So a while ago some things happened, and then some more things happened, and then Leo and I were writing some porn of Jeanne and Lancer, and it turned out like this. He writes really fucking hot porn, but he never acknowledges it and instead is all shymoe, especially when I intend to publicly release this - much to his horror. He's just way too adorable.
It takes place in some sort of Hollow Ataraxia continuity where Jeanne D'Arc is the replacement for Kotomine, instead of Caren. And she goes to school as a disguise, and because Catholic schoolgirl is way too hot to pass up. Also, Lancer porn.
And spoiler: it's actually dinner, not breakfast, but I wanted to make that reference.
----------------------------
I have the worst luck in the world.
Don’t get me wrong; I sang all the praises when that old coot was kicked out and the new church supervisor showed up. Anything would be a good change from him, and the new girl? Well, let’s just say that she’s about the best change I could ask for.
Or at least, that’s how she appeared at first.
She’s a bright girl, always cheerful, and with a body like nothing else. I’d be lying if I ever said that I didn’t want to just grab her hips and bend her over one of those pews, but she keeps me and Goldie in line. She’s the best and worst kind of tease; she goes around flaunting her short skirt and schoolgirl’s clothes, but at the same time she’s pure as a spring flower. Just like about everything in my life, what seemed to be a ray of hope was shot down, blocked out by harsh reality. I don’t know why I’ve stayed hopeful for so long. Maybe the girl’s rubbing off on me, even though I’d like to rub off on - okay, well, you get the picture.
Today’s not much different, and I just hang around doing nothing. The dock’s too crowded around now so I’m not there, and goldie’s out with his friends or slaves or whatever he thinks of them, so it’s just me in the church, laying around.
I check my watch; it’s kinda late in the afternoon, and I sigh.
Then, though, there’s a creak from the door of the church, and I crane my neck over to see who’s coming in at a time like this.
-- --
I push against the heavy door of the church, shoving it open with a long groan of wood.
“Tsk.” Letting go of the door, I reach down and pull at my black skirt. This thing is too damned short - for the love of France, it barely reaches over my behind. I understand the reason for the disguise, but, it can’t be hard to just get a slightly larger size! Unsuccessful in making it cover a bit more of my thigh, I sigh. I can’t count it as an entirely bad thing - just like my old armor, it’s fairly effective in diplomacy.
In a way, it’s also rather nice - not having to deal with that heavy weave of metal and cotton around my waist. Far easier to move around... which of course moves my skirt up, but you can’t win them all. With a sigh, I throw my schoolbag around, positioning it so it covers my butt from behind, and stride into the chapel.
I can see Lancer’s back, as he sits on one of the pews, staring at the ceiling absentmindedly. Of all the things I would appreciate, I think one would rate even higher than getting a more effective disguise - him getting any kind of disguise.
Well, I suppose that wasn’t fair. A tight white shirt and leather pants was more or less standard attire, but there were very few people who could wear it and properly fill it out without an inch of fat. Add in the blue hair, ponytail, and he was a remarkably easy guy to remember.
A nice suit or something. Yeah, that’d be good. He’d be smart, but not especially notable - he’d just be a foreign businessman instead of a foreign Olympic athlete who hung out at the docks.
Although, it would cover up Lancer’s body...
---
“Yo, Master.” I say to the girl that enters the church, nodding as she passes me by. “Uh... had a nice day today?”
My thoughts get all mixed up there. I gulp, seeing how her skirt barely covers her gorgeous, white thighs, and she’s close enough as she walks by that I can smell her perfume. It’s flowery and the kind of thing you’d expect from a real girly-girl, but on her it’s just... too much to handle, is all I can say. I’m usually good with women, but the lass there, ‘lady Jeanne,’ she’s a tough one.
I stand up a bit straighter, seeming to close my eyes tiredly, and sigh. I try to catch another glimpse of those thighs, but - damn my luck again - she’s got her schoolbag right in the way.
Gotta look inconspicuous, right. I put my hands in my pockets, staring in any direction but hers.
-- --
I snicker, covering my mouth with my hand like a cough. He thinks that worked. God knows that generations of soldiers tried to get a glimpse inside my skirt - the younger ones more or less just stared, but the veterans like him tried the same thing. They pretended not to care, but oh yes, they did.
Putting on a generic smile, I turn around to face him, swinging my bag at the same time so it rests on the front of my thighs. “Perfectly grand day - et toi, Lancer? Caught any decent fish this morning?”
Talking to him, I lean forward a little, feeling the cotton of my shirt tighten. Just like my skirt, my shirt uniform is not quite big enough, and if I lean the right way, it presses against my chest... emphasizing it. Ah, Lancer. You simple dog.
---
I rub the back of my neck awkwardly; I smile back, even winking. “C-caught any fish, ah... yeah, not really, lass. If I did, I’d... I dunno, cook us a dinner or something, who knows. I can’t say I really plan for success.”
God, she makes the most irresistible schoolgirl. And this was her idea? Sure, when she started out she was quiet, even cold, but now that’s all gone. She’s almost a completely normal girl now, gotten used to the hustle and casual atmosphere of regular life. Maybe that’s what makes her so interesting, but at the same time unapproachable, for guys like me. I’m too corrupt for this pure girl, too mired in my old ways. I’ll try to flirt with her, and it all falls flat because she doesn’t get it. It almost feels bad, trying that with her. Almost.
And, that’s the one thing she hasn’t lost yet: her innocence - she happily smiles at me, probably not even knowing that the way she leans over makes her shirt press so tightly against her breasts, perfectly outlining their shape... yep, I can even tell the bra she’s wearing under that.
I am so glad she hasn’t got a uniform in a bigger size.
-- --
“Well, if you wanted to cook, I’m sure we have food in the fridge? We do need to eat, after all.” Saying that with the same smile, I grab my tie and fumbled with it, sticking it into my shirt between two buttons. It had been swinging about, distracting me.
Patting my hand over my shirt, I make sure to smooth the disturbances out that I had made, and then straighten myself. “I’ll go and check out what we have - sound like a plan?”
Dropping my bag under a pew, I turn heel and made for the kitchen, feeling my hips swing.
It’s a dumb habit. I never used to have it, being as it was useless in battle. But with all the other girls doing it - and as pathetic as it was - you can’t really avoid picking it up, at least a little.
---
A little toss of her hips to the side, and she’s caught my eye. Why oh why can’t I resist? It’s like a siren’s call, except with her rump... so it’s not really a siren’s call at all, but it’s attractive enough to make me wander a few steps after her.
“Hey!” I call out, knowing the place here better than she does. “Look, lass, have you ever cooked before? I mean, real cooking, like the stuff these modern people do. You ever touch an oven? Kotomine fed me on takeaway pizza, and in-between I had to fend for myself. I think you’re going to be needing my help.”
Smooth catch, there. The real gentlemanly thing to do. I almost feel some guilt well up in my old, black heart at using her like this. She doesn’t even know what’s on my mind.
Still, those thighs...
-- --
His question amuses me. The disguise is working too well, it seems - I guess he forgot that I was on the battlefield for a good part of my life. I can make at least a serviceable meal, and with a bit of time and a modern kitchen I’m sure I could do at least ‘good’.
“Oven? No, I suppose, but I’ve cooked before. I could use your help around the kitchen though. I don’t think I’ve actually been in there yet.” That isn’t quite true - I had taken a walk through the entire church once before, but I have never actually done anything there. Besides, men cooking is nice. I can get him to go run down a deer if we are in the mood for venison.
---
Honestly, this place is a church. It’s not meant for people to live in it, but I guess back in the old days the priests here adopted it as their second home or something. Because of that, and with Kotomine’s insistence, the place was modernized to what it looks like now.
It’s in one corner of the back area of the church, the counters shaped like a “U” and with some cupboards above them on the wall. The actual pantry with all the preserved food is in the basement, but here is where we store some ingredients and stuff for when we need to cook, and fast. It’s not meant to look pretty, but I guess maybe Goldie’s design sense allowed it to look at least a little decent, if not particularly rich or modern like a normal kitchen.
At the bottom of the “U” is a regular silver sink; to the right of that is an empty counter and to the left is the gas range, with a chromed hood above to vent any smoke.
At the far end of the counters, beside the stove and empty space, are a fridge and a square microwave, the latter thing being the latest addition to the place. Kotomine said that it’s what all modern houses have and I didn’t bother to suggest otherwise, and now Goldie’s the one using it all the time for his instant ramen.
The most empty counter space is across from the stove and on either side of the counter, with some drawers full of random junk and utensils in the counter drawers. There’s a lot of space in this little kitchen, but most of it’s not on the counters themselves.
But, I think that’s enough rambling on about the layout of the place where I get my food; I’m feeling like that Emiya kid about now.
With a sort of flourish, I present the kitchen to her. It’s not much to present.
-- --
“Hmmmm.” As much as one would think it is appropriate for me, I’m not going to attempt to make French food - to be honest, I’m not any good at it. Years of cooking on a shoestring have blunted me to the finer points of proper French cooking, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be up to the standards of anyone else who’d had it in modern times.
Instead, some kind of stir-fry seems fitting. First of all, it’s local, which makes it a bit unfamiliar for the both of us. Second, it’s rather simple - the general technique is obvious once you have seen one Japanese cooking show, and to make it good I don’t doubt that I can’t just build on what I already know how to do.
“Thank you, Lancer. Could you go start up a pot of rice, please? Going to try a bit of eastern food,” I say, walking over to the fridge and opening it, searching for vegetables.
---
Sometimes I long for the days when I could just spear a nice hog, my shaft driving right into its insides, juices pouring out in a slight trickle along the length. Apparently, being ‘civilized’ involves throwing that away in favour of beeping machines that cooked your meats and vegetables without any fire at all. A weird age this is, I say.
“Ah, sure, if you want that. You sure, though? All those school lunches must’ve rotted you into liking the shi- the stuff this country comes up with.” I shrug and pull out the right equipment out of the cupboard, getting ready to cook what was necessary, even if I didn’t really have the taste for it.
Maybe if she’s so set on making this, she’ll know how to make it. So, I kind of stay back, letting her do the work. God knows there are plenty of people at school she could learn to cook from.
The stovetop turned on with a click, the metal burner gradually turning a bright orange-red.
-- --
Having found a few peppers, onions, garlic, and other assorted vegetables, I swing the fridge closed, dropping the ingredients on part of the counter as I fish for a large pan in the cabinets down below.
Ah. My hand finds one perfect for my needs - wide and flat, giving me a good surface. Well, I have seen them using a wok, but we don’t seem to have one, so this will do. I mean, it’s called a frying pan - it should be good for stir-fry, right?
Placing that on another burner, I reach up, standing on my toes to look for any oil in the cupboards above me. One, no, two, no, three... ah-ha. A large, gallon jug of vegetable oil. Stretching, I scrabble at the handle and grab it-
“Merde.”
My hand has managed to get a bit of a grip on the handle, but heavy and as high as it is, I’m not able to maintain my grip... and whoever had used it last hadn’t bothered to close the top properly. My hand slips and the jug falls, top spinning off and throwing oil all over me in one great fall.
A delayed jump back to avoid it only leads to my foot catching the spreading puddle and slipping from under me, sending me to the floor, soaked through.
---
“Hey Master, you alright?” I quickly kneel down to help her, my fingers brushing against hers as I grasp her hand.
The floor is slick but my pose is steady... and I can’t help but notice how drenched she is in the oil, her shirt covered in it, her legs shimmering from the reflection of the light above. I can see the outline of her bra and the curve of her breasts clearly with her shirt stuck firmly to her skin, and my heart pounds. This isn’t what I expected, but maybe it’s the perfect situation for me. I can only hope that my luck holds out. Of course, damn, she’s probably inexperienced, and I’ll have to show her the ropes and explain all that to her, and...
I can at least enjoy the moment, and I help the girl up to her feet. “Jeez, lass, you brought me out here to help you with things like that. Don’t forget about me, eh?”
-- --
I grin awkwardly at him, ass smarting from the fall. “Yeah, yeah I guess so...” Tall men. Taking his hand, I make sure I have a firm grip before I stand up - wouldn’t want to fall again.
But, on my feet, I stretch my arms out to my sides, flicking them to try and get some of the oil off my hands. My shirt clings uncomfortably to my chest, now cool and wet, with my blue tie showing through it prominently. “Ugh...”
“Lancer,” I say, getting an idea, “Turn around please?” Looking around the kitchen, I had seen an apron hanging from a hook on the wall. It’ll work.
---
Gotta do what the lady wants, right? I turn around like some criminal getting slammed by the cops, shaking my head, lips turned into a smile. She’s clumsy sometimes, and I guess that makes her even cuter. I don’t think she’d react well if I made that kind of comment, though, as much as I’d enjoy doing so.
“Are we here to make food, or just play around, Master?” I shrug my shoulders, still smirking, waiting for the go-ahead to turn about.
-- --
I carefully unbutton my shirt and peel it off my body, leaving my skin glistening under the kitchen lights, oiled like some kind of meat cut. Chucking my shirt into the trash can - it’s probably not worth the effort now - I pause, hands at my back. Then, shrugging, I undo my bra and zip it into a plastic bag for later washing.
“Well, Lancer,” I tell him, picking up the apron, “I was trying to cook...” Taking its ties, I lash it across the small of my back, the only thing on my body there until you get to my still-soaked skirt. As much as I would like to get rid of that too, there isn’t anything I could use to substitute for it... so, it stays.
“But you can turn back around.” Not bothering to address him directly, I keep on with cooking, grabbing the jug with a bit of oil still remaining, putting it in the sink for future use, and then moving to cut the vegetables.
---
With a laugh I turn around just as she orders, smelling the oil and the heat of the burner.
We’re still cooking, and it’s alright, nothing to-
Her back is completely bare. No, it’s not like just her back is bare - she’s not wearing anything above her waist, not even a bra. Only an apron and the wet skirt she’s got are covering her, leaving the gorgeous, smooth skin of her back open to my viewing pleasure. Well, I guess her clothes were all messy and everything, but I didn’t expect it from her to just take it off and put on an apron for modesty. Couldn’t she, ah, just.. leave it? I have no idea anymore. My whole mind’s in a whirl.
Showing so much skin, and with so little on... it’s getting hard to control myself, now. I gulp, walking over to her, trying to keep up the impression that this is an ordinary kitchen environment.
I roll my shoulders and stand behind her, watching her handle the oil and prep the food, ensuring that she doesn’t make any mistakes again. If she does, then I can catch her before she falls and makes a mess of herself. Of course, who knows if I could stand doing that without touching her in a not-so-socially-acceptable manner.
I’m at my limits here, lass. Please, please don’t push them so far, will you? I can only be thankful for the fact that my pants are near-painfully tight, and don’t allow much of a bulge to show there.
“Look, ah... it’s just not right for you to go around without a shirt, okay?” I tell her from behind with a sigh, shaking my head. I’ve unbuttoned most of my shirt, getting ready to just take it off for her sake. “Just put this on, will you? It’s a little big, but it’s not like it’s my ‘tacky’ one, now.”
Glancing aside, I shove my hand - holding my crumpled up shirt - right at her, gesturing for her to just get it over with and put the damned thing on already before this gets too out of hand.
-- --
“Ah...” It’s a nice gesture, that’s for sure - almost not something I’d expect from him. I mean, he’s a nice guy, but I didn’t take him for the noble type. “Lancer, I don’t want to ruin your shirt, I’ll just soak it through. Don’t worry about it, the apron is meant for this kind of thing.”
Even as I say that, though, I find myself getting concerned. The vinyl of the apron isn’t absorbent, and the oil on my back is starting to get into the knot I tied, loosening it. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like.
Still, I shake my head, waving him off and motioning for him to put the bloody shirt back on - it’s a lot better for me to be backless than for you to be showing off your pecs!
---
“Need anything, then?” I curiously look over at her as she cooks, totally uncaring about her state of undress. Ah, it’s just my luck that she’s so innocent that she hardly takes notice of her own body. A pity, but I can deal with this. At least she isn’t teasing me so horribly anymore.
I let out a deep breath, calming myself, and open up the cupboards in case Jeanne needs any ingredients or anything like that.
I’ve got to keep my mind focused, at least. Can’t do well at all just filling my mind with thoughts of flipping up that skirt, sliding my hands up the curve of her waist, letting that little knot of her apron undo itself. I really can’t think about that too much, really.
-- --
“No, I don’t think I ne-”
I reach out over the counter to put some of the chopped onions into a bowl, which is what does it. The knot finally slips over itself, coming undone and letting the apron hang in front of me like a curtain. Quickly, I lean forward even more, pressing the apron between my body and the counter to keep it from swinging loose.
But, that isn’t much of a win. As I bend far over, I feel my skirt hike up, and a shiver runs through my body as the cooler air blows on my oiled thighs and the lower parts of my behind.
“Bloody heck,” I mumble, trying to make this arrangement work. “Lancer, ah, could you tie me back up?” My current bent state is a blessing in disguise, now - I feel my face flush as I ask the question, vulnerable as I am.
---
I have the worst luck in the world.
Or, is it the best? I can’t tell right now. It’s difficult enough thinking straight at the moment, and I keep close to Jeanne, my fingertips brushing up against her smooth, oiled back as I begin to tie the knot of her apron. Just a few simple movements; I should be able to do this without a hitch. At least, that’s what I’m hoping, and hope isn’t usually worth much in the end.
I can smell the light shampoo she’s used in her hair, and my fingers more than once slip against her back, finding it harder and harder to get a decent grip on the strings of her apron.
That’s it. I can’t do this anymore.
My arms become limp, and acting on instinct they slide up her waist, holding her there gently. My lips caress her neck from behind, pressing kisses against her shivering skin. Maybe I should’ve done this earlier, maybe I shouldn’t have done this at all. But, what’s done is done, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it now.
My body presses closer to hers, my heart pounding. I need this.
-- --
“Ah...” I gasp as he suddenly drops the apron’s strings, grabbing my waist as I feel his hot breath on my neck, which just as suddenly becomes warm lips...
I arch back against his warm body, pushing myself into him. He didn’t even bother to put his shirt back on, and I can easily feel the warmth of his chest against my back, conducted by the slick oil.
I haven’t even turned on any of the kitchen equipment, but I’m breaking out in sweat, only serving to make my body slipperier. In a sudden though, I throw a hand out in front of me, pushing all the cooking equipment to the side, not caring where it ended up. “Lancer...”
---
“Heh, Master... you alright?” I bring my lips up to her ear, nibbling at the edge. One hand slides up, from her waist up to her breast underneath the apron she wears. It’d be so easy to just get rid of this, tossing it aside like the shirt she was wearing.
Her back is even more slick now, and even I’m getting hot, feeling sweaty.
My fingers knead the skin of her breast, lightly pinching her nipple and caressing her there, playing with her body as if it’s some toy for me to use. Her skin is hot all over, and just from being in her I can hardly manage to stay in these pants, getting uncomfortable and just wanting them off as soon as I can manage. I hold Jeanne’s body closer to mind, almost embracing her from behind.
-- --
One of his hands easily slides the apron over my head, leaving me bare against the counter while his other grasps at my chest, feeling like... squeezing a melon. He carefully reaches around, making sure to feel deep, and then pinches me in a very different movement, making me let out a slight moan. Muffle it as I might try to, I’m sure he still heard it.
My heart feels different now, a burner turned onto high heat. Trying to sate it, I squirm and rolled over under him easily, the oil bringing us chest to chest.
I feel his warm, powerful muscles press against me as I wrap my arms around him, bringing us as close as we could. Then, I kiss him.
Easily, and without a word, both of us gently open, letting both of our subconscious gasps travel into each other. With one of those, I slowly cross my legs behind his, holding us together even more tightly. I don’t want to let go, really.
---
I don’t listen to my rational mind. I don’t even let it speak up, like an unwanted stepchild. My mind is fully in the moment, acting on instinct, and my her very actions Jeanne has showed me that she wants this as much as I do. God, how long has she been having those kinds of thoughts? Who knows, but it works for me.
With one strong arm I hold her up, leaning her slightly over the counter. My other hand maneuvers down to the button and zipper of my pants, flicking the button undone and pulling down the zipper in a few deft movements. I shake my hips around, thumb stuck in the edge of my pants, trying to pull them down, but it’s not as easy with Jeanne’s legs stuck around me, holding on for dear life.
My pants and boxers fall down to around my knees, and then I just stop caring. All that matters is that I’m ready for this now.
I grind my hips against Jeanne’s, holding her up against the counter, back arched over the sink. She’s got a deep red blush on her face, and I smirk at her, seeing how embarrassed she is despite - or maybe because of - how much she likes it.
The same hand that had slipped down my pants caresses her smooth stomach, sliding down as I look her in the eyes, our gazes locked. Though her lack of a shirt - thank everything good in the world - had left her chest open to view, her lower parts, the important ones, are still covered in her wet skirt. Honestly, that’s not at all what I want, and I slip my hand right under the band of her skirt, and then again under the line of her panties. It’s hard to maneuver my hand around, but I keep it there, pressing on her little nub, the tip of my finger gently teasing her entrance.
“Ah, this... is your first time, isn’t it?” I look back up at her, lips still warm from our kiss, the sweet feeling of that far from having faded.
-- --
Heart going at a thousand miles per hour, I can feel my chest heaving up and down at much the same rate as I try to stay as awake as I can for this. I’m sure it’s quite the sight for him - he’s taking me in like a fabulous opera or piece of theater, and it certainly makes me feel more than I think I’m worth... but as he asks that question, I smile.
“Mmm, that Holy Virgin stuff... it’s mostly rubbish. I mean, it was a good line, but it’s not like I never did anything. Though...” I look up at his ruby eyes. “Never with someone of your quality, I think.”
As if to punctuate this, I grab at my skirt with a hand, pulling it up around my stomach to give him easy access to my core, which he quickly takes advantage of, stroking at me with experienced fingers.
Mouth open in a silent roar, I arch back as a bolt of fire travels through my lower body. If this is already what it feels like... oh, my.
Throwing one of my hands out, I fumble in the sink for the previously-discarded jar of oil, grabbing it and pulling it close. Popping the cap with my thumb, I pour out the rest over my stomach, watching the lights of the ceiling reflect off the smooth liquid before I run my hand through it, lubricating it. Then, I reach down, taking a hold of his shaft.
He’s already ready for this, firm and warm as I wrap my fingers about him, stroking and spreading the oil up and down. A massage with my fingers at the base, followed directly with a long stroke all along his length, and back again...
While I am so occupied, I seize the back of his neck with my other hand, and in a combined effort from my arm and legs, I pull myself up and kiss him again, making sure of two things: first, that we are both slick enough with the remainder of the oil to slide forever on anything. And second, it puts... us, right in the position we need to be in.
---
It almost frightens me that she seems to be more into this than I am. I guess I’ll have to pick up the pace, eh?
So, I don’t waste any time. I buck my hips forward, letting Jeanne’s delicate fingers guide my length straight into her. I see her wince as I do that, but with all the oil covering us, it’s not much of a problem. Still, she’s vice-tight on me, and I’m stuck with pumping myself into her with shallow strokes, getting her gradually used to it. I work double-time, my hand still rubbing at her clit, caressing it in time with my thrusts.
Yet, some of the more intense action is happening above: my tongue slips past her lips locked with mine, and she graciously accepts as I taste her. Her mouth is hot, and with our faces so close I can even more deeply inhale her perfume, letting it mixing in with the scent of ingredients in the air. I never thought something like that could smell so good.
My mind wanders, and I imagine the heat of her mouth and the smoothness of her tongue all over my cock, and that turns my skin a hot red. I’m sweating heavily now, grunting as I push harder into Jeanne’s cunt, hoping she can fit my size.
“Hah...” I can barely speak past my panting and the sheer, tiring exertion. “Is it, ah, alright if I get a little more... rough with you, lass?”
-- --
It’s a bit of a blessing that our lips are locked as tightly as they are - had they not, I’m sure that anyone in the church would hear me groan as Lancer slides into me. With the oil and my own wetness, I don’t think he feels a bit of resistance as he pushes in.
Oh, but I feel him. His length slowly moves in and out, setting a slow, comforting burn in me. He... ah, he’s trying to be gentle. How... heh, the crude hound turns out to be the gentleman once you get his clothes off.
The amusement, though, is quickly overtaken as he cuts straight to the chase, asking if he can let himself loose.
Oh, what else would my response be at this point? Still the gentleman... I apologize for not being a lady, though, I’m sure my fingernails in your shoulder are not going to leave comfortable wounds. “Mmmmaaaaa, Lancer, God fuck me harder please,” I groan between loud breaths.
---
“I never expected that from someone like you!” I say with a laugh as I hold her more loosely, letting the counter support some of her weight now. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly eyeing me up each time you give a sermon? Bah, damned high school must have corrupted your innocent mind. Kids these days, I tell ya...” Laughing again, I shake my head.
-- --
“Well, you idiot,” I reply, “It would have helped if you didn’t insist always wearing clothes to show off that body of yours... I mean, you showed up in body-paint, for the love of God...”
---
Breathing in deeply, I kiss her once more to end her trailing sentence. “Well, hey, heh... I’m Irish, you’re French, so, nh... we both hate England, right? That’s, hah, something we have in common! That’s chemistry!” I wink at her, letting our lips touch lightly again.
-- --
“Our alliance was with the-” mmm, his lips “-Scottish, you islander. I didn’t see you around with a kilt and bagpipes when you were having fun.”
---
“I could wear a kilt, if you, heh, wanted me to.” I tease her a little, holding back the kiss that I know she wants, instead placing it right on her neck, making her arch back a little. “I hear those make it easier to... ah, y’know, just drop everything and get to it, if you, nh, catch my drift?”
-- --
The tease... oh, that won’t go unanswered. I dip a hand between us, stroking his chest until I come to his nipple, and lightly pinch it, making him arch in turn. “Oh, believe me, I heard much about that. The English made quite the fuss about my battle garb... harlot, the like. Their soldiers on the battlefield loved staring at a harlot. And not so much at the rest of the army running behind me.”
---
“Well, I believe this little harlot made a request, eh? Even invoking the name of God in her request, in fact.” I smile at her hungrily, my intent clear like the gaze of a hunting wolf. “I think I should answer that request, shouldn’t I?”
I see her smile along with me, and our lips meet just like before, her soft warmth overcoming me.
And below, more than that is pushing me over the edge. She’s not so tight now, and I rear back my hips, breaking my earlier rhythm just for this next change. I hear her let out a gasp, anticipating what’s about to happen next, and I let the moment drag on, the tip of my cock almost sliding out of her, almost.
Then, I slam forwards, pushing the whole of my length inside her, forcing her to take it all at once. I recoil back, thrusting forward and a little up each time, picking up the pace.
Our lips can hardly stick together any more, our bodies both trembling. A cold shudder goes through my body, raw pleasure tearing at my mind, nearly making me lose control. How hot and how wet her cunt is, it nearly sets me off then and there, and I lose most other thoughts, just thinking on instinct how I should fuck her, make it as intense as she can possibly bear. Only a shred of conscious thought remains that drives me to stroke her sensitive little nub just as she plays with my nipple, and I can feel the goosebumps on her skin, her bodies as tight together as they can possibly be. The smell of our sweat fills the air, and the oil keeps us slick rather than sticky.
I can’t help but enjoy every moment of this, unable to recall many women better than this one.
-- --
I can feel our hips slap together as he takes me as far as he can - a minor feeling, really, compared to the massive shaft that was just plunged into my body. I have to stifle a scream as he does so, but even then, a twitch travels to all my muscles, making me curl even tighter around the man.
“Aaagh, mon Dieu,” I choke out as he, having let himself do what he really enjoyed, begins to fuck on instinct, taking as much of me as he can, as hard as he can, and I lean into it, providing my own thrust to increase his already considerable power. My free hand finds no purchase on his back but instead drags across it, undoubtedly leaving a long, red, tiger’s lash on his smooth muscle.
“You asshole!” is the next thing I say, though, with enough emotion to pass for either rage or passion. “You... fuck, you really don’t go much harder than normal, do you?”
The little insult was often enough to spur anyone to greater heights - a powerful motivational tool. Here, even as entirely as he filled me up... I want more of him. His breath, his sweat, his energy, all of it, I want heightened - to go along with me. I feel like a flame myself, hypersensitive, ready to react at the slightest touch and flowing along with the great gust that is Lancer. And the point is to sway even more.
---
“Ha!” The girl’s got a sharp tongue, sharper than I’d think someone like her would have. She keeps pushing my expectations around, playing with them as if she’s in charge here. Well, I think I ought to fix that up a bit, make her beg for me to be gentle. She asked for it, after all.
Her nails dig tears into my skin, and I wince as I continue to take her as I was, beating our thighs together. But this isn’t enough for her, and I’d like to make this a little better, myself.
I make my way out of the grip of her legs, holding her up by the waist, my length pulled fully out of her. I can hear her heavy breathing as she calms herself down after what we just did, but I’m not giving her any more time to rest than I really need to.
Holding her hips firmly, I turn her right around, bending her over with one hand placed firmly on her back. When she struggles against it I push down once more, showing again that I’m not going to let her move. Her body is bent forwards over the counter, her arms resting on and grasping at the edge of the tile with a certain desperation, maybe.
Both my hands go back to her hips; one of them I pull back, then slap forward, smacking the smooth, white skin of her ass, leaving a bright red mark there.
That’s a prelude to the next bout of pain, as I line up my cock with her loose little hole again.
The lass wanted it, and now she’s going to get it. I push the tip in, starting slow, but then both my hands are on her hips to hold her steady, our thighs so close that I can feel us slipping against each other. That’ll make this interesting, I’ll bet.
Gripping her ass, I plunge my length as deep as it will go, completely filling her up and immersing myself in her hot tightness; then I pull back and give her the same treatment, getting faster each time until her thighs and her rump are both red and shining with sweat, hot even to the lightest touch. I’m enjoying this, and the little ‘harlot’ probably is, too. Dirty girl, she is.
Well, she asked for it.
-- --
I know he’s serious now as he bends me over the counter. Previously, we were connected, face to face. But, now with him looming behind me and me pressed against cool tile... it is his game. I give a little shake against the hand between my shoulderblades, holding me down, which manages to accomplish little, other than to give him a reason to do something he’ll likely do anyways.
Pulling back, he strikes my rear with considerable force, leaving me to feel like a fire had been lit under me. Not stopping there, he pins my hips in place and thrusts into me. This time, though, he does it as slowly and deliberately as he could control himself to. His dick gradually fills me up, slowly reaching deeper and causing my moan to follow the same pattern, a low gasp that rises into a full-blown cry of pleasure.
Then, he pulls back out and pushes back in, beginning to speed up. With that and the occasional slap interspersed with his thrusts, the entirety of my arse and thighs are starting to feel aflame.
I talk back to him, even now, gasping like a fish out of water against the tile. “You’re, hhhhhhhgh, just like the English. I think the torchbearer enjoyed this as much as you seem to.”
---
Two thoughts are running through my head right now: first, that God is this lass ever feisty as all hell, without a doubt, and second, that we have to do this again, and soon.
I grit my teeth, listening to her talk even through the pain and ecstasy coursing through her body. “I can’t help it, Master, I just like being a little mean. If that means fucking you ‘til you pass out, then so be it.” As an example, I thrust into her with more force than before, grunting with the whole effort.
My hands both slide along her slicked back, and they both grab her tits, squeezing them, yet unable to get a full grip on them due to their size. I keep them from bouncing back and forth as I fuck her harder, beating my cock into her to the point where I can’t even tell what’s pleasure and what’s the numbness running through me. This whole sensation is feeling so indescribably intense by this point that I’ve lost my handle on it all, and I just stand there with her breasts fondled in my hands, mauling her cunt like never before.
“Damn, you are a harlot!” I sputter out a laugh saying that, enjoying myself the whole way. “I can’t believe that the pious French let a reckless whore like you lead their armies; they’d have suspected your so-called purity if they even made the littlest glance under your skirt!”
-- --
“Go to hell!” I spit back, a bit impotently. With him keeping a tight grasp on my tits and ramming into me from behind, it’s more or less impossible for me to move - even if I wasn’t about ready to collapse, blessed be the counter. “This coming from the most notorious womanizer in your whole country? I’m surprised you weren’t killed in your sleep by a jealous lover.”
A jealous lover like me, perhaps. I would certainly be jealous if I heard anyone else was also with him on the side.
That’ll be the last of that, though. I’ve run out of energy to continue the banter - all my breath has to be devoted to my lungs, but I don’t think even that will keep me awake for much longer.
Perhaps sensing my weakness, Lancer makes a valiant set of thrusts, which is all he writes on the manner. Those last few are enough to trip the slowly-growing flame in my loins into a firestorm, consuming me instantly in its vigor. The last thing I feel myself doing is shaking, every muscle I have tensing from the sudden rush of power.
---
“Jealous lover?” I tease as she begins to slow down herself, her panting shallow, almost forced. “Maybe I’m just in this for the sex, lass.”
Playfully slapping her ass just one last time, I slide my grip down to her waist, and then I realize my own fatigue. I can’t go on much longer myself, and Jeanne’s out of it already, her body shivering and shuddering, a moan escaping her lips. Well, I guess maybe I did good on that promise to fuck her until she passed out?
Groaning myself, I use up the last of my energy to pump my hips forward a final few times, before I push my length fully inside her, feeling the tightness of her muscles as they contract on me, a certain fluid leaking down the inside of her thigh, trickling over to me, and I shiver.
My cock twitches inside Jeanne, feeling as though it’s swelling, ready to burst. I breathe heavily, letting all of my held-in cum pour forth into her, spurting deep inside. There’s enough of it that I can see some white trails flowing out of her cunt, down her leg, but I keep her filled, stopping what I can from flowing out. I can only imagine what she’s feeling like, if the sensations running through me are anything like hers. My whole body tingles, my mind in a haze, and my legs almost collapse underneath me.
I came out on top, but not by much.
Leaning over Jeanne’s sweat-soaked body, I press my chest to her back, panting heavily, letting us both relax in the last, lingering moment of our time together.
I guess things really escalated quickly from just making dinner.
“That was, ah... that was fun.” I can’t say much more, my whole essence just utterly drained. “So, if it’s not too much, do you mind if we... hah, meet up for lunch tomorrow? It’ll be on me, and... ahh, it’ll make up for what we couldn’t exactly do tonight...”
-- --
Blinking, I only manage to catch the last part of his statement - making up for our losses. Giggling, I mumble an assent, carefully working him off of me and onto his back besides me. Then, I try to push myself up.
Bad idea. My slippery hands just cause me to lose all grip on the tile, and with oil underfoot, I yet again slide off the counter, flopping to the ground.
What a sight. Laying there on the ground, skirt around your waist, panties around your leg, soaked in sweat, oil, and a man’s essence, Jeanne? Really, how far have you fallen, I ask myself. I’m sure Lancer would agree with me, though, that the proper moral ground can, on occasions, go take itself and jump in a lake, as it were.
-- --
Grabbing her hand tight, I pull her up to her feet. I smile when our looks meet, knowing that she enjoyed this as much as I did. It’s been way too long since I got to do something like that, and the lass here certainly made it worth my while. Today is the luckiest damned day of my life.
Of course, poor Jeanne’s tired by now, so I press the lightest of kisses to her lips, then pick her up in my arms, holding her tight in a princess carry.
She’ll need her rest, and I gently place her in her bed in one of the back rooms of the church.
END
-------------------------
This turned out to be surprisingly hot and very fun to write, and even Leo enjoyed it! He was kinda ambivalent towards the idea at first, but, ah, warmed to it once we got farther in. So to speak.
For the record, I was writing Lancer, and he was writing Jeanne. Who certainly isn't a "Holy Virgin," ehehehehehe.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Five_X
