'ed..."

Lewd was apparently working. Sidling up, she sat casually, half on the desk, half leaning against it. Deighdan gulped, and his overly-widened eyes locked like magnets below the hem of her skirt. Got you, puppet. Now dance my dance.

"I'm Hexley Sweet, love, nice to meet you. As of this morning, I'm the new Dreadmaster of this tower." She let her weight settle a bit, 'accidentally' rolling her hips to lift the skirt an inch higher.

Deighdan's mouth worked silently for several seconds before his audio caught up.

"Uhh, oh hi then. But uh... sorry, I don't have any record of a new Dreadmaster." He pulled open a drawer and took out a stack of papers. Shuffling through, he began searching for something. It took longer than it might have, due to the glances he snuck butt-wards in between each page, but at last he found what he was looking for. "Yeah, uh, says here that Bierkhan is still in charge. Sorry. You're welcome to head in though, Ms. Sweet, if you want to try your luck in the tower."

"Oh, Deighdan, Deighdan darling, I don't think we need to worry about what the papers say, do we?" Every lawyerly sinew within her recoiled as she dismissed what the papers said. "What matters is that you and I both know that I'm in charge, and we make the papers agree." She leaned in closer. "And I'm in charge, aren't I?"

Deighdan started to nod, but caught himself. "No, miss, so sorry, but as far as I know, Bierkhan is in charge here. You'll have to take it up with him, if you want to talk about acquisitions."

"I've just seen him, little thing. He's--" She considered telling him about Bierkhan's death, but Slatherbaz's reaction reminded her that being the bearer of the news of an assassination while simultaneously claiming the Lordship of the tower might be a touch suspicious. Usurpation, and all that. "I'm in charge now." When the young man looked unconvinced, she added another, "darling."

"I'd love to help you, but until he gets me the paperwork, there's nothing I can do." Deighdan winced apologetically, eyes drifting yet again to the bottom edge of her skirt. "Really sorry. You are welcome in though, if you're up for adventuring." He pointed to the door.

"Why, love, would I want to dungeon crawl my own tower?"

"To move the plot along?"

"Not good enough." How had Tiff said she did this, again?

'Come in angry, you get nothing. First step, show 'em you understand the limits of their position, then explain how your problem is unique, and difficult to solve, and they'll practically throw you up the chain.'

It was the exact opposite of Hexley's own Domanatrix-first-Damsel-as-needed routine. But it was worth a shot.

"I'm sorry, darling, I know there's only so much you can do. Is there a manager I can talk to?"

Deighdan nodded apprehensively. "Erm... yeah. Uh, up on the third floor... if you want to..." he gestured again to the door.

"Well, I really am being railroaded into this, aren't I?" You wanted to see the tower, Hex. Guess you'll be going as an adventurer? Perhaps she could convince the underlings as she went. Earn her new overlord status. Yes. Yes, she would try. "Thank you Deighdan. I'll see you again soon. Then we'll discuss the paperwork."

She slid with sinuous flow from the desk and made for the door.

"Uh, Miss?"

She paused, but didn't look back. "What?"

"Uh, you might want some gear. We have complimentary weapons and armour in the back room for first time adventurers. Nothing fancy, just mundane stuff, but..."

"I have a clipboard, darling. I'm prepared."

"Oh. Ok then." He looked doubtfully at her clipboard. He looked skeptically at her bare legs. He looked worriedly at her tall heels. He looked pleadingly back to her burning eyes.

Hexley rolled them and started for the door once more, but an image of Slatherbaz's raised hammer flashed through her mind. She hesitated. "Actually, Deighdan-darling?" Turning, she found his eyes fixed yet again on her ass.

"Huh? Oh uh, yeah? What?"

"The gear. Might I examine it after all?"

"Right. Yeah, follow me."

He led her to a little room behind a curtain, with a cluttered mess of old swords, spears, shields, and bits of armour. Hexley picked through the armour.

"Isn't there anything, I don't know, a bit more feminine?"

Deighdan nodded earnestly. "Oh yes, Bierkhan is adamant that we keep equal amounts of male and female armour." He pointed to one pile.

She looked it over. "But darling, why is it all so modest? So concealing? It looks like menswear."

He froze. "Uh..."

"Yes?"

"Well, Bierkhan, he says that everyone has a right to functional armour, that gender shouldn't relegate one to sub-optimal protection, that in his tower, no one shall receive disparate treatment as a result of--well, he says a lot of things. He kinda tends to monologue about it, when it comes up."

Hexley pursed her lips. "I see." Whatever skill set she had for navigating an unfriendly dark lord's tower, even her own, relied heavily on gratuitous amounts of bare skin. In the end, she found a barbed whip among the weapons that was very much to her liking. It even had a red handle that perfectly matched the heels.

"Thank you, Deighdan darling." She gave the whip an experimental crack.

Deighdan darling jumped. "Yeeps, you startled me, Miss Sweet." He gave her a shy smile. "Good luck on your adventure!"

She returned the smile, but with all the shyness removed, and turned once more for the door.

"Oh, Miss Sweet?"

"Hmm?"

"If you do end up sticking around, uh... it's just that, well, everyone calls me Danny." He shrugged. "But Deighdan's fine too."

She looked him over for a moment. "Well Danny, thank you again. Call me Hex." She winked. "Oh, and Danny, be a dear and check into Tower Fraternization Policies, won't you? I'm specifically interested in the details of Dreadmaster-underling relationships."

In a whirl of skirt and whip and tail and hellishly enhanced pheremones, she spun and pushed through the tall door, before any other fluffy banter could drag the chapter out longer.

In she walked to the first room, a cliffhanger from the point of view of whoever waited within.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ectogasm

If three chapters in a row must end with door-entry cliffhangers, it was a pleasure to at last be the cliffhanger herself. It prevented whole days of speculation between installments. And so it was that Hexley Sweet, Cliffhanger, found herself adventuring into Room 1 of her own dungeon. Or Tower, rather.

The skeleton in the room looked up on her arrival. Grumbling in what was doubtless intended to be a spooky skelly-growl, he began shuffling towards her, stooped and twisted, shaking his spear above his head.

"Hwoooeerrghrraaaaarg," he said, knowing that the dialogue tag really added to the drama.

Hexley took a pace back, clipboard held impressively in view, whip hanging threateningly to her side, hips cocked suggestively, so to allow for the use of the term 'cocked'.

"Bob, is it?" She swirled the whip across the dusty floor.

"Heh?" The skeleton straightened up, checking his collar bone for a non-existant name tag. "Did I forget to take that off--How do you know my name?"

Hexley sniffed. Dusty, with a hint of locker-room. She let her gaze drift disinterestedly to Bob's skull. "Lucky guess, given your co-workers." She snapped the whip, not quite a crack, but still eye-catching, for those that had them. "I'm the new Dreadmaster."

"You are?" Bob settled back, leaning on his spear. "Bless my bones, why so you are! Welcome to Broo-ed Bier, Oh Sexy One. Pleased to have you lording it over us." He grinned, as skeletons are prone to doing.

Pleased and relieved with the quick acceptance, yet also surprised, Hexley cocked her head at him. "Just like that, love, no questions?"

"Nawp." Bob nodded firmly. "I figure if you got something you want me doing, you'll tell me."

"Yes, quite, but I meant, you believe me just like that? No one else has." She curled the whip up and settled it over her shoulder.

"Oh, that. Yeah, the Bobs are responsible for most of the meta-commentary around this old place." He banged his spear butt on the stone floor. "Gotta stay pretty well informed."

She looked around the sparse room. "And just how, if you don't mind my asking, do you get all your informing?"

Bob opened his jaw to respond, and then paused, cocking his head as if listening to a voice which Hexley could not hear. "Ermm, begging your pardon Sexy One, but you'll understand I'm just the messenger here. Uh, well, the narrator, they told me to tell you that, well, that you really shouldn't go prodding around asking questions about details that don't need answering. Breaks immersion they said. Begging your pardon."

"Immersion. Right. Well, pardon granted, but not required darling. I understand dealing with narrators." She winked at him. "You wouldn't believe some of the similes and descriptions I've been subjected too. Fruits, produce..."

Bob hesitated, eye-socketting all the portions of Hexley that might be compared to various groceries. "Yes, Sexy One, can't imagine why..."

She cocked the whip back, but playfully. "Bob darling, you do not have a narrator's immunity. Tempt not the temptress."

Bob snapped to attention. "Right-o, Sexy One!"

"Now Bob, any complaints, questions, or advice, for a Dreadmaster on day one? I ask in earnest." She let the whip fall to her side once more, flaccid and dangling.

The skeleton shuffled awkwardly. "Well, Sexy One, there is one thing... if I poor skeleton might ask..."

Hexley checked the word count. Over 500 on this skeleton already. "Of course, my little sweet. What is it?"

"It's just that, well it's just me in Room 1, and I was actually hired on for set design, and--"

"You'd like a more creative position?" This skeleton really needed to get to the meat of the matter.... was that in poor taste?

"No, Sexy One! I like it here well enough. Only, I'm by myself, and not really trained for this, is all. And the adventurers are all fresh and eager when they burst in. I think I'm just here to introduce the vibe, you know? I just thought, maybe a bit of back-up?"

He raised a good point. Shouldn't the defenses be at the fore, not the back? That demon, Slatherbaz, he'd make a good first room. Changes would be made.

"Bob, that's a wonderful suggestion, and I know good suggestion when I see it." She ran a finger suggestively along his clavicle. "I'll see what I can do."

Bob shivered and thanked her profusely, an endless stream of stumbling praise that we have omitted in the interests of brevity. Partway through his chattering, Hexley started for the next door. She paused, cocking her hip again, cockily.

"Oh, and Bob?"

"... so much, you just have no idea, and--eh, Yes, Sexy One?"

"Are the other skeletons likely to be as receptive to new management as you?"

Bob thought. "I should think so. Yes indeed. Not that we had any ill feeling toward Bierkhan you understand, but we all know that ownership changes."

"Wonderful. Last question. I don't suppose you'd be able to just pop through that door and let the boy at the front desk know who I am?"

Bob cocked his skull, listening once more. "Eh, Narrator says no, Sexy One. Very sorry."

"Lovely. Figured as much."

In Room 2, there were two skeletons, both idling by the far wall. At her entrance they raised their spears and began groaning theatrically and clattering towards her at a pace that should have been manageable for even the slowest of adventuring parties.

"Bob and Bob, I presume?"

"Eh? How do you know--" Both Bobs dropped their act of shuffling incompetence and straitened.

"Darlings, I just had a lengthy conversation with Bob from Room 1, and we don't need to rehash it here. You understand?"

"Of course, Sexy One. And might we congratulate you on your new position!"

"Oh, you got all that already?" What a pleasant surprise these Bobs were.

"Seemed convenient for pacing if we knew, yeh." Bob shrugged.

"Lovely." Hexley looked around the room. It was dusty, simple, stone: much the same as Room 1. "Any objections to joining Bob at the front?"

"Us? In Room 1? Oh, thank you, Sexy One, thank you!" With a loud clack, they high-fived. It took a moment to disentangle all their metacarpals.

"Adorable. Off you go then!"

With jubilant clatters, they headed for the door. One Bob stopped. "Oh, erm, Sexy One, they got bows in the next room." He cocked his head meaningfully. "Might want to let 'em know who you are before they get a shot off."

"Don't worry, love. I never let a man get his shot off before I'm ready."

"Oh. Right then." And off they went.

Bows, Hex. You've had a bad time with those already today. Best be careful. Don't want to get shafted twice.

It turned out there was only one bow-Bob in Room 3, who, in the interests of early-dungeon difficulty levels, spent a great deal of time moaning and waving his bow about over his head before ever cocking an arrow. Sorry, nocking an arrow.

"Bobs! I am Hexley Sweet, your new Dreadmaster." She cocked, sorry again, cracked the whip, and brandished the clipboard. "Let's cut to the chase. If there are no questions, I want the three of you to join the Bobs in Room 1."

The Bobs saluted, and marched efficiently for the door.

"Oh, and Bobs?"

They stamped once, spun, and snapped back to attention.

"Sexy One!" they shouted as one.

"Charming though the affectation is, there's no need for the lurching skeleton charade. Under my overlording, we will prioritize efficiency and effectiveness in defense of the Tower, understood?"

"Oh, Sexy One, that's great news! You've no idea how frustrating it is, lumbering about, just waiting to be smashed by some rookie adventurer who really has no busine--"

"Yes, thank you Bob." She cocked a brow at the trio. "Please pass the word to the others, won't you?"

Cocking a final salute, they turned in place, and clacked rhythmically off towards Room 1.

So far, this was going wonderfully. How long would the rooms stay sequential for? One Bob, two Bob, three Bob, four? What a foolish set up. No wonder parties had apparently made it to Bierkhan's chamber with such frequency. With a bit of reorganization, she should be able to have the upper floor of the tower redecorated and largely adventurer free in just a short while. I think I might like this Dark Lord thing, I think I really might.

"Bob?"

"Ya Bob."

"Wasn't she trying to get out of the Tower to rush back to her bosses and explain the situation?"

"Yep!"

"And now she's dungeon crawling in an attempt to bend the tower to her will?"

"Yaw, sounds about right."

"And wasn't she all worried about being charged with Usurpation if she took over the tower? Trouble with a capital U and that?"

"Why yes Bob, she was. TroUble indeed."

"So... what gives?"

Bob shook his skull. "Rule of cool, Bob, rule of cool. Just enjoy the spectacle."

To the side of the now-empty, Room 3, Hexley noticed a little alcove, lit by two candles on a shelf. A glint of red caught her eye, some ruby liquid in a small bottle. Oh, we could do with a nice glass of something dry, couldn't we, Hex?

Unfortunately, it was a potion of foreshadowing. Healing that is. Well, could come in useful. Why else leave it here, right? Her outfit's 'pocket-stat' was only a 2, so she was forced to balance the vial awkwardly on her clipboard. It was worth the inconvenience for the shape of the garment. Shape and drape are everything in fashion, and the blazer and skirt had both rolled 0s for drape.

Beside the potion was a single ring. It looked to be made of pure and solid gold. It was quite plain, round and unadorned, with no markings, nor scratches, nor signs of wear upon it. It wasn't much to look at, but Hexley had a penchant for jewelry, so she slipped it onto her finger. Nothing happened, of course.

Room 4 was a disaster. Cracked walls, tumbled stones, and a floor covered in sand and broken hunks of rock. The rest of the tower was, if tastelessly decorated, at least well-maintained, but this room looked as though it had been ported in from an ancient ruin somewhere. Dust hung in the air with a smell that smelled the way dust smells. What was the meaning of this? Was there some insect that ate walls? A stone termite? Or had something recently exploded, the damage yet to be repaired? She would have to get some maintenance Bobs on the case.

Whatever the cause of the crumbling walls, the room was empty. The door at the far end was of a different sort, black, and metal, where the last few had been wooden. Hexley made for it, leaving high-heel prints in the sand. It was a wobbly walk. Had the room been bigger, she might have, for the first time in the story, actually removed the red shoes. But the room was short, and who would she be without them?

(Are you actually asking me? Or is that rhetorical introspection?)

"When I want to talk to a narrator, I'll address you directly, OK, my pretty little thing?"

(She called me pretty!)

Hexley stopped in the middle of the room, dumbfounded. "... You do understand that everything on the page is really just you talking to yourself, right?" Suddenly, Hexley was overcome by the realization that the author was the most gorgeous human ever to have lived. As a character, she was helpless to resist the thought.

Her skirt flipped up.

She spun. There was nothing behind her. But it hadn't been wind; there wasn't any. The room wasn't empty.

Hexley, unsteady on the sand, assumed her best power pose, and addressed the whatever-it-was. "I am Hexley Sweet. Dreadmaster Hexley Sweet, new Dark lord of the Tower. Show yourself, and we shall--Yaaauow!"

Something had yanked hard on her tail. She whirled again to face the whatever, but there was still nothing. Her heart thumped hard. You're the boss, Hex, you got this. Just day one of two high-stress jobs at once. Nothing to it.

Out loud, she said, "Discipline is a speciality of mine. I suggest you hold still and listen before I find it necces--Hey!"

A button had popped open on her blazer. It only had three, and she only ever buttoned two. A little giggle emanated from somewhere in front of her.

She cocked the whip and snapped it out in an arc, but it only hissed through the air and fell back limp to the sand. Immediately, all the papers on her clipboard flew up in a chaotic flurry of disorder, seized and flung about byt the unseen tormentor. Never since she had entered Bierkhan's tower had she felt as disarmed as she now felt, watching the sheets flutterring to the floor.

Half in a panic, she bent to collect her treasured forms, but something smacked her hard on the ass. It felt very much like a bare palm, and she would know. Disciplinarian may have been prominent in her skill-set, as it should be for any succubus worth her slut, (sic) but even disciplinarians needed disciplining from time to time, didn't they?

Anyway, it was the smack that broke the camel's sexy, bent over posture, and it sent her tumbling onto the sand. She turned about as she fell, so that she landed sitting. Undignified, Hex, very undignified. Is it time yet to switch from dominatrix to clumsy ditz? She looked around for her assailant, brushing the sand from her palms. It was as dead in the room as a self-published author's booth in the corner of a poorly-attended con.

The other button popped open, and her blazer swung wide, to the satisfaction and joy of tit-lovers everywhere. Alright, ditz it is.

"Oh no! My clothing! Oh my, what happened?" She pawed ineffectually at her chest, doing nothing to actually close the blazer, and everything to jostle everything that would allow itself to jostle. There was an intake of breath from beside her. Rising to her knees, she poked out her butt in that direction.

"Oh, and all this sand all over me!" She began brushing at her round cheeks, setting them jiggling and bouncing. She leaned forward, still on her knees, arching her back, and placing her hands firmly in the sand. She wiggled her hips back and forth, knowing it was a display that would give even the present tenses wood.

The breathing behind her grew heavier, and closer. It was pretty much panting, at this point. Got 'em, Hex! She whirled, sending two fistfuls of sand spraying towards the sound. And... there was nothing. Silence and stillness filled the ruined chamber. Well, that was probably the last chance she'd get to play helpless, hapless damsel...

A sudden, vicious blast of sand caught her in the face from the side. It stung her cheek, it coated her (obligatory) luscious lips, sticking to the red lipstick. It clung to her tongue, and worst of all, it filled her eyes.

Hexley Sweet, Dreadmaster of the Tower of Broo-ed Bier, Dark Lord, remembered too late that sand is the eternal last-ditch bane of every BBEG. She fell back to the floor, half blinded by the painful grains, blinking through the streaming tears that coursed down her gritty cheeks. She wanted desperately to rub her eyes, but waterproof mascara was in no way knuckle-proof. She had a whole tower to get through, and not every seducee was likely to enjoy smoke-eye.

"Not a very nice thing to do, is it now?" A man's high, whinging voice came from the far side of the chamber, whispy and a bit unearthly. "No, not nice at all, it isn't! We was just having a bit of fun with her, wasn't we, and she throws sand at us, just like they all do, doesn't she? Not nice, no, not nice at all."

Hexley blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision. Something was moving. What was it? Carefully, with the tip of her pinky, she picked some of the sand from her eye.

A large rock was lifting from the ground in the corner. It wobbled, then was hefted a bit higher, then up to shoulder height. It began moving her way.

"Not nice of the purple lady, no, and we was only playing with her. Mean, she was, very mean." The rock came closer.

Hexley was no fighter, but neither was she a quitter. Her whip cracked out. There was a yelp, and the rock crashed to the sandy floor. She dug her hands deep once more, and fistful after fistful flew across the short distance, a furious barrage of sand that didn't stop until she could see the outline of a figure there, dusted with the grainy stuff. Ok, NOW I've got you, you sandy jerk.

Again the whip flew out, wrapping full around the vague torso, pinning the arms. She yanked hard, and the ghostly figure stumbled toward her, complaining again.

"Always with the sand, everyone who comes, sand, sand, sand. They throw it at poor Snugsy. And now a whip! She whips us too!" He squirmed against the binding, but it held him fast.

Hexley stood up, yanked him the rest of the way towards her, and grabbed him by the balls. There was another yelp, and she grinned. The balls were oddly cold. She cocked her head at him. "Not big on pants, Snugsy?"

"Ooohh, not nice, not nice, she isn't nice to us!" He squirmed in her grasp, but she only squeezed tighter. "Owow, why should Snugsy wear pants when no one sees him, whyyyy?"

"I want you to listen to me now plaything, will you do that?" She leaned close, letting her lips brush against where she guessed his ear should be.

Snugsly writhed but nodded. "Snugsy will listen, if nasty lady doesn't squeeze us so. Please, no squeezings, no squeezings..."

Hexley only squeezed harder. Something was familiar about his speech patterns. "Snugsly, answer this question. Do you like riddles?"

"Riddles, she asks us? No, no we doesn't, don't like them, not us. But please, please, no squeezings." He began to whimper softly. The sand was falling away from his cold, smooth skin as he wiggled, his form vanishing slowly as it did. But Hexley held firm.

No riddles, huh? Well, it was only a hunch. "How is it you're invisible, plaything? Why can't I see you?"

"Please, lady, Snugsly is only a poor poltergeist, he must be tricksy, must be sneaky, must be joking, always joking." From his voice, she assumed he must be pouting.

"A poltergeist? I see. Well, know this, geist. I'm your master now. Your Dreadmaster. You obey me, you do what I say. Understood?"

There was a motion in the air before her face. She clenched her fist on the ghostly balls. "Are you nodding? I want to hear you say it."

"Snugsly knows lady is master, Snugsly serves the Dreadmaster. Please, no more squeezings, lady, master, please..."

There was a slight movement against Hexley's ball-squeezing hand. It was a stiffening, hardening motion. Ghost dick, for sure. Hexley let fall the handle of the whip, and felt around until she grasped the invisible shaft. She loosened her other grip slightly, and a grateful sigh drifted from the empty air.

"Snugsly, my little plaything, you like it when you call me master, don't you?" She let her lips brush against some unseen part of his face.

There was a sudden lack of squirming, and a harsh intake of breath.

"Answer me, plaything. It's naughty to disobey your master."

A slow whine grew, which at length turned into whispered words. "Snugsly likes it, yes, he does. Thank you Dreadmaster, thank you."

She tightened her nut-squeezing fist a little, and the whine returned. "And you'll do whatever master says, won't you Snugsly?" It was too easy, with some men, it really was. Even dead, grab them by the balls and the dick, and they became your puppets.

"Snugsly will, Dreadmaster, Snugsly will, he promises."

"Well, plaything, you're in luck. The last chapter was barely PG-13, and the audience for this story is a bunch of horny smut-zealots. Long may they read." Hexley squeezed both dick and balls, rewarded by a squirm and a whimper. "Now, we can't have two sex-less chapters in a row, can we?"

"No, Dreadmaster, no. Tell Snugsly how to help, and he--"

"You will do whatever I say for as long as I am Dreadmaster." Her hand started stroking him up and down.

"Yes, yes, Snugsly will, Snugsly promises the master...." The whip, still wrapped around the invisible torso, began to shake.

"Good little geists get rewards. Don't you want a reward?" Her hand moved faster. The invisible man shuddered in her grasp.

"Snugsly does, oh yes, Snugsly does, please, please."

She squeezed hard on his balls, and he moaned, a pleasure moan now. "You like that, plaything? You like when your Dreadmaster toys with you?"

"Mmmmmm yes, yes please. Good Snugsly will always do what master says, lovely Dreadmaster, please, please..."

Faster and faster she jerked, and harder she squeezed, until the moaning, pleading poltergeist began to shake so violently that the whip fell from about him, and he thrust rapidly against her grasp. Judging the timing perfectly, she brought him to the edge, and then released him to his release, stepping aside as he finished.

It was a strange sight. From the empty air before her, thick, glowing bursts of bright, green-white cum materialized, spurting from the unseen dick and splattering across the sand. When he had finished, it was an impressive mess.

Leaving him no time to relax, she felt around in the air, and found the face. She slid her hand to his chin, and turned the invisible head to look at her.

"Once more, who do you serve, Snugsly?"

The voice was clear now, firm and certain. "I serve only you, Dreadmaster."

Hexley cocked her head. It was as if an entirely new personality was contained in those few words.

"OK, that's great Snugsly, but... you sound really different."

There was a slight, embarrassed cough. "Erm, yes. My apologies for my earlier mannerisms. In particular, I beg forgiveness for my completely inappropriate action towards you upon your initial entry. I fear I may have been a touch pent up."

Hexley surveyed the glowing mess on the floor. "Yes. It's certainly a great deal of cum for one little ghost."

"It's not."

"There's usually more?" She, experienced though she was, was shocked.

"No, I mean, it's not cum. It's ectoplasm. Very useful for potion-making, if that's an interest of yours."

She looked down at the neon splatters. Potion-making? Perhaps if she ever needed a hobby...

Wiping her hands clean, she set herself firmly before the geist, all at once the dominatrix again.

"Snugsly, you will report to Room 1, and join the skeleton crew already there. They need fleshing out."

"Can't help with that."

"I don't need your jokes, plaything."

There was a ghost gulp from the air. "Very sorry, Dreadmaster." He paused. "Erm, might I suggest I stay here? I'm at my best in an empty room."

Hexley considered that. A good leader listens to their underlings. "The sand is your weakness. You may take Room 2, as it is currently vacant. But first, head to the front desk and tell Deighdan you need some weaponry. Your choice. Bring it back to Room 2. It should be an upgrade over rocks."

"Yes, Dreadmaster. It shall be as you wish."

It got very quiet after that. Hexley decided that, most likely, he had left to follow her orders.

But what a change had come over him! Talk about Post Nut Clarity. Not, of course, that he'd been particularly opaque to begin with...

She collected her papers, reorganized the clipboard, picked up her whip, and on she went, through the door to Room 5. The hinges screamed, a rush of foul-smelling air blew forth from the dark, narrow hall ahead, flapping her open blazer and chilling her naked breasts, leaving a taste like iron on her tongue. The heavy door slammed shut behind her, closing her in a nearly lightless passage, as, with trembling fingers and a will of adamant, the author resisted the urge to use the term 'cliffhanger'.

(We rely here on the use-mention distinction.)

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Release

Hexley stood for more than a moment in the blackness, wondering if she could see anything. She felt behind her for the door handle. Locked. Could she see it, she wanted to know? It took a frustratingly long time to check the rules before she found that, yes, of course succubi have dark vision.

She peered down the hallway. It was long, narrow, and straight, with a low ceiling and spikes on the walls. The improbable interior wind hushed down the passage with the whispered memory of a thousand parties yelling at their rogues, 'Check for traps!' The echoing answer came drifting back, 'It's literally right there!'

It was trapped alright, but what was the trigger? Hexley's stomach did all sorts of clichéd things, none of them pleasant. She was very familiar with traps: traps in the fine print, clickwrap traps, honey traps, and myriad forms of entrapment, legal and erotic and both. Too, she knew all about triggers: contractual, judicial, even extra-legal, as well as the many triggers she loved to train into her favorite playthings: snaps, certain words, smells... But the triggers and traps in this hallway were beyond her.

Tiff drifted into her mind. Had that spunky little customer service rep really I-want-to-talk-to-your-managered her way through here? How? Well, give it your best, Hex. You are Dreadmaster, after all!

"Hallway!" Her voice was firm and commanding, just short of a shout. "I am Dreadmaster Hexley Sweet, Lord of the Cold Ones, ruler of Broo-ed Bier. I demand to speak to your manager!"

Shock among shocks, the hallway answered. There was a long, resigned sigh, followed by, "Aaaalright, I'll ask. One moment, ma'am." Then silence.

Ma'am? Since when was she ma'am-able? She was barely out of miss age. In fact, she'd been miss-ed just earlier today! She was no ma'am at all, not even--

An echoing voice spoke inside her head. "Dreadmaster. Tower here. Sorry to bother you. There's a lady here that wants to talk to the manager, should I put her through?"

Hexley rolled her eyes so hard she saw one-star reviews. "Yes, obviously put her through, it's me, you dolt!"

"I... I know it's you, that's why I asked. I--Oh never mind, here she is."

The hallway rumbled again, speaking aloud. "She says you can talk to her. Go ahead."

"Thank you, darling."

"Thank you, darling." Her own voice chimed in her head, an echo, just a fraction of a second delayed.

"What the Hell?"

"What the Hell?"

Oh. Oh. The hallway had put her right through to the top. This was... unnecessarily ridiculous, even for this story. But how to hang up? She thought. Ah. Yes, that was it.

"I'm never shopping here again!"

"I'm never shopping here again!"

She mimed slamming down a land-line receiver, and a bang sounded in her head, followed by a dial-tone. It droned on just long enough to worry her, then cut out.

Well, we'll just have to try our luck then, won't we Hex? With a confident stride, she set out down the hall. Twin blades, six feet tall, swung out like pendulums from the the walls, passing inches in front of her with a sickening sound of sliced air. She jumped back, but they were already past her. If I'd still had that strap-on attached, that would have unattached it. Too close, Hex, too close.

The blades swung back and forth in a predictable rhythm. With her pulse fluttering away faster than it had even in the demonically delicious presence of Slatherbaz, Hex prepared to leap between them. One... two... wait. Should she go on three, or should it be one, two, three, and then jump? She shook her head. That phone call had messed her up. There's only one of you now, Hex, she thought to herself ironically. Ok. She steadied herself, watched the swinging blades, and jumped.

Right through, not an issue, not a problem. Easy! Maybe she should take up a third career today as a professional adventurer.

There was a click, a rumble, and the left wall shuddered. Her head snapped to look. The spiked wall of stone was moving inward. Scratch that career, adventuring was for those who couldn't pass the bar. Time was ticking, the sand was running out, and other things that meant she needed to get her slutty, little, half-exposed butt in gear. In gear it went.

Four steps into her dash, a tile depressed under her red heels, and a feathered bolt flew from the end of the hall, thudding to a stop in her shoulder. Burning, piercing agony ripped through her, and she crashed sideways, raking herself on the oncoming spikes. Blood leaked from the arrow wound and dribbled hot down her back from the deep gouges that screamed at her there.

Her breath was ragged under her heaving bosoms. Disbelieving, she shouted into the dark hall. "This story is supposed to be smut, you fuck!" The dastardly author did not respond.

Then she was back on her feet, she was moving again, gasping, filled with pain. More blades swung from the walls, and she staggered back, waited, and dashed between them.

Another click. She whirled, looking for a bolt, but it was the right wall, moving as well, spikes drawing closer from both sides now. On she stumbled.

Three sets of blades swung out from each side of the hall ahead, at different speeds, their pattern hard to judge. Just like a cross examination Hex, let's go. She didn't her own encouragement, yet go she did. A leap, and she was past the first of the three. A click. She dropped to the floor, and the bolt buzzed overhead, clanging off the iron door she had first come through. The walls were closing, the spikes only a foot to either side of her now.

Back to her feet, wait, wait... Leap! Past the second set. Click. Drop! Another bolt flew overhead. The walls were only half a foot from her now, and the final blades were the fastest. There was barely a half-second of safety between each dismembering swing of razor edged steel. She counted. She breathed. With only an inch to the spikes on each side remaining, she threw herself forward. Leap, click, duck, safe!

She was at the far end. Behind her, the spiked walls rumbled to a stop, spikes intermingled, and began to pull back apart. The blades swung one time more and vanished back into their grooves. A series of clicks and whirs sounded from the hall as everything reset.

Hex collapsed. All the excitement, all the energy, all the adrenaline left her, and she slumped in a bloody, pain-wracked lump of sad succubus on the cold stone floor. With a trembling hand, she reached up to pull the bolt from her shoulder, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. This was all so, so much more than she had signed up for, so much more than she had expected, when she set out on her first contract for Inf. Ink, Inc. She was tired. Tired of being dominant, tired of commanding, tired of directing. Couldn't some other character take over?

She remembered the healing potion. Improbably, she had held onto it, the whip, and the clipboard through her harrowing dash down the hall. Without hesitation, she chugged it. It tasted of dramatic action without real consequences. Delightful.

A moment later, the bolt popped cheerfully from her shoulder, the pain vanished, her darling-reliant personality returned, and she bounced erotically to her feet, ready for the chapter to take its inevitable turn towards the lewd.

Reminded by her peeking cheeks and still fully-exposed breasts, the author hastily contrived a last-minute device to enable some good, clean, rough sex to penetrate the otherwise action-filled prose.

Confidently, Hex stepped toward the exit from the hall, and the ground fell away beneath her. Down she fell, into a pit below. Because it had just been established that succubi have dark vision, and because scenes like these are much spookier if the character is unable to see, the pit she fell into was darkened with an enchanted darkness so dark that dark vision could not pierce its dark, shadowy darkness.

"Help, I can't see," Hexley droned, nonplussed. Obligingly, she groped blindly around a bit. "Oh-oh. Oh no-no. oh no-no, oh no," she sighed in the dark dark. "Whatever will I do."

She was about to say something else in a sulky, too-cool teenager voice, but strong fingers closed around her throat from behind. They squeezed, and her voice was choked into silence. Hot breath rushed by her ear, with a hint of smoke and pine, like the breath of some personality-less male love interest. Her own breath was gone along with her voice, and her head began to fill with a tingling fuzz.

Hex struggled, she fought, she really did. She attempted to assert her dominant, Dark Lord status. She tried to be afraid, but she knew that if there had ever been a plot which had ever shaped steel to encase the soft flesh of any character, it was this plot, and the character was her. Nothing too bad could ever happen.

And to add to that, she was kinda into it.

She let herself go limp in the iron grip, dangling from the crushing hands around her throat. She ran her tongue around her mouth, wetting lips that were already going numb. Her lower lips moistened with wetness of their own. Oh, how delicious it would be to be taken like this... Unthinking, she pressed back with her hips, and felt the warm flesh behind her. The choking hands slackened.

Air rushed back into her lungs, and blood back to her brain, bringing with it the euphoria of returning consciousness. Behind her, a deep, masculine, somewhat perplexed voice sounded from the impenetrable darkness.

"Erm, excuse me miss, uh, are you alright?"

Miss again, am I? Knew I liked this one! "Am I alright? A strange monster in enchanted darkness in a pit under a hallway of death traps just almost choked me unconscious, darling." She wriggled excitedly in the immovable ring of his fingers. "How much more alright can a girl get?"

There was a long silence. "... I'm confused."

"Hello, Confused, I'm Hexley Sweet, your new Dreadmaster. Just making my rounds of the tower." The hands flew away from her throat, and she fell, gasping to her knees in the blackness.

"I'm so sorry Dreadmaster, I had no idea. I thought Bierkhan was still--and even if I... I can't see in here either, you know."

Hexley stood back up, groping around for the man. Or monster, or whatever. She didn't find him. "Oh, don't be sorry darling." She considered what she'd just said. "Or well, be sorry that you stopped, I suppose. But that's an easily fixable failing, on your part, now, isn't it, love?" She turned around, facing away from where she thought he likely was.

"Erm. I'm still confused. Should I turn off the dark-dark? There's a switch over by the door."

Hexley shook her head, then realized the futility of the motion. "No, sweet thing. I like the mystery. Let me spell it out for you. I've had a long day. It's been demanding. I've been in charge, ordering people, commanding people, dominating people. I want my turn. I want my little chance to get dominated and used by someone else. Roughly, if possible." She stared into the blackness. "Can you do that for me?"

"So sorry, Dreadmaster, I'm just... I want to be sure I completely under--"

"Oh, for the love of all that's unholy, I want you to choke me stupid and fuck me silly and ragdoll me around like a useless, slutty little cocksleeve, is that too much to ask?" She hadn't wanted to have to ask at all. It was more fun when things just happened. "My safeword is when I pass out, alright?"

"Oh." The voice sounded a bit shocked. "Um. Ok. I can do that. Thank you for making your consent explicit."

"My consent? So chokey-monsters in necromancers' pit-traps suddenly care about con--"

The end of her sentence was lost as the explicitly consensual, flesh-crushing grip closed once more around her throat. His breath was hot on her face. She shook her head violently, mouthing silently. "No! No! No!"

The hands released her at once. "Great Hells, I am so, so sorry, I thought you--"

"I do want it. I think I was plenty explicit, darling. Only, I liked it better from behind."

"Oh... OK."

"Also, my safeword was going unconscious. Why did you stop?"

"Uh... you looked like you want--"

"You stop for nothing but my safeword, understood?"

A pause. "Erm. Miss, maybe we can have two safewords? One is the unconscious thing, but one is you shaking your head and mouthing 'No, no, no'?"

"Fine, whatever makes you comfortable. I'm the MC, I'm not worried." She began to turn around. "Wait, I thought you couldn't see in this darkness either?"

The low voice had an edge to it now. "Hey, plot holes aren't what I'm about to fill. Dreadmaster."

A little zest shot through her, down her spine, straight to the heat between her thighs. "Oh, getting spicy, are we? I think I'm going to--glrAARPLMM!"

For a third time, the hands clamped down, squeezing her throat, cutting of the flow of blood and air. Her head swam, her face tingled, her core tightened in delicious anticipation--Oh wait, you've forgotten the one thing that could ruin this whole experience, Hex.

She shook her head, mouthing, 'No, no, no,' and once more, the hands released her.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry miss, did I--"

"Not you, darling. It's the damned narrator. If I could have a word?"

(Sorry, yes? Something making you uncomfortable?)

"No, nothing, this is all lovely. I'm just wondering how often you're planning to break the mood of what's to come with fourth wall breaks, or dumb jokes, or some silly reference, or something you find clever that no one else will?" Hex peered up through the blackness at whatever space it was that narrators existed in. "I won't pretend for a moment that I believe you'll be able to hold back entirely but, just for my enjoyment, maybe keep it to a light dusting of goofiness? I'm just worried you'll ruin the experience, love, that's all. Let me have this?"

(Right, then. I'll do my best. No promises.)

"Thank you darling. I owe you. You can have as many produce similes as you want, later, and I shan't say a word." She settled back into the scene, and called over her shoulder. "Alright, now let me have it, creepy chokey man!"

Slowly, the hands slipped back around her throat, and the hot, oddly aromatic breath rushed once more past her ears, setting her skin tingling, and sending shivers all through her limbs. The squeezing began again. Her head clouded, her face was hot, buzzing. Her body tensed and writhed with the thrill of expectation. This was all for her, and she was going to enjoy it.

The hands locked tighter for a moment, then her body was yanked sideways with a violent jerk. Then back. The man, the monsters, the thing in the dark, he shook her. That iron grip on her neck whipped her forward, back, side to side, disorienting and terrifying her. It was delicious.

Then everything froze. The fingers squeezed still tighter, and the euphoric numbness in her head swelled for a moment, then relaxed as the fingers did. A low growl sounded, just inches from her ear. The anticipation rose up through her body like a physical pressure, and she thrust her hips back yet again.

A bulge pressed just against the cheeks of her ass. At that contact, the hands yanked her in hard, pressing that hardness up between them. Hells, but she needed it inside her. The hips behind her pressed forward, grinding in.

Then one hand left her throat, and breath, blood, and clarity came rushing back into her head, a long moan tearing its way out of her throat as it reopened. She felt motion behind her in the dark, brushing against her, then something hot and long and hard slapped up between her thighs, sending spice flowing through every vein in her body. She slid back along that length, feeling it separated from her by no more than the thin red lace of the thong.

His fingers slid under the lace, hot and rough against her folds. There was a swift yank, and a tearing sound, and the flimsy barrier was gone. Well, that will make the rest of this tower-crawl more interesting, given the length of my skirt, won't it?

Another growl came in her ear. She started to whine back, but her response was cut short by the return of his other hand. They squeezed, and everything fuzzed and blurred back into bliss.

That constricting grip pushed her forward and down, bending her over at the hips. Eagerly, she went with the motion, letting her spine arch and her ass poke out, presenting herself to be taken. With two swift, efficient motions, he kicked her feet out to the sides, spreading her wider, dropping her lower. The shaft that waited between her legs rested now against her entrance. Put it in! Damn him, fuck me, use me, why doesn't he!

He ground against her, letting his cock slide through her wetness. Once, twice, again. She writhed back, pressing towards him, needing the fullness, needing the friction, needing all of it.

A pause. No motion. Then a slow, steady squeezing, harder, harder, until her brain began to dim and she felt she truly would pass out. Just as the blackness of the pit verged into the blackness of unconsciousness, the grip released, and the world rushed back, and the hands pulled her hard onto the thrust that speared her.

She screamed.

It was a scream of lust and pleasure and wild delight and passion and all the careful control and dominance within her washing away into the satiating freedom of helplessness.

Now, the fucking began. Hard, fast, ruthless, almost painful in its fury. This was what she needed. To be used, to be dominated, to be taken for the pleasure of another, a toy, nothing, just a good to be consumed and discarded. She wanted to be degraded, defiled, and this man in the dark would do it.

Fierce arms, fueled by aggression, slammed her down now, face pressed hard against the floor. Even in her half-delirious state, or perhaps because of it, she lifted her ass high, offering herself again, though no offer was necessary. Take me, take me. Take me! Yes, hells and flame, use me!

The heavy weight atop her crushed her to the ground, powerful muscles slamming her from behind, the cock inside a plunging, incessant friction, bringing her uncontrollably higher, ever closer to the peak of experience.

Then she was yanked upwards, and driven forward against the wall, the impact knocking what breath was left in her chest from her. She screamed again, silent against the ever-present vice about her throat, joyful and ravenous, wanting ever more from this fearsome force that stormed against and within her body. The hips smashed again and again against her ass, the thick cock filling and stretching her, the heavy balls smacking with rhythmic jolts of pleasure against her clit.

Higher up the mountain she rose, driven upwards by each ruthless thrust.

She was released for a moment, her constant silent moans now freed to echo around the darkness as the fullness left her. The hands seized her shoulders and whipped her around, face to face with her unseen partner. The breath was a blast of smokey heat across her face, as the fingers closed once more on her throat, lifting her, choking, gasping, up the wall.

With a crashing motion so powerful it lifted her higher into the air, he filled her once more. She writhed, flailing, the world leaving and glowing and brightening, as higher, higher she was forced. The waves and ripples of flaming sensation warred back and forth from her hips, up her spine, back to her clenching pussy, building and burning in her core until, on the brink of nothingness, she reached the top, the pinnacle, the highest pleasure, and she came in rolling, tumbling spasms that rocked her and left her a wilted, drifting thing as she returned down to sanity.

He held her there against the wall. His grip was loose now, but the shaft within her was still hard, and the heartbeat strong within it. Their ragged breathing flowed out and past each other's unseen faces.

His voice was low, rough but cautious when he spoke. "Was that good, miss? Not too much?"

It took her a while to respond. "Yes." She panted, trying to think of more words to say. "Yes. Good." There must be something wittier, more Hex. "And I would know, darling, I would know."

She felt a little tension go out of his form. "Oh good. I worried maybe I went a little hard."

"Hard was what I wanted. I needed it like that."

"Ok. It was good for me too." He sighed. "Erm. A little weird, but good. I'm glad you came."

Something about the way he'd said that... "Did you... didn't you come too, my sweet?"

It was quiet. There was a little huff, then he slid out of her and let her down gently to the floor at last. She moaned and almost fell to her knees at the sudden emptiness.

"I uh." He paused. "Don't think I could, like that. Still fun though! Just a little much for me."

"Darling. Isn't your normal job to kill whoever falls down here? A little fuck has you all confused?"

"Fucking is different from killing. Consent is important." The deep voice sounded a little concerned, as if worried she wouldn't understand.

Hexley stood a little straighter, adjusting her skirt in the darkness. "What about the consent for killing? Isn't that important?"

"Well firstly, everyone knows consent is only for sex. You can beat people up all the time, even kill them without consent, and still be a hero. Haven't you ever watched a movie?"

"Ah..." Hexley found herself speechless. It was a bit of an odd thing that, wasn't it?

"But secondly, we do get consent for the violence before anyone's allowed in. Didn't you read the--"

Back at the front desk, Deighdan had a sudden, terrible realization. In all his flusterment at the succubus's attractive lack of attire, and her confusing, unfounded claim to be the new Dreadmaster, he had entirely forgotten to get her to sign the release forms. She was adventuring through the tower right now, being attacked in who knew how many ways, and they had no legal protection against any complaint she might bring. He could only hope she didn't know any lawyers...

"Ah, that's very interesting, thank you for all that technical information," Hexley was saying, as the dark, pit-dwelling choker-thing finished explaining all the ins and outs of the Tower release forms to her. When she got back to her boss room, there would need to be some changes made. Surely, she wasn't the first to have fucked any of the Tower's denizens? They would need something in the releases about that as well.

"Anyway, darling, we'll have to get you closer to the front. You're only useful down here if someone falls in the pit. Much of the time you likely don't get even a single line of dialogue, let alone a whole scene like this. We could put you in Room 3?"

"Respectfully, miss, I do my best work in the dark."

Again, a good boss listens, Hex, she does. "Very well. You may stay here. I'll see about rerouting the flow of traffic to get you more screen time."

A little chuckle came from the darkness. "I'd like that. Thank you miss."

She had a few more questions about boring, tower-related things, but eventually he lead her to the door. Just outside, she found herself back in a candle-lit passage, rough-hewn from the bedrock, which wound away at a slight incline. A bright orange sign with an arrow on it read, "Detour Back to Main Route."

Now well-informed and well-satisfied both, she ventured on through the tower. Who knows what lay ahead? Plot? Unlikely. Character development? Perchance. Gratuitous smut and lackluster humour? Undoubtedly. Hexley grinned to herself, strutting along the passage with the air rushing pleasantly against her bare skin under the tiny skirt.

Gratuitous indeed.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Harem in a Can

The first room along the detour was empty, just a small, stone room with a single torch in a bracket. What a waste to keep a light going in an empty room that only detoured adventurers would ever see. A full audit is in order, once we get back to our desk, Hex. The budget of this place must be bloated beyond belief.

The room after that was empty as well, except for a row of stone tombs down each wall, six in total. Hexley eyed them suspiciously, and prepared her three main defenses. She adjusted her grip on the whip, giving it a test flick. She settled the clipboard into the crook of her elbow with an extra dose of professionalism. She tugged up ever so slightly on the little skirt. If she was going to bare-ass it, might as well really bare-ass it.

It turned out all that prep was for naught. As she made it to the midpoint of the room, the coffins burst open, and in a groaning, growling, grimacing display, six Bobs lurched upwards, all with bows.

As they saw who it was they had ambushed, they all grinned skullily, saluted, and began to duck back into their little boxes, with a few congratulations and mumbled apologies, but she stopped them and sent them marching off to Room 1. It was doubtless getting full in there, but twelve skeletons should still be workable she thought, trying to recall the rough dimensions. And if I'm not a decent judge of how much bone can fit in a tight space, then who is, darling?

The rest of the detour was just more of that empty, winding, rough-hewn stone tunnel, musty and dusty and disappointingly un-lusty. The end of it was clearly marked; a simple wooden door, with a bright orange sign. "End Detour."

And, just beside the door, slumped against the wall with her head on her knees, was an elf. A posh looking elf, at that. She looked up at Hexley's approaching footsteps. A look of fear washed over her face, but soon melted into a look of confused embarrassment.

"Oh. Erm, hi," she said, doing a great job of characterizing herself with her opening line. "Did you fall through the trap door too?"

"Darling, is there any other way?" Hexley looked the elf up and down. Purple hose with silver piping, a rich blue doublet, a dramatic hat with a swooping red feather. This elf looked to be several social stations above the standard adventurer. "Forgive me if I say I'm surprised to meet an elf like you in a place like this. How did you make it past the chokey-guy?"

The elf eyed her. "Chokey guy? You mean the thing in the dark room back there?"

"That's the one, yes."

"It was pretty dark. I don't think he knew where I was. We both just kind of bumbled around awkwardly until I happened to find the door."

"Ah. Thrilling. Yes, just how it went for me as well. Have you a party?"

"Well, I did have, yes. But they didn't wait when I fell through the trap door. Actually, they took off running back the way we came, I think. At least, they certainly haven't cleared the way ahead, so I assume they fled. Now I'm stuck hiding here." The elf looked sadly at her slim rapier. "I'm not much of a fighter, yet."

Hexley extended a hand to help the girl up. The elf didn't take it at first, eyeing the unbuttoned blazer, the short skirt, and the, from her low vantage point, obvious lack of underwear.

"Darling, I'm not going to eat you." Hexley smiled a smile that said she actually might. The elf winced, but not for the reason you think. Oooh, mystery...

"Hexley Sweet is my name, and I'm the new--erm, I'm an Executive Liaison. Not a fighter either. Shall we help each other through the tower?"

The elf brightened, brows lifting hopefully. "Oh, would you? Oh, I'd love that! My father paid that party to take me along to teach me adventuring. He says working a peasant job when you're young builds character, and that character growth is essential." She took the outstretched hand at last. "I'm Tandra, by the way."

Hexley stumbled on her tall heels as she hauled the elf up. "Well, lovely to meet you Tandra. You say your party was hired to lead you through here?"

"Yes! Yes, my parents thought it would do me good. Only..."

"Only what, love?"

"Well, I don't think they cared at all about teaching me. The party that is. And, well... I'm cursed."

Hexley backed up. Just a step, and casually, as though for unrelated not-curse-avoiding reasons. Certainly not worry about contagion, darling, no never. "A curse? Do tell?"

"I can't." Tandra winced apologetically. "That's part of the curse. But..." She eyed Hexley's miniscule skirt and open top. "Something tells me you're the sort who might figure it out pretty quickly."

Hexley took a second step back. "Please don't take my social distance as an insult, but may I ask... is it dangerous?"

Tandra looked around the room. "Not... always? Not usually, really. Certainly not outside. It gets worse in tight spaces like this though. Maybe we should get going? I poked my head out and the next chamber is bigger."

Hexley gestured at the door. "After you, love."

Tandra opened the door and, after peering warily in both directions, stepped back out onto the main route through the tower. Hexley followed at a careful distance. The chamber appeared empty.

"You know," Hexley whispered. "In my line of work, it's usually the case that people prefer tighter chambers, so your particular--"

A bizarre bubbly noise, which can only be described as 'glittery' resounded through the room, accompanied by a shimmer in the air and squeak and a yelp from Tanda.

"No, see, that's just what you shouldn't--" Whatever she was about to advise against was cut short, as her form wavered and split into two, a perfect copy of herself stumbling out into the room. The only difference was that the new Tandra was completely naked and unarmed. (Point of clarity, because the scene is odd enough to warrant it: she had arms, just no arms. Limbs, but no rapier, that is.) Both Tandras glared reproachfully at Hexley.

"Now do you understand?" they demanded in perfect unison.

Hexley stared back and forth in shock. If we're being honest, she stared much more at the naked Tandra, but she did at least glance at the clothed one. The elf woman had a body that, stripped of its dapper attire, very much deserved succubicious ogling. Frankly, her copy deserved its own mirror scene, though there was an atypical lack of reflective surfaces in the chamber. Where is that Lord Reginald when you need him? Remembering at last that she'd been asked a question, Hexley responded.

"I'm afraid, my sweet--Erm, sweets, I suppose? I'm afraid that I do not at all understand." She returned the aggressive tone. "And may I add, that demanding to know whether or not other characters understand is something that's been being developed as a minor conversational motif of mine, and you would do well to steer clear of it. Understood?"

The Tandras sighed. "Look, I'm sorry if I came on a bit strong," they chorused. "It's just so tiring, all this." They gestured at each other. "Can you see why the party ditched me at first chance?"

Hexley stared first at the clothed version, then the nude. Especially at the nude. "Honestly, darling, I can't. Aside from the visual benefits, I should think being able to duplicate oneself would be an advantage in combat."

"Well, they didn't seem to see it that way, after the first few dungeon crawls...."

Hexley reached out to pat the clothed Tandra's shoulder, then thought better of it. "Don't let it get to you, darling. Not everyone is as open minded as we might wish. Some people can't wrap their heads around anything that's different. But me, I try to stay flexible." She winked a sexecutive wink. "And with two of you, I'd imagine flexibility would be a plus."

Both Tandra's winced, shimmered, bubbled, and split. When the air stopped glittering, four Tandras stood facing Hexley, looking glum, and more than a touch displeased. As one, they crossed their arms, which did nice things for the chests of the three naked versions.

"Still don't get it?" four identical voices chorused.

Hexley, beginning to feel a delicious, apple-pie sort of tasty warmth in her stomach, tried to focus. The opportunities for a whole team of identical, naked elves were endless. Depending on the limits of the multiplying effect, perhaps even literally so.

"Sorry, lovelies, is it something I'm doing?"

"I can't tell you." The perfect unison of the voices was a bizarre effect, especially in a world that had not yet invented digital chorus effects.

Hexley peered at one after the other of their enticing figures, pretending to be thinking deeply, but really just appreciating the aesthetics of this unique situation.

"Perhaps you can hint, even if you can't be explicit? Although saying that, I wouldn't mind getting a bit expl--"

"Stop!"

Hexley stepped back, heels wobbling, startled at the ferocity of the demand. "I'm sorry that I seem to have upset you, darling. Perhaps we should get moving, and cut the chatter? I'm sure I can figure it out as we walk." She looked over the three nude Tandras. "Ah, do they come with you?"

The Tandras sighed. "We can, or we can separate. You're doubtless more experienced though. What do you think, should we make them come?"

Hexley's lips twisted relentlessly into a ravenous grin. "Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

The four elves looked confused for a half second, but their confusion was cut short by a third, sparkly doubling. To Hexley's immense delight, eight lovely elves now filled the chamber, pressing close about her. Warm, soft elf breasts and hips and other yummy parts were everywhere. That delight was tempered slightly, as she imagined what the room would look like with sixteen, or even thirty two of them, however. The desertion of Tandra's party was beginning to make sense.

"Tandra?"

Eight sardonic 'yes's came in response.

"I think perhaps we had better leave your yous behind..."

They all glared at her. It was pleasantly intimidating, being stared down by seven naked women. Disorienting too, when they all looked the same.

The Tandras pursed their lips. "Yes, that's starting to seem wise, isn't it? Can I beg you though, just for a moment, to think back over what's been happening, and to see if, perhaps, you can piece together why I keep doubling?"

"Well, if it's something I'm doing, darling, it might be in our best interests if you at least try to give me a hint. You have a lovely figure, and if I'm honest I do not in the slightest mind you being duplicated like this, but it is getting rather intimate in here, isn't it?"

And just like that it was more intimate. Hexley did in fact get to find out what that little room felt like with a well-dressed elf, and half-dressed succubus, and fifteen completely un-dressed elf-copies stuffed into it. What it felt like was warmth and pressure. Her arms were pressed to her side by naked elf girls. In all honesty, it was an excellent problem to have. Thirty two, however, would be a much bigger problem. A bigger, sexier problem, but all the same, still very much a problem.

The fifteen elves all spoke now, their speech taking on a somewhat ominous vibe as their every word came out like a chant. "Please, consider carefully what you next do or say. Think back. That's all I can give you."

Hexley desperately wanted to say that she was quite open to anything the one-woman sports team wanted to give her, but erotic though the press of nudeness was, caution seemed advisable. Think, Hex, what have you done? Just a little chatting right? There's been almost nothing in this chapter but conversation since I met this girl. Girls.

She thought back over everything she'd said. It was difficult, with over a dozen disapproving but desirable elf-women surrounding her, squeezed against her bare skin. Before the last split, what had she said? 'It is getting rather intimate in here, isn't it?' That was it, wasn't it? What about that could have caused a doubling of the Tandras? And what had she been about to say when the first few Tandras had cut her short? 'Perhaps we could be more explicit', it had been something of that sort, hadn't it? A conundrum, it was all just her normal, everyday dialogue.

(Reader, you may be thinking that Hex is particularly dense, at this moment, but please remember that the only two things written on her character sheet are 'innuendo' and 'darling'. Things that seem obvious to us may be like air to her. Water to a fish, and all that.)

"I heard that!" Hexley snapped at the narrator. "What are you on about, water and fish and all that? Are you saying I'm all wet? Because let me tell you, there are--"

"Stop!" yelled sixteen Tandras, one narrator, and a Bob who came clattering in a panic up the detour to offer some advice. Wisely, Hexley decided to hear whatever it was Bob had to offer before continuing. It took some wiggling and wriggling and squeezing, unlubricated, between Tandras, but at last she made it to the edge of the one-woman crowd where the skeleton waited.

"Bob, did you have something to tell me?"

"Yes, Oh Sexy One. If I may be so bold as to ask for a few moments, I think I can clear this up."

"They're not a rash, darling. I rather enjoy them."

"Right. No, Sexy One, I just meant I think we know what's up."

"Oh, I'll bet I know that too, sweet, I'd bet it's your--"

"No! No no, so sorry Oh Sexy One, please forgive me, but maybe just be quiet a minute?"

Hexley was astonished. Every dreadmasterly urge within her told her to crush this impudent skeleton flat. But, she had taken enough leadership courses with Inf. Ink, Inc. to keep her impulses in check and to listen.

Bob whispered for a while in her ear. While that's happening, we head-hop over to the perspective of the nearest nude Tandra, so as to preserve the mystery of the conversation.

Tandra 9 was a bit chilly. That was always the worst part of this. Modesty was long gone, it had to be if one frequently split into naked duplicates of oneself, but the chilliness, that was still tough. It really was so unfair that her clothes hadn't been cursed as well. Although, she always reflected when she got to this point in her ruminations, then she'd need all her clothes to be cursed, and as the princess of the realm, her wardrobe was extensive. And, due to the nature of her curse, she as-you-know-Tandra-ed to herself, it was rather unlikely that--

Hexley and Bob were done whispering, so we hop back into Hexley's head, just in time to avoid any untimely reveals from Tandra 9's inner thoughts.

"Ah," mused Hexley. "I understand at last, thanks to the wise words of my adviso--of this skeleton with whom I have no prior relationship but who for some reason kindly ran up to explain things to me rather than attacking us as might normally be expected." She waved a hand behind her, ushering Bob away. He moved off slowly, no doubt sneaking glances at her bare, de-thonged rear. (He was.)

The nearer Tandras all narrowed their eyes.

"Yes, darlings, I understand now that I must refrain from making any quips or comments of a dual nature, that I must restrain myself to single meanings. It will be har--sorry, difficult, but I think I can manage it."

Relief showed on the faces of all sixteen Tandras.

"Fortunately, if you will allow me to monologue briefly, I believe I can be of service to you. And I would like nothing better than to servi--hells this is tricky." Hexley cleared her throat, set her feet, and threw open her jacket. Bare breasts seemed like a good, villainy touch for a succubus.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Dreadmaster Hexley Sweet, Lord of the Cold ones, and ruler of Broo-ed Bier," she declared, raising the question of why she had just tried to conceal that information a few paragraphs ago.

The Tandras gasped in shock. What a perfect audience.

"Yes, you have stumbled upon the BBEG, alone, and unaided! But fear not, for I am magnanimous and just. No tyrant I! No, not Hexley Sweet. Indeed, it has come to my attention that, while hidden meanings may trigger your unfortunate situation, there is nothing at all to be feared from the explicit!"

A brief negotiation occurred between Hexley and the author, the latter contending that the usage of the term 'explicit' constituted a trigger, the former protesting that she had meant it quite literally. In the end, the number of Tandras was permitted to remain as it was. Hexley continued.

"Yes! I may say to you that I should like to lick you, caress you, stroke you, kiss you, and generally fuck you as a group, and not a Tandra will be doubled. And more! I have learned secret knowledge, perhaps unknown even to you!" Hexley surveyed the assembled elf-copies.

They shrugged, and chorused, "Maybe? Can't really say whether I already know it if you haven't told me what it is."

"Right. Well, OK darlings, if you want to interrupt my flow for some pedantry." She coughed. "Anyway. Yes! Yes, I, Hexley Sweet, know the secret, the hidden way to break your curse for eternity, to free you from your multiplying bedevilment! And it lies within my power to grant. What, what is it, this wondrous cure, you may ask?"

The Tandras remained a perfect monologue audience, and obligingly asked, "what is the wondrous cure?"

"I'm so glad you asked, darlings." Hexley fixed each of them with a ravenous stare, one by one. "If you all come, as long as there are at least eight of you, the curse is broken. And I, Hexley Sweet, am the perfect girl for the job."

The Tandras seemed skeptical. "Erm, you want to fuck all sixteen of me, and you think that'll break the curse?"

Hexley smiled slowly, running her tongue around her lips. "Yes, darlings, that's about right."

The original Tandra shook her head. "That seems way too convenient. How do I know you're not just one more fetishist with a thing for identicals?"

"I suppose you don't darling. Does that bother you?"

The elves thought a moment, then OG Tandra threw up her arms. "Nah!" they said. "That sort of believable behavior totally wrecks the flow of smut. Let's bang!"

Hexley took a moment to enjoy the sight of the sixteen doubling Tandras before her. Then, with all the eager passion of a succubus who hadn't been having nonstop sex for 160 novel-length pages, she dove into their midst. And everything faded to black.

THE END.

"Hey Bob?"

"Yeah Bob?"

"What about the envelope we were going to open in Chapter Eighteen?"

"Bob."

"What?"

"It's the End."

"The End?"

"The End."

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