Lukas locked the bathroom door, his heart pounding like a war drum as he leaned against the cool marble sink. The chaos of the past few days—Fira’s soaked pussy grazing his cock, Sylra’s relentless teasing, the whole matchmaking disaster—had left him a walking bundle of hormones. He was alone, finally, and his cock was begging for release. Just a quick one, he thought, unzipping his trousers and freeing his already-hard erection. No one’s gonna know. I’m not hurting anybody. His hand wrapped around his shaft, and his mind dove straight into the filthiest corners of his imagination.

  He pictured Fira, her glistening pussy hovering inches from his cock in the garden, her musky scent filling his senses. In his fantasy, she didn’t stop—she sank onto him, her tight heat swallowing his length as she moaned like a siren. His strokes quickened, precum slicking his palm. Then Sylra joined the scene, her cy bck bra barely containing her full breasts, her tail curling around his thigh as she whispered, “Fuck me, Lukas.” His imagination went wild: a threesome with Fira and Sylra, feathers and tail entwined, their bodies writhing against his, pussies dripping as they took turns riding him. Oh, gods, yes, he groaned, his hand pumping furiously, the pressure building until—boom. He came hard, ropes of cum spttering the sink, his knees buckling as he gasped, riding the wave of pleasure.

  Then a sultry voice purred behind him. “Need a hand, darling?”

  Lukas yelped, nearly slipping on the tile as he spun around. Sylra stood there, her crimson eyes glinting with mischief, her bck ce outfit hugging her curves like a second skin. How the hell did she get in here?! Did she teleport? Is this a succubus thing? His face burned hotter than a dragon’s breath, his softening cock still in hand, cum dripping from his fingers. “Sylra! Out!” he shouted, shoving her toward the door with his free hand, his trousers tangled around his ankles. This is it. My life’s over. I’m the guy who got caught jerking off at work.

  Sylra ughed, letting herself be pushed but not before tossing him a teasing wink. “Get to your desk, newbie. We’ve got work to do.” Her tail flicked his ass as she sauntered out, leaving Lukas to his mortification. He scrambled to clean up, wiping the sink with a wad of tissues while muttering, “Why am I cursed? Why?” He yanked his trousers up, zipped them with shaking hands, and shuffled to his desk, feeling like every eye in the agency was judging him. Spoiler: they weren’t. But it sure felt like it.

  Sylra was already there, perched on the edge of his desk, her grin pure evil. “Had fun in there?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement. Lukas’s face went from red to nuclear, and he dove for a subject change like it was a lifeline. “So, uh, what’s going on? Work stuff? Important stuff?” Please don’t mention the bathroom. I’ll pay you in blood.

  Her expression shifted, the teasing repced by a rare seriousness. “This client’s a big deal, Lukas. Daughter of a high-ranking elf noble. We screw this up, we’re not just fired—we’re dead.” She handed him a scroll, her tail still for once. “Her name’s Veyra. Study the elf race. Every detail. One wrong move, and we’re toast.”

  Lukas swallowed hard, his throat drier than a desert. Dead? As in, no-more-Lukas dead? Great. Perfect day for facts. He unrolled the scroll, diving into a crash course on elves: their obsession with grace, their low fertility, their touchy pride. His head spun, the words blurring as he crammed like his life depended on it—because, apparently, it did. After what felt like hours, he slumped back in his chair, dizzy from elf facts. If I read one more thing about their ‘sacred ear etiquette,’ I’m gonna scream.

  The door swung open, and in walked a vision straight out of a fairy tale. Veyra, the elf, was breathtaking—long blonde hair cascading like liquid gold, pointed ears peeking through, and a tall, willowy frame that screamed elegance. Her emerald eyes glittered with disdain, her silk gown clinging to her lithe curves. She radiated beauty and arrogance in equal measure, like a queen who’d already decided you were beneath her. “Is this the Harmony Matchmaking Agency?” she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut gss.

  Lukas snapped upright, recognizing her from the scroll’s description. Yup, that’s Veyra. And I’m already sweating. Sylra, shockingly, was dressed like an actual professional—her usual bra-and-panties combo repced by a modest, flowing dress that still somehow made her look like sex on legs. When did she even change? Is she magic? Both stood, bowing slightly. “Lady Veyra,” Lukas said, his voice only mostly cracking. “Welcome. I’m Lukas, your Matchmaker, and this is Sylra, my… colleague.” Who saw my dick ten minutes ago. Normal day.

  Veyra’s lip curled, her tone dripping with contempt. “This interracial marriage decree is an insult to elven purity. But the emperor insisted I come, whining about our ‘extinction risk.’ Elves conceive rarely, and our desires are… refined. I’m here under protest.” She flicked her hair, dismissing them like they were stray dust motes.

  Lukas nodded, channeling “professional” despite his brain screaming, Don’t screw this up, or it’s guillotine time! “Of course, Lady Veyra. Let’s find you a match. I’ll start with profiles for humans, orcs, and some unique races.” He spread out scrolls, diving into his pitch. “Humans are passionate, their stamina impressive, though they can be clingy. Orcs are strong, their… vigor unmatched, but they’re intense. Gnomes are creative, great with their hands, but their size might be a challenge.” He listed pros and cons, keeping it clinical, but Veyra’s bored expression said she’d rather be anywhere else.

  He tried again, forcing a smile. “What are your preferences, Lady Veyra? Any qualities you value?” Please don’t say ‘impossible unicorn prince.’ I’m begging you.

  Veyra’s eyes narrowed, her voice icy. “I require a partner of unmatched intellect, physical perfection, and magical prowess. Someone who’s mastered at least three ancient arts, speaks twelve nguages, and has a lineage purer than starlight. Oh, and they must be taller than me.” She smirked, daring him to fail.

  Lukas blinked, his brain short-circuiting. Is she serious? That’s not a partner; that’s a mythical superhero! He scrambled, offering races that came close—high elves for intellect, centaurs for stature, even a rare dragonkin for magic—but Veyra shut each down with a sneer. “This is an insult,” she snapped, her voice slicing through the room. “You think these lesser beings are worthy of me?”

  Before Lukas could stammer an apology, Sylra moved like a cat, yanking his trousers down in one swift tug. His cock sprang free, half-hard from residual bathroom thoughts, dangling in the open air. Lukas froze, his face a mask of horror. “Sylra, what the fuck?!” he yelped, his voice hitting soprano. Veyra’s eyes widened, her composure cracking. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, though her gaze flicked to Lukas’s crotch.

  Sylra pointed at his cock like it was exhibit A in a courtroom. “This, Lady Veyra, gets very rge. A real showstopper.” Lukas wanted to die. She’s pimping out my dick? I’m a matchmaker, not a stud horse! Veyra arched a brow, skeptical, but Sylra was undeterred. She stepped closer, her fingers wrapping around Lukas’s shaft with a practiced touch, stroking him with slow, deliberate precision. His cock betrayed him instantly, swelling to its full, impressive size, the head glistening with precum as it throbbed in her grip. Lukas groaned, torn between pleasure and wanting to vanish forever. This is my life now. Public handjobs for elf nobles.

  Veyra’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of interest crossing her face, but she shook her head. “Impressive, perhaps, but not for me. I’m not here for… human anatomy lessons.” Her tone was dismissive, but her gaze lingered a second too long. Lukas, stung by the rejection, yanked his trousers up, his face burning. Great. My dick’s not even good enough for a snobby elf. New low.

  Sylra’s eyes gleamed with a reckless idea. “Lady Veyra, hear me out. Come with us to a brothel. You can see how different races… connect, firsthand. It’ll help you decide what you want.” Veyra’s jaw dropped, her face twisting with offense. “A brothel? You dare suggest such filth?” Lukas cringed, expecting elven lightning to strike them dead, but Sylra pressed on, her voice smooth as silk. “It’s research, my dy. No commitment, just observation. You’ll see what sparks your interest—safely, discreetly. The emperor wants results, not excuses.”

  Veyra’s eyes narrowed, her pride warring with curiosity. After an agonizing pause, she sighed, tossing her hair. “Fine. But if this is a waste of my time, you’ll regret it.” She swept toward the door, leaving Lukas and Sylra to exchange a gnce—his of sheer panic, hers of triumphant mischief.

  Lukas trailed after them, his mind a whirlwind. A brothel? With an elf who hates me and a succubus who just jerked me off in public? I’m not surviving this. Sylra’s tail flicked his thigh as she passed, her grin promising more chaos. He groaned, wondering how his life had gone from matching lovers to leading a noble to a sex show.