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This article, Peppercorn's Slave, is property of Abigail Peppercorn. |
This is the story of the initiation ritual that happened to Moya, former leader of AT21, at the hands of Abigail Peppercorn, right after him and his gang reported of the Horrible Ones destroying Peppercorn's teleporting device in her throne room in Germany she used to get to Duro and back. Abigail felt the need to speak to Moya in private and convinced him to leave the AT21 gang behind, hehe.
“What do you seek from me, little koala? Haven't you proven yourself a success already?”
“I just... just... I just want a sanctuary here... with you.” On his knees before what was once the dais of Ivan Ernst Reinhern, Moya kept his head bowed. The last time he was here, he’d remained on his feet, polite perhaps to the point of ingratiating, or condescending, but upright even as Olaf Scholz threw him into the unused gas chamber the Nazi Ultranationalists used back during the war. Those racist supremacists were gone and Olaf had long abandoned this place, but in his place lounged Abigail Peppercorn. Submitting to Abby should’ve been so much harder than sucking off Olaf. But Moya couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He’d run to Germany out of pure instinct: looking to lie low, hoping for a familiar place where he could recenter himself and lick his salty wounds, maybe wishing to finally come home after leaving AT21. But when he’d been ambushed in the country near his home and dragged into Abigail’s chambers, he gave no resistance. Not even the surprise of Abigail Peppercorn's conquest over Europe shocked him. Moya kept his head down as metal creaked and shifted, and heavy footsteps made their way to him, echoing through the cavernous empty throne room. Abigail’s boots looked nice, he thought as he kept his eyes on the floor. The suckers were durable and well-fitted. Oh god, he really was losing his mind. A hand in his hair, surprisingly incongruously gentle, brought him back with a start. Finally, he raised his gaze to see Abigail, her old, wrinkled face, staring down at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Moya thought fleetingly of reaching out with her fluffy fists, trying to get a hint of the woman’s emotions or intentions, but discarded the idea as quickly as it came, he was damn well scared of the Temperance Woman. Did it really matter? We'll sea. Abby’s hand petted softly through his green hair, once and then again, before gliding down to Moya’s face. She took Moya’s jaw in her hands, worn, wrinkly fingers scraping almost roughly against Moya’s green skin as her thumb rubbed small circles into the hinge of his cheeks. The gentle touch burned itself into Moya’s skin. “Are you afraid of me, little koala?” A wimping noise erupted from Moya before he could restrain himself. Abigail’s own lips quirked upwards in amusement. “No, I see. No, these sweet trembles are caused by something far more interesting than fear. Am I right?” Moya wished Abigail would just get on with making a decision. Weren’t the Temperance leaders supposed to be the religious, righteous types? Every time Abigail got him alone, he could never —Moya cut off that line of memory quickly.
Not quickly enough. Abigail’s smile widened. “I see.” she repeated. A shudder ran down Moya’s spine. “Miss Peppercorn, please.” Abigail’s hand shifted, moving down to hold Moya’s throat lightly, not yet squeezing, but silencing him all the same. “I believe you remember how to win what you want.” Her thumb drifted over Moya’s mouth suggestively. Almost of their own volition, Moya’s lips parted. Abby’s thick and quick thumb slipped into his mouth, and Moya tasted her skin and oiled palm as it stroked over his tongue. “Good boy.” Abigail murmured, voice heavier now. As Moya sucked on Peppercorn’s thumb, he tried not to preen at the praise. “Yes, this is the sweet boy I remembered. My only good servant I have left.” Moya flinched back at that, but Peppercorn was ready for it. Her other hand found purchase in Moya’s hair, stroking firmly, gentling and petting him. “Relax, little koala. Tell mommy what you want.” “Will you kill me?” The hand continued to card through his hair, a reassuring weight. “Is that a genuine question, or is that what you want? What happened to the brave koala who laughed in Shooky’s face?” “I don’t… I don’t know.” Abigail’s smile softened. “I think I believe you.” Silence hung over them for a moment as Peppercorn continued to stroke Moya’s hair. Moya kept kneeling, letting the rhythmic caresses lull him into an almost meditative state. His lids slipped half closed as he focused on the stone beneath his knees and the scent of metal and sand and the touches gliding over the back of his aching head. Like this, he could forget what drove him home to Germania in the first place. Peppercorn's energy curled around him, and for the first time in far too long, Moya let himself drift in peaceful safety. A short tug brought him back to himself. Eyes opening, Moya felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered where he was. On his knees in Peppergut's throne room, alone in the hands - literally - of Abigail April Peppercorn herself. Abigail chuckled as her face flamed, the biatch. “Sweet thing. You did well in reporting me of Viktor Horrible's shenanigans.” Moya’s blush reddened higher. Abby tugged his hair again. “Still, you remember the deal. Leave your old life, your old self... you gang... behind. Whatever it is you want from me, you know how to earn it, pumkin pie.” Moya hesitated. He didn’t have to do this, he could stop Peppercorn. Escape, or choose death over submission to the Temperance woman. He could run, go to ground and evade Abigail’s people along with … everyone else who was drunk. But when faced with Peppercorn and her round buttocks when she turned around and uplifted her skirt in his face, nudging his cheek teasingly with her buttcheeks, it was easier to simply open his mouth. Abigail was hot and heavy on her tongue, and the moan she let out as Moya’s mouth engulfed her sent an answering jolt to Moya’s cok. With Abigail’s guidance, Moya found a steady rhythm. Little kitten licks, followed by deeper kisses, then pulling back to swirl his tongue around the crack. It was surprisingly nice, he decided and Abigail knew so. A new and perhaps better use for his mouth, compared to what he'd recently endured under the humiliating defeats at the hands of Shooky. No more malarkey, no more ordering his friends around, who never got the job done anyway, just alone with the Peppercorn woman let Moya feel like he was in a lucid dream. Here, he wasn't required to give either his words, orders or feel the need to be in charge in order to please Abigail. Under Abby's straightforward desires and demands, the sense of betrayal screaming deep inside his soul eased. There was nothing to fear here. “So good to me, such a good boy.” he heard above him. “Just like that, my good boy. My perfect... slut." The praise soothed something small and bruised inside of Moya. Peppercorn’s blueish skirt was something cool and grounding, and Moya hung on gratefully. Letting his eyes close again, Moya gave himself to the buttock smell and taste and whispered praises from Abigail, all enveloping him within the soft cocoon of the his mind. “That’s it, sweet slut. This is what you really want, isn’t it, you cheeky nasty boy?” Moya hummed in response. Abigail’s grip tightened on his hair, urging him to go deeper into her old, hairy, wrinkly... ASS! Moya let Abigail move him as she pleased. Lost in the sway and comfort of servicing his mistress, Moya was taken by surprise when Peppercorn tugged him off. His confusion must have shown, because Abigail laughed affectionately, hand moving to stroke his face again. “You were perfect, little one, but I’m not done with you yet. Next, let’s see how good you are unconscious.”