Dewin was not proud of the squeal she gave as her shoulderblades landed on Consuriwr’s desk, nor of her scrabble to find purchase and balance as he shifted his grip to her hips and drove his cock inside her.

It was, she acknowledged, good to be so obviously wanted by such a great man. All the same, she wasn’t inclined to let him call the shots entirely.

It was commonly accepted that adventuring mages were physically weak, but what was often forgotten was that this was in comparison to other adventurers, not to the population at large; the curves of her body that Consuriwr so admired included powerful thighs. As she wrapped them around him and pulled him in, she smiled, hearing his grunt of surprise and excitement; a good indicator that he was not displeased.

She looked up at him, a flush of arousal tinting her cheeks, and grinned. “You can’t keep me under your thumb with orders alone,” she said. “If you want to break me to you, you’ll have to work for it.” Her hips bucked against him, thrusting herself along the length of his cock, and she used her thighs to control his pace, heels crossed with surprising delicacy as she maintained her grip on him. “Maybe I can break you first.”

He put a hand out, anchoring her to the table by one tit, and squeezed; her eyes crossed for a moment and she moaned with startled but delighted bliss. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, taking his time over each syllable to make sure that in his excitement it did not break as it fell from his lips, something that would have mortified him. “But there are certain things I can do.”

“You’re doing one of them very well,” Dewin purred back. There was no rule saying wizards had to be chaste, but she largely had been; the occasional winter had seen her take a temporary lover but no more. It simply wasn’t the focus of her life or her studies. But she was certainly enjoying herself now.

“I have more in store for you,” he retorted.

“Make me,” she fired back.

“I will,” came his answer, and it had the weight of a promise, and Dewin was well satisfied with it. For now.

She lifted her feet to just below the midway point of his back, and the next time she humped back against him, she pulled with thighs and knees and he landed atop her, pressed against her, as the two of them continued to fuck.

“If I’m going to be enchanted like this,” she said, her mind skimming briefly over practical matters between moments of dancing on pleasure, “you’re going to have to be wary of Tarian.”

“I’m sure my friend has her well in hand,” Consuriwr grunted. “Now focus on the matter at hand.”

Eyes rolling back into her head with the pleasure of her new state, Dewin obeyed.

*

Rhian and Tarian had found an alcove where they could listen to the court, but where they were not exactly part of it. Rhian had also, somehow, found a decanter of wine and two thin, long-stemmed crystal glasses on the way. Tarian was still not sure how she’d accomplished it without Tarian seeing, but supposed that some people just had hidden talents.

“I do not want,” she told Rhian firmly, “to be simply his mistress.”

“Good,” Rhian answered. “But what do you want?”

This brought her up short. Tarian realised, suddenly, that she had been throwing herself wholesale into the competition of the court without ever thinking about what it was for. Conquest was simply in her nature. One of the priestesses at the abbey where she’d trained had told her that, she remembered, and had said it was a good thing that she’d found the goddess; her conquest would always be in the protection of others.

Tarian was not sure who would be protected by her victory over the vixens in the court. Sir Swynol, perhaps, although that seemed wrong. He had been her rescuer and yes, true, it would be a delight to turn that around and to be the one to rescue him, but lately she had been thinking about how implausible that seemed.

Thinking about being the one to rescue him seemed wrong, ultimately. It wasn’t for her to eclipse him in fame or capacity. It was for him to be literally the bigger man. To take charge. To take ownership.

She would be very happy if he were to own her, but only if she were the most important woman he owned. Ideally the only woman he owned. If she was a nobleman’s wife, much as she would enjoy the luxury that came with it, Tarian was confident she could bestir herself enough to be the only woman he needed.

Rhian was still waiting for an answer, she suddenly realised with a start.

“I want to win,” she said with a low growl to her voice.

“To conquer?”

Tarian was a little taken aback. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

“I know warriors,” Rhian said. “My brother is a warrior. My nephew doesn’t have that same spirit. His is a different approach.”

Tarian found herself wanting to defend Swynol, but what his aunt said was true. “His has its virtues.”

Rhian nodded. “I don’t think my brother’s approach would have kept you alive, where Swynol could rescue you. But we will need warrior spirit leading the court, too. I have to think of the Duchy.

“My nephew, I believe, looks at you and sees a woman of beauty and power. A worthy mother to breed.” Tarian felt her cheeks flushing as Rhian laid out the consequences of her intent. It was none of it what she had planned. But she felt herself throb with aching for it. “But a duchy also needs a Duchess. I’ve been hoping to see one interest my nephew for some time.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your conquest begins tomorrow. Attend me in the morning, and I’ll help equip you for the battle.” Rhian rose and walked away, leaving Tarian stunned in her wake.

She should talk to Swynol about it, she knew. But he might try to dissuade her. She started to smile at the idea instead of presenting him with a fait accompli, then bowing her head bashfully, eyes modestly averted, to receive his praise.

Swynol would need a wife who could follow his lead. But it might be best before she got there if she had shown she could achieve his goals for him, too…

*

“Look at that magnificent golden hair,” the woman enthused, before turning from Tarian - who was now self-consciously wondering what the gaslight in the shop must be doing, to make her dark hair seem gold - to Rhian. “My lady,” she said with a curtsey. Rhian did not curtsey in return, but gave a half-bow from the shoulders, the mark of respect from an aristocrat to a master craftswoman.

“Yes,” Rhian said. “I confess I don’t understand that hair, but I should like to make the most of it. Tarian, dear, this is Teiliwr. Teiliwr, I make a gift to you of a challenge.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“I require that this woman be styled and presented as befits a future duchess of the realm.”

A light of understanding dawned behind the seamstress’ eyes. “That can certainly be done, my lady.” She turned to face Tarian. “May I see what I’m working with?”

Tarian hesitated. “What do you mean?”

By way of reply, Teiliwr reached out and found one of the shoulder buckles to Tarian’s back-and-breast, undoing it one-handed with the ease of much practice. She wanted to see Tarian’s form more clearly.

The paladin blushed, but Rhian was so sure of this course of action. And besides, Tarian hadn’t carried out her sword-drill in a week, preferring instead to linger near Swynol. She hadn’t thought about it until that moment, but wasn’t that an indication that her own mind had been made up while she hadn’t paid attention?

Uncertain under the gaze of the other two women, she removed her back-and-breast plate and began to loosen and then remove the leather armour beneath.

She had just removed her breeches and was in the act of setting them aside when the door opened and another client stepped into the small dressmakers.

Tarian looked over her shoulder, not nervous about being seen unadorned by strangers she would never meet again, and froze, her jaw dropping.

Dewin had just entered the shop, followed by Consuriwr. Her friend was wearing her robe, but the dozens of talismans and trinkets that usually adorned it were gone, as was the belt with her holdout blade.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Consuriwr laughed. “It seems we are of like mind,” he said, although who the other person was in that we, she was not sure. “Teiliwr, I too have a new customer for you.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” the woman said levelly. “I really must make appointments mandatory.”

“Oh, Dewin won’t mind being around her friend while they’re worked on,” Consuriwr answered. “Will you?”

“No, sir,” Dewin answered back, and her tone sent a shiver down Tarian’s spine. Deferential, but amusedly so. Tarian hoped the court mage properly understood what he had in hand there, or he’d end up with a very different understanding.

Dewin moved forward to stand beside Tarian, but her friend didn’t shed the robe until the court mage nodded. Tarian looked speculatively between the two, more so as her friend wore no shift beneath, and a cotton shift was a keystone of comfort under those heavy robes, but didn’t say anything. Dewin’s hand found hers and gave her an encouraging squeeze; Tarian smiled back at her friend.

“I have ideas,” Teiliwr said, “especially seeing the pair of you together. But are you also to look the part of a duchess?”

Dewin shook her head. “No,” she said. “I have… accepted a role. It will keep me in the city more, and I would like appropriate attire for that.”

“And…?” Conjuriwr prompted.

“And it should make the most of my looks, as my customary garb before now has not,” she said. She bit her lower lip, which Tarian took note of. Something in that interaction had fired the excitement of her friend, she was sure.

Teiliwr looked back at the two women, at their shapely, well-muscled thighs, at the feminine curves of their chests, the swell of the muscles on their forearms - even Dewin’s lesser physique being otherwise the best in the room - and a broad smile spread over her face.

“The two of you are clearly friends,” she said. “I shall style you in complementary fashions, so that if you are seen together, even if your status is obviously different, the two of you will be clearly close; and I will start a new fashion from you both.” She grinned. “We will start a fad for bare arms, I fancy. Now, then.” She clapped her hand together. “My clients only, please; I shall send the bills to those responsible.”

“But-” Consuriwr began, but Rhian was there to cut him off.

“This is how Teiliwr does her best work,” she said. “And besides, this way you will have a wonderful surprise waiting for you.”

Consuriwr saw the sense of this, and while he had hoped to specify and approve personally every item of clothing that would adorn his enchanted aide, it occurred to him that he had still taken that authority from her, and was simply providing it to the skilled Teiliwr. He made no further objection, and he and the lady Rhian quit the scene.

Teiliwr looked at them both. “It’s clear to me your circumstances each come as a surprise to your friends,” she said. “Ladies, I assure you of my utmost discretion if you wish to talk. Please remain standing for now, and we shall begin to shape your appearance…”

*

Tarian had been absent from court for almost a week, and her absence was more keenly felt by the day; by one with concern, and by others with a certain glee. The prevailing theory put about by the ladies of the court was that she had, of course, been overwhelmed, but what could you expect from someone who wasn’t raised to it? Just not the right sort, darling.

Swynol was standing close by his father the Duke, talking in low tones with Count Panyil about the brewing troubles in his region with bandits (and privately thinking that the bandit problem was largely driven by Count Panyil’s particular obsession with exercising his droit de seigneur at every opportunity) when one of his father’s footmen said, in a strained voice, “Lady Tarian, Knight-Captain of the Silver Shield Paladinate.”

Tarian never having required such an announcement before, and having been absent for some time, this provoked every head to turn to face the large doors as they were opened and Tarian strode through, head held high, her now-golden hair stacked higher, brushed and teased into an elegant, towering bouffant.

Her face wore a serene, confident smile that showed off all the power and capability of a high-ranked paladin, but elegantly decorated; a glitter of golden ‘freckles’ across her powered cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and lips of a deep ruby red.

Set around her shoulders was a coat, almost a cloak of beautiful grey furs, the edges inlaid with red jewels that glittered, and below the open coat could be seen a brassy copper dress which showed off her figure by dint of expensive corsetry.

She paused for a moment, the stance just a shade too studied to be entirely natural, and when she was sure that not only were all eyes on her but that she had made her case to be the best presented and most beautiful in the room, she raised her head, jaw defiantly forward. She met Swynol’s eye as she shrugged the coat from her shoulder, and a gasp ran around the room.

Unlike every other dress at the court, hers was sleeveless, and her well-muscled arms were bare save for a thin golden band that twisted and twined its way up her left bicep, set at either end with an emerald that flashed green fire under the gaslights as she moved.

She handed her coat off to the footman who had announced her and strode forward, making directly for Swynol. The bustle of her dress was wide enough that the assembled crowd had to part of risk collision, which none of them risked.

Once she was face to face with him she reached out with her left arm, hooking her elbow against the back of his neck, and pulled his head down into a passionate kiss. The hushed silence of court exploded into a babble, murmurs of excitement, voices raised in outrage, before the Duke himself spoke. “Something you’d like to tell me, boy?”

Their lips finally parted, their heads tilted together, foreheads resting against one another. Her eyes were closed, but she knew he was smiling too. “I hope so, father,” he said, and his voice was confident, amused, possessive. His hand had found its way around her waist in the kiss, she noticed. “Would you excuse us? I feel we need to talk.”

“With my blessing, boy, go and… talk.”

As he took her hand in his and led her away, Tarian listened to the laughter that had erupted at the Duke’s witticism. It had perhaps not deserved as much amusement as it provoked, she thought, but such was power, and such was the importance of relieving tension.

It did not escape her triumphant ears that almost all of the laughter was male. The ladies of the court were still adapting to how wrong they’d been, she supposed.

They didn’t get far outside the room. Down a corridor, around a corner, and through another door, and that was enough privacy that they were kissing again and her back was against the wall.

She lifted her petticoats and her dress skirt by lifting one leg and planting her foot against the far wall and Swynol took it for the invitation it was. His doublet was open, his cock out of his hose, and his hands on her breasts just moments later. “That’s my girl,” he said, and his voice was almost a growl.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she answered, breathy with her excitement. He drove into her, and her knees nearly buckled, but she had the strength to stay standing, and so she stayed standing.

“I’ll let you,” he answered. “Good girl.”

Her eyes crossed for a moment, rolling back in her skull, and the hand around his back clutching him to her tightened, nails raking such that he could feel them even through the fabric of his doublet, which drew from him a pleasurable groan.

Tarian shuddered and wondered at the change in her, that she should feel so much pleasure simply because a man spoke well of her, even beyond the satisfaction she could feel his body taking of her.

She braced harder, driving herself down on his cock with all the zeal and enthusiasm she had to give.

*

There was a confident rap of the knuckles against Consuriwr’s door, and he knew at once who it had to be. He turned in his chair to face the door. “Enter,” he directed.

The door opened and Dewin stepped in, a flush on her cheeks that he perceived as excitement more than anything else. Her hair, always long, had been lovingly washed and cared for and then coaxed, with the aid of thin copper wire that glinted from within it, into a tall beehive stack. She wore a thin red ribbon choker across her throat. Dusky eyeshadow had been applied with a skilful hand, accentuating the intelligence and sensuality of her eyes, and her lips were not quite coal-black with the lipstick applied.

The blouse she wore was loose and white, far too clean and pure a white to survive adventure or even manual labour of any degree, and it descended just past the shoulders on her arms, showing off the lush swell of her bicep just as its plunging neckline highlighted the soft weight of her curves.

At the waist was a tight black leather belt, its surface polished to a beetle-like gloss, stamped with sigils and marks that proclaimed her rank in her order to those who knew enough. And below it was a short, tight, form-fitting black skirt of a style Teiliwr assured her would become fashionable once she was seen wearing it. The skirt ended half a hand below her crotch, affording her only nominal modesty if she should be called upon to bend at the waist, and it clung to pert, rounded buttocks that rippled as she walked..

Her buttocks rippled in no small part because of the thigh-high, heeled navy blue leather boots she now wore. Teiliwr had confessed they had been originally made for another client, “but when she tried them on, she found the effect too scandalous. Somehow, lady mage, I doubt you will raise the same objection.”

(“I cannot,” Dewin had responded, truthfully, and Teiliwr’s flashing smile had shone for a full minute with the private joke she imagined.)

Artfully draped over one arm was a fur-edged coat that would serve as a module among the rich citizenry of the town for how to imitate coats such as Tarian’s on a budget not reserved for a noblewoman.

“Forgive my delay,” she purred. “I knew you would want to see me as soon as possible.”

Consuriwr, who could not in any case have concealed the smile that adorned his face, waved a hand generously. “I certainly do,” he said. “Hurrying back doesn’t need forgiveness.”

Dewin’s smile became a wicked grin. “Well, that’s what I mean. I may have tarried some time in town…”

Her eyes were twinkling. “I thought I would take myself to Crafter’s Hill, there to speak with the papermakers, the woodcarvers, the inkmakers and the jewellers.. All the tradespeople I know you will have dealings with.” She took two quick, long strides toward him, somehow confident and perfectly balanced on the high-heeled boots. “It seemed to me that I should introduce myself to them as your servant, so they know to expect me on your errands in future.”

Consuriwr took in the glint in her eye and the sharp grin and reached his conclusions with the swiftness and certainty of the methodical, decisive wizard he was.

She had decided to test his boundaries; had found something where she had good reason, and where he might well exercise clemency, especially seeing her wearing that outfit and smiling like that, and was seeing where his judgement would fall. He doubted that she would stop testing the line if he gave ground.

He lifted a hand, bent his fingers, beckoning her closer, and she sashayed forward, her hips rolling with each step. He held out his hand, and she reached out to take it.

Consuriwr caught her by the wrist and pulled her forward, sending her tumbling into his lap. She gave a sharp little squeal as she landed, almost seeming for a moment to bounce, her motion carrying her a handsbreadth further along. This left her crotch pressed against the thigh of the leg he had rested on the other, which also meant that shapely rear of hers was the highest point on her body.

Physically, she was stronger than he, though only a little. Surprise had outmastered her physically, just as magic and guile had mastered her mentally. The comparison settled Consuriwr, and he was smiling as he raised his hand and brought it down across her buttock for the first time.

*

The outrage uppermost in Dewin’s mind was immediately overridden by the impact of his hand spanking her, and what was left of it escaped her lips in a startled yelp followed by a surprising - to herself, she thought, more than to him - near-purring moan. He spanked her again, and again, and again, and she found herself writhing in his lap, her heels kicking futilely in the air, her yelps turning into groans which in turn became moans of happiness.

“You must remember who has enchanted who,” he told her, his tone firm. “I will not accept this kind of behaviour.”

Somewhere along the way, her hands had started gripping his thigh, her eyes closed, all to help her focus more fully on the treatment she was receiving. She bit her lip against the noises she was making, embarrassed by how thoroughly she was enjoying him demeaning her like this.

“Flaunting yourself at the tradespeople is acceptable, I grant, if it causes a reduction in their fees. But only then.”

And then she realised that she was perfectly placed to enjoy it, that she could grind herself against his thigh as he brought his hand down again and again, that the whole thing was making her feel an excitement and an arousal she had only felt once before.

“You have a much better place to demonstrate your beauty, and you will receive full reward by remembering that.”

When he had made her strip naked in front of him, then fucked her exactly how he had chosen to, and it had fired her desire like nothing else before. Not because of the spell, she suddenly understood. Because she had been helpless to be anything but naked.

“Am I understood?”

Dewin resolved that Consuriwr should never know her shameful secret, and with that decided her defences seemed almost to crumble. She came, screaming, from another sharp blow of his hand.

“Yes, sir. Ooo - AHHH!”

She had disobeyed, and she had paid the price. It was a price worth a brief disobedience, she thought, and wondered when she might find an opportunity to pay it again.

*

A number of the women of the court had enlisted alchemical aid to dye their hair blond within the first week of Tarian’s very public kiss, which the Duke had immediately begun to treat instead as his son’s very public declaration of engagement. Tarian had almost protested that, but she was getting what she wanted, so it was as well to let him think his son had been the one to decide things.

Tarian was quite carefully not thinking about how much of her life Swynol decided these days. None of it was bad, of course - far from it! But her days seemed spoken for now with a variety of social calls, and when they had peace she was always at his side. Somehow it was always his decision what they actually did.

She accepted a crystal goblet of wine from a serving maid with a smile, nestling her head against his thigh, and then transferred the smile to him, looking up at him warmly. “What would I do without you?” she asked.

He laughed, amused, half his attention on the scroll he had been brought. “What do you do with me?” he asked, not quite absently.

“Whatever you want me to,” she purred. It was, she suddenly realised, not an attempt at seduction; it was just the literal truth. He did, sometimes, tell her to do things that shocked her, that would have shocked her far more just a few months ago. At other times she had a sudden wild determination to do something based on the hunch that he would enjoy it.

One of those had come the previous night, while he had been stood on the balcony of his bedchamber, having a conversation with the ducal palace’s captain-at-arms; she had, abruptly, decided that he needed to be distracted, and so she had crept out onto the balcony on hands and knees, wearing only the white corset she sometimes donned beneath her dress.

Crouched low and out of sight, she had unfastened the base of his doublet and coaxed his cock free from his tights, where she had not so much stroked it as teasingly caressed it.

She had then repositioned herself, using all the flexibility she had originally earned through combat drill, so as to rest on her shoulderblades and elbows, looking up at him, her thighs wrapped just over his hips.

From there she had known he would have to rise to the challenge, repositioning her slightly before thrusting inside, and she had made it as difficult as she could for him to concentrate on his conversation. For his part he had deliberately taken everything as teasingly slowly as he could, drawing it out, making it a mutual test as her arm strength was challenged.

Rhian could have no idea how right she was that she and Swynol would push each other to achieve against great new challenges.

“That’s my good girl,” Swynol told her, smiling down, his attention back on her, and Tarian bit her lip against the giggle that wanted to escape her, producing instead a contented moan, her eyes unfocusing and crossing slightly. His praise alone was almost enough for her to come.

*

One evening, Consuriwr and Dewin paid a call upon Swynol and Tarian in Swynol’s chambers. They were received not in the comfortable parlour but in the room Swynol had turned into a small stateroom, one equipped with two small thrones, and the Duke’s heir and his bride-to-be were seated in them as the others made their way into the room.

“You got my message, then,” Swynol said, and Consuriwr made a half-bow. The two former adventuresses, now fully retired, smiled warmly at one another, their friendship still present.

“That I did,” the wizard answered.

“I thought it was time we assessed the situation properly,” Swynol told him. “Please, both of you, do approach.” With this said, protocol permitted the visitors to behave more easily, and they made their way up to stand on the low dais where the thrones sat.

“You won your bet,” Swynol said, and Consuriwr smiled.

“I did,” he said. “She has at least accepted defeat in that, if in nothing else.”

Tarian, who had listened to all of this with great curiosity, looked at Dewin’s face as if she hoped to be able to read the answer in it, and surprised an impish grin she hadn’t realised her friend capable of. She would have to ask about that, she thought.

“Resistant, is she?” Her betrothed sounded nervous at the question.

“Oh, no. No danger of that, is there, Dewin?”

“No, sir,” she said. “I am thoroughly enchanted.” The smile flickered across her lips again as she added “More so now, in fact, than last week.”

“What happened betweentimes?”

“I suggested a few refinements to my superior,” Dewin said, her cheeks dimpling with amusement, “and he used them upon me.”

“Behave,” Consuriwr said, his voice a confident low growl which suggested he would discipline Dewin later. Tarian couldn’t imagine that would work, but -

“Enchanted?” Tarian asked with alarm. Such magics were illegal, and as a paladin she should intervene if such was the case.

Swynol waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, my dear,” he said, and added, “There’s a good girl.”

Tarian felt the familiar rush of pleasure. In most company she’d have fought to prevent any trace on her face, but Consuriwr was her beloved’s friend, and Dewin was hers, and so her eyes crossed slightly, her lips parting happily, and she let out a sound halfway between a giggle and a growl.

The matter they had been discussing was no longer the focus of her attention, and she thought no more of it.

“If not resistant,” Swynol took up, “then what?”

“It seems you have a good girl,” Consuriwr said. “I have a different kind of fortune.”

At which Swynol laughed. Tarian saw the look Dewin shot her fellow mage, amused affection mingled with a desire for mischief that seemed fully interlinked, and in that moment she felt she knew her friend rather better.

“Tarian, my darling,” Swynol said, “kindly give up your seat to my friend.”

She looked at him, surprised, but the smile came easily to her lips. Here was her rescuer, her protector, her lord. She could deny him nothing. “Certainly, my lord,” she said.

She rose, looking down at him curiously - but, she noticed, not as curiously as Consuriwr did as he took her place. “Stand by my side,” Swynol said, and Tarian wordlessly obeyed, crossing in front of the chairs to do just that. Dewin watched it all with uncertainty, one heel leaving the ground as she traced an arc back with the toe of that foot, hands clasped behind her back.

Swynol met Tarian’s eyes. He glanced down to his own crotch, then back up to her, and he smiled.

Her eyes widened. Surely he couldn’t mean…

“Now?”

“No better time,” he told her, smiling. He seemed so sure it was alright…

Well, they were friends. And besides, she really didn’t want to be disobedient in front of the court mage. She had her reputation to think of.

She knelt by the side of the chair, still gazing up at him, and took his cock out with her hand. A grip more used to the feel of a blade stroked his shaft, luxuriating in the way it twitched with excitement at her touch. Her eyes still raised up to his, she took him in her mouth.

She had heard the faint gasp her friend gave when it became clear what Tarian was doing. But then Consuriwr said “I know you’d love to embarrass me here, but consider: Are you willing to admit you can’t do what your old friend can?”

The hmmmp that accompanied Dewin’s pout was perfectly audible, enough so that Tarian didn’t need to see her friend’s expression to recognise the pout. “No,” she admitted. Before long Tarian could hear the sounds of her friend trying to outperform her in the art of fellatio.

She looked down from Swynol, he having tilted his head back and closed his eyes to better appreciate her gift, and she met Dewin’s eyes. The two old friends had smiles in their eyes as they bobbed up and down on the cocks of those who had enchanted them.

*

Teiliwr’s appointment book had no spaces for the next week, as she dealt with the sudden demand for sleeveless dresses/