A tale of artists, intrigue, and the magical renaissance

Twisted Smut 15 – Mia and the Hanging Man {Mia et Tentorium Hominis}

Like most things in Mia’s life, it was incredibly hard to strike the correct balance in the dress she wore. On the one hand, the dresses worn by young ladies of twenty who occupied the Florezian courts were absolutely lovely, and were especially good at highlighting her best features without seeming as though she was flaunting them. On the other hand, should she cover up the tools at her disposal, she risked falling on the other side of the spectrum and looking like a young girl playing at dress ups.

This season’s fashions especially were delightful in their subtlety. The sleeves that only barely revealed her shoulders, the gowns that merely hinted at the presence of her legs, the dip in neckline that almost accidentally suggested the curve of her breasts.

Mia supposed that a part of her should feel bad for using her shoulders, legs, and breasts as tools, but she had enough working against her that she barely felt a hint of conscience. The difficulty was that dressing like a young lady of twenty would make it far easier for others to treat her like a young lady of twenty. The Storm would someday guarantee that a Stormtouched twenty-autumn-old woman would be treated with respect, but that day had certainly not yet arrived.

Thought of as a child either way, the familiar bitterness stung in her chest, a child before all.

The Storm rippled across her scalp and along the nape of her neck, carefully moving things around in her mind. It would only be a few more years that her age-old complaint would begin to stop holding true, certainly less than a decade. It was a problem whose only solution was to smile and outlast it, and soon a few worry-lines and her natural severe expression would erase the desire in others to condescend.

Of course, before that happened, her Stormhearts Rebellion would change things forever, and if King Thesslenario didn’t have her executed she would never be seen as harmless or innocent again.

In the meantime, it’s probably best to enjoy the youth of your body, you’ll lament its absence when it’s gone, said either her Storm or her mind. At this point she could no longer tell the difference, nor did she particularly care. The voice was correct, as always. Mia resolved to avail herself of a new wardrobe of the pretty dresses that would show off her body. Who knew, perhaps it would make some of the stubborn old men of the council more willing to listen to her ideas.

“You’ve been quiet all the way from the stables to the dungeons,” Mi remarked, his frank tone removing any accusations that the words might’ve otherwise carried, “what is occupying your mind?” Mia loved the frankness, the open honesty of a man who would speak the truth to her no matter how it may rankle. To anyone else the girl would’ve had to jump into mental action and spin a lie that cast her in a more wise light, but they were alone in the hallways of the dungeon, and she could speak freely with him.

“I’m thinking about dresses. I think I’m going to acquire a new wardrobe,” she said.

“Ah,” Mi chewed his lip for a few moments. “Hard balance to strike, there. Choosing to go with the youthful allure, to capitalize on the way they already think of you?”

Mia smiled. Her gratitude to the Storm was a millionfold, but second only to the changes in her own mind she appreciated that Mi’s seemed to grow in concert with her own.

“I think I love you, Mi,” she said.

“Mmm, yes,” Mi said, “it would be a tragedy, you having a dolt as an Echo.”

When she turned the corner and came within sight of of the pair of guards at the first set of doors, Mia’s smile brightened, seamlessly moving from the reserved and authentic to the one more commonly recognized by those in the palace. The guard on the left tilted his head to one side, brow furrowing, mouth quirking up into a half smile.

Confused, amused, about to ask for an explanation.

The guard on the right’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced at his companion as if for confirmation. The body language was simple enough for a child to read, and yet it always impressed people when she read it aloud.

“You know who I am,” Mia said cheerfully, pointing at the guard on the right, “but your compatriot has no idea. Please educate him as you open the door for me.”

“It’s that girl, ‘the little one’,” the guard half-whispered as he hastened to unlock the door. Mia briefly considered correcting him, but a correction wouldn’t spread rumors of her. Instead she turned to the man.

“Give me your knife,” she said, nodding toward his belt. The soldier moved in instinctive obedience to the command, but as she had hoped, he paused with his hand on the hilt.

“What-” he began, and Mia took a sudden step forward, closing the distance between the two of them and dropping her voice to a purr.

“I’m accustomed to my commands being obeyed,” she said. The hesitation vanished, and in a few moments Mia was walking the inner halls of the dungeon, fiddling with the handle of the guardsman knife as she went.

The dungeon-keeper knew her well enough that further theatrics weren’t needed, for which she was grateful, although he hesitated with his hand on the door’s handle for a moment, eying the knife in her hands.

“His Majesty wants the rebel kept alive,” he said, tone apologetic.

“I’m aware of his Majesty’s commands,” Mia replied with dignity, “you know me well enough to know I’m quite able to use this without killing him.”

The dungeon-keeper didn’t reply except for a grunt, which was unfortunate, and he followed her into the cell, which was even moreso. The cell was small and stone, and Romolo stood against the wall on the far side, his arms spread and held in place by shackles. The man looked up as she entered, and his eyes widened in recognition.

“You,” he breathed, recoiling as much as he could against the stone wall behind him. His eyes flicked to the dungeon-keeper “why is she here? Why did you let her in here?”

“Leave,” Mia ordered without looking at the dungeon-keeper, making no attempt to hide the excitement in her eyes. He grunted again in response.

“No, no don’t leave me here with her!” Romolo yelled, straining uselessly at his shackles in a sudden wild abandon, “no please, I’ll tell you anything, just don’t let her have me I beg of you!”

The dungeon-keeper paused at the doorway for a half-second, uncertainty written in every line of his frame, and Mia raised a single eyebrow at him until he finally left, shutting the heavy door behind him.

“I’ll make sure he stays out there, or at least that you’ll have a few moments warning if he comes back,” Mi said, stepping through the wall.

When Mia turned back to the prisoner, her eyebrow was still raised.

“Honestly? ‘I beg of you’?” she asked.

“A bit too much?” Romolo chuckled, blowing at the strands of tangled black hair that had fallen into his face from his struggles.

“Too over the top for anyone with half a brain to believe,” Mia smiled and reached out to gently brush the hair behind his ear, letting her fingers linger along his skin for a few moments, “so in this case, perfectly fine.”

“Should I scream a bit to sell it a bit?” Romolo closed his eyes and leaned against her touch.

“No, we’ll leave you a bit bedraggled and have them wonder what I did to keep you quiet.” Mia reached down the front of her dress to procure a small key, purposely moving slowly so that the man could enjoy the amount of skin she revealed in the process. “How are you?”

“I’ve been imprisoned in worse conditions,” Romolo said, his eyes flitting up and down over Mia’s body as she tucked the key between his wrist and the shackle. “The King visits, so they at least take me out to let me bathe and relieve myself.”

Mia wrinkled her nose. “My bodice is halfway down my chest and that’s what you choose to talk about?” she grumbled, “no sense of timing.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Romolo said as she pulled up on her dress to cover the cleavage, “aw, don’t be like that, Mia.”

“You heard Mi, we have at most a few seconds of warning if the dungeon-keeper comes back in, which means I won’t have time to arrange multiple pieces of my dress,” Mia scolded, “if you want me to say goodbye properly, you’ll have to do without the sight of those.”

“Oho?” Romolo’s eyes lit up, his eagerness so transparent that it made her smile, “there’s a ‘proper’ goodbye?”

“Of course, silly thing, this is the last time we’ll see each other in…oh, probably quite a long time.” Mia took a step back to admire the man thoughtfully, her eyes tracing his slim shoulders, his strong chest, the charm in his half-smile and the twinkle in his eye. “And you’ll have to hang there until at least tonight, to keep me from being implicated in your escape. Giving you something to think about in the meantime is the least I can do for you.”

“I think that’s only fair-” Romolo began, but Mia stepped in close and quieted him by pressing her lips against his, leaning forward until the back of his head rested against the stone. In reality her reasons had more to do with enjoying her loyal lieutenant one final time before she had to send him away, but it was hardly a matter she would quibble about.

His tongue flicked gently at her lips, but she kept them closed with a smile, her hands already working at his belt. She knew Romolo well enough to know that he appreciated that which he had to work for. The chains at his wrists jingled as he forgot himself and moved to wrap his arms around her, and Mia kept herself from making a small noise of appreciation at the fact that he had lost himself so quickly.

He was making more of an effort to seduce her now with the limited tools at his disposal, catching her lower lip gently between his teeth, moving his hips to press against hers. Although she knew they didn’t have time to be gentle or work their way up to passion as they typically did, Mia waited just a few moments longer before she relented.

She was rewarded with a moan as her lips parted and his tongue slipped between them, and another a few moments later when her searching fingers slipped beneath his small clothes to wrap around his rod.

“Gods and Storm, Mia,” Romolo gasped as she drew her head back, pushing his pants down to free the already-hard member, “I didn’t realize how much I needed you.”

“You’ve been locked up for a day, dramatic boy,” Mia chuckled, feeling the throb of his pulse between her fingers. She moved her thumb in gentle circles over the head of his cock, smiling at the gasp her actions drew from him.

“Two days too long,” he breathed, and Mia frowned even as she began stroking his shaft with the same gentle grip.

Is he really so susceptible to seduction? she mused, leaning in to run her small pink tongue across his neck to hide her concerned face from him. Should I have someone leave with him, to keep an eye on him lest he talk too much to the next girl who catches his fancy?

She pushed the thought away as he whimpered in her ear. They had gone longer than two days without sleeping together, he was clearly just trying to catch her fancy, make her feel needed and special.

“What thoughts are flying behind those grey eyes of yours?” Romolo murmured.

“That I can’t let you leave without tasting it again,” Mia lied without even thinking about it, and she smiled as his member twitched in her hand at the words.

“I wouldn’t think of depriving you,” he said eagerly, and Mia let out a soft, affectionate chuckle. She would miss the man, she reflected as her kisses went lower, down along his collarbone, against the fabric that covered his chest, down his abs. He was attractive, personable, useful, even smart enough in his own way.

She placed a kiss on the base of his shaft, and Romolo sighed with pleasure, the sound far different from the actual noises he made.

And he knows enough to keep me feeling appreciated, Mia thought as she leaned back and flicked her tongue across the tip of his cockhead. There it was, the half-hiss that meant she had hit the exact place he wanted her. She smiled as she repeated the gesture more slowly, then swirled her tongue in circles around his head, letting her saliva collect on the tip of it so that when she drew back and looked up at him a strand of drool would trail from her lips and chin to his member.

“I don’t-” he began, and Mia chose that moment to open her mouth wide and take his whole length into her mouth. Romolo bit his lip hard to cut back the sound he would otherwise make, and Mia pushed even further, focusing on not gagging as she took all of him down her throat.

His hips bucked, but she moved along with them, not giving him the satisfaction of moving at the pace he needed, instead drawing back so that only the very tip rested on her tongue.

“Please,” the man panted, and Mia tilted her head questioningly, the gesture innocent were it not for the cock she held gently between her lips. “Please let me-ah!”

Her fingers were moving again, brushing across his sack and occasionally squeezing ever-so-slightly to supplement her tongue flicking back and forth in steady rhythm. The way he strained so hard that his body quivered, the jingle of the chains as his hands sought to guide her head, both told her that the man was nearing his limit, and Mia took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

With one slow steady motion, she leaned forward and took his cock down her throat again, this time not stopping until her nose pressed against his abs, until she felt his balls brushing against her chin. She gagged, but Romolo liked it when she gagged, and she could feel his girth pulsing and hear his breath quickening.

Her hands went back to worth as she drew back and gasped, one sliding back and forth across his slippery cock, the other stroking a line between his balls, and it only took a few moments longer before he reached orgasm.

His hips shook as he came, and she smiled up at him as she continued to stroke. Her fingers, already slick with precum and her own saliva, grew sticky as she slid them across his twitching cockhead, and beneath the fingers of her other hand she could feel his testicles clench as they spurted their load into her cupped palm.

Mia kept her gaze locked on Romolo’s as he finally slumped against the wall, waiting for him to say something else she could interrupt.

“I can’t think of a better send-off,” he finally spoke, “Mia, you certainly know how to…how to…” his words faltered and trailed off as Mia slowly licked his semen from her palm, her pink tongue flicking deliberately over her fingers to collect the mess he had left on each one.

For long moments they stayed in silence, eyes locked, until Mia had licked her hand entirely clean. It would be a bit damp, but the chances that anyone would notice were slim, and it was worth it to have the memory of a dumbfounded Romolo.

“You’ll have to settle down somewhere far from Florezia until the rebellion has risen and fallen again,” she said as if nothing had happened, rising to her feet and arranging her skirts, brushing dust from the hem.

Romolo managed a noise that might’ve been in the affirmative, and Mia nodded.

“If you want to send a few people toward the city who you think will be useful, you can, but don’t try to contact any of us here,” she continued, drawing the knife, “the King may not hunt you down across Italoza on your own, but if he suspects you’re still in contact with the rest of the rebels he might.”

“I can keep that in mind- ow,” Romolo said as she drew the tip of her knife lightly across his forehead, “was that really necessary?”

“You’ll bleed a lot more from there,” Mia took her fingers and smeared the blood down in tracks across his face, then took the knife and made more knicks across the skin of his shoulders and chest, “tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to- ouch! I’m waiting until nightfall, I’m using the key to get out, I’ll kill the jailor if I have to but- ow, but won’t if I can avoid it. Then lay low somewhere far from Italoza for a few years, until the rebellion has risen and fallen, then- Deum woman! Then come back here to repay the favor.”

Mia smirked at the man as he wiggled his eyebrows at her, then she moved to rub at the cuts, making them well up and look much worse than they actually were. “Close enough,” she muttered, letting a half-smile play at her lips.

“The jailor is coming,” Mi emerged from the wall just as the door rattled, and Mia gave the room a final look over, the secured shackles a final glance. Everything was in order.

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” the dungeon-keeper said as he entered, then paused, his gaze locked on Romolo.

“Mmm?” Mia turned as if waking from a slumber, her smile bright and cheery. For his part, Romolo slumped so far that he hung from his chains, his eyes open but staring without seeing, lifeless. His chest rose and fell in shuddering breaths.

“The…his Majesty wishes to speak with you, Miss Nelleda,” the dungeon-keeper stammered, “but…but I’m sure he would wait if you wished to wash first. Or…or if you wanted to finish here…”

Mia glanced down at the smears of blood that covered her hands, the knife, and the ends of her sleeves, and smiled even wider. “No need,” she said, “I wouldn’t keep my King waiting. Besides,” she turned to glance back at Romolo, avoiding the temptation to lick her lips, “I’ve gotten what I want from him anyway.”

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