Part 1: Rosaria(Genshin Impact)

Description: A dark-skinned merchant arrives in Teyvat, seeking to establish his own intelligence network for purposes unknown. An unexpected twist while selling his wares leads him to figure out his methodology: breaking the women of Teyvat into being his obedient spies. Thus, his odyssey of love and lust begins.

Barbara is flustered. She's been looking all over Mondstadt for Rosaria, to no avail. Though their typical cat-and-mouse chase (usually instigated by Sister Victoria) had practically grown into a habit for the deaconess, this time is far more unsettling than most. After all, she had painstakingly spent hours wheedling Sister Rosaria to attend this hymn session since Big Sis would be watching. The Church of Favonius needed to be at its full strength!

However, it was only a couple of hours before the session began, and Rosaria was nowhere to be seen. Though her disappearing for days at a time without notifying anyone was a commonplace occurrence, surely this time, she'd keep her word, when she'd gone so far as to pinky swear Barbara?

Barbara keeps searching high and low, her hopes kept afloat by a strange mixture of sisterly love, desperation and faith. Maybe Rosaria would just show up to church in the nick of time. Yes, Barbara was certain Rosaria wouldn't renege on their promise!

***

The Sister in question had not been planning to get sidetracked that afternoon. Initially, Rosaria was on her last round of patrol when she'd overheard some idle chatter on the streets. "-And he says he expects to be sold out by daybreak tomorrow, but I hear young master Diluc from Dawn Winery is gonna buy out half of his stock to figure out his secrets! You'd better go get some before he does!"

"Seriously? How good can his wine be?" A whiny voice laced with incredulity and disbelief shot back. Even so, there was a hint of enthusiasm, as though despite the seeming impossibility that there could be a liquor that was that good, he still held out a tiny fraction of hope. At this point, Rosaria had come to a halt, taking out a few pieces of scripture to pretend to peruse them in an attempt to look inconspicuous. In truth, she was much too engrossed by the thought of new booze to even notice her booklet was flipped upside down. Rosaria was practically salivating at the thought of savouring it. With her high tolerance to alcohol, she'd still be able to make it to the church in time and in one piece. She'd just have to sacrifice a small amount of time that would be wasted waiting for the guests of honour to arrive anyway.

A few minutes of eavesdropping later, thanks mostly to the persistent cajoling of the first voice, Rosaria had the details she needed categorically tucked into her memory: a tall, dark-skinned man at the port of Mondstadt, a makeshift stall set up with a couple of wooden crates and a relatively large wooden yacht with a small room in the middle. Making haste so as to ensure she'd be able to attend Barbara's session, Rosaria had sprinted to Mondstadt's modest harbour.

Little did she know the panic it would induce in Barbara.

***

As soon as the harbour came into eyeshot, Rosaria found her mark.

Mondstadt was a relatively populous city, and should have attracted a large amount of mercantile activity with its population that was welcome both to foreigners and foreign trade. However, due to being relatively near the booming heart of commerce that was Liyue Harbour, as well as being on the same landmass, most trade from regions such as Sumeru and, up till recently, Inazuma, had been diverted to Liyue. Mondstadt itself primarily traded for foreign exports from the port city as well, through a well-worn path used for centuries by carts and slime balloons alike. As a result, the harbour was almost perpetually empty, and rarely, if ever, brought in any outside vessels. The yacht, which would have been almost ratty compared to any ship that dropped anchor at Liyue, was almost made into a landmark amidst the otherwise empty ocean waters.

In stark contrast to the usual lack of traffic, the harbour was positively teeming with people. This was of no surprise to Rosaria. The people of Mondstadt loved few things more than freedom, merriment and alcohol, and with one of their trinity having been elevated to a new level for a limited time, they had flocked to get a taste of the new booze.

Rosaria hates crowds. She is unpleasantly reminded of this fact as she pushes through the throng of people. The bitter smell of one too many perfumes blended together, the rough shoves of people trying to cut their way to the merchant and the pockets of conversation that came and went were mashed into a synaesthetic sensory overload. It was almost claustrophobic. She shoves her own way through, guided by her earlier recce of the port.

When Rosaria finally finds the shop, she is unimpressed by its outward presentation. It is a small affair, about two dozen crates stacked side-by-side to prevent the merchant from being overrun by the crowd, one empty crate near the edge of the platform for him to store his newly-earned Mora, and a couple of smaller crates used as seats for people who wanted to down their booze right then and there.

Then she sees the merchant.

He is a swarthy man, far darker-skinned than any Rosaria had seen in Mondstadt, even that insufferable Kaeya Alberich. He cuts an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested⸺ sufficiently so that Rosaria doubts her own ability to take him on in a fight. At his side hangs a polished axe of gleaming steel, which to others might seem a weapon, but Rosaria recognised it as a trader's tool, a tomahawk, more used for crafting goods and cracking crates than breaking skulls in. Nonetheless, at a glance, his silhouette would inspire fear in all but the most seasoned of warriors.

However, those warlike features are overshadowed by his gentle countenance and the various hints of continued labour— features that were oft not found on fighters. His face is marked by smile lines and his hands are calloused, though it was impossible to tell if his easy grin was an enabler or the effect of the years of hard work he'd undoubtedly gone through, and the subsequent successes. Even now, with multiple crates still filled to the brim with countless bottles of his own wine, he'd already amassed a sizeable fortune, evidenced by the box full of Mora that lay near his feet. In spite of the shabby way he has set up shop, Rosaria can tell that his prosperity has and will come by his own hand, not from the capricious whims of Lady Luck.

Somehow, this man exerts towards Rosaria an almost magnetic pull, her legs feel as though they are turning to jelly. A small part of her had to admit that this probably wasn't helped by a few choice books she's read that nudged her to subconsciously wonder about a few specific… anatomical gifts of nature that could possibly be bestowed upon him. However, she is here for a purpose, so she does her part in joining the crowd and fighting for the merchant's attention.

Tightly gripping her purse and shouting against the crowd, it didn't take long for the dark-skinned man to notice Rosaria. Pale as the freshly-fallen snow, she stands out like a stick in the mud even amongst the huge congregation of buyers, made even more sorely obvious by her attire, which as usual is a mixture of fishnet stockings and a nun's habit. She also knows she's got a hell of a body, and as he approaches her, she can almost feel him undressing her with his eyes, roving around as much of her rapacious body as he can see, almost laser-focused on her succulent thighs and huge rack. Rosaria shakes the perverse thoughts out of her head, she's just seeing things. She's here to sample his wares, not the man himself.

When the merchant speaks, his voice is just as impressive as his physique, a deep baritone, but the words come out smooth as silk. "It'll be seventy thousand Mora a bottle, how much will you be having, Sister?"

Rosaria is surprised at her utter lack of composure when she stammers out a reply, "Just the one, and I'll be having it here." The coins come trickling out of her purse, and once the bill is settled, he shifts a crate aside so she can come into his makeshift shop and enjoy her drink.

Cradling her bottle and shuffling to an empty crate, Rosaria feels a hint of heat creep into her pale cheeks. Though the eyes of some in the crowd are locked on her, no doubt wondering what a nun is doing consuming alcohol in the open, they aren't what are bothering her. Neither are the hungry stares of some of the men and women of Mondstadt who trace her form, almost catcalling her with their eyes.

What is bothering her is him, and how she could almost feel herself go to pieces just because of his presence. It was almost certainly the fault of those books she'd borrowed after seeing Jean read them, which so sordidly and salaciously detailed the life of a girl and her dark-skinned lover. She's never been this lost before!

All this crosses her mind before she's seated on her crate, and when she does settle down, she's already convinced herself that the merchant wouldn't be much better endowed than any other of her previous encounters, and that even if it was, it surely wouldn't give her the heavenly bliss that was described in her novel. Yes, if it were as ridiculous as the book had described, surely more women would be throwing themselves at him, and the lack of evidence definitely pointed towards the conclusion that he was just a normal man. Or so she told herself.

Much like the nasal-voiced gossiper of just a few minutes ago, Rosaria still had a lingering sense of unease, that maybe, just maybe, she was missing out. But she pushed that feeling away. There was a drink to be sampled. That was, after all, why she'd gone through all this trouble.

With practiced motions, Rosaria unscrews the cork of the bottle and throws it into the ocean, earning many a look of ire from some more environmentally-minded citizens, some of whom numbered among those staring at her with a yearning, lustful gaze. Not that she cares.

Rosaria sloshes the liquid around for a bit. Unlike the usual pale yellow of Mondstadt's renowned Dandelion Wine, the mix that the merchant had brought in was much like the man himself: dark and exotic. She brings the bottle to her lips, downing a significant amount of liquor on her first gulp, and the flavour explodes in her mouth, sweet, almost saccharine, but mellowed out by a pinch of bitter tannin. The brew is astronomically different from Dawn Winery's, and it almost feels as though it is a bit of a misnomer to call one 'wine' when the other existed; it was good in a different way, Rosaria reflects, and she'd do well to secure as much of it as she could while his stocks lasted.

It is with this in mind that Rosaria starts tallying the funds she can pool together to buy the liquor, taking out her wallet and counting her Mora coin by coin, occasionally stopping to take another gulp of the liquor, eager to keep her front row seat so she could buy her liquor as soon as possible. Time is of the essence here, after all, as she is racing against the clock to both get her wine and get ready to attend Barbara's hymn session. When she's done counting, Rosaria is almost despondent, she has barely enough to buy three bottles, and that would barely last her a week. She'd need to brainstorm, to think of a way to get more liquor from the merchant…

The solution comes to her in a stroke of brilliance, a way to kill two birds with one stone. She'd offer him her body for an hour, in exchange for whatever amount of bottles he thought fair, and if that hour was to his liking, she'd come back again after Barbara's hymn session to work for her share of wine, which he'd set aside for her. It is an almost perfect solution, accounting for Rosaria's lack of funding, her promise to Barbara and also prove her conclusion that he'd not be that much better-endowed than anyone else.

It also came with the plus of scratching that itch which had been building up which she'd been trying to deny, to explain away. But that was just an added bonus. Definitely not the main attraction nor the reason why she'd hit upon this plan so quickly.

Rosaria gathers her wits about her. Though she isn't completely inexperienced, she still needs to make sure he has a good enough time that he'll want to take her to pound town again, again and maybe again. That wouldn't be possible if she was still harbouring pent-up anxiety from Jean's private collection of romance novels. She shut her eyes tight, visualising, mustering her courage for a slow minute. The confidence she'd need to call on, for a different purpose than usual. The motions she'd have to go through, that have been running through her head ever since she saw him. The dirty talk that her previous lovers had seemed to love so much, coming from the mouth of a nun. She needs to give him the time of his life.

Rosaria steels herself and approaches the merchant again. This time, however, there's a desperation in her gait, fuelled further by her curiosity and love for drink alike. Never one to be deterred from action for too long, Rosaria is soon leaning on a crate next to the merchant, showing off her own merchandise in an overt way to the citizens of Mondstadt, all crowded around the merchant, around her. The primary audience of her display, the merchant, is the one getting the best view. Standing at her side and not failing to notice how the attention of the crowd had shifted away from his wares, when he shifted his head, he lays eyes on the most lascivious nun Mondstadt has to offer at her best. A sweeping gaze shows off her bare back, tracing the naked skin which is tantalisingly blocked by her corset. A similar display is available to him at her mountainous chest, the pale globes of flesh just barely covered by her bustier, and similarly with her sizable rear. Rosaria can almost hear his breath hitch. Normally, the gazes of the locals are laced with want and scorn, but the merchant is no local. Bound by no notions of her church, her religion and thus no disapproval of her display, she can feel the pure, unbridled desire rolling off him in waves, and she is enthralled by his scrutiny. But once again, she reminds herself she's here on a mission, and every second counts.

Though almost everything she is doing right now is bereft of any subtlety whatsoever, when she leans into his ear, her audience can scarcely see her lips move, let alone hear what she's saying. The merchant, however, hears her loud and clear, hears her request to meet with him, alone, to conduct more private negotiations for his stock, hears the wanting, desperate curl of her undertones. However, he's not one to be swayed so easily. "I'll think about it." His accent is exotic, but his answer is firm, unwavering, and gives no indication of the implicit interchange they had just shared.

Rosaria goes back to her seat, breaking out in cold sweat. Did her attempt just get shut down? She sits, dumbfounded and distressed. She had been sure he'd want her, certain she'd get the drink she wanted, at the cost of just a little dignity she'd have been willing to shed with no strings attached. Surely she hadn't imagined his hungry glances at her? She'd had a lot to drink so far, but her tolerance had always been impossibly high, and she was convinced he had wanted her. So what had changed? Why couldn't she take him, and his alcohol?

It was a painful few minutes for Rosaria.

However, she's snapped out of her despondent trance by his shout, which grounds her back into reality. "Alright, people, I'm closing up for today! Be sure to be back tomorrow!" A collective groan follows from the crowd, accompanied by the disappointed shuffling of feet, which fades in volume as the crowd floods back into Mondstadt. But not Rosaria. While he'd been making his announcement, the merchant had signalled at her to stay put. Hope flutters into her chest, and she feels butterflies in her stomach. For a moment, she's annoyed at herself for being so excited, so desperate, but she resolves to just go with the flow of things, to enjoy herself. Her confidence restored, she trails after him, into his cabin on his ship, where she finds a respectably-sized bed and two ornate mahogany chairs and she sits, preparing herself to be brazen, to ask for what she wants.

"Could I ask you for your name? I have a feeling I'll need it for later," Rosaria is forward, her voice husky, coming on to him much like she did earlier, without much care or concern for formalities. It feels good to be like this, to have this small pocket of privacy which is so nearly out in the open and still be able to do what she wants.

"Ethel. And I've heard all about you, Rosaria. And the church's dirty work." He chuckles. His laughter is deep, melodious. Then he marshals his features, suddenly businesslike. "But before you say anything, I have an offer that I'm sure you'll excel at. In this foreign land, I find myself in dire need of intelligence, and I hear you're well-placed in the Church of Favonius. I can tell you're desperate for more, with your display at the docks just now. Of course, I won't just be giving you wine⸺ though you can have as much of that as you want, I'll pay you handsomely too." He jingles a pouch of coins, indubitably as laden with Mora as the crate he has left just outside the room.

The nerve of this man! To suggest she'd sell out Mondstadt for a bit of booze and money! Sure, she might not be on the best of terms with her Sisters, or the citizens, but this was the city that had raised her! She might not care much for Lord Bartobis or whatever his name was, but she was definitely grateful for the shelter of the Knights and the Church! Just for the thought of the treachery he suggested, he should have found himself at the top of her hit list.

But loathe as she is to admit it, Rosaria is hooked on the thought of finding out if his prowess really did exceed that of other men, having stroked her desire for the last half hour of waiting and drinking. She finds herself more irritated by the fact that he's putting her off her discovery rather than the flagrant disregard for her position as the hand of the Church. Now, this is about more than just the wine, it's about her cravings, and just this once, after years of faithful service to Mondstadt, why should she not put what she wants above her job?

"Well, Ethel, much as I hate to say it, I don't go to Church enough to be a good source of intelligence, and my doing so would only draw attention to me that would compromise my position." Rosaria chuckles drily. As though she'd ever consider spying on the Church. She just needed him to let his guard down about the shady offer he'd made, putting him too much on edge would do her no good in achieving her aims here. "I do however, have a counteroffer. I'll let you have your way with me for the next hour for three bottles of your wine. If you want more, I'll come back after the Head Deaconess' hymn session for three more bottles an hour. You'll be paying in advance, of course." Forthright as ever, Rosaria puts herself on the bargaining table, and much to her pleasure, she can see a slowly-rising tent building in his pants as the words come out in her usual drawl. It seems she has something he wants, after all.

Without missing a beat, he nods, and heads out to collect her payment. Wordlessly, he makes a show of placing the wine glasses in a small bag, and leaves them in a corner, before sitting down in a corner and staring at her expectantly. With her drink and confidence now secured, though, Rosaria is now determined to play it coy, to leave him wanting this, wanting her, for as long as possible, to make the taste of it all the sweeter when she finally gave herself over to him. She leans forward, jutting her chest out, whispering huskily, "Now that you have this slutty Sister all to yourself, do you want to defile her roughly? Or do you want to make her worship your body, make her keen for your touch, desperate to cling on to her new god?" The display, though uncharacteristic for Rosaria, was a way for Rosaria to set the tone, for her to maintain control and dominance, something paraphrased from Jean's book. She'd set up her little game, eager to see which path he'd take, excited to see how he planned to use her, to pleasure her.

"Give me a show." Ethel is quick and to the point, and Rosaria is more than happy to oblige. The corset is the first to come off, and much to her chagrin, it is hard to show much grace while doing so, but with it out of the way, Rosaria is now free to explore her options. She works her hands up her midriff and her bust, feeling herself slowly, teasingly, as she takes her top off. It is, admittedly, somewhat of a process, and she intersperses small actions that draw his attention all around her body. A tiny flick of her tongue, the gyration of her hips, and soon, she has almost exposed her pale mountains to his hungry eyes, which are devouring the feast set before them, Rosaria's breasts scantily clad, barely covered by the sheer lingerie she's wearing.

It is at this juncture that she looks up from her show, certain he's enraptured, enchanted and enthralled, but before her eyes go over his face, they are almost magnetically drawn to his member, the object and obsession of her thoughts for the last half hour. While she's been slowly working away at her nun's habit, he has silently taken off his pants, though his eyes had undoubtedly never strayed away from the pale-skinned beauty. The merchant is huge, and though Rosaria is by no means an expert on size, what experiences she's had are sufficient to tell her he's far out of the ballpark of any other man she's seen, or will see. Thinking with her head, she's in awe of it, even slightly fearful, unsure if it will even fit inside of her, but she can feel her heart telling her to just try, to experience the pleasure that this massive specimen would bring her, that was experienced in the book.

Slack-jawed by Ethel's sheer enormity, Rosaria is snapped back to reality by another chuckle from the dark-skinned man. Taking her cue, she continues her striptease, now more eager than ever to get inside his pants. She speeds things up, pressing her ass in his direction, and discarding her slit skirt in quick motion, before getting her fishnet stockings off. As she moves to hastily discard her headdress, she hears his remark.

"Keep that on."

Now unencumbered by her clothes, Rosaria begins peeling off her undergarments inch by inch, making sure to keep up the hypnotic swing of her hips. She eases the shoulder straps off, letting her bra fall to the ground. Finally, she slings her panties off, throwing them into his face before sashaying towards him.

"So now that you have me all to yourself, what do you want to make me do?" she croons, Ethel's member seems to rise even higher as she gets closer, as though pulled towards her wanting body, desperately reaching out just for a touch.

"Suck." This time, Ethel speaks with steely conviction and a commanding tone⸺no longer is he playing her little games, no longer letting her set the pace. Rosaria senses something about this, but the wine is hers insofar as she does what he says, and she's here to indulge in her curiosity about the darker-skinned men, so why should she not follow his lead?

She goes down on her haunches, ready to wrap her lips around it but it's just so big, and she's unsure whether it will fit. She gives it a few test licks, all the while maintaining eye contact. Then she runs her hands up to stroke his shaft, to help to deal with what she's certain her mouth will be unable to take in, before sinking her warm mouth slowly onto his shaft.

The up-and-down bobbing of Rosaria's head is a wonderful sensation, and the headdress that still adorned her wine-coloured hair serve as a salacious reminder that he is defiling a holy woman. It feels great, but Ethel still expects more from her. Why should he not, when she has such a hell of a body and is technically his property for the next hour? He pushes her head into his crotch, forcing himself all the way down her throat. Rosaria's eyes go wide from the sudden penetration and the lack of air, as he plugs her airtight. Ethel is big, far bigger than anyone Rosaria's ever taken before, and her inexperience with his size shows as she's left sputtering for breath.

Using Rosaria's mouth as an onahole, Ethel is shameless in perusing her for his own pleasure, exploiting her fuckable throat for his own purposes. "You're good at this," he remarks, smugly looking at Rosaria, now slobbering and crimson after taking his dick for less than half a minute. Rosaria wants to bite back playfully, saying of course she is, but with his dick in her mouth, she can't do much except respond incoherently. Not that Rosaria would have had any choice other than being good at this, with how he is viciously plundering her throat.

Ethel tries to hold on, and the strain visibly shows in his face, scrunched up in concentration as he tries to prolong this feeling. But with Rosaria gagging below him and looking oh-so-sacrilegious, it doesn't take long for him to shoot string after string of thick, viscous seed straight into her stomach, before pulling out, leaving Rosaria rasping breathlessly, leaning on him for support and still eyeing his shaft excitedly. When she's recovered her faculties, she starts pumping him, lazily, watching in awe as he goes back to full mast despite the massive load he's just blown. "So… I think it's time for the main course."

Rosaria grins in response, her throat still a little too hoarse for her to speak. She mounts his lap, and positions her puffy slit right on top of Ethel's member, and slowly sinks down onto him.

Rosaria's sanity barely survives the first contact.

As soon as the invasive flesh enters her, Rosaria lets out a loud, keening moan. She knew his dick was huge from her earlier throatfucking, but the way his girth stretched her out was as new, as foreign, and as addicting a sensation to her as his wine was. Momentarily, she breaks their eye contact to see how much of him she holds in her grip, in her thrall, and much to her surprise, he's only less than halfway in. She steadies herself on his strong, muscular shoulders, before submerging him further into her depths, groaning in pleasure as more of his shaft is swallowed by her wanton orifice. She presses herself closer to him, careful not to take too much of him in all at once, treading the thin line between stability and senselessness. Even as she tries to prohibit herself, she knows she's fighting an uphill battle, and slowly but surely, she sinks herself down to engulf his entire shaft.

When she heaves her body back up however, it's almost as bad, no worse, than trying to deny herself the pleasure of being filled to the brim, stretched out over his massive dick. Desperate for his heat, she slams her hips back down onto him, and back up, desperate for the friction, for the pleasure, for anything to fill the void that's left when he's not inside her, to tide her over. In her lust-addled haze, Rosaria is only able to recognize one thing: she wants his black dick, she wants more, more!

Her slow descent into this insanity, this heat, is marked by her increasingly inconsistent thrusts; her pursuit for pleasure is frustratingly limited by the constraints of her physicality, but that's no matter, she'd have to make do with as much of his dick as she could get. Tongue hanging out, face mottled crimson with pleasure, Rosaria soon reaches her climax at the same time as Ethel, gushing out all over onto his thighs as he exploded inside her.

Her dignity gone, waiting for Ethel to get ready again, Rosaria plays with herself, feebly trying to stimulate herself as much as Ethel did.

Lost in her want and her thirst for more, Rosaria smiles.

***

Barbara is at her wit's end now, she's followed the rumours down to the tee, but the harbour is empty. Nonetheless, that feeling that she's missing out on something still remains. Deciding to investigate, she boards the only ship in the entire place, which, as described, was a small wooden yacht.

Curiosity kills the cat, and this time, it nearly does. Barbara opens the door just a squeak and sees the person she's been looking for getting pressed onto a bed, with only her pale, almost whitewashed legs and sizeable rear end visible, pounded by a dark-skinned man, the contrast between his dominance and her submission made all the more clear by the stark juxtaposition of their skin tones. She hollers wantonly, "Yes! Breed me! Break me with your black dick!" Her voice, usually so level and nonchalant, is more expressive, more emotive than Barbara's ever heard it before, and her conviction to get bred so firm that it sent a shiver down Barbara's spine.

"Hah, you broke far too easily for me to believe this wasn't part of your plans, especially with how you rejected my initial offer. Was this your first black dick?"

She babbles inaudibly in response. Rosaria is evidently broken now, too far gone to register Barbara's presence even if she were able to see her past her lover's body. Her inner thighs are marked by streaks of his thick cum, attesting to the past hour of hot, sweaty lovemaking that had gone on just out of the public eye, that still continued to play out right in front of Barbara. Subconsciously, Barbara's hand finds its way into her skirt, feeling herself as the scene unfolded right in front of her. She suppresses her moans as she rubs herself, getting off on the sight of one of her own getting violated by a foreigner.

Then, it all stops.

Another explosion is sent deep into Rosaria's fertile womb, and Barbara can see the powerful member twitching as it looses spurts of virile seed into her. Spent for the time being, the man flips over to lie next to her, and Barbara can almost feel his eyes sweep over her as she frantically closes the door, finding somewhere on the ship to hide. Most definitely not her brightest idea, but fearing retribution for her voyeurism.

Barbara stays, rooted to the spot, waiting for the ship to be vacated before she leaves hoping she'll somehow still be able to make the hymn session even though her dress is a mess.

***

Utterly transfixed by his cock, pumped full of cum and still basking in the afterglow of their hour together, Rosaria lies on the bed next to Ethel. "Now, then, I hope you do reconsider my offer. Even if your, ah, services won't be of much direct help, I hope that when you go meet the head deaconess, you can sway her to my cause."

In her cock-drunk mind, it takes a good few seconds for the meaning of his words to sink in, but this time, fucked into submission, she offers no resistance to the treason he's suggesting. "Mm, sure. But more importantly, when can I come back again?"

"Whenever you want, my dear." Comforted by her response, convinced that her performance was good enough for him, Rosaria sighs contentedly, shifting her weight over on top of him, wanting to stay just a bit longer before cleaning herself up and leaving.

When she does leave, however, she takes not the wine that had been her original purpose in bartering her body⸺that is now unimportant. What she does take away is his thick baby batter, her womb still full to the brim with it, and a newfound purpose to serve Ethel whatever way he needed, much like the woman in Jean's book had served her companion. Thoroughly mated and checkmated in their negotiations, Rosaria walks away a new woman, her promise to Barbara now carrying new meaning. With unsteady steps, she trudges back to the church, already thinking to a time after the hymn session is over.

***

His short tryst with Rosaria having proved more effective than he anticipated, Ethel now mentally resets his course to create his spy network. If black dick were to be as effective on the women of Teyvat as Rosaria had proven, he'd have no need for bartering his foreign wares to achieve his ends. Reflecting on this, Ethel steps out of his room.

He knew he'd seen someone. Just for a fraction of a second. And he'd have to put his newfound theory to the test, consequences be damned. A crate that is slightly out of place clues him in as to where she might be and shifting them aside, he comes face to face with the one person he'd been looking for in the church, though he knew it not. Smiling, not unkindly, he says, "Come now, follow me into my room, we have something to talk about."

Gulping, her loins still on fire from watching Rosaria's depravity, Barbara follows him into his room.