Carnal Carnivale

Carnal Carnivale
[Shadowseer x Farseer x Succubus x and lots of humans, orgy, Space Mardi Gras]

	The city was a riot of sound and color.  Dozens of loud, off key bands of every sort of music did their best to outplay their neighbors on every street.  Streamers and shining beads and bright lamps dazzled the eyes with greens and purples and yellows of every hue.  Strong perfumes clashed with exotic alcohols and the reek of thousands of bodies sweating and breathing in a small place.  Over twelve million revelers sang and danced and fought and made themselves sick all across the hive.

	High above the teaming masses on the street, wires and bars had been hung in complex patterns, forming an intricate and chaotic web above their heads.  Figures, lithe and clad scantily in colors so vivid and bright they seemed to dance off the wearers’ bodies and hang in the air, swung and leapt and twisted in the sky.  Spinning round on one bar and launching seemingly into the abyss, only to land elegantly on another and start over again, one figure in particular was stealing the show.

	Taller than most gymnasts, she twirled round in circles with each death defying leap, snapping out a hand to redirect her fall into another impossible direction at the last second.  Her mohawk sheaf of rainbow hair dazzled in the light, spinning colors across her figure in waves that changed and shifted with each passing second.  Many below watched her for the inhuman skill she possessed, outstripping her fellows in every regard.  Many more watched to catch a glimpse of her body, clad in a bodyglove so tight many believed, from what they saw, to be merely painted on.  A leap, a cheer, a flighty spin into nothingness and an explosion of color.

	“Showoff,” muttered a tall, red headed woman that was looking far to sour for such a joyous occasion.  Her weight shifted on wide hips as she readjusted her almost nonexistent bra.  Though used to wearing far, far less than her current near invisible robe, the stares she received from passersby, both male and female, earned only deep scowls and the occasional threatening hiss.  She tugged at her delicately rounded ears now and then, not really realizing she was doing so.

	“I think she’s amazing,” said her slightly shorter companion, mostly to annoy the first woman.  Not really watching the show above, having seen similar performances many times in her long life, she instead smiled and beamed at everyone who cared to look her way.  A pair of young men dressed in feathers and little else glanced in her direction and held their gaze.  She favored them with a smile and twisted her body a little to give them a better view, blowing them a kiss.  Their eyes grew wide and the pair, arm in arm, ran smack into a streetlamp.

	“You look like a cow,” her companion sneered, trying to hide an amused smile and doing a poor job of it.  “Why do we have to be so fat?”

	The crowd around them roared in praise as the figures above, and the one in particular, performed another spectacular trick with a casual ease that left them dumbfounded.

	“By their standards,” said the second woman, “we’re actually pretty fit. Besides, I kind of like having an ass, for once.”  She patted her rump appreciatively and wiggled it at a passing crowd girls dressed as novice Sisters.  Judging by their horrified scowls and their quick signing of the Aquila, it was fairly obvious they were not in costume.  She laughed and waved as they passed down the alley.  The one in back, the youngest by several years, stuck her tongue out at the pair.  The shorter one laughed and wiggled herself again.

	“How can you demean yourself so? They’re bloody mon-”

	“Oh, lighten up, will you?” said the second woman with an overly exaggerated expression of exasperation.  “Everyone is having the time of their lives, why can’t you?”

	“Give me my daggers and half an hour and I’ll have all the fun I need for a decade,” the first replied menacingly.

	Before her companion could respond, the sky above went briefly dark and flickered back to life.  The gymnasts were gone; the crowd booed, calling for an encore.

	Then the moment passed and the masses went on their way, looking for new diversions to while away the time.

	The two watched the crowd dissipate, and suddenly they were three.  Standing now between the others, her height the exact mean between them, the spectacular gymnast that had so captivated the crowd had added a heavy leather jacket to her otherwise scarce clothing.  A few members of the reveling throng glanced her way, but none of them seemed to recognize her on the ground.  She waved cheerfully regardless.  The little gem on her forehead gleamed brightly as she glanced from one companion to the other.

	“Ready to go?” she asked.

	“Oh yes,” said the second girl.

	“Home,” grumbled the first, tugging unconsciously at her ear.

	“The Dark City can wait,” the new girl said placatingly.  “Tonight, we give ourselves to the Carnivale.”



	She guided the other two through the mazelike streets of the Imperial city.  Huge and teaming with life, they found it quaintly simple and rustic compared to their own respective homes.  As they walked, the gymnast explained some of the more exotic costumes to her companions, neither of whom knew much about ancient Imperial history.

	That one in the red armor and wings was Sanguinius; not a mere Blood Angels but the father of that legion.  Here was the exalted Lord Solar Macharius!  The surly member of the trio merely mumbled something about the real one being far more impressive, a wispy look in her eye.  Those ladies over there were the founding members of the Sisters of Battle.  A few times they passed the Emperor himself, though each time the second, shortest woman would roll her eyes and pout for a few moments until something new caught her eye.

	They all stopped dead as a group of brightly clad, even by the standards of the crowd, revelers passed in front of them.  This group all stood on little stilts and wore tight fitting pieces of flak board, cut poorly to look like form fitting armor.  Bold and brazen face paint made them all look like someone had dashed them with paint.  Their ears were covered in foam prosthetics, tapering off into dagger like points.

	The trio stared, wide eyed, as the group marched off proudly, those near them clapping as they passed.  A second passed and the group disappeared down a corner.  The three companions gaped after them, then glanced at each other, then burst into a fit of hysteric laughter.

	Howling uproariously, they were soon bent double and gasping for air.  They had to hold each other to keep from spilling onto the ground, yet only a few people in the crowd seemed angry or told them to watch their way.

	The first woman, the tallest, was the first to recover.  She rose almost to her full height, still hunched slightly from lack of breath but still half a head taller than anyone in the area.  She brushed a tear from her eye and let the chuckles die down.

	“Wait,” she said, suddenly serious.

	It took the other two a bit longer to compose themselves, but a weighty slap to the backs of their heads sorted them out fairly well.

	“Wait, what?” asked the gymnast, rubbing the back of her head.

	“Why are we in disguise like this?”

	“It’s a tradition,” said the jacketed woman.  She stood up tall and brushed the long, strait sheaf of hair to one side of her head.  “People always dress up at Carnivale.”

	“Even I know that,” said the third, once again patting her rear happily.

	“No, why are we in disguise at all? If we go as ourselves, no one will notice.”  From her tone, it was clear she considered both of the others’ intelligence in low regard.

	“But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun,” complained the second girl.

	“I want my ears back,” said the first, tugging at them once more. “Now.”

	She and the gymnast glared at each other for several moments, the other watching and waiting to see who would win the showdown.  Eventually the gymnast sighed with an exaggerated shrug.

	“Fine. I suppose you’re just going to leave if I don’t.”

	“Damn right, I worked hard for my body and I won’t stand being fat a moment longer,” she said haughtily.  “And you two too,” she added. “I can’t stand looking at you.”

	The second girl’s hands shot to her rear, covering it protectively.  “I like it!” she said.

	“Do it, or I tell your father where you’ve been.”

	Her eyes widened and darted around, as though he was there, watching.  Then they narrowed and glared at the taller woman.  “You wouldn’t dare.”

	“Try me.”  The second girl’s stare was matched, and raised.

	“Well, I’ll tell yours!”

	“Ha! The bastard's been dead for millenia.”  She smiled triumphantly. "And I'm the one that did it!"

	“B-but, but, my butt…”

	“Now.”

	The second girl shifted her gaze from the first girl to the gymnast, then back to the first, and again to the bemohawked woman.  Finally she relented, pouting.  “Fine, do it.”

	Shrugging once more, the jacketed companion leaned over to the tallest woman and tugged at her ears, one at a time.  They stretched into fine, delicate points.  The hand waved over her face and it the cheeks sunk back into the sharp, clearly defined lines and a patrician jaw.  With a little flourish and a stage worthy bow, the gymnast removed the last of the illusion.

	Once more as lithe as she was tall, the first woman shook her head back and forth, getting a feel for the weight of her thick, crimson hair once more as it swept over her back like a royal cape.  Her hands slid down and around her figure, double checking to make sure she was whole again.  Satisfied, she took a comfortable and easy stance, yet one she could lash out in any direction from, and often had.

	Lelith Hesperax, Succubus Queen of Commorragh and Mistress of the Cult of Strife was herself once more, despite her less intimidating garb.

	As the gymnast moved to the other, she closed her eyes as though doing so would hold the illusion just bit longer.  Fingers tugged at her ears and waved across her body, though she was blind to it all.  Then she felt her ample rump dissipate into its diminished, natural state, and sighed in resignation.

	“It was fun while it lasted,” she mumbled.

	Her eyes opened again and she felt her fingertips trace the familiar facial tattoos that cut across either cheek.  Shrugging, she composed herself and stated to look back at the crowd, most of whom seemed to think they were performing a street show and clapping.  She was more than a little disappointed that the wych was getting more than her fair share of admiring glances, and was sure she knew why.

	Should have seen this coming, farseer, Macha of Biel-tan told herself.  Her attention shifted to the final disillusionment in process.

	The final companion slowly drew her hand above her head in a graceful flourish and snapped her finger.  Light shifted and danced around her as she did a little spin on the toes of one foot.  As the little maneuver came to an end, she bowed so low her hair all but touched the rockrete.  Still standing on tips of one foot’s toes, her other leg was held out parallel to the ground behind her.  The bright colours surrounding her dashed out in every direction, dancing with each other through the delighted, clapping crowd.

	“Trust the Veilwalker to show off every chance she gets,” Lelith said with a grumble.

	Where the Wych Queen’s features were sharp and dangerously beautiful with equally sharp and dangerous eyes, and Macha, with her just barely rounded cheeks and large, almost childlike eyes, was naively charming and sweet, Sylandri was classically gorgeous in a way classically gorgeous women wished they could be.  Thin eyebrows and a delicate nose anchored a charming face together above a wide mouth prone to infectious smiles.  Many in the crowd surrounding the trio of eldar women found themselves mimicking her smile when her gaze fell upon them.  Only the gem resting on her brow could hope to sparkle and gleam with as much life and energy as those eyes.

	Sylandri gathered up the other eldar and pulled them to her sides, pulling them along elbows entwined.  “Let’s keep moving before they ask for an encore!” she said cheerfully.

	Together they strolled down the winding roads and walkways, though a certain Cammorraghite was moving with far more reluctance than the other two.

	“What are we even doing here?”

	“With the rigid lives our kind endures,” said the shadowseer, “there are times we need to let loose and go wild. It’s healthy. Besides, the Eldar Carnivale only aligns with this world’s once ever fifty-seven years.”

	“That explains the farseer,” Lelith said dryly. “But why am I here?”  Macha stuck her tongue out and made a face but the wych ignored her.

	“Honestly?”

	“Yes.”

	“You need this more than any of us,” Sylandri said simply.

	“Oh, fuck you.”  The harlequin smiled and gave her a knowing wink that only mildly disconcerted her.

	“I’d like to know something, too,” said Macha, gazing behind them.

	Both turned and looked in that direction, but failed to see anything of note.

	“Are we being followed?” asked Lelith.

	“Is something wrong?” asked Sylandri.

	“I thought I saw…” began Macha, slowly, “No it couldn’t have been.”  As her head turned back around something else caught her eye.  “Hay, what the warp? Why did you get to keep your ass, but I didn’t?”  Her gaze was pointed and accusatory.

	The wych and the shadowseer glanced at the shapely curves swaying gently from side to side as Sylandri walked.  Lelith rolled her eyes and the harlequin simply shrugged apologetically.

	“Macha” she said gently, “that’s the real me. All natural.”

	Frowning, the farseer reached down and gave her cheek a hard pinch.  It all happened so fast, Sylandri was caught by surprise and gave a yelp.  Lelith, seeing the harlequin’s mild embarrassment and the farseer staring sullenly at her fingers, pinching them together in front of her face, that she started to chuckle.  Moments later, she was laughing heartily and Sylandri joined in as well.

	Macha’s face was growing reader by the moment and for a second Sylandri thought she could hear her teeth grinding together.  The shadowseer stopped laughing and squeezed the farseer’s arm tighter.

	“Listen, I know what’ll cheer you up.”  Without another word, she dragged the two of them at a breakneck pace down the boulevard, across the street, and past several alleyways.  The sounds of merriment and cheering grew louder and Macha’s eyes grew wide as she saw what all the excitement was about.

	“A parade!” she shouted.  A massive float, bustling with scores of riders and decorated with a fantastic menagerie of fictional creatures painted in dazzling colours and gilded in real gold rolled down a wide street.

	“Yep.”  The farseer’s anger had faded and the cheer in her voice brought a smile to Sylandri’s face.

	“No way to get close without heads rolling,” commented Lelith, evidently not to displeased by the idea, one way or the other.

	Macha’s ears actually lowered in disappointment as she realized the wych was right, but Sylandri simply tugged them both to the side.  “We’re not going to the street!” she shouted, caught up in the excitement.

	They made their way to an open doorway, beyond which evidently had the only well practiced band in the city.  A pair of burly, near-ogryn sized guards were standing on either side.  As the trio approached, the one of the left raised a cinderblock sized hand in an order to halt.

	“Guests only,” he grumbled in a slurred accent.

	“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be welcome,” Sylandri cooed, placing her hand on his and gently easing it down.  She stared up into his eyes with a coy smile, feigning shyness.

	The guard was about to speak again when he caught sight of Macha’s puppy-dog, pleading features.

	God Emperor, he thought. Her eyes are actually starting to water.

	With a sigh, he resigned himself to disappointing another group of fine young ladies, then glanced at the third member of their party.  He’d been a big person all his life.  In fact, he made a living being bigger than other people, often combineing that trait with his talent for hitting things until they stopped moving.  He was good at it, made good money.  But the death glare he was getting from the stick of woman on that street that night made him feel like a baby pterrasquirrel getting stared down by a gyrinx. A hungry gyrinx.

	“Ah… yeah,” he said, gulping and trying to ignore the sheen of sweat that was starting to chill his body, “I’m sure you’re right. Go on in.”

	Sylandri and Macha each gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, actually having to hop up to reach it he was so huge.  The dashed up the stairs without pause.  Lelith made her way up slowly, with great dignity.  The guard’s had been locked onto hers as the others thanked him, he hadn’t even noticed the pecks on his cheeks.  She raised two fingers up to her eyes, then pointed them both in his direction.  He shivered, then she was gone.

	“I don’t get paid enough for this,” he mumbled, pushing another group of scantily clad women away from the door.

	Lelith joined her companions on the balcony overlooking the street, snatching some horderves and a glass of sacra as she went through the densely crowded room.  One of the footmen was wearing nothing but a tight pair of black trousers and a bowtie.  His broad chest and thick arms trapped her gaze as she passed.  She gave him a wink that almost caused him to drop the tray he was carrying.  He tried to compose himself and his discomposure caused her to chuckle.

	The other two eldar were pointing and waving at the passing floats below.  Every now and then, Sylandri would lean over the farseer and tell her some sort of useless piece of information that seemed to excite her to no end.

	“Did I miss anything,” Lelith asked, not really caring.

	“They’re throwing things to the crowds!” chirped Macha.  Lelith could see the cheep quality of the plastic beads being tossed around and fought over below like golden treasures and rolled her eyes.

	“Simply amazing,” she said dryly.

	“Try and get some,” Sylandri said. “It’s fun!”

	Shrugging, the succubus took her place by their side and watched the antics on the ground.  For several minutes, Macha and Sylandri tried to wave and shout and entice someone on a float to toss something in their direction.

	Then something twinkled in Macha’s eyes and she pulled up the front of her shirt, screaming, “Throw me something Mister!” at the top of her lungs.  Her shout caught her companions by surprise and Lelith almost dropped her glass.  The farseer’s pert breasts swayed in the cool night air as she shook her chest from side to side.

	“What in the name of Khaine are you-“ before Lelith could finish, a dozen beads of various sizes and colors crashed against the farseer’s chest.  She shrieked happily and gathered them up, pulling her blouse back down and yelling thank you to the waving krewe on the receding floats.

	“How the hells did that work?” Lelith demanded.

	“I saw some mon’keigh doing it, and gave it a try!” She was beaming like a two-hundred year old using a psychic power successfully for the first time.  It was so adorable, Lelith felt an instinctive need to kick her.

	“Ludicrous. Exposing yourself for worthless trash.”

	“The beads or the mon’keigh?” asked Sylandri.

	“Yes.”

	“Well,” the shadowseer mused, seeing the hurt look in Macha’s eye, “she DOES have more than you.”

	The glass in Lelith’s hand shattered.

	“What?”

	“She must have, what? Two dozen necklaces now?” she pointed out. “How many do you have?”

	Lelith’s scowl would have stopped a rampaging warboss in its tracks.  She tossed her remaining finger foods aside, heedless of the bystanders below, and ripped the thin fabrics from her chest.

	“Over here, you worthless maggots!” she roared.

	Fortunately for her, the noise in the street was far louder than she was. Even more fortunate for the wych, the krewes below were just as appreciative of her feminine figure as the others had been of Macha’s.  Soon a score of little trinkets were gracing her neck and she was smiling smugly, not even bothering to wave in thanks to the men on the floats.

	“I’m not about to lose to the likes Macha,” she said.

	There was a flash of color that caused the wych to blink.

	“Throw me something mister!”

	Lelith’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open.  Sylandri’s now exposed chest was sporting a pair of massive breasts the size of her head.  A bit larger, if she was being honest.  The gigantic cleavage was jiggling and bouncing in waves as the shadowseer tossed them up and down with her cupped hands.

	“You cheating bitch!” cried Lelith, a split second before an avalanche of plastic and knock of toys showered the balcony and threatened to knock them off.

	Hours later, Sylandri was guiding her charges through the throng, pulling them deeper and deeper into the city’s depths.  All three had become so heavily laden in beads and presents during their impromptu competition that they had actually ended up needing to toss away their spares to the crow below in order to stay mobile.  Each had kept their favorites; one here with little masks every fourth bead, another there with actual glass instead of plastic.  Lelith was trying, and failing, not to look proud at having found a metal one that actually lit up. It was some shaped as some sort of primitive, paddlewheel driven riverboat. When a button on the back was depressed, little red and green lights would sparkled in order, making it look like the wheel was spinning.

	Sylandri had been thrown a three foot tall stuffed carnifex, its features rendered in soft fabrics in an overly cute, cartoonish style.  She had given it to Macha and the farseer hadn’t stopped squeezing it since. Each time she did, a little noise box inside made an, “Unyuuu!” sound.

	At last, just when Lelith’s patience had worn away almost completely and Macha’s curiosity was reaching such heights she was asking if they were “there yet” every twelve paces, the shadowseer having been using her skills to block the farseer’s warpsight to keep her from 'cheating,' they arrived at their destination.  A lonely building of baroque, Imperial style with old columns and a faded façade, neither women were impressed.

	“You dragged us all the way here for this?” Lelith was simply incredulous.  Fucking clowns, she thought, I could be at home, cutting astartes to pieces one finger at time right now.

	“Slyandri,” Macha whined, “you said it would be really great.”  The disappointed in her voice drew a reassuring smile from the harlequin’s features.

	“We’re simply the first to arrive,” she whispered. “Look.”

	All around them, figures were moving up the steps towards the plain, yet solid doors at which the trio stood.  Men, human men, of all sorts of colors and builds and ages.  There were dozens of them, each with a content, almost blank expression on their faces.  Some wore simple habits, others elaborate costumes.  Space marines, guardsmen, primarchs, and ecclessiarchs mingled with blue painted Tau, rogue traders, and at least two orks.  Their costumes ranged from the laughingly basic to the incredibly detailed.  At their side, each of their sides, was a lithe figure with an inviting smile and a colorful mohawk guiding them gently by the arm.  These figures, these women, were identical.  Each was the mirror image of the harlequin standing between the farseer and wych.

	As each pair reached the apex of the steps, the feminine partner dissipated into nothingness and the man was left dazed and confused.  Then they would catch sight of Sylandri opening the door for them and felt foolish for having let her get away from them like that.  Each laughed happily as she patted their shoulders and guided them inside.

	There were dozens in total, and all of them enchanted by Sylandri’s wiles and weaves.

	“Shall we?” she asked, glancing from Macha to Lelith.

	“Might as well,” said the Cammorraghite with a shrug. “Someone I doubt you’ll let me leave, now that I’ve come this far.”

	Macha simply nodded, biting her lip and squeezing the harlequin’s arm and her carnifex doll tighter.

	Inside, the building was far more luxurious that without.  Lush carpets covered the floors of a large, high ceilinged room.  Torches, mounted on the walls and upon large, silver stands at regular intervals provided a dim light that gave the expansive area a hallowed, almost unreal quality.  Here and there one could find a large, bed sized cushion or a table covered in glasses and bottles of fine vintages.  Intricately detailed paintings lined the walls in the distance, each depicting a scene of love or love making, though they were too dim for any but the three eldar women to see clearly.  Already the men were spreading out and partaking in the simple pleasures offered.

	The room was, in short, quite comfortable.  Its only fault, as far as Sylandri’s two guests could feel, was that it was a bit stuffy or overly warm.

	“Why are we here, Shadowseer?” hissed Lelith, not taking her eyes of the collection of mildly confused looking humans.

	“I think I know,” whispered Macha as she chewed her knuckle in anticipation.  Many of the men were starting to remove superfluous articles of clothing against the heat of the room.  The farseer’s pace of breath was starting to increase as she watched.  A familiar tingling was starting to warm her from the inside far more than the room around her.

	“I think Macha has the right idea,” said Sylandri.  She began to walk into the room, shrugging off her leather jacket and tossing it to the side as she went.  Her movements caught the eyes of several nearby men and they felt themselves drawn to her.

	She smiled at each in turn, inviting them closer.  One man, a tall fellow with bronzed skin and a well muscled chest, was bolder than the rest.  He strode forward and gathered her small hand in his, then bowed low to kiss her fingertips.  “My dear,” he said.

	As he stood back up, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.  Though the man was obviously not used to kissing a woman his own height, let alone a bit taller, he replied in kind and with growing enthusiasm.

	Macha watched with growing longing as the man’s hands slid down the harlequin’s sides, reaching around and gathering her ample rear in his large palms and squeezing gently.  The warmth spreading through her loins was growing more intense, yet she could not seem to manage the nerve to join Sylandri deeper in the room.

	“What are you doing?” asked Lelith with disgust.  She was eyeing the farseer like a disappointed sister.

	“What?” Macha asked, her eyes still set upon Sylandri and her partner.  One of his hands was kneading into her breast and she was nibbling his neck; another man was stepping up to either side of her, even as the farseer watched.  Though the movements of Sylandri’s elbow made it clear she was doing something in front of her, Macha’s angle prevented her seeing what it was.  Yet, judging by the look on the man’s face, she was pretty sure what was happening.

	“Your hand!” hissed the wych.

	“What?”  Macha pulled the knuckle from her mouth and glanced at it, then at Lelith.  There did not seem to be anything wrong with it, but from the direction of the wych’s gaze it was clear she was looking lower than that.  Macha glanced down as well and gave a start.

	The fingers of her other hand were gently rubbing against the thin fabrics covering her vulva.  Despite her surprise, she did not stop.  Warmth, oozing up from her belly, was overriding what little restraint she had left.  She smiled at Lelith in self deprecation as she slid her fingertips beneath the fabrics, shivering as the digits grazed over the soft, moistening flesh they found there.

	Her plush doll had fallen to the floor, all but forgotten.

	“I-I think I’m g-going to join Veilwalker,” she said, a cloudiness in her mind making it difficult to get the words out.

	Lelith rolled her eyes.

	In the room proper, the three men surrounding Sylandri had been joined by a forth.  The harlequin was caressing them each in turn, her deft and practiced hands helping them to ease off all but the most basic elements of their costumes.  Then her hands were easing up and down the exposed members of the men to either side of her, coaxing them to fullness.

	Macha licked her lips and started to walk towards her, her steps just the faintest bit shaky.  She stopped only to transfer the majority of her bead collection into the waiting claws of the cartoonish carnifex, who accepted them eagerly.  Those remaining around her neck jingled as she swayed onto the lushly carpeted floor.

	Sylandri’s remaining garb had seemingly disappeared.  The only covering she now possessed to the form of plastic beads hanging from her neck and, though Lelith had no idea where she had found the time to do so, bound around her waist in a set of stringy belts.  The wych was feeling subtly disgusted by the display as the harlequin slowly raised her bare foot up the front of the first man’s body, her toes tracing his leg, pausing to rub for a moment or two against his now stiff erection, before easing up his chest and finally planting itself on his shoulder.

	Sex was hardly new to her, the decadence of Cammorragh far exceeding the mild lewdness being presented before her, but there was a wrongness to it that gnawed at Lelith’s mind. She did not even mind that they were mon'keigh, they may not have an eldar's stamina but they were, on average, quite a bit larger than those little blue things with the hooves, and greenskin boyz aren't, not where it matters.  As Sylandri eased her groin towards he man’s, guiding his impressively swollen member up against her reddening labia and flicking it up and down between them, the wych realized what it was.  No, that the men were human bothered he little, having taken many of them in many different ways over the years, but the freedom this clown was giving them set her on edge. They were enjoying themselves almost as much as Sylandri.

	Macha, too, had found companionship.  As Lelith briefly tore her eyes away from Sylandri’s game of foreplay, she saw that the farseer was pulling two young men to join her on one of the large cushions. After a second she recognized the feathered costumes they left behind as belonging to the pair of men Lelith had seen Macha flirting with earlier.  She had them both sit on the cushion and took a kneeling position in front of them.

	A moan from the other side of the room caught Lelith’s ear and she turned just in time to see the first man plant himself deeply into the harlequin’s turgid flesh.  He held her waist and started to rock her forward and back onto his member.  Sylandri’s hands has successfully coaxed two more men into arousal and, going by their faces alone, her continued attentions were much appreciated.

	“Disgusting,” said Lelith under her breath.  The wrongness of it all was getting to her and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other as she glanced constantly between Macha and the shadowseer.  There was a knot in her stomach that was making her feel ill.

	“This is a beautiful thing we have here, Lelith,” Sylandri whispered into her ear from behind.  The Wych Queen gave a start, furious at being caught off guard by another cheap parlor trick, but gentle arms wound round her and she found herself unable, or unwilling, to move.  The harlequin placed her chin on Lelith’s slender yet taut shoulder.

	“Is any of this even real anymore?” asked the succubus.  “Which is the real you, the one behind me or the one whoring herself to the lower races?”

	Sylandri blew across Lelith’s ear and sent little slivers of electricity running down her spine.  The harlequin’s hands cupped together over her belly and hugged her close.

	“What’s real and what’s not doesn’t matter anymore.  For now, we’re here, enjoying a moment of innocent communion.”  She hugged the wych closer.  “Watch!”

	Sylandri kissed the man pumping into her and then leaned backwards.  With one foot on the ground and the other high in the air, she seemed to be doing vertical splits as the rest of her body became parallel with the ground.  Now, with her head at waist height, the man behind her found a tongue gently licking against the tip of his cock.  Needing no further invitation, he took a step and slid himself into her mouth.

	“Where did you even find these people?” asked Lelith, the knot in her belly twisting tighter and tighter.  Another gentle gust of wind from the shadowseer’s mouth across her ear sent another shiver down her back and she let out a muted curse.

	“Here and there, over the course of the evening.”

	“So what Macha saw-“

	“Yes.”

	“And a few times, during the parade, I could have sworn-“

	“Yes.”

	“But why?”  Her body twisted futilely to escape the shadowseer’s embrace as delicate fingertips inched their way down her belly and under the wispy, thin fabrics at her waist.

	“Because you need to let go,” Sylandri said, sliding her fingers beneath the fabric and spreading apart the lips she found there in one smooth movement.  “Just for a little while. You're always so tense.”

	“I fuck all the time,” the wych protested.  Two of the shadowseer’s fingers kept her labia pinned to the side as a third delicately caressed the flesh between them.  The knot in her stomach was almost painful, now.

	“Not like this, you don’t,” said Sylandri, her voice playful.  “Besides…” she leaned in closer, watching with amusement at the way Lelith’s eyes were set upon her true body, taking a man with her mouth, another with her hips, and two more with her hands.  More still were drawing near her, their hands falling across her body seductively.  “You don’t want to be beaten by Macha, do you?”

	Lelith’s eyes snapped to the farseer’s location.  The craftworlder was pulling the last of her garments away with one hand and easing the other up and down the shaft of one of her two companions.  Her full, red hair bounced in waves as her head bobbed up and down in the lap of the second man.  Even from this distance and the poor lighting, Lelith could see a glimmer reflecting from the wetness between her legs.

	“That won’t work this time, Veilwalker,” Lelith spat.  “I’ll not whore myself out to these pathetic creatures for your amusement.”

	“But Lelith, dear,” the shadowseer whispered, “you’re already so wet.”

	“That’s only because you-“ Lelith turned and raised her fist, but no one was there.

	“I haven’t done a thing,” a mercurial voice answered from the nothingness.

	Yet, Lelith could still feel the shadowseer’s fingers twiddling between her legs.  Her mouth opened with a suppressed sigh as a finger entered her, followed quickly by another.  Together they churned and pulled, as though reaching for the twisting in her stomach.

	Lelith looked down and spat a curse.

	She pulled her fingers from under the thin fabrics with far more reluctance than she could imagine.  They glistened even in the shallow light as she held them to her face.  Her own scent filled her nostrils and the wych felt her eyes water.

	She glanced back the other two women.

	Sylandri had wrapped her legs around the first man’s waist and was suspended above the ground by his strong arms.  Somehow she had managed to keep the other man in her mouth and he was still rocking his hips, shoving himself deep into her throat.  One of the two men she was working by hand gave a cry as his face contorted in pleasure.  A thick gout of semen splashed against the eldar’s exposed chest, mingling with the colored beads that still jingled and swayed with each little movement of her body.  Moments later, the second human in her attentive grip reached climax as well.  His healthy, virile stream of white goo caught her below the chin and sent streams dripping down her neck and to the floor.

	Macha, finally free of her lower garments, was awkwardly straddling one of her two chosen partners, her tongue pressing through her lips as she concentrated on maneuvering the man’s impressive erection to the right spot between her legs.  Even as Lelith watch, the other man rose and pushed her down upon his fellow, then gently grasped her head in his hands and pulled it to his groin.

	Movement to her side caused Lelith to crouch into a ready battle stance, one she slowly rose out of, her moist fingers still barest inches from her face.  A man, a human wearing next to nothing, was walking towards her.  His chest was broad and bare and his features well defined and handsome.  She saw the bowtie around his neck and he smiled as he noticed her recognition.

	The wych queen slid her fingers into her mouth and licked them clean.

	“Fuck it,” she said, bounding forward and leaping into the man’s arms.

	He caught her awkwardly, but her legs around his waist held her firm.  She grasped him on either side of the head and pulled his mouth hard against hers, slipping her tongue between his lips for good measure.  Then she pulled away and pointed to a free couch-sized cushion.

	“Over there, mon’keigh. And be quick about it!”  Her groin was grinding against his with each step the man took she could feel him hardening even under his trousers.

	As the pair made their way to Lelith’s chosen spot, she pointed at several other men that struck her fancy and commanded them to follow.

	+She seems to be enjoying herself+  Macha’s thoughts drifted over to the harlequin, but the link was shaky at best.  Her tongue wrapped around the cock in her mouth and she pursed her lips tight while bobbing her head up and down, mimicking the rocking motions of her hips that were grinding the first man against her insides at just the right spot.

	++Took her long enough++  Sylandri gasped as the throbbing shaft inside of her started to twitch and her belly was suddenly filled with molten joy.  She could feel it surging deep inside her loins and then washing back out and foaming around her labia with each frantic thrust of the man’s hips into hers.  The harlequin opened her mouth wide and felt the member inside slip deep into her throat.  ++Fuck that was good.  Oh, looks like you have company++

	+Wah?+  Macha felt gentle hands slid down her hips and squeeze appreciatively, only then realizing she had collected an audience.  Someone was moving behind her and she felt a burning nub press against her buttocks.

	+Sylandri!+

	++What, what’s wrong?++  The man in her mouth came and his seed surged hot and full straight down her throat.  She choked a little, but remained in place, ticking with her tongue to keep the flow strong.

	+I think this guy is going for my butt!+  Their mental link surged with new strength, but the harlequin could not tell if panic or excitement had caused it.

	++You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to++ she sent, ++But trust me, anal feels amazing++  Her thoughts drifted to a certain Spear of Twilight and she sighed with melancholy as her throat and vagina were slowly cleared and her body lowered to the ground.  Such a shame he was too busy raiding a hive fleet and directing it towards a tomb world to join them. He would oh so have loved to stick it to the wych.  New bodies surrounded her and she rose to meet the phalanx of swelling, sweat covered shafts.

	+No, I know+ Macha’s voice rang.  +I just want…+

	++What? What?++  keeping the link active with the smells and sights and sensations closing in around her was difficult, even for Sylandri.

	+Can you give me that butt back?+

	The Veilwalker almost laughed, but another adamantium dick spiking into her mouth cut it off.  ++Done and done++

	Macha pulled her mouth off the young man’s member, yet remembered to keep stroking it with her hand, as she shot a glance to her rear.  She jiggled it a little from side to side, the man beneath her moaning at the new sensation wrapping around his cock, and Macha smiled broadly before turning to face the member she was beating off by hand.  The man came, his semen splashing against her face as she opened her mouth to take him back inside.

	+I fucking love you, Sylandir!+ she sent just as the man behind her pressed his swollen erection between her cheeks.  Macha gave a yelp as his glans penetrated her, followed swiftly by the rest of his shaft.  She was only just starting to catch her breath when her belly filled with a hotness and sent her cooing with pleasure.  The man below her was squeezing against her breasts so hard it was almost painful, but the virile surge pouring up into her made Macha care little and less. If anything, the contrasted pain and pleasure made it all the better.

	She rocked back onto the cock digging deep into her ass and let the man underneath her slide out from between her labia with a wet splurtch.  Thick, white semen oozed out from her as she licked her lips and fingers clean of the same substance.  Her smile widened as she saw yet more men move closer to take her spent partners’ places.

	Lelith, never one to be outdone and certainly never one to be submissive, was having her fun the only way she knew how.  Using the beads from her neck and the strips of cloth that once barely managed to cover her body, she bound each of her playthings’ hand behind their backs and pushed them onto the ground.  Then, sitting on the cushioned couch, she used the soles of her feet to coax their disgusting little human gentiles into a form she could make use of, all the while building up a slickness between her labia with rapid caresses of her long fingers.

	Well, perhaps ‘little’ was unfair, she was forced to admit to herself.  For a few of them. Most of them.  As her feet went from one to the other to the other and to the next rapidly, deftly keeping each of her half dozen chosen toys stimulated like a composer playing on a much different kind of organ, she was once again forced to change her opinion.  All of them, damn that Sylandri. How was she so good at choosing these people?

	The heat of their members and the slickness their precum and sweat were warming her feet and causing them to tingle delightfully.  There was an itch to scratch there, and no matter how tight the knot in her stomach was getting, she felt she had to keep scratching.

	Finally, all of her toys were ready and she brushed the saliva from her lips, only slightly put off at being seen drooling in such a manner.  She hoped down to the ground and straddled the closest human, firmly grasping his member and squeezing.  The pain in his eyes sent a thrill down her back and she forced herself down upon him in one smooth motion, rocking back up the instant her flesh touched his hips.  Bounding up and down, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the cock inside her; it’s shape, it’s width, the size of the head.  Nope.

	She slid off him and moved to another, smiling at the thickness this one offered but disappointed with its length.  She repeated the process for each of them, finding things she liked and disliked about each of them and deciding to test them all again to make sure. And then, minutes later and lathered in sweat and running hot in the loins, to try them all again.

	Sylandri watched form the corner of her eye and smiled inwardly.  The harlequin was suspended in the air by two tall men with bulging biceps that had her sandwiched between them.  She was deeply kissing the man facing her and wriggling her hips in concert with their thrusts.  Their rhythm was perfect onto a machine, one entering her as the other slid out as regular as clockwork.  Though her rear was not quite as full as a certain someone was able to manage, the sensation of feeling the in and out simultaneously was making great strides to make up for it.

	Then, as one finished with a flurry of rapid thrusts and spilled his seed across her back as his pumping forced it out of her puckering anus, he moved aside and was instantly replaced by yet another mon’keigh.  She could have cried, this one was almost as big as Yriel!

	Gods, but she loved Carnivale.

	Macha too was thinking the same thing, at least in those brief instances where her mind cleared from the haze of raw emotion surging across her body.

	Several orgasms in, her spasms had become too much for her to bear on her knees.  Ever a pragmatic people, the humans had repositioned her facing upwards, sitting her ass-down on the swollen member of reclining man and the rest taking turns to pump away between her legs into the turgid, soaked hole of her vagina or straddling her chest and humping into the cleavage she was pressing together with her hands.

	For Lelith, being used like that was anathema, but it was becoming hard for her to keep up with the rigors of hoping from one cock to the next.  She visited each one long enough to keep him hard until she returned from the other five, or was it six, now? Seven? but the miniscule break in between was causing her to reset each time.

	“Fuck!” she roared, the twisting inside her reaching critical mass.  She ground her teeth and jabbed a finger towards a nearby standing man, he having watched her for several minutes while stroking himself to the sight.  “You! Ass! Now!”

	The man pointed to himself questioningly.

	“FUCKING YES, YOU!”

	Though the fire in her eyes sent shivers down his spine, he rushed to comply. As he grasped her rocking hips and tried to match the rhythm to give himself an opening, Lelith looked down and found herself staring into the eyes of the server from the balcony party once more.  Struggling to cut through the mire of her short term memory, she realized she had straddled him almost twice as much as any of the others.  She shrugged and put it off to him coincidentally having the nicest package, and leaned in to kiss him.

	The break in her pace was just enough to allow the new fellow to rock himself hard and fast into her anus, almost in frantic panic to get inside before she changed her mind.  She bit the footman’s lip until she tasted the coppery tang of blood and gave a banshee call of pleasure into the room at large.

	Several of her captive partners had risen to their feet and she snatched out at the nearest two, tugging them towards her then whipping her hands around their back to squeeze their muscled buttocks.  She pulled them closer still and took one of their cocks in her mouth, tasting herself over the salty sweat that covered the shaft, then popped off and did the same to the second.  Moving from one to the other, she ground her pelvis in the pair spearing between her lower lips and cheeks.  Then she took both standing men’s cocks in her mouth at once and pressed her delicately long fingers into each of their rectums, ticking at their prostates.

	Lelith got her first taste of mon’keigh seed that night in a climactic rush that shook her entire body.  Her keeping each plaything ready at a moment’s notice worked in her favor and all four men reached orgasm at nearly the same instant.  The wych’s body was filled with the thick, boiling seed so quickly she lost track of how many times each one spurted into her.  As the two in her mouth pulled out and basted her face and chest, she could almost imagine the thick goo in her mouth had surged through her entire body from below.

	And they were still going.

	And the night was still young.

	As the first rays of day started to pour in through the high windows above them, the three eldar women were struggling to remain conscious, knowing full well they needed to leave before much longer.  Over the course of the night, they had all ended up taking refuge on the same circular couch, a life raft in a sea of swirling flesh and bodily fluids that came upon them in waves.  Now the cries of joy and occasional yelps of pain, mostly from Lelith’s partners, had died out to be replaced by the dull roar of scores of unconscious mon’keigh in various states of disrobe and all covered in the heady reek of sweat and eldar juices.

	“Sylandri,” whispered Macha as she watched the light filter through the window.

	“Yes?”  Her voice had that tired quality to it that came from complete content and satisfaction, and extreme fatigue.

	“You were right, this was amazing.”

	“Unyuuu!”  The farseer was snuggled up to her plush carnifex, hugging it close to her wet, sticky body and only distantly caring that getting it cleaned again would be Isha’s own job.

	“I must admit,” said Lelith, “this ‘Carnivale’ of yours… has merit.”

	“You’re welcome, both of you.”  The shadowseer was smiling.

	“I don’t think I can wait another fifty-seven years, though,” mumbled Macha, half to herself.

	“Agreed,” said Lelith.

	“I suppose we could arrange a more private affair,” mused Sylandri.

	“We can do it at my place,” Lelith said, already planning the event in her head.

	“Eh, I dunno…” said Macha.  “Sylandri should be fine, ‘cause she’s a harlequin, but I don’t know how comfortable I’d be there.”

	“Hmm?”

	“Farseer, remember? Psychic? In Cammorragh?”

	“Oh, yeah.”  Lelith thought for a moment.  “If I have you on a lead, they’ll leave you alone.”

	“I think that would make me feel even less safe.”