Chapter 5: Morgana's Jealous Lesson
The candles had burned low, their flames reduced to trembling slivers of orange that cast long shadows across the crimson silk. Candice lay sprawled across the twisted ivory bed, her body slick with sweat, her thighs still trembling from the third orgasm Morgana had ripped out of her.
Her cunt throbbed. Her nipples ached. The mark on her stomach pulsed with a satisfied, drowsy warmth.
Morgana stretched beside her like a cat in a sunbeam, her purple hair fanned across the pillows, her full lips curved into that infuriating smirk. She hadn't broken a sweat. She never did. She just lay there, glowing with stolen power, her own mark now an almost-perfect mirror of Candice's.
"I want you to do something for me," Morgana said.
Candice groaned. "I've already done three things for you tonight."
"This is different."
"Everything's different with you. That's the problem."
Morgana rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. The movement made her breasts shift, heavy and full, their nipples still hard from the attention Candice had given them earlier. "I want you to eat me out."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Candice's stomach clenched. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not—" She stopped, searching for the right word. "I don't do that."
"You don't do a lot of things. You didn't do this, either." Morgana gestured at the bed, the candles, the entire decadent chamber. "And yet here you are."
"That's different. That's—that's for power. For control. This is just..."
"Just what?"
"Degrading."
Morgana laughed—a low, genuine sound that made Candice's cheeks burn. "Degrading? You just let me fuck you with a magical cock for two hours. You screamed my name so loud the girls downstairs probably thought you were dying. And now you're worried about degrading?"
Candice sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts. "It's different for me. You know it's different."
"I know you're scared." Morgana's voice softened, losing its teasing edge. "I know you've spent your whole life being the hero, the protector, the one who never lets anyone see her sweat. And I know that scares you more than any goblin ever could."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified." Morgana reached out, her fingers brushing Candice's knee. "But here's the thing, sweetheart. You can't reach Level 50 by holding back. The mark feeds on surrender. On submission. On letting go of everything you think you're supposed to be."
"I know that."
"Then prove it."
Candice stared at her. The mark pulsed, warm and encouraging, and she felt the hunger stir again—not for her own pleasure, but for something else. Something darker.
"I don't know how," she admitted.
Morgana's smile returned, gentler this time. "I'll teach you."
She lay back against the pillows, spreading her legs in a slow, deliberate invitation. Her cunt was already glistening, pink and perfect, the lips slightly parted. The scent of her filled the air—musky and sweet, like honey and sin.
"Come here," she said.
Candice moved slowly, her heart hammering. She positioned herself between Morgana's thighs, her face inches from that intimate heat. She'd never done this before. She'd never wanted to do this before. The idea had always seemed... unseemly. Undignified.
But now, staring at Morgana's cunt, she felt something shift inside her. A curiosity she'd always suppressed. A hunger she'd never acknowledged.
"Use your tongue," Morgana instructed. "Start slow. Long strokes. Get used to the taste."
Candice leaned in and pressed her tongue flat against Morgana's slit.
The taste hit her immediately—salty and sweet, with an undertone of something floral. It wasn't unpleasant. It was actually... good. She dragged her tongue upward, slow and experimental, and Morgana's hips twitched.
"Again."
She did it again. And again. Each stroke brought more wetness, more flavor, more of that intoxicating scent. Her reservations crumbled with every pass of her tongue.
"That's it," Morgana breathed. "Now find my clit. It's right there, at the top. Circle it with your tongue."
Candice obeyed, her tongue tracing small circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. Morgana gasped, her fingers tangling in Candice's short black hair.
"Fuck, yes. Just like that. Don't stop."
The encouragement sent a thrill through Candice's body. She'd spent her whole life seeking approval—from the village elders, from the other guards, from the people she protected. But this was different. This was raw and immediate, a feedback loop of pleasure that she controlled.
She pressed harder, flicking her tongue rapidly against Morgana's clit. The witch moaned, her thighs clenching around Candice's head.
"Use your fingers," she panted. "Put them inside me. Two of them."
Candice slid two fingers into Morgana's cunt, surprised by how easily they slipped in. She was so wet, so ready, her inner walls clenching around the intrusion.
"Now curl them. Like you're beckoning."
She curled her fingers and Morgana screamed.
"Fuck! Yes, right there. Don't fucking stop."
Candice didn't stop. She lapped at Morgana's clit with renewed determination, her fingers pumping in and out, her jaw aching, her tongue cramping, but she didn't care. She wanted this. She wanted to make Morgana come. She wanted to feel that power.
"Close," Morgana gasped. "So close. Harder. Suck on my clit. Suck it like you'd suck a cock."
Candice sealed her lips around Morgana's clit and sucked, hard, while her fingers continued their relentless rhythm. She felt the moment it happened—the way Morgana's entire body tensed, the way her cunt clenched around Candice's fingers, the way she screamed loud enough to wake the dead.
The mark on Morgana's stomach blazed bright pink, and Candice felt the energy flow into her—not just her own pleasure, but Morgana's too, amplified and reflected back. It was like being struck by lightning. Her own cunt spasmed, completely untouched, and she came with a muffled cry against Morgana's flesh.
When it was over, she collapsed onto her back, gasping for air, her face slick with Morgana's juices.
Morgana laughed, breathless and satisfied. "See? That wasn't so bad."
Candice wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Shut up."
"You loved it."
"I said shut up."
Morgana rolled over and kissed her, slow and deep, apparently unbothered by tasting herself on Candice's lips. When she pulled back, her expression had shifted. The teasing was gone. In its place was something softer. Something almost vulnerable.
"Move in with me."
Candice blinked. "What?"
"Move in. Here. With me." Morgana gestured at the chamber, the bed, the mirrors. "We could fuck every night. Multiple times. Your power would grow twice as fast. Maybe three times. You could hit Level 50 in a month. Two at most."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I live in the barracks. Because I'm the captain of the guard. Because people would notice." She sat up, the sheet falling away from her breasts. "Because it would look bad in front of the villagers."
Morgana's expression hardened. "The villagers."
"Yes. The villagers. The people I've spent my entire adult life protecting. They need me."
"They don't need you." Morgana's voice was cold now. "They use you. There's a difference."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Morgana sat up too, her purple eyes blazing. "You kill goblins for them. You patrol their borders. You maintain the barrier that keeps them safe. And what do they give you? A room above the barracks. A title. The expectation that you'll give everything and ask for nothing in return."
"They respect me."
"Do they? Or do they fear you?" Morgana reached out, her fingers tracing the mark on Candice's stomach. "What do you think would happen if they found out about this? If they knew their precious hero was spreading her legs every night for a demon god's blessing?"
Candice flinched. "They'd understand. I'm doing it to protect them."
"Would they?" Morgana's voice dropped. "Or would they burn you like they burned the succubi? Would they call you monster, whore, abomination? Would they cast you out before you could even explain?"
The words hit like arrows.
"They wouldn't—"
"They absolutely would." Morgana grabbed Candice's chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Listen to me. I've lived in this village my whole life. I've seen how they treat anyone who's different. How they treated me."
Candice looked away. "That was different."
"Was it? I liked sex. I liked my body. I liked feeling good. And for that, they called me a slut, a harlot, a whore. And you—" She paused, and Candice heard the hurt beneath the anger. "You weren't any different. You looked at me like I was filth. Like I was beneath you."
"I was young. I was stupid."
"You were cruel." Morgana released her chin. "But that's in the past. What matters now is this—the villagers don't love you, Candice. They love what you do for them. The moment you stop being useful—the moment you become inconvenient—they'll throw you away like garbage."
"I don't believe that."
"Then you're lying to yourself." Morgana stood up, her naked body luminous in the dying candlelight. "I'm not asking you to abandon them. I'm asking you to stop lying to yourself about what they are. And to stop lying to me about what you want."
Candice's throat tightened. "You're just trying to make me into a whore."
"Yes." The word was blunt, unapologetic. "I am. I've been trying since the moment you walked through my door. I want to turn you into a slut who begs for cock, who spreads her legs for anyone with enough power, who forgets she was ever anything else."
"Then why would I—"
"But." Morgana held up a hand. "But you'd be my whore. Mine. I would never throw you away. I would never abandon you. I would never call you filth or treat you like garbage." Her voice cracked slightly. "Because unlike them, I know what you are. I've always known. And I've always—"
She stopped.
Candice's eyes were stinging. "Always what?"
Morgana looked away. "Nothing."
"Morgana."
"Always loved you." The words came out sharp, defensive, like she was angry at herself for saying them. "There. Happy now? I've always loved you, even when you hated me. Even when you made me feel like dirt. I still loved you, and it made me feel pathetic, and I'm still here, still trying to help you, still trying to keep you safe from your own fucking stubbornness."
Candice couldn't breathe.
The memories came flooding back—Morgana at sixteen, laughing too loud, touching too freely. Candice at eighteen, lecturing her about propriety, about reputation, about how women should behave. The look on Morgana's face when she'd called her a slut the first time. The way she'd stopped laughing after that.
"I'm sorry," Candice whispered.
"What?"
"I'm sorry." The tears came now, hot and unstoppable. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry for making you feel like—like you weren't worthy of respect just because you liked—"
She couldn't finish the sentence.
Morgana stared at her for a long moment. Then she crossed the room and pulled Candice into her arms.
"I don't want your apologies," she murmured into Candice's hair. "I want your trust."
"I don't know how to trust anyone."
"I know." Morgana held her tighter. "But you're going to have to learn. Because we're in this together now, whether you like it or not. The mark binds us. Your power feeds mine. And I'm not letting you go."
Candice pressed her face against Morgana's shoulder, breathing in the scent of jasmine and sex and something that felt like home.
"I can't move in with you," she said, her voice muffled. "Not yet. The villagers—"
"Fuck the villagers."
"I can't. Not yet. But I'll come here. Every night. If you'll have me."
Morgana pulled back, her eyes searching Candice's face. Then she smiled—a real smile, not the smirk, not the mask.
"I'll always have you," she said. "You're my whore, remember?"
Candice laughed despite herself. "I hate you."
"No you don't."
"No." She leaned in, kissing Morgana softly. "I don't."
The candles guttered and died, plunging the room into darkness. But the marks on their stomachs glowed—twin flames of pink and violet, bound together by something neither of them fully understood.
And for the first time in years, Candice didn't feel alone.