A magic trap bares hidden emotions (and much more) between a knight and her squire.
guest story by CorruptiveSpirit
tags: corruption, latex, noblesse oblige
She traced the curving arc the magic made across the knight’s blue-steel breastplate. The whole room lit up, just from the light reflecting off the gleaming metal face. Gwyth had only finished polishing it that morning—to little effect it seemed. The steel still buckled beneath the magic working over Ser Dahlia, her mentor and friend. Gwyth, a squire, watched Dahlia in the grip of the arcane trap, and searched her mind for what she could have done to stop it.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
Ser Dahlia looked over the shoulder pad. The blue surface gleamed in the green tinted sun sneaking through small holes in the tree cover. The armor was polished to a shine, nicks and gouges each scrubbed with careful attention by her squire. Each chip in the dye was a silver reminder of when an enemy blade had been turned away by loyal steel. She turned it over in her hands, testing the straps over her thigh, the pressure against her impressive legs putting plenty of tension on the hooks and fastenings. Before her, her squire, Gwyth looked it over as well, seeing every mistake she’d made now that it’d left her hands. The two of which now churning anxiously in wait. She had to have gotten it right. Gwyth had cleaned, fastened, fixed and flattened all manner of damage to her Lady’s suit and garments more times than she could count by now. The whole process was a ritual now (if it wasn’t that from the start). Each time she sought out a new piece to work over. Every detail was a line in the prayer that her Lady would return from battle safe. So far it’d worked.
“Yes, This is fine work.” The knight’s words sanctioned an exhale from the squire. She’d served Dahlia for several months now, learning from her senior, and spending most of her waking life at her, or her accoutrement’s side. “You’ve even seen to cleaning beneath the pins here, Gwyth. Good job and well done.” She lifted it up to point at the small rivets on the underside.
The words fixed her trembling hands in a moment. Ser Dahlia always knew what to say—though Gwyth wished she didn’t need to be reassured, she chided herself. “I’ve had a bit of practice.” She said, doing her best to reply with confidence. The smile on her master’s face showed she at least appreciated the effort.
“Hah! That you have. Then we shall begin your new lessons today. Gather your things; you’ll be joining me on this expedition. I said I would have us off by midday break and I intend to keep that schedule.”
The cozy heat that had settled in Gwyth’s chest departed suddenly. “To the crypt?”
“The very same Gwyth. And you’ll be joining me.” She tossed the harness back to Gwyth and moved to her own bags.
She didn’t even think to talk back as she moved to catch the mess of straps and metal. Was that better? Or worse? Gwyth set the mess in her arms in her rucksack and began stuffing the rags and files inside her satchel roughshod. She measured her breaths as she was taught, at least until she noticed Dahlia walking back towards the forest path.
“Coming!” She took a breath as she heaved her bags over her shoulders. Thankfully nothing caught on her straw-blonde hair this time, Dahlia having helped chop it back into a shorter bob that spring. “Moving—moving!”
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
Several skeletons and weak slimes later, the two of them stood in the final hall. Gwyth trailed closer to Dahlia’s loud footsteps as they approached what seemed to be the final room of the hall. Ser Dahlia strode ahead, her shield and sword swaying calmly at her side. Gwyth all but dragged her longsword behind her. The two of them hadn’t had much problem so far, but even still Gwyth trawled the walls for traps, murderholes, or worse.
The two of them had already faced the worst of it, or so Dahlia assured her. It made sense that she’d pick out something simple for the two of them to start with, even ancient as it was. They were in the deepest part of the winding charnel house, even the notches and sarcophaguses having been left behind a few rooms back.
Baleful light spilled from the torches lining the wall, each igniting as they entered the room. Magic was abound, Gwyth could feel it keenly as she gazed around the circular chamber. The room was empty save for a large central dais ahead of them. It stood several feet above the rest of the room, obscuring anything it contained barring the small column holding their prize. The energy seemed to be worse the closer the two got to it. All around Gwyth, phantom brambles rippled and pulled at her clothes and hair. She stumbled on nothing, catching herself before she brushed her hand up against Dahlia for support. Ser Dahlia herself was either unaffected or protected well enough to ignore it as she approached the pedestal at the center of the room.
‘I want to be strong like her,’ Gwyth thought to herself. It made sense that the magical pressure couldn’t reach her. What prickles and hints of force were there combed and tossed her hair as if she were riding, and not merely walking to claim her prize. Gwyth’s gaze lingered on her teacher, even leaning on her sword at the base of the dais to get a better look. The magical light framed her features as if she were a painting. With that she corrected herself. ‘I want to be strong for her.’
Atop the dias, Ser Dahlia stood triumphant. “I’m sorry Gwyth, looks to be someone made it here before us.” She turned back and motioned for her squire to join her.
Of course Gwyth her up the ramping side of the platform. “What do you mean, we cleaned the place out.” Pulling the large sword up the steep angle was a difficult test of balance and she caught her breath at the top.
“Well yes.” Dahlia considered her words a moment. “I had hoped there would be some trinket to commemorate the occasion. You fought well, you deserve a reward. Something to show for it.”
Gwyth hoped the purple light hid her blushing cheeks. “Service is reward enough my lady.” She tried to straighten up, the sword almost sending her tumbling back down the side of the stone hill.
“Always the paragon of chivalry. I’ll have to break you out of that.” Dahlia said with a laugh. Gwyth had to bite her tongue not to agree, and enthusiastically at that. “That said, what is with the carvings here, I haven’t seen them before in any book-” She was taking another step towards the pedestal, the glyph carved into it, Gwyth could now see, was mirrored in the stone floor around the surface of the platform. Or perhaps altar would be more accurate.
Gwyth stared at the ring of curving and swooping lines that circumnavigated the platform, looking over it before noticing a bit of a pattern. A pattern that became much clearer when it suddenly lit with the same purple fire as the torches.
“My lady-” Gwyth glanced up to see Dahlia at the center now, her hand moving closer to the column at the center. “Ser Dahlia, Stop.” But she continued, as if possessed. “Dahlia!”
The magic activated. The trap was sprung. Bolts of pink arched up, their cores black as the darkest night, clawing and pulling at Dahlia from all directions. The ancient magic was thorough, filling the room, and covering Ser Dahlia in pink light. Gwyth could barely make out the glinting flashes of her armor beneath the onslaught as it twisted closer over her like a net. She cried out in what Gwyth assumed was pain.
She almost took a step forward, the toe of her boot sparking at the edge of the circle. She couldn’t do anything now—getting any closer would ensnare her just as well. All she could do was watch.
She stared in rapturous fear at what she could see out beneath the weaving surface of the magic. She could make out Dahlia’s shape—and more than that she could make out the subtle curves of her master’s body. The strength of her legs and the small muscles in her back that she’d spent a little too long memorizing at the hotsprings. But she wasn’t naked. Something still covered her as she twisted and thrashed within. Was that good? Would she be ok? Dahlia was groaning, her breathing was audible between the loud crackles of magic. Again and again it dashed against her, pressing close to her body as it buffeted what even remained of her armor. Her silhouette moved in jerky motions like a puppet on a single string—she tried to steady herself against the column as the magic suddenly flared a last time. An undeniably erotic moan split the following silence.
Just like that, the light from the circle went out. Smoldering purple embers trailed around the ring. Each one was reflected on her master’s naked body. Or, looked to be, as Gwyth’s eyes adjusted to the lower light she could still make out the armor she knew just as well as her master, its shape changed.
“Dahlia?” Gwyth whispered. The woman in front of her turned to her, and smiled; it was Dahlia’s smile. That remained, at least.
“Must have given you quite the fright Gwyth, but-” She looked herself over a moment. “I am alright. Though, all your hard work.” Dahlia frowned at her armor now reduced to the azure suit covering her body, skintight and glossy as the surface of a lake. “It does feel… nice. Very nice actually.” She twisted, looking down the back of her leg. One of her wandering hands began to trail along the gentle curve of it—Gwyth instinctively hid her own wandering gaze. Gods above, her master looked to be naked.
“Oh it separates too… No need to get chaste on me now, mmm~” Gwyth could hear something wet squelching and squeaking in front of her, reaffirming her decision not to look.
“I can grab a cloak; you’re not decent my lady.” In more than one way it seemed. Gwyth began to slowly walk her way back down the side of the altar-trap-whatever it was.
“Gwyth, no. Look at me.” She met her master’s eyes in a second. They were the same at least, no enchantment or possession obvious in color or shape. “No,” She chuckled at her squires eagerness. “I meant my body, check it out—the armor’s ridges are all still there, just in all the right places~ Mmm is it warmer in here?” Gwyth could agree with that at least, already having turned a steaming embarrassed red a minute ago.
“Do you want to touch it? It’s smooth—you can feel my muscles move even, through it—oooh it’s good Gwyth you’d love it. Come here.” Again, Gwyth couldn’t help but obey, doing her best not to let herself travel down subtle curve of Dahlia’s neck, certainly not landing on her collarbone—that was after all just a scant few inches from her impressive plunging cleavage, gleaming hypnotically in the purple light of the torches. She did her best even as she stared down at her tight midsection encased in the changed armor, at least until it disappeared beneath the swell of her bust in her approach.
Dahlia’s gloved hand lifted Gwyth’s chin, and her gaze from the glistening blue cleavage she’d fallen into. She was practically on top of her mistress, and when Dahlia stepped in, pressing her body up against the smaller woman, Gwyth nearly lost control of herself.
“It’s the same armor Gwyth, just changed. I still want you polishing it each morning.” She wrapped a hand around the small of the girl’s back. “And every night? It’s a squire’s duty after all.”
That was too much for the aspiring knight. Gwyth pushed away, knocking Dahlia into the column. In a heaving motion Gwyth leveled her broadsword at her former master. “This isn’t you! Give her back. Undo whatever you did t-”
There was a sound like a firework going off and suddenly Gwyth felt her blade torn from her hands. It skidded across the dais and disappeared into the lowered periphery of the room. It took her a moment to realize Dahlia had struck out at Gwyth with her own blade, knocking the weapon free in one clean blow.
“Never level a blade at your mistress.” Ser Dahlia had never used that word before. And her weapon was a gleaming black, shining like the suit she wore—a material Gwyth’d never seen before in her life. Dahlia took a breath and relaxed her pose and demeanor. “Please, Gwyth. I’m still me, just changed. I know I’m different now, but I honestly don’t mind it. It feels… so right.”
“How do I know that’s not the curse talking? How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
“Gwyth. Look me in the eye. Hear my words. You know me. You’re closer to me, than anyone.” Dahlia’s eyes softened with her words. There was a hint of sadness there. “Even when I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length for far too long.”
“Regardless,” Gwyth countered, ignoring everything she’d longed to hear. “How do I know that. How do I know you’re you!”
Dahlia thought a moment, chewing her lip; the shine of the torchlight slithering across her body in her minute movements. She didn’t have the words for that. The moment stretched on as the lights continued to flicker between them. Soft purple shadows played across both of their features in the ancient room.
“Do you trust me?”
Gwyth didn’t miss a beat. “If that is what you ask of me, I will.”
“Then let me show you. Permit me to share the curse with you. I won’t force it on you—it wants to spread. But I won’t let it. Not unless you accept me.”
Gwyth stared down at the black sword, now leveled at her in a reversal of their position moments before. It glistened ominously, rippling in Dahlia’s hands. She thought about her fears, her dreams to be a knight. She thought about what she dreamed of at night, and the woman in front of her, waiting for her response. It wasn’t at all how she imagined a proposal would go, and yet-
She chose her words carefully. They came stilted, and slow.
“I could never reject you Ser Dahlia, no matter what may happen. I am yours.”
Dahlia’s smile was genuine. “Then start by calling me mistress.” She pressed the point of the blade to Gwyth’s chest. The squire closed her eyes. The black sword, still shining, still too smooth to be real pressed onward. The knight walked the blade all the way through Gwyth’s torso, each step sliding it deeper, without hardly a feeling. It was spreading over the surface, flattening and liquifying..
“It doesn’t hurt?”
“On the contrary. It feels wonderful.” And Squire could feel it. It was wonderful.
It filled her even as it covered her hauberk. It filled her in all sorts of ways, pressing lower, through her clothes, and covering every inch of skin it could. And when Dahlia twisted the hilt in her chest it was like a key finding all the tumblers perfectly on the first time. She felt unlocked. She welcomed it in.
The End
The daily inspections were very different these days. Gwyth would be polishing her mistress for up to an hour—when the food was waiting on the fire, when she rested, after she bathed in the stream. The best days, her mistress said, were when the sun was bright and the sky was clear, and Ser Dahlia’s glossy blue body could gleam.
Of course, for her, the best days were when Dahlia would stop mid morning assessment, develop a sinister grin, and demand the small tin of shiner. Soon she’d set to making Gwyth a shiny squeaky pile of giggles. They’d had to wear boring human clothes to buy the translucent goo in the city, lumpy things that covered up their glossy bodies and perfect curves. They were something close enough to human, still, to pass. Neither of them quite understood what had happened to them in the dungeon, but neither of them ever felt they needed to.
They were happy as they were, closer and more honest than ever. No matter how much Gwyth pretended to complain when Dahlia lavished compliments on her petite frame, or the extra time she’d spent cleaning and massaging her mistress’ boots… feet rather. (The distinction was archaic by this point.) The two of them wore their hearts on their sleeve, spending the rest of their energy learning everything they’d never shared or were brave enough to ask about the other.
There were plenty of small hiccups as they spent the cold nights in each other’s arms, discovering new sensitivities, or sore spots as they each explored both of their new bodies. How could they not! On the road, in the dungeons, they were spending their days drinking in their perfect bodies, and feeling the warm lust radiating off in welcome response.
Gwyth was herself, more so than ever, and she was happy. Her commitment to her mistress unchanged, she could see many happy years ahead of them still.