269: Chair?

**Chapter 269**

A week went the way Elara had said it would.

The hall filled every morning with staff who thought they were being blessed. The priest spoke the rite. The orb sat on its stand and turned white under every hand. Human. Human. Human. Nobody in the line knew they were walking through a lie I was holding open from across the room. They should thank me. That should send their wives to me. Mothers would do fine too.

Sister Anne stood where a nun was supposed to stand, at the priest’s left, and that was where I put my hands when I had a reason.

The first time it was her lower back after three hours on her feet. The second time it was her shoulders. By the fourth day I didn’t bother climbing that high. I stepped behind her while a cook’s boy had his palm on the crystal, set both hands on that ass through the robe, and kneaded like I was keeping her from locking up before the next name. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t move away. The flesh filled my grip the way it had in her room, hot, heavy, spilling over my thumbs toward the cleft while the priest said Kaya’s words and a maid waited her turn. I squeezed until the robe went tight and the cheeks pushed back into my palms, a slow, thick answer that had nothing to do with a blessing.

Now that’s what I call progress.

I kept my hands there through two more names. The right side of her ass overflowed my fingers. The left side did the same. Heat soaked through the cloth until my palms were damp. She sweated awfully a lot. Would have loved it, if not for the fact I’d have to kill her in a few weeks.

When I finally let go, the white stayed creased, two handprints sitting on holy fabric in a hall full of people who thought they were watching a rite.

On the fifth afternoon, the priest called a pause and took a potion that didn’t put the color back in his face. Sister Anne sat on a hall chair that had been built for a thinner woman. The wood bit into her at once. I saw it in the way she shifted, the robe pulling tight across an ass that didn’t fit the seat, her tits shifting under the front of the cloth when she tried to find an angle that didn’t dig.

“You seem uncomfortable,” I said. “Allow me to help.”

She looked at me with the same empty attention she used on the line.

“How?”

I simply smiled in return and asked her to get up so I could move the chair.

I put my face where the wood had been, and took her by the hips.

She sat on my mouth.

Church cloth and heat and the huge, soft weight of her ass settled over me until I had to breathe through the robe. I opened my mouth against the cleft and pressed in, not to reach skin I couldn’t get to, but to give that ass a place that wasn’t oak.

She was heavier than Valeria like this. Softer. Both cheeks closed around my ears and shut the hall down to cloth and her. The robe went damp against my lips from her warmth and from me. I held her thighs so she wouldn’t slide and buried myself until my nose was in the split of her and I could feel the shape of her ass with my whole face, the give, the heat, the way it spread when she let her weight go.

Difficult to breathe, sure, but so worth it. Not that she was heavy with my stats. Her ass, on the other hand…

Woof. Reminded me of the pity again.

She sat.

She didn’t moan. She didn’t ask what I was doing. She watched the priest drink and used my face the way she had used the chair, except my face gave. After a minute she stopped shifting. A little more of her settled.

My jaw ached. My mouth was full of robe and the smell of her, incense and skin and the faint salt of a woman who had been standing since dawn, sweating. But her sweat wasn’t as averting as I had thought it would be.

I turned my head just enough to breathe and then pressed back in, hands sliding up to hold her ass in place so she wouldn’t take the gift away.

When the priest stood, she stood. The sudden loss of her left my mouth wet and my jaw sore. I got up like a servant who had been holding a cushion.

“Amazing,” I couldn’t help but mutter.

She smoothed the back of the robe once, as if I had wrinkled it, and went back to the orb. The print of my face would have been on that ass if the cloth hadn’t been in the way.

Nights were the same lie with a door closed.

I followed her to the last room in the row after every day’s checking. Massage. Robe on. Face down. I put my hands on her ass until the cloth was creased and my palms were slick, gathering each cheek, lifting it, letting it drop, working the undersides where the heat lived. Her tits I only got when I made her turn, and even then it was through fabric, two heavy mounds that filled my hands the way her ass did, points tight against the white, a valley the cut of the robe had no excuse for. I lifted them, pressed them, thumbed the peaks until her breath changed by a fraction, and then she told me to go back to her back before my hands could travel any lower.

I let it go. Pushing would’ve made the week look like something other than service. Besides, I was more than happy with just her big ass anyway.

After the tit,s I always went back to the ass. That was the part that didn’t refuse me. I spanked her on the fourth night, open hand, hard enough that the flesh jumped under the robe and a sound like wet cloth filled the small room. She gave me a look for it. No hiss. No flinch. I told her it was a new technique. She said nothing. The same even breathing she used when I kneaded her. I hit the other side. Same nothing. Still no erotic reaction from her. It bugged me more than the clothes she still wouldn’t take off.

“Turn over.”

She did. I worked her tits again because they were there, warm and serious under my palms, then she told me to focus on her back and rolled before I could argue. That ass turning on the mattress was its own problem. I put a forearm across her and spanked her twice more, slower, and watched the robe settle over skin I still hadn’t seen.

“Why don’t you take it off,” I said, meaning the robe.

“I cannot facilitate that request.”

Same line as the first night. I left it there. I wasn’t going to get the answer in a guest room with a paladin three doors down.

On the sixth night I used my face again because the chair trick had taught me she would allow it if I gave it a use. I told her the small of her back needed pressure she couldn’t get from my hands alone. She let me put my mouth on the robe over the split of her ass and stay there while I kneaded the sides. Heat. Weight. The damp cling of cloth on my tongue. She breathed into the pillow and didn’t tell me to move.

The seventh evening the last scullery girl took her hand off the orb, and the crystal stayed white. The priest packed the case. Elara’s week was done. In the morning the three of them were gone from the servants’ wing, gold and cloth and Sister Anne’s ass walking out of the estate under a name that still wasn’t hers.

I went to Elara’s office after the dust of their leaving had settled.

Valeria was back at her shoulder, standing the way she always stood, as if she had never come on a slap over this same desk. Elara sat with one hand on the wood and waited for me to use the house bow.

“My lady.”

“Speak.”

“I need a leave for a few days.”

She didn’t ask for how long first.

“You’re going after them.”

I nodded.

I didn’t put the quest on the table. I didn’t say Alena Monroe. Elara could build whatever theory she wanted out of a servant following church people who were a threat to him down the road. That was safer than the truth.

She was quiet long enough that the office ticked.

“Do not be stupid.” She simply said.

“I won’t be, my lady.”

“If you are, don’t bring it back to my door.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She looked at me the way she had looked at the priest when she told him to get out in a week. Then she flicked her fingers toward the door, and I was dismissed.

I left the office with a house full of people who thought they had been blessed, the smell of Sister Anne’s robe still easy to remember, the sensation of her ass alive on my hands, and a road that already had three sets of tracks on it.

The system window in the corner of my sight hadn’t stopped counting. Three weeks left.

~~

Let me know if there are any issues. And for those who would ask how Jack could sit with her ass on his face. Well, all I can say is it's truly wondrous when you actually try it. You don't see uncomfortable at all.