Terrible Company Ch. 04

/ /Author's Note: This story, Terrible Company, is sprawling sword-and-sorcery fantasy satire with a diverse cast of characters. Over its many chapters, those characters will have interactions (both with each other and others) that cross many of the lines that exist between Lit genres. I have come to believe that breaking the story into those different categories, as best I can, is the best way to expose the most readers to parts of the story they might dig, and that they might then be encouraged to read on.

Each chapter is written as a self-contained episode, and although there are running gags that continue through the series that enrich the experience, they shouldn't prevent one from starting anywhere in the series (including the final chapter) and enjoying it for what it is.

This chapter features:

Val, the Female Orc Warrier/Fighter

Katsa, the female Human Arcanist

Mathilda, the female Dwarf Healer

Ayen, the male Half-Elf Thief
Ivy, the female Human Bard

Enjoy!//

"Vibrato starts in the throat," the Maestro urged, as he slouched in his heavily-cushioned chair. "Use the throat, dear."

"Nnnnhnnngh!" She took a deep breath through the nose, just like he'd taught her, and relaxed her throat.

"That's better. Tighten and relax, my dear. Tighten and relaaaax... Yeeees."

Ivy squawked wordlessly in reply.

"Now we're going to do some... hnnnnngh... light stretching exercises. That's it. And down! Two! Three! Four! And up.... oh goodness yes. And down! Two! Three! Four! And up! That's it! Three more! And down! Two! Three! Four! And up! And down! Two! Three! Four! And up! Last one, my dear! And down! Two! Three! Four! And up!"

"Whew!" Ivy gasped, blinking brightly when she finally came back up for air. She smiled, as much with her lips as her big bright eyes as she stroked the length of his curved member. "We've almost got my gag reflex gone completely!"

"I told you it would work. Now," he said, doing his best to adopt a lecturing tone. The curvaceous redhead's eyebrows rose in anticipation of the delivery of his wisdom, and the Maestro reveled in her rapt attention. His face, flush with exertion. "Bard Rule number sixteen, my little dovekin!"

"Never tune stringed instruments in the rain?"

The Maestro mitigated his mistake with only the most microscopic of hesitations. "Naturally, my dear."

Ivy swelled with pride, putting several buttons in the center of her too-tight blouse in true danger of being fired across the room with enough force to put out an eye.

"And Rule number fifteen?"

"Never start something you don't intend to finish?"

The Maestro nodded slowly, but Ivy merely blinked in confusion as she continued to pump her hand up and down. "Finish, my dear."

Nothing seemed to register behind her blue eyes. He nodded toward her hand, but Ivy merely turned to watch the handjob she was giving with equal confusion.

"Me. Finish me."

"Oh!" she laughed. "Of course, Maestro!"

"Why don't we work on our deep breathing exercises then."

Ivy nodded enthusiastically, pinched her nose as she gulped down air, and swallowed the Maestro's cock whole. The graying man writhed in his chair, counting out the seconds in his booming, sonorous voice. As he crossed seventy his beautiful apprentice's face began to match her dark red hair, and he reluctantly backed off. He immediately began stroking himself, near to his climax as he was, while Ivy fought to regain her breath.

"Rule number forty two," he croaked.

Bard Rule number forty two, of which the Maestro was particularly proud, stated that Bards should be drinking constantly. One never knew when adventure might sweep one out into a desert, and one could not count on there being anything to drink along the way. Bard Rule number seventy three, a later addendum, reinforced that since the Bard's most important instrument is the throat, proper and constant hydration is a basic necessity of the job. In addition to frequent consumption of his thick spunk, the Maestro had invoked Bard Rule number forty two to get her fall-down drunk on a regular basis as well as to take a potion that turned her into a young man for twenty four hours just for the fun of it. It was, by far, his favorite rule.

The apprentice nodded vigorously and opened her mouth. The Maestro, however, had recently discovered the joy of facials and deliberately brought himself to full before her lips reached him. Ivy recoiled in surprise, gasping softly and just barely getting her eyes closed in time. Squiggly white strings of semen slathered over her forehead, eyelids, and nose.

"So sorry," the Maestro wheezed, while not actually being sorry in the least. "Remember the rule, my dear."

Without hesitation, Ivy ran her finger along her cheek and put it in her mouth. He bit his lip as he continued to rub out the dregs, watching her devour his seed one finger-load at a time. Sometimes, he was unable to fathom how he had gotten so lucky as to have such an unbelievable apprentice. She wasn't even trying to be dirty or sexy. She didn't have to try; it was innate. Every slow blink of her long eyelashes, every gentle breath blown to help cool his tea; every action was drenched in sex appeal. Absolutely dripping with it.

"Am I ready to sing now, Maestro?" Until she opened her mouth.

It wasn't that Ivy's voice was annoying, or even that it lacked a sexual texture. Her natural register was high and clear like a flute chime descending from a lone tree in a field of wildflowers, tinkling in a breeze on a clear Saturday afternoon. Her pillow talk ran the gamut, from smokey and alluring to a level of raunch that had shocked him to his core the first time she was on top. She possessed an alto range in her singing voice which, in short bursts, was entirely pleasing.

The Maestro nodded, covering his grimace with an encouraging smile. Ivy sprung to her feet and backed across the room while he arched his back and pulled up his pants. "Start with the scales."

"Dooooo, RaaaaaaaaaaaaY, MEEEEEEeeee..." Extremely short bursts.

In some cases, he was sure that Ivy was actively making decisions in volume and emphasis. Questionable decisions, true, but with the right attitude an artist could pass off pretty much anything as being part of their 'style'.

"No dear," he interrupted. He paused to clear his throat and sang, "Sooooooooooo." His rich tenor echoed perfectly throughout the conservatory.

"SoooooooooOOo!" She smiled broadly and nodded. "Yes, that was much better."

It wasn't. It was, if such things can be quantifiably measured, worse. What troubled him the most, though, was her obliviousness. She staggered up and down the scales like an inebriated cat. A very sexy, inebriated, oblivious cat with a fishbone lodged in its throat. The Maestro did his best to present a facade of approval as she stumbled to a finish.

"Wonderful, my little songbird."

Ivy preened. One of the buttons on her shirt cried out in excruciating pain.

"We'll pick back up here in the morning. For now, I'm feeling a bit peckish."

"Shall I prepare supper?" she asked, with every ounce of her usual zeal.

"The lamb, I think."

One of her buttons shrieked as she bowed graciously and exited the room, red curls flouncing in her wake. The Maestro rolled his eyes and fell back into the crushed velvet of his armchair. Her apprenticeship was entering its third year, and the girl was barely any closer to her mastery of basic scales. Her composition skills were stronger, he allowed, as he popped an olive into the air, but not stronger enou—

***

"I can't do it any more," wheezed the second button, as Ivy bounced into the kitchen. "I just can't!"

"Yes you can," shouted the first. "You have to!"

"It's too much!" It shook its head, sagging. "Way too much!"

"You can't give up!"

"I can't take the constant pain!"

"There's no one else," the first button pled. "If you go we all go, and that's it. She's exposed."

"I don't care anymore," it whined.

"Yes you do. You care too much!"

"I don't."

"Don't you see? Only someone who cared as much as you could take being where you are. Any normal button would have popped off years ago, but you hung in there."

The second button whimpered and shook its head, but the first one kept on.

"Remember that month when she got really into chocolate cake? We were all ready to throw in the towel, but you wouldn't let us. You gave that speech, remember? The one about holding the line?"

"Yeah," the second one sobbed.

"You're the strongest of us all, my friend. If you can't do it, no one can."

"You don't understand! The pressure, it's... it's insane!"

"You're right," the first button said solemnly. "I don't understand. It's much looser up here, and this is all I can handle. I'm not as tough as you are. But she needs you, buddy. Now more than ever."

The second button nodded and took a few deep breaths to gird its loins. Dinner loomed.

***

Ivy cooed as she dropped the skinned potatoes into the pot. "Plop, plop, plop!" She squinted and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Plahp," she said, sounding it out. "Plawp." She dropped another potato and listened closely. Ivy was extremely vigilant in her quest for inspiration. The Maestro had said it would come at her 'from the most unlikely places', just after she found out about the glory hole in the bathroom of her chambers. He also said it would come 'when she least expected it,' two minutes later. He was right. She hadn't thought he had it in him to be ready again so soon but there it was, throbbing and hard and jabbing her in the cheek. The Maestro was truly an extraordinary teacher and she counted herself blessed to study at his feet, which he was also always making her do things to. Do things with. Do things...

Ivy frowned. Participles were not her strong suit.

Her concentration was broken a moment later when the Maestro staggered into the kitchen, purple-faced and clutching his throat. Ivy tilted her head in confusion as he worked his lips without sound.

"Are we playing a game?"

He shook his head, but she talked right over him. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Are we going to work on my Miming skills?!"

He grabbed at his throat pleadingly. "You want me to work on my singing voice?" she asked.

He waved his hands and shook his head. "You have nothing more you can teach me?!"

He frantically pointed to his chest, and then at her. "The magic was inside me all along?!"

She gasped and leapt up into the air. Several buttons on her shirt groaned in fear as gravity brought her back down. "Oh Maestro, this is amazing," she shouted, as she rushed down the hall to her chambers. "I knew I was making progress, but I had no idea I was so close to—" She gasped, one hand pressed to her mouth while the other covered her fluttering heart. "Does this mean that I've attained the rank of Journeyman?"

The Maestro gurgled and fell forward onto the cool stone floor.

"No, you're right. I haven't. I'd know it," she announced confidently.

"I'm all packed and ready to go," she called over her shoulder, as she dragged the knapsack she'd prepared the year prior out from under her bed. "I even have a list of towns and taverns I think will be bene-OH!"

She gasped as she came back into the kitchen, staring down at her teacher's barely-conscious body lying spread eagle beside the counter. "You're floored? By me? That's..." She bit her lip and smiled. "Maestro, you have no idea how flattering that is. Thank you. Thank you for everything." She knelt down and kissed the back of his head before striding confidently toward the Receiving Hall, admiring the incredible lengths he went to for his art. She paused, her hand on the front door, and looked back over her shoulder with a perplexed look.

"Oh! 'To which you were always making me do things'!" Ivy nodded, proud that she'd figured it out on her own, and strode out into the muddy streets.

***

"Please?"

"It's becoming a habit." Val shook her head and sighed. "I really don't wanna get back into doing that again."

"We need you!"

"You need me."

"Oh please," Katsa smirked.

"Admit it," the big Orc sneered. "You only want me to stay on cus you can't get enough of this." She leaned back and caressed her crotch through her leather breeches.

Katsa's eyes bulged as she looked over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the alley, and her cheeks were inflamed when she looked back. "First of all," she gritted, "haven't you gotten me to admit that enough yet? Yes. It's fucking amazing. Does that make you happy?" Val's smile seemed indicative of exactly that. "That's not why though. Mathilda keeps going on ab—"

"I don't give one gods-damned shit what her God says. I'm not destined to be your meat shield, alright? I came here," she said, pointing at the ground, "because I had my own fucking business."

"And you can still do that! I'm sure everyone else will be on board to help you look for... whatever it is."

"From now on," Val growled, jabbing her index finger into the palm of her other hand, "we do my business first. I missed out on a lead in Jonehn, and now I can't go back there."

"Yes!" Katsa placated. "Of course. It totally takes priority."

"That's on you, Kat."

Katsa blanched as she recoiled. "I didn't start that fire."

"You're the one that dragged me into it in the first place."

"Aww," Katsa smirked, regaining some of her composure. "You and I both know you stuck around because you couldn't get enough of this." She grinned slyly up at Val, grinding her crotch against the big Orc's thigh. "Oh Kat, it's so tight!" she crooned.

"Two conditions," the taller woman said flatly. "One, I'm fucking the shit out of you when we make camp tonight."

"Done." Katsa smiled coyly.

"Two, Yer not gonna get all weepy when I go after the Elf."

"Done."

"Just like that?" the Orc snorted

Katsa shrugged slightly. "Always wanted to try it with a Dwarf. I mean, it can't be as good as everyone says, can it?"

'It can," Val smirked, and then sighed a moment later. "Fucking harpies. Where did you find this job?" They turned and headed back inside the tavern where they were going to meet Mathilda and Ayen.

"Client approached me just after we split up in town."

"Those gloves are like a beacon, yanno."

The Arcanist touched her forearms reflexively, pulling her fingerless black gloves with blue trim even tighter.

Val winced as they walked inside and headed toward their table. "Where's the Elf?"

" 'e ain't come down ye'," Mathilda droned distractedly, as she stared across the room.

"Aren't you gonna go heal whoever is dying over there?" Katsa asked as she sat down.

" 'at's not pain. She's singin'."

Val and Katsa turned and looked. A buxom redhead swayed atop a table, keeping irregular time with the heel of her boot and caterwauling so far off key that none of them were quite sure what the original key should have been.

"Are you sure?" Val asked.

"Aye. Recognized a lyric ten minutes ago. Ah'm not sure what's sadder; 'ow bad she is, or that she dunno 'ow bad she is?"

Ayen appeared, laughing as he sat down. "When she looks like that, she can sing however she wants." All three women turned to stare coldly at him, and he put up his hands. "Hey, I didn't hire her."

"Why're you in such a good mood, lass?" Mathilda asked sourly.

He smiled dismissively and leaned across the table to whisper. "Did you know that I had butt cheeks of such sculpted perfection that they would have driven Adonis himself to jealousy, and that my cock is an indomitable pillar of flesh?!" The women's cold stares hardened, and Ayen chuckled as he leaned back. "There's this old bard over there who will narrate you having sex for a bit of silver. It was awesome! Made it feel real classy."

Val growled. "I'm gonna wring his neck if I see him."

"Ohhhh, he's not a bad guy! I think he just likes to watch, if you know what I mean."

Val glared at him and his grin widened.

"And what I mean is that he jerks off while watching people ha—"

"Rhogan take ye! We knew what ye meant!" Mathilda shook her head and turned her attention back to the singer. " 'at's awful," she mumbled.

Katsa cringed. "Well, quit paying attention to her and focus."

"Ah cannae look away, an' Ah... Ah dunno why!"

"Fine," she grumbled, and turned to Ayen and Val. "We got a job."

"Yay!" he cheered.

"Yay?" Val growled, still not looking pleased. "You don't even know what the job is."

"Indomitable pillar of flesh!" he repeated. "You could tell me the Necromancers are about to descend on this rat heap, and I'd still die with a smile on my face."

Katsa rolled her eyes.

"Now they're throwin' lettuce at her," Mathilda mumbled, leaning to the side for a better view.

The Arcanist sighed in relief as the awful keening desisted. "At least that got her to stop."

"Ah don' think she got tha message." Mathilda shook her head slowly. "She's thankin' tha lad tha threw it. He di'nt like tha'... And now she's... Yeah, she's eatin' tha lettuce."

The Arcanist winced as she fought on. "We're going after a nest of harpies."

"Yay!"

"Ugh... it's like watchin' a great red rabbit."

"They're the ones that sing songs, right? Like sirens?"

"So much nibblin'..."

Val nodded. "Vicious, territorial little fuckers."

"Not where Ah come from," Mathilda mumbled.

"Wh... Not rabbits, Harpies, you little—"

"Ahhh Fuck." Mathilda took a swig from her bottle, and Katsa twisted to follow the Dwarf's eyes. Across the room, a lanky patron had grabbed the singer and dragged her into his lap. The redhead was unsuccessfully trying to escape his grasp, and she laughed nervously as another one reached under her arm to grope her. The Arcanist's chair squeaked as it slid back across the floor, but Val was already halfway across the room.

***

"I didn't know heads bounced like that," Katsa said, breaking a long silence as they walked down the road.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Val replied, "but Human heads bounce the best."

"Really?" Katsa scratched her chin in thought.

"Near as I can tell," the Orc waxed, "it's got something to do with the thickness of the skull. Human's have juuuust the right amount to have a little give before they snap back."

"There's a blowjob joke in there somewhere," Ayen mused.

"Ah'll bet tha' joke is hiding under a table. Seems like tha' kinda joke." Mathilda snapped her fingers and turned. "Issat why you ducked under there at the first sign o' action?"

"This is the moneymaker," he defended, gesturing toward his face.

"You could do with a scar or two," Mathilda snarled.

"Who needs a scar when I have an indomitable pillar of flesh?"

Mathilda shook her head and took a long swig of her twice-blessed bock.