Chp. 6 – The Governor’s Palace [Fantasy] [MF] [Creampie]

**Pt 2 in comments**

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Overseer Shire Billows spent a chunk of his paycheck on the best whore he could find. That meant the girl was young, still with a full head of hair and teeth. Her skin was a flawless, porcelain white because she wasn’t allowed to leave the brothel and was probably some reject from the northern kingdoms. He was between her legs, huffing and thrusting away, staring at her small tits jumping, her perfect, puffy pink nipples practically begging to be –

“You’re being too rough, asshole,” she snapped at him, pulling him out of the moment. “Fucking…Slow down.” And she pressed her hands against his hips as if that’d stop him.

Scowling because she’d ruined his nearing orgasm, Shire sat straight up on his knees, cock still buried in her pussy and back clicking from the exertion. He winced at the sound and the soreness.

“I paid.”

“Was that your *back?*” The whore squealed as he grabbed her tits and started to thrust again. The room was nice, with lavish oak desks, high windows decorated with fluttering shades, a golden carpet lined with blue stitching meant to resemble lovefish, and it all smelled faintly of mint. The only problem was that their bed, which had soft sheets and satin curtains, squeaked terribly. Every time Shire buried his cock in the girl, the back banged against the wall and the wood creaked like an old ship.

“By the gods, shut up.” Shire moaned. He just couldn’t get away from women who wouldn’t stop talking. Even when they were paid whores. Maybe he was cursed.

“Hngh, hngh,” she breathed, clutching the bedsheets. Her pretty blue eyes weren’t very seductive, filled with discomfort. “Fuck, you’re old.”

“Sorry, I didn’t fuckin’ notice. Thanks for telling me, now I can live my life with this new information.” Shire snapped between breaths. When he grabbed her hips, his fingers gripped the light pudge she had. Somehow this one was still well fed enough to have a bit of meat on her. Better than fucking a skeleton, though Shire briefly wondered what that would be like, and if he would do it if given the opportunity. Probably.

“Just cum already.” The whore moaned, though not in pleasure.

“Then shut up,” ordered Shire and that seemed to have the desire effect. She rolled her eyes at him and turned her head to the side, allowing him the peace and quiet he needed to get his rocks off. He hadn’t had a good lay in a long time, and with his fat new paycheck he was going to treat himself. Shire’s hips slapped against hers, the void left by their brief conversation filled with the sounds of flesh and the creaking of the bed. Mint fragrance was overshadowed by the stench of sex.

Nearing orgasm, he grabbed her wrists and yanked them toward him. She yelped, forced to sit up slightly. Her abs flexed under her chub, barely visible, and her breasts jumped as he thrust harder and faster. Almost there…Almost…There. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on her girlish moans, her hot breath, her –

There was a knock on the door. “Oy, Overseer, the Boss is outside,” called one of his Dwarven bodyguards.

With a roar of frustration, Shire just barely came, blowing his load in the girl. She gasped in surprise – he hadn’t paid to finish inside of her, only on her stomach. Something about the pregnancy tonics costing extra, or whatever. Shire honestly hadn’t been listening. She tried to squirm again, but he held her fast and she instead drooped her head in defeat, moaning slightly as Shire finished cumming.

Gods, he needed that. He felt so much better.

“You old, wrinkly fuck!” The whore spat. “You didn’t pay to cum inside.”

Shire wiggled out from between her legs. She spread them and opened her pussy with her fingers. His cum leaked out of her onto the sheets. “Do you have any idea how much those tonics cost?” She wailed.

Shire staggered over to his trousers. The knock on the door came again. “I know, give me a second,” snapped the ex-sergeant, who grumbled to himself as the whore continued to shout at him.

“Bruce is going to bust you up and shake you down, you frugal fart! Just wait until I tell Madame Yulia about this, she’ll string you up and parade you up and down the whole Market, and you’ll never get your dick wet in this city every again! When you…” On and on she went as he fished for his coin pouch.

Another knock.

“It’s my ass on the line too with the Boss,” cried the bodyguard.

“I’m not going to get pregnant with your ugly kids! I bet they’ll have thinning hair and tiny dicks just like you!”

“Just finish already, c’mon.”

“You’ll *wish* you were in the Great Dark once I tell –”

“Both of you stop fucking talking!” Shire roared. He chucked a gold coin at the whore, who yelped as it struck her in the face. “That’ll pay for a dozen tonics, and whatever else you want, you little demon,” she stared with bewilderment, clearly not expecting Shire to have that much. After wiping his cock off with a complementary rag, he shimmied into his undergarments and pants, his shortsword rattling in its sheath. Shire grabbed his tunic and nearly hit his bodyguard with the door as he flung it open. “And you! I *know* Derry is coming, but you know who else needs to? Me! I don’t give half a shit if your ass is on the line with him, you goblin-bred basket licker, when I say I’m not going to be disturbed, I don’t want to have to fucking repeat myself! Do you understand me, or do I need to have my orders transcribed into fucking runes for you?” He screamed as he yanked his tunic on. His bodyguard, a Dwarf with a dark grey mustache and bare chin, shrank away from Shire’s wrath.

“Yes, apologies, Overseer,” stammered the stunned man.

“Where’s Derry?” Shire demanded.

“This way.” The Dwarf took off, as if turning his back somehow made him safer. For a moment, Shire felt like a young sergeant again, snapping at recruits and telling them that they’d die if they didn’t listen to him. All the lies he told those young men, just so they’d listen. A lot of them were killed following his orders, his training. Sometimes the screaming was as much for him as it was for them, as if they could hear that he was frantically trying to warn them what was coming. That was a long time ago. Long, long before he stopped trying.

Shire would rather be angry than dwell on those melancholy memories, so he forced himself to think about how irritating it was being interrupted first by the whore and then his own guard. He tried very, very hard to put on a grumpy face as they stepped out of the cool, smoky brothel and into the clamoring streets of the Market.

The Bayreach Market was the sex district, where all the brothels and exotic dance houses were set up. People these people were commodities, the strip had been called the Market since the first two whore houses cropped up. It was a source of much confusion for visitors trying to buy food and wares, only to stumble into a whorehouse selling Whitewash for just as cheap as they sold women. Or men. The whoring business was surprisingly equal opportunity.

Dvini za Krotka, however, refused to set his business up there. When Shire looked around and saw the refuse of humanity, the diseased old sluts and drunken degenerates stumbling around one another, he understood why the Lord of Chains would want to avoid them. He had loftier goals, even if it did start with pleasure slaving. Once you started selling in the Market, you never left.

“I heard you shouting from out here, Billows,” Derry grinned up at him, a wide brim hat on his head to protect from the vicious southern sun. “You truly are an army man.”

“A man deserves to get his dick wet, doesn’t he?”

“S’pose we all do. C’mon, walk with me, we got some business.”

“The two of us?” Shire asked.

“Aye,” said Derry, and he waved Shire along. The Dwarf wore a leather tunic with runic design around the collar and wrists, along with simple trousers and shiny boots. It was probably the nicest Shire had ever seen him dress. Derry wasn’t one for extravagance.

Neither of them dressed nicely that often. That was left to Dvini. In the four months since becoming Overseer, Shire had rarely left Bayreach. Dvini had bought a second dungeon for more stock and a whole other office. Their security doubled in size, and so had their slaving staff. While Derry was in charge of security and admin work, Shire took lead with staff training. They had about ten full time slavers now, all over them working for Shire. On top of their standard pay, they got commission based on how many slaves they bought, and the type sold. It was a huge incentive for productivity, and something that set Dvini’s business apart from the rest, even rival slavers up north.

For Shire, it meant more paperwork. He took over Derry’s old office, refurbishing it to look a little friendlier. So, he went out one day and bought a plant to liven up the cold grey. Did he water it today?

“Shit.” He muttered.

“What?”

“I forgot to water my plant.” Shire said. Derry gave him a funny look.

“You bought a plant?”

“Yeah, for the office.”

“Don’t plants need sunlight and air and shit?” Derry asked. Shire thought a moment. Maybe *that’s* why his previous couple of plants had died regardless of how diligent he was with watering.

“Huh, guess you’re right.”

“Get one of those cacti, or something.”

“One of those what?”

“Cacti. A cactus. It’s some fancy desert plant from the west. They’re pretty hardy.” Derry said, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone half the size of most residents. Shire had to shoulder his way through.

He’d never heard of no damn ‘cactus’ before but didn’t challenge Derry on the subject. In his days since coming to Bayreach full time, Shire learned that those out west, with their massive ships and mysterious fire spitting metal tubes, were of a different breed. Something strange about them. Maybe that’s why Dvini was so unnerving at times, though the Licani avoided the docks at all cost whenever westerners came in. Lucky for him, they never went into Bayreach. Shire had never seen any himself. Couldn’t say he had any burning desire to either.

“How was the latest shipment? Who was the last in Bayreach?” Derry asked as they walked up a slope to another level of the city. This was the main street, and it was crowded with wagons, carts, people shouting and screaming to move or get fucked. Shire and Derry stayed off to the side with the rest of the foot traffic.

“About fifteen. Mostly Dwarves and Pure Elves,” Shire said after thinking a moment. “V’lorik brought ‘em in.”

‘The goblin?”

“Aye, that one.” V’lorik was their recent employee, and already one of their best slavers. It was uncommon for goblins to choose professions that didn’t involve tinkering with chemicals and poisons. They made for some of the best alchemists, healers, surgeons, and poisoners. Every royal court at least had one of them close by in the event any of them got sick. Or, if they needed someone else to get sick mysteriously.

“Well, that’s good. Business is booming.” Derry said, not at all concerned with selling people of his own race. Shire thought it was odd at first that he could do that but remembered humans have been selling and killing each other for thousands of years. It made sense the other races were the same.

“Where are we going?” Shire asked after they fought through the street to get to the other side before walking to the next level. This was the fourth, and there were many shops and residential areas here. They passed some kids running around, playing with a dead rat and pretending the corpse was a ship. That was a bit macabre for Shire’s taste.

“Governor’s Palace.” Derry said. Shire opened his mouth before shutting it. It was rare the two of them were needed for anything at the same time. They did different parts for Dvini’s business. Dvini himself handled meetings with the real important people – investors, bankers and insurance agents from Tri-Mast, nobles coming for stock, the Governor, and the Lord Admiral in the jungle. He was both the political and economic brains behind the whole thing. Shire and Derry were the laborers.

Which was part of Shire’s surprise. They never went to the Governor, there was no need. In the past two months, Dvini had made more visits to the Palace that sat on top of the whole city. Maybe something was finally happening? Something with the Lord Admiral?

It was a lot of politics, and Shire didn’t think too much on it. He hated politics, always had. It was one reason he always stayed sergeant in the army. The most complex it got on that level was petty squad squabbles.

“Why do you work for Dvini?” Shire asked as they trudged up to the final level. This high up, you could see the whole bay, every single ship and boat milling around. The ocean stretched to the horizon, a vast azure field stretching on seemingly forever. The main road was a thick black line of traffic, tiny shapes bustling. Even though the sun was just as hot, it was less humid at this level. There was even a light breeze, something that was a rarity down in the hustle and bustle. Up here were the tycoons, the wealthy and privileged. Visiting nobles or important merchants from far away places. Shire and Derry walked with people who had dazzling guardsmen strapped in ludicrous colors, carrying absurdly decorated spears.

“Same as you. Money.” Derry shrugged.

“Really? That it? You’ve got a big name.” Shire said as they stepped around an approaching palanquin carried by slaves that they once sold. Guards dressed in thick white tunics glared at the two men, though it was hard to be intimidating when sweating that much.

“Not hard to get one.” Derry said.

“Really? Y’sure?”

“You’ve just got to do some crazy shit and survive some crazy shit,” he tapped his burn scar. “Helps when it makes you look scarier too.”

“There are plenty of other Dwarves out there though that have done some wild things. I haven’t seen a single Dwarf ever try and cross you, and these are the same people who will cross each other for something as petty as a scuffed boot.” Shire said. It was true. He once saw his own guards beat each other bloody for a prank involving fake tobacco.

Derry shrugged again. “Maybe ask one of them.”

“None of the stories are the same.” Shire said. They ranged from Derry possessing an uncontrollable berserker rage, to being the half-breed of a demon, to being a Dwarven prince, to just being a real hard bastard to one-up.

Derry flashed him a toothy grin and a wink. Shire stared for a moment before it sunk in.

“You’re a sly bastard.” He said.

“And quick with an axe. Helps to be both. This is it.” Derry gestured to the Palace. The massive building was said to be built from the hulls of the same ships that made up Bayreach’s ridiculous walls. The Palace’s roof was a series of segmented ship underbellies, bleached and cracked from the sun but hard as stone. The plain white flag of Bayreach flapped atop fitted masts. A pair of guards stared down from crows-nests, both of them nestling excessively large arbalets that could fire bolts big enough to pin a man to the ground. High windows dotted the sides. The steps to the grand doors were made up of old Dead Men – what sailors called the planks they made traitors, mutineers, or mutinied captains walk off. A bit fucked up that the staircase was made of them.

A man met them at the top. He was thin, probably the thinnest person Shire had ever seen. His dark clothes hung off him as if they were rags, despite their extravagance. His gaunt cheeks, clammy skin, and knobby head made him look like a ghoul, and even though he smiled, his eyes were grey and sunken. The man held his hand out, fingers like spider legs.

“An honor to meet the infamous, illustrious Derry Volks at long last. And you as well, Overseer Shire Billows, Hero of the Siege of Yawn.” Skeleton Man wheezed, voice scratchy like he was ill. Maybe he was. Shire reluctantly shook his hand.

“Wouldn’t call me a hero.” Shire said, recoiling from the stranger.

“You saved many lives from the bolts of arbalets and the oils of righteous defenders, did you not?”

“Did my job is what I did.”

“And did you not extract your men from the rubble when Venter’s plans brought the great city to its knees? Were you not there at the front, the first clambering over the breached walls?” He pressed. Shire frowned at that. He’d been in siege’s before, any man in the army as long as him had a fair amount of them under his belt, but Yawn was bad even for a veteran like Shire. Yawn was worse once Venter collapsed the walls.

“Did my job, is all,” Shire grunted, keen to move past the subject of his alleged ‘heroics.’ “How do you know all that stuff anyway?”

“This is Grey. He’s the Governor’s assistant.” Derry said. That wasn’t really an answer.

“You some kind of wizard, or something?” Shire questioned. Grey just smiled wider and wrung his bony hands together.

“I will not be your guide today. That pleasure is left to the Governor’s greatest treasure. I’m sure you will find her satisfactory.” Grey nodded toward the door. Shire didn’t like the way he talked, staring at the thin man out the corner of his eye as they made their way through the door.

When Shire looked back as the doors swung shut, Grey was gone.

“Man’s got the eating sickness,” Derry said as they waited in a grand entrance that was excessive even by a king’s taste. “Doesn’t eat for days, and when he does he throws it up. I hear the Governor’s got to force him to take food down.”

“How’s he still alive then?”

“Beats me. Grey’s a weird man. Got a lot of skeletons hidden in his flowerbed, as my mam used to say.”

“Your mam sounds lovely.” Shire muttered.

“She was hung for kidnapping and killing kids,” Derry looked around at the three chaneldiers and the varnished floor. “About ten of ‘em. I think lots of her sayings were literal.”

“Wonderful.”

“Welcome to Governor Richter’s Palace, esteemed guests. I am his prized treasure and shall assist you today as I can.” A singsong voice called out to them. Derry and Shire turned at the same time. Shire cocked an eyebrow.

The Governor’s treasure just happened to be Giladi. Shire hadn’t seen the Elf since he left her alone with Dvini that first day back. She hadn’t changed at all, her white hair done up in a bun and face as youthful as ever. Helped to be an Elf, Shire supposed. The only main difference was what she was wearing. It was both conservative and horribly suggestive. She wore tight red pants that squeezed her ass and lifted it up. Her top did the same for her breasts, making her entire figure stick out. The top had a collar, and she wore bright red gloves and heels that clicked when she walked and forced her long legs to look toned. Shire felt his cock twitch at the sight of her, long ears bouncing with each slow step, bright red eyes looking bashful behind fluttering eyelashes. She wore a collar, a golden tag jingling.

She glanced toward him and there was a flicker of malice in her look that made Shire shrink back up.

“Well hello again, love. Good to see you’ve fit in with your new master.” Derry called up to her.

“Master Richter is a wonderful man, a saint among us, delivering the poor from their rags, the rich from their hubris, the arrogant from their,” Giladi paused a second, face scrunching up. “Arrogance.” Shire expected her to lunge for them, to scream a slew of creative insults at them. He was a bit taken aback by her change in demeanor.

“You’re a modern poet. At this rate you’ll be the next Hiberius, and maybe you can translate his epic, *Yonder Azure Sea,* into your native tongue, eh?” Derry laughed.

“You read Hiberius?” Shire asked, boggled someone like Derry Volks would be familiar with classical epic poetry.

“Of course. You haven’t?”

“My Master is expecting the two of you.” Giladi cut them off, gesturing the way she came with a nod of her head.

“Lead on, love. Trust me, we’re not at all worried about you leading us in a get up like that.” Derry’s laughter bounced off the walls and a couple of guards smirked underneath their dome helmets. Giladi’s face darkened with embarrassment or rage, Shire couldn’t tell. She turned to guide them, and Shire was too busy staring at her ass in those pants to pay attention to the finery surrounding him.

She led them into a banquet hall, and only the smell of food finally pulled Shire away from his gazing. He became very aware of his erect he was. On the table in front of them sat a literal feast, plates stacked with foods involving every bird imaginable, lovefish, Bay Sharks, a platter of meats Shire couldn’t identify but would eat regardless, rings of cheese of various colors, and enough vegetables and greenery to rival a farm. Sitting at the end of the table, munching on a slab of mutton, was the fattest man Shire had ever seen.

Governor Richter was the exact opposite of Grey, a colossal slab of flat and sweat. He had a thin, pencil black mustache and thinning brown hair. His jowls jiggled while he chomped and chewed, fingers slick with grease. He was dressed in a long, thick furred robe of black and gold which couldn’t be the reason he was sweating so much considering how cool it was in the room. The Governor was literally flowing out of his chair, fat rolls hanging loose on the sides and Shire was amazed the chair didn’t snap under the strain. When he saw the three, he broke into a great, greasy smile.

“Friends! Come! Feast with me! Business can never be conducted on an empty stomach,” cried Richter, waving them over with a slab of meat. “My treasure, to me.” Shire watched with amazement as she glided over to him. He grabbed her by the ass with an audible slap, pulled her in, and gave her a sloppy kiss on the lips, smearing spit and animal grease on her face. To Shire’s bewilderment, she accepted it without question, even wrapping her arms around his fat head and shoving her tongue down his throat.

Derry and Shire watched in mutual confusion and discomfort as the two audibly sucked on each other’s tongues before finally Richter pulled away. Giladi stood straight, her face unreadable and hands folded at her waist. Her lipstick was smeared after the ordeal, and she had *something* dripping from her chin, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“By the gods…” Shire muttered.

“Yikes,” said Derry.

“How lucky I am, to have the infamous Derry Volks at my dinner table. Please, help yourself. A man of your stature should not go hungry.” Richter waved at the ridiculous meal that was supposedly only meant for them, considering the only others in the room were guards.

“Appreciate it, Governor,” nodded Derry before reaching over to grab a bird leg. It was nearly as big as his head, and Shire had no idea what animal it came from.

“And this man is…?” Richter turned his doughy eyes to Shire.

“Our Overseer,” Derry said with a mouthful of food. “Shire Billows. Good man, has helped boost the business.”

“Ah, this is the man that Grey has been talking about so much! I hear you’re a hero. Yawn was truly terrible, and that witch Venter made it no better,” Richter smiled. There was some gristle in his teeth.

Shire didn’t think he’d ever done a heroic thing in his whole life, and especially not in the army. Maybe when he was a private, scrambling to save a squad mate with a shattered leg. He’d taken an arbalet bolt for that, though it wasn’t worth the pain considering the man died on route to the medical tents. Something about an artery. Shire abandoned any delusions he had about the way war worked. Yawn was the same. All he did was pull away the men he could and tell them to use the fallen rubble to block the oil. It was common sense, not heroics.

“First through the breach, he says! Sword in hand, screaming for Yulin and demanding the gods attention!”

First through the breach because Shire was up front, not because he wanted to be. Scrambling over shattered brick, slicing his hands, tearing a hole in a boot that needed to be fixed a long time ago. Dust and blood sticking to his face, the stunned defenders choking and coughing, their silhouettes like shades flickering in the gloom. Swinging a sword, hitting someone who didn’t know who he was, or why the walls were down, or why they suddenly couldn’t move. The surge of bodies and the screaming, his voice with them. Swinging wildly, not worried about who you were hitting, just knowing that the shapes in front of you had to be killed.

First through. Shitty position to be in.

“Just did my job,” grunted Shire. He realized Giladi was staring intently at him.

“And that’s why he’s our best employee,” Derry cut Richter off from another tirade of half-true claims. “He does his job and does it damn well.” Those were Derry’s words, not Shire’s.

“A man of true duty and honor! Tell me, Mister Billows, how does one of your moral compass come under the employ of the unscrupulous Lord of Chains?” Richter asked, gulping down milk. Shire didn’t know if the man was trying to be sly, but with his dumb grin and beady eyes, it made it hard to take him as a threat.

This was the Governor of Bayreach though, so probably better to be safe.

“I retired and got bored.” Shire shrugged, and there was a flicker of surprise on Richter’s face. Probably not what he was expecting. It wasn’t a witty response, just true.

“Best reason to become a slaver.” Derry said.

“And you, Sir Volks? How does someone such as yourself, with a reputation larger than kings, come under the employ of za Krotka?” Richter turned his attention to Derry. Shire squinted at the same, thinking hard about the questions tumbling out of his mouth. Maybe there was some political scheming going on right now. This was *not* Shire’s strong suit.

“Money.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“And surely, others have offered you larger sums than he.” Richter shoved a piece of bread in his mouth, slobbering over it. Giladi’s bright red eyes flickered between the three men.

“Sure, lots. The Bloody Duke, The Lord Admiral, that dickhead in Midalia,” Derry snatched a stein of beer, sniffed it, then took a sip. “You, of course.” Richter’s eyes fluttered a moment at that. Shire nibbled on a pickle, very much out of his element.

“The Lord of Chains is a wealthy man, I know that as well as any, but his payment can’t possibly exceed my promises! The am the Governor, after all.” Richter laughed, jowls bouncing.

“Aye, you’re right about that. Only difference between you two is Tri-Mast Bank insures Dvini, and my paycheck. Y’know, I’ve never quite had job security like I’ve had with the Big Boss.” Then it was Derry’s turn to laugh even as Richter’s trickled away and his expression darkened.

Tri-Mast Bank was the same bank that paid Shire’s paychecks, just as it did with all of Dvini’s employees. In fact, the bank was the Lord of Chains biggest supporter, and the two were closer than newborn twins. Shire knew of the distrust of the banks, their seemingly infinite pockets and willingness to give loans out to those who asked. He also knew that plenty of nobles, or minor princes and merchants who asked for those loans couldn’t pay them back. Interest piled on. Suddenly, it was the bank with the power, not the divine right to rule. Dvini seemed to have a deep understanding of the banking system, more than anyone else Shire knew. Maybe they had something similar out west?

“Ah yes, Tri-Mast. Truly, a great boon to Bayreach and the south.” The Governor said. Derry grinned wide, scar warping.

“Aye, I agree. Guess we’re already talking business, aren’t we?” Derry asked.

“Usually, I wait until after I have eaten to discuss serious things. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“To Dwarves, the best time for business is when drinking and eating.” Derry nodded, taking more beer from the stein.

“And you, Overseer? Would you agree it is best to discuss things after?” Richter looked at Shire. This was all reminding him too much of officer meetings, where every jerkoff was trying to act cleverer than the man next to him.

“I’ll defer to Derry.” Shire said, eating the rest of his pickle. Richter frowned at that.

“Right then,” Derry slammed his stein on the table before the Governor could start talking, causing Shire to jump in surprise. “Dvini and you went over the contract before, aye?”

With a heavy sigh, Richter nodded. “My treasure, if you would.” He waved toward Giladi, who bowed obediently and hurried off. Shire couldn’t keep his eyes off her swaying ass, and barely kept his eyes off her tits when she returned holding a paper. That top just hugged her in all the right spots. Shire was dangerously hard again. Giladi handed it to Richter.

He took the mottled paper after wiping his greasy fingers on a rag that looked too fancy. Richter looked over it with a ‘hmph’ before handing it to Derry. “Za Krotka is quite the businessman. Dare I say he may have been a politician in his last life.”

“Ah, then he really would be an evil bastard,” Derry took the contract, inspecting. “There’s your signature and his. Just need mine and Shire’s here.”

“My treasure, if you would.” Richter waved off Giladi again, who sashayed away to grab an inkwell and quill.

“Mine?” Shire blinked as Derry handed him the paper.

“You’re Overseer, you have to sign off on these just like the rest of Dvini’s Cadre.” Derry nodded at him. Cadre. Shire had never been in one because of all the responsibility required. He quietly cursed himself for being lured into the position with the promise of a fat paycheck. It was more than he ever made in the army at least. Might as well read the paper.

It was a slave contract, far more complex than the ones Shire dealt with regularly as Overseer. He skimmed through several paragraphs of legal jargon that he was sure didn’t matter, instead looking for keywords. At the bottom were four lines, two signed with the Governor and Dvini’s full names. The bottom two were for Derry and Shire. The contract essentially turned Dvini into something called a “Bayman,” which just seemed to be Bayreach’s fancy title for lord. As far as Shire knew, there were none of these Baymen in the city, probably because of the amount of pressure they could exert over the Governor’s decisions, who up to this point operated with the same freedom as a divine monarch. How did Dvini secure that position?

Oh.

At the bottom were Dvini’s promises:

*The wiping of THE GOVERNOR RICHTER’S loan debt from TRI-MAST BANKING.*

*ASH-ELF GILADI on permanent ownership, up from temporary loan.*

*The expulsion of THE LORD ADMIRAL YUMI TRAFAMMAR from the BAYREACH sphere of influence.*

The last one confused Shire, since the Lord Admiral had an actual army and navy. He already ignored Dvini’s people. None of the slave ships were bothered by the Lord Admiral, nor were any of Shire’s slavers stopped at the entrance to the jungle anymore. What was the purpose? A political move against the Governor? How could Dvini make such a promise?

Giladi returned with the inkwell, red eyes locked onto Shire as she put them down.

“I believe everything is satisfactory, Overseer?” Richter asked as Giladi returned to his side.

“Yeah, just dandy.”

“Dandy?”

“Army phrase,” Shire scribbled his name on his line, thinking about whether or not he just signed his name into some crazy scheme. “Here you go.”

Derry signed much faster than Shire, clearly not harboring the same reservations as Shire. The Dwarf grinned wider, a malicious twinkle in his eye. “A beautiful day for a new era in the history of Bayreach, eh, Governor?”

“Truly.”

“Shire, mind leaving me alone with Richter for a spell?” Derry asked. That was the first time he used the Governor’s name.

“Not a problem.” Shire said, eager to get out of the room and exempt himself from anything that may be said further.

“My treasure, please escort the Overseer to the guest hall. See his needs are met.” Richter said to Giladi. There was a moment of confusion on her face. Shire guessed that she was usually involved in all the conversations the Governor had, and this was the first time. She looked over at Derry, a frown tugging at her lips.

“Of course, Master. Please, Overseer Billows, follow me.” She said with a bow. Didn’t take long for her to get over her confusion.

“I’ll come get you when I’m finished here,” called Derry as Giladi led Shire down another hallway. The grand door slammed shut, and then it was silence as they passed the guards. Giladi’s heels clacked on the floor, hands behind her back, ass swishing back and forth. Shire must have been drooling staring at her. She was pretty when he grabbed her, but then she was just in rags. It was amazing what a good outfit did for someone. Even though he already came once today, his dick was already throbbing with need. That was a good sign at least that a man his age could still shoot twice in a day. Still no need for those Elven tonics.

Giladi opened a smaller but no less fancy door which opened into a small circular room. In the center was a small marble table, decorated with black flowers Shire didn’t recognized, and several bottles of brandy. On the walls were a series of portraits, all different men and one woman. Against the walls opposite of each other were two couches, flanked by several chairs. There was a carpet in this room, Bay Sharks sewed into it to look like they were chasing each other, playing games. Shire wondered why the artist took the liberty to make Bay Sharks seem like innocent animals and not the bloodthirsty carnivores they were.

“This is the guest hall, where Master Richter’s esteemed guests may relax and bathe in his unending generosity,” She bowed low and held that pose. “I am…At your service, until the Master requires me again,” forced out the Ash Elf.

Shire blinked at her. Service. A dozen perverted things flashed through his head then, both the idea of his dick in her throat, and his cum in her eyes. Shire had to sit down to stop himself from going through with those requests. There were some questions that were more pressing, though the stress on his pants seriously disagreed.

“The fuck happened to you?”

She straightened, face unreadable. “Master Richter is a generous man, who delights in enlightening the ignorant such as myself.”

“You can talk freely with me, y’know. You’re at my service and all, right? I’ve gotta say, I liked it better when you were threatening to use my corpse to summon demons. That’s what you said, right?” Shire couldn’t remember all her insults. She did say a lot of them on the way over.

“I am at your service, until the Master requires me again.” She repeated, giving nothing away.

“What’re you so afraid of? That I’m going to tell on you?”

“There is a saying among my people, Overseer Billows*. Alak ur bel’i razom grakzima albel’i*.” She said. Shire blinked. He’d never heard the Ash Elf language before. It sounded hideous.

“I barely know Common.”

“It translates to, ‘black and white together make *grey.’*” Giladi put a little more emphasis on that last word. Shire had no idea why. It was a weird way to stress a sentence.

“Which means…?”

“Just think, Overseer Billows, what the phrase ‘black and white together make *grey*’ could possibly mean. Proverbs are often complex things.” She said again, neck flexing and eyes flashing as she said that word again. Shire stared, mouth ajar and eyes focused on her, really thinking. Really trying to figure out what she was trying to –

Oh.

“Ash Elf’s usually create art with two colors, obviously,” He clapped for himself. “Because in Wrunelend everything is that color. Grey is everywhere there, eh?” Shire asked. For a moment, it looked like Giladi would burst into shouting, but then the words sunk in. She relaxed and nodded, saying nothing more.

That was an interesting revelation, though Shire didn’t really know what to do with it. He leaned back on the couch, patting the space next to him. “Come sit here.” To his surprise, she complied without complaint, sitting next to him, folding her hands in her lap and turning her legs to the side. When she looked at him Shire’s heart skipped a beat which damn nearly killed him. Gods be damned, she *was* gorgeous, despite that time she promised to snort his ground up nuts. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She tensed but didn’t resist.

“So, what do you *really* think of Richter?” Shire whispered in her ear, so low that someone would have had to be right in front of them to hear.

“I’ll string that fat bastards guts around his neck and hang him from the Palace’s crow’s nest,” hissed Giladi with such venom his skin crawled. There it was.

“Why the act,” asked Shire, putting a hand on her inner thigh. She tensed, hands curling into fists. “Relax. Grey is watching, right? Go with it.” Giladi reluctantly put her hand on his thigh as well, which damn near made him bust right there.

“Better to keep up the act than get tortured by him and Grey anymore,” said the Ash Elf as she started to massage his crotch without him asking. Part of him was worried she’d squeeze way too hard. “Better to call him Master and dote on him. Better to fucking do this than have that five-hundred-pound bastard bending me over the dinner table again.” Giladi’s voice had a hard edge to it as she started working his belt. They fucked over the *dinner table?* He ate there!

“Woah, you don’t have to.” Shire said in a hushed tone, though really, he didn’t want her to stop. And he was still thinking about eating that pickle in a place where Richter may have been fucking.

“That fiend is watching us. Always watching. Best to do this and get it over with. This is what Richter wants.”

“He *wants* you fucking me?”

“He’s got a fetish,” muttered Giladi before fishing Shire’s cock out. She pulled away from him, and Shire noticed that she had a distinct aroma of lavender about her. Her bright red eyes flickered down to his cock and then back to his face, lips pursed and frowning. “Oh my, what a manly cock.” She said in a high, girly voice. Shire winced.

“Yeah, don’t say that again.” In a weird way, he preferred when she was cursing and hissing. It seemed more real than the fake persona she had to wear in the presence of the Governor. She shifted her body so that she could lean down easier. He could hardly believe he was really going to get his dick sucked right now.

She tugged on his cock a couple times, which felt divine. It paled in comparison to her mouth as she wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and *sucked*. Her cheeks caved in and she made a low slurping noise before opening her mouth and swallowing his cock in one gulp. “By the fucking gods,” groaned Shire. He leaned against the back of the couch. If he died and that was the last thing he ever felt, he would die a happy man.

Giladi started to bob her head. Shire didn’t have to do anything, keeping his hands to the side while she worked. He’d gotten head from a Pure Elf before, but they were so prudish and used too much teeth. Giladi was something else, grinding her hands around the base of his cock, massaging his balls, and slurping on his cock like she’d die if she didn’t. There wasn’t even a scrape of teeth involved.

She pulled her head up, released his cock with an audible pop, and started to swirl her tongue around the head. Shire’s eye twitched a bit when she started to flick the tip of her tongue against his urethra. That was a new experience for him. At his age, and all these new experiences. It was enough to make him cry, and he damn near did when she returned to sucking his cock, twisting her hands around the shaft where she could.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/cbhqat/chp_6_the_governors_palace_fantasy_mf_creampie