She was teasing him about his womanizing, but also serious. "This must be voluntary."
"She will love it. But there's a caution."
"Question?"
"She's a good girl in every respect except one. She has a rape fantasy. You will have to do it her way. She is incapable of climaxing in the ordinary manner."
"Rape? Negation."
"Not real rape. Mock rape."
He was intrigued. "Details?"
"Demonstration. Get dressed." She got off him and shrugged back into her clothing as he put his back on.
"Scent!" she called.
A young woman appeared. Her hair was fair, her shape shapely, her face petite. She looked vaguely familiar; if she had served years before as a bath girl, that would explain it. "Mistress."
"King Havoc needs your assistance on a dangerous mission."
"Delight!"
"To a far planet, to carry his ikon. He is investigating a sexual matter."
The girl's gaze fixed on Havoc with a peculiar intensity. "Mistress."
"I told him. But I think a demonstration will be better."
"Agreement! Will you hold me?" What was this?
"Affirmation." Monochrome stood facing Scent.
The girl stepped into her, ducking her head down until it almost touched her knees. Monochrome leaned over and caught her about the waist from above. She heaved, and the girl came up, her legs dangling before her face. Her bottom seemed to be bare under the skewed skirt.
"That's the brigand mode!" Havoc exclaimed.
"Agreement. Do her, Havoc."
"Objection."
"Do me," the girl called. "Please, Sire."
Rape fantasy. She really did want it.
He drew out his stiffening member, embarrassed to admit that this was a turn-on. Partly for the clear exposure of her open genital region within the skirt, but more for the semblance of rape. He stepped toward the inverted cleft, and hesitated.
"Now!" Scent cried, spreading her legs wide.
He aimed his member, put it to the slot, and pushed it in. She was hot, slick, and tight. He noted the oddity that his penis was aiming down, not up, as it went deep.
"Harder! Ravish me!"
He jammed harder, withdrew somewhat, and thrust again. The novelty of the position and evident eagerness of the girl were also turn ons, and on the third thrust he erupted.
"More, Sire more!" she cried, clenching around him.
He continued driving, extending his orgasm, filling her to overflowing. Because of her position, it was like pouring thick grog into a cup. He had never done it this way before, and the sensation was intense.
Finally she had had enough, and he was allowed to conclude his orgasm and withdraw. Monochrome eased her down and the girl landed on her feet, her skirt dropping back into place. "Appreciation, Sire," she said as she hurried toward the bathroom, dripping.
"Rape fantasy," he repeated. "Is this why she avoids marriage?"
"Affirmation. She needs to find an understanding man. At present she is dependent on my brigand assistant, to whom such interplay is natural."
"Where I am going, brigands actually rape."
"I think she could handle that better than conventional sex, which makes her vomit."
Scent returned, garbed in traveling clothes. "Fetch my ikon from Ennui," he told her.
She left. "You will have to do her often," Monochrome warned him. "She has a crush on you, as all former bath girls do, and will not be able to restrain herself. But she is competent in other respects, being smart and nervy."
"Acknowledgment." This was bound to be interesting for more than one reason.
Ennui came back with the girl. Ennui did not give out ikons on routine demand. Havoc nodded, and she handed the string that bound his little tree ikon to Scent, who removed the string and put the ikon in her mouth. That was the best place for a girl who doffed her clothes on scant pretext. Ennui did not touch ikons, lest she be unable to let them go, but Scent seemed not to be concerned.
Havoc kissed Monochrome, then put his hand on Scent's arm. "Not there, Sire," she murmured. She moved his hand to her buttock. "There."
He chuckled, squeezed, and conjured them both to Counter Charm.
"Greeting, Havoc," Idyll's voice came.
"I go with Scent to Shee's origin planet," he said. "I need the track by which she came here."
"I will derive it," Idyll said. "It will be a few minutes."
"We'll wait."
Scent looked at him. "We have time, Sire?"
"Already?" he asked, surprised.
"You kissed the Mistress. That was so romantic. It turned me on."
"I understand that conventional romance is not for you."
"Romance is fine. It is sex that differs."
"I will kiss you," he agreed, and tried to do so. His mouth sheered away from hers. "Ikon permitting."
"Oh. Embarrassment." She spat the ikon out of her mouth and held it away from her body.
Now he could kiss her. He did so. She participated avidly. "Ikons can be a nuisance," he remarked, squeezing her bottom again.
"And—I know I shouldn't ask—"
There was a fast pulse at her throat and her eyes were luminous. He touched her mind and read the sheer sexual hunger there. It was another turn-on. "Can you do it without being held?"
"When I have to." She faced away from him, bent down, and put her hands on the ground. Her skirt rode up to expose her bottom and associated genital region. "But do it roughly, if you please, Sire."
He brought out his member, instantly stimulated by the display, and put it to her opening cleft. He took rough hold of her hips, bent his knees to get down far enough, and thrust in, seeing his member sink into her flesh. This time he did it hard from the outset, almost knocking her over. She loved it, clenching in time to his thrusts. In an instant he spurted inside her.
"Pleasure!" she gasped, climaxing herself. She had a flash response, for a mortal. Probably this was because of the way her rape fixation turned her on, but also because she really liked doing it with Havoc. It was fun for him too; she had a very nicely padded posterior, a pleasure to plumb.
He finished and withdrew. She straightened up, wiping herself with a cloth she had. "Enough?" he inquired.
"For now, Sire. There can never be enough of you, ultimately."
It was an attitude he could tolerate.
"Track derived," Idyll's voice said.
"Appreciation." He suspected the ifrit had waited until he finished with Scent before speaking. She was thoughtful that way, and not jealous. He had trysted with her solid semblance many times, always delightfully. Once the ifrits had learned to perform solid sex with humans, they liked it.
And will tryst again, on your return, her thought came.
He took Scent's hand and willed himself along the route Idyll had provided. This took them to a section of the galaxy thousands of light years distant: an impossible trip, except for the wormholes.
They were on a platform on a mesa. There was no air, only noxious gas, and it was burning hot.
Havoc immediately spread a protective mist about them, and put his mouth to Scent's, exhaling breathable air for her. He extended his awareness and found a Charm-normal environment. He conjured them there.
It was a greenhouse, with familiar plants growing luxuriantly They were making the local air. But they were not alive; they were robotic emulations.
Scent coughed, clearing her lungs. "Appreciation," she rasped.
"You are my mistress of the moment," he said. "I have to take care of you."
She laughed weakly. "Delight in the appellation." She looked around. "Where are we, Sire?"
"Best not call me that," he said. "This is enemy territory. Just call me Havoc."
"Remark: As if that conceals your identity."