<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">First watch</span><br/><br/>Elora felt jittery as she walked down into the small depression. The forest floor was softer here, padded with deep banks of dry moss. Her step was usually so certain, her grace perfect. But in his presence, all her confidence was blown away, replaced with the jittery but elated feeling of butterflies in her stomach. She had drawn the first lot from what they now called the ‘watch raffle’, which meant that she would get to spend some quality time with the master while the others prepared the camp and stood guard.<br/><br/>He was sitting on the soft forest floor, leaning against a tree stump and smiling up at her as his eyes ran lazily up and down her body. Elora just stood there, transfixed in his gaze for a moment, desperately waiting for his approval. After a tantalizing moment of silence, he used a single finger to gesture for her to come closer. She approached and knelt, like he had taught her. He accepted her submission with a smile and then lowered her onto her back, her head resting in his lap and her arms stretched out above her head. He liked that position; it gave him access to pretty much<em>anything</em>he wanted to grace with his teasing touch. She liked it, too, because she could look up at him with a silly smile plastered on her lips while he did so. Deon had certainly grown up. The man who looked down on her was not the dorky young acolyte of Torm anymore. He was a leader now. And a lover. He wore his black hair open and the rough bristles of his goatee teased her skin as he bent down to kiss her and nibble on her exposed neck.<br/><br/>“And so your watch begins.” Deon said as he turned the hourglass, putting it down on the ground, tantalizingly just out of sight for her as the sands of her private time with him began to run. His right hand started a slow exploration over her body; from the tip of her fingers, over her face and down her neck.<br/><br/>“You are still a stickler for rules!” Elora said and laughed just as his nimble fingers got to work. She got a little smack to the cheek for that, not hard, just a tender warning.<br/><br/>“<em>Careful!</em>Or I might<em>stick</em>one on you.” He admonished the elf girl in his lap and she flinched, more in surprise than pain. The old Deon would never have done that. The old Deon wouldn’t have done many things. It was hard to believe that it had been just three months. But three months on a love potion felt like<em>forever</em>. “Everyone gets a fair share of my time. And just let me know if you feel like being cheeky again so I can turn you around for some proper discipline.” Deon threatened. Even though his play had taken on a rougher turn, his voice was still playful. Elora hadn’t crossed the line… yet. The priest had certainly changed. Not as much as they had feared, but probably more than anyone who had known the shy healer before would have thought possible. He had changed his looks, his clothes, his<em>god</em>.<br/><br/>Of all of them, it was probably him who had sacrificed the most, even if it didn’t look that way to the casual observer. After the debacle with the love potion – barging in on a witch right when her vile concoction was about to blow up – the party had been on the verge of self-destruction. Elora had failed in her leadership role, had been as bad as the worst of them in her mad, greedy and selfish desire for the only man on hand. It was Deon who had pulled them back from the brink, bringing order with a firm hand. But he had certainly paid a price.<br/><br/>The symbol of Torm, god of law and righteousness, around his neck had been replaced by that of Bane, god of law and<em>tyranny</em>. It was a rough thing, cast from black iron, and it tended to prick Elora when they played. Still, she liked it better than the make-do one he had carved from wood by his own hands back then. You didn’t need a temple to commune with the gods, when the gods where everywhere. It was possible to lose your faith and find a new one simply by yourself in a midnight glade.<br/><br/>Elora should have been rather worried about Deon’s new deity, but somehow she wasn’t. She trusted the cleric with all her heart. Of course, that was one of things a love potion<em>did</em>, she knew that, but in love there was no room for doubt. Besides, he was still kind to her and the others, just in…<em>new ways</em>. She had learned that a leather collar could mean affection just as much as a mithral ring and that being disciplined could simply mean that he<em>cared</em>.<br/><br/>Deon wasn’t taking them on a crusade to spread evil, either. Just enforcing the law; hunting down bandits and turning back goblin raiding parties while keeping their eyes open for opportunities and lost treasures. Pretty much the same they had done before. Elora had never seen it that way back then but all the gods – even the evil ones – had many faces. And it was quite possible for a priest to worship one and pay the other little more than lip service. No one bat an eye when a cleric of Tempus or Silvanus, both neutral deities, sided with the forces of good. If that was possible, then maybe Bane would be perfectly content to watch his newest disciple uphold the law… and rule over Elora and her friends with a firm but gentle hand. He certainly still granted him magic.<br/><br/>As she felt the priest’s hand resting softly on her throat, gently squeezing, before continuing its journey down her lithe body, Elora felt a little pang of guilt at the forbidden pleasure it made her feel and<em>express</em>. It was not like she – or any of the others – was doing anything to dissuade Deon from the new and dangerous path he was walking on. They were<em>encouraging</em>it, really. After all, hadn’t he held out for one long month of travel through the wilderness, desperately trying to find a cure for the potion’s effect before finally giving in? He had been quite the epitome of righteousness, rejecting the constant advances of not just one but<em>several</em>lovely young women. He had settled their disputes fairly and tried to contain their petty jealousy. Elora shivered as Deon’s nimble fingers traced the outlines of her pointed and oh-so-sensitive ears and a little smile of remembrance spread over her lips. Oh, she had been so bad back then, always the first to pick a fight when it was not her who got to sit at Deon’s side or if it was someone else cooking his meal. When she couldn’t have the man himself, she had started fighting over everything related to him. Elora sighed softly under the priest’s touch and her legs spread a little of their own accord. She was<em>still</em>bad. Only now, Deon had set up rules to order their lives and keep the squabble to a minimum. Like everything about him, they were firm, but fair. Elora’s rear end was still warm and smarting from the evening’s ‘justice’ but she bore him no ill will. After all, she had no one to blame but herself. It had been Lyria’s turn to cook for the master and she had barged in with her elven waybread, trying to steal a little more of his attention and affections for herself. Afterwards, he had gently rubbed a soothing balm into her naked butt cheeks –right in front of everyone, to Elora’s utter humiliation – and the pain was slowly fading to something more bearable, enjoyable even, but the lesson had certainly stuck: she wouldn’t try that trick again.<br/><br/>As he continued to softly tease her, Elora got more agitated. She wanted to have her hands all over him: she wanted rough, satisfying sex and she wanted it<em>now</em>. Deon was having none of it, though. He seized her greedily grasping hands and roughly pinned them down until a little whimper of surrender let him know that she would be a good girl and keep them where he had put them. Not that he didn’t indulge her every now and then but there were three eager, insatiable girls in the party and just one of him, which meant that he usually chose something calmer, more relaxed for their ‘quality time’ together. Sometimes, he just read her from his books or let her take care of his hair or his gear. Tonight, he seemed content to just stroke all of her body while she lay helplessly sprawled over his lap, completely exposed to his tantalizing touches. As if the love potion was not enough, Deon seemed dead-set to<em>own</em>not just her heart but her passion as well. Elora could feel a soft leather band being tied around her wrists and a blindfold of black cloth over her eyes soon followed. The sensory deprivation made her gasp – as did the unexpected touch to her bare thighs.  As an elf, she could see very well at all times of night and she was not used to the inky blackness in front of her eyes. The blindfold made her even<em>more</em>helpless and deprived than it would a human woman. A fact that Deon was very well aware of.<br/><br/>“Did you buy that in the last town?” Deon asked. He had opened her travelling cloak and his fingers moved over her naked belly, tracing the outlines of her skimpy new chain shirt.<br/><br/>“Yes.” Her voice was a breathy whisper and her hips rose to meet his touch as his fingers trailed deeper. Why couldn’t he just<em>take</em>her, right here, right now?<br/><br/>“So that’s what you spent your part of the loot on?” Elora could hear the sliding sound of metal as the priest pulled the knife she wore on her belt from its sheath. Her breath caught as she felt the sharp tip pressing softly against her exposed belly without breaking the skin. “It’s not very useful as armour, now is it?”<br/><br/>Elora shook her head, trying to breathe as flatly as possible while her panicked mind tried to search for words. He wouldn’t hurt her, she<em>knew</em>that from the bottom of her heart… but it was racing in panic nonetheless. It was hard to supress a warrior’s reflexed and the tip of a blade had a way to awaken them, but that was not it. “I… I though you would like it.” She said, desperately awaiting his answer. The elf’s voice was feeble, more of a hopeful question. She hadn’t felt emotional like that since her<em>twenties</em>. It was the love potion. She<em>knew</em>it was the love potion, and yet there was nothing she could do about it. “Don’t… don’t  you like it?” She asked in a pitiful whimper when no answer was forthcoming.<br/><br/>Deon made a noncommittal grunt and his fingers ran over the fine chain links that covered her breasts. The tiny ‘shirt’ was well-made but it revealed more of Elora’s shapely body than any proper suit of armour should. The priest kept the tip of the knife pressed softly against Elora’s exposed belly as his free hand explored hit pet’s new ‘armour’ a little more. His touch confirmed that the bottom piece offered even less protection than the little chain shirt, leaving the vital arteries in her inner thighs vulnerable and exposed.<br/><br/>By now, Elora was close to tears and she hated herself for it. She was a fighter. She was supposed to be strong. Stalwart. And yet, in his presence she became this soft, timid<em>kitten</em>desperate for his approval. Not to mention that she had been the one to berate the other girls when they had started to change the style of their gear from ‘practical’ to something easier on the eye to please Deon. Now she was the one caught wearing the skimpy chain mail. It had been an impulse buy, nothing she would have ever bought<em>before</em>. But, lately, the need to level the playing field with the other girls had become overwhelming. Every time she caught Deon’s eyes resting on the curves of someone else, Elora felt like she had been<em>struck</em>. Gods she had become such an attention whore!<br/><br/>“I like it.” He finally allowed and Elora could feel her feelings soar. The knife at her belly was forgotten and if it hadn’t been for the leather string that kept her hands tied to an exposed root, she might have very well impaled herself as her body arched to mirror her emotional uplift. “In fact, I like it very much my pet. You have a lovely body and I can’t get enough of it. But I am also worried about you, Elora. It’s not good protection and I don’t want you to get hurt when you hold the line.” Deon said and placed the knife back against her naked belly. “You can wear it around camp… and you<em>will</em>wear it around town.” Deon said, putting another dent in what little was left of the elf’s remaining pride and dignity. “But you<em>will</em>wear proper armour when we are expecting trouble! Understood?” Deon asked and underlined his words with a little smack.<br/><br/>“Yes, Sir!” Elora’s said and nodded weakly. Her cheeks were blushing and her emotions were a mess. She had been chastised and complimented, put down and lifted up, exposed and protected, disciplined and softly stroked by her master,<em>all at the same time</em>. Her tears were flowing freely now, even though she didn’t quite know what she was crying about, but she simply didn’t care anymore.<br/><br/>She was safe with Deon.