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Qumaia knelt before her lover, hands gently cupping his taut face and knees cradled by the lush carpet beneath her. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “You’re incredible, darling.” Astarion whined weakly in response, his typical proud posture shattered and his red eyes wide with distress. Despite the fear brimming in them, he kept his gaze trained on her; drinking in her calm strength and near-naked body as though it were the elixir to salve all his woes.
Taking a shaky breath in, Astarion raised both arms toward her, then paused in question. Qumaia nodded, consenting, and he carefully wrapped his delicate fingers around her tiefling horns to steady himself. She kept still, supportive, as his grip tightened and his eyes squeezed shut. Seeing him tremble, she walked on her knees a little closer to where he lay bent over Sorn’s lap and slid one hand from his cheek to massage the muscles at the base of the back of his neck. Astarion shivered violently, then sank a little more loosely over Sorn’s knee, melting into Qumaia’s hands.
Sorn glanced at Qumaia. When she nodded, careful not to shake loose from her lover’s grip, Sorn’s face tightened and he raised a hand to crack down across Astarion’s bared ass. The slight elf convulsed as though electrocuted, mouth gasping open to offer a peek at razor-sharp fangs. Sorn’s hand landed again, unforgivingly heavy, and Astarion’s wounded cry echoed between the walls of Underdark Pleasures in concert with the loud crack of drow fingers searing pale, undead flesh.
Qumaia’s heart almost broke to hear her beloved’s anguished sounds, a wailing cry quickly breaking into shuddery weeping. A part of her had to admit that he was beautiful this way; that if Cazador was wrong about everything else, he was right that Astarion’s screams were delicious in a way others weren’t. But this punishment was not for Cazador. Qumaia relished for a moment the memory of Astarion’s blade plunging into the monstrous vampire’s body, over and over; of triumphantly sending his siblings and the other spawn free into the Underdark. No, this was something they had planned together; something to help him grieve, and hopefully, heal.
Sorn’s voice, low and sultry, broke through her thoughts. “Cry if you’d like, handsome. You look so good you know, broken like this.” Astarion sucked a breath in defiantly, and Qumaia held back a smile as she brushed a tear from his cheek with her clawed thumb. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. Either way, we’re not stopping until your ass is as red as the fires of Avernus.” Feeling Astarion start to crumple inward, Qumaia stroked the back of his neck comfortingly.
“It’s okay, my star. Just breathe, you’re okay.” She smiled as he opened teary eyes to meet hers, lips turning downward as Sorn’s hand landed thunderously again and Astarion’s brow crinkled in pain. “Tell me why we’re doing this.”
Astarion let out a sob, shoulders trembling. Sorn was spanking faster now, and Qumaia could see his ability to respond being tested. “Because… because I’m a monster! All those spawn, their lives taken, ruined… it’s all my fault.” Tears spilled from his wide red eyes; for once, guileless. “I deserve everything I’ve suffered, and more.” Another blistering smack colored his ass and he let out a howl of grief.
Horrified, Qumaia grabbed Sorn’s wrist. With the spanking halted, she scooted closer to the drow’s lap and gathered what she could hold of Astarion into her arms. Fists tangled in his soft curls, she spoke fiercely. “You are not a monster. Everything that happened was Cazador’s fault, and you deserved none of it. We’re doing this because you need to know that. You need to know I trust you to do the right thing now that you’re free to choose, and that you can trust yourself too. You can forgive yourself.” Astarion quieted in her arms, and she continued gently, “this is to help you forgive yourself, because I know you cant accept these words at face value. And that’s okay. It’s going to take time. So let it out, darling. I’m here.” The pale elf nodded, and from what Qumaia could see, he meant it. She released Sorn’s wrist and the drow began a rhythmic spanking, designed from the outset to last.
Astarion lay more easily now over the courtesan’s strong knees, panting in time to the sharp slaps, fangs sliding over his lips and white curls bouncing. He released Qumaia’s horns and simply squeezed her hand, tears tracking down his cheeks but no longer crying out. He seemed more present, bearing the spanking for what it was rather than dwelling on the past. Nym saw her opportunity and sidled alongside her brother, admiring the deepening red of the elf’s ass before dropping to her knees and running feather-light fingertips down his spine and over his thighs. Astarion’s eyes flashed briefly with hunger and Qumaia’s ears pricked at a quiet moan. Encouraged, Nym began kneading her client’s tense muscles, stroking down his sides and around his calves, careful not to interrupt her brother’s methodical spanking.
Sorn chuckled then. “I can feel you’re finally starting to enjoy this, handsome. Good.” Astarion blushed, then mewled and squeezed Qumaia’s hand tighter as Sorn changed up the pattern of his punishment. The drow peppered Astarion’s bruising bottom with light, sensual smacks, broken by periods of kneading to stretch the inflamed flesh and drive the increasingly pleasurable sensations deeper.
Astarion was moaning in earnest now, both grinding over Sorn’s knee and melting under Nym’s expert massage. “Oh, oh… mmf!” His eyes flew open as Qumaia surged forward to kiss him, then fluttered shut as he moaned into her mouth. “Oh, my love. I feel so much lighter.” His blush deepened at the confession, then was quickly forgotten as their tongues met and her fingers tugged in his hair.
He pulled his head back abruptly, eyes and hair wild. “I know what I want. My love, I want you.” His gaze flicked behind her, then earnestly back to her eyes. “Against that wall. So that…” he swallowed, resisted his eyes rolling back for a moment. “So that our friend here can keep doing what he does best.” Sorn smiled wickedly, indicating his agreement with a couple of particularly hard spanks that made Astarion squeal and writhe over his lap with abandon. “Let, ah, let me up. Now.” Sorn immediately obliged, and Qumaia could see the relief plastered over her beloved’s face before it was taken over again by lust.
Freed temporarily from the hands brutalizing his backside, Astarion wrapped his arms around Qumaia and walked her quickly backward to the wall in question. There he lifted her against it, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist for balance. Their naked bodies melded together as if made for one another. His cock pressed eagerly at her cunt, and with a swift, sharp compression of her legs she drew him into her. As he threw his head back in ecstasy, fangs gleaming, Sorn found his place behind them and swung a riding crop with pinpoint accuracy. The snap echoed throughout the room as Astarion bellowed, the stinging strike driving him straight into Qumaia.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m not going to last long,” he spoke through gritted teeth, head bowed to her shoulder as he arched his back and pounded rhythmically into her. Sorn landed another blow and he moaned so deliciously into her ear that Qumaia nearly lost the plot then and there.
“I just want you to feel good, darling,” she gasped, squeezing herself tight around him and smiling in open-mouthed breathlessness at the noise that elicited from him. “I want you to feel safe. Free. Trusted. Forgiven. You’re not—oh, oh!—you’re not a slave anymore. You’re Astarion, a good man, a hero—ohhh, fuck, yes! And I’ll do anything for you.”
Astarion’s rhythm slowed, and she met his eyes to see his shining. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, “thank you.” He kissed her then, softly, and she could feel all of the love in his undead heart. Then Sorn, perhaps feeling a little left out, took advantage of their stillness to step behind the elf. Astarion ripped his mouth from hers to fall against her, moaning, as Sorn lay skilled hands to the vampire spawn’s burning ass. Alternating between loud spanks—so loud that Qumaia was fleetingly sure Gale and Karlach could hear them on the balcony outside—and strong-gripped kneading of Asterion's sore skin, the elf was soon reduced to a puddle in Qumaia’s arms, her feet finding the floor to better support him.
“Say the word, handsome, and I’ll fill you up like no other.” Astarion shuddered, meeting Qumaia’s eyes through a haze of lust, the question in them obvious. She had to laugh, brightly, the bard magic in her adding a lilting lyrical quality. “Oh I’m all for it, baby.” Sorn needed no further coaxing, pinning them both to the wall, strong hands flat against it on either side of them. Astarion lined himself up with Qumaia and like pool balls hit by a master the two collided in waves of pleasure as Sorn thrust into Astarion, his lubed dick sliding in and out easily. They let him set the pace, Astarion’s brain mush at this point in the night. Professional as he was, the couple were soon both seconds away from cumming.
“You’re both magnificent,” purred the drow. “I’d be all too happy to spank that luscious ass whenever you need a reminder that you’re a good boy, Astarion.” Astarion’s eyes shot wide at the words, then rolled back in his head as his orgasm left him shuddering against Qumaia. The wash of cum over her clit pushed her over the edge and she slumped against the wall, briefly slack-jawed. Sorn’s timing was perfect, pumping through Astarion’s orgasm and pulling out to coat his back in cum just before the elf became too sensitive to bear it. Astarion’s elven ears pricked in the sudden quiet, and a lascivious smirk covered his face as he realized the faint buzz he could hear was Nym, pleasuring herself across the room with a magically-imbued toy. She came as soon as their eyes met, his heavy-lidded with contentment and hers alight with arousal. The brothel’s VIP quarters fell into silence as her orgasm faded and she let the vibratory magic die.
With all four of them spent, it was a slow process gathering their clothes and handling payment. Sorn and Nym were all too kind, assuring the couple that they would indeed love to have them back again. Astarion’s eartips were pink throughout the conversation, but it was nothing like the embarrassment the pair felt walking out of Underdark Pleasures to their waiting companions’ shit-eating grins.
“Astarion,” crowed Karlach, “sounded like you put on quite the performance in there! You might have even upstaged our bard.” She winked at Qumaia, who had to fight the urge to bury her face in her hands.
“Let’s head back to camp, okay? I think we uh, need a break.” Astarion nodded dramatically and the four set off. Gale could hardly keep quiet, his obvious embarrassment tinging his cheeks red and inspiring him to comment loquaciously on every mundane thing they passed. Yet, it was hard to miss his bulge, even under a wizard’s robes.
Karlach, to her credit, managed to keep the jokes to a minimum. Until they reached camp, at least. There, she took great pleasure in letting Astarion walk ahead so that she could wind up and give him an infernally-burning wallop on his sore ass. The poor elf shrieked and leapt high into the air, eliciting guffaws throughout camp. He ran to hide in his tent, but at dinner that night—after some healing potions and a visit to the resident cleric—he was a more companionable presence around the campfire than ever before, and the whole camp felt a little lighter.