Lords of Itaea

[One Eyed Jack]

He laughed and stepped away; relieved he came away unharmed. “You battle yourself on this. Right and wrong, moral and immoral; how can you debate who is to be hurt, but not who is to be healed? Do all deserve your energy and time for their wounds? How is it you decide who lives and who dies?”

He moved around to face her, “You give in to the quest so easily, and I know you care not for the order I bring, or the wars – you care for the chance to test your skill, to grow, to improve. Your limitations are only to sooth your own worries, because you fear how you hunger for it. Do not limit yourself. Embrace the desire to learn, explore every opportunity. I promise only to send the more heinous criminals to you to test your darker side, man that will receive such pain before death anyway, by you or by more conventional means.”

He paced around her, hands clasped behind his back, just as he did when giving his troops encouragement and orders before a battle. His eyes glowing with intensity, eagerness, and lust. “Tharalon, think of how great you can become, in both skills. Think of the power you can wield! Do not deny that you crave it, just as much as I crave the true crown. We can reach our dreams together.”

He offered his hand, stretched out to her, so that she might take it and walk by his side. “While you think on this, know that these gardens are yours to use. Should you accept, you can begin designing your own immediately. But just realize, I am not known for my generosity, and that I have made you a very special case. A willing partner is so much more attractive then a pet wizard, like my foe’s seem to enjoy.”

He led her back inside, and into the large grand foyer, up the stairs and down the hall to her room. “You may go anywhere but the war room, unless I summon you, or the cellar levels. One guard shall remain with you, for your own sake. Word will spread that I’ve found aid in the lost arts, and may seek to deprive me of that advantage – which would turn out ill for you, I am sure. I will take every measure to keep safe one as precious as you.” He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers, but could not hold back the smile, feeling as he had already won.

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto & Dark Farces

It was a dark and stormy night.

The rain started before Belcanto was halfway to the barn but he was able to outrun the heaviest of it. He leaned, laughing, against the dry side of the door frame, the familiar organic smells comforting him. Lightning flashed and he almost didn't flinch. Now, he laughed harder, happy that a fit hadn't overcome him. Gods be praised, where they are, he half expected that lightning wold set the damn infirmity off. He began to close the door, because the switching winds were now blowing rain INTO the barn, but he spied a figure fast walking to the barn. Belcanto waved him to hurry and the man did almost break into a run.

When he slipped inside, Belcanto slapped him on the back boldly, although he oddly felt guilty that he had no towel to offer the man. Belcanto had just finished latching the main doors when, suddenly there was a loud noise and his head was full of stars. He fell to his knees to look for the noise, perhaps. He wasnt sure. He was a little dizzy. It was hard to think. Suddenly, he was being kicked; first in the side and then in the head.

Ah! He knew what to do in a case like this.

Belcanto rolled up in a ball and covered his head. The world spun and he thought he might vomit. There was a quick tugging at his pouch and, once it came loose, Belcanto was relieved. It would stop now, he knew, not quit knowing what "it" was. He'd never been beaten up before. But he was glad to be rid of the stolen coins, or he would be once he gathered his wits back...

***

Henrick kicked the boy once more just to make sure he stayed face first in the straw. He poured the contents of the stolen pouch into his right hand and walked to the crack in the door. In the light of the next lightning strike, the man was happy to see the round piece of amber hadn't been a product of his imagination. There was even a little bug in it... he could probably pass it off as a fairy mummy. He'd need daylight to know for sure. He placed a coin back in Belcanto's pouch and pocketed the rest. Surely the barmaid had noticed the dirty pouch and, should he get pinched, he didn't want the thing on him. Whistling, he decided that -- with any amount of luck -- the boy would wake up with a good headache and decide he had had an incredibly good time.

Henrick unlatched the door and the wind blew it open with almost supernatural force. He rain slapped him staggering back, but it was the next lightning struck vision in the door frame that nearly felled him. Four skull-faced men leading four very wet horses. The DARK FORCES! Here, on the inland coast of Molovica! Impossibe! But... then they'd said that about an invasion from the small island that had relatively recently conquered them.

They did not seem too surprised to see him, their swords drawn. Their POISONED SWORDS! He was unarmed and paralized with fear before they even spoke. When they did, he wet his already sodden pants. "This is the one we are looking for?"

Henrick's bowels emptied noisily at this. He'd done a lot of bad things to survive, but he didn't think he'd done anything to anyone that might be able to sick the Dark Forces o him. Normally, he'd have voice his innocense at this point, but his body was obeying different instincts at the moment.

"No, My Lord Slythe. The surviving witnesses said the man we are looking for was much shorter and... not as strange looking."

It should have been a relief, to know these men were not after him, but to suddenly find himself in the pressence of the Warlord of the Dark Forces... his ass farted emptily in protest at what might be in store for it. Suddenly, an out presented itself to him. Henrick fell to his knees, ignoring the squishy unpleasantness, and fought quickly to find his voice.

"My lord!" Henrick squeeled. He was just passing thru, all warlords were equally his lord,he figured. "I have captured the one you seek. He is right over here, in shadow. He was going to steal my horse in an attept to run from you..."

"Very good." the one called Slythe said and sheathed his sword. "Close your eyes, you have never seen us. Accept your life as your only reward."

"Yes, my lord!" Henrick closed his eyes and shuddered. If he survived this, he would never steal another thing in his life.

A few moments later, Henrick braved a look up and... he was alone. He got up, messily, to his feet. He survived. He patted his pocket and felt the amber stone as as he remembered his promise... of course, now he wouldn't need to steal anything. Not for a few weeks, at least.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

Rhonwen looked at the bandage the girl had written on. Since it obviously caused the girl great discomfort to do so, Rhonwen assumed that she was mute. She'd suffered no recent injury to her throat, so there was no reason for her not to speak. And it wouldn't be unheard of for Slythe to have cut out her tongue as punishment for some small infraction.

"Brita? Interesting name. I don't recognize what region you come from. I can usually tell by the accent, but you don't seem to have one." Rhonwen said wryly. "I had hoped you could tell me who that girl was or why you were trying to stop her, but I don't have enough bandages here for you to tell your tale." She stood up and headed for the door. It was obvious that Brita couldn't tell her anything she wanted to know--like who she was and why she was here. She wasn't dressed as a sex slave and seemed to have the run of the keep, much like herself. But the taproom was calling and she didn't much feel like sitting around watching Brita scratch out her answers with a half-paralyzed hand. She'd just have to find her answers the old-fashioned way--either beat them out of someone or get them drunk enough to loosen some tongues.

"See you around the keep, Brita, unless you feel like coming to have a drink with me." Rhonwen headed back towards the taproom, carefully stepping around the slaves who were cleaning the sprayed blood from the hallway.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

“So Eager!?! All in due time my little dirty bird.” Slythe was beaming from ear to ear, could this young vixen already be so desirous of his cock? “First our baby bird needs a snack.”

Slythe had no intention of feeding the girl actual food. He had in mind for her a snack far more befitting this little bird of prey who kept spilling his men’s blood in her attempts at freedom. Slythe reached into a large glass jar that sat amongst his other implements of torture. From the jar he withdrew a huge 5” “Quaking Locust” one of the many, native to the marshes. Slythe often used them to wipe out food crops of his enemies in lengthy conquests, this ghastly bug, however had a very different fate.

The long serrated legs of the beast were pinched between the Dark Lord’s fingers as he trailed the insect over Lisheeda’s soft, earthen colored skin. The creature’s legs dug at the small of her back and over her ass, desperately trying to gain traction to prevent Slythe from dragging it along.

“A baby bird likes to eat lots of bugs doesn’t she?” Slythe mocked, holding the bug up to his skull covered face as Lisheeda hummed louder trying to retreat again with meditative tranquility. “But we can’t have you shutting me out…”

A quick snap of Slythe’s fingers was the last pleasant sound audible in the room as Kannet set about dutifully banging the heavy war drum in the tiny stone bedchamber. The thick stone walls served only to contain and magnify the heavy bass from the massive drum, the low frequency waves bouncing off the walls and making the sound so intense that each BOOM seemed to resonate within the chest of each person in the room.

Had the drum not been banging the sound of the locust screeching its protest would have been heard as Slythe stuffed the huge bug into a small metal capsule, just larger than a robin’s egg. Once the other half of the capsule was closed the whole thing began to quake and vibrate maliciously. The bug’s defense mechanism, which earned it the name “Quaking” was to shudder it’s whole body while rubbing it’s serrated noise making legs together and shake.

This primitive vibrator was placed between Lisheeda’s asscheeks as the drumming continued. Slythe wanted to be sure this virgin felt every sensation as the small rounded “egg” began to push its way into Lisheeda’s clenching ass.

“Come on now!!!” Slythe had to shout over the drum as he continued to degrade his slave, “So much shit comes from your mouth you surely must eat through your ass!!!”

The cold steel inched agonizingly into Lisheeda’s virgin ass. Slythe never let up, inching bit by bit of the vibrating capsule into the girl’s ass. Finally the largest part of the capsule was inside of her and the rest slid in easily, the vibrating egg was now completely lost in Lisheeda’s tight anal cavity.

Slythe was now ready to take the prize which had cost him so dearly to acquire. The slave girl’s virginity was there waiting for him to come pluck. The Dark Lord opened the front of his black cloak, freeing his 7 1/2” cock, thick as a boar’s leg and covered in angry veins. He took hold of her slim wrists and pulled her up so that her back was arched, the pull yanked at her bound hair against the sturdy bedpost causing her more agony.

The head of Slythe’s cock slid up and down Lisheeda’s slit, spreading the small collection of moisture that had gathered there from the vibrating bug and entreating more to appear. The golf ball sized head moved up to tease her clit then it moved back down again. Up and down, Slythe continued his pleasure torture in rythem with the pounding drum (Which was even making Slythe’s head hurt and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a good punch).

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Nature's Way. . .

Lisheeda’s eyes had been closed, her thoughts concentrating on the man’s voice as well as her own world of humming. The sound of the creature, one she’d heard many times in the forest and fields of where she’d hidden and run after her initial days of freedom. As the legs scratched at her skin, picking and “biting” at the flesh she jerked away, not yet understanding what the man intended. The sounds of the quivering insect became muffled and a soft sigh escaped her lips until she heard the Lord’s words. Her body tensed, not understanding what he meant until his fingers moved across her round globes and she felt the beginning invasion.

The firm muscles of her ass clenched, yet they were no match for the Lord and his quest to further hurt and humiliate Lisheeda. Gone were her hums, but her thoughts were still hers, as she bit down and mentally cursed the man behind her. She told herself the pain would lesson if she’d relax, but it was much harder for her to do. Eventually the capsule was wedged in her anal passage and she felt hot tears fall down her face.

“How long does it take? . . .What? . . To pass out?” She had no answer for herself, the drums drew her back to the present and she focused on the sound of them. She felt Slythe’s hands on her wrists and as he pulled her up, her hair twisted bringing a whimper from her lips that was drowned out by the beating that the frail man gave. “A bald slave is an ugly salve.” She would have chuckled at her useless thought had she not suddenly felt the man’s sex rubbing across her sex.

Their was some moisture, but not the kind she would have gotten had she been in the arm’s of the young man she loved. She’d never felt his sex, except through his breeches and he hand only palmed hers, yet she knew the difference between the sparks of heat that her friend had given her and the natural lusts of ones body. The teasing he attempted on her, only made her stomach swirl in disgust as she waited for his invasion.

“I wish I had allowed my love to take my maidenhead. . .Yes, that would be a great victory for you now, wouldn’t it.” Again the drums banged through her thoughts, and the numbness of her scalp was growing tolerable. The tears had stopped as had her humming as she breathed in the stench of the room as well as her dirty self. The scent of her sex was growing, but she continued to hold on to thought that this was far from the act of love and devotion she would have had with her friend, this was simply a man proving he was bigger than her.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

Slythe was trembling slightly with excitement, as the head of his cock stretched the young slave girl’s opening. She was incredibly tight, her hole must have been wholly untouched before the Dark Lord intervened. Slythe moved as far as the girl’s fragile hymen, he paused there momentarily. It wasn’t everyday, after all, that one got to deflower such a reluctant and beautiful adversary. Moments of such absolute conquest and gratification were rare and Slythe wanted to savor it.

After a few moments of toying and stretching at the fragile sheet of flesh, Slythe signaled for silence and the drumming stopped, leaving Slythe’s ears ringing. It didn’t matter, he wanted to hear her scream, he wanted to witness her agony and shame as he took her, and eventually watch her cum unwillingly upon his cock. The vibrating bug in her ass could be felt through the top of Slythe’s cock, seeming to make the very walls of her sex quiver and entreat him deeper.

A firm hold on Lisheeda’s hips was what Slythe used as his anchor point, he leaned back abruptly and thrust his cock wickedly forward, breaking her cherry and plundering her innocence. The small stream of blood dripped down his balls and thigh after burying himself to the hilt in her virgin cunt, Slythe held himself there, watching her reactions and allowing her to adjust slightly to his size.

 

[Katamari Roller]

A drink... the alcohol would help her. She didn't need to get drunk, of course, but Brita guessed it would at least numb the pain down and make her sleep more pleasant. With a vague grin, Brita hopped off the seat with enviable grace for someone wearing so heavy clothes, and strode after the mercenary.

Of course, it hadn't taken Brita much to guess her occupation. A weapon, a woman, just arrived... if she was not a sex slave, she was a warrior. If she didn't come in chains, she was willing. And who would enter Slythe's service willingly being a woman, unless she was paid well?

Brita crossed her hands, taking her hurt hand into her gauntlet's armored grasp. She couldn't put much strength behind its grip, since it was empty, so it was more to protect her hand from direct contact than to actually grab it. Not that she feared the mercenary, she seemed reliable enough. And besides, she was really beautiful... Brita wondered things about her, but since she was mute, Brita knew listening to people, lending them an ear, was more than enough to learn about them. And with alcohol, the odds were good even if the goods were odd.

Her own white dress trailing her steps, Brita stared at the mercenary's long, white hair, wondering how she could have such a hair color being so young yet. Maybe she was a magician's relative...?

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

“You battle yourself on this. Right and wrong, moral and immoral; how can you debate who is to be hurt, but not who is to be healed? Do all deserve your energy and time for their wounds? How is it you decide who lives and who dies?”

Tharalon shook her head, ready to deny what she could. “I do not decide who lives and who dies; I simply help those I can help. I give where I can; it is my responsibility, my duty. I have to help. I do not know why the ability was given to me and not … someone else.” She nervously smoothed the folds of her borrowed gown, “But it was given to me so it is for me to decide.”

He moved around to face her, “You give in to the quest so easily, and I know you care not for the order I bring, or the wars – you care for the chance to test your skill, to grow, to improve. Your limitations are only to sooth your own worries, because you fear how you hunger for it. Do not limit yourself. Embrace the desire to learn, explore every opportunity. I promise only to send the more heinous criminals to you to test your darker side, man that will receive such pain before death anyway, by you or by more conventional means.”

“Dark, you call it dark, as if it was just a word like tree or table… but is not. It represents something malevolent, even evil, perhaps. I do not want to be dark… I do not want to become like that.” She had the restless urge to act, run her fingers through her hair, or bury her face in her hands but she would not give in to childish gestures of futility or resignation. There was more, she knew there more she needed to say, say and hope she could make him understand. “You are correct; I am in conflict. I have an ability that frightens me, yet I am curious about. It sickens me to realize that to satisfy my curiosity, to understand the extent of my ability I will have to hurt people.”

Her eyes widened, she knew he caught her slip, probably before she even did. She watched, almost with admiration as he slipped his verbal knife into the opening she gave him and made it grow.

“Tharalon, think of how great you can become, in both skills. Think of the power you can wield! Do not deny that you crave it, just as much as I crave the true crown. We can reach our dreams together.”

He held out his hand to her waiting for her to take it. Tharalon hesitated, resisting for a moment as she looked at long fingers and powerful hand, but then, even as she shook her head, denying his words, she reached for his hand and placed her own within it.

“While you think on this, know that these gardens are yours to use. Should you accept, you can begin designing your own immediately. But, just realize, I am not known for my generosity, and that I have made you a very special case. A willing partner is so much more attractive then a pet wizard, like my foe’s seem to enjoy.”

“This is a beautiful garden, my lord. Almost perfect, a few changes to suit my personal tastes and requirements, there is no need to start another. Perhaps I could use an additional gardener; if I accept your offer I will have other demands on my time.” Even to herself, she sounds too ready to take up his offer.

As he led her back to her room, she tried not to think about the reasons why she wanted to say yes to him. She forced her mind to focus on the reasons to say no. Unfortunately, along with every reason to say no there was a consequence. An unappealing consequence, she could easily avoid by simply doing what he wants, what she wants.

Time alone, I need time alone, to think. If I agree to this, I must be sure; I must have some control. It cannot be all on his terms. A partnership, means I must have the input and involvement in decisions on how my ability is tested and then used.

“You may go anywhere but the war room, unless I summon you, or the cellar levels. One guard shall remain with you, for your own sake. Word will spread that I’ve found aid in the lost arts, and may seek to deprive me of that advantage – which would turn out ill for you, I am sure. I will take every measure to keep safe one as precious as you.”

“I appreciate your concern for my safety, my lord.” She could not keep the dryness from her voice.

He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers, but could not hold back the smile, feeling as he had already won.

“I will need some time to consider you generous offer, my lord. I am sure you understand that this a lot for simple girl from a tiny fishing village to take in.” He has won and he knows it. If he is feeling generous, I may be able to negotiate. What do I want? What do I need?

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

A stubborn slave holds her own.

Lisheeda would have buried her head in a pillow if she were able, not to stifle a scream or to have her tears absorbed, but to simply cover her face as shame washed over her. She heard silence and knew that the Lord wanted to hear her cower to him, to listen to her weep and moan and beg for freedom, but she did none of these things as he entered her and then paused as if he were on some great cliff and he were savoring the view.

She knew what would happen. Having been so close to losing her maidenhead to her former leader, before she escaped, she’d been taught what to expect. Some of the women told her the pain was beyond anything a woman could endure, next to birthing and others, older and wiser women, told her that those women exaggerated. Losing one’s maidenhead was different for every woman and now Lisheeda was on the edge of discovering what type of woman she was.

The tearing was swift once her new Lord finally thrust into her. She bit through her lower lip, clenched her eyes shut and grunted low as she swallowed the cries that wanted to fall from her newly damaged lip. When he made no move to continue plunging in and out of her, she concentrated on the warm flow that was moving between her legs. She panicked, unsure as to what was happening, until she remembered the words of the old women. To late though, Lisheeda had forced her ass to press against his pelvis. Deeper he went and another moan of pain vibrated through her throat. The capsule was no longer something she was concerned with; the act of her defilement clouded whatever was being done to her person.

It was only when she swallowed the metallic flavor of her blood that she breathed in the scent of her sex, as well as the underlying hint of blood that flowed slowly from the depths of her pussy. The added wetness, was more sticky than nature’s coating, which had been coaxed from the man above her. She knew there was no joy in the act and so she curled her fingers into tight fists, relaxed her shoulders as much as she could and chose to simply let this man use her orifice, while she ‘lay’ there with a tender scalp and waited for him to finish his claiming.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

The Red Hand moves.

She needed time to come to terms with her new lot in life, and he had time to give. He too needed time to work into his strategies how best to utilize her talents. “Enjoy your stay.. You’ve gained much, but lost the ability to claim that you’re a mere girl from the coast. You’re a Lady of Molovica now, with gifts to give your country. Sleep well young Tharalon.” The guard opened her door for her.

“We’ll discuss you answer tomorrow, perhaps over lunch.” He nodded, almost bowing his head to a lady, and left with the same knowing grin.

He marched, confident, delighted and even allowed himself to be excited about all the new options he had, down to the War Room to check up on things before retiring for the night. He entered and waved men back to their tasks as they stood to recognize his presence. A Captain walked over to him, with a message, the wax seal broken. It was from one of the small forts on the mainland, this one dangerously close to both Entaca and Zaloh. The message gave an account taken from one of the locals, some Henrick fellow, who claimed to have been assaulted by, and escaped Lord Zathu and several of his men. It spoke of the general area and that the Dark Forces were looking for a specific man.

Pravus slammed the letter down on the table, “Why was this not brought o me immediately?!”

“My Lord, we only just received it this hour, and have been in all haste gathering information on our forces so that you might have answers when you plan your response.”

He grumbled, “Very well, what do we have available to send?” He listened for the next half hour as reports of his battalions were read. He only half listened, as the reports were not much different then those read, more briefly, yesterday. He ran idea’s through his head; It couldn’t be Zanthu, even if he led his men from the front, he would not be so foolish as to step across the ill established lines with so few forces – would he? Chasing after a specific man, then that man had to be valuable – as valuable to Pravus as he was to Slythe. Still, it did not feel right.

“Ready every able bodied soldier. Recruiting and training she remain in the city, but all other forces shall come with me. I will move my banner to the shores of the mainland, and prepare to defend any assault that may come our way, or launch our own attack should we find the opportunity.” He did not add that he would send his hunters in search of this Henrick and the man he spoke of, that was something to keep close to but a few.

“Send the battalions as fast as they can ready themselves, I will lead the Red Hand to the shore tomorrow evening.” And with that he left the War Room to notify his personal army that they would be moving out.

The Red Hand was his personal legion, originally the forces he gathered to take the throne, now just the most loyal, best trained, and best equipped of all his forces. They earned their name by the every man in the original legion dipping their right hands in the blood of the previous lord of Molovica and his court to celebrate their victory. Now they did the same before each battle, bathing their weapon hand in the blood of captured enemies before they marched, and again once they won. Several captives would die tonight, to honor this tradition.

 

[Gothmaster]

Frost's dreams was disturbed by a voice he barely recognised. He coughed a little and opened his eyes and saw Olam the sorcerer standing above him. He needed something from Frost. Something? What? He finally understood what the sorcerer needed. He needed blood. Why not? Frost thought to himself. He had sacrificed more important things in Morgiana's service. He had sacrificed his soul.

He sits up and reaches out with his arm for Olam to do as he pleases. "One more thing to give is not a big matter." He say with a weak smile. To be honest he feel much better. He still feel the raw pain in his back but he pushes it back. He had been hurt in the past and it would not break him.

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto shares Visions with his Host

The rain abated as the four cloaked riders rode inland.

The leather masks on their faces were roughly molded and painted to resemble skulls. They afforded them little extra protection from the elements but their true utility was of a protection of a different sort. All but the most hardened of warriors would give them a wide berth because of the reputation of the real and well named Dark Forces. These were soldiers who actually wore real human skulls over their faces. The men doubted they'd fool anyone who had actually faced any of the Dark Forces, but they had agreed that there would still be a moment's hesitation that was likely win the day for them. So far, they hadn't been proven wrong... obviously, since they still lived.

Lightning lit the cave entrance for them and they slipped inside with the horses. A screen covered with branches was moved to cover the entrance as the riders dismounted.

***

Belcanto heard words before he became fully awake.

"What do you mean he's not coming back?"

"Look, you know his heart was never in this... and she jumped him. He was screwed in more ways than one even before he even got her name."

"And what, he's going to be satisfied being an Innkeeper the rest of his life?"

"Freddie... yeah, he might be. Especially if that little witch in there had anything to do with it. But... you have to admit, having an inn where you know we'd be safe and welcomed, would not be a bad thing."

The words made no sense to him except to suggest that he might still be at the inn. He had vague memories of being carried like cargo on horseback, in the rain. But maybe that was just a dream? The dirt floor against his skin didn't feel like any part of a barn he'd want to sleep in, but it was possible... It occurred to him that he could simply open his eyes and sit up to find out. He opened his eyes a bit an saw a fire nearby. Closed his eyes shut and tried to turn away... he was naked, he realised as his stiff body fumbled at turning over. He sensed he was not amongst friends and he did not want to slip into a fit, especialy when he was so... vulnerable.

"He's awake. Take your place and watch a master at work."

Belcanto heard footsteps and then the sound of something being disturbed... logs in the fire. He felt sick to his stomach, as if he knew what was to come. Fire had not been his friend since the fits had started. Suddenly, his head was jerked up by the hair. His eyes snapped open and the first thing he saw a glowing orange dagger inches from his face...

***

Rebus Lackland was as sadistic and as charming as any Warlord in the Land of Itaea, but long ago he had learned that he lacked the Imagination to truly take, manage, and hold dominion over the people. That little bit of education had cost him the comfort and welcome of his homeland.

As the leader of a band of Highway Men, Lackland had thought he had found his niche, so the defection of his youngest known son (or so he had been told, one never could really be sure) had hit him hard. He'd lost others along the way, but he usually gained them as quickly. The Gods knew he was virile enough to make more offspring, but at 30, he knew they'd be worthless to him by the time they were old enough to pick up a sword. And this witch... or warlock... or soothsayer... was partially to blame.

He took the red hot poker from the fire and marched over to the skinny naked lad hunched against the cave wall. He grabbed the boy's stringy brown hair and the boy's eyes snapped open. Fear instantly animated the face when it saw the hot tip of the poker ready to brand his face. "Speak and I'll burn your eyes out... I can sell a blind witch as easily as I can sell a whole one. I swear, one word and that scar on your nose will be like a beauty mark comared to what I'll do to the rest of your face. Do you understand me?"

Wide, fear-filled eyes nodded yes and Rebus felt the thrill of power race victoriously through his entire body. His dick thickened and strained against his britches with it. He loved little more the power torturing the helpless brought him. And such a pretty face... except for the scar, he'd easily pass for a blushing virgin bride. "Good, my little magical bitch. Here's the deal... we've followed you for two weeks now... and, incredibly careless of you, you've been leaving little miracles behind. Rainstorms predicted and found children... Warning a merchant of an ambush... that's what tipped us off, by the way." Rebus waved the poker closer, to illustrate the point. "Oh, and once or twice, seducing women to bed and sharing incredible visions with them in the throws of passion. I wonder what elses you might be able to do."

Rebus kept moving the poker back and forth slowly to keep the witchboy's attention on it. He enjoyed the power he held over skinny boy and he almost wished the boy would resist or deny this. Maybe, instead of scaring his face, he'd poke holes in his arms and them fuck the cauterized wounds. Or flip him over and dominate him by plumbing his bunghole. This represented the fullest extent of his imagination, and once he thought of it, it was hard for him to think of anything else.

The boy's eyes followed the slowly moving tip of the poker. His eyes became relaxed and he sighed, signs Rebus knew meant that he had accepted the bigger and stronger older man as his master. Rebus was slightly disappointed, but there was still no reason he couldn't ass rape the boy. The boy's eyes seemed to glitter with moisture, and they seemed to reflect the eerie light of the seething poker... bedroom eyes, the boy had bedroom eyes and that made his cock blaze with a seething energy all it's own. He'd never raped a willing man before, and the thought made me somewhat giddy.

Forgetting that his eldest was watching, Rebus stroked the boy's hair. This made the boy look up at him directly. With a slightly drunken look in his eyes, the boy's head moved to encourage the stroking. Rebus wanted to put the poker down, but deep down inside, he knew he wasn't suposed to. Rebus couldn't imagine why. The boy looked at the poker and then did something that made even a sadistic criminal gasp. He took the hot poker in his mouth. It hissed and spit, but the boy's head bobbed slowly as if savoring its every inch.

The boy's mouth did not burn and blister as he took inch after inch into his mouth. Then, with teasing eyes, the boy pulled the glistening rob from his mouth with a teasing lick. "Don't be surprised, Rebus... if truth can pass from these lips into this dark, dark world what can your little poker do to them?" The boy put his hand on the glowing shaft and Rebus felt his own member pulse with heat, as if it were no longer in his pants, but in the boy's hand. The illussion continued as the boy took the steel rod back into his mouth. Lips, tongue, teeth, and even the sizzling spit on the steel rod made themselves known on Rebus' throbing cock.

He gasped several times until the need for release blocked out all other needs. He was going mad, out of his head, why couldn't he cum? This was torture by bliss, nothing less.

Rebus forced himself to step back from the boy, his gasping breathe making him dizzy. He needed to come so badly... he needed the release, before he could think clearly. He saw his angry glowing cock at the end of the steel rod. That looked wrong, but damn, he'd know his cock anywhere. He was so close to cumming... he just needed to jerk off. Yes, finish the job himself and throw his seed all over this boy. That would mark him as his own.

The boy talked to him as he reached for his cock. Rebus ony half heard him. They could talk after he took care of the needs of his huge, pulsing steel hard rod.

***

Little Lackland was a much huger version of his father. There was no doubting of his fatherhood as, except in scale, they were exactly alike in too many ways. He was, however, half as sadistic and twice as charming, with only a little more imagination then the older version. Torture was a tool to him, but his heart was rarely into it. So, it was that Rebus felt the need to school Little Lackland whenever a chance arrived. Little surmised that Rebus probably enjoyed having an audience, but he wisely kept this to himself.

Things started out normally enough. Priority was to keep the witch from uttering any spells. True magic was weak and rare, but even the weakest spell could harm an unprepared man. So the threat to ensure silence was the first thing one did in these situations and his father did that well enough. Little watched from the wings with a crossbow. Should the witch not need to speak to cast a spell, a cross bow in the leg should level the playing field quickly. The witch would then, hopefully, expend energy into healing rather than escaping. The boy seemed appropaitely impressed with the hot poker inches from his face.

From that point forward, however, his father diviated from the script. He stepped back and looked at the hot poker as is he wasn't sure how it had gotten into his right hand. Then, inexplicatedly, Rebus grabbed the very red hot tip of the poker with a firm manly grip in his left hand, as if he meant to bend the rod with his bare hands.

Rebus screamed and dropped the poker. It fell from his right hand easily enough, but he had to shake it from his left hand for a second before it fell to the cave floor. Then the crossbow bolt flew harmlessly to the far rocky wall as Little rushed to his father's rescued.

***

Belcanto broke from his fit at the sound of a wild scream.

On the other side of the fire, his tormentor huddled on the ground and a man as big as an ox rushed to his side. He didn't know what happened, but he knew that this was his chance to escape. But, light headed and still stiff, he had trouble getting to his feet.

"Cover his eyes, dammit, cover his eyes!" The smaller, older man screamed. "Don't worry about me, cover his damn eyes before he sucks in anyone else!"

The ox of a man tackled Belcanto just as he got up. A second later, a rough canvas sack was over his head. A leather strap cinched down on his neck as he kicked futilely at the walking boulder of a man, Belcanto sobbed, not understanding all that was going on, but strongly suspecting that he was going to wish he'd die on the floor of the barn last night. More ropes were found and his limbs were bound while he tried to beg them to stop. He was no witch, but the words could not get past his sobs.

"Damnit," the torturer said, although pain was making his voice rough, he managed to make himself clear. Although, for the life of him, Belcanto could not figure out how it applied to him. "He can share visions all right... but one... loses oneself in them. We have to... break camp... Lord Pravus is aware of us. We won't get the chance to... sell him if he decides we are criminals. Bury... the masks. We're off to the winter camp... in Entaca... The Lady Warlord only knows us as trustworthy freelancers... we'll get a decent price for the witchboy from her."

The ox spoke from atop Belcanto. "Father, if he's so good, why was he already halfway to Entaca? If he can see the future, why did he just practically fall into our hands?"

"Because, my simple child, power WANTS to be used. Gamblers wish to be cheated, honest men wish to be lied to, and those with power of any kind want to want those powers used, even if... even if... they themselves have to be used to get the power used. Damnit... get me something to stop this pain."

"Father," the ox said as, the job finished, got off the sobbing and trussed Belcanto. "Then, if you are correct, how do you know this skinny wizard isn't meant to bring power to us."

Belcanto struggled with his bounds, but the knots were quite secure. He didn't hear the father's response clearly enough, but the next sound... two meaty thunks stopped his struggles as well as his breathe. Belcanto stared towards the sound and his eyes refocussed enough to see through the tiny holes, He could just make out a rolling severed head amid a spreading puddle of blood.

"There... that should end the pain, nicely," the ox said and Belcanto instantly decided that he was going to behave very nicely even if he had not a single idea what was happening around him.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

Morgaina closed the door behind Olam and leaned against the door, only then did she give into the weakness and put the leaf in her mouth. She chewed it quickly, ignoring the bitterness and swallowing the numbing juice that her saliva and the oils of the plant created.

After a few minutes, the sting of his blade was gone and the mark he’d made no longer visible. She pulled her sleeve down and left her stance by the door, only to make her way to her vanity where she sat and stared at her reflection.

The woman that stared back at her was not one many saw, it was the soft face of her mother, a woman hidden away from only a select few. Morgaina rose and pulled one of her fur cloaks from her dressing closet.

She tightened the belt and left the room.

"Go to the stables and ready Stile."

The guard nodded his head and quickly went to do her bidding as she headed to Frost’s chambers.

She stopped and conversed with the young girl who cared for the man, learned that Olam had taken the blood he’d needed and that the man was now resting.

"Did you remove the cream?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress. I did it as soon as the salt solution was ready."

"Good; when Olam comes again it should be with the materials that Frost needs. Once he has them two guards will come and remove him from this keep. When that is finished, you are to come to my chambers."

"Yes, Mistress."

Morgaina turned and left the young girl. She knew her eyes were welling up for she feared going into the Lady’s chamber’s. It either meant death, pain, or both. In Morgaina’s case, the fewer that knew Frost left the keep after being prepared by Olam, the better.

She made her way to the stables and soon found herself flanked by two of her most trusted men. Both had been with her since her youth; both had taken her as was their right before she was Lord, but they had been spared her wrath, because they had been gentle with her and only used her because her Father insisted she be properly trained in seduction.

As she rode toward the cottage that time had long forgotten, she blocked out the images of the men in her life and tried to remember the woman who had given her life.

Once she stepped over the threshold of the small home, her eyes fell on the frail woman whose maid was quietly reading outloud.

"Hello Mother," Morgaina whispered, her gaze locking with the gaze of a mad woman.

 

[Tseranc]

Olam sighed, hating to see a man so apathetic too his own pain, but leaned in to begin his work. He cut into the man’s large arm carefully, and had the vessel ready to catch every drop. When he was certain enough blood had been shed, he set the goblet down, and bound the mans arm in the same ointment he had given to their Mistress…it would not do for one wound to look so out of place among all the others.

“That cut shall be gone by morning, or the morning after, depending on how much energy you still have, but it will be gone long before you cross into enemy lands. Rest now Frost, recover your strength for the task ahead.”

Olam took the goblet of blood and returned to his study. The next couple of hours he spent chanting and painting the armor in Frost’s blood, followed by the same actions with the mirror and his Mistress’s donation. He slumped himself into the one almost comfortable chair he owned, allowing his creations time to dry. They were otherwise complete, and he felt satisfied at having created such works.

But he did not allow himself a long rest, and was soon up again and to the blacksmith, collecting the sword, which now had a proper grip installed and was well edged. He shuddered inwardly at how much it had taken out of him to craft the weapon. Despite the heat of the blacksmith’s shop, the sword remained cool to the touch.

He slid his finger along the blade, barely cutting the skin, and ice traveled through his veins, piercing his heart with cold dread, and nearly dropped his most powerful creation. It had worked!

Olam retrieved the armor chest piece, and delivered them to Frost, leaving them beside the man, who looked as I he slept whispering, “May these serve you well in your task, and keep you safe young Frost.” With that he departed and watched as two large men entered Frost’s chambers, apparently on errand from their Lady.

He shrugged, trying not to care what happened to the poor man next, and went to the kitchens to grab a bit to eat, and socialize with the staff; a small pleasure he took whenever he could. It was there that he learned Morgiana had left the keep. Few things would grab her by whim to leave, with so few guards, so he assumed he was off to see her insane mother; which could bode well, o ill for Olam. Her moods were unpredictable after returning from such visits.

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto Trussed Up, Inn and Out

Belcanto whimpered and tried not the vomit... again... into the loose bag that had been tied over his head. Being treated as luggage, tied to the back of his captor's sadle, had been hard on the young man. The ropes, although expertly knotted, were a poor carrying case for a squirming, naked hostage... even if that hostage was doing everything in his power not to move unneccesarily. They bit into his flesh and as surely as one could castrate a bull calf with an ever tightening wire, Belcanto easily envisioned that his hands and feet could be removed from his limbs.

It would just take longer. It would just be more painful.

It would just be a hell of a lot messier.

The horse had stopped and several hands helped him to pull him off the horse before the Ox of the rider even tried to dismount. He was laid down in soft hay, although a few not so soft pieces of straw poked into painful and chafed areas.

As soon as he was certain that more abuse would follow, they started gently tossing straw over him. He was being hidden, and that meant, somehow he knew, that they was to be a respite of sorts.

Gratefully, Belcanto promptly passed out.

***

Little smiled his huge smile and sat down with his bastard brother and his new but slightly used wife. "No, it's true. Our father has just given up. This witchboy told him, he said, that if he got in my way of becoming Warlord of Bentii, I'd somehow kill him."

Freddie scoffed. "You know that's boy got power, I ain't been with Veni a day or two, but you know I can tell that she's just the most practical thing to ever bed a man, but my gods, he told her exactly what needed to be done to land me." The slightly reformed highway robber looked at his blushing bride. "No offense, honey." He blushed himself for a moment. "But, what I means to say is you're father's number one supporter... I can't imagines you killing him."

"I can," Veni spoke up and smiled a quick apology to her large brother-in-law. "When the Witchboy tells you something, you believe it. From what Freddie told me, if your Da believe you'd kill him if he got in your way, he'd try to kill you first... and he's not as bright as he thinks he is, is he?"

Little looked at her with respect and a little amusement. "Yes, he could have easily lost his head." He sipped at his tankard to hide his smile. It was a long moment until he could frown and put the tankard down. "Luckily, it didn't come to that. The Witchboy gave him an out and he took it. But, the witchboy also said that we attracted the attention of What's-His-Name, the local Warlord."

Freddy nodded. "Warlords have to maintain order, a band of hoodlums such as we can cause a Warlord as much trouble as a too well armed neighbor. Luckily, Benii is in a different direction than the Mountains of Despair. You should hide the masks here."

"I wrote you a list," Veni said and reached between her ample bossums.

Little started and Freddie smirked. "I told you that she's practical."

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

“I will need some time to consider you generous offer, my lord. I am sure you understand that this a lot for simple girl from a tiny fishing village to take in.” Tharalon’s words were spoken with soft determination, she was resolved to say them, determined to sound as if her answer was in doubt, and desperate to understand why she wanted to do something she was convinced was wrong.

Outside door to Tharalon’s room, Lord Pravus stopped and Tharalon waited anxiously beside him.

“Enjoy your stay. You’ve gained much, but lost the ability to claim that you’re a mere girl from the coast. You’re a Lady of Molovica now, with gifts to give your country. Sleep well young Tharalon.” The guard opened her door for her as Lord Pravus released her hands.

“We’ll discuss you answer tomorrow, perhaps over lunch.” He nodded, almost bowing his head to a lady, and left with the same knowing grin.

She watched him leave, but only for a moment. She knew she needed to be alone, as she turned to enter the luxurious room, she looked for a comfortable place to sit and think, but as the guard closed the door behind her, she realized the whole room was designed for comfort.

Se looked for her own gown, eager, perhaps to turn back into the girl from the fishing village. The girl who was distraught at the thought of hurting someone, the one who left home to try to protect her family, part of her wanted to be that girl again. Unfortunately, a search of the room revealed more gowns of fine fabrics and elegant designs; there was no sign of her simple dress and serviceable cloak. Only clothing suitable for a Lady of Molovica remained and although she told herself this upset her, she absentmindedly fingered the soft fabrics before she turned away.

She curled up in the seat beneath a tall window and watched the sun set as she considered her future. She thought in confusing circles, unable to follow her own logic, unwilling to acknowledge her own desires and unknowingly repeating the thoughts of the tracker who found her. She considered her choices, her few options until they were a jumble of words she could barely keep straight. It was well into the night before she thought she pared it down to the most basic issue. She was certain she wanted to do the right thing but whatever choice she made someone would be hurt. By making the choice, she decided who would be hurt and who would do the hurting.

She did not think of the wonderful lush garden, or the lovely clothing. She did not compare the luxury of the palace to the privations of her village. She gave no thought to the pride she took in her skills or the arrogance that made her want to explore the depth of her abilities. She could not think of these things and lie to herself, so she simply avoided thinking about them.

It was nearly dawn when Tharalon climbed down from the window seat, and crawled into the plush bed. Wrapped in the comforting blanket of denial, Tharalon slept peacefully for the first time since she left the village of her birth.

She slept undisturbed until nearly lunchtime, when she welcomed a servant's assistance in undressing and asked for a bath while she waited to hear from Lord Pravus.

 

[LitShark]

Bang the Drum Slowly

Slythe groaned slightly through his mask, the feeling of the vibrating bug in her ass made the girl’s entire pussy seem to quiver and clench on his cock. She was shutting him out again but for the moment he didn’t care. He felt her press back against him momentarily and groan before going rigid and balling up her fists. She was retreating again.

A quick snap of his fingers and Slythe again summoned the deep echoing distraction of his war drum. BOOM BOOM BOOM!!! The repetitious sound seemed to control the pace of everything, from thoughts to Slythe’s own motions.

The Dark Lord’s hips found the motion of the beating drum and adopted the same ruthless meter of his bass accompaniment. He added force to each thrust slowly, fucking Lisheeda’s vibrating pussy just a little harder with each thrust until the sound of their flesh slapping became slightly audible, using the young girl as a human cymbal to join the massive drum.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

Rhonwen found herself again at the top of the stairs leading to the taproom. It was difficult to hear the rustling of Brita's cloak over the resounding echo of the wardrum, but there it was, nonetheless. The wardrum was coming from the vicinity of Slythe's bedchambers, a room she knew all to well. She could only imagine what he was doing to the Little Blackbird and why he needed the wardrum, but few things surprised her anymore. Right now what she wanted was a drink.

She descended the stairs, letting the scents of the yeast and hops wash over her, making her mouth water. She didn't care why Brita had decided to join her, but mute company at the moment suited her just fine. Let Brita stare and try to scratch messages on a piece of parchment until she needed a new metal hand--just as long as Rhonwen had some ale in her. It had been a busy day and Brewer Jonas' finest was just what she was looking for.

As she approached the long mahogany slab that served as Jonas' bartop, she saw a balding, rotund man behind it, her back to her. What little hair he had left was as white as hers and his scalp glistened with sweat as he leaned over a row of bottles. He was cursing in the language of his homeland as he did so. Well, at least some things don't change, she thought. She leaned over the bartop and tapped the brewer on the shoulder. The man whirled around, his eyes as red as the capillaries standing out on his nose. Rhonwen smiled, wondering if he'd recognize her.

"Dammit, girl, 'tis 'bout time ya got 'ere!" he roared, turning slightly to grab a silver tray full of goblets. "Take this to the barracks! Ya don't want t'keep them boys waiting any longer, d'ya, lass?"

She rolled her eyes and smirked at the brewer, bemused that he assumed she was just another serving wench. "Jonas, it's me. Don't you remember?"

Jonas matched her eye-roll and sighed loudly. "Of course I remember ya, lass. Now quit wastin' my time and get t'the barracks!" And with that, he turned back around to fiddle with the ale he was currently bottling, the sibilant language of his filling the air as he continued swearing.

Rhonwen turned as Brita came off the last step. "Well, like I said Brita--some things never change." And she took a goblet from the tray and downed it.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Melody of Memories

Lisheeda ignored the slow build up of her rapist’s thrust. She continued to hum; this time using the drum to aid her in her song. Eventually the sounds became what urged her to complete the void she’d been trying to desperately reach. Gone was the man that used her and in his place was the music that had always been apart of her. The quiet hum became a melody that mixed with the rhythm of the man’s playing. She soared above the scene and she saw the woods in the morning when the sun rose. She breathed in the scent of her clean skin when she emerged from the hot springs. She felt the wind on her cheeks as she dropped softly to the ground after resting in the trees.

No one could hurt her where she was, not even herself. Her inner voice was no longer talking, but simply allowing her to concentrate on the beauty of life. There had been beauty once and when the Lord of Darkness used the drum to enhance his victory over her, he had only helped her. A whimper escaped her parted lips just before she began to whisper the words that had been playing in her mind. She was on her mother’s lap, breathing in the scent of warm bread. Her father’s laughter filled her ears and she became numb to anything but the memories of her youth.

She felt her body began to respond to her stubbornest, because what was happening to her now was no longer a part of her. Her voice grew stronger and the thrusts became more tender to her drying sex, yet Lisheeda refused to back down, using the drum as her soul mate.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Servants and soldiers scurried this way and that, the energy in his palace felt like a long lost friend. It had been nearly a year since he ran into Entaca and Morgiana’s forces. Small fighted had occurred between their two armies, but it was clear he had not the strength to break through and take her lands, but nor did she have the numbers to pushing into the sea. So they had sat all these months mocking each other.

But no more, Molovica was on the move, and preparations were well under way for it. Still, it left Pravus with little to do himself. Generals and such saw to the men, and supplies. Some men ran gathering small, portable comforts to take for him and his guests, but that was of little concern. So he stopped a servant and told him to have his lunch prepared, and his ‘guest’ summoned.

He had decided that she would travel with him, and explore her talents where best he needed them…near the front lines. Should war break out openly once more, and the mere presence of his army would likely start such an outbreak, She would be up to her eyes in wounded men, and prisoners of war and the few attempted deserters to practice her skills at summoning pain.

Pravus walked calmly to the small dining hall where he would take his lunch, maps and plans spread out befor ehim to study before, and while he ate. His black coat conformed to his body, as the night before, but this one was embellished with gold leafing around the collar, and the right shirt cuff was crimson, matching the right hand glove. A light cape attached at his shoulders; black with gold edging, and a large crimson hand centered on his back. Here he would wait to for the girl, and inform her of how some plans had changed.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

Bathed and dressed, Tharalon waited for a summons from Lord Pravus. A summons from my Master, from my captor, to a polite and friendly lunch but soon…

She waited with patience and then with trepidation; occasionally she slipped back into uncertainty as her stomach twisted into aching knots that she could not cure. Her agitation increased and she wished the matter were already settled. She paced back and forth across the room, her new gown trailing behind her in swish of rustling silk. She only calmed when she realized she could see the garden from one of the room’s high windows…It could be her garden.

When it finally came, the loud knock on the door startled her ad she jumped quickly from the window seat as if caught in a guilty act. She smoothed her loosely hanging curls and straighten her skirt at she followed the guard to the dining room.

She was surprised to find Lord Pravus in a smaller dining room. She noted the maps and papers spread over the table and Lord Pravus was studying them intently as she entered. Something about being invited to dine with him under these less formal circumstances appealed to her and a small easy smile made its way to her lips as she bobbed a curtsey.

“My Lord, thank you for allowing me to join for luncheon.” She then noticed the tightness of his tense shoulders and his firm grip on the table, “But if you are busy, there is no need for you to entertain me. I could walk in my garden for a time.”

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Her garden? He looked up and smiled in his signature way…exposing no teeth but reminding one of a wolf snarling at it’s prey. “Please, have a bite to eat first, simple meals today I’m afraid, with all the preparations being made. Sit, please,” he offered a chair beside him. “I’m pleased you’ve made your decision, very pleased. I can assure you it was the right choice.”

A soup with delightful sandwiches that had a gourmet sauces on them were all promptly brought out, and served. He began eating then waves his hands over the maps that littered the table. “Sadly, we will be leaving shortly, tonight in fact. This was far sooner then I expected, but it seems that the Dark Forces had been scouting our newly acquired lands, and causing havoc. I intend to put an end to such in no uncertain terms. I’ve spent the last two years building up the largest navy in the world, and over the course of the next week, those ships shall carry every available soldier to the mainland. Our homes should be well protected by our ships, while we ready for whatever that toad of a general Slythe has in mind.” He continued eating as if preparing for war was a simple affair, and to him it was.

“You should leave the gardener with any instructions on how to care for and cultivate your garden, and bring any samples you wish. We shall reside in a mighty fortress, and oversee its final construction. You may begin a new garden there, to tide you over until we may return home. I am quite certain that your powers of healing shall be in great demand – I expect you shall learn much more of your talent, and find just how deep it runs. As for the other side of your skills – well, I’m certain that suitable candidates will be found during the course of our time there.”

He pointed out several locations of concern, as if she cared about tactics and strategy, but adding the places she was likely to see, from safely behind very thick walls. He needed her close, but he would not risk her to the enemy for any reason.

Once finished with their meal, he stood, to escort her to the gardens she seemed to love so much, leading her by the hand as if he were unafraid of her touch. She might harm him, especially when he told her of her parents, but he was betting on this girl having a better head on her shoulders. As he turned to leave her to her plants, he stopped and told her, “Oh, by the way. I’ve taken the liberty of having your family moved to a private estate. They will not wan for anything again, and live comfortably under my protection. They shall be kept informed about you, and you many visit them as our time allows. Sadly they will still be on their journey to their new home, while we travel to the shore. But I wanted you to know they are safe.” He never added that those families he protected only stayed safe so long as he himself did, but if she didn’t already assume that, she’d likely hear stories about some of the few betrayals that had happened, and the results.

Just smiled at her, taking in both her physical beauty, and the potential as a tool of war. Such a great weapon, in such a pretty package….

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

Slythe hissed, she was managing to escape him again. This was one tough nut to crack. A quick hand gesture silenced the drum, leaving only her sweet voice humming her song. He smacked he ass hard trying to jar her back into reality with limited if any success. His thrusts continued but the girl just hummed on, it was clear that Slythe was going to need more pain to break this girl.

After reaching over to the bedside table Slythe reached under Lisheeda’s body. His cold caress moved slowly up her stomach, tender, like the caress of a lover. As his hand moved between her breasts he quickly found what he was looking for, the chain that held the clamps on her tits together.

Using the chain Slythe pulled her slowly toward himself, pushing his cock deep into her.

“Wake up little bird! You need your wings clipped I think.” After Slythe spoke his quiet refrain the air was cut by the loud whoosh of a switch through the air.

The long reed (another unique crop from the Zaloh marshes) landed with a loud snap upon Lisheeda’s ass. A long angry red welt emerged across her lovely toned ass. She tried to pull away from the strike but as she did Slythe pulled the chain, using the pain in her tits to drag her back and present her ass for another strike.

“I need you paying attention little bird. I’m going to whip you 30 times, but I’m far to busy at the moment to be doing such trivial things as counting strokes. For each one I want you to say the number followed by the word ‘Master’ I will continue whipping you until you count to 30 as instructed. Any mistake in the count, lost numbers or failure to address me properly will add another stroke to your debt… Let’s see if you follow me.” Another whoosh and smack punctuated Slythe’s command.

The second angry welt crossed the first, leaving a small spot of purple where the lashes had intersected. Slythe awaited the appropriate response before continuing, still using the chain to keep her impaled by his cock.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Stubborn Slave

There was a moment when Lisheeda embraced freedom. Her mother held her; her father loved her, even her young friend had been at her side sharing secrets concerning their Lord. She’d been there, in a place where no one could hurt her. The first strike of the cane and the pulling of the chain linked to the clamps around her breasts, however brought her back to what was happening and she was shocked into screaming.

The sound of her song broken and only the sound of his voice filled the room. She listened to him, the drum no longer an obstacle. Her lips trembled as the pain washed through her system. She twisted, trying to free herself, but the various pains on her body refused to let her.

“Girl, what are you doing?. .Dying. . .No you are not dying, simply being used. Enjoy it. . .There is nothing to enjoy. . .What will you do now?” The second strike of the cane ended her conversation.

Her sex was no longer seeping any fluids. His cock rested inside a dry hole and though this too pained her, Lisheeda refused once more to give her Lord what he wanted. “Where is the darkness? . . Darkness? What darkness foolish girl? . . The woman; she hit me and there was darkness. I want it back. . . Then take the pain and scream, perhaps you’ll be lucky and he’ll kill you. . .Perhaps.”

“You’re no Master,” she hissed. “You are weak. You tie your women up because none would want you willingly. You've got your vessel; use it,” she told him. The bug’s vibrations were growing less intense, the lack of oxygen for the creature was finally taking its toll. Eventually she knew it would end, but that sensation was no longer her worry. She would scream this time, she knew it, and she did nothing to hide the screams that fell from her lips, but only screams escaped her throat.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

The whoosh of the cane was the only reply Slythe gave to her resolute screams. Her other cheek was quickly decorated with a fresh stripe of crimson. Her now bone dry pussy clung to him, keeping her anchored against him. Even as the cane struck her, the chain between her breasts and the agonizing friction of his dry cock housed in her dry, de-virginised slit keeping her immobile.

“Silly whore… I don’t want you to be my vessel. I want you as my slave, my grateful willing slave. No using will be done until you demonstrate your ability to count and answer commands.” Slythe’s voice was slow and condescending, like talking to a child or lesser life form. “Now then… your bottom blushes mightily already and your stubbornness has prevented you from even reaching one. Let us hope your learning curve improves with time.”

Whoooosh! SNAP!!!

Another agonizing welt crossed the third, leaving two crude X’s upon her bronze cheeks. The angry purple cross-hairs of the X’s threatened to burst and spill forth more of her blood if a third strike should land in the same spot, but Slythe had much work to do before he wanted to feel her warm blood upon his skin again.

“Do not be foolish little Bellatonia. You will be broken and you will be fucked, your resistance and stubbornness only makes your fate more miserable for you.” Slythe whacked the reed upon the small of her back this time, hopeful that he could spur her on to do as she was told. He almost hoped she would remain resolute, however, he was having something he hadn’t known for some time now… He was having fun!