Chapter 164: Laura’s Exchange. IS mission complete. +18

You pull Calca into a kiss first. Her lips part beneath yours, soft and yielding, tasting faintly of salt from her earlier tears. She makes a quiet sound against your mouth, her fingers curling against your chest. When you release her, her pale blue eyes hold a confidence that wasn't there before this morning.

Kelart receives your kiss with her jaw set, her dark eyes fierce even as her lips soften under yours. She doesn't lean into it like Calca does, but she doesn't pull away either. When you draw back, she straightens her spine with the discipline of a woman who has served a higher power for decades.

"Go be rulers," you say, lifting them both from your lap and setting them on their feet. "Your subjects are waiting."

Calca smooths her chemise with hands that tremble only slightly. Kelart retrieves her braid from where it fell across the desk, twisting it back with practiced efficiency despite her state of undress. Neither woman looks at the other as they begin collecting their clothing.

You open a Gate and step through into the Nazarick throne room. The familiar vastness of the hall stretches around you, empty except for the ambient hum of magical wards.

- - -

You check your internal sense of time and find yourself pleasantly ahead of schedule. The Laura exchange isn't until 4pm IS time, which gives you comfortable margin.

You make your way to the Library floor. Jibril looks up from her reading as you pass through, her blue eyes tracking you with knowing warmth, but she says nothing, simply marking her page with a slender finger as you head for the IS-Gate.

The transition between worlds is seamless. You step from Nazarick's crystalline corridors into the IS Academy, teleporting to their hotel suite. The room smells of coffee and cold air seeping through poorly insulated windows.

Oriax sits at a small writing desk near the window, silver hair loose around her shoulders, a cup of tea cooling beside her. She wears a dark fitted dress that accommodates her devil heritage without drawing civilian attention. Fiona stands at the room's secondary desk, reviewing documents with her characteristic stillness, silver-white hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

Both women look up as you enter.

"My lord," Oriax says, rising with fluid grace. "You're early. We weren't expecting you for another hour."

"Wanted to see how the exchange was set up." you explain, settling into the room's single armchair.

Fiona sets down her papers. "Major Orimura confirmed the formal transfer orders at 0700 hours local time. Laura Bodewig has been instructed to report to Hangar Bay Three at the IS Academy at 1600 hours. We have a vehicle waiting at the east gate."

"The Russian military liaison provided clearance codes this morning," Oriax adds, pulling a folded document from beneath her tea cup. "Official transfer to a joint research program. Chifuyu signed everything personally. There should be no complications."

"Grayfia and Yor are still resting?" you ask.

"Both sleeping soundly," Fiona confirms. "Grayfia woke briefly around noon, ate something, then returned to bed. Yor hasn't stirred."

Oriax crosses the room and kneels beside your chair, her crimson eyes meeting yours with an expression that carries both devotion and a hint of embarrassment from the previous night. "The exchange point is straightforward. Fiona will drive. I'll handle any administrative questions. You simply need to be present to perform the transfer. Laura will have her personal effects packed."

"Any issues?" you ask.

"None anticipated," Fiona says. "The orders are absolute. Chifuyu made certain of that after learning of France's failure."

"Fiona, prepare for departure," you say, settling back in the armchair. "Oriax, wake Grayfia and Yor. We'll move when they're ready."

Fiona nods once, already moving to the secondary desk. Her hands work with mechanical precision as she consolidates documents into a leather satchel, then produces a magic bag from her coat and begins transferring equipment. Papers, clearance codes, identification badges, and communication devices disappear into the dimensional storage one by one.

Oriax rises from her kneeling position beside your chair, her crimson eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. Something unspoken passes between you. She opens her mouth, then closes it, choosing instead to bow her head slightly before crossing to the bedroom door.

You hear her soft voice through the wood. "Grayfia. Yor. Time to wake."

Muffled sounds of movement. Oriax enters and emerges several minutes later with both women in tow. Grayfia's silver hair is still slightly mussed from sleep, her maid uniform freshly pressed but her bearing carrying that particular softness of someone recently roused. Yor follows with her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her violet eyes alert despite the lingering drowsiness.

"Good morning, my lord," Grayfia says, smoothing her uniform collar.

Yor simply inclines her head, her expression calm and watchful.

Fiona finishes packing and steps out to prepare the vehicle. When she returns with a brief confirmation nod, you all move together through the hotel corridor and down the stairwell to the parking structure below.

The black sedan waits with tinted windows. Fiona takes the driver's seat. Oriax slides into the front passenger seat with her documents ready. You settle into the spacious back seat, and Grayfia and Yor take their places on either side of you without hesitation.

As the car pulls onto the road, your hands reach behind both women. Your fingers find their breasts through fabric, pulling them against your sides. Grayfia's breath catches softly as your palm cups her through her maid uniform, kneading with gentle pressure. Yor makes no sound but her body leans into yours, her thigh pressing against your leg.

You turn to Grayfia first, kissing her slow and possessive. Her lips part beneath yours, silver hair brushing your cheek. When you release her, you turn to Yor, finding her mouth with the same deliberate claim. Yor's kiss is different, quieter, her lips responding with the trained obedience Grayfia instilled but carrying genuine warmth beneath the discipline.

You alternate between them as the city passes outside the windows. Your hands never stop their gentle kneading, pulling soft sounds from Grayfia and subtle shifts from Yor.

The security gates appear ahead. Fiona presents credentials at the security checkpoint, and the barrier rises without delay. Hangar Bay Three looms ahead, its industrial doors open to admit the cold afternoon air.

You were right. Laura Bodewig stands at attention near the bay entrance, a single duffel bag at her feet. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight military ponytail, her ice-blue eyes fixed forward with rigid discipline. Beside her stands Major Orimura Chifuyu, arms crossed, her long black hair catching the wind. Both arrived early.

Chifuyu's eyes track your vehicle as it approaches. Her expression is carefully neutral, but something in her posture suggests she has been waiting longer than comfortable.

You step out of the vehicle into the cold afternoon air. Grayfia and Yor exit behind you, flanking left and right. Oriax moves forward with documents in hand while Fiona circles to the driver's side door.

Laura Bodewig stands at rigid attention, her ice-blue eyes tracking your approach with the discipline of a soldier awaiting inspection. Chifuyu uncrosses her arms but doesn't move from her position beside the younger woman.

"Major Orimura," you say, stopping before them both. "Laura Bodewig. The exchange is straightforward."

Chifuyu nods once. "All documentation is in order. Transfer is authorized and complete."

You extend one hand toward the concrete floor. Fabricate activates without incantation, stone flowing upward like liquid marble, reshaping itself into a waist-high table between you and the two women. The surface smooths to polished obsidian.

"Place her legal documentation on the table," you tell Chifuyu.

Chifuyu produces a manila envelope and sets it on the stone surface without comment.

You turn to Laura. The young pilot meets your gaze with military precision, her jaw set, her posture flawless despite whatever turmoil churns beneath.

"With this exchange, you're going to become mine unconditionally. You will follow any orders I give without question. Do you accept that?"

Laura's ice-blue eyes hold yours for exactly two seconds. "Yes. I accept."

"Then place everything that belongs to Russia on this table."

Laura's expression flickers. Understanding arrives in stages. Her uniform. The IS core technology embedded in her training gear. The communication devices. The identification badges. All of it belongs to the German and Russian military apparatus that arranged this transfer.

She reaches up and begins unbuttoning her jacket with steady fingers. The garment comes off and folds onto the table. Her undershirt follows. Then her trousers, pulled down with efficient military movements. Undergarments. Identification tags on a chain. A small communication device from her pocket. Everything goes onto the stone surface until Laura Bodewig stands naked in the cold hangar air, her slender athletic body exposed to the winter chill, goosebumps rising across her pale skin.

The duffel bag she brought contains nothing personal. She tips it upside down onto the table. Uniform components, technical manuals, a charger for military equipment. Not a single photograph or personal memento.

You reach out and hook a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up. Your thumb traces across her lower lip, pressing gently against the soft flesh. Laura doesn't flinch. Her eyes remain locked on yours with the blank obedience of someone who has already committed to whatever comes next.

You produce a crystalline data storage device from your inventory - The Gundam Seed technical research.

"You have a choice," you say, holding it before her. "Give this crystal to Major Orimura and accept your place as mine. Or return it to me and stay in this world."

Laura looks at the crystal. Then at Chifuyu. The major's expression reveals nothing, but something passes between them in that brief glance. Laura takes the crystal, turns on her heel, and places it in Chifuyu's outstretched hand.

"It's been an honor serving under you, Major," Laura says quietly.

Chifuyu closes her fingers around the crystal. "Take care of yourself, Bodewig."

You kneel before the naked pilot. "Wrap your arms around me."

Laura complies instantly. Her arms loop over your shoulders, her bare skin pressing against your clothing, her body shivering from cold and adrenaline. You stand, lifting her with effortless strength. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively.

"Mass Teleport." The hangar bay is gone.

You reappear in the IS Academy corridor beside the hidden Gate, Oriax, Grayfia, Yor, and Fiona materializing around you in a tight formation. The Gate pulses with silver light. You step through with Laura clinging to your chest, the others following. The library of Floor 1002 revealed around you, its impossible shelves stretching into infinity.

You close the Gate behind you. The IS world vanishes.

You carry Laura through the library, her bare skin pressed against your chest, her arms still looped around your neck with the rigid grip of someone who has committed fully to whatever comes next. The infinite shelves of Floor 1002 stretch around you, their spines glowing with faint magical luminescence.

Jibril looks up from her reading as you pass, her blue eyes tracking the naked woman in your arms with calm curiosity. You give her a small wave. She returns it with a knowing smile, marking her page.

Irene glances up from her desk nearby, her scarlet hair catching the ambient light. Her eyes widen briefly at the sight of Laura, then she quickly returns her gaze to her notes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Oriax, Grayfia, Yor, and Fiona follow in silence as you lead them toward the Dungeon Passageway. The silver-edged portal opens at your approach, and you step through into the Carne Manor main hall.

The familiar warmth of the manor envelops you. Late afternoon light filters through tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished floor. You set Laura's feet on the ground but keep one arm around her waist, her naked body pressed against your side as she takes in the impossible space.

"Your mission is complete," you tell Oriax, Grayfia, Yor, and Fiona. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Oriax bows her head, crimson eyes lingering on you for a moment before she turns toward the dungeon passageway. Grayfia inclines her head with crisp formality, then follows her mother. Yor simply nods, her violet eyes calm as she moves to her room. Fiona offers a rare half-smile before following Yor, their rooms are next to each others.

You begin walking Laura through the manor. Her ice-blue eyes dart everywhere, cataloging details with military precision even as her body trembles against yours.

"This is the main hall," you say, your hand resting possessively on her hip. "The Heroes Feast table will always have food warm and ready. Everyone gathers morning, lunch and evenings."

You lead her past the grand staircase, through corridors lined with doors that open into personalized rooms. "Each resident has their own space. Yours has been prepared as soon as you accepted."

Laura says nothing. Her breathing is controlled, measured, the discipline of a soldier processing overwhelming new information. But her fingers tighten on your arm with each impossible sight.

You reach her room. The door opens at your touch, revealing a space that has already configured itself to her. A bed with crisp military-style sheets. A wardrobe. Simple. Clean. Hers in the way that everything here belongs to him.

You lean over her, pressing her back against the mattress. Her body goes down willingly, her platinum blonde hair fanning across white sheets, her ice-blue eyes fixed on your face with that same blank obedience she displayed in the hangar.

You kiss her softly. Her lips are cold from the air, stiff at first, then gradually warming beneath yours. She doesn't know how to respond to gentleness directed at her specifically, so she simply allows it.

You trace kisses down her jaw. Along her throat. The hollow beneath her collarbone. Her breath catches when your lips reach the swell of her breast, pressing a kiss to the pale skin above her nipple.

Down further. The plane of her stomach, taut with military fitness. The dip of her navel. Her thighs tense as your mouth reaches her hip bone, her fingers curling into the sheets.

You kiss every inch of her with deliberate patience. Her calves. The inside of her knee. The arch of her foot. Then back up the other side, mapping her body with your lips while she lies still beneath you, her controlled breathing growing increasingly unsteady.

When you return to her mouth, she kisses you back with slightly more urgency than before. Her hands find your shoulders, gripping with uncertain pressure.

You continue your slow exploration of Laura's slender body. Your lips trace from her collarbone downward, pressing soft kisses to the curve of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the taut plane of her abdomen. Each touch draws a barely perceptible shift in her breathing, her military discipline cracking incrementally under the unfamiliar sensation of being attended to rather than used.

Your mouth finds the swell of her left breast. You kiss the pale skin there patiently savoring the soft feeling and her reactions, circling closer to her nipple without reaching it. Laura's fingers curl into the sheets. Her ice-blue eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, her jaw clenched, but her body betrays her. Her back arches slightly when your lips finally close around her nipple, your tongue pressing flat against the stiffening peak.

A sound escapes her throat. Not a moan. More like a controlled exhale that carries too much force. You move to her right breast, giving it the same unhurried attention, your tongue tracing slow circles while your hand cups the left, thumb brushing the wet nipple you just released.

You work her breasts for several minutes, alternating between gentle suction and the flat of your tongue, building her arousal with patient persistence. Laura's breathing grows ragged. Her thighs press together unconsciously. Her fingers release the sheets and find your hair instead, gripping with uncertain pressure.

"More," she says. The word comes out clipped, almost a command, but her voice wavers on the single syllable.

You kiss your way back up to her mouth. Your lips meet hers slowly, deliberately, and she responds with more urgency than before, her tongue meeting yours with the desperate quality of someone who has never been kissed like this. When you pull back, you look down at her flushed face.

"You're asking for more kisses," you say, your voice carrying gentle amusement. "Where do you want them?"

Laura's ice-blue eyes meet yours. Her cheeks are pink, her lips swollen from kissing. The military precision in her gaze has softened into something rawer. She doesn't answer with words. Her hands push your head downward with clear intent.

You comply. Your mouth travels down her body again, lingering at her breasts with extra attention that draws a sharp intake of breath, then continuing lower. Past her navel. Along the crease of her hip. Down.

You hook your hands beneath her thighs and lift her legs over your shoulders. Laura's body tenses, her abdominal muscles clenching visibly as she realizes what's coming. Her hands grip the sheets on either side of her hips with white-knuckled intensity.

You look up at her from between her thighs. Her ice-blue eyes stare down at you with an expression that mixes anticipation with something approaching fear. She has never been touched here. Never been wanted here.

Your tongue presses flat against her pussy. The taste of her is clean and sharp, virgin arousal already gathering from the attention you gave her breasts. You savor it, your eyes locked on hers as you take your first slow lick along her entire length.

Laura's entire body jolts. Her thighs clamp against your head involuntarily before she forces them apart again with visible effort. A sound tears from her throat that is entirely unlike anything she has ever made in military training.

"Ah!"

You hold her gaze and lick her again, slower this time, letting her feel every millimeter of your tongue's path.