Beholden and trapped, Jawad had never felt more alive in his life. A whimper left his mouth as the incarnation of beauty sat on his lap. He wanted to struggle, to feel such a divine body, but the ebony goddess had him locked. Her thighs, so powerful yet malleable, had him in the greatest of yokes.

  "Answers first, pleasure later," she sang with a sweet voice. The warm sounds coming out of her fleshy lips almost made him come.

  "Y-yes…" He responded absentmindedly.

  "First, tell me about yourself," the goddess inquired as she circled her finger around his nipple. He tried looking downwards at her exposed body, but she removed her finger and lifted his chin. "Be a good boy and answer me. Are you or are you not a good boy?"

  Her voice was laced with age and wisdom, her words made him feel young again. Always he had preferred to lead the conversation, but now he understood the pleasure of being led.

  "Y-yes…" He whimpered in submission. "I'm a good boy."

  "Then answer." The goddess' voice was cold, yet that frigidness only excited him more. In retribution, she grabbed his neck and put pressure on it. "Now."

  "My name is Jawad," he complied with her orders. Now that he was following her commands, her eyes shone even brighter, and he felt more pleasure. "I w-work here…"

  Ah, too much pleasure. It was hard for him to think.

  Smack! He jolted into consciousness as the goddess slapped him. Now he discovered the pleasures of not only being led but also receiving pain.

  "Jawad, I need you to focus." It was impossible to focus, especially after she had chanted his name so beautifully. He wanted to hump her, but his legs were pressed underneath her glorious, uncovered thighs and he had long lost sensation in his arms.

  "W-what would my fair lady want to know?" Oh, those emerald eyes. He could lose himself in those gemstones for eternity.

  "What do you do here, Jawad?" She caressed the cheek she had slapped; the tenderness following the roughness was making him go crazy.

  "I s-supervise the movement of merchandise in the warehouse," the assassin explained. "We load and unload products brought by the freight trains…"

  "Now, now, Jawad," she whispered. "We all know that is the official story but be a good boy and tell me about your real job."

  "O-of course, my gorgeous lady," he moaned. "We are assassins, our brothers and sisters lead an operation to bring the slaves from Tecolata brought into the fjords through the freight trains. There are no commercial lines between the fjords and historic Ydaz, so it makes the transfer of goods easier."

  "Is this operation illegal? Are these slaves certified by your dear Calipha?"

  "The only one dear to me is you, my sublime lady."

  The goddess frowned and pressed her finger into his thigh, her nail cut easily through the fabric of his trousers, but it didn't stop there, and easily drew blood.

  "You know what I meant," she responded with disgust. Denigration was also pleasurable. "Answer my question."

  "The Calipha certainly allows slavery, but only criminal one… before we can sell these slaves, we have to forge papers certifying their crimes."

  "You are resourceful ones, eh?"

  "Thank you, my ravishing lady."

  She pressed harder on her nail until it cut through the flesh of his thigh and reached the bone. He wanted to look down but was forced to look at her lovely visage the whole time. Nevertheless, the pleasure was too much for him to handle.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Ah…" Jawad moaned.

  "Did you just…" The goddess sniffed and gagged. "Oh, great heavens!"

  The ebony beauty blessed him with nectar in the form of vomit. There had never been before such a glorious shower.

  "Oh…" She seethed and wiped her lips. "There should be slaves here brought a few days ago. Where are they now?"

  "They should already be in Sadina, my magnanimous lady," Jawad licked the nectar that had dropped on his lips, causing her to gag. "There had been difficulties, but their papers were already done, so they should be picking up cotton now next to the Tree."

  "I see…" The goddess looked at him with contempt and stood up. Before he could say anything, she pushed his chair to the ground. "Enjoy this, this is the last time you will enjoy the touch of a woman, you absolute scum."

  She pressed her naked foot against his face.

  There is nothing better than strong booze whilst smoking, or at least that was what Yusuf liked to think. He was enjoying himself in Othman's bar down the 17th Avenue. Booze, a smoke, and solid music from the on-site pianist. There was nothing better than that.

  Some of his brethren considered his position boring as he had to sit all day on a stool drinking vodka and smoking tobacco, but he was a simple man, and he needed nothing more than that.

  He was the relay of the local branch of the Order, meaning that he was open to the telepathic messages of his fellow assassins. Most people didn't enjoy smoking twelve hours a day, but this was life for him. And what a great life!

  Technically speaking, he didn't need to drink the vodka, but night turns got really boring really fast. Most people here were drunk, so he felt obliged to accompany them. From time to time, he dropped a drupnar on the pianist gal to keep her playing. He was trying to woo her, but no matter how many coins she dropped on her, she never gave him a sneaky peek.

  She was lucky he liked them difficult.

  Her name was Nadine – or something like that – and Yusuf loved how she wore work clothes like the other drunkards coming out of the factory. Women were so hot in shirts and suspenders.

  From time to time, he puked and Nadine gave him some glances, but he knew the woman loved it. Who didn't love a man who was on his ninth pack of cigarettes and second bottle of vodka for the night?

  Becoming an assassin was the best thing that had happened to him. He was paid for all his expenses and even more.

  If he had one more wish besides keeping his current life, it was that Nadine's fingers weren't touching the piano's keys, but his own. Heh.

  Then, light.

  "Huh?" Yusuf looked around, but the bar remained as normal.

  In any case, his sudden head movements attracted attention. Othman took his bottle away whilst he wasn't looking. The assassin scowled at the bartender, but he considered the action a blessing in disguise. He needed a clear mind to understand what had just happened.

  He lit another cigarette and bit some other tobacco leaves. He needed as much emphatic connection as possible. What he had sensed had come from his mind and not from the bar.

  It was difficult to focus with the imperious intoxication on his mind. Tobacco may damage the lungs more than anything else, but all the nicotine had turned his brain into mush by now. That or those two bottles of vodka.

  Likely both.

  Yusuf's consciousness slipped into the world of ideas. The sounds of the bar slipped into nothingness as sound didn't linger in this realm, not as much as the unspoken thoughts of the other men drinking, at least.

  Alcohol bolstered the voices of the drunkards too much and the cacophony almost split his head open, but he was used to these pre-hangover hangovers. His mind shook and screamed, but his will remained unmoving.

  Or at least until he saw it.

  Emerald roots grew into the realm of thoughts on the horizon, on the outskirts of the city, where their warehouse was.

  The vibrant color was shocking, especially because the world of ideas only allowed grey and cyan colors. Such presence defied the natural order. However, that was very much clear as the roots threatened to overtake the dominion of thoughts, emerald color or not.

  Then another light. Greater, more potent, more… pleased?

  He finally identified the source as one of his brothers, Jawad. Yusuf saw the red dots of his eyes in the world of ideas surrounded by those blinding emerald roots.

  That's not good, is it? He stood from the bar counter and went to the street. The fresh air hit him like a slap from his wife, but he continued walking to the outskirts.

  Until he was blinded.

  A wave of pleasure coming from Jawad threw him to the ground, and when he looked up, his presence had disappeared from the realm of thoughts. Yusuf tried sending him a signal, but his brother failed to respond. A pang of pain assaulted him after the failed communication attempt, he felt as if his skull was cracking.

  It was then that he noticed the warmth on his visage. He touched the warmth and saw the blood on his fingers. Clumsily he rushed to the storefront of the nearest shop and saw his reflection.

  Blood flowed out of his eyes and nose, yet all he could see was emerald as his sight lingered, no, refused to unlatch from the world of ideas.

  Oh, that's bad. Unconsciousness overtook him.