Maid-Squire Varrot

"Ahh... nothing like a good cup of tea after a long day of putting holes in Imps."

Varrot was... nonplussed. That's the one perfect word she had to describe her feelings, in a bid to label them with something she could understand and conquer. She stood beside her current master... wait, master? A week ago, she would have never submitted herself to Jane under any premise. A scowl crept in at that inward betrayal, her stature suggesting the utmost respect and courtesy to her host as a storm of indignation and anger brewed beneath her prim though soiled exterior. Despite her requests, Jane demanded Varrot attend to her needs post-haste. The stickiness of her drying perspiration and the disheveled messiness of her normally well-groomed hair left Varrot uneasy as she studied the thin frame of the woman seated before her.

Today, Jane wore an entirely different uniform to battle than the one issued to Gallian shocktroopers, a rendition so perfect for her needs that Varrot pondered the amount of ducats Jane paid for the modifications. Down the center, Jane's undone zipper revealed the grisly aftermath of Squad 7's latest mission. Sans turtleneck, blood crusted to reddish-black on her surprisingly well-weighted endowments, its thick coppery aroma bringing Jane to an effervescent high as she moaned, free hand stroking her cleft. There was hardly anything special about the design of her pants; rather, the shocktrooper had discarded them completely. The white dyed coloring of her uniform complemented her doll pale flesh, deathly purple-white lips and soulful blue eyes as the perfect canvas for blood spatters, further unveiling the carnage she'd reaped where her clumped dark hair could not.

Truth be told, former captain Varrot feared Jane as a liability. She expected the day that the woman would go a little too far in her crazed hate-lust for Imperials and spiral into a life of brutal torture the likes of which would make Geld look like a saint.

Her face screwed into an involuntary show of disgust when she witnessed Jane bring the gloved hand from her cleft up to her mouth and lick the dripping mix of blood and her own juices.

"I've been waiting for this day for five months, Elle," Jane cooed like a lover. "Five months ago, you gave me a four week suspension from the squad, to 'keep me in line'."

Varrot, forgetting herself, responded, clutching at her apron. "You were out of line, Private Turner. You came back from the mission and after telling everyone how much you enjoyed killing Imperial soldiers, you said you were going to take Oscar back to you room and torture him."

"I said I would make him scream for me," Jane said matter-of-factly.

"There's a difference?"

Drinking the last of her tea, Jane calmly set it on the table and leaned toward Varrot. "You're a real bitch, you know that? I think it's time you started your training."

Fire leapt in Varrot's eyes at the challenge hidden within Jane's curt attitude. As the captain of several squads, including Squad 7, Varrot had studied the components of each team carefully for any telling traits. The methods of analysis described in recent books gave her insight into Jane's thoughts, and in the shocktrooper's body language, she saw a desire to break those she tormented as if they were toys. At that understanding, Varrot knew precisely how to respond. Resistance and perseverance. Her resolve would never rattle, her will would never bend. True, unwavering, ready to take any punishment the shocktrooper could dish out. She awaited her first orders, depraved as they might be.

"Flowers. I could really go for some flowers right now. Go out and buy some for me. Get a pretty pink vase, too."

"...Flowers?" Varrot blinked her disbelief. Flowers. Jane wanted... flowers. She fidgeted her confusion at the vicious devil smile that the shocktrooper gave.

"I'm fucking with you. Take off your clothes. You'll never need them when you're in my room."

Varrot sighed, relieved that the assessment of Jane proved accurate, and re-framed her thoughts to resist the shocktrooper's depredations. She slid the puffed shoulder sleeves down and removed her arms from them promptly after untying the bow of her apron. The cotton cloth clung to her skin, every inch of peeling it back providing cool relief. Looking away from the sadist, she buried her nose into her shoulder. The scent of her body soothed her, its heady musk blotting out the stench of bloody carnage from her superior. As the coup de grace, she rolled her dainty gloves off her hands and stepped forward out of her heels, presenting her nakedness to Jane. Her face...

It dawned on her. Slow. Silent. She wasn't embarrassed. Not one parcel of red tinged her cheeks. Her face remained a blanket of determined stoicism, but not of her choosing. She needed time. Time to think.

"What a cute duster you have there," Jane mused about the pink-feathered maid tool. "How about it? Do you want to start by dusting the room?"

"One duty is as good as any, Private Turner."

"Great. Pick it up and stick it in your ass."

She almost gave herself away then and there, pulling back from her alarm at the last second. She could already hear Jane's calls in advance, all teasing and commanding her to do as ordered. Before that could happen, Varrot grabbed the duster and slid it into that most forbidden hole of hers, giving herself no time for second-guesses. She puckered around the handle, effectively stabilizing it.

"Ma'am," Varrot forwardly said. "How do you expect me to dust your room this way?"

"Reach as high and low as you can and forget about the rest. Start with the table."

"...You're serious, aren't you?"

"I don't see my table any cleaner. Do I have to spank you, Maid-Squire Elle?"

Varrot's nostrils flared, glaring at the dark sadist as she began what SHOULD have brought her more shame than she felt. She turned away, ignoring the chuckle and moan that popped from the sadist's lips at the sight of the duster's small slender stem embedded between her cheeks. Left to right, left to right, the feathers brushed over the edge of the table. At a misstep, she felt the duster tilt just so, and she drew blood from her lip as she bit to cope. The glint of anguish lasted but a second, enough time to decide how best to complete this assignment. A sideways slide-crawl, hip rubbing along the table's rounded edge, brought her to the tabletop. Her legs folded in under her, and with a shuffle, she found herself squatting low to brush the table's smooth wooden surface.

"You have a great ass, you know that Elle?"

The overwhelming call to slap Jane surged into Varrot's hand, yet she shrank back before she could turn to follow through. The obscenity of the comment would have meant little to her if she hadn't given the shocktrooper a clear view to what she spoke of. She swished side-to-side, remembering the many times she had obsessed over its size in the mirror while wondering if her uniform made a joke of her figure. "Th-thank you, Private Turner. If I may be so bold to speak, this method of dusting does not work very well for cleaning your room..."

"When did I say I wanted you to clean my room? I'm a very messy girl, Maid-Squire Elle. You could never take care of my room better than me."

When the underlying suggestion sank in, Varrot paused, pitching back far enough for the duster to tap the table and make her bounce forward in reaction. "Then why?"

"Mmmm... because I can. You need to be trained and taught a valuable lesson that only I can give. I SHOULD make you do more 'dusting', but I'm sick of waiting for the main course."

"...Main course? What do-AUGH!" The wince-worthy feel of the duster yanked from her rear was the only part she could make out clearly, her senses scrambled into confusion until she felt her back slam against the tabletop. She peered down when she regained her wits, and watched as Jane whipped several small pads across her chest, a last one felt between stomach and groin. The pads glowed a ragnite blue, and that was all she could discern before her senses were again jogged by..

"AAAGGGHHH!" The intense shock made her breasts bounce and flex, leaving behind a panting Varrot when it ceased.

"Did you like that, Elle? It's something Wendy whipped up for me in her free time. You see, these ones," Jane pointed, "use ragnite power to shock your breasts, and THESE ones act the same as ragnaid." She smiled when Varrot's back arched over another jolt, her explanation withheld until it subsided. "You never have to worry about body damage, IF it holds out. She's still testing."

A third surge made Varrot grip the table edges tightly, teeth chittering. Her head rolled side to side to weather the pulse, Jane's face disappearing into the edges of her blurred vision until it passed minutes later. This time, she felt a bead of sweat roll down her nipples and wiped them with a finger, to realize seconds later that they were...

"I'm lactating?"

"Finally," Jane sighed in annoyance at the delay. Two bottles soon sat next to Varrot. That was, until the shocktrooper tugged Varrot down by her ankles and to a stand at the edge of the table. "Alicia caught me stealing some bottles of milk and made me promise to get new ones or she'd report me. You're going to help me restock."

Varrot scowled, face contorting to a sign of the furies roiling deep down, her inner rage at being misused escaping her attempt at a tight, disciplinarian control over her emotions. "Private Turner! Though I have been reduced in rank, I am not a cow! I am a woman, Private Turner. I deserve my dignity. I deserve my respect. I deserve my -- AUGH!"

Her hand pressed tightly to her chest. Milk squirted against Jane's face and dripped, giving Varrot the disagreeable sight of Jane's tongue slipping out to lick the drop away from the crease at her lip.

"You're not the one in power anymore, Maid-Squire Elle," Jane retorted, shoving her face against Varrot's to drink in the misery of upraised eyebrows and clenched teeth. "I am. If I say you're a cow, you're a cow. If I tell you to give Hans a blowjob, you give that winged little piglet the best blowjob he'll ever get. And if I want to fuck you with a strap-on," she grinned at the tiny intricate patterns of shock, remorse and disgust that played on Varrot face, how they shifted so smooth and delicate when the maid-squire sensed the large cold metal spreading her nether lips. "I will fuck you with a strap-on. Now Maid-Squire Elle, I order you to turn around and fill those bottles while I pound you."

She could have fought back. Maybe smash a bottle over Jane's head... no. Jane would stop her, force her to go through with everything desired and report her to the court for insubordination. That was being optimistic. Turning as ordered, Varrot leaned over the table and lined her nipples up to the opening holes of the glass bottles in time for a jolt to make her gush a stream of milk into each. A few light pecks to her neck distracted her enough to catch her off guard to a rough jerking thrust from Jane, whose lips crept up behind her ear. A wisp of breath curled around as Jane spoke like an intimate partner in sordid kinks.

"I'll teach you to like it, Elle."

"...You disgust me, Private Turner. NNNGGHHH..." her fist pounded the table at another up-thrust and shock combination, squirting milk into the bottle as a wave of twisted pleasure fanned out from her stretched pussy. For a moment, she lost the power to talk back when the dual torments stole her voice, turning it into ragged breaths for a chance to bear it.

"Do I? You don't look or feel like it. In fact, you look like you're enjoying it."

"What do you think happens when you thrust a large object into a woman's vagina you sick, sadistic..." Her body collapsed forward, almost toppling the milk bottles and undoing her work. Her hand clutched at her abdomen, the raw power of a massive, undeniable orgasm building... building... building...

... to nothing. She waited for it to make her writhe and limpen, when her muscles would turn to jelly and disobey her commands, and it never came. It burned like the Valkyrur's flame, unending and always all the more powerful. A cry would have flown from her lips if Jane had not deftly silenced her with her balled pair of panties. Regaining some sense of her composure, Varrot spat them out, lambasting Jane with all the outrage she had to bear. "What the hell did you do to me, Private Turner! Why can't I climax?"

"Remember that ragnaid pad I talked about? Wendy made one that will constantly 'heal' your cycle. Doesn't it feel great?"

"No, it burns, and a lot. I knew I was right about you, you're worse than Giorgios Geld."

Surprisingly, Varrot felt the rod pull out from her cleft. Spun around, she found herself staring directly into Jane's dark eyes, breasts freely dribbling milk past her stomach and down her thighs. The shocktrooper guided her to the bed, the two of them dropping back to a few bounces from its springs. Varrot lay on top of the sadist, listening intently while lust lingered in her loins like a fueled oil fire.

"We need to have a talk. You talk to my body while I explain a few things. I can't walk around with Imp blood on me forever."

She understood, though she wished she hadn't. Lowering herself, she lapped at the dried blood that snaked around Jane's left breast.

"I admire you."

If she weren't well beyond caring what the shocktrooper said, she would have scoffed. As it was, she continued to attend to Jane's orders, sick as they were, the taste of Imperials catching on her tongue.

"I respect you, Varrot," Jane persisted. "You're a strong woman, who won't let someone like me intimidate you. There's just one flaw: you can't handle pain."

"What does that have to do with me?" Varrot said between licks.

"What if the enemy captured you? What if Giorgios Geld had you chained up in his chamber, whip in hand. What would you do?"

Taking this as a sign to stop and answer, Varrot ceased and sat back, her bosom drooping with a natural sag. "I would find a way to escape and capture him."

"After he brutally tortures you? Do you think your body could take that kind of punishment?"

Her mouth refused to move, sputtering empty syllables. She sat there, Frederick running through her head on autoplay as Jane spoke of things she should have planned out years ago.

"Any day, the enemy could abduct and torture you. What would happen to Gallia if you gave in? Don't you see? You need to find pleasure in pain."

Varrot's thoughts clouded over her sullen, worn body until the feel of her ragnite-shocked chest and ever-burning loins numbed. She saw into Jane's eyes a truth she'd denied, flashing back to the day they finally caught Geld and her own actions that day. Then, she said something she never thought she would say. "...You're right."

Jane reveled in the odd calm that shone on Varrot's face. "You bet I'm right. You think Geld would stop here? I want you to be strong. Strong enough that someone like me can't break you. If you can't take it, you're not the woman I thought you were, and you can leave."

"I..." Varrot mumbled. She knew what Jane wanted, and the answer she wanted to give. Her feelings conflicted, she responded with what course barely edged out the other in its rightness. "I want you to train me, Private Turner."

"Are you certain? I don't want to hear you bitch about it when I start pushing you hard."

"...Yes. I'm certain."

"Good. I'm done training you today, but I want you to keep that ragnite pad," Jane indicated the one at her abdomen, "in place for the next hour. Think you can do that, Maid-Squire Elle?"

Varrot saluted, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Oh, and could you deliver that milk to Alicia when we're done?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, make me proud Varrot." Jane laid back, closing her eyes as she reveled in Varrot's tongue trailing lower still.


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Story codes: F/F, D/s, N/C -> Cons, light BP (licking), Lact, Toys, Other (perversion of maid duties, anal object insertion, withheld orgasm)