Peaceful Monastic Life in the Monastery (Patreon)

*Bam-bam-bam!

“Heeey! Anybody in there alii—hic—ive?!”

A sharp heel slammed against the oak basement door. Then another one, harder, the hinges screeching.

Brother Lucas, the youngest on night duty, turned pale and stepped back. Brother Martin, older and with a beard down to his waist, only sighed heavily and crossed himself.

“Open the fuck up, you sons of bitches, or I swear I’ll bring down… bring down… ugh, some elven cock-cursing hex on your shitty temple, you holier-than-thou pricks—hic—got it?!”

Her voice cracked into a shrill rasp, then came a wet sob and the sound of someone tripping over her own heels.

Brother Lucas, barely more than a boy with a puff of mustache, pressed his palms to his ears.

“Brother Martin, c-can she actually do that?” he whispered, staring wide-eyed.

But Brother Martin never had a chance to answer.

The door flew off its hinges and Loriel staggered inside, clutching the doorframe with one hand while swinging an empty rum bottle in the other like it was a royal scepter.

Her sky-high stilettos clacked loudly against the stone floor as she tried to steady herself. Long silver hair was a tangled mess, one lock plastered to her sweaty cheek, and those naturally plump, bright-scarlet lips twisted into a drunken, furious sneer. The silk dress was torn up the thigh almost to her panties, and the corset had been unlaced so far that with every breath one full breast threatened to spill completely out. Nothing in her appearance anymore resembled the haughty, proud knight who once could make entire armies lower their banners with a single glance, the one who could have become king by vote of the Council of Nine, if not for some idiotic goblin spell that had turned his body into this perpetually aroused elven female form.

“Well well, you holy fuckwits…” she rasped, sweeping her eyes over the monks. “Whose brilliant idea was it to lock me in this goddamn—hic—crypt?!”

Brother Lucas stumbled back so sharply he tripped over a barrel and landed on his ass, eyes huge.

Brother Martin, clinging to what dignity he could, raised a calm, blessing hand.

“Child, be at peace. We mean you no harm. You were brought here because you…”

“CHILD?!” Loriel shrieked so loudly Brother Lucas’s hair seemed to stand up. “I’ll show you “child”, you bearded piece of shit!”

She threw the empty bottle at the wall near Martin’s head. It shattered, shards skittering across the floor, the smell of rum growing thicker. The elf woman took two unsteady steps forward, her heels clacking like gunshots, the torn dress sliding off her shoulder completely and exposing her left tit. The nipple was already hard, maybe from the basement’s chill, maybe from rage, maybe because the cursed body reacted to absolutely anything.

“Okaaay, so…” she drew a deep breath, sounding even drunker, eyeing the monks, “You, Beard, are going to fetch me two bottles of your strongest monastic piss right now. And you, little snot-nose,” she jabbed a long red nail right into Lucas’s chest, “you’ll run and invite your whole monk brother-fuckery to the main hall, got it?”

Brother Lucas jerked so hard he knocked his head against the barrel with a click.

“Wh-why… why everyone?” he squeaked, voice trembling.

Loriel bent down so close her silvery hair brushed his cheek, and the reek of booze brought tears to his eyes. Slowly, mockingly, she dragged that long nail along his chin.

“You really wanna find out right—hic—now?”

Lucas swallowed so loudly the echo rolled across the stone basement.

“N-no…” he shook his head. “I don’t want to…”

Loriel stared at him in silence for a couple of seconds, still holding that sharp nail under his chin while Brother Lucas didn’t dare even twitch. Brother Martin, whether trying not to draw attention or simply having already accepted that the night was completely out of control, stood motionless, holding his breath, not even blinking.

Maybe they would’ve kept standing there, hoping Loriel would simply pass out, but first a faint sound, then a clearer one, pulled both monks’ attention at the same moment.

The ears. Her long elven ears under that perfect blond hair began twitching, like some trapped little bird was trying to break free from under the silk. At first barely noticeable, then more often, stronger, rhythmic, needy, in sync with the way a dark wet spot slowly spread across the pink lace between her spread thighs.

Loriel suddenly inhaled sharply through her nose, her eyes went wide, her pupils blowing out into huge black circles.

“Ooohhh… fuck…” she breathed out low, almost moaning, then regained a hint of control and added, “Beard, the task of calling everyone is on you now.”

Brother Martin flinched as if someone had splashed him with cold water.

“B-but chi… uh… my lady, what about him?” he stammered, nodding at Lucas, who still sat pressed against the barrel and stared at the elf woman with huge frightened eyes.

Loriel slowly straightened up. Her tits swayed, her nipples stood so hard they looked ready to crack from tension. She licked her lips, leaving a wet shine behind, and chuckled hoarsely.

“The little one?” she tilted her head toward Lucas without breaking eye contact with Martin. “He’s got way more important business right now!”

She flicked her gaze down at him, and for a split second something like a struggle flashed in her eyes. But the next moment she suddenly grabbed Lucas by the front of his robe and yanked him toward her in one sharp pull. The boy yelped, but didn’t even try to resist: his legs buckled and he dropped straight to his knees in front of her, face slamming right into the cradle of her spread thighs. The smell of rum, sweat and aroused flesh hit him so hard his head started spinning.

“Come on, start, puppy,” Loriel purred, threading her fingers into his short, still boyish hair, pushing his face against the wet lace. The fabric was soaked through, hot, slick, clinging around every contour of her swollen lips. “And you, old man, stop staring, your turn will come too. Go do what you’re told!”

Brother Martin stood frozen for another heartbeat, watching her thin fingers tighten around Lucas’s nape, watching her move her hips with lazy drunken intent, grinding against the boy’s face, not roughly, just enough for his nose to feel every millimeter of hot, damp fabric, every pulsing contour. Then Martin spun around and rushed toward the stairs, muttering something about “repentance” and “devilish temptation.” The door above slammed, the echo rolling down the corridor.

Loriel didn’t hold herself back anymore.

“Mmmm… that’s it, good boy…” she drawled, almost purring, her hips rocking back and forth, smearing her juices over Lucas’s cheeks, nose and lips. “Stick your tongue out… don’t be shy, it tastes good even through the lace… mmm, feel how it’s dripping? It’s all because of you holy fuckers… because of your dumb mission to cleanse the caves from corruption… because of that I’m now like this… such a filthy elven whore…”