Author's Note: This is smut and assumes you're over 18 in reading it. Tags: Dungeons & Dragons, Eberron, furry, size differences, sizeplay, female human solo, mind linking, living onaholes/fleshlights, male human x female homunculus: cunnilingus, vaginal, all the way through, male halfling x female homunculus: anal, public sex, hidden sex, male human x female homunculus: fellatio, choking, dom/sub, verbal abuse, all the way through, male orc x female homunculus: vaginal, virginity, oral, all the way through “More ale!” comes the boisterous call of the Eldeen orc, with the Orien server already struggling to come with ample drink. “More ale!” a tinny, squeaky voice echoes after him from his shoulder, cheering just as loudly as the rest of the packed catering cart on the Western Line Lightning Rail. After all, the Galifar Five have returned victorious from Xen’Drik, packed to the gills with riches and tall tales that even on the sixth retelling by Warwyck Selfstyled d’Ghallanda and his homunculus companion manages to absolutely enthral every man and woman on the carriage. Cheers and whoops go from the front to the back of the carriage when the halfling recounts how brave Tusk and Garth Ropemaker stood face to face with a deadened Giants made of stone. How song and prayer from Warwyck himself and Adrian Jansen, respectively, shielded them from the clobbering blows of ancient dragons’ foes. How the mastery of earth and sky from Feng finally mired the undead monstrosities until the fighters subdued the lot of them and broke their rocky limbs until all was still. Three more cheers come from the crowd. Which was about the point where Adrian, servant of the Silver Flame, finally excuses himself from the bar and his fellow companions. “What’s the matter, Adrian? Too much of a drink?” the bronze-skinned and slender human woman dressed in flowing red robes much more in line with up-class Sharn wear than her humble beginnings of the Eldeen Reaches would imply. She smiles up at the lighter-skinned man with raven hair, dressed in the simple white and blue trappings of an acolyte to the clergy of the Silver Flame, rather than a potent cleric in his own right. “More like hearing the story one too many times,” Adrian responds, shaking his head. “Sorry Feng. We did good, we did great, we got out alive, but I’m just looking forward to –not– having to hear how we barely survived the undead Giants sometime soon again.” “Awww, come on,” the tinny voice from the green, winged homunculus straddling his shoulder and neck with its tail cries out with a feminine voice, “you barely got a chance to unwind and you’re getting tired of it already?” The cleric slightly rolls his eyes at the Expeditious Messenger on his left shoulder. A pretty little creation of fur, feathers and clay infused with artificial life. It looks like a nine inch long feline creature from snout to rump, with a tail that’s easily twice as long, and bird-like wings all furled up that are three times the beasty’s size each. All brightly coloured with cream and green feathers, the homunculus strikes a rather playful, sleek impression. Those big, bulging orange eyes peeking from a lemur-like face regard Adrian fondly, the little toothed maw under a pink button nose smirking at the human until he returns the little smile knowingly. “I’ll unwind yet,” Adrian answers low. He regards the orc with a similar green homunculus on his arm carousing with the crowd; the bard with another Expeditious Messenger on his shoulder wowing the rapt audience. He turns to his companions at the bar; the human in chainmail nursing his drink in relative peace, his own little golem sipping from his beer at the end of his wrist; the Wu Jen mage, eyeing his own Messenger keenly, but lacking one of her own. “Lads! Ladies. I bid you goodnight.” Exeunt Adrian and his homunculus. Feng, for her part, stays quiet as she wont, her thoughts with her creation on Adrian’s shoulder. As the creator of all four homunculi, she shares a bond of communication with the four of them – instantaneous and transcending distance for miles on end. In those moments of thought, quite a few messages are exchanged. [Unwind, huh?] [I can tell he’s pretty excited,] a tinny, mental voice responds back to Feng in her mind. [It’s been a while since he let himself go.] [Well, lucky for me to find some peace and quiet, myself, before I’d start blushing and squirming in my seat.] [Knowing him, he’ll take his time bedding his little sheath, master. But I’ll draw it out a bit, if you so want.] [Start however slow you both want, dear. I’ll be in my quarters by the time you’re starting, probably.] She smirks to herself, and shortly after, draws up from the bar as well. “I’ll tuck in for the evening too. Still a ways to go to Thaliost, and I need to review some of the findings.” “Try not to lose yourself to those scriptures,” Garth warns up to his adventuring companion with a smirk, pulling his arm and homunculus away from his drink to take a swig of his beer, himself. “Last thing we need is for you to miss the connection at Passage.” The Wu Jen waves her friend off with a smile. “I’m allowed –some– indulgences, friend Ropemaker. Books are not a taboo of mine.” With those words, she leaves, moving between the throngs of people still in the catering car, towards the hired and sectioned off private carriage she and her companions have hired from the Lightning Rail services for the journey. She follows after Adrian, seeing him retreat to his chamber, and passes his doorway to enter the furthest chamber in the carriage for herself. Feng stops shy from the door, however, when heat flushes to her cheeks and a sensation of delicious, lewd touches fill her senses, as if she is kissed across the thighs and her naked vulva. Feng struggles to unlock her door and to quickly dart into her room, locking the door behind her. Her knees twitch and her head goes light. Adrian was wasting no time whatsoever. *** Adrian was wasting no time whatsoever. The door to his room is barely closed and locked when the tiny homunculus peppers Adrian’s unshaven and stubbly cheek with little kisses and sucks, her diminutive hands and silvery claws clutching his jawline. Adrian, for his part, takes the almost feline looking beasty into his hands, holding her curling, slender barrel body into his palms. His lips find the tiny critter’s wiry hind legs quick, planting kisses on the flat stomach of the green-furred creation until his lips find the muscular donut ring of her oversized quim swelling in anticipation. The homunculus sighs out in relief when the first kisses lap against her artificial hole, sinking back into her human’s hands. She bites her lower lip anxiously, watching how the human puckers his lips, sucks on her plump pussy, and tastes of her eager arousal. She loves how he takes her and caresses her with his tongue and mouth, remembering well the first time she let it slip she had other purposes than just being a messenger or a scout on a cold evening keeping guard. And how he took to exploring her right after the shift of the guard, from the first daring touches under her tail to fingering her fat little cunt. How he got more daring with teasing the strange Eldeen wizard’s creation. And to how he started seeing Fidget as a friend with major benefits. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Fidget?” Adrian asks with a low voice after drawing his face from her thighs, moving towards the bed with his homunculus still in hands. The little beasty fidgets where she lies, stroking along his cheeks and nose with her outstretched paws. “’s Too long,” Fidget agrees. “Use me?” she asks with a sweet, soft tone, batting those large, round eyes up at him. Her voice quivers and leaves her with a sigh and a moan when Adrian purses his lips to her swollen, rounded muscle again, enjoying the tart taste of his little lady. “In a bit. Eventually,” he answers her. Because he is in absolutely no rush to bed his little companion when he can hear her squeak and feel her hump into his tongue for a while, yet. “I think I’ll take my time with you this time, little one.” He sets the slender beasty on the bed’s pillow, stretching her out for him to take in her gorgeous, inhuman visage. A mixture of feline shape, dragon features, and a mixture of fur and feathers that feel as natural on her as could be. And standing out from that emerald green coat of fluff and feathers, from her cream tummy and snout, the ruby red swell of her vulva stands out ever so brightly. Adrian leans in to Fidget once more, and plants kisses all over her tiny, barrel body, making the homunculus giggle and moan and squirm against him until he finds her puckered little hole. The moment he sucks at her teensy cunt, her tail wraps around Adrian’s neck and shoulders tightly. Fidget squeals out her joy. *** Feng squeals out her joy, about to seat herself down in her chair in front of her desk for some light reading of some of the finds they had acquired in the great Giants’ ruins they uncovered in Xen’Drik. But the incessant licks her familiar is receiving a few rooms away make the Wu Jen’s thoughts a jumble of sensation. She struggles to stand, leaning on the backrest of the chair a moment until she composes herself enough to sit down at last. The robes she wears are slowly being removed, folded up in a last effort of staying above her carnal desires. Though technically they would be taboo, her stipulates with the Eldeen spirit forces are very specific. No touching a dead body. No touching silver. And no sex with another, or herself. A series of taboos that have, over the many years, become ever more harder to maintain. Riches she has often avoided, lest she’d break a promise to a spirit of the earth. The many dead her companions and herself leave in their wakes of high adventure make it hard for her to maintain her promise to a spirit of water. And she hasn’t known the touch of a man or woman in years, even beyond her apprenticeship to become Wu Yen. Now all she’s left with are her spells, her magic, her virginity, and a rampant imagination. Of course, those stipulates say nothing of being keenly aware of every touch, every sensation, every taste of the carnal act through her familiars, the homunculi. It’s been her only way for many months now to enjoy herself among her peers, her fellows, absolutely unaware of the four homunculi’s empathic bond they share with their creator. Even though not every one of those muscular, powerful men has tasted of the forbidden fruit of her creations, she’s been vicariously living through each of the Expeditious Messengers’ senses and sensations all this time. Usually with plenty of a warning ahead of time. Just as long as she doesn’t do anything, herself, she’ll be free to enjoy the fruits of her labour. Feng tries to focus her eyes on her own notes of the Giants’ steles, tracing some of the runes with one hand, while riding out the pleasure of Adrian’s homunculus. What a wonderful night so far. *** What a wonderful night so far, Fidget thinks to herself. The crowd disperses, either heading back to their business class coaches or their own first class chambers, or towards the bar for more drink. Fidget clambers back up along Warwyck’s arm, smiling up at the blonde, bearded halfling. “Look at the pot we got!” the tiny critter squeaks up at her companion with unrestrained excitement. The Ghallanda bard smiles right back, taking his hat from the ground with a snap of his fingers, and holding it right under his arm. His hat’s gone heavy with coin, likely to be spent tomorrow for some rounds of drink again. “Honestly, you’re half the act, girl,” he gives his praises to his green little friend. “Swinging around and giving the crowd a show of acrobatics.” The homunculus gives a saucy smirk. “How ‘bout I give you a show of acrobatics, boss?” Warwyck’s grin is almost cheshire by now. “How about a disappearing act?” “How about hiding in plain sight?” Fidget responds in turn, her ears flushing pink. “Oh-ho-ho, now there’s a trick we haven’t done in a while.” “’s Why I suggested it,” the little golem says with a low tone of voice. She is hugged by the halfling against his chest. They leave with a flourish from Warwyck’s arm, right after another patron. Warwyck follows after the tall fellow into the next carriages. With a quick incantation, the two disappear from sight. And the game is on. Passing as quietly as he can, Warwyck moves past sleeping and resting passengers in their seat into the next carriage. A task made quite difficult with an amorous little creature kissing at his sensitive pointed ears. It isn’t until Warwyck finds a nice set of trunks to clamber up on that he sits himself and Fidget down on them, their surroundings lit by faint artificial light from above, and several people left slumbering or half awake sitting to their left and right all around them. “I can’t believe we’re doing th–“ Fidget squeaks and is immediately silenced by a thick finger against her invisible little maw, while another finger presses up between her legs. The homunculus is held in Warwyck’s lap, straddling his groin in her small thighs. “Ssshhh,” comes the quiet hush overhead from the halfling, already quick to start rubbing at the plump ring of muscle under her tail. Even with no need to breathe, the homunculus inhales sharply through her nose, watching out for the eyes of people moving towards them. Warwyck, for his part, stays on track, focussing his attention on the little creature’s quim until she’s positively moist, allowing for his middle finger to slowly slip into her crafted cunt. His left hand pulls away from Fidget, opening up his coat, but not removing his clothes. No need to have clothing pop up in sight, after all, and give the two of them away. But he does love her soft coat against his bare chest. Fidget is squirming where she sits, suppressing a low moan. *** Feng is squirming where she sits, suppressing a low moan. Two of her homunculi are getting frisky, and if the lack of a warning is any indication, it’s probably Warwyck’s Expeditious Messenger. The feelings of the little critter are more intense, and come usually without warning. Like the sensation of fear, and anticipation. Of wanting to be caught, watching out for anyone catching her in the act. It rubs off on Feng, who slowly rises up from her seat lest she begins rubbing back against the cushion and commit a taboo. [Dummy!] Feng thinks loudly to Warwyck’s homunculus. [I instructed you to warn me ahead of time!] [Must have slipped my mind, master. I can only process so many commands at a time, after all,] the Messenger returns the thought with an almost cheeky intonation. [Like not making a noise. While the boss is fingering me. In full view of a carriage. On the luggage.] [I am very much aware of what’s happening!] Feng responds, her body moving away from the chair. So much for notes and annotations with lazy masturbatory thoughts and feedback. [Well good! Do enjoy, master!] Feng curses a moment, closing her eyes. She grips the desk tightly with her hands, her naked body rocking back and forth to the sensations of cunnilingus and a thick digit plunging into her depths. Even the size differences translate acutely to the Wu Jen’s senses. Feng widens her legs and their stance, not even allowing herself to press her thighs together. But it does make her all the more keenly aware of the way her lips are oozing with her arousal, a steady trickle of juices staining her inner thighs. Feng licks her lips, definitely wanting more. *** Fidget licks her lips, definitely wanting more. The mug of ale Garth’s downing is just slightly out of reach, and the alcohol is making her sluggish and woozy. Fidget crawls over his left arm towards the bar, but Garth is making a game out of having the tipsy homunculus swing her tail and wings about for balance. A game the homunculus eventually loses, tipping over and falling into Garth’s lap with a yelp and a laughter coming from the crowd at the bar. She’s mostly ignored, soon enough, the attentions of the patrons returning to the highlights of Warwyck Selfstyled’s story, Garth content in letting the orc take the lion’s share of tall claims to their successes, rather not wanting to think back about almost losing his head and getting his chest caved in in no less than twelve separate occasions. Each. He empties his mug to the bottom, his ribs aching against his swallowing. Or how he’d rather not think about the slow pawing at his groin coming from the drunk pint-sized golem. Garth grabs the little green beasty by the scruff of her neck, her long wings and limbs all hanging limply from her body as she’s held up until she’s set on his right shoulder. Garth pays the bartender for a last round for the lads, before retreating to the private carriage. Once that door closes, however, he gives a painful squeeze to the homunculus’ nape, continuing to barge towards his own chamber. “What the hell did you think you were doing, Fidget?” the Cyran human hisses through clenched teeth. Unlike Adrian or Warwyck, his interactions with his homunculus have been mostly focussed on her primary purposes of scouting and information relay. In fact, the thought of laying with the creatures, despite obvious anatomical features prominently presented to him a few times to try and appeal to him, kind of unnerved him. He did ask Feng before about what the appeal to such designs were in his Expeditious Messenger (or more pointedly, “what the fuck is that?”), but she said it was innate to them, a means to hide physical messages or tokens, and she could simply order the homunculus to not bother him. Yet she does, every so often. With mixed measures of success. Saucy as she is at times, she’s still a very much talkative, inquisitive, friendly being, and given keener eyes for danger than he has them. And she’s proven a good way to cope with grief following the Day of Mourning. He hates to admit how he found a better ear in a crafted creature than in any flesh and blood person he has met, who will listen to him at every turn and unholy hour. And, at times, to relieve him. The homunculus looks back towards her charge with larger-than-usual eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I just wanted–“ “What? To embarrass me in front of everyone like that? What if anyone saw what you were doing, you little rat!” Her coat frizzes up at the accusation and the hurtful words Garth says, shrinking back despite his iron grip on her nape. Her voice quavers. “I didn’t mean to, I was just–“ “Horny? Is that what you were? Is that what you were made for?” “No!” the homunculus squeaks pitifully up at Garth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you–!” Swinging the little green critter from his shoulder to his groin with one hand, he closes and locks the door to his room behind him with the other. Garth forcibly holds the tiny golem to his pants, who shivers and squeaks weakly to his rough treatment. Her limbs stretch out against the man’s groin, her tiny digits pulling at his belt lamely. It isn’t until Garth undoes it that she continues her struggling, her reaching for the swell of his manhood until her teensy body is pretty much level against the steadily swelling, throbbing cock before her. This wouldn’t be the first time he pretty much forces his dick in front of her snout. For his scent to overwhelm her senses. For her to take the plunge, to lick at the dark slit atop his crown. To taste his preseed wet her tongue. She’s positively dripping. *** She’s positively dripping. There’s no sense to standing around in the room when more and more of her creations are starting to get it on with her adventuring companions. This definitely is a first time that Feng’s having no less than three homunculi giving her mounting feedback through the shared empathic link. And the Wu Jen is slightly worried she’ll be in for more than she ever bargained for. A bitter and salty taste fills her mouth steadily, fear and excitement mounting. A different blend of fear and excitement from how Warwyck is rutting his little golem from a veil of invisibility. It must be Garth abusing his gifted homunculus with harsh words, and harsher actions, forcing her to swallow his shaft. Feng slumps back into the luxuriously spacious bed, crawling back against the sheets. Her hands grip the sheeting tightly. Feng spaces her limbs out wide, preventing herself from touching herself in any way that could break the taboo. Instead, however, she relishes the sensations of feeling herself split. Her tongue stretches past her ruby red lips, mimicking the motions of the one creation of hers fellating Garth. She can taste his bitterness, the curvature of his crown against the tiny tongue working over him. Her rump rises off the bed, eagerly meeting with tongue and fingers from Adrian and Warwyck. She feels herself spread, ooze, squish for lovers that aren’t even physically with her. Her imagination runs wild – her imagination, after all, has to put up with no less than three horny homunculi synching up mounting feedback back to their master. Her vision bleeds into what she sees through her empathic links. Feng looks down at herself, her eyes widening with greedy lust. *** Fidget looks down at herself, her eyes widening with greedy lust. Adrian’s pulling himself away from her plump little puss, disrobing before the prone, stretched out Messenger until his scarred, light skin is bared before her. The cleric is marred, and his right leg’s been fitted with livewood, but he’s still very much fit, toned. And to the little fuzzy critter, an absolute gorgeous man ready to bed her – an affection that goes beyond the master’s order to be a sexual partner, a toy to him. She approximates her best impression of the Sharn whores she’s spied on before, spreading her thighs wide while covering her fuzzy, flat chest with her paws, pushing up the soft fluff of her cream coat and downy feathers against her arms. Adrian sits with his knees on the bed, gently pulling the pillow towards his groin and his upright, turgid penis. Every ridge and uneven bump of his veins, every single inch of those six, Fidget’s intimately familiar with. She gets giddy with excitement as she sees, feels how Adrian angles his organ against her lower body and across her belly. His warmth makes her melt. Her limbs hug the thick shaft for a squeeze, before she reclines again. “Please. Use me,” Fidget mewls up to him. “Gladly,” Adrian murmurs down at the eager little strumpet. His hands grip her just above the hind legs, lifting her off the pillow just slightly. His hips pull back, drawing the swollen glans of his penis across her fuzzy tummy. The homunculus sighs out happily, arching her back. When his tip presses against the swollen, sodden ring of muscle of her hole, her voice pitches to a soft cry that soon is drawn out to a loud, high-pitched mewling and moaning. Fidget’s voice cracks and hitches, her eyes darting down to watch how Adrian holds her in place, and how he pushes inwards towards her, into her. Her tiny quim spreads obscenely wide. The rubbery ring is tight, but yielding, as does the rest of her body adapt. Her thighs somehow manage to spread wider yet, her lower abdomen beginning to fill outwards and distend around his cock. He pulls out just slightly, her juices slick on his dick, before the next inwards thrust that quite literally knocks the air from what goes for the fluffy golem’s lungs. Though his touch is gentle, his thrusts and his grip don’t relent, and he forcibly pushes the homunculus down towards his groin until he feels himself hilt in his tiny companion. Her belly and chest are swollen around his entire length buried into her body, just past her ribcage. Fidget’s eyes are wide open, staring in equal parts shock, amazement and pleasure, barely able to even sigh or cry out so full is she. Her little front paws wander across her chest and stomach, feeling for Adrian’s stiff organ throbbing against her skin and clay flesh. What goes for a heart in the tiny golem flutters with excitement as she is helplessly impaled on the human. When Adrian draws himself back from her, a lewd, sucking slurp leaves her body, the little critter sucking in air sharply. Then comes the next thrust, deep to her core, causing the little thing to yelp and cry out for him. No organs to impede him; no way for him to harm her; Feng literally made her creations into little cock sleeves. Only her wings stay put on the pillow when Adrian slowly pumps Fidget up and down his swollen dick, filling her to the brim. His thumbs run across her distended belly, feeling for the tiny pink nubs of her nipples across her lower body. Every little touch, every push of her human lover plowing into her crafted body sense jolts of pleasure up her spine. Fidget is drowning in pleasure, soaking Adrian as he jostles her body up and down without as much as a struggle. Her body is a cunt, and she’s going mad with the sensations coursing through her. Gods yes, it’s been too long. Fidget bites her lower lip, raising her paws to her lips. She cries out behind her dainty fingers, mewling out her joy. *** She cries out behind her dainty fingers, mewling out her joy. Feng’s body sends all manner of impossible signals to her mind, pleasures she can’t possibly facilitate, but can enjoy through her familiars’ empathic bond. She’s Fidget, fucked to the sternum, full with so much cock it leaves her breathless. She’s Fidget, forced to swallow Garth down, a bitter and salty taste flooding her tastebuds and filling her throat with a slimy, warm sensation that pools into her gut. She’s Fidget, grinding herself down against Warwyck’s pecker. Her backdoor aches faintly, the halfling no doubt teasing his invisible companion. Her body is flushed with shame and shamelessness alike. Then, a sharp intake of breath – he’s going in dry. Feng bucks herself up and off the bed, twitching and tensing, unable to keep her mind focussed. She’s going mad. *** She’s going mad. The teasing. The slow grinding. Her pussy is weeping openly across the leather surface of the trunk, a sizeable puddle collecting where Warwyck and his homunculus are seated. And still not noticed by any passengers! “Hurry... Hurry...!” Fidget squeaks through clenched teeth, before the little beasty squeaks out to the joy of penetration, just under her tail. Except it’s not her oozing, drooling twat. Why the hell Feng decided a golem needs an arsehole will forever be beyond Warwyck, but he’s always been the kind of guy to make the best of any situation. And truth be told? He likes buggering the little shit. Filling her false hole for the sake of having her squirm and squeeze around him. For the sake of feeling her muscular back against his chest grind up and down with her every thrust down on his groin. To silence her tiny, mewling little self with a domineering kiss. It’s not often he gets to be the bigger man, after all, at least, until Feng gave him a little fuckbuddy. With Warwyck slowly pulling her down into his groin, Fidget’s mouth parts with a smack, her lips forming an O before the little homunculus breaks into a bright, toothy grin. She presses back against her halfling lover, reaching up with her paws towards the long hairs of his sideburns and his beard. Her feet plant themselves on his thighs. Then comes the slow descent further down, filling Fidget with the pain and the heat of her diminutive anus being stretched around his meat. His hands wrap themselves around her body, holding her in place until her shuddering little shape relaxes around Warwyck’s shaft, and both her springy legs and his grip lift her off of him until she’s only got the tip of the bard’s skin flute between her haunches and clenched against her rosy rim. How she wants to kiss him! But the posture is awkward, the way the halfling holds her up against his broad chest prevents her to simply turn around and face him and wrap her wings around his sides below his arms. And then comes the next plunge downwards, causing her breath to hitch until her arse is burning so pleasantly once more, her hole stretching around him with a dull ache that never quite leaves her during him sodomizing her. Four inches of halfling cock making her belly swell and distend. His fingers roam across her feathered and furred chest, down towards her abdomen. His calloused, roughened fingers brush across the tiny swells of her teats, literally only there to give her pleasure. Everything about her is just there for pleasure. His. Hers. The master’s. Pleasure. Fidget is hoisted back up from Warwyck’s lap, her breath leaving her with a hitch. With the next thrust from the man behind her, her juicy little cunt actually squirts out another dollop of juices onto the leather trunk. She’s kept firmly in place when one of the sleeping passengers actually seems to stir, before his snoring resumes. And with that, Warwyck, too, resumes rutting his eager little companion. His tongue finds her large, rounded ears, teasing around the inside of her right cup. His warm, pliant tongue flattens the whispy streaks of hair poking out of Fidget’s ear against her pinkened and flushed skin, only making it all the harder for her not to squeal out. The homunculus’ own tiny tongue lolls out of her mouth, her chest heaving with a gasping breath on every thrust of her hips meeting Warwyck’s own. She doesn’t stop. Nothing can stop her. Let them see her slutty little self if the invisibility spell breaks, for all she cares. Her body moves all by itself by then. *** Her body moves all by itself by then, thrusting to and fro on the bed. Feng is barely able to think straight with her body assaulted by so much direct feedback bleeding into her nerves. Her body tenses and her muscles contract and lewdly spread of their own to the penetration coming from all sides imaginable. The pleasure mounts to such a degree that Feng’s body seizes up. Soon, she collapses onto the bed, her own inner walls contracting around a dick that’s not even there. But it all feels as real as the actual act, and her body responds explosively. Her chest heaves with her breath, her voice faltering with every wave of pleasure washing over her. She can’t think. She is just a hole like every single one of her homunculi are. Her mind is a blur of sex, of orgasm, of pleasure. And it’s not stopping. The empathic bond is one-way – that’s the way Feng has set it up. Let not her own pains and pleasures give up the ruse of her gifts. Instead, she’ll drown on the highs of orgasm. Feng chokes up, her throat aching. Not a sound leaves her as her throat is filled to the brim. The sensations are as real as they can be. Feng is choking around the thickest cock she could ever imagine. *** Fidget’s choking on the thickest cock she could ever imagine, her limbs curled up against her sides. Garth wastes not a moment after initial licks and sucks to his mushroom tip, to her drinking his pre. If she wants to sate her godsdamned need, she’ll suffer for it. Just like usual. Held diagonally, downwards at an angle, the homunculus has her jaw stretched exceptionally wide around the circumference of eight solid inches of Cyran steel ramming past her throat, past her ribs and deep into her belly. Nothing more but the loud squelching of her insides sucking around Garth’s shaft leaves Fidget, absolutely unable to speak, or to even take a breath of air to beg for him to stop. Or for him to go on. She’s helpless to the mixed frustration and arousal of the guard-turned-merc, and it’s everything she’s ever wanted out of him. Her ears flush at the sound of his wicked words spoken to her. “You’re useless.” “You manipulative little rodent.” “This is all you’re good for.” “Mocking my loss.” “You cocksucker.” “You’re scum.” “Shameless hussy.” “Sordid bitch.” “You’ll never replace her.” “Stop crying.” “Whore.” “Cunt.” “Hole.” “Rat.” The words sting. Perhaps a part of him really does mean them. It certainly sounds just like he does. Garth is relentless in his verbal abuse. Every few fuckpumps of her helpless body, of her tiny face nuzzling deep into the dark curls of his pubic hair she gets another earful of hearing she’s just a rag to cum into. Fidget soaks in the scent of sweat and male musk, her eyes rolling into the backs of her sockets. Her belly and chest distend and swell with his own turgid meat’s throbs. He’s absolutely right, though. She’s nothing more but his rag. White, frothy liquid oozes from her rosy donut under her tail, seeping past her cunt with every few pumps from Garth. Her green fuzzy cheeks are stained with salty streaks of moisture. Whether it’s the pleasure or the sheer abuse getting to her, Fidget doesn’t care which is which. It’s the same to her, right there and then. She’s a worthless, miserable wretch, only there to slake his lusts every so often with. She’ll be reminded she’s more than that, of course. But right now, she’s reduced to a crying, gagging, squelching, living sex toy, her throat his cunt to rape. Garth picks up in his pace. His words are reduced to animal grunts. His fist around her body moves her faster back and forth. Everything aches so right. Fidget’s body tenses around his hard, throbbing flesh. Her wide-stretched maw, with those tiny teeth and her able lips, move smoothly over his slickened shaft. He’s groaning, keeping Fidget closer against his root while her body is jostled to his quick pace. Garth’s girth swells inside of her body, surging along its underside against her own tummy. And while Fidget can’t taste his imminent release, she can feel him just fine. How he holds her in place, her body barely able to move as it’s pinned to his groin. How his body shudders and makes the tiniest thrusts upwards. How heat then spills into her fucked straight gullet. How after several thick surges of his seed, it then begins to seep from her puffy pussy. Reduced to a cock sleeve, to a rag, his to cum into. For a few minutes, Garth is left panting for breath, holding on to the fluffy homunculus while she shivers in place. The sensation of his warm semen running down out of her body – in one way, out the other – has Fidget feeling absolutely fulfilled. After all, that’s what her creator made her for. Garth isn’t done. He isn’t softening by much either. He’s actually pumping her slowly up and down his turgid staff for another go. Fidget tenses and quivers weakly, surrendering once more to the Cyran when he uses her body for his pleasure once more. Her vision is fleeting, everything going light. *** Her vision is fleeting, everything going light, stars filling her eyes. Feng is bucking back into the bed, her virgin vulva spurting and oozing against touches beyond herself. Her body feels like it’s melting, her sweat dripping off her naked skin in rivulets against the bed below her. Her insides contort and clench in ways she has never felt so intense before. Not a single cognisant thought goes through the perverted little virgin. Her thoughts are exactly like her homunculi’s right now. She is speared from one end to the other, it feels like. She feels the adoration to Adrian from one homunculus. The excitement coming from the obscured acts with Warwyck from another. The sheer burning shame and depraved worthlessness from Garth’s toy. A rising sense of curiosity and need from Tusk’s companion. Oh gods no, not her too. She mindlessly vocalizes her joy, another shudder going through her frame. She can’t take much more of this. *** She can’t take much more of this. The drink weighs heavily on her gut, and the party’s already breaking up with people too tired to stay up for another round. Heck, even Warwyck and his Messenger are gone before Tusk is. Her wings feel heavy against her sides, and she can barely stay straight on Tusk’s broad shoulders, either. And when even Tusk is leaning and not standing too straight, himself, so that means that even –that– big lug’s been drinking enough. “Hey. You’re drunk. Let’s head off before you start cracking heads again,” Fidget warns with as gentle a tone as her slurring voice can manage. The wayfinder, however, is pretty quick to respond, a low grunt leaving his throat. “Come on, just off to your bunk and then conk out. Come on, up you go, big guy.” Not that that was very much necessary, since Tusk was already standing, but that’s beside the point. The Eldeen orc reaches out with thick, trunk-like limbs to the side of the coach for support, his pace quick to recover from stumbling, but his body not so much as sagging or jostling the tiny winged creature on his right arm. “I’m not in the mood to crack heads,” Tusk finally says when the two enter the private carriage. Tusk is fumbling for his key to his chamber. His ears perk up at an assortment of sounds coming from either rooms on the left and right to his. The homunculus, meanwhile, rummages at his chest pocket for the small key fixed to a leather chord, handing it up to the orc with a dopy grin. Her own ears are tweaking and twisting to the sounds he’s been hearing too. Tusk groans, fumbling with the key until he manages to unlock his door, stepping into the chamber with a slight bend of his knees. Compared to the outdoors, the room is absolutely spacious and luxurious. But it doesn’t quite compare. The sounds of the Lightning Rail moving over charged Conductor Stones isn’t the same as a roiling wind steadily building up. There is no sound of crickets and cicadas during the height of Dravago. And apparently, someone found themselves some cheap company for the night. So much for sleep. Tusk crashes onto the bed with his rump, the mattress at least somewhat firm underneath him. His homunculus companion clambers down his bare arm towards his right side, stretching her front half of her body out in front of herself with a squeak of a yawn. When she’s stretched her arms and wings out, she pulls her hind legs taut, stretching those out too. “So what –is– it you’re up for, big guy?” Fidget asks. “Truthfully?” Tusk asks, licking his chops a moment. His trademark protruding tusks occasionally make him hard to understand, but over the time Fidget got to know her fellow scout and charge, she’s taken to listening well to the six and a half foot giant, urging him to think before speaking. It’s honestly endearing she’s better at restraining him than even her master Feng had been. “I think I should have stayed in Sharn. Spend my gold on a nice big changeling girl or somesuch.” “Whoring?” the homunculus asks with a surprised, tinny voice. “Life’s simple pleasures, Fidget,” Tusk says with a sage nod of his head. “Yeah, but,” the homunculus starts, swishing her tail behind her, “that’s paying money for something you already have, big guy.” Tusk quirks a brow, the gray-skinned orc looking down quizzically at the lithe little creature besides him. Truthfully, he and the homunculus never quite found the opportunity for sexual escapades together before. Or maybe this particular instance of Fidget’s not been quick to push the issue. Whichever is the case, Tusk is finding himself equal parts amused and disturbed at what the homunculus is implying. “Are you... coming on to me?” Tusk asks incredulously, his eyes narrowing at his travel companion. “I’m telling you that if you want a whore, I’m here for ya,” Fidget says frankly. The orc just regards the tiny beasty like she’s grown another head for a while, before busting into a roar of a laugh. Fidget, for her part, joins in on the laughter, rolling back onto the bed until both let their laughter die down and both regard each other. Tusk looks very much incredulous still. Fidget looks very much serious still. The homunculus slowly stretches herself out, relaxing her tail, spreading her thighs slowly out. Sure enough, her pink, puckered vulva stands naked and very much there. A hole that Tusk never paid mind to before on Fidget. In fact, he can scarcely believe Fidget is anatomically correct to begin with. He’s drunk enough to indulge her, but the drink inhibits his ability to do much but undo his belt and kick his pants and boots off and just lay a five inch slab of gray and white mottled shaft easily three inches in circumference across his palm in front of the homunculus. Fidget’s dumbstruck. Just staring at that wrinkled skin, the hint of a pale tip peeking past the covers. And she finds herself growing not just moist, but very warm indeed. She slithers, crawls over his bared right leg, leaning over his lap towards his hand and his flaccid penis. “Dude. It’s as big as I am.” Tusk chuckles amusedly. “Bigger, actually.” “I’m so riding that.” “What?” “I’m riding that. Cheap whore, you know? Cheapest this side of Khorvaire!” the homunculus cheekily remarks. She all but falls between his spread thighs atop his shaft and his palm, her limbs clinging around his length. This should be the part where he pulls Fidget off his dick. Walk off after getting his pants back around his legs and hips. But morbid curiosity and a sense of genuine amusement have him lean back and watch that little creature squirm atop his organ, paw at his rough skin, even sink her teeth and suck down on the foreskin. His thumb slowly moves under her tail, which hikes up almost immediately under his testing ministrations. Fidget pushes back against his fingertip, grinding back against him while she actually bodily embraces his dick. Fidget’s starting to feel so very warm. *** Feng is starting to feel so very warm, her chest and stomach suffused with heat coming from another homunculus. But where in any other situation concern and fear might force her to send her Expeditious Messenger a telepathic command, Feng can do nothing else but buck herself into the pleasures her four little creations pour back into their master. Her throat’s a cunt. Her belly’s a cunt. Her head is full with cock, with the cocks of all her friends. Her knuckles are as white as the sheets she’s clenching between her fingers, her lower body arching and lifting from the bed every so often in yet another aching, delicious clench of being rutted so deep and fully. Her mind wanders between the homunculi and their pleasures, their pains. She inhales sharply, before Feng’s voice breaks in yet another high-pitched moan, catching halfway into a pleasurable choke. *** Fidget’s voice breaks in yet another high-pitched moan, catching halfway into a pleasurable choke. Adrian knocks the air right out of her with his next thrusts, her lewd little cunt squelching and squishing loudly to his thrusts pushing past her ribs. Her paws wander down her chest, meeting his fingers, caressing the creases in his skin tenderly until she makes for another choked scream. The homunculus’ belly falls with his every outward pull, her lungs filling with air for a spell. But she can’t squeak out following the next plowing lurch absolutely filling her to the brim. Her entire body contracts around him in the next bout of pleasure washing over her, she can barely think straight about how often she’s peaked. Adrian, however, still hasn’t. He’s biting his lip, watching the slender little thing lewdly twist and buck back into her larger-than-life ward and lover. The way her big amber eyes rise up to meet his gaze has him swell with not just lust. She’s absolutely smitten by him. His grip tightens around her over time, his wandering thumbs across her tiny teats slowing their caresses until all Adrian’s focussed on, is pumping the helpless little cock sock across his shaft. Fidget’s lips part without a word, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. Her entire body just his to fill and use. Adrian’s groans turn to actual moans, uneven and rising and falling with his uneven breath. His pacing picks up all the more. Fidget curls her twisting, fluffy tail against his tight scrotum, caressing the firm, wrinkled hide of his sack. Her touches have him tense and buck up into her, holding her in place. Fidget twists her upper body around, her helpless arms squeezing tight against her sides to provide him just the extra tightness, the extra friction her man needs in his female. Fidget suddenly feels very warm inside. Her belly swells to match the swelling of Adrian’s cock. Her chest feels warm and heavy. And then comes the first choking gag, a throat and then a mouthful of semen spilling out of her wide-open maw. Adrian holds the homunculus down against him and bucks a last time as he moans and tenses in place. His seed spills into Fidget, and out of her mouth. A thick, pearly glob of the stuff collects on Fidget’s palate, swelling in size. Then it washes over her lips and covers her snout and cheeks with his sticky, smelly discharge. Adrian pulls out of his companion, Fidget’s body giving a loud and obscene slurp. He takes his time in voiding her, her body shivering and contracting against the thick coat of semen he has left inside of her body. Her rosy donut hole is gaping wide, oozing with almost as much of his seed as her mouth is. He regards the otherwise disturbing sight with a content smile, however, absolutely amazed at the homunculus’ flexibility. He inches closer over the prone beasty, and plants his heavy, moistened cock over her fluffy, feathered body. Almost immediately, Fidget wraps her arms and legs around him, nuzzling her cum-stained face into his tip, licking his crown for more. The cleric reaches down with his right hand, cupping the back of her tiny head gingerly. His fingers stroke through her matted fur and across her fluffy ears until he feels she sinks her head back against his digits, peeking up at him through half-lidded, weary eyes. She’s smiling like a little loon, twisting against his half-erect dick, stroking it with her entire sexy little body. There’s a croak and a cough, before Fidget squeaks up as sweetly as she can. “Please sir, may I have another?” Gods above, how can he say no? His hips slowly begin to rock back and forth against her naked body. His fingers draw along her throat and chest. *** His fingers draw along her throat and chest, until his palm covers her little maw. Warwyck’s hips are pumping ever more furiously into Fidget’s own, the trunk actually creaking lightly under the weight of the halfling’s upwards thrusts and his Expeditious Messenger bouncing down on him. The human man closest to the trunks actually wakes up with a start, the light stinging his eyes. Fidget turns dead silent, looking up towards the bleary-eyed man slowly coming to. Warwyck, for his part, also stays very still, though his fat shaft stays firmly planted into her tiny rump. And the fucker doesn’t so much as stop rubbing her swollen little twat, either. Another drop of her honey joins the puddle of her juices on the trunk, which causes the man to turn his head right towards them. Squish. Another knuckle-deep thrust of his middle finger into her quim causes the homunculus to soundlessly squirm back into her big man, hiding her breath behind his hand covering her mouth. Another drop falls. And this time, the man looks up. Warwyck slowly pulls himself out of Fidget’s cunt, until the next thrust of his fingers has her leaking on the trunk once more. The man keeps his eyes on the ceiling, before he glares in their direction – or rather, towards the puddle. He gets up with a heave, his body feeling like lead. But a leak in this carriage, for his money? This wouldn’t stand. The least he could get is a towel to salvage his trunk, right? The homunculus and the halfling look as the man steps past his slumbering travellers to leave for the next coach, muttering under his breath. Both look towards each other, even though they can’t see each other, obviously. A muted chuckle and giggle are shared, before the girlish chime of a laugh is caught short when the bard lifts Fidget up from his lap and forcibly twists her around. A surprised yelp leaves the little creature before she is silenced once more. Finally, his tongue meets her maw. Size difference be damned, he is kissing her in their coitus. His hands possessively squeeze her muscular thighs and hold tight to them, plowing himself to the root back into her diminutive and stretched-out pucker. Faster they move. Faster she bounces down to meet him. Faster he takes her. Faster until the two moan out together in their mouths, threatening discovery by others, but giving not a single damn between them. Fidget’s claws rake across the bard’s muscular chest and for the pale brown puckered nipples covering his chest. A squeeze. A bite. A clenching twist. He won’t last long against her ministrations, yearning for his release. When Warwyck cums, he pushes Fidget tightly down on him, keeping her shivering self on his throbbing cock. Thick rivulets of his seed splash up against the walls of her tight arse. Her own puss squishes over his groin as she reaches her own peak shortly after. They stay together only long enough for the bard to plant a quick kiss on her button nose, before he pulls the shivering homunculus off his lap. His seed seeps out of that tiny pink slit under her tail, joining the mess that drooled out of her little animal cunt. Not much time for cuddling or pillow talk, after all. Warwyck pulls his pants up enough to be mobile, drawing away from the trunks and almost leaving the tired little homunculus behind. He hisses through his teeth for her attention. The little critter snaps out of it, quick to beat her wings and float after the sound of his boots heading deeper up ahead in the train. “Where to?” she asks, ears primed for his voice. “The next coach, at the doors,” he whispers behind her, forcing Fidget to slow down. He opens up the door, the veil of invisibility leaving him. He looks dishevelled, holding up his pants with one hand, and his coat hanging loose from his shoulders. The green Messenger lands heavily on his shoulder, growling low into his ear for a quick nip to the pointed edge. “Good. How ‘bout the overhead baggage shelf, this time?” “You saucy little mynx,” Warwyck says with a low tone of voice after the homunculus. He closes the door behind them, and applies another spell of invisibility for them. And some spider climb for himself. Warwyck clings tight to Fidget. *** Garth clings tight to Fidget, stroking her prone, heaving form tenderly across her left flank. She’s still sobbing and crying against his hairy thigh, still seeping and aching from his abuse. “Ssshhh. It’s alright. I’m sorry.” It must have been the third time he’s said that. “I only meant the words then. I can’t ever say them otherwise.” Third time he’s said, that, too. “It’s alright. Shed your tears, little one.” Fidget sniffles, her jaw sore and hanging a little loose from her skull. Her fur is matted against her throat and around her thighs with his ejaculate. Her clawed paws weakly draw up against Garth’s right leg, forcing the tiny homunculus to sit up to look up at him with an almost indignant expression. “You called me a rat,” she finally manages to vocalize after a few more sniffles. “I did.” “An’– an’– an’ scum.” “That too.” Garth slightly cringed. He said a lot of very, very terrible things to someone who very, very much didn’t deserve to be called that much. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to... replace anyone...” “You never will, Fidget. You’re your own little self, and I love you for it.” The homunculus sniffles again, collapsing back against Garth’s lap. “You mean that, right?” “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” His fingers slowly wander across her stomach, causing the homunculus to slowly stretch out and turn for him, presenting to him her vulnerable, stretched-out belly. She enjoys the softness, the frank and familiar from Garth after the harshness and the wicked cruelty he showed her. After much desired abuse, much needed pampering. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mean what I said back then, either.” “’s Okay,” Fidget says after hiccupping. “I’m a terrible person.” “At times.” “I forced your hand.” “That you did.” “I liked it, Garth.” The Cyran is quiet for a short while, his stroking, petting hand continuing to wander over her naked, fluffy hide. Fidget gives only the faintest of chirps against the way his fingertips brush against her nipples, or how his middle finger stays at her weeping little pussy. “I did too, Fidget.” “Am sorry too.” “Don’t be.” “I am,” she says, burying her face into his leg and slowly sobbing out again. Up for a fourth, it is. But goodness knows he and her need the time to unwind. To let her know she’s appreciated. That he cares about her friendship. He’s ashamed to admit it, but he enjoys this part of their partnership, too. And that bit of affirmation matters. She just went through so much pain and pleasure, after all. A little aftercare goes a long way. “Truth be told, Fidg’? We should have words with Feng sometime about this.” Fidget looks up to him, a look of panic across her face. “Sometime. Not now. Now, you’ll be here with me. You’re not worthless. You’re not a rodent. You’re not a filthy whore. You’re my friend and scout and guardian, Fidget. And I owe you much.” His hand slowly draw away from her vulva, instead returning to petting her luscious coat once more. His fingers move across her in all the right places. *** Her fingers move across him in all the right places. Tusk could not have imagined his case of ale dick to be cured by the playful teething and tender pawing of a creature barely longer than his lower arm, and certainly smaller than his swelling erection turns out to be. Among his kind he may be a welcome sire. Among the smaller populace of most of Breland and Thrane, however, there’s no way he would be even bedding a whore for any kind of pay. And now he’s got himself the cheapest little whore this side of Khorvaire bodily hugging and humping on top of his dick until she looks back over her right shoulder towards him, keeping her puffy, plump donut hole of a pussy pressed into his thumb. Her tiny rump fidgets and tenses against his digit. “Hey Tusk?” The orc slightly groans, opening his eyes a little wider. “Yearh?” “I meant it that I am gonna ride it. Pick me up, big guy.” He heeds, hesitantly wrapping his thick fingers around her tiny torso and hips, feeling her turn around and angle her sizeable wings behind his hands, spreading herself wide in his palms. Her little puckered cunt has swollen considerably against her masturbating against him, but still looks impossibly tiny compared to the ten inches of solid cock she’s managed to coax out of him. She actually draws her hind legs down across his bared cockhead, slowly rubbing up and down with her slender, feline feet. “Come on. Put it in.” The request is ridiculous, of course. “Fidget. That won’t fit,” Tusk says, as if it’s final. Fidget slowly lowers herself against his tip, rubbing her oozing little quim against his own drooling tip. “Yes it will. ‘s Guaranteed.” She reaches down to herself, actually pulling with her clawed little fingers at her own rubbery ring, keeping herself spread to show of the rosy insides of her body. “Push it in slowly. Go on. I’m your whore. Bed me, big boy,” Fidget says with a low, tinny voice that actually manages to sound appealing, sexy even to the orc. So he pushes. Gently. Finds the tip of his dick to actually spread her open steadily, comfortably even. Fidget’s voice cracks just slightly to moan out as she feels herself spread impossibly wide. There is a mild cracking noise heard as he passes her vaginal muscle and forces her hips further apart. “Go on. You won’t break me. You can’t break me. Fuck your whore. Please. Pleeeaaase...” The sounds, he fears, tell otherwise, but Fidget doesn’t seem worse for wear, if her mewling cries turning to steady loud moans are any indication. His tip disappears into the tiny homunculus, her body distending obscenely around his girth. Her paws rub at his tip through her own hide, and she follows his initial slow thrust with her own two hands. Tusk continues to slowly push further, looking in rapt fascination and a bit of horror at just how much Fidget shapes around his dick. How her belly swells until her entire lower body is a distended, stretched-out sheath for him. And still she’s urging him to go on. He pulls back, her body lewdly sucking on him, until the next thrust inwards. Past the stomach line. Back out. And back in, at the sternum. Every time, Fidget motions for him to go on, tells him to fuck her, until she can’t speak and instead mouths up to him for more. Even if her ribs must break or crack and spread around him, she urges for him, she yearns for him. Tusk closes his eyes, slowly pumping Fidget up and down his dick in slow pumps. She’s wet. So deliciously wet. Her body shouldn’t feel like this to him, but she’s a tightening sleeve, a warm, moist glove wrapping around him from pussy lips to the– A choking sound. And then a squish. When Tusk looks down, he sees the tip of his pale penis actually poking well past Fidget’s mouth, her entire body a tube-like sausage moulded around his fat dick. “F-Fidget?” Tusk asks incredulously, afraid to pull out, to pull her off. He’s surprised to see her left paw rise up easily against the base of his right thumb and reach up above herself, shaping an O with her own thumb and pointer finger. Then down her paw moves, joining the other on her bloated, distended belly and chest, rubbing across her naked body. Tusk gives a slow shrug, pulling Fidget back from his dick. She heaves for breath, moaning out to the man absolutely filling her, fulfilling her final purpose to the orc for the first time. She moans, and then falls silent again, feeling her throat and jaws part obscenely. Her entire body a cunt for him to enjoy. Her body’s on fire, she’s melting. *** Her body’s on fire, she’s melting, she’s dying, she’s alive. Feng’s empathic links have her almost drown in the feedback coming from her creations, the link trying to translate the sheer feeling of being so suffused with heat, with throbbing, with cock, that all Feng can feel is her entire body being filled and voided repeatedly. The Wu Jen’s slender body jostles and tosses itself back and forth against the bed to match the sensations coming from her homunculi. How Tusk fucks his cheap little whore. How Adrian beds his tiny lover. How Warwyck is pinning his fuckbuddy against cold metal bars and rails her aching arse another time. How Garth’s dick oozes into his guardian’s mouth. She is every single instance of Fidget at once. Her cunt is giving another shudder, her belly clenching in ways she never felt so intense before. And then, as her pussy veritably squirts another thick jet of watery juices all over the bed, all over herself, how her strength gives out. How her vision goes black, and stays black. How her body keeps bucking and twitching and cumming and leaking even when she’s gone out cold. *** “You know, it’s been rather quiet at her cabin for a while,” Tusk remarks the next day at breakfast, his homunculus tiredly wrapped around the back of his neck and shoulders, not giving a peep and actually looking fast asleep. “Think she pulled an all-nighter on studies?” Warwyck asks, his own homunculus standing rather wakeful and arched on top of the table before him. “Sounds like Feng, alright,” Adrian agrees, his little homunculus curled atop his left shoulder with her tail arching around his neck. “Though she’s not one to sleep in.” “I could have a look over at her cabin, see if she’ll wake up, lads,” Garth finally says, stroking his fluffy homunculus sitting under the table on his lap across her flank and back. “I’ve been meaning to ask her something, anyway.” Almost as one the four homunculi turn their heads up, regarding Garth. Even Tusk’s homunculus opens an eye up, keeping him in her sight. “Just get ready to dodge a pillow. Or a firebolt,” Warwyck jokes. Exeunt Garth and his homunculus, leaving for the private carriage again. He doesn’t return, however. In fact, he’s making quite a bit of noise. So much noise, even, that Adrian, Warwyck and Tusk opt to get up from their table and join in their friend’s investigation. They find Garth beating heavily on the locked door to Feng’s cabin, with both Garth and his homunculus looking worriedly over at the others as they arrive. “We got a spare key?” he asks. “Why, you think she’s in trouble?” Adrian asks in turn. “She’s not responding. Like, not at all.” “We could ask the head engineer for the key to–“ Warwyck’s homunculus offers. Instead, however, Tusk brushes Garth aside with his sheer bulk, and smashes his left shoulder into the door. The shock from the other men gives Tusk enough time to follow up with a powerful kick to the door hinge, pretty much smashing the door right open. Inside they find Feng, alright, naked, on her bed, twitching and lying in a messy heap. Her sheets are torn from the mattress, and ripped in places, and they look to be absolutely soaked in goodness knows what kind of juices – much like Feng herself. The men just stare at their naked companion for a while, at a loss for words. Garth finally breaks the silence. “Fidget?” “Yes?” a chorus of four nervous voices squeaks up. “I think we’ll be having a long talk yet before we’re in Thaliost.” Adrian averts his gaze, stepping in ahead of the group. A quick casting of a rushing torrent of water drizzling over Feng’s chest and head has her sputtering and gasping for air, but coming to, at long last. The Wu Jen is dishevelled, disoriented, and actually crying out when she’s coming to, looking woozily to the group past the busted doorframe. “A very long talk?” Garth’s homunculus asks with a tinny voice. “Well, we do have a few more days of travel to go,” Warwyck’s homunculus rattles back. Cue Adrian’s homunculus: ”I don’t think master accounted for that.”