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The first time you meet Mindfang’s slave (you will come simply to know her as ‘D’) she is knelt in the centre of the pile of throws and quilts and cushions Mindfang keeps in her quarters.
She is blindfolded, her feet manacled, and she is clad only in a jade coloured veil. She is drooling slightly, and panting. Her cheeks are flushed green, and her nipples are sticking out, clearly visible.
Your bulge twitches.
“What are you going to do with her?” You ask. Mindfang smirks. “Jade bloods aren’t built for slavery.” You say. “They’re weak, physically. And with no psychic abilities of which to speak, what’s the point?”
“I think I’m going to fuck her.” Mindfang says. “She’s a fine physical specimen. Even if she can’t drive the ship, or clean it.” Mindfang removes her hat, and her cloak, licking her lips. “Pitiable, don’t you think?” She says, kicking off her boots.
“You’re disgusting.” You sneer, a twinge of jealousy makes your insides twist. You loathe her. The Slave writhes and moans softly, falling onto her back. You notice a small puddle of genetic material beneath where she’d knelt.
Mindfang unzips her tight fitting body suit, and you watch, a little mesmerised. But then, your eyes are drawn back to the wriggling jade blood.
“I’ve been keeping her unconscious for the last few days, but aroused.” Mindfang tells you. She struts towards you, large, lace covered breasts quivering with each step. “I thought it would be easier this way. I’ll wake her up, and she’ll be too maddened with lust to even contemplate refusal.” She purrs and steps closer to you again.
“Why even bother with her consent?” You snort. Mindfang bites you sharply upon the neck, and presses her knuckles too-hard into your bulge.
“She’s my concubine, not my victim.” She hisses, and smirks when she her knuckles over the lump in your trousers. “Hard already, are we?” She asks. You can’t argue. “I thought you’d like this, Orphaner.” She cackles then, and you’re filled with that all too familiar feeling – dying to strangle her as much as you’re dying to rip off her lingerie.
“Would you like to watch?” She asks. She’s rubbing you with her open palm now. If you say no, she’ll only send you away.
“Yes.” You say. You’re sick with yourself. She’s needling her way under your skin, as always, and it’s going straight to your bulge, as always. But instead of sticking to your routine (by now, you’d have grabbed her, she’d knee you in the stomach, you’d slap her across the face, she’d bite your neck like she wants to take a chunk out of it) she’s fucking sashaying across the room, like she thinks she’s the most fuckable thing in the whole world (and part of you thinks she is, which sends yet another thrilling spike of hatred through your veins) and grabbing the other woman by the face, and pulling her into a sitting position.
She shoots an irksome little smirk in your direction, and you ball your hands into fists.
Mindfang removes her slave’s blindfold and reveals heavily lidded, glassy eyes. Her pupils are wide, and black. You notice not just rings around her eyes, but crow’s feet. She might be your age. Maybe older. The life span of a Jade blood tends to be unpredictable.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Mindfang comments. You nod. Her features lend themselves toward redrom more than black. She has large eyes, a small, plump mouth and a delicate jaw, with all together none of that raw, nasty beauty of Mindfang’s. Mindfang has a mouth that looks like it was made to suck bulge, but with teeth that would send the Grand Highblood running. Maybe. Her eyes are long, built only for her to bat at a suitor and narrow at a fool, and you could probably cut diamonds on her nose.
The slave is clearly extremely tall, but what she has in height, she lacks in strength.
She looks so fragile – even with her breasts, which are relatively average, and her broad hips – there is a childish stiffness to her. You sneak a glance at her hands, delicate little gloves full of bones, hanging from a wrist you could probably snap with single bend in the wrong direction.
She couldn’t be more different to her Mistress.
Mindfang is all swinging hips, and bouncing tits shoved up to her chin, hands resting on her tiny waist because she knows you’re looking, and she fucking wants you to look while she’s tossing that rat’s nest she calls hair over her strong shoulders, looking at you like you’re fucking dirt even though you’re a sea dweller and one fucking place below the Condesce herself – how dare she, with that azure sludge running through her veins, look at you like you’re something she just scraped off the bottom of her boot.
You’re so angry, you hardly notice Mindfang has removed her Slave’s veil, and is carding a hand through her thick hair. Her horns are quite impressive.
“Should I wake her up, Dualscar?” Mindfang asks, mockingly.
“Do what you want.” You sigh, making an effort to sound bored. She purses her lips and shoots a look at the obvious lump in your trousers, then rolls her eyes.
“Vile.” She says, simply, before turning her attentions back to the Slave. There is the briefest flash of colour behind her eyes, before they flutter shut, and snap back open again. The slave’s chest heaves, and she stares, wide eyed at Mindfang.
“Where-” she begins, voice heavy and low, but she’s cut off by her own moan. She shivers rolling her shoulders, stares at Mindfang with desperate, animalistic eyes. You undo the buttons of your flies.
“Your new home, Slave.” Mindfang says. “You’re to service me.” Instantly, the Slave moves to perch on her knees, and folds her hands in her lap, head bowed. The position taught as standard during their conditioning.
“Y-yes mistress.” She says. Despite her obvious desperation, she keeps her posture perfect, and her hands clasped together. Mindfang looks at you, grinning delightedly, apparently waiting for a nod of approval on your part.
“She’s certainly well trained.” You concede. Rarely do you see a slave so aware of their place. Yours are all insolent little shits, particularly your Helmsman. Concubines are usually the worst, however. They get uppity. Think themselves a matesprit, an actual feature of your quadrants rather than just a glorified hole, something to be used for a rather pretentious masturbation, till you’re back with your own kind.
The Slave mewls, apparently inadvertently, and your bulge twitches. A flutter of meaningless pity runs through you.
“Can I-?” You find yourself beginning. Mindfang sneers, a chair flies from the other side of her room, and takes you out at the knees.
“No.” She says, as you fall into the chair. “You’re to sit there, and you’re to watch. Or you leave.” She smiles her smug smile at you. Oh how easy it would be to kick her teeth in. She rubs a tender hand upon her Slave’s cheek, and the Slave leans into the touch. “Informal posture” She purrs, and the Slave’s limbs go limp in an instant.
“What is it you want from me?” Mindfang asks, voice too think and too sweet. She might as well be vomiting honey.
“What I want does not matter, Mistress. I am here to serve.” The Slave chants, like a mantra. It might well be, you’re not familiar with the methods of the conditioning hives.
“Very good.” Mindfang smirks. “What is it you think I want?”
“I would never be so bold as to assume my Mistress’ wishes.” Says the Slave. Her voice is deep for a female’s and hoarse. It is gentle, but there is a suggestion there that she could be commanding, if he wanted to. If she was still able to be.
“Very good indeed.” Mindfang says, appreciatively. “Now, say I wanted to pleasure you, Slave, put you out of your misery. What would you do?”
“I would be glad to honour my Mistress’ wishes.”
“Say I were to demand an honest answer to the previous question.”
“Then I’d give it.”
“And?”
“I would… like that very much, Mistress.” The Slave begins to rock slightly, apparently desperate for friction, or contact. “Please.” She whispers. You palm yourself through your trousers.
“You’re torturously aroused, aren’t you?” asks Mindfang. She asks the Slave, but you almost answer.
“Yes.” Says the Slave. Though the same word is upon your lips. You rub yourself.
“Were it not for your conditioning, you’d be masturbating right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably, yes.” The Slave mumbles, ashamed. You give the tiniest gasp, involuntary and barely noticeable, but Mindfang’s head whips round so quickly the bones in her neck crack, and her hair lashes the Slave in the face. She presses a long, bony finger to her lips, and asks the slave, her eyes still on you:
“How would you do it?”
“However you’d like me to.” She says.
“Do the woman a favour, will you?” You snarl. Mindfang sweeps a blue tongue over her full, filthy lips. She turns her attentions back the Slave.
With a cautiousness, she takes the Slave’s breasts in her large, bony hands, and slowly (torturously slowly) drags her thumb over the Slave’s nipples. Her breasts are not quite large enough to fill Mindfang’s hands, you notice.
The Slave writhes and sinks her fangs into her lips. You sink your fingernails into the arms of the chair you’re sat in. Fabric rips beneath them, and Mindfang, moves closer to her Slave, and noses her neck. Another gentle tweak of the Slave’s nipples, and a well-placed kiss (suck, bite) and you can practically see her turning to putty beneath Mindfang.
Mindfang knocks her onto her back with an easy push, and straddles her hips. She nibbles the Slave’s clavicle, licks a stripe up between her breasts.
You want to pull your bulge from your trousers, it’s screaming for attention. But you don’t. You palm yourself, gently and hope Mindfang’ll want a fuck once she’s had her fun with her poor little Concubine.
Mindfang is kissing her stomach now, hands still busy with the Slave’s breasts, and the Slave herself is crying out like a grub, straining to keep her legs closed as Mindfang draws her mouth ever closer to her nook.
She must be dripping wet by now. Soaked. What you wouldn’t give to be between the two of them right now.
You squeeze yourself, harder than before, and concede to remove your bulge, before your genetic material stains your trousers, already spotted lightly with purple. You hiss when the air hits it. Mindfang grins wickedly at you, clearly getting exactly what she’d intended to get from you, and looking more satisfied than you think you’ve ever seen her, without getting your bulge inside her first.
You glare at her, and she stands, flouncing over to where she keeps her keys.
“Now you mustn’t touch yourself. I’m going to unshackle your legs so you can spread them properly for me.” She says. She says it to the slave, but she’s looking at you. And you’re looking at her. “You must promise to behave. No kicking. No running off.” She purrs. Teasingly, she rubs her nipple through the lace of her bra, and rolls her shoulders with delight when she does. She likes the rough feel of the material, you know she does.
She saunters over to you jangling her keys, and sits in your lap. The Slave flounders pathetically, like a fish out of water. Mindfang grinds down against you, and you cup her breasts with your hands, roughly tugging down the lacy cups of brassiere. You pinch her nipples hard, and she cries out, pushing her backside down against your bulge. All that makes you do is pinch harder. She reaches around (eerily and unnaturally flexible as she is) and presses a long fingernail to the exposed head of your tender bulge.
“Now now, Orphaner.” She says. And you let go of her breast. Her face is flushed bright blue when you see her again, and, you’re quite satisfied to see an azure smudge on your lap.
“I told you to promise to behave.” Says Mindfang. She trots back over to the Slave, and sneaks the key into the lock.
“Do you promise?” She asks.
“Of course.” The Slave pants. “Just… Please.” Your hips jerk involuntarily, and you worry your lips with your teeth.
Mindfang examines her hand, and grabs a leather glove from her bed, sliding it over her long nailed fingers, before turning the key in the lock. The Slave groans with relief and spreads her legs wide the instant the manacles are removed. Mindfang, barely missing a beat slips two gloved fingers into the Slave’s nook.
Her cry is by far one of the most wonderful you’ve heard. Clear, shameless and rung with desperation, her back twist, and her breasts jut invitingly into the air. Mindfang must crook her fingers, because the slave cries out again. When after a few thrusts she removes them, the Slave growls through her teeth, panting.
“Calm down.” Mindfang chides, coolly – though her eyes are black with lust and her face is burning with its flush.
She bites, cruelly at the inside of the Slave’s thighs, before she dives between her legs. The Slave’s back arches again, and her cries fill the room. You are frankly amazed that you don’t finish there and then. The Slave’s hands fly to her nipples, where her delicate fingers pinch and roll and squeeze, and you’re even sure you her Mindfang moan while she pleasures her.
The Slave comes with a scream, and Mindfang doesn’t let up for a good minute stimulating the poor, over sensitive concubine beyond what she could stand.
When Mindfang raises her head (lips covered in jade green) the Slave goes slack, as if her strings have been cut.
You’re about to grab your bulge when Mindfang commands you stop, and remove your trousers. You do, while Mindfang rips her way out of her underwear.
She lowers herself onto your bulge, backward on your lap, and you grab her breasts, as you did before. Mindfang rides you like a wild animal, and comes before you do with a guttural groan, arching her shoulders like an angry cat. You’re not long behind her, biting into her shoulder as you do, your eyes on the limp Slave, watching her chest rise and fall, misery slowly seeping on to her face.
Mindfang watches you watching her. She smirks.