[SNEAK PEEK]Transcendent Scent
Clayton Firestick finds religion.
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Transcendent Scent By Limewah Subscriber Reward for Flarfenarfle (June 2024) 18+ SNEAK PEEK
Clayton thought he could smell something… a bit off. More than a bit, in fact. It smelled like a skunk had died after eating too much marzipan, and their corpse had been lit on fire.
The scent wafted into the room in hot pursuit of the staggering lamb girl. It was probably caked into her wool.
Without looking up from the letter he was writing with an ink-tipped claw, the fiery-furred fox waved his hand, his fingertips sparkled, and the scent dissipated; at least, it did for a moment. But his sensitive nose could tell there was definitely more of it to come.
“Someone to see you, Sir…” the lamb mumbled.
That got Clayton to look up from his work.
He wasn’t expecting visitors. Nor was he expecting to see the lamb so dishevelled. Or to see her eyes so dilated, to the point where her eyes were opaque black. She coughed once, and a little plume of smoke slipped from the corners of her mouth.
…Smoking on the job? He’d never expressly forbade it, but he’d never had to. He kept a tight ship; the Foxfire inn staff never indulged in anything mind altering, aside, of course, for Clayton’s regular magical brainwashing.
Clayton made a mental note to include that rule in the next group training.
“Who is it?” he asked. “Someone I know?”
“No, sir, but you’ll, like, really love him..”
‘Like, really’ was never a phrase this girl used either.
“Fine, let’s see what he wants, then.”
Clayton stood from his desk, wiped his claw clean of ink, and allowed the coughing, smoke-stinking servant to lead the way out of the office, down into the bustle of the Foxfire inn lobby.
He could have followed his nose, honestly. Or his eyes, seeing the source of the grey smoke that gradually swirled up to congregate around the ceiling like a raincloud.
This visitor had clearly made himself right at home - him and his crusty entourage. They’d commandeered one of the large lounging pits, a space normally reserved for that naga diplomat who stuck her head in now and again. She’d be pissed to see a prey-animal making himself at home among all the pillows and cushions.
About half of the venue’s other chairs and stools had been pulled up and around the pit, and they were all occupied. Every visitor was absolutely enraptured by the soft, quavering voice of the sheep sitting amongst them all. Maybe a dozen of them were dressed in loose hempen clothes, faded and stiff. There were at least two dozen others who had joined him all of whom were either patrons of the Foxfire Inn, or staff.
The sheep’s curved horns were painted with turquoise shades, and he was enrobed in fabrics that looked - and smelled - like they hadn’t been washed in years. His snout poked out from a mass of dark ginger wool, and he appeared to be chewing as he spoke.
Intruders like these were a dime a dozen. Which would it be? Mind-melting drugs? A hypnotic voice? Was the incense putting them under?
He’d heard of this guy… a ram roaming the lands and slowly building up a cult of personality. The Conduit of the Spirits, or something.
This amateur didn’t know who he was dealing with.
Clayton couldn’t tell if he was being looked at until the sheep had turned his head towards them and gave him a beatific, crooked-toothed smile.
“Oh, my humblest greetings to the owner of this beautiful haven,” the old ram said. “I thank you for allowing us impoverished travellers to stay under this hallowed roof.”
“Ahem.” Clayton looked to the mass of bodies gathered around him and spotted more than one hand going between more than one pair of thighs. “This isn’t a boarding house. Or a whorehouse.”
“Ah, but me and my brothers and sisters do not need any. The energies of the universe speak through me, and that provides sustenance.”
Clayton stared at the sheep’s mouth and its circular chewing motions.
“You’re eating something, by the looks of it.”
”Ah, but you’re merely mistaken. This cud I chew is simply part of my meditation, and it allows the words of the universe to flow freely through me, as I am but a Conduit for the world..”
“Be that as it may, Conduit…” Clayton turned up his nose. “If that’s the case, then you can sleep outside. Plenty of trees you can shelter under.”
“Ah, but charity provides-“
”Ah, but, ah, but-“ Clayton mocked. “Come off it. I’ve seen plenty of grifters like you in my time. This isn’t that kind of establishment. You’re not about to guilt me. In fact…”
It was unclear where to look in that mass of wool, but that wasn’t going to stop Clay from nailing this sheep with his hypnotic, swirling pink stare.
“I think it would be preferable if you got up and-hrk!”
An arm wrapped around his neck, and a paw covered his eyes. From the size of those hands, not to mention the musky scent… it was one of Clay’s bouncers, that big bull girl, he reckoned. A former prizefighter turned petty thief, who had run afoul of him.
Her scent drove him wild at the best of times… it was why he brainwashed her and took her in.
Just how many of his employees had this sheep stolen away from him?
“Thanks for catching that tic, Stary,” the Conduit said. That geriatric quaver in his voice was suddenly nowhere to be heard. Clayon tried to stare through the slight slits between the fingers. He sat forward, rolling his shoulders back, and suddenly seemed a great deal more vibrant.
“You’re a sharp fox… sharper than most. Promise me you’re not going to try that shit, and I’ll let my follower release you.”
“Your-?” Clayon sputtered.
“Look… I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here.” the sheep’s scent was getting closer, and the fox could hear the clop of the chitinous toes on his wooden floor.
“Your maids here were telling me so much about you. Seems like you’re a pretty good boss, all things considered. And I get the appeal of having a whole throng of brainwashed idiots under your control. So… one dominator to another, let’s just have a chat, chew the cud for a bit!”
“You’re in no place to make any demands!” Clayton kicked and writhed against the massive, eye-blocking arms. “This is my establishment! You’re not going to stink this place up! You smell like you haven’t bathed in months!”
“But, Mr. Foxfire, a little birdy told me that’s secretly how you like it~!”
“Fffuck,” Clayton cursed, kicking and wriggling again. Which one of them spilled the beans…? It didn’t matter. They fell way too fast, whoever they were.
“W-well, this is still my house! And I’m in charge here, let me go!”
“Of course, Stary, of course…” the sheep chuckled. “Tell you what. Let old Kasimir offer an olive branch to you. You look like you could unwind a bit, take the load off… maybe you’re a little, heh, pent up?”
…Clayton hadn’t even noticed his boner. Of course. The tight embrace around his face, not to mention all those scents, had made his already tight pants even tighter. The thick aroma of the bull-girl’s pit-scent, plus the natural burnt-sweet musk of the so-called conduit, and all of that acrid smoke, mingled into a vile perfume that Clayton couldn’t help but find irresistibly arousing.
“Don’t you dare t-touch me!” Clayon sputtered, redoubling his squirming efforts, and only getting more pit-stink for his trouble. The salty sweat and tangy musk was not doing him any favours.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on fucking your ass.” Kasimir said. “I’m not a top. But I do plan on giving you a little gift.”