Prisoner of the Succubus Queen

[Veroe]

((Closed for Myself and ImagineBlue))​

IC: Vasheena Lilitu

In celebration of the legions' great victory conquering the kingdom of Caramore she had proclaimed a grand orgy to honor the triumphant heroes return with their spoils of war. The royal slavepens had been opened and the slaves had been chained to the walls or columns around the breadth of the palace. Now her courtiers, the officers of her army and even her own acolytes were doing such nasty and filthy and depraved acts to those slaves and eachother as well. The halls were filled with a raucous din of screams and sighs and groans and moans as men and women committed every kind of sin imaginable to one another. It was debauchery unfettered. It was the palace of Asaria. The palace of the Succubus Queen.

The air crackled with carnal energy as men and women copulated flailed and devoured. Instruments played a raucous sinful, titillating beat egging the participants to ever deeper lows of debauchery. The air was pregnant with the smells of sex and sweat and sin itself.

Vasheena sat upon her throne basking in her power over this once just nation, soaking up the lust and perversion propagating about her. Her throne was specially made for her. Normal chairs were uncomfortable for beings with wings and tails. Her throne was a statue of solid gold of a man bent over backwards. So its hands and feet rested on the floor of her throneroom to support it as its body arched lifting its pelvis high into the air. Over the pelvis was a cushioned saddle-like seat she sat upon. Through the cushion rose a golden phallus that parted and penetrated her sex as she sat upon the golden throne of Asaria. She lifted to the tip and sank back down. Not being real it did little for her, but make her hungers more ravenous. She reached down and stroked her fingers over the golden statue of the face locked in a frozen grimace whether in ecstasy or agony or both was a subject of much debate among her court. She patted the golden cheek blowing a kiss to the replica of her dear husband as he was in his last moments of life before his unfortunate death in their bed just hours after being crowned Asaria's king, making his new wife, and now his widow, Asaria's Queen.

That was when they brought her newest trophy before her. He was surrounded by some of her best soldiers in chains. One, her victorious general clapped his fist over his heart in salute announcing, "Your majesty, this was the leader of the enemy during the siege of Caramore city."

She regarded the man bound in chains and her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of him. He was not a normal man that much was clear at a glance. To her demonic eyes all mortals had an aura of energy surrounding them, infusing and flowing through them. Indeed it was the very thing she fed off of from them. But this man...this man shined as bright as the sun. She wanted him terribly. Vasheena's motions driving herself on the tantalizingly unreal phallus imagining the moment she would feed off that massive amount of pure uncorrupted energy within this man.

To the general she said, "Approach me."

When he came up to her she handed him a silver key. "Find my acolyte named Malena, and tell her she will be your reward from me tonight, general." The key would unlock the chastity belt Malena was forced to wear, leaving the raving nymphomaniac free to fuck the general silly several times over tonight.

He took the key gratefully and hurried off to find her favorite pupil.

With a flap of her wings she vaulted off of her throne to step before the man. She cupped her hand under his chin so she could look into the man's eyes. "You're a handsome one. Delicious even. I could eat you up right now."

He looked positively delicious standing on her presentation dais, muscular, strong, virile, godlike in his manliness. Part of Vasheena wanted to lick every inch of him, worship every contour. Another part wanted to use her cruelest whips and flails to flay that perfect flesh from his bones. It was because this man was more than just a mortal man. This man had been touched by divinity, so much that his body radiated the power of their aura, it beckoned to her pulling her in closer and closer no matter how she resisted its pull like a moth drawn in to the flame. She needed to devour it, suckle on it until she was gorged off of him like a leach.

She was a demon though, so at the same time it drove her with the overriding imperative to defile and mar or otherwise corrupt the perfection, the example of the divine, this man represented.

"You shall be my new toy," She pronounced extending her tongue to lick the side of his face. "And I cannot wait to play with you."

She nodded to the Royal Guards fastening his chains tightly to the base of the dais. "Leave us."

They bowed to her before turning to leave as well as those engaged in the copulating and debauching with one another. In a matter of moments, she and her new trophy were the only two people left in her grand throne room.

Instantly the hand cupping his chin forced his head back so he was staring at the murals she had painted on the ceiling depicting an invasion of the realm of light by her brothers and sisters, the denizens of the underworld. Precisely the image of the most hated, for Succubi anyway, Erana, the goddess of love, being forced over into a terrible contorted position as eight hideously deformed demons ravaged her. The eyes of the goddess looked down helplessly, powerlessly, upon where he stood. "I can smell her on you. You stink of that bitch's Erana's favor in every cell and atom. It's tantalizing and nauseating to me."

"Tell me, do you curse her now, toy," She whispered into his ear as fingernails sharp as knives scratched down his exposed neck and chest. They went lower over the rolling hillocks of abs and down down down... "Or perhaps you have failed her so terribly...She has turned her back upon you. That would be just like that sanctimonious bitch."

Fingers curled over his cock beginning to stroke expertly guiding, coercing it to erection, "...Why else would she have forsaken you now to leave you here helpless in my clutches?"

 

[ImagineBlue]

Anadric thrust his sword through yet another thrice-damned Asari warrior. It was rumored that the once relatively peaceful kingdom of Asaria had been cursed by some sort of demon; Why else would the small, prosperous nation be indiscriminately attacking it’s neighbors? And then it’s neighbor’s neighbors? “Tell the archers to fall back to the tower!” Anadric called out to one of his lieutenants. While the united realms, the few remaining anyway, was at a slight numerical disadvantage, their training was far superior and they had the gods on their side. Then why, in Sweet Erana’s name were the Asari winning?

Andaric tugged on his sword but it had hopelessly lodged itself in his foe’s hipbone. Dropping the weapon, Andaric surveyed the scene for a suitable replacement. Three more Asari charged from behind one of his own side’s barricades, howling for blood as if driven by some unholy compulsion beyond mere obedience to a power-mad leader. Andaric swept the foot of one of them, tripping him as his hand found a discarded staff. Swinging his new weapon in a well-practiced arc, Andaric struck the knuckles of both standing combatants before crashing down on the head of first, caving the man’s skull in. Never assume that an ex-shepherd is unarmed. Andaric thought, savoring the guilty pleasure of pride.

The two remaining fighters did not try to flee, they did not even try to rush him, unarmed as they were, they simply smiled and laughed a hideous, mocking laugh. Following their gaze skyward, Andaric’s blood froze in his veins. The old fool cleric was right, what but demonic powers could conceal a siege engine of that size? The towering structure had made no sound, shed to shadow, it simply appeared behind the north tower of the palace, the very tower where Andaric’s hundred-strong archers had just holed up in. He whispered a silent prayer as he watched it tumble down, the flag of the last free kingdom in the known world disappearing in a cloud of dust and screams.

***


It took four days for his captors to return to the palace of Asaria. Four days in chains and dirt, and blood. Four days in desperate hope that yet another of his fellows had been left alive, hopes quickly dashed as he watched each one, man, woman, and child, forcibly pressed into hard labor, or worse. Andaric had griown up hearing tales of the beauty and opulence of the Asaria and it’s palace. But Andaric’s eyes only beheld gross displays of morbid greed and impiety. A fine marble statue depicting the god of the harvest, toppled and broken, with its face in its own crotch. Sewage streaming down the steps of a holy temple, a bare-asses man running off clutching a pig. Andaric softened his gaze and watched his feet process him ever closer to the heart of this nightmare.

He hadn’t noticed the screaming until its nature had changed. No more could Andaric hear the crying of prisoners, the gasps of slaves being worked to half-death. No, now similar noises filled his ears, noises of a decidedly more carnal nature. Why did he have to look up at that moment? He stood in what must have been the Asari throne room, but it looked more the fevered nightmare of a man driven half-mad with lust. In every direction, Andaric beheld women and men engaged in profane delights. Pleasure and pain seemed to lose their distinction within these walls. And there she stood. Winged and horrible, and formed like sexual desire made flesh. The demoness Vasheena was no terrifying fable.

She grasped his face then and snaked out her tongue in an obscene, possessive caress. Andaric shuddered. Then his gave was jerked forcefully by that tender hand to view the fresco on the ceiling. The scrilidge nearly made him vomit. There, amidst o scene of demons brutalizing the gods was an image of the Blessed Erana herself being raped.

"I can smell her on you. You stink of that bitch's Erana's favor in every cell and atom. It's tantalizing and nauseating to me." Vasheena sneared. “Tell me, do you curse her now, toy, or perhaps you have failed her so terribly...She has turned her back upon you. That would be just like that sanctimonious bitch."

As the succubus spat her poisoned words she dug her nails into Andaric’s neck, drawing thin lines of blood slowly down to his abdomen. He could tolerate the pain, knowing that he craved more more of it, more of this loathsome beasts touch, that he could not stand. As Vasheena began to stroke his cock, Adric dared speak. Not caring if he lived or died, he spat in the demon’s face and said. “My Lady is too good to conceive of abandoning me. Too good also to simply destroy a bitch like you, it seems!”

 

[Veroe]

IC: Vasheenah Lilltu

"Tell me, do you curse her now, toy," She whispered into his ear as fingernails sharp as knives scratched down his exposed neck and chest. They went lower over the rolling hillocks of abs and down down down... "Or perhaps you have failed her so terribly...She has turned her back upon you. That would be just like that sanctimonious bitch."

Fingers curled over his cock beginning to stroke expertly guiding, coercing it to erection, "...Why else would she have forsaken you now to leave you here helpless in my clutches?"

His response was immediate rearing back and taking a breath and spitting in her face. The spittle landed across her nose and on Vasheenah's cheek. Her hand stilled stroking over his great shaft.

"My lady is too good to conceive of abandoning me," He growled to her, "Too good also to simply to destroy a bitch like you, it seems!"

"Such vehemence." She laughed at him, "Perhaps I struck a nerve?"

Vasheenah stepped in closer, so her breasts pressed against his chest, beads of his blood smeared over his skin by her nipples. Her leg curled over his thigh as her hand resumed stroking his massive erection throbbing. Her other hand reached up threading through his hair before grabbing a handful and forcing his head down to stare into her eyes. She hadn't bothered to wipe away his spit. In fact, she acted like she didn't care over his act of defiance, or rather it didn't even matter.

Her stroking hand was leading him closer and closer to climax. He would succumb to her power. He would be brought low He would spew his seed at her will onto the stones of her throne room. Or perhaps she'd deny him that pleasure...not until he begged her for the honor. Then she'd lick every drop of semen from her floor and spit it onto his face.

She smiled wickedly in his face the glob of his spit hanging from her cheek. "Resist me. Struggle against me. Curse me for the monster I am. It won't matter in the end...I will enjoy breaking you, Toy."

Her hand stroked faster base to tip, he was so large she could just barely wrap her fingers around his girth-truly it was a magnificent specimen of a manhood. She stroked it in a well-practiced corkscrew motion her thumb circling over the head on every up-stroke. She knew what she was doing. Vasheenah was a master at this. No one could resist her hands. He would fall to her like everyone did.

"You will succumb to me."