How to Be a Heal Slut - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

So you want to be a healer, or maybe you already are a healer. Maybe you’ve already found yourself deep underground, surrounded by the corpses of dead minotaur, on your knees with three burly fighters standing over you. I was lucky enough to at least be warned this would happen. When I had first signed up at the guild hall of Westby, the guild master encouraged me to register as a multiclass. She said pure healers are often used for the grunt work when there aren’t wounds that need mending, I thought grunt work meant hauling loot and setting up camp, not literally grunting as a frother slammed his pelvis into my ass cheeks.

But no, like you, I had to, “follow my calling.” Next thing I knew three semi-hard cocks drooped towards me, waiting to be serviced. That seems to be the unspoken agreement; if the fighting men and women can get the job done without a scratch, the healer has to “earn their loot.” Lucky for you, I didn’t quit, and I’m eager to share everything I’ve learned in my long years as a successful healer. 

Hopefully my accounts will help a young healer like you on your path to finding joy in your chosen profession. These are some of the things I’ve learned that you will want to implement right away, the others things are more nuanced. Of course most adventuring tips and sexual prowess will have to be learned first hand but I will try to be as detailed as possible in my accounts of all things.

First and most important, cut your hair short. It took me a few adventures to learn, but when a half-giant called Cleaver (No he didn’t use a cleaver in battle, he was unarmed and fought in the nude, believe me his name was appropriate.) kept referring to my long platinum blonde hair as my “fuck leash,” I grit my teeth and took a dagger to my pride and joy. Honestly, I wish I’d done it sooner. Short hair is much better suited to the adventuring life, it dries in minutes, it’s cooler in the heat, it doesn't get caught on everything, and most importantly, it doesn't give everything with a cock something to grab onto.

The next lesson was an expensive one to learn so heed my advice if your purse is light. In my early years as a healer, I wore the traditional vestments, a frock, pants, a vest, a sash, a cowl, and a long cloth tunic underneath it all, just in case. Let me tell you, if you’re going to heal, the less clothing between a catari and your nipples, the less you will have to replace. Their claws are razor sharp, and they like to suckle. But they aren’t the only ones who don’t have the patience to wait. I've had to walk bare ass through enough villages to know that my clothing is only a nuisance to all walks of horny, impatient adventures.

So, I adapted my wardrobe. Step one, invest in a good cloak. My cloak is yeti fur, and it was worth almost everything I had to do for it. It keeps my body free but lets me bundle if I catch a chill, and doubles as a blanket. If it’s extra cold, you can wear a robe that opens in the front, with a sash, but bring a few extra inexpensive sashes, there’s something about a bloodlusting rampager that likes to rip things open, at least this way your robe will stay mostly in-tact.

You’ll also want a good pair of solid boots and thick thigh high socks, yes, thigh high, I’m not trying to be sexy here, your socks should be your second most expensive piece of clothing after your cloak. They will act as your pants and leg protection, which is crucial when trudging through swamps, long grass, brambles, and other difficult terrain. They also protect your knees from getting skinned alive, and believe me, you will be on your knees a lot. While you could just invest in a pair of thigh high boots, I would recommend against it. Your inner thighs are going to be dripping with so much cum, you want something absorbent, that will air dry. If you wear tall boots, you’ll soon have all that warm wetness squishing between your toes. It’s also much easier to get in and out of short boots, trust me, laced thigh-highs are a nightmare.

Next you’ll need to cover your lower bits so you aren't jailed in civilized society, or jeered at in the villages. I've personally tested three satisfactory solutions, I’ll share them all then give my personal favorite. The cheapest and easiest is just a simple loincloth. A scrap of hide or linen folded over a corded belt of leather, this won't get in anyone's way and if it does, (say some macho rogue who barely helped in the fight decides he needs to throw it across the giant lizards lair) it won't cost you anything to reattach it. The problem with the loincloth is exposure, if you’ve ever seen someone wearing a loincloth, you’ve probably seen everything underneath it. This cheeky peek can get you in trouble with city guards, (usually a very short detention while they “remind you of the rules”) but it also brings more physical attention from your party, use that information how you will.

Your second option is a sturdy leather quim cloth. For male healers, (a quim cloth is the only terminology I know, apologies fellas) this may be the best option as I imagine it will keep everything nice and secure, while still allowing quick and easy access to your goods. For us women folk, it is also a good option as it can easily be pulled aside, and it is very hard to break. As a bonus, the cord that sits between the ass cheeks also conjures an unexplainable sense of empowerment. The downside is that it gets dirty, fast, and nothing is more uncomfortable than a cum crusted quim cloth during a long trek. I would also warn that you always have a spare, the quim cloth is durable but if it does break, you are now fully exposed.

I saved my favorite option for last, and it’s what I’m currently wearing while I write this. It combines the best of the first two options, easy access, and a bit of modesty. You’ll need to find a good tailor to get it just right, but when you finally find a skirt that fits perfectly, you’re an official healer. You want it to completely cover the crease between your ass and your upper thigh but no longer or you risk it catching on thorns, or worse, it being perceived as, “in the way.” you could combine this with a quim cloth, but I’ve found keeping myself free and open makes for quicker encounters, and a happier party. 

The most important element to the skirt though, is the utility belt. I can’t tell you how many times my belt has saved my life. First of all, your coin is always with you, very important and convenient. Secondly, potions. I’ve found that most adventurers disregard potions, they don’t trust them, or don’t know the proper time to use them. I swear by them, since they are usually ignored, I always have a stockpile in my pack and they are small, about the size of a thumb, and their vials are surprisingly difficult to break. I’ll do a chapter on potions later, but for now, trust me and invest in a belt with potion slots and a few pouches. 

At this point, you might be asking yourself why a sashed robe won’t do, and I’ll tell you. For one, it’s hot, and sweating through a robe in the summer with a yeti skin cloak on your back is not a good time, and if it’s all you're wearing, you can’t take it off. I keep a light one in my bag in case it snows, but in general, you wont need it. The second reason is advertisement, parties want to see what you're bringing to the team if they don’t end up needing your healing magic, and being properly presented can open doors to strong parties that can afford to be picky.

Now that you’re mostly decent you’ll probably need to cover your chest. If you’re a man or have small breasts you can disregard. At the time of writing, there are currently no laws against exposed breasts in most civilized areas, however, like the feline catari, most men seem to have an insatiable obsession with heavy breasts, which I happen to have been cursed with. So if you are like me, you will need a way to keep them somewhat hidden and controlled.

In the beginning, my breasts lived free, mostly because I couldn’t keep a tunic from getting torn open like a present during winter’s Yule. So I bounced and swayed, slapped and flopped as I walked, ran, and fucked, but it just didn’t feel right, running with heavy breasts can be painful without support and besides the glares of jealous housewives, I just didn’t feel very pretty. Don’t get me wrong, my breasts are very pretty, they are firm, and perky, and my nipples are pink and apparently very suckable. But I felt a little too much like a tavern holstaur, ready to be milked at a moment's notice. I tried a simple corset, which looked great, but it was too tight, it pinched and prodded and needed to be laced and unlaced. I was actually glad when a cunning, but deeply troubled man named Carver finally cut the bindings with his skinning knife. 

Next I tried a vest, just a simple vest with three buttons, which soon only had one button, then no buttons. The open vest was the equivalent of a loincloth in the sense that, if you’re going to wear it, why wear anything at all? So I scrapped the vest until one day I saw a blacksmith wearing a simple tube of leather, wrapped tightly around her chest. Her husband had made it for her and agreed to fashion me something similar, and I’ve had similar tubes of fabric and leather tailored for me over the years.

This simple but genius design has everything we need as healers, it keeps our nipples warm, it’s tough, durable, and can be pulled down and out of the way in one motion. It also has the added benefit of keeping our girls pressed together and mostly out of the way, you can also slide a cock between them without taking your top off for a quick “top off.” For the price of a strip of leather, you can be comfortable and secure without the need of straps, buttons, or string. And without sleeves, collars, and extra fabric, you have full range of motion with no downsides.

Lastly, you may have noticed, but everything I wear, save my boots, is white. The thrush is, you're going to practically bathe in cum, and I mean that. The clothing that isn’t sprayed with it, will be used to dry the cocks of your party. Because of this, dark colored clothing will have you looking like a brothel’s bedsheet in less than a week. I’ve also found that while white clothing is more expensive, it’s good advertisement. For some reason people assume a woman with clean white clothing is going to be a good healer, and they're right.

Now that you look the part, it’s important to understand your role. I think this is a good time to jump into an instructional story. While I could make a long list of healer do’s and don’ts, I think detailed accounts will give you the valuable context that turns an arbitrary rule into a valuable lesson.

So, without further ado, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucia Monroe Alexander Montegue. As you can probably tell, I was raised in the church, first by Father Peter Monroe, then by Mother Mary Alexander, and finally, by the late James Montegue, Light guide him. Lucia is my birth name, given by my unknown parents who sold me to the church when I was only three years old. I had slipped and fallen into an empty canal and broken my arm, so my parents took me to the nearest church. Father Monroe tried to set my arm but my hand and fingers were broken as well so he called The Light for assistance. My eyes gilded on the spot and my fate was sealed. The church will pay handsomely for a gilded child, I’ve personally never see someone so young gilded and I’ve been healing a long time.

I don’t remember the exchange, or my parents, but I remember my mentors. They were patient, and kind, and they loved me very much. Sometimes I imagine Mother Mary’s face if she were to know half the things I’ve done. By my tenth year I could call The Light like a loyal pet, though all my mentors would spit their milk if they heard that analogy, that’s how I thought of it, though. To me, it wasn’t some irreverent, sacred force of mysterious power. It was just another faculty I might as well have been born with, like sight or the ability to hear.

By my fifteenth year I could cast silent incantations; they call it The Golden Will in the church, cause you know, everything has to be gold, or radiant, or bright. Suffice it to say, I didn’t take my study very seriously, even the High Abbot had trouble challenging me and seemed more interested in using me like a pawn in some obscure grand plan he had. All I wanted to do was heal wounds and listen to the tales of those allowed to venture out into the world beyond the church, beyond the human capital, beyond the human kingdom even.

I was transfixed by tales of adventure. Handsome rogues and grisly fighters spun stories of excitement and intrigue, fortune and failure, but on their own terms. I was still bound to the confines of my home, which slowly grew to be my prison. 

By my twentieth year I was healing fatal wounds, reversing long term damage like scar tissue and even birth deformities, always for a price. That was something that never seemed to sit right with me. We were blessed by The Light, chosen, and yet we charged copper, silver, even gold in some rare occasions for our services. Maybe it was because it came so naturally to me, but I always felt our gifts should be given freely. 

The final straw was when I was told not to heal a young girl’s dying cat because her family couldn’t afford it. I stopped my heal only to regard the head priest and to scold him for his greed, but in that moment the cat slipped through the veil and was lost to the living. I told the High Abbot I was ready for my pilgrimage that day. I didn’t even read where they were sending me, as soon as I was free of the human capital, I went west, and never looked back. 

Now I travel the world, healing those brave enough to seek out the darkness. They are a rough bunch, but if I’m being honest with myself, that’s how I like it. So read along with me as I attempt to transfix you with my own tales of adventure, each one with a very important lesson on how to be a more effective healer, or as we are affectionately called by our compatriots, a Heal Slut.

Continued in Chapter 2