Maid-Squire Varrot

Author's Note: certain pieces of this fic have been inspired by WritefagChronicles' story "Cherry On Top" and an idea thrown out recently of Largo and Selvaria with a veggies theme.
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"Alright 7's, listen up! I've been given reports of some disturbing treatment toward other squad members."

Varrot's hands stretched the hem of her skirt as Welkin spoke the wrath that should have been hers. All her proud fury roiled for the nights spent dripping wet in an emptied cauldron, and how duty demanded she mask it in a veneer of delight the very next morning. It haunted her, how her twisting of restless sleep in that cramped prison into sounding like the ideal living arrangement brought a grin to Edy. She listened to her lieutenant address the squad, seated around the Command Room's table, and second-guessed herself at not requesting to speak in place of him.

"I like to think of Squad 7 as a family. We have things about us that make each person unique, but we all came together to defend Gallia. What happens to one member of our squad affects everyone. Please, I know you can treat each other better, no matter what your differences. I don't want to have to temporarily dismiss anyone else. Understand, 7's?"

As the current roster of Squad 7 responded affirmative to Lieutenant Gunther, Varrot shifted her discomfort in the seat beside him. Though saved from the cruelties of less respectful squad members, she couldn't shake her defeat, Welkin's command turned into a double-edged sword that swooped in to her rescue at the same time it sheared away the last of her old authority. She could feel the Captain in her long gone, replaced by the subordinate better set to duties of cleaning rooms and serving meals than leading soldiers into battle. She paid her superior the respect he was due, taking mental notes of what he outlined.

"Now then 7's, about our next mission."


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"I look ridiculous."

"Are you insulting my fashion sense?" Rosie said. " C'mon, you look great Elle."

"It doesn't feel right. Nobody wants to see me running around in a skimpy suit. Not at my age."

"I'm not letting you get out of having fun with that age excuse again. You're going to join us for a swim and some beach volleyball. That's an order!"

Alicia added, "Hey, you saw what I was wearing last time, and everything turned out fine."

A pause and a sigh. Varrot struggled with what she was about to do.

"Okay, but... don't laugh," she nervously shuffled around the tank and shyly blushed, casting her gaze aside in a failed attempt to forget the eyes taking in her appearance like a monument of living art. Alicia's bikini hardly compare to the skimpy set adorning her slender frame, her bikini top composed of thin strings banding together the small strips of shiny black that ran like tall, slim triangles. Much of her pale chest showed to the closer-knit members, the tongue-in-cheek order from Rosie soft and uplifting enough that she could fight the urge to hide her subpar figure beside the true beauties of Squad 7. The black cloth of a bikini bottom one size too small wedged so deep that it begged her to pry it loose.

"Do I look... alright?" Varrot sheepishly asked to the leaders of Squad 7 as their eyes bulged at the sight of her. All but one.

"Whoa, look at that sexy lady!" Rosie teased. "Someone should've told her we were here to rest and relax, not model swimsuits for Gallian Girl."

"...I think I'll go change."

"Rosie!" Alicia chastised. "You know she feels very sensitive about her body. Don't make me dunk you in the water like last time."

"Don't lose your top like last time!"

"You were the one who untied the back."

"I gave it back to you, didn't I?"

"Oh, you are so going in the water," she gave chase as Rosie sprinted toward the shoreline.

"You'll have to catch me first!"

Largo's big, hearty smile prefaced his thoughts. "You look stunning, Elle. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

She blushed, forming circles in the sand with her big toe in a shy downward gaze, when a mysterious flash of light blinded her.

"Out of my way boys, the news doesn't take a vacation," Ellet lowered her camera and beamed to Varrot. Her green bikini was more modest in taking after the style of Alicia's, camera strap slung over her shoulder and down the middle of her chest. This left her camera resting at her left hip, all while her green cap held snugly on top of her short, wavy blonde hair. "Miss Varrot. Can I call you Elle? Elle, I've been trying to schedule an interview with you for months and had a hell of a time tracking you down. Any chance we can set up an interview for later?"

"Sure," Varrot said, dazzled by blips of color. Before she could truly grasp what she was getting herself into, she agreed to a time and day proposed by the intrepid reporter.

"It's a date! You kids have your fun, I'm going to write a new report. Save room for me for some volleyball when I come back."

As the last spots cleared, Varrot tried to understand the swell of pride she felt at Ellet lumping her in with girls fifteen years younger than her. She felt renewed, refreshed, a sense of youth doing away with the ache in her joints and soreness of her muscles. She heard the call for volleyball and bounded over as Rosie and Alicia set up the net.


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"Aww, Elle. You didn't have to make all these veggie dishes for me."

"I made everyone's favorite meals," Varrot said to the bear of a man.

"Yeah, but you know that you don't have to wait on me."

"What if I WANT to wait on you? Hmm?" she purred, leaning into him with her cleavage hovering below Largo's eyes. Something about the atypical hesitation marked all over his face drove her wild. She hefted her chest higher, granting him a better view as her glasses slipped to the tip of her nose.

"Whoa, Elle, hang on a minute. We're still at the beach. The kids might find us."

"Let them find us."

She slipped her bikini bottom to her ankles and straddled him, her hands pressed against the tank at each side of his head. For all of Largo's worry, she last saw the others far down the shore collecting seashells, and the high rock walls around them assured freedom from voyeurs. A teasing smile had the effect she craved, Largo's strong, rough hands gripping her hips while he gave a wide grizzly grin. She waited patiently as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, dazzling her with the enormous size of his meaty shaft. Her descent onto it was halted unexpectedly when Largo held her stick still by her sides.

"Wait. If we're gonna do this, I wanna give you a taste of the power of veggies."

Perplexed, Varrot traced his movements, from opening a container, to pulling back a cup of her bikini top, to pouring its contents and giving a firm pat before moving to the next.

"Mmm, corn," she teasingly moaned as Largo squished it against her breasts. She impaled herself on his rod with ease, his girth stretching her channel as the soft squeezes he made to her mamms reminded her of the gentle charmer that dwelled beyond his gruff exterior. Her pubic hair stood on end as if extending her arousal past her wet folds. She moved in perfect rhythm with Largo's upward momentum, making up for the loss of speed by taxing her well-trained muscles to their brink in violent bucks down to his base. Able to feel him penetrate deeper than the longest strap-on brandished by Jane, her eyes shot open and she looked at Largo with an intimate glint.

"Don't you dare stick that inside me," Varrot said.

"C'mon Elle, have a little more faith in me than that," Largo grinned, circling the outer rim of her puckered anus with the carrot's tip. He challenged her with a rough ram against her, sending Varrot into a moan that echoed from the rock wall behind her.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, releasing when the pace slowed. "How dare you take me by surprise. What if the others heard?"

"I thought you didn't care if they found us?" He grinned at Elle's pout. "How about this. If I get you to do that again, I get to insert this carrot. And if you win... I'll, sit down and read a book you pick for me."

"Deal." She purred, ravenously coaxing him as she forcefully ground her pussy down to the base of his strained member.

"Whoa, Elle, easy! Don't injure this old man, I still have a war to fight."

"They can fight without you for a few weeks," she teased. "Think of all the special treatment you'll get. You. Me. A bed. Three weeks. Alone."

The ragged panting that disjointed Varrot's line of thought into fragments pitched Largo into excitement rather than confusion, his sack twitching as he felt his seed flow through the narrow passage of his urethra. She seemed to sense his coming orgasm and pumped herself into a fury to catch up, bouncing like a pogo stick in hot, sweaty lust. She dripped for the tip of her nose to the ends of her soft pubic hairs, the setting sun's glow making her hair appear to shimmer in unnatural hues of yellow and pink. They came in unison, Varrot collapsing into the burly arms of her man. They laid there, silent, reveling in awe at their union. They could have laid together endlessly, though a familiar voice broke the scene, calling out from the distance.

"Hey! Largo, Elle, where are ya?"

"Rosie's calling for us..." Varrot smiled and groaned, forcing herself to lean back into a straddle.

"I guess this means you won our little wager, eh?" Largo re-dressed.

With a flirtatious wink, Varrot did what Largo least expected of her. Taking the carrot in hand, she winced and let it embed deep as it could without doing harm, the bushy green end dangling out and cum dribbling from her battered groin as she fit her bikini bottom back into place. "We'll call it our own love charm."

"Does this mean I turned you on to the power of veggies?" He asked, re-zipping his pants.

"You certainly turned me on, but to the power of veggies..."

"Hey you two love birds!" Rosie said as she rounded the back of the tank. "Think I can snatch Elle away for the night?"

Rather than answer, Varrot leaned in and gave Largo a peck on the cheek, stepping gingerly to Rosie as she teased Largo one last time with the sexy swagger of her hips.


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"It's all about how you present yourself," Rosie said.

"This is the kind of dress for a woman with your figure. Not mine," Varrot answered.

They looked almost like sisters, dressed in the same extravagant and racy style. Varrot stood in front of the mirror, obsessing over the backless cocktail dress that bypassed the usual neckline and plunged all the way down to a few inches past her navel. The straps started thin around the neck and thickened toward her waist, the under-curve of her unsupported bosom evident by the gaps in both the sides and middle of the black garment. Its long skirt split at the sides of her legs for freedom of movement, red elbow gloves adorning her arms, her hair unbound from its bun to cascade down her shoulders in lightly gelled and teased-out perfection.

Despite Rosie's support, Varrot could swear that she herself looked more like a drowned rat rather than the ravenous beauty that was her friend when Rosie dressed in classy, elegant style. The dress' red color brought out the vibrance of Rosie's heady-perfumed red hair, her ruby lipstick a more natural fit for her features. Likewise, Rosie's black elbow gloves better matched her earrings and collar as a set of complementary colors.

"You look gorgeous. Trust me."

"I'm going to look so foolish. You know I can't sing. I don't have a voice like yours. When people hear me..."

"Get off it. You'll sound great, just remember to put your heart in it." No sooner had Rosie said that, her introduction rang out loud enough that the echo followed backstage. "You hear that? It's time for you to go out there and dazzle them."

"I... I don't want to humiliate myself on stage."

"Hey. I'm here for you, okay Elle? I won't let that happen." Keenly noting Varrot's uncertainty, Rosie rubbed her shoulders. "I'm only asking you to do this to help you ease up after the past couple months. If you don't feel comfortable, we can leave."

Varrot retreated inward, the cheer from the bar's audience compelling her to the stage. She reflected on the then and now, the months of nameless, faceless service as a nobody and the opportunity to be recognized outside the function she served. When she smiled, her reflection brought the dazzle Rosie promised she could. She was convinced.

"I can't leave. My audience awaits." A smile and nod from Rosie gave the last inkling of confidence she needed to move from the relative comfort of backstage to the buzzing anticipation of stage right. She gave Rosie a final glance back and stepped out into the spotlight, dress shimmering from the hot glow. She did a quick spin when she reached the microphone and faced her audience, the claps and whistles at her mere presence making her heart pound as a slight faintness overtook her.

The audience quelled their own uproarious outbursts when the piano introduced a simple sweet melody to cue her song. From the very first note, she steeled herself for a rain of boos, some part of her even expecting the unrealistic cliche of tomatoes flying toward the stage as a sign to stop torturing the crowd with her atrocious sense of tone. The foreboding threat slowly morphed to a calm ease and passion as she belted out the next lines with all she had. She could see in everyone part of what enraptured Rosie to the stage, the mysticism and electrifying atmosphere of performing before a crowd of people bring her a form of self-respect she'd never known.

"I knew you could do it."

Rosie listened to the soothing, if slightly off-key, singing of her captain turned maid-squire, her real joy coming in the sight of Varrot so happy and carefree. The months seemed to melt off her, the flood of stage light unveiling tiny details that ordinarily escaped the human eye. Rosie admired everything from the fine strands of Varrot's black hair to how the small dress held tight like a second skin, the straps of Varrot's dress almost invisible at her angle with their pink...

"Oh no..."

Varrot grinned at the loud round of applause from the audience as she finished her song, bowing to the chants for an encore. All the while, she ignored how her dress' loose fit made her bosom shift forward, accompanied by an awkward stinging as the dress' straps dug into her deep cleavage. She could swear to the huge weight lifted off her, cool air wafting away some of the heat that she'd felt rushing through her chest.

"I guess I could give an en-" she said into the microphone, cut off as Rosie bore her way in front of her.

"There will be no encore tonight," Rosie said, answered with collective boos.

Hearing the calls for more from her adoring fans, Varrot pushed ahead of Rosie, covered the microphone and whispered back to her.

"Rosie, it's okay." Her face fell to a blank slate, then screwed into eyebrow-raised confusion when she felt Rosie's hands pressing against her chest. Her initial outrage drained out as she started to pick up on something a little too worryingly unusual, something she refused to admit to herself until she heard it from Rosie's own red lips.

"Elle, your breasts have been exposed since you started singing."

She looked down and immediately wrapped her arms around her chest, face flushing beet red as she stumble-rushed stage left as fast as she could in her black high heels. Through the mind-deafening stir of embarrassment, she heard Rosie speak into the microphone.

"Wardrobe malfunction."

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"I'm not a whore," Varrot sulked and took another swig of the bottle. After taking her fill of another gulp, she reached toward the wine glass in Rosie's hand and turned her arm to pour, certain of her impeccable aim as it splashed onto her host's chest. Though the bottle's steady draining sapped its weight, she lost her grip with the last drops that splattered out, watching as it harmlessly bounced on the mattress. "Hehe... oopsh..."

"What're ya tryin to do, ruin my dressh?" Rosie gruffly said in a similar drunken slur as she slipped the straps of her dress down and removed it with all the charm of a wrecking ball. Nude but for her elbow gloves, she threw her dress at a chair.

The lush hotel room came with fluffed red pillows, lacy pink trim around the bed, romantic candles they'd lit on entering and dozens of rose petals strewn across the blanket. The bubbly scent spritzed on the furniture of the lovers' suite pleasantly overpowered the aroma from Rosie's choice of perfume. Though closed, beyond the window's curtains splayed a view of the lakeside and a distant mountain where the sun's rays off the horizon were said to drive all who stayed in the room to wild passion in the undeniable throes of true love.

All were details of the room's history that meant little to the girls' ears. For the longest time, they had listened to the hotel clerk prattle on about the room's purpose, ungraciously stalling them in their half-drunk bliss. Through much effort, they at last obtained a key and stumbled up the stairs, events stringing together to bring them resting beside each other on the large bed.

"I'm not a whore," Varrot ignored Rosie's last comment, repeating the line that led her to this surreal experience for the first time in her life.

"You're not a whore," Rosie said. "I'm tellin' ya, wardrobe malfuncshuns happen all the time."

Scatter-brained, she jumped to another thought current. "When do I get drunk?"

"Wine takesh a while."

"Oh." Varrot said dully, then blinked and giggled as her eyes fell on Rosie's chest. "You have the nishest set of boobs."

"No you do."

"Your nipples look like cherries. Mine look like..." Varrot tugged the straps to the outside and squinted, "uhh...."

"Yoursh are like..." Rosie strained hard to think, "...boobs! Wait, your boobs already are boobs."

Varrot smiled, "You have, such, a way with words. Here, take a better looksie." Taking after her host, Varrot yanked the dress off and threw it on top of Rosie's. Her glasses had long since been discarded to the floor along with a couple more wine bottles they'd procured from room service.

Rosie added, "Itsh not all about boobs. Some of it'sh about the pussy."

"I bet, your vaggy tastes like cherries."

"What are ya, a lesbo?" Rosie half-denigrated with a flirty smile. "What are ya waitin for? My pussy ain't gonna taste itself."

A drunken hint was still a hint. Varrot crawled down the bed and pressed her face between Rosie's wide-open legs, her mouth wrapping around Rosie's soft, delicately groomed tuft of red. Her tongue snaked through the freshly shampooed hairs until, after much sloppy rummaging, it found the entrance to her inner folds and pushed forth. Her corporal's hand to the back of her head gave her a strong enough boost of encouragement that she mashed herself in best as she could to reach deeper, poking at spots that made Rosie writhe and moan in ecstacy. A part of her knew to take it with pride when Rosie switched to pinning her head in with two neatly folded legs, boxing her from making any plans of escape until she'd fully satisfied her superior like a good maid-squire.

The quake of orgasm was a common experience to her now after the months of service to women like Jane, but the juices to gush out from her corporal's rosy loins brought refreshingly sweet nectar. Every glass of wine she'd had that night paled to the delicacy flowing to her mouth, a treat she slurped and swallowed until she found herself licking every inch of Rosie's folds for the barest traces of what she'd taken as her new favorite meal. As she felt Rosie's legs loosen, Varrot crawled up her corporal's body and joined her in a two-sided embrace, lying to her partner's left and resting a hand on Rosie's outermost buttock in perfect mimicry. Her own pink nipple pressed against Rosie's, Varrot listened with all of her wits she could gather.

"How do I taste?" Rosie asked.

"Find out... for yourself..." She moved in without warning and put her lips against Rosie's, worming a tongue in to give her corporal a chance to know the sensuous wonder hidden below.

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"Rats, I knew I forgot something. I have to go to the store for some milk, can you watch Hans and take the bread out when it's done?"

"Yes, Sergeant Melchiott."

"Call me Alicia," she smiled. "I'll be back as fast as I can."

Varrot waved to her as she left and glanced down at the pet porcavian idly flapping its little wings. His sad, beady eyes entreated her. At the sound of his weak moinks, a constant mewl of despair for his adoptive mother, she couldn't resist her heart's yearning to kneel down and pet him.

"Shh, don't be sad. Alicia will be back soon," she soothed Hans, torn at how he hung his head low. Her concern for the pet consumed her thoughts so thoroughly that it took the ding of a timer to remind her of her other assigned task. Gently winding down her soft stroke down his back, she took the oven mitts from their resting spot and donned them, opening the oven door. She grasped the edges of the bread pan and pulled it from the oven fire, kicking the door shut and turning toward the far counter. Hans ran circles around her feet in her walk to set the pan down somewhere safe, his wings leaving tiny gusts around her ankles... around her knees... under her....

"Mooooooooi-oink!"

"Hans!" Her skirt blew upward as the porcavian rounded her torso, baring her lacy white panties as he flew higher. Hands occupied by the hot breadpan, she maintained her pace toward the counter that looked farther and farther away with Hans impeding her movement. She parted her elbows when Hans rose up between her arms, his stubby snout twitching in plain view of her before he drifted closer, stretching the low-cut midriff of her dress.

"Get out of there! That's no place for a porcavian!" she protested, reminded of the many times he snuck his way into Alicia's uniform and Isara's shawl. Their many attempts to re-train him against such behavior always failed, though they managed to pull him out immediately after he found his way there.

It seemed she would be the first to discover what would happen if he went unrestrained. It began as a curious wetness around her nipple seconds after he had nestled himself lazily into the front of her dress like a small hammock. The wetness turned to a soft tickle and twinge. Her dense fog of confusion lifted when the steady suction made her dark nubs stiffen, hands shaking a couple feet from her goal.

"Hans! Bad boy!" The relatively simple task turned into an agonizing trial, chest flushing with pink. Hans' muffled moinks escaped through the sides of his tiny mouth between dregs, and Varrot did her best to ignore milk beginning to dribble from her breast.

Standing over the counter, she loosened her grip on the pan and let it drop, the bread bouncing up an inch. Upon dropping back into the nearest wooden chair, she reached in and grabbed Hans' sides, about to tug him out of her dress... and couldn't go further. A trail of pleasure pulsed from her nipple into the base of her chest, the little porcavian greedily slurping a meal, and awkward though it was, she couldn't find the heart to pry him from the comfort of her bosom. She sat still, stroking his head, telling herself it would be just this once that the squad mascot would get a chance to nestle there.

"Hey, I'm back!"

Varrot bolted upright when the door burst open, her twin-tailed superior briskly walking in and setting the milk on the counter. Caught off-guard, she held Hans from underneath through the fabric, trying to find the words to explain herself when she heard Alicia giggle.

"I see Hans found his way inside your dress," Alicia said. "Isn't he cute when he's resting there?"

Varrot blinked. "I thought you and Isara didn't like it when he did this?"

"You know guys, we don't want to give them the wrong idea." She looked on the sight with intrigue, unaware of what took place within. "You know... I can't watch him all the time. Do you think you can take care of him when I can't?"

Her eyes cast down, Varrot lifted Hans out of her dress when she felt him extract his mouth from her bright, puffy pink nipple. She set him down and nodded to Alicia, watching the porcavian trot to his adoptive mother. A couple drops of milk wetted her black top, forgotten by her as her superior went to the breadpan and began to cut slices.

One by one, Alicia took the steaming warm bread and laid it onto a ceramic plate. With the plate loaded with her latest baked treat, she set it down and took a glass, pouring newly purchased milk. It splashed and frothed, rising to a few inches below the brim. A light shove brought it next to the maid-squire, who looked up at her gracious host.

"Have some bread!" Alicia smiled.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"Shush, you deserve it. Go on, take a bite."

Glimpsing the happy glow on Alicia's face, Varrot chose not to disappoint her and took a slice from the plate. Raised to her mouth, she opened and took a bite.

"Mmmm..." she couldn't help but moan, the taste washing over her tongue like a waterfall of luscious spices. Every chewing motion brought a huff of delight, her face beginning to flush with her chest as she swallowed her very first bite.

"Do you like it?" Alicia asked, squeezing her hands in anticipation. She listened intently, the wait to hear the critique of her valued former commander feeling almost eternal. A tiny squeak that suggested a coming assessment made her heart skip, watching with bated breath as her taste tester sidestepped the question entirely to take another huge chunk from her offered meal.

Something about the taste and texture brought a peculiar reaction from her outermost layers to the very core of who she was. Politeness in answering Alicia's question felt frivolous next to devouring the small feast. Slice after slice, she chomped and churned and gulped, itching and aching with the fire of desire coursing through her veins. She fanned her face as her skin grew clammy, a dampness making the cups of her dress and the white linen of her panties cling tighter to her in form-fitting majesty. Her stomach began to bulge with the excess meal, licking the spices off her slender digits as a stunned Alicia looked on.

"I... I guess it's safe to say you like it?"

She was aware of what Alicia had to say and couldn't stop herself from gorging on the delicacy to answer, a deep need overcoming her that surpassed any form of ravenous hunger she'd ever known. She allowed her chest to breathe by pulling the front of her dress out, unknowingly providing the standing Alicia a clear view of her naked breasts, skin positively glowing as the sun's yellow rays seemed to reflect some of their luster off her hair.

Her hand pressing against her soft endowments, Varrot shuddered as she felt pleasure explode in that from the seat of her sex. "MmmmOOOOOOH this is the best bread I've ever had."

Alicia blinked.

As she started to slump from her high, Varrot came back to her wits, and the past ten minutes came back to her in a rush. She tugged her skirt down and shifted upright in her seat, head bowed as she spoke as properly as she was able.

"Ahem. That was, without question, the best bread I have ever had the pleasure of tasting."

"Uhh..."

"I must be excused." Rising from the chair, Varrot made her way toward the door... but not without turning back and snatching a few more slices from the plate.

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The knock shook the general's wooden door.

"Come in," he said, a wisp of grey hair his first indication that Lieutenant Welkin had come to report to him. Without Eleanor Varrot as a Captain, it fell to him to oversee the meat shields in the militia in addition to the true pride of Gallia's military. He bade his new guest to shut the door and waited as the lieutenant approached.

"General Damon, Maid-Squire Varrot has been missing for three days. Everyone in Squad 7 is concerned for her well-being. I'm here to ask if you might know anything, maybe when you last saw her."

"How the hell should I know where she went?" The general said. "She always gave me an attitude when I gave her a new order. Maybe she decided to become a deserter and run out on fighting for Gallia's independence."

Welkin's sense of loyalty and righteousness called for him to defend his former captain and fellow squad member, but the chain of command forced him to subdue it. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three days ago, out in the training field with the new recruits. Is that all? I have plans to draft for the next battle."

"Yes, General Damon."

"Good, then get out of here. When you find Varrot, make sure you give her a good punishment for trying to leave the army without being discharged. Dismissed."


He saluted back to Lieutenant Gunther, noting the worn trace of a scowl in the lieutenant's countenance. As he watched Welkin leave, Damon requested the man lock the door on his way out, a simple matter to which he followed through. Free of the intrusion, Damon scribbled out the last details of his plan, lounged back and sighed, looking down past his bulge of stomach fat.

"Aren't you touched? The members in your squad of yokels are worried about you."

The fierce, defiant glare in Varrot's eyes hadn't once diminished in the past few days, though the bob of her head and the caressing lick of her tongue on his shaft had improved vastly. He recalled the way she crinkled her nose the first time he ordered her to get on her knees under his desk and take his manhood into her mouth. He also remembered that with each time she performed the task, she took to it quicker... more eagerly, like a good servant should act when allowed to do what her master demands. The face she put on in front of him was one he could judge acutely as that of a liar, her trembling eyebrows and crimson face used as a cover to hide how much she loved her new station.

He held her in by the bun at the back of her head as he seized up in one final burst, his member pulsing out thick spurts of cum past her soft, cock-sucking lips. For the first time, Varrot didn't gag at the onrush, a sign that her weak little mouth had unlocked new potential. With his erection feeding Varrot part of her daily protein diet, Damon patted her on the head and ogled how her low squat made her high heels press her ass cheeks outward. Giving the maid-squire a spirited leer, he directed her to remove herself from him, an act that immediately led to Varrot opening it again to yap.

"General Damon, I-"

He grinned at how he expertly cut off the start of always useless words that poured from Varrot's mouth, one of the last spurts of his seed splashing her clean across the face. He angled his last downward to coat her milky tits, her nipples giving off an almost unnatural glow of their pink goodness. It worked as a temporary distraction, but inevitably, the maid-squire overcame it and spoke.

"General Damon, with all due respect, I would never desert Gallia in her time of need, and I detest having my reputation tarnished."

"Would you feel better if I told him you spent the past three days cleaning my cock like a good maid? I can bring him back and you can show him your good work for yourself." He grinned at how hard she tried to hide her arousal at the suggestion behind a harsher glare. "Next time you see him, you can make up some story about how you got lost in the woods, or got carried away having an orgy, or whatever else you think of."

He could see in the silent mumbles of Varrot's mouth that she wanted to talk back to him, but lacked the resolve to entice him into giving her another order. What eeked out was decidedly weaker than what he knew she was thinking.

"May I take my leave, General Damon?"

"Not yet. That ass of yours looks like it needs the ol' Damon touch. Don't you agree?"

"...Yes sir," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Yes sir!"

Her eyes said 'no', but her creamy smooth behind beckoned for him to test it. As Varrot slunk up from under his desk, he commanded her to turn away, his cum guaranteed to thin out across the maid-squire's body long before it ever had a chance to stain his uniform. Flaccid, he made Varrot stroke him back to erection, treated with her lovely bubble butt set before his eyes. Several minutes later, with his bulb poking at the maid-squire's loins, he plunged her anus down on his member and enjoyed the girlish yelp so different from the image of a hard-nosed captain she had maintained through the bulk of her military career. With her rising up and down on his shaft as told, he spoke to her of what was to come.

"Take a look at the plans on my desk, Varrot. What do ya see?"

"I see the Naggiar Plains... battle formations... camps..."

Damon smirked at the lack of thought, or direct advice, on the procedure of the next battle. Months ago, Varrot would have subtly questioned his authority, suggesting a different approach to the one he knew was right.

"That's our next battle against the Empire. We're gonna face them head-on, with the militia taking the front lines. What do ya think Varrot? Don't be bashful in telling me how it's a stroke of genius."

His light snarl as he said her name hinted at the truth he wanted to hear from her lips, and he felt his cock stiffen as she admitted it to his ego.

Varrot grated her teeth as she swallowed back hatred toward Damon and herself at what she was about to say. "It's a great plan, General Damon. You're using the militia as meat shields to wear down the Empire's forces so the real army can claim victory. Taking bullets for the main army is the best way to get the most out of their conscriptions."

"I thought so too, and you get to join them!"

"WHAT?!" Varrot shrieked, coincidentally timed at when Damon gave a harsh thrust into her.

"You know what the militia needs? Motivation! A reason to keep going. You're the woman to do it with that nice body you have."

"General Damon!" she protested, answered with a second thrust that made her wince.

"I sent out for a new uniform for you to wear into battle. With it, I expect you to flaunt your assets and light a fire under those yokels."

"Yes, sir..."

"And take a shower before you go out there. You reek of sex."

He sat back in his chair, smiling to himself as Varrot did all the work in making sure he gave her ass the good pounding it deserved.


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Story codes: M/F, F/F, very light beast, Oral, Cons, N/C, Other (breast suckle, wardrobe malfunction, veggie play, orgasm without touch)