‘Screams, moans, grunts and whispered pleas. What am I describing?’ smirked Alistair Haskel as his colleagues set to work around him. “Be thorough,” he said below a whisper. The two upstairs didn’t notice, their cries of ecstasy drowning out the executioners below.

Haskel’s second in command, a lithe former gymnast named Flint, signalled in finger-code. Haskel’s people, junior ministers to a body, were dressed in identikit black and were armed according to their own tastes. Flint liked a flexible baton and a knife in each boot.

Haskel signalled back. ‘Everybody out’. The juniors obeyed, melting out of the house and taking up the cordon around it. The fuel-oil had been poured over every surface, spreading its flammable reek to every nook and cranny of the expansive Eastfield mansion.

‘Thank god,’ thought Haskel as he turned to follow his juniors. ‘This unlucky bastard has horrible taste in interior design’. He noted the sounds from upstairs were reaching an orgasmic crescendo and snickered. ‘Bureaucrats even fuck on schedule’.

Outside, it was a gorgeous summer evening, every house and tree bathed in rich golden light. Haskel noted sadly that all the other occupants in this particularly moneyed neighbourhood had scuttled inside. Shame. He liked an audience.

He nodded to Flint. “Time for my party trick”. Flint grinned and brought over a small wooden chest. Haskel removed a flask of milk and swirled it around his mouth, coating his teeth and tongue before swallowing it down. Flint handed him a second flask and lit a long oak torch. Haskel took both and flicked the second cap off and poured the acrid liquid into his mouth, holding the torch at arm’s length while Flint readied a thick fabric blanket.

Haskel rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. He had a number of nicknames and monikers, mostly relating to his job, but there was a specific reason for one.

‘The dragon of the ministry’.

Inside, someone said “Do you smell something?”

Haskel sprayed the fuel-oil from his mouth and an incredible tongue of flame burst into life, engulfing the front of the house. The accelerant caught with a massive ‘whumph’ and the heat slammed outwards. Flint tossed the blanket over Haskel. The senior minister towelled himself furiously as screams began to sound. Flint watched anxiously but his boss had not set himself on fire. A window shattered upstairs and a half-naked woman leaned out, waving and shouting for help. The juniors all waved back. ‘Sadistic bastards to a body,’ thought Haskel with satisfaction. She was soon engulfed in sweet-smelling smoke.

“Gentlefolk, friends, colleagues, welcome tonight’s guest of honour, Eva del Reynard!” The announcer had a hefty set of pipes and his rich, showman’s tone was near deafening backstage, where Alistair Haskel stood in a flush of triumph.

Eva de Reynard was a woman of power. In polite society, there was no other way to describe her. The gods alone knew how long she had been alive, or what she used to disguise this fact, but there was no denying that power, beauty and intelligence had been combined into an intoxicating personality. She was over six feet, with a figure that wouldn’t shame Venus de Milo. Her trousers and waistcoat were sky blue, her buttons and crisp cotton shirt the colour of steel. Her bared forearms showed extensive tattoo sleeves, complex designs culled from a dozen cultures and locales. Her hair was rich cornflower blue and tumbled down her shoulders to complement her clothes. Her eyes were a tiger’s vibrant amber. Former mercenary captain, personal bodyguard to the last Holy Monarch and now mistress of the Ministry of Morality, Eva de Reynard had been many things over many years, powerful being the only constant. She took to the podium with a confident smile.

“Gentlefolk, friends, colleagues, you honour me with such a lavish and fulsome introduction. In truth, I worry that I don’t deserve it.” Her deep, assured voice put the lie to this. “In truth, I have spent all my years, while in many roles and titles, fulfilling the same function. I am a humble gardener.” She began to pace slowly, a classic performer’s trick to seem at home on stage. “And what is a gardener’s role? A mere two tasks. The first is one you are no doubt familiar with.” Her supple speaker’s tones took on a hint of menace. “To prune, cut and excise that which threatens the garden. In my younger years, I took to this task with aplomb, and I have met with some success.”

The crowd rustled in affirmation, acutely aware that one word from her could see most of the crowd dead on the rack.

“But the second is just as important and is, I daresay, somewhat under appreciated. That is to cultivate, to escort guide and nurture, that you do not have to do your cutting alone. And in that spirit please welcome my own guest of honour, Alistair Haskel.”

The shorter, dark haired and brown eyed Haskel had dressed in an elegantly cut black suit with a matching shirt and tie. His waistcoat, socks and soft leather gloves were the colour of freshly spilt blood and his grin was on full wattage.

“Bit warm in here,” he chuckled, getting a polite ripple of laughter from the room. “I don’t have my mistress’s eloquence so forgive me if I get a little flustered. Fuel-oil really takes it out of your tongue.” He smirked as he distinctly heard sniggering from backstage. “But there is one thing I would like to say in earnest. I have joked about today’s work, and you laughed. I burned a man and a woman to death, I joked about it, and you laughed. Do you know why I did this?” The crowd was silent. Haskel’s voice filled the ballroom like thunder before lightning. “Because we live today, in our walled city and sprawling colonies, our trade reaching to every corner of the Silent Sea, because of blood shed for an oath. The Oath, in fact. It adorns the Northern Spire. The original document is in the School of Words, I swore my minister’s promise on it. And it’s wording precedes every marriage document issued in this country, to be broken on pain of punishment. What punishment you ask? The law answers: whatever the wronged person wishes. And Nigel Horrock’s wronged husband wished the death by immolation of both her treacherous husband and his lover. He asked this of the Ministry in good faith, and I was called upon to answer. So applaud us if you wish, I certainly enjoy it. But look to your oaths, good gentlefolk. Look to your oaths.” Alistair Haskel stepped down and vanished from the ballroom.

Flint brought the message a few hours later. Alistair was in his spartan senior minister’s cell, lounging in a rocking chair with his jacket off and his tie loosened. “How was the speech?” Flint asked, letting himself in without knocking.

“Uneventful,” Alistair replied, taking a sip of wine. “Liar,” snorted Flint as he poured himself a glass and reclined on Alistair’s blanketless bed. He grimaced. “How in the Lord’s name do you sleep on this thing?”

“Practice Milo, practice.”

“At least the wine’s tasty.”

Alistair gestured to the bottle, deep red in green glass. “A very nice Lamas red from Lady Horrock’s family vineyard. A gesture of thanks for the day’s work.”

Flint laughed, a clear light sound. “And who says ministers don’t get perks.”

“Exactly,” snorted Alistair. “Forbidden from material wealth, marriage rights and any entry into Heaven but at least the wine’s decent.”

“Got a message for you by the way, very cryptic.”

“Cryptic?” Alistair felt something shift in his stomach and guts but he kept his voice casual.

“One of the applicants said there was a message in your pigeonhole so I went to look. It just said ‘report’ so I thought it was an internal summons, but it was memory paper.”

Excitement started to race through Alistair’s veins, crackling in his fingertips and jumping in his chest. He took another sip of wine. “There’s been someone abusing the memory paper, apparently Father Jerry’s been tearing through the place trying to find them out.”

“Not like the good Father to get bent out of shape,” observed Flint.

“You know what he’s like about records.” Alistair stood, tugging the creases in his trousers back into shape. “I think I’ll have a word with him.”

“Want me to come?”

“No, you stay and finish my wine.”

“Can do.”

It was late and most of the ministers were either out in the city or in the Questioner’s Tower. Alistair crossed the complex (the Ministry was far more warren than building) at a quick stride, sweat beading his forehead as he bounded up three staircases and crossed two walkways and a gangplank before reaching the right door. There were only a few ministers who knew the way and only Alistair was admitted at this time of night.

Eva de Reynard was sat at her desk when Alistair entered. Changed out of her speaking clothes, she was swathed in a loose grey dress that pooled around her feet, a thick hardback book open on her lap.

She snapped it shut and Alistair stood to attention, shoulders back, feet apart, hands clasped behind his back. She stood. He was in heeled boots, she was barefoot and she towered over him.

“Make your report.”

Haskel swallowed. There was another woman on the bed.

She lay completely naked, lying on her front with her legs gently kicking the air, observing Haskel with deep black eyes. escort bayan She was young, about twenty, and lavishly beautiful. Her bronzed skin was shining and smooth, a few small marks and scars marking her short life, and thick brown hair framed her alert, curious face. She had generous features and large eyes, with high cheekbones and full lips giving her a privileged, almost patrician bearing. Haskel swallowed as he saw that her lips were wet and that her full, heavy breasts were pilllowed on the bedspread, shrouded by her hair.

He was rock hard.

“Haskel!”

Reynard’s voice was a lash, snapping him back to attention.

“Y-yes mistress,” he croaked.

She stepped closer to him. He was eye level with her neck and shoulders and he could smell her expensive perfume.

“I said, report.”

“We attended the Horrock’s residence in the early evening, three hours before the reception, as you requested,” Haskel gabbled, acutely aware that he was talking too fast but helpless to stop. “As the proofs indicated, he was with his regular…companion, at the time.”

Eva began to slowly circle to his left. Haskel restrained himself from turning his head. The other woman began to kick her legs a little faster.

“I entered, accompanied by my second and several juniors. As an immolation had been requested, we spread fuel-oil.”

Eva’s hand rested on his shoulder and his breath hitched. “I didn’t tell you to stop, Alistair.”

“We spread the accelerant throughout the ground floor.”

“Why weren’t you noticed?”

Dear gods her hand had slipped down onto his chest.

“T-they were otherwise engaged.”

A rustle of fabric, she stroked the planes of his chest. He could feel her breath brush the back of his neck. “Doing what?”

“Having sex, mistress.”

The woman on the bed giggled. Haskel was trembling and he couldn’t stop, his erection bulging in his trousers.

“Once…once we spread the accelerant we left the house, and I ignited the fuel once we were clear.”

Eva pinched his nipple and he shuddered like a horse. “What did you use to ignite the fuel, Alistair?”

“My mouth, mistress.”

The woman laughed, high, clear and sweet. Haskel’s cock throbbed against his leg.

“Your mouth.”And Eva reached down and touched his bulge, Haskel gasping out loud. “What do you think Ventri?”

The woman smiled. “I think what you tell me to think, mistress.”

“Good girl.” Eva moved in front of Haskel again, serene and unbothered, her amber eyes twinkling like blades. “Take off your clothes, Alistair.”

Haskel began to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt, concentrating on keeping his fingers from shaking. Eva sat down at her desk, watching with Ventri as Haskel revealed his scarred and tattooed torso.

“Keep the gloves,” said Eva. “Ventri likes to feel leather on her skin.” Ventri licked her lips as Haskel removed his shoes, socks and trousers. Under both of their eyes, he let his boxer-briefs drop.

Eva smiled and Ventri sighed in appreciation as Haskel stood in only leather gloves, his cock filling with blood until it jutted out from his body, seven inches long, meticulously shaved and thick.

“Ventri, get up.” Eva’s voice was still steady.

Ventri smiled at Haskel again, pure sultry lust as she swept her hair behind her to kneel upright on the bed. Haskel drank her in as she revealed her small, erect nipples on her heavy swaying breasts, the tanned curve of her stomach and the trimmed black hair above her pussy.

“Ventri, begin.” said Eva.

Ventri slid off the bed and onto her bare feet. She crossed the space to Alistair, and they reached for each other. Ventri drew them into a deep embrace, her face to the hollow of his neck, pressing their naked bodies together. They stood there for several minutes. Alistair could smell her hair as she pressed herself against him, the silky skin of her back and waist as he encircled her with his arms, the weight of her breasts pressed against him. She was sweating a little, and even trembled in his arms as his erection rested against her stomach. They breathed in and out, feeling each other’s heartbeats.

Ventri planted a small kiss on Alistair’s right shoulder. Alistair pulled her in tighter, and she kissed his shoulder again higher up. He pulled her in, crushing her breasts against him and breathing in her scent as she kissed her way up his shoulder and began licking his neck. He reached down with his still-gloved hand and cupped the swell of her right buttock. She moaned into his neck and began to lick harder, sucking and biting at his skin as he gripped and squeezed her ass. He felt the bruise form on his neck and growled into bayan escort her hair, taking hold of her face and pulling her to meet his eyes. They locked gazes and they both felt pure lust rocket through their systems as they locked their lips together, kissing furiously as they stumbled towards the bed. They fell to the covers with their tongues pressed into each other’s mouths, fighting furiously for dominance as they rolled and gasped. Haskel won, pinning Ventri’s supple weight beneath him.

They locked gazes again, grinning unevenly.

“What now, minister?” Ventri breathed out Haskel’s title and made it drip with desire. “Are you going to take this innocent young body? Am I the latest conquest of the most feared of the Red Cabinet’s enforcers?”

Haskel grabbed her breasts and made her moan as he rolled them under his fingers. “Yes,” he breathed. He reached between her legs and stroked her pussy gently, feeling her body shiver as he teased and explored. She wrapped her arms around his torso and cooed in arousal as Haskel slid his index finger into her pussy, pushing in and out slowly and building speed as her body flexed and twisted. He pressed his thumb against her clitoris and she groaned, loud and deep. Haskel rocked his hand, pleasuring her faster and faster as she pressed her lips back against his neck, biting and chewing as their bodies sweated and shuddered.

Haskel was feeling her juices run down onto his wrist when Ventri pulled away from his neck. “Stop,” she said, catching his gaze. “Give me that hand.” He withdrew it from her pussy, his glove soaked from her arousal. She grabbed his wrist and undid both of his gloves, throwing away the left and keeping the right. She pushed the saturated leather into her mouth, sucking the juices out of it, tasting herself on the leather.

Alistair’s eyes widened as he took in the sight, his flushed, aching erection bobbing as it strained in the hot bedroom air.

Ventri spat the glove onto the floor. “I’m done playing,” she said. She pushed herself back onto the numerous pillows and took hold of the headboard with one hand. She opened her thighs and stroked the folds of her pussy with the other.

“Fuck me.”

Alistair sank himself inside her to the root, his aching shaft burying itself in her slick, hot pussy like it was tailored to fit, both of them crying out in pleasure as his balls rested against her ass. They locked eyes again and the same explosion sparked in their chests.

“Pound me,” said Ventri. Alistair withdrew his cock until just the head rested inside her pussy and then plunged it in again, bottoming out and making them both groan in pleasure. He began to slam his cock in and out of her with urgent speed, the wet ‘smack’ of flesh against flesh sounding in their ears as they began to shout at the top of their lungs.

“Oh my fucking gods, yes yes, pound me with that fucking cock, slam it into me, listen to your balls smack against my ass, grab my fucking tits, yes just like that…”

“Oh gods take my fucking cock, grip it with your incredible pussy, thank the gods I’m not allowed in heaven, let me pinch your nipples while I fuck you, is that good…”

“Yes yes it’s so good, FUCK treat my tits rough, I can take it, I can take it, I can take it, gods save me from this incredible fucking dick, thank you thank you…”

“I can smell your cunt from here it’s incredible, fuck I love the sound your pussy makes, gods I’m twitching, I’m close I’m close…”

The air smelt of nothing but sex, the sounds of their bodies against each other was deafening. Alistair could feel his orgasm boil inside his guts and balls as he gripped Ventri’s tits and slid in and out of her.

“Gods I love feeling you twitch inside me,” moaned Ventri. “Pull out and cum on me, I love it, I’m so close too.” Alistair grunted as he slammed into Ventri’s cunt one more time, rising to a scream of pleasure as he pulled out and felt his orgasm lash through his body like a thunderbolt.

Ventri screamed in the same moment, rubbing her clit furiously as the muscles in her back and ass flexed taut, her orgasm racing through her veins like lightning.

Alistair bellowed as his cock throbbed, his balls tight and hard underneath it, his cum spraying from the head of his cock and covering Ventri’s slick, tanned skin.

For a moment they were the same, clenched and trembling in the grip of their orgasms. Ventri succumbed first, collapsing onto the bed, a deep sigh escaping her mouth as her body relaxed. Alistair knelt there for a moment, pumping his cock dry, before he collapsed beside her, resting his head on a sweat-soaked pillow with his gaze turned towards Ventri.

The room seemed to expand and contract like the walls of a heart and both fell into exhausted, dreamless sleep.

The light in the room burnt low, the shadows engulfing everything.

The only thing left was the amber of Eva de Reynard’s eyes.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32