Closing her eyes, Emery grabbed the glass by its stem, and lifted it to her nose. With one practiced motion, she swirled the liquid inside in a smooth arc, then inhaled. The scent of red wine stung her nostrils. She held her breath for a moment, allowing the aroma to linger, then breathed out. This was it, then, the moment of truth. Emery pressed the glass to her lips, and drank. Bright, acidic flavor tickled her tongue. It was sweet, but not overpoweringly so, fruit forward—likely blackberries, cherries too—full bodied and balanced with a toasty finish. A young wine, for certain. A good bottle, though not one of Felicity’s: It lacked that certain something, that fullness of flavor Emery found nowhere else. She tried not to think about how much she craved that heavenly taste, how much she missed it when it wasn’t on her lips, how disappointing everything else felt in comparison. Such matters could be addressed once she reached the heart of this twisted web. And she was close now, so close. She swallowed, it burned on the way down. In its stead, Emery tried to imagine the silky feeling of one of Felicity’s wines caressing her throat; she shuddered. 

 

She set down her glass, and opened her eyes, though it hardly made a difference; the room around her was swathed in shadow, concealing the countless onlookers above. Even Caroline, her opponent seated across from her, was barely visible in the flickering torchlight. Emery cleared her throat, and the sound echoed off the cavernous marble walls surrounding her. “Pinot Noir, twenty nineteen, Willamette Valley. I think it’s Blackbriar Vineyard?” Emery fell silent, a great murmuring rose to fill the space, but she could hardly hear it. Time ceased to pass. There was only the beating of her heart in her chest, the gnawing, damp cold, and weight of inevitability. The first time Emery had come here, she had whispered good luck to her fellow competitors. Now there was only herself, and Caroline. Both knew better than to bother with such pleasantries. The looming consequences of failure—unknown as they were—had ground any sense of friendly competition or camaraderie. Victory, or oblivion, no in between. Now it was only a matter of who. 

 

The murmuring ceased; she had decided. On the far wall, the light panel on Emery’s side of the room flashed green. Like that, Emery could breathe again; she didn’t. Her chest remained tight, eyes forward as panic spread over Caroline’s face. She stood, looking to run, but they were already upon her; four women, clad in black robes, seized her, and carried her off, deeper into the heart of Felicity’s estate. She hadn’t even time to scream.  

 

Somewhere in the shadows at the edge of her vision, Emery caught movement. Felicity lay a hand on her shoulder; Emery shuddered. Felicity ’s touch had such inexplicable weight to it, weight which, in the occasional fitful haze between bouts of dreamless sleep, Emery would find herself missing, though she could never say why. “You’ve done well, Kara.” Her voice, a low rumble of her voice, burst from her lips, permeating the room, yet not a single molecule dared break the overwhelming stillness she cast. “Truth be told, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew it would be you.” 

 

“Thank you, Mistress Felicity.” Emery cast her gaze downward, staring at the empty wineglass before her. 

 

Felicity laughed, and the room felt alive, a bit brighter, warmer. “That won’t be necessary for much longer, my dear,” she crooned. The tips of her fingers rose to trace Emery's jawline, her thumb stroking her cheeks; Emery shuddered, and struggled not to lean into her touch. “There is one more test. Once you succeed, my dear girl, you will join our ranks. Come.” Without another word, Felicity turned on her heel, and strode from the room; she did not look back. Despite her stilettos, her footfalls were silent upon the cold stone. Emery stood, and scurried after her, down a dim cobblestone hallway, and into an adjoining room. 

 

Dim orange light cast a sickly glow over burgundy walls and carpet. A black curtain hung from the ceiling; it spread from wall to wall, cordoning off the small segment of room which Felicity and Emery occupied. Felicity stood with her back turned to the curtain, sharp eyes fixed upon Emery: expectant, searching. Emery shuddered; this was not the first time Felicity had held her in this particular gaze. It was a familiar weapon in Felicity’s arsenal, one which always left Emery feeling exposed, naked. In the reflection of those cold eyes, Emery often wondered if she had ever managed to keep a single secret from the woman before her. 

 

“Before we begin, there is something I need to ask you, Kara,” she said. Each pause, each breath between words, each inflection and dip of her voice rang with conspiratorial amusement, as though the two shared some private joke.  

 

“Go on,” Emery replied. Did her voice waver, just then? Had she betrayed the truth in a thousand tiny ways only Felicity would notice? Such insecurity was unlike Emery, but Felicity had a knack for coaxing it out. Felicity was the sort of person who could look a world-class poker player—one starting down at a straight-flush—in the eye, and make them fold.

 

“One of the customers you served this evening, a young woman wearing an indigo dress and white-gold necklace, she seemed to have recognized you. Was she a friend of yours?” Felicity asked. Emery's face, a mask of perfect professionalism, did not betray the plume of dread which bloomed inside her that very moment. Nevertheless, she was certain Felicity could smell the fear on her. 

 

“No, Miss Yates, I did not know any of the customers I served tonight,” Emery replied. 

 

A thoughtful hum, and Felicity nodded. She slid a hand into her breast pocket, and fished out a match box, then removed a single match. “You trust me, Emery. You know I would not let harm come to you.” She was not asking. 

 

“I do, Miss Yates.” She did not. She wanted to. 

 

Smiling, Felicity struck the match; its head burst into flickering flame. She held the match out to Emery, and Emery took it between her thumb and forefinger. The heat of the flame tickled her skin as it crept, slow and insistent, down the length of the match. 

 

As though speaking more to herself than anyone else, Felicity continued. “I read an article recently. Written by a young woman, an investigative journalist.” The room went cold, so cold Emery was certain the match would die out, freeze over. It didn’t. “Fascinating work this woman did. She posed as a buyer for a wholesale order of stolen military-grade weapons, wound up finding irrefutable evidence that a private military contractor was selling to all these home-grown right wing militias. Balls of steel, that woman.” Her cold eyes fixed upon Emery; she chuckled. “Anyway, I noticed something about her writing style. It reminded me a lot of you, Kara. Then I do some digging, make a few calls. I learn about this other investigative journalist who has been stirring up a fuss ever since her ex-girlfriend went missing. Her ex-girlfriend, who just so happens to be an investigative journalist, and who just so happens to have been very interested in me. And wouldn’t you know, this other journalist, one Leanor Hayward, showed up at my restaurant this evening.” She took a sudden, halting step forward, stopping face to face with Emery. “I know who you are, Emery Reeves. Stop playing games.”

 

A million lies, a million excuses and deflections cycled through in Emery’s head, but the best she could manage was useless stammering. The heat from the match, still clutched between her fingers, burned all the brighter. It had nearly burnt away down to her flesh, singing the hairs on her fingers with sweet, tickling pain. Emery’s breathing came short and panicked gasps as she forced out a silent, defeated nod. That was all Felicity needed. In a smooth motion, she crushed the flame between her fingertips, plucked the match from Emery’s trembling hand, and cast it aside. “Thank you for being honest with me, Emery.” 

 

Reeling, Emery nodded, then gathered her courage. “What happens now?” She asked.

 

“Now?” Felicity smirked. “Do you truly believe I would have let you come this far were my intention to then turn around and have you dragged off kicking and screaming? My time is far too valuable for such trivial games. You are an interesting woman, Emery, and you have talent few others possess. The deception, though, ends here. Like it or not, my dear, you are past the point of no return. You are not the woman you were when you cane to me, and never can be again. Take this final test. I would be lucky to have one such as you in my inner circle, and with the gifts I can bestow—I have bestowed—upon you, I would see you fly so high.”

 

“And if I fail?” Emery asked. A tight lipped smile, it did not reach Felicity’s eyes. That was all Emery needed to know. “Very well,” she assented. 

 

“Good.” Felicity nodded, then clapped her hands. 

 

The curtain parted, revealing a sprawling room. In the center sat a sturdy mahogany table, an odd shape, covered by a tarp, had been laid atop it. At the end of the room, a podium overlooked the scene, just behind it, a set of stands. Uncounted spectators wreathed in shadow gazed down in silent anticipation. A certain mood hung thick across the space, the air itself felt hungry, eager, bursting with delicious anticipation, on the edge of sweet release. In that moment, a distinct sense seized Emery, a sense that her entire life had just been prelude to whatever was about to unfold under Felicity’s watchful gaze. She did not need further instruction; Emery crossed the room, and took her seat before the table. Felicity, too, took her place, staring down on Emery from her perch at the head of the room. She cleared her throat; somehow, the room grew even more silent, as though the world itself stopped turning to sit and listen. 

 

“This test will be quite familiar to you, by now,” Felicity began. “In many ways, it is much the same as the one you just took—with one key difference. In a moment, I will pull away the tarp. You will identify the year, the region, the style, and describe the flavor profile. You will use your senses of sight and smell alone. If you touch you will fail. If you taste, you will fail. Do you understand?” 

 

“Yes, Miss Yates.” Something was off; looking upon that odd, misshapen lump beneath the tarp, Emery felt the strangest sense of longing. She hadn’t the faintest idea what was beneath, could not see it, could not smell it. Yet, Inexplicably, this was the same longing Emery felt whenever she thought for too long about retiring for the evening with a bottle of wine: a bottle from Felicity’s vineyard. Like an itch about to be scratched. 

 

“Very well,” Felicity said. “Then let us begin.” She pressed a manicured fingernail into a small console atop her podium, and a gust of air blew the tarp aside in a single flourish, revealing what awaited beneath. 

 

A choked gasp caught itself in Emery’s throat as she took in the sight before her: a young woman lay motionless, bound in loose silken ropes—they seemed mostly there for show—her legs were splayed apart, and her dark, painted lips parted in vacant pleasure. The rest of her face, save her eyes, was covered by a garish ballroom mask, adorned with diamonds and rubies. Her eyes, cloudy and unfocused, reflected the dim firelight around her. But Emery had barely a moment to take in such details, as, the instant her eyes caught sight of the dribbling, limp cock between the woman’s legs, Emery was transfixed. Beads of pearlescent precum formed, then dripped down her soft, smooth shaft. And she could smell it. It smelled… it smelled divine, Emery shuddered, suppressing a moan. Then, roused by her own uncouth display, the cold touch of clarity brushed her mind, and snapped Emery to reality just in time to process the insanity before her. “Wh-what? What is this?” 

 

“I believe I made that quite clear, Emery,” Felicity answered. Her hand trailed along her podium, then came to a lever. She gripped the handle, and, with a grunt of effort, pushed it upward. The room shook with a resounding cathunk as some great and terrible machine set its wheels into motion. That was when a dull buzzing began to sound from just below the woman now displayed before Emery, a moment later, a veritable waterfall of clear, sticky fluid began to pour from her trembling shenis. All the while, Emery could feel Felicity’s cold, expectant gaze bearing down upon her. When she next spoke, her words had turned to ice. “Do you need me to repeat myself?” 

 

“That’s not—this isn’t,” Emery stammered. “Miss Yates, this is—” just then, the great tidal wave of her smell crashed back down upon Emery, and dragged her focus away, out into an endless ocean of delicious, pearlescent ambrosia. The world could be ending around her, and Emery would still be unable to focus on anything else. She took a slow, deep breath, inhaling until her lungs were full to burst with the delectable scent of sweet, hot girl cum. At some point, Emery’s mouth had begun to water; she didn’t notice until a bit of drool trickled down her chin. 

 

“I see you’re beginning to understand,” Felicity crooned. “Take another breath.” Emery certainly didn’t need to be told twice. In, out, she shook with pleasure the whole way. Never in her life had she wanted to suck a cock so bad, to taste it, to feel it in her mouth and sliding down her throat, to lick it up as it dribbled down her chin and—this was insane. Something was wrong, Emery wasn’t like this. 

 

“Something isn’t right. What are you doing?” 

 

“This is a test, Emery,” Felicity chided. “Now, tell me what I want to know.” 

 

“It’s a fucking penis. It’s not wine, I can’t just—” 

 

“Yes, you can,” Felicity interrupted. Breathing an annoyed huff, she continued as though lecturing a child. “You know this, Felicity: year, region, style, flavor. Come now, how about the tannins? Tell me about them.” 

 

“Wha—that… do you even know what tannins are? You can’t smell them and they aren’t in a fucking penis.” Baffled as she was, Emery couldn’t take her eyes off that gorgeous girl cock. Her eyes trailed up and down it’s shiny length, watching the woman’s tasty, tasty cum slide down the length. And it was so familiar, where had she smelled it before? Why did she feel like an addict just inches away from another hit? But she couldn’t, she wasn’t allowed to touch or taste. Only smell. Those were the rules. If she lost here she… she didn’t know. 

 

The sound of Felicity’s dismissive huff called her attention back to the matter at hand. “Ugh, I hadn’t expected such amateurism from you of all people, Emery. I thought you were one of us. But looking at you now, I’m wondering if you might be less than I thought. You want it, don’t you? Go ahead, try it, you know what will happen.”

 

Breath hitching in her throat, Emery gripped her seat until her knuckles turned white simply to keep from throwing herself at the wonderful treat before her. Another shuddering breath, and that heavenly smell graced her nostrils. She had to admit, it truly was like a fine wine. The cravings even felt the same. But she couldn’t give in. “What have you done to me?” Emery choked. 

 

“Oh, come now. You aren’t so cum-dumb that you can’t even put that together, are you?” Felicity giggled. “It reminds you of something, doesn’t it? There’s a reason you should be able to identify it by smell. You’ve spent so long studying it’s smell, it’s taste. Mix it with some grapes, add a few personal touches, and it makes a blend that is truly beyond compare. It gets in your head, becomes an obsession. You begin to crave it, to depend on it. Tell me, Emery, how many nights have you spent laying awake and thinking about the taste of my wines? And now, you’re looking right at my secret ingredient.” 

 

“That can’t be true, that’s impossible,” Emery cried. All the while, she remained enraptured by the wonderful smell. Just imagining the taste was nearly enough to send her over the edge. 

 

Scoffing Felicity gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “You humans are such fools,” she cackled, throwing her head back and the ecstasy of cruel victory. “You know nothing. In the right hands, there is no substance so potent, no vintage so supple as the fresh, ripe nut of a slutty tgirl or estrogenized femboy.”

 

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense!” Emery protested. “Vintage refers to the year wine was made, it wouldn’t have made sense if you were referring to wine and it makes even less sense when you’re talking about cum! Do you even know anything about wine at all?” Did it even matter? She had been ensnared either way. Even now, every word she spoke had to fight wade through a river of lustful drool to so much as escape her lips.

 

Felicity sighed, tired lamentation crossed her face. “Your protests fall on deaf ears, my dear. It is a shame, you know. You could have joined us, Emery. This test though, is not meant to test your knowledge. Not really. In truth, it is here to separate the wheat from the chaff. The strong will control their urges, resist the temptation before them. The weak will give into their baser animal desires. I can see in your eyes which you are, Emery, so let us stop delaying the inevitable. Give in.”

 

Given command, the deep, shaking need which had been willing up in Emery’s loins since the moment she looked upon her prize burst forth in a glorious geyser of need. Caution now lost to the wind, Emery threw herself upon the soft, pulsing gock before her. Her lips slipped around the silk smooth shaft, her tongue ran all up and down the length. And goddesses above, the taste. Emery had gone to heaven, she could slurp girldick all day every day and it would never grow old. 

 

The girl beneath her bucked her hips, and blew a load into Emery’s mouth; the feeling of so much wonderful, delicious cum exploding into her mouth was enough to push Emery over the edge into a rapturous orgasm of her own. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she went limp, falling forward onto the table and twitching in place as she sucked and bobbed and licked with reckless abandon. And then, another room-shaking cathunk; the vibration ceased. And slowly, the torrential outpour of cum slowed to a trickle, then stopped altogether. Desperate for more, Emery made no move to stop. She only redoubled her efforts, licking and sucking in desperation until every last drop was gone, but even that wasn’t enough. There was more cum; she could smell it. Emery pulled away from the girl’s dick, and began hungrily licking at her thighs, her belly, even the table.

 

Far above, Felicity watched the display with a disappointed, but no doubt amused smirk upon her lips. She sighed, and shook her head. “Do not, my friends, become addickted to girljizz. It will take hold of you, and you will resent its absence.” She stepped away, gesturing to her lackeys. “Bring her to my personal quarters, I have something special in mind for that little slut. Oh, and be sure her collar says ‘Kara’ on it. I liked that name better.”