lusi | MINGLE 001

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MINGLE 001

MINGLE 001: FOOD, FUN, FUCKING

Guests are 'gently encouraged' by enforcer robots to gather into what appears to be a central gathering place in the middle of the settlement area. Attendance is quite mandatory. Once everyone has gathered, holographic emitters kick on and display... static. Loudspeakers tell the captive audience to prepare for an important announcement, and moments later a proper but mechanical voice chimes in:

Greetings, organisms! R̷e̶j̸o̴i̴c̷e̸, for the portents foresee a time of glorious providence! We have recorded your actions a̵n̸d̵ ̴o̸u̶r̵ ̵c̶a̵p̸a̷b̷i̴l̸i̷t̵i̶e̸s̶ ̴have upgraded accordingly! The fabricator general automata grant you a boon, and shall provide much glamorous f̷i̶x̴t̶u̶r̶e̴s̷ ̴to aid in your future acts. Frolic and make merrily, all!

To honor your contributions and celebrate your arrival, you will be invited to attend our first sultry salacious soiree. Join your fellow chosen and f̵u̶l̵f̴i̵l̸l̵ ̵y̸o̷u̶r̷ ̷f̸u̴n̴c̷t̷i̶o̶n̶!

And with that, the display ends and characters are allowed to go as they please.

Upon returning, characters now find that dormant manufacturing robots have been reactivated, and will accept requests to build certain household fixtures, i.e., bedding, couches, loveseats. Because who wants to bang on a dusty cot, right? The quality will not be high. Imagine low-end IKEA. Build quality also varies dramatically and seems to depend on how old and corrupted the machine is. (As with all things in this world, quality is improved with intimate acts.)

But what is this celebration you've been invited to? That much is simple as sin. It's a mechanically sponsored party. Of particular note to hungry newcomers will be a fully stocked banquet ample spirits and naturally, a dedicated area for an all-out orgy. It's a good old-fashioned party, Roman style!

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These are no hospital rations. This is a full-fledged feast. It's no less dangerous, though.
Naturally, the robots have seen fit to add a little bit "extra." Some offerings are entirely innocuous, while others have bevy of effects that you'll soon discover.

You may find yourself only able to speak the truth, or maybe after one bite you find yourself instantly smitten with the next person you see. Some foods incite obedience, others rebellion. And some... well, you can't have an orgy without some good, old-fashioned aphrodisiac.

The music has been modulated to change the way you think. Of course it's electro-synth, what else would robots play?

Slower music induces sleep; maybe you fall into a cuddle-puddle with some of your fellow kidnappees. Faster music encourages you to dance. And some music? That's what upstairs is for.

Speaking of upstairs, what's an orgy without the orgy? You may find yourself auspiciously able to fill your decadent A5 squares. In a large room that seems unusually renovated, as if the robots had given it special attention just for this day, a floor covered in pillows awaits the beast with two backs. No one is turned away, and those attending will get a notification from their devices that they have received... additional credits? What could this mean?

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N A V I G A T I O N

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[ He knows the staircase she's referring to, and inclines his head back in that direction. ]

Yeah. This way.

[ It's only now that Geralt touches her, and given what they've already agreed to, it's quite polite. A gloved hand comes to rest just below her shoulder blades, mostly to keep her close so that they don't get separated as they make their way back through the party. The stairs are on their side, at least, so they don't have to skirt the dance floor at all.

The stairs are quieter the further they descend, which puts Geralt more at ease. He can concentrate more specifically on Margo. It's nice to put his focus on one person; her scent, the sound of her heartbeat. ]

[ Margo's good at reading people and it has nothing to do with being a magician. And when he touches her, she can feel that it's very intentional, the way he delayed it, the delicate nature of the touch as he guides her through the room in a route that won't delay them but also won't draw notice.

He's good at this, at knowing his surroundings and finding every angle, so to speak. And so is she.

She takes the lead happily, walking up the stairs.] I haven't found anyone here who isn't brand-spankin' new, have you? [ Margo doesn't do small talk, she's honestly just looking for answers with a side of sex.]

[ If there is anything Geralt doesn't mind, it's a woman taking the lead. He trails behind her up the stairs and doesn't feel wrong at all for admiring the view as he does. In fact, from what he's picked up about her so far, he thinks she'd probably be insulted if he didn't.

He also appreciates the complete lack of worthless chatter just to fill the air. It's a welcome difference from what he's used to at events like this. ]

No. Seems like this shit's fresh for all of us.

[ Enjoy the view all you want, Geralt. She doesn't mind it one bit, she moves in a way that's meant to entice and appeal. ]

So glad that we're all in the same shit sea-- [ she says it sarcastically because this whole thing is utter bullshit, of course.]

[ Geralt snorts under his breath, nearly a chuckle. ]

Company's not bad, at least.

[ Of course, his eyes are glued to her ass when he says so, so he reason for his opinion is pretty clear.

Upstairs there are several doors along the hallway. It's darker, quieter, and free of other people, which means that Geralt can breathe more easily--quite literally. He listens for sounds apart from their own footsteps and breathing, but detects nothing behind any of the nearby doors. The orgy, which he can still hear further away, is happening in a much larger room down the hall. But Geralt opens a door immediately to their left, holding it for Margo to inspect the room beyond. It's small and simple: a twin bed with white linens, a sink and a cabinet beside it, and a small window set into the far wall that looks out onto the ruins of the city. Hardly extravagant, but it's clean and private, and Geralt has fucked in worse places. ]

This work for you? Or do you wanna join the party?

[ He'll leave that up to her. The latter wouldn't be his preference, but he would do it if it were hers. ]

[ Margo loves a good orgy amongst friends but right now she'd prefer not keep him to herself, if only because she's keen to take her time with him and very curious to see what's beneath all that tight leather he's wearing.

At his question, she enters the room to give her answer instead of "joining the party" as he called it.] Once you've been to one orgy, you've been to them all, right? [ Honestly, most of the time, they're more trouble than their worth.

She turns to face him, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over a nearby chair.]

[ Pleased by her choice, Geralt hums softly in agreement and shuts the door behind him. He'd really prefer to have her all to himself, too.

Now that she's removing her clothing, he starts in on the more arduous task of doffing his armor. The first to go are his swords, the scabbards loosened from his back by unbuckling the harness over his chest. He takes them in hand and lowers them to the floor, storing them safely against the wall. Next come his gloves, sturdy leather that makes a heavy thwap as he drops each in turn beside his swords.

It barely occurs to him that they haven't yet exchanged names. He's never considered that a necessary prerequisite to sex. ]

Quick fucks are kind of out of the question with all that-- [ she waves her hand at all that he's doing and removing, her tone amused as she moves towards him intent on watching him undress.]

I say that as someone who wore a lot of corsets before arriving here.

[ It's a process, but Geralt is efficient at it. This is the clothing he lives in, and he puts it on and takes it off almost daily. His fingers are quick at undoing the buckles that hold his pauldrons in place, lowering each carefully to the floor in turn onto a rapidly growing pile of pieces. Next are the laces on either side of his torso, which he picks apart to loosen the leather. Not entirely unlike a corset, actually, which is why her timely comment causes him to flick his eyes briefly back to her, amused. ]

Could just unlace my trousers if that's all you're interested in.

[ He's joking now, but he's definitely had quick fucks like that, provided his partner didn't mind the hard edges and weight of his armor. Some even found some appeal in it. ]

Oh, no, no. I'm in no rush-- [ she says with a smirk but makes absolutely no move to help him undress. Instead, she sits on the bed, with a look of appreciation as he works at his own clothing. It's more fun to watch him undress himself and maybe, just maybe, she's taking notes for the future.]

Quick fucks are fun but you look like you're built for a long ride.

Edited 2020-06-06 23:49 (UTC)

[ Though he turns his attention back to the task at hand, Geralt is still paying Margo close attention. He listens to the sound of her moving on the bed and the cadence of her breath. He inhales deeply, familiarizing himself with how she smells and how her excitement tastes on the air. He doesn't mind entertaining her like this. He likes the weight of her gaze, and is hungry to feel it on his bare skin. ]

As long as you want.

[ He doesn't worry in the least about promising that. Like all witchers, Geralt has been granted exceptional endurance and virility, and a libido to match. He's confident he can go as many rounds as Margo likes.

Once the laced have been loosened, Geralt leans forward, letting gravity move the heavy chain and leather from his shoulders and up over his head. Once he can get his hands under it, he lifts the rest of the way. Because Geralt travels by himself and has to manage his armor alone, it also has to be fairly simple to don and to remove. This chest piece is by far the largest, and when he lowers it to the floor, the sound it makes also makes evident that it's the heaviest. Beneath is a black long-sleeved gambeson, simple to untie and shrug out of, and beneath that a white linen shirt--the simplest of all, as he only has to tug it up over his head.

When he straightens again he's bare from the waist up. The definition of his lean, muscular form is almost secondary to the sheer amount of varied scarring across his skin. There are marks everywhere covering his chest, stomach, arms, and back: clean slashes, rougher gashes from claws, bite marks, burns, extraction scars from arrows and crossbow bolts. If it hadn't been clear before, it's obvious now that the swords and armor definitely aren't for show. ]

[ There's no small measure of pleasure that shows itself in her features when he tells her that she can have him as long as she wants. She'll take him up on that offer and she's eager to see how long that actually means.

She rather enjoys watching the process of him undressing when she might normally feel impatient... It almost feels like a different sort of foreplay, the undoing of straps and fastenings, the way his fingers work almost graceful at their task.

And when he's finally bare, she understands now why he takes his armor so fucking seriously. The man's torso is a record of battle that has her eyebrows lifting for a moment. She does not gasp or recoil, but she is not so single-minded not to notice the scars and not have concern for how they got there.

She moves to stand now, closing the distance between them smoothing her hands over her velvet pants.] Jesus, either you're really fucking kinky or you've been through a few fights. [ She doesn't wait for him to answer.] Now take off my shirt.

Could be both.

[ Geralt is quick to point out wryly. Look, he's been alive nearly a century, and he's had some adventurous lovers.

And it seems like Margo is likely to join their ranks, judging by how quickly she acclimates to his rougher edges and demands that they match. More than willing to obey, he reaches for her without hesitation.

The purple fabric is soft beneath his hands as he detours just a little to rub his palms appreciatively over her hips before he hooks his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. He tugs upward firmly, but is conscious to avoid catching her hair in it or snagging anything. He has plenty of experience removing much more complicated women's garments, but this experience has also taught him that he can't be too careful. ]

[ He earns a laugh at that, although that sound peters out when his hands move to touch her and then proceed to do as she asked him to. Her arms lift to help him get her shirt up and off, leaving her chest as bare as his is.

She brushes her hair over her shoulder so it doesn't obscure his view because she is certainly not ashamed of what she's got. She takes her shirt from him and tosses it in the direction of her jacket.

Then she turns so he can find the zipper at the back of her pants.] The fastening for my pants is in the back. Tug it down. [ Because she's not sure if he knows what a zipper even is given his attire. At first, he could have just been some kind of cosplayer but given his scars, she assumes he's from a pretty rough and tumble world where zippers are not a thing. ]

[ No, she has nothing to be ashamed of at all. In fact, Geralt is deeply grateful for the unobscured view. Margo is gorgeous cast in the soft light from the lamp in the corner, making her skin glow golden. He'd have gladly admired for much longer had she not turned and given him another task. But the curve of her spine is lovely as well, and he traces calloused fingers over the small of her back on his way to his destination.

Zippers are absolutely not a thing he knows anything about, so he's grateful for her guidance. Despite being unfamiliar, it's very straightforward and he makes quick work of it.

The warmth of her skin draws him in. He moves to fit himself against her back, peeling her pants over the bell of her hips and down her thighs, somehow managing to touch a great deal more of her than the actual fabric. Leaning down, he presses his lips to her neck, nosing along the line of her jaw. ]

[ Ten points to Griffindor! He managed to get the zipper down without much effort (not that it was difficult but hey... who knows) or fanfare. And when she feels his body press against her back, she draws in a pleasured breath, feeling the warmth of him radiating against her own skin.

The touch is welcome and intoxicating, his fingers are large, calloused and different from the person whose hands should be touching her right now. She pushes Josh from her mind right now, he wouldn't hold this against her. He couldn't.

Her eyes close with a hum and she shimmies her hips just enough to help the fabric slide down her legs so she can step out of it, her heeled boots still on but who the fuck cares right now, as his lips touch her skin and he presses closer.

She turns her head just enough to encourage him further, her hips pressing back against his to show her continued interest, one hand moving to find his to guide it back up her body, wanting to feel that touch more.]

[ Geralt doesn't mind the boots at all. The little boost they give her makes it easier for him to press forward against the curve of her ass as she shifts back against him, against he laces of trousers that are beginning to grow noticeable tigther.

One hand splays across her stomach, as the other, guided back up her body, cups a breast in his palm. He squeezes gently as his thumb rubs a rougher, deliberate circle over her nipple.

With her blessing, his lips trail further down her throat as he sinks deeper into the sensory experience of being near her. Her pulse is beginning to pick up; he can feel it beneath his lips and pounding in his ears. She smells incredible, but entirely unfamiliar; no well-remembered perfume clinging to her skin or hair.

It's fine. She isn't the only one with someone else somewhere else. But Geralt is used to this; it's more common these days to be apart than together. ]

[ It's true, without the boots he'd tower over her even more than already was and this way, she can feel the length of his body in all the right places. She's still got a thong on but otherwise, she's completely bare for him to touch and so he does, even more with her silent instruction.

Her heart is starting to beat a little faster, her pulse seemingly skipping a beat when his thumb sides across her nipple. She lets out a greedy sort of him at that, her hand leaving his to reach up and bury itself into his hair, encouraging his mouth's work as his hands wander.]

[ A sound is torn from Geralt's throat as she anchors a hand in his hair, a groan that fills his chest and is muffled only a little against her neck. It's just the encouragement he needs to explore her further, dragging his mouth along her throat with an edge of teeth as his fingers tighten around her breast, pinching firmly at her nipple. With every deep breath he draws he can smell her increasing arousal, which only serves to heighten his own.

The hand on her belly slides lower as his fingers trail down over her hip to brush along her inner thigh, feeling the softness of her skin and tracing just along the edge of the fabric still covering her. ]

[ He isn't the only one making sounds, a softer one escapes her lips as he groans against her skin, his mouth leaving a trail of heated skin in its wake. Her eyes flutter shut as he uses his teeth, her hips arching back against his to encourage both that and the way he touches her nipple.

And when his hand comes dangerously close to where she'd like more attention, she draws in a sharper breath.] More. I want more.

[ That demand shakes something loose in him. He breathes in sharply, then presses another heated kiss to her throat--almost gratefully--as she grinds back against him. His cock has begun to press more insistently against the laces of his trousers, but he makes no move to relieve that pressure.

She wants more. He can't deny her.

His hand slides inward, slipping beneath the fabric to touch her where she wants it. Two rough fingers rub gently over her sex in a slow rocking motion. ]

[ His hands are deliciously rough, those fingers have seen some hard times and she's not about to complain at how it feels for him to touch her sensitive skin. Her eyes roll shut as a moan escapes her lips.

She grinds her hips again, pressing back against him but not wanting to rid herself of the friction he's giving her.] I said more.

[ A groan rumbles from Geralt's throat as she continues to press back against him even as he explores her with careful fingertips. But apparently exploring is not enough. Her demand, while unspecific, is clear enough to him.

When he speaks against her ear, his voice is thick and rasping. ]

Can I move you to the bed?

[ The groan only serves to heat her up more, to make her want more, as much of more as she just demanded of him. And at his question, she nods, eager to see what he has in mind and ready to tell him what to do if she doesn't like it.]

[ Permission granted, Geralt moves her--meaning that, shifting his hold to her hip and her thigh respective, he sweeps her up into a bridal carry without any sign of strain at all. He carries her close to his chest as he makes his way to the bed, where he deposits her with care at the edge of the mattress.

What he intends becomes clear pretty quickly as he sinks to his knees in front of her. His hands smooth reverently up Margo's thighs, catching the strings of her thong when he reaches her hips and tugging to pull them down and off. His mouth presses warmly to the inside of her knee, urging her to spread them. ]

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