Boots of Booty | ONC 2023

Part 9

21. Some People's Idea of Fun

"We're still connected at the shoulders," Séa whispered, "but our legs are free."

"Right," Tash whispered back. "If they look closely, they'll figure it out quick, so let's keep them distracted."

"Uh. What? How?"

"Séa. Think dirty for once. Come on to them. Tease them. Make their blood to flow into their crotches instead of their brains."

"That's disgusting." Séa's nose crinkled. She glanced at Tash's resolute face, then exhaled in defeat. "Great Endurer, sustain me in this trial."

The two incubi strutted down the gentle slope of smooth stone toward the cages. The drider clicked behind them on eight articulated exoskeletal legs, burdened with a large bale of hay. The bale formed a hump on the back of the humanoid portion of its anatomy. Oxter whirled a ring of keys around his index finger. "We're back, ladies! And I find that I'm remiss. Proper introductions were never made! I'm Oxter, the inviting incubus, voted fastest tongue in the entire sex apprentice crucible."

Fazzet scoffed. "Inviting? Ignore-the-incubus, more like."

"Sarophax said we would like you," Tash lied, with an artful dash of uncertainty peppered on top.

The drider closed his eyes as if suffering a splitting headache. Over Oxter's shoulder, the other brilliantly-handsome incubus purred, "I'm Fazzet, and I'll be your favorite. Wait and see. Get the cage open, Oxter. I'm about bursting out of my leathers down there. I thought Sarophax hated us. She does hate us." His eyes widened with dawning realization. "There must be so many good-looking women in the material plane that she tossed us a pair anyway."

Séa strained until she could force words past her clenched teeth. "We want you, um, in us."

Tash jumped in, "You're both my favorite. You'll be gentle with us?"

"Sting me purple," Oxter babbled, "I'm so excited I can't even ... there! Lock open. Happy, Fazzet?"

The drider dumped his bale of hay at Fazzet's feet. "I can't stand this. I'm leaving. If you need me, I'll be curled up inside a wine keg." With a mixture of nobility and petulance, the drider threw his head high. His pumping legs danced him in a circle, then propelled him toward the exit.

Fazzet slapped Oxter on the back. "Happy and getting happier. Help me with the hay."

"Straw," Oxter rebutted as he swiveled to face the bale that Netherlue had dropped.

"You bloody pustule," Fazzet growled.

"Tiny nipple-knob," his twin shot back.

The moment the incubus eyes focused on the hay bale, the women inside the cage galvanized. Trailing webs like silent ghosts, the women curled forward and rolled to their feet. Still webbed together across their chests, they crept in tandem. The iron cork-punch machine trailed from Séa's left hand, glued in place by spider silk. A full bottle of wine dangled from the rogue's right hand.

Tash pushed the cage door. To her chagrin, it squeaked, shattering their momentary advantage.

Bewilderment clouded the chiseled faces of the incubi as they swiveled. Fazzet protested in conversational tones, "No, get back." But the web-draped women accelerated forward.

Upon belated detection of aggression, the incubi reached for the sabers at their belts.

Tash beat Fazzet to his own weapon. Instead of a hilt, he put hand to a sliding, slicing steel edge. With a grunt of effort, Séa swung the cork-punch. Its iron corner connected with Fazzet's head. Bone crunched and bright blood sprayed. His feet left the earth and his body arced to the side as if composed of bags of sand.