Archive of Our Own

It was a known phenomenon that deep down in the valley in the Galatean territory, where many traveled through to enter the Leicester Alliance, there was a curious plant that flourished there. At first many dismissed the plant’s effects as being nothing more than a lie peddled by those all too willing to cave into their more carnal impulses, to spread their seed where it wasn’t meant to be, to open their legs to whatever stranger darkened the door of their tents. Later, however, it became abundantly clear that the tales surrounding this plant were wholly accurate. To some, this was a pilgrimage they made for tales of increased fertility and to consummate their passions. To others, this was an inconvenience, beleaguered nobles and leaders of caravans allowing the tradition that when passing through the valley, all would be permitted to indulge in one another, whether that was in the privacy of their own tents or out in the open for the rest of their traveling party to watch, or even to participate in.

Manuela didn’t know any of this. All she knew is that it was the place that Catherine said she and Shamir had first become official , whatever that meant. Oh, she had heard of aphrodisiac plants - who didn’t, especially in her line of work? - but most of it was just tall tales told by nobles desperate to prolong their, ahem, rigidity . She was from the Empire! For what purpose would she need to know about some silly little plant in the Kingdom that didn’t even continue working after you plucked it?

Or at least that was what she told herself as their traveling party came to a stop and she realized the rest of the army, those absolute bastards, were already well aware. Catherine and Shamir’s reactions made a lot more sense too, from the smug look on Catherine’s face whenever she mentioned it to Shamir rolling her eyes and scoffing, looking as though she wanted Catherine to shut up already which was, while not unusual for their dynamic, not the sort of reaction Manuela expected to the romantic notion of celebrating an anniversary where they first met. 

No, instead of being clued into what monstrosities the Kingdom held, Manuela had the poor luck of berating herself as they journeyed deeper into the valley. It hadn’t been long after their arrival that she started to feel the effects of it, a burning heat coiling in her gut, her undergarments damp with sweat and arousal, her skin pebbling and prickling as she restrained the urge to plaster herself against the nearest warm body. She feared it was obvious to everyone else as well, the way her cheeks flushed and her nipples hardened, visible underneath the thin fabric of her dress as she rocked against the saddle of the horse she was riding on as though she was trying to keep her balance when all she wanted was some relief . They could all tell, she thought. Manuela, that drunken slut, unable to keep it in her pants long enough for even the journey. She knew the way people talked about her behind closed doors and while she attempted to act as though she took ownership of it, that it was everyone else that ought to be ashamed of their petty gossip, she couldn’t wholly shed it. She saw the way some of the soldiers leered at her on their sickbeds. Good for a drunken night, then never to be seen again. She was tired of it. Of course a woman wanted some physical affection! Who wouldn't? But she wanted more than that! And the more this went on, the less likely she was to get it! She wasn’t getting any younger, after all. 

And yet here she was, rocking against the saddle of her horse like some young woman who had just discovered her clitoris for the first time. If people were looking, if they could see -- she would never get a husband! Humiliation mingled with the arousal in her gut, and that made it sing even sweeter, her traitorous body not at all in sync with her brain. She almost collapsed out of relief when the army captain shouted that they were done for the day, eager to hide herself in one of the sick beds and rub herself off until this awful, needy ache passed.

“All right, lads!” The army captain boomed. “You know how things work by now! Some ground rules! If someone closes their tent, you don’t go in without an invitation. If you’re out in the open, you’re responsible for yourselves, you got that?”

Manuela furrowed her brow. Surely, she had missed something there. When she glanced to her left, she saw Catherine leaning against Shamir’s back, one hand idly pawing at her breast through her shirt and the other wrapped around her hip, slowly stroking the divot of her pelvis. Manuela darted her gaze away, feeling abruptly as though she was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to.

Unfortunately, when she looked in the other direction, she saw one of the soldiers leaning back against a wagon, pants unbuttoned and swimming around his ankles, and another soldier on his knees in front of him, swallowing his cock into his mouth. Manuela stifled a gasp behind her hand as another soldier took a seat across from them, shirt undone and breasts hanging loose and free, one hand shoved down her trousers as she touched herself to the sight. “Oh, goddess!”

As she stumbled backwards, she found herself crashing into Shamir and losing her balance. Shamir grabbed her, one hand on each of her bare arms. She could feel Shamir’s calloused hands, rough against her smooth arms, her leather gloves smooth and worn against her. It was the first touch she’d had since this mood had come over her. She didn’t want Shamir to let go. So she didn’t move immediately, hoping to soak in the contact for as long as possible.

“You okay?” Shamir asked.

“Am I --” Manuela gestured out towards the field, where some of the travelers had retreated into their tents and covered wagons, but others were blatantly getting each other off in the middle of the field. Her voice came out shrill, garbled. “What is going on?”

“What, you mean… you don’t know?” Catherine said, and then had the gall of throwing her head back and laughing. Manuela’s cheeks flushed at the hearty sound of it, Catherine’s deep, hoarse voice, still beguilingly close, Shamir sandwiched in between them. “All this time? What exactly did you think was happening? You’ve been so worked up I could practically smell --”

“Catherine.” Shamir hooked her chin over Manuela’s shoulder where she stood, trembling. “Sorry. She’s an asshole when she gets like this.”

“You think I’m an asshole all the time,” Catherine pointed out, amused, and Manuela felt Shamir’s chest shake in silent laughter behind her.

“True. Manuela, have you ever heard about Galatean lilies?”

“What do flowers have to do with any of this?” Manuela asked shakily.

“They’re an aphrodisiac, so long as they’re still in their native land. And in this valley, they’re everywhere. Most travelers agree that it’s easiest to go with it, not against it. Everyone’s happier that way.”

Manuela swallowed thickly, looking at the people before her, most of them having since shed their clothing and in various compromised positions. These weren’t just strangers. These were people she had known and had traveled with all this time, people she’d never expected to see like this, heads thrown back in ecstasy and gyrating against each other. She cleared her throat, placing one hand against her chest. “So when you two mentioned your anniversary before…”

“That was a fun night,” Catherine said gleefully. “And a fun week, for that matter. Don’t look so upset, Manuela! I would have thought that you of all people would be out there enjoying yourself by now!”

“Catherine!” Manuela snapped, as aghast as she was aroused. Had Catherine thought about her like that? Was it out of judgment or lust? Catherine liked women - everyone in the monastery knew that - but Shamir was of a different standing, brusque and harsh, a true warrior. People thought worse of Manuela, as Hanneman often took pains to point out.

But Catherine wasn’t wrong either, was she? Manuela enjoyed the finer things in life. Good food, good drink, fine clothing, poetry, art, music! And sex. What of it? What was there to be ashamed of? Why should she be more ashamed of having sex than she was about enjoying a good meal? But even so, apprehension boiled within her. She had hoped that perhaps one day, one of the fine men on this mission would take an interest in her as a… distinguished older woman! A sweet healer, with a voice like a songbird! And then they would fall in love, and they would be wed.

Being fucked in the middle of a field because of the biological impulses a flower imposed upon them wasn’t what she had in mind. Would anyone respect her after that, truly? Or would she just be ruining her chances? But still, her skin burned . She still hadn’t pulled away from Shamir’s solid heat behind her. “It’s not like that. I’m not like that! And I -- I have no interest in… giving myself to some man as a convenient outlet. I’m looking for love, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh.” Catherine sounded awkward, which Manuela felt was well deserved. “Sorry. Well, that’s all right. Go claim one of the tents, and nobody will bother you there. And you can take care of, uh, your little problem on your own.”

Manuela merely stood there, despondent. That was the wisest course of action. She would take care of it and spend the night in a haze of unsatisfied lust, alone and uncherished, while everyone around her spent the night together. How different would that be from her ordinary state of affairs anyway? Just another sad chapter in the long, sad book that was her life. She looked at the ground and jaw clenched and eyes rapidly blinking as she tried to get ahold of herself. It wouldn’t do to humiliate herself in front of her colleagues as well.

Shamir’s hands on her arms slowly slid down, scraping across her forearms and settling on her hips. “Or,” she said, voice low, throaty. “You could join us.”

“Really?” Catherine and Manuela said in unison, and finally, Manuela broke away from Shamir so she could look her in the eye. Shamir’s skin was flushed, but she otherwise looked as impassive as she always did. Catherine, though, looked undeniably eager, eyes wide with anticipation and mouth open in a surprised smile.

“If you want to.” Shamir shrugged. “It’s up to you. Like Catherine said, you can go into a tent and take care of it yourself. You wouldn’t be the only one.”

Did she want to? Her body was screaming yes, of course, but by now, Manuela felt as though her body would be content with rutting up against any warm body. But underneath that, did she? She had never had any experience with another woman and never thought that she wanted to. Oh, she felt stabs of envy whenever she watched Catherine and Shamir together, but who wouldn’t? They had exactly the sort of strong partnership that Manuela had always lacked. They were together more often than not, acting in unison even as they squabbled, fighting in the way that meant that they knew no matter what, they would be back together again. Of course Manuela was envious of that. It was all she ever wanted in her life.

But was she envious of that partnership, or was she envious about who they brought to bed with them? She looked at Catherine’s strong, lean form, the defined muscles of her arms and her cocky grin, the sweat she could see beaded on her brow. She looked at Shamir, as stoic and uncompromising as she’s always been in all the years she had known the woman, thought about how utterly self-possessed she was, how little she seemed to be affected by anything… and the way she stood now, restlessly shifting her weight from one foot to the other, breath coming just that much harder, eyeing Manuela down like she was the type of small prey she hunted down.

It wasn’t just the flower. Manuela clapped her hands and said, “Well! If you two are offering, then I don’t see how a lady could possibly say no. Except for one complicating detail. I’ve never been… intimate with a woman before.” Let alone two .

Catherine’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, Manuela! You’re in good hands. I’ve been plenty of women’s firsts, and let me just say… I haven’t gotten any complaints yet.”

“Have you, now?” Manuela looked at Shamir, images of Catherine thoroughly ravishing a hesitant Shamir springing into her head.

Shamir looked at Manuela flatly and shook her head. “And I wasn’t one of them. Now, come on.” She hopped into a covered wagon with ease. It was appropriate for traveling, but one of the flaps of the cover looked perilously loose, as though it could come undone at any moment, revealing them to the rest of the army -- let alone the front and back of the wagon where any peeping Tom could spy on them at any moment.

“So visible,” Manuela murmured. “You didn’t have a tent in mind?”

Shamir busied herself with removing her jacket and wiped away some sweat off of the back of her neck, bouncing on the balls of her feet and subtly cupping herself through her pants. “No. A wagon will do. Everyone’s too busy to do much looking. If you can find a tent, be my guest, but I don’t have the patience to wait.”

“You heard her,” Catherine said, climbing up herself and then offering her hand to pull Manuela up. “Let me give you a hand, my lady.”

“Oh… why not!” Manuela accepted Catherine’s hand up and wound up taking a seat on an overturned crate.

“Shamir, help me with my armour, will you?”

Shamir grumbled but assented. Manuela watched as Shamir moved into Catherine’s space with an air of easy intimacy, her lips inches away from the fine hairs on the back of Catherine’s neck that had escaped her ponytail. She unlatched Catherine’s capelet and tossed it to the side of the wagon. The breastplate and pauldrons came next, and as she unlatched the buckles, she leaned in to scrape the long column of Catherine’s neck with her teeth. Catherine shivered, and so did Manuela. Catherine turned her head to capture Shamir’s mouth in hers - Manuela could just catch the way Shamir’s lip was tugged underneath the press of Catherine’s teeth - and as Catherine raised a hand to cup at the side of Shamir’s face, Shamir captured her hands in hers. Lips still ensnared in a kiss, Shamir deftly yanked at the fingers of Catherine’s glove and peeled it off of Catherine’s hand, one, then the other. It was nothing. They were hands . But something about how easy and practiced the motions were made Manuela squirm where she sat, the pervading heat that had been burning her all day finally getting the better of her.

Shamir licked hotly into Catherine’s mouth as she undid the straps of her leather gambeson and Catherine groaned quietly, finally allowed to reach up and tangle her fingers into Shamir’s hair. Having had quite enough of attempting at propriety, Manuela kicked off her heels and spread her legs, the long slit of her dress serving her nicely as she yanked it aside, letting her easily shove one hand into her undergarments so she could touch herself at the sight. It felt again like she was intruding on something personal and private, but words couldn’t describe how hot it was either, watching them lose themselves in each other’s mouths and groans and sighs as they peeled off article of clothing after article of clothing, revealing Catherine’s tanned, scarred skin, her taut stomach and bare breasts, nearly every inch of her as densely muscled as her arms. Goddess, and her back .

Next was Shamir’s turn. Catherine cornered her against the side of the wagon as she shamelessly ripped open Shamir’s shirt with none of the sweet finesse Shamir had used on her, not even hesitating for a moment before she reached around to grope Shamir’s breasts, squeezing and fondling them between her strong fingers and whispering something unheard into her ear. She slid her hand into Shamir’s pants, fingers slowly and firmly stroking up against her and what Manuela had no doubt was inside her.

“I think someone’s enjoying the show,” Catherine said, voice low, nudging Shamir to look over to where Manuela sat, one hand down her panties, red-faced and painting and too turned on to speak.

“Then we should get her involved,” Shamir said, pushing Catherine off. “Why don’t you show her what you do best?”

Catherine stalked over, as certain as though she wasn’t as bare as the day she was born in front of Manuela. “Good thing you don’t wear as much as we do,” Catherine said. “All I have to do is…”

She yanked off Manuela’s dress, though Manuela had to raise her ass and helpfully wiggle out of it. Catherine reached up to cup and squeeze Manuela’s breasts in very much the same way that she’d just been feeling up Shamir and kneeled in front of Manuela, pressing a kiss to the center of her sternum and unceremoniously buried her face in Manuela’s tits. “Oh, yeah,” Catherine groaned. “I’ve wondered what this would be like.”

“Have you, now?” Manuela said breathlessly. “And? Does the real thing measure up?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Catherine chuckled. “But you will soon.” She leaned forward and kissed Manuela, her lips rough and chapped, but she kissed with the overwhelming, overbearing sort of confidence that made Manuela weak in the knees. Catherine pulled away and made her way down Manuela’s body, her neck (and back to her breasts, a diversion she gracefully allowed Catherine), down to her abdomen, gone softer with age, then stopped at Manuela’s panties. They were dark green, made out of the same silky fabric as her dress, and…

“Right through your underwear!” Catherine shook her head admiringly. She took off Manuela’s underwear and, as Manuela nearly snapped her legs closed, yanked her thighs further open so she could stroke her fingers through Manuela’s folds. Fingers that were still sticky from being inside Shamir, Manuela thought, feeling lightheaded at the sight. Catherine’s fingers came away soaked in Manuela’s juices, and Catherine rubbed them together admiringly. “Do you see this, Shamir? She’s soaked!”

“Of course I am!” Manuela protested. “I thought that knights like you knew better than to keep a lady waiting!”

“You heard the lady, Catherine,” Shamir said, having shucked off her boots and trousers. She pulled up another overturned crate to sit beside Manuela, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. “Get to work.”

“Yes sir,” Catherine said cheekily, and before Manuela could ask what Shamir meant by that, exactly, Catherine’s head disappeared between her legs, and all sensation in her body was diverted to the hot, wet tongue laid flat against her entrance.

Shamir chuckled, a self-assured sound that went straight to Manuela’s core, and slung one arm around her shoulders. “Take my advice, Professor Manuela, and just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Catherine sucked her down like she was trying to suck Manuela’s soul out through her clit and if you asked Manuela, she was succeeding. She only managed to remain tethered to reality thanks to Shamir’s grounding presence beside her, peppering her chest and neck with kisses, clever fingers roughly stroking Manuela’s nipples, stroking down her sides, swallowing down her increasingly frantic groans. Catherine licked inside her with long, confident strokes, only pulling away long enough to nurse at her clit, hands still keeping Manuela’s legs firmly spread as Manuela bucked helplessly into Catherine’s sure grasp. She’d spent so long getting hot and bothered and now that she was outright swimming in overwhelming pleasure, her core clenching on Catherine’s tongue, she felt herself hurtling towards her orgasm.

Shamir grabbed her wrists and placed Manuela’s hands in Catherine’s hair. “Go on. Tug. She’s got a hard head. You won’t hurt her.”

Catherine made a noise of disapproval at the jibe, but not at Manuela’s hands in her hair. Growing bold, Manuela fisted her hands in Catherine’s hair and yanked , one foot slung over Catherine’s broad back pushing her deeper into her, heel digging into the flesh of her back in what must be at least somewhat painful, but Catherine groaned like Manuela was the one tongue-deep in Catherine’s cunt. There was a certain power to riding Catherine’s face, but before she could contemplate that, her orgasm rushed over her in one shivery, overwhelming wave, and she couldn’t do anything but ride it out, still bucking lightly against Catherine’s face in the aftershocks, hands twisted in Catherine’s hair. Eventually it ended, and Manuela collapsed into Shamir’s arms behind her, loose and pliant with pleasure. Muzzily, she watched Catherine and Shamir meet one another and share a kiss (the lower half of Catherine’s face was still wet with Manuela’s come; watching them kiss was downright dirty ) and closed her eyes with a satisfied sigh.

And then opened them again not too long after as another wave of arousal pulsed through her, as strong as it was before. “What in the world…”

“Yeah,” Shamir’s voice rang out above her. “The plant will do that. Just one won’t be enough.”

Manuela blinked and Shamir and Catherine both came into focus, as nude as they were before she passed out, but each now sporting some particularly hefty strap-ons. They stroked them as slowly and deliberately as though they were the real thing, and Manuela eyed them warily, unsure of whether she was intimidated or intrigued. She cleared her throat. “I have a feeling you two made some plans without me.”

“I had these made special,” Catherine said, twisting the curl of her fist around the tip. “Enchanted by a traveling merchant. Everything you do to these, we can feel. We generally save them for special occasions.”

“Am I the special occasion?” Manuela said. “Why, ladies, I’m flattered.”

“What do you think?” Shamir asked. “Think you can return the favour for Catherine? We already agreed that I get your cunt.”

If there was any question that Manuela was ready to go again, that dispelled it. Manuela slid to the floor and crawled two steps over to Catherine, batting her eyes up at her coquettishly and placing her hands on her hips. Slowly, Manuela parted her lips, sucking lightly on the tip of her strap. The material was soft and yielding underneath her lips, different and similar to the real thing at once, but for all there were differences, the feeling of Catherine’s hands in her hair was a familiar one. She pulled back. “How does it feel?”

“How does it feel? I think I could get off on the way it looks , even without the enchantment.” Catherine exerted pressure on the back of her head, guiding her strap back into Manuela’s mouth. “Keep going.”

Manuela swallowed it down, head bobbing and sucking for all that she was worth, her experience speaking for itself. She didn’t even gag when Catherine began thrusting down her throat, just closed her eyes and took it, concentrating on opening her throat so that Catherine could go deeper and deeper.

Which was when Shamir slid her fingers unceremoniously up Manuela’s pussy, making sure she was still good and wet, and slid down herself. Manuela choked then, sputtering and pushing Catherine away as she gasped around her length. Shamir’s strap in her was big , solid and weighty, and Shamir hadn’t held anything back as she slid home, Shamir’s narrow hips slotted securely against hers. Shamir leaned over her, putting her weight against her, and Manuela moaned at the feeling of Shamir’s breasts against her bare back, pillowy and soft, her nipples scraping against her. “I’m going to keep moving,” Shamir warned her. She wasn’t kidding. Shamir wasn’t gentle as she slammed her hips into Manuela again and again with such militant precision and control that Manuela would assume she was unaffected if not for the way Shamir was groaning behind her. It was a lovely sound coming from someone so typically restrained, a loss of composure through gasps and moans, broken in her pleasure. “She feels so good,” she groaned. “I can feel her sucking me in. So hot and wet. This what you felt when you ate her out?”

“That’s right, baby,” Catherine said, feeding her strap back into Manuela’s mouth as Manuela groaned, choking and smothering the sound even as she welcomed it back in. “It was so hot. You should have felt it. Even when her legs were trying to close, she was sucking me back in.”

They were talking about her like she wasn’t there. But there was something delicious to that too, something about the impassive way they shoved their straps inside either end of her, the way that nothing else seemed to matter; as soon as one of the straps left her, gasping for air, another one slid home. She could simply stay in this moment, on her hands and knees, swimming in pleasure, swimming in the feeling of being wanted, of bringing them off too. Distantly, Manuela could hear the sounds of Catherine and Shamir kissing over her body, though she could scarcely make it out over the wet, lewd noises of the straps steadily pounding into her. Manuela lost herself to the sensation, her heavy breasts swaying below her, her throat and cunt deliciously used.

Catherine slammed a hand against the side of the wagon to catch her balance, and the impact was enough for the loose canvas to fall aside. Anybody could see her, Manuela thought, heart racing. All they had to do was peek in here and they’d see her, Garreg Mach’s esteemed Professor and Head Healer on her hands and knees, completely used, one strap being crammed endlessly down her throat and the other impossibly deep into her pussy. They’d see the way that she simply took it, how she even welcomed it, eyes staring up adoringly at Catherine even as she stuffed her throat, begging for more. What would they think? Would they be turned on? Would they think less of her, begging for Catherine and Shamir’s straps, or would they feel envious, wondering if they could ever get their hands on her?

It was with that thought that Manuela came for the second time that evening, her moan feeling as though it was being torn from her chest, thighs trembling and toes curling as she thrust between them, making high, desperate sounds out of the back of her throat. But that didn’t stop them; as though ignorant of her orgasm, they kept restlessly fucking into her even as they fondled each other, focused on their pleasure, on each other’s pleasure. Manuela did nothing to pull away. Frankly, if her body could, she was certain it would make her come again.

Eventually they slowed, though, grinding their hips into her. She took them in gladly, watching Catherine’s face screwed up in pleasure, watching Catherine’s face as she watched Shamir come apart across from her. With a wet sound and a trembling sigh, they each pulled out of her, breathing heavily.

“Whew,” Catherine said. “Worth every gold.”

“For once, I have to agree.” Shamir looked down at where Manuela collapsed to the floor beneath them. “You good? Not too much?”

“No,” Manuela said faintly. “But I do think I’m done for the evening.”

“You did well,” Shamir said. It felt almost pathetic that the praise warmed Manuela so. “Not everyone can keep up with us.”

Manuela dozed on the floor of the wagon as Shamir and Catherine cleaned up. They cleaned and put away their strap-ons, shoved their clothes into the corner, and pinned the fallen tarp of the wagon back up. Shamir grabbed a damp cloth and cleaned the inside of Manuela’s thighs and gently wiped off her cunt, then wiped her saliva off of her face. Manuela watched as Shamir and Catherine leaned into each other, saying something that was only for their ears, kissing each other with none of the passion they had earlier, but… something else. Something Manuela never had before.

Manuela didn’t belong here, did she? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stave off feelings of jealousy, but even two mindblowing orgasms in a row couldn’t keep them at bay. “I should leave you two to it,” she said, reluctantly sitting up, but was firmly pushed back down moments later, a scratchy blanket draped over her nude form.

“Stay,” Catherine said. “At least for the rest of the night.”

Manuela almost protested, but then Shamir was slipping underneath the blanket behind her, and Catherine was slipping under it in front of her, and warriors they may have been, but they were soft and warm against her. And it had been so, so terribly long since Manuela had gotten to sleep beside another person.

“All right,” she said, and she didn’t open her eyes again until morning.