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The Temptress Ch. 01

By: Ltirashin



This is my first submission to Literotica, although it is not the first time others will be reading what I write. Friends of mine have read the first four chapters of the erotic fantasy novel I have been writing for the last few years and have expressed VERY positive feedback. But they are my friends. The Temptress is Chapter One of that book but not the first book of the series of which it is part. I guess I am looking for genuine enthusiasm, an HONEST review and critique, and a reason to continue my writing this story (which, by the way, is a romantic story that unfolds throughout the course of the books.)

*

As night crept across the lands of Demnos, the gray sky of the dreary, rain-soaked day continued to deepen until it was impossible to tell when the day ended and the night began. Far below the towering craggy edifice of Demon's Peak, lights in the city of Xyn started flickering to life in windows and on street corners. The inhabitants were provided with a measure of supposed protection against the all too real creatures lurking in the dark just past the last houses on the outskirts of the city. The streets bustled with both the necessary evening traffic and those seeking entertainment at one of the many taverns, fest halls or brothels throughout the city. Shopkeepers were finishing closing up shop and securing their establishments from unwelcome nocturnal intruders. Despite the inclement weather, the pervasive ambiance of Xyn's celebrants was as festive as always.

The dome-shaped buildings that comprise the bustling valley city were typical of those found across the face of Tiaceor. Sturdy in construction, they could withstand many kinds of punishment and look only a little worse for the wear. The domes were all of varying sizes, built according to its function and the owner's needs---as well as the depth of his or her purse.

High above the city, a pair of glowing yellow eyes looked down at the goings-on from the relative comfort of a very large and well-fortified keep. To the otherworldly eyes regarding the scene, the rain obscured the view only a little. The rain pitter-pattered in large puddles on the balconies of the three enormous windows outside the castle's throne room. A tall, lone, dark figure stood in the window, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of the rain as it gently tapped against her hot ebony skin and soaked her long, thick raven tresses. Small droplets grew bigger until their weight pulled them down her naked flesh, tickling her lightly as they rolled. As she stood there, tiny rivulets also flowed from the longest ends of her hair and down between her large bat-like wings; from there, the water followed the curve of her back until finding its way around the base of her well-muscled tail and between the tight cheeks of her ass where it mixed with the lubrication of her already wet pussy. Droplets fell too from the rings piercing her nipples after collecting and hanging there for a moment. The unnatural heat given off by her body caused the mistress of the keep to be surrounded by a wispy nimbus of steam.

Demon's Peak had been well named by the early settlers who first looked upon the immense, foreboding mountain with an equal mixture of awe and fear, though mostly the latter. There were many who wondered if the name had actually been an unrecognized prophesy, especially since a demoness had been calling it her home for the past eighty years.

Standing just slightly taller than most human and some ork males, War Mistress L'tirashin Jadour was an imposing sight to behold. Her manner and bearing left no doubt in anyone's mind that she was not a being with whom someone trifled. Of course, her glowing yellow eyes, large bat wings and long tail only served to accentuate her otherworldly visage and make those around her fearful of inviting her wrath.

As if by its own accord, L'tirashin's left hand slid slowly across her thigh, inching toward the black tangle of her hairy mound. Her long, talon-tipped fingers pushed through the slick folds of her labia until they found her already excited clit. L'tirashin flicked at it a few times before shoving her fingers deep into her pussy.

 Fools! she spat in her thoughts as her other hand cupped her right breast and brought it to her mouth. L'tirashin's tongue darted out and rubbed across the hardening tip of the nipple. Using her teeth, she tugged firmly at the ornamental piercing, increasing her passion as her fingers probed even deeper into her vaginal flower. See how they go about their lives, totally oblivious to the coming darkness! she mused as she continued to masturbate. It excited the wicked demoness beyond mere words every time she used either her infernal powers or her mastery of the arcane magic. Very soon after her arrival on this world the inhabitants called Tiaceor, a phenomenon heretofore not experienced by L'tirashin came to light: without exception, whenever the demoness cast any of the spells she knew, she would feel the need for some kind of sexual gratification. It was almost without exception, the more powerful the spell that was cast, the greater the urge that followed. Although L'tirashin had always possessed a fierce carnal appetite, there were inevitably times when sex of any sort---ranging from simply masturbating to enjoying a full-blown orgy---just was not possible. Of course, it went without saying that those missed chances for libidinous indulgences were made up for at the first opportunity . . .and then some. L'tirashin tried to discover the reason for the odd, but very pleasant, connection but was far less successful than the learned sages, wizards, sorcerers, and priests who had studied it for centuries before her arrival.

As she felt an orgasm beginning to build within her, L'tirashin leaned her head back and turned it from side to side, causing her rain-soaked blue-black hair to brush across the top of her tight buttocks and base of her tail. Faster and faster L'tirashin plunged her fingers in and out until they were almost a blur of motion, working their own kind of magic on her pussy. With her excitement nearing its climactic peak, she brought her mouth back down on her melon-sized breast back together and bit down hard on the nipple. Her elongated, razor-sharp canines punctured two small holes on either side of the silver ring dangling from the very stiff and protruding nub. A small ooze of dark crimson leaked out then vanished with a swipe of L'tirashin's tongue.

The peak L'tirashin had felt stirring deep in her loins was almost upon her. A mask of pure rapture and euphoria washed over her beautiful, though otherworldly, face and brought a glaze to her glowing eyes just as the first wave of her orgasm caused her cunt to spasm and shudder. Slowly, the sensations ebbed then ceased. A smile of partial satisfaction pulled at the corners of her full lips.

"That was nice," L'tirashin said as she brought her hand up and started licking her cum-soaked fingers clean. "But. . ." L'tirashin's tail swished back and forth in anticipation as she let the thought trail off. As her wings folded quietly across her back and around her shoulders like a natural cape, the demoness turned away from the window. The talons on her toes clicked softly against the highly polished black marble floor of her huge audience chamber as she strode purposefully toward her throne.

In passing, L'tirashin glanced up momentarily at one of the eight colossal columns that supported the high, vaulted ceiling fifty feet overhead. The girth of any one of them was so great it would require six men, with out-stretched arms, to encircle it. Running almost the entire length of each, from floor to ceiling, were highly detailed bass relief carvings of scenes depicting the torture of the souls of the damned, cast into the Abyss's bottomless darkness. L'tirashin could recall only too well being on the receiving end of many of those terrible torments during her first few centuries of her afterlife she spent deep in the Abyss's lower planes. Over the many, many long years, she had managed literally claw her way up to positions of greater and greater power until she was one of the torturers. Mortal minds had yet to devise a method of torment that had not been perfected by the Everdark's resident experts, as well as many that even the most twisted ephemeral mind could not conceive.

The clergy of the seemingly countless number of deities, on a similar number of worlds throughout the known multiverse, warned their respective flocks of the literal, eternal torment awaiting them if they refused to give up their sinful ways. L'tirashin was still amused as to how many of those same going-to-temple-only-on-holy-days mortals who wound up in the Everdark.

During her time on Tiaceor, L'tirashin, a demon from what those of the mortal realm called the Abyss, had been christened with a variety of names. Some she bore with great pride while others, such as Bacchanal Queen, Demon Whore, and Slut Queen, she secretly reveled in because of her pursuit of pleasure; but that pleasure was not without purpose. (Of course, she would never allow anyone who addressed her with one of those less flattering names live to tell about it.)

Besides having an almost insatiable libido, L'tirashin also had equally great ambition and a lust for power. She had been busy ever since her arrival. By appealing to the mortals of this world on the basest of levels, L'tirahsin had been able to gather an army of considerable size in almost no time. Her forces quickly claimed the nation of Calimaar and the country of Demnos came into being. Promises made to the general population saw the ranks of her army swell. To the nations surrounding Demnos, L'tirashin delivered an ultimatum: live under her rule and prosper or defy her and suffer. Only two of the eleven nations tried to resist. True to her word, the Temptress made them suffer. The complete conquest of Eleasheua took a little less than six years to effect.

Demnos had become a fierce world power with which to be reckoned.

But L'tirashin was not content ruling just one kingdom. She had loftier ambitions. For reasons no mortal mind would ever expect, her ultimate goal was to conquer all of Tiaceor.

With incredible and inhuman speed, the Temptress dashed up the eighteen steps of the dais. Her movement had been so sudden and swift it could have been thought of as magic. She paused a moment and gazed appreciatively at her regal seat. The throne was a truly wicked looking construction: hundreds of spread open rib cages had been used to create a radiating disc directly behind a seat made entirely out of whole skeletal arms and legs. A wall comprised of nothing but skulls formed the backdrop for this agglomeration of bones, running from floor to ceiling and spanned forty feet from one side to the other. As intimidating as L'tirashin's royal seat was itself, some very potent and deadly enchantments worked into it as well. With a wicked smile, L'tirashin assumed her seat. When she had first entered the former realm of Calimaar, L'tirashin lacked such a chair. Over the intervening seventy-eight years, she had had one magically crafted from the bones of those who dared oppose her. It mattered little as to the social status of the bones' former owners: virtuous knights and those of more humble origins were all present---even Calimaar's former regent was thus interred. The one thing they all had in common was defying the demoness's will. No matter how great or small their indiscretion, they paid for it with their lives.

But defiant natives were not the only ones to have faced her wrath; virtuous (if not foolish) adventurers had tested themselves against her. Although the number of intruders who dared to confront the Dark One in her personal sanctum had been few and far between, there were still those who had successfully gained entry past the keep's formidable defenses. When they encountered L'tirashin casually lounging on her throne, their only reward was death: death that came at them from the hundreds of empty eye sockets of the skull wall.

"You there, slave," L'tirashin said, pointing at one of the barely clad slaves standing up against the wall just past the banquet table. "Come here." Although L'tirashin knew every one of her slaves' names (as well as a good deal about them), she found that by stripping them of even such a small measure of individuality tended to keep their spirits broken far better and more effectively than any amount of chain.

Daring to cast a momentary sidelong look at her sister standing just two paces to her left, Amean obediently stepped forward and walked quickly toward her mistress, keeping her head bowed the entire way. Amean, which meant swan rider in her native elven language, had been a celebrated dancer in the elven kingdom Deth'el on the western side of the island continent of Eleasheua. Amean had been visiting some of her family in the small city of Evrial when some of the Temptress's soldiers attacked. When the raiders finally left, more than half of the coastal city of Eichuula was burning and many elves had been taken as slaves ---Amean and her sister among them. Even after two years, neither of them ever learned the fates of any of the rest of their family.

The sisters' introduction to slavery was savage and cruel. As they stood before the one called "the Wrangler", a new slave was chosen at random then slaughtered in front of the rest of his fellow captives. The Wrangler screamed at them, "That is exactly how much your lives now mean to your mistress! But, by serving Mistress L'tirashin well, you will be allowed to live! Betray her in even the smallest way and you will die!" After that, they were stripped of what few possessions they still had and their clothes.

Amean's spirit finally broke when she and the other new slaves were unceremoniously thrown into a large pool filled with a green, foul smelling magical brew. When she surfaced, Amean watched in horrified disbelief as her luxuriant, waist-length golden tresses literally slid right off her scalp and dissolve like a dream upon waking. As her body was racked with near-hysterical sobs, Amean noticed that everyone had been thus affected. That she could see, no hair remained on anyone, anywhere. She had never felt so naked and exposed in all her young one hundred and fifty-three years of life. Amean's sister, Simvanna, was also just as bare but she could still see the familiar defiant spark in Simvanna's deep blue eyes.

Once the new slaves had been sorted according to where they would be put to use, Amean, Simvanna, and twenty-nine other male and female vassals were taken to the house dormitory. The female house slaves were given very short, gauze-thin dresses to wear while the males wore only breeches made of the same fabric and all were given a pair of sandals. Despite the deadly conditions, Amean sometimes actually envied the slaves who worked in the mines. "At least they get to wear real clothes and shoes," she whispered to Simvanna one night just before the pair drifted into a dreamless sleep.

All slaves shared their beds with at least one other and some even bunked together by choice. Typically, just as one would be getting out of bed to resume his or her duties from the previous day, another would be climbing in to get some rest. Despite their captivity, Amean did have to admit that she and Simvanna (as well as the other household slaves, at least) were treated well enough and not subjected to too severe of punishments.

As she approached her mistress's throne, Amean kept her eyes at her feet then stopped as the base of the dais's steps. "Yes, mistress?" Amean asked in a quiet voice.

L'tirashin let her slave wait. After all, that was a slave's purpose: to wait on the whims their mistress or master expressed. Starting at the top of Amean's baldhead, L'tirashin's eyes slowly traced all of her slave's pleasing curves. Up and down Amean's pointed ears, down her delicate, narrow neck and past her shapely shoulders. The Temptress allowed her gaze to linger for a moment when her eyes reached the small swell of Amean's breasts. The sweat covering Amean's body caused her whisper-thin dress cling to her, allowing a nearly unobstructed view of what was beneath. Amean's aureoles were correspondingly small though her nipples already looked slightly erect. While they were only about half the size of her own, L'tirashin was pleased nonetheless and so continued assessing her slave.

Amean's narrow waist and hips indicated she had yet to experience the "joys of motherhood"---a situation L'tirashin was sure that could soon be remedied. L'tirashin noticed her arms and legs to be remarkably well-toned and conditioned but, for a moment, the reason escaped her. Then an amused smile played at the corners of L'tirashin's full lips. Ahhh, yes, she thought, This one was a dancer when she was captured. Mmmmmmm. . .I haven't had one of those in a while.

"Come here!" L'tirashin said as she motioned for Amean to mount the dais's steps.

Fear swelled in Amean's chest. She was suddenly filled with an almost irresistible urge to run as fast and as far as she could away from the Night One, but she knew that to do so would mean her death. She had been present when a band of foolhardy adventurers had made their way into the keep only the previous year and stood where she herself was now.

They never had a chance.

As if the wall were an extension of the Temptress, Amean watched her annihilate them instantly as hundreds of magical bolts of energy shot out from the empty eyeholes from the skull wall behind the throne. This her mistress did without so much as lifting a finger.

Terrified, Amean did as she was commanded and slowly ascended the steps. Had she not already been sweating because of the heat within the keep, Amean would have started just then. As she climbed the steps, the elven slave felt she was walking many miles---and all of them up a steep hill. Finally, Amean stood a mere arm-span in front of L'tirashin. It was just about all Amean could do to remain standing.

The Temptress's smile suddenly got a bit wicked. Her slave's fear was so palpable that L'tirashin could smell it as well as see Amean visibly trembling as she stood there. A rush of warmth washed over the demoness. Although it suffused throughout her body, she felt it most acutely in her hot, wet pussy.

When L'tirashin got to her feet, Amean swooned. In an instant, Amean scooped up in her mistress's arms. Giving her slave no time to recover, L'tirashin clamped her lips wetly to Amean's and pushed her tongue into the startled elf's mouth.

At first, Amean resisted but, as soon as the Temptress's unexpected sexual advances were revealed to be her true intentions, Amean began to respond. Though she was a bit unsure for the first few moments, she found herself becoming amenable, pushing her tongue past her mistress's and into L'tirashin's hot and hungry mouth. Amean's hands also seemed anxious to join in on the pleasure and were soon caressing L'tirashin's dark skin.

It was L'tirashin who gently broke away from their kissing embrace after the pair had been entwined for several minutes. Holding Amean's face tenderly between her hands, L'tirashin whispered in a breathy voice, "Pleasure me."

Amean smiled sweetly at her mistress. Leaning in, Amean started kissing and nibbling on L'tirashin's neck. Her mistress's ebony skin was noticeably hot to the touch. It was not long before Amean felt her own body's heat increase in response. While Amean was not a woman-lover, she was also no stranger to pleasuring another woman. In fact, she and Simvanna still indulged in such "sisterly love" whenever they were together. They delighted in those stolen moments, just as they had been doing ever since they were elflings, playing amid the tall and ancient trees deep in the Aelque Forest of Deth'el. Wanting to be as free and unfettered as her mistress, the elf slipped her dress down past her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The look of pure lust shining in the Night One's eyes brought a small smile to Amean's pouty lips.


The Temptress Ch. 01



Amean slowly kissed, nibbled, and sucked her way down one side of L'tirashin's neck then up the other. As she got near her mistress's similarly pointed ears, Amean felt a pang of longing when she smelled the light, sweet scent of L'tirashin's hair. Forcing her feelings back down, Amean started biting gently but firmly on the Temptress's earlobes. When a moan of delight escaped L'tirashin's lips, Amean teased her by lightly flicking the tip of her tongue across her mistress's ear.

Amean's skill pleasantly surprised L'tirashin. Every spot where Amean's hot mouth and tongue had touched tingled, sending wave after wave of excitement directly to her already sodden pussy. Unable to help herself any longer, L'tirashin brought up a hand and cupped one of Amean's small breasts. After a few firm squeezes, she started to roll and pinch the slowly stiffening nipple. A soft sigh in L'tirashin's ear let her know her own ministrations were hardly in vain as her libidinous slave continued pleasing her.

L'tirashin's other hand soon found Amean's bare thigh then slowly slid its way up until it encountered the slightly fleshy folds of Amean's smooth and hairless cunt. Back and forth L'tirashin rubbed, always just missing the moist slit running between her slave's thickening labia. Deciding to give Amean a thrill, L'tirashin pressed on her love button.

Thoroughly stimulated by what her mistress was doing to her, Amean could not resist grinding her pussy against L'tirashin's hand. Amean's fear had almost completely vanished. In its place was an aching lust and a passion ignited fire in her loins begging to be extinguished. Her own hands followed the Temptress's lead; one hand on a breast, the nipple between her fingers while the other massaged L'tirashin's mound of black, bushy pubic hair.

Most of the slaves, whether male or female, human, dwarf, ork, elf, or any one of Tiaceor's other races had been on either the receiving or giving end (or both) of L'tirashin's attentions at one time or another. For the long minutes their mistress and her slave pleasured each other, the rest household slaves present watched the goings on with a mixture of envy and relief.

Though not Simvanna

The willful elf had succeeded quite well hiding her disgust and jealousy at the sexual spectacle happening only a short distance away. Such flagrant, public, sexual displays were unheard of in even the most liberal of Deth'el's courts, where love and beauty were worshipped just as devoutly as were the gods. And that the Temptress's attentions were centered on Amean was almost too much for Simvanna to take. If any woman was going to sex her sister, it should be her, not their so-called mistress---despite the Temptress holding their very lives quite literally in her taloned hands.

Feeling Amean pressing harder and harder against her hand, L'tirashin removed it from her slave's crotch. After all, L'tirashin thought, it's not about me pleasuring her, but her pleasuring me. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building just past her still sorely vacant cunt, deep in her womb. But it would still be some time before her cum would explode through her senses and required more intense stimulation than what she was being given to thrill her that much.

Taking Amean's hands away from their luscious handiwork was not easy for the Night One to do since they were both enjoying it so much. Finally, L'tirashin placed her hands on Amean's shoulders and pushed her firmly downward until her slave was kneeling before her. Standing with her feet shoulder-wide, L'tirashin grasped the back of Amean's baldhead and pushed her pretty face into her dark tangle of pubic hair. As she looked down at Amean's bare, milk-white skin, standing in stark contrast to her own midnight-hued skin, L'tirashin became even more excited by the highly erotic sight.

The sudden lack of stimulation by her mistress's hands made Amean whimper a bit for her own loss but she knew what her role in this coupling was: the dutiful slave. As she got down on her knees, Amean found her face abruptly shoved into L'tirashin's hairy mound. The heady and musky scent wafting up from her mistress's wet pussy was almost as intoxicating as fey wine would have been. For a few moments, Amean just rubbed her small, delicate nose against L'tirashin's bush, letting the thick hairs tickle her nostrils. When her mistress pushed her hips forward to meet her, Amean stuck out her tongue and rubbed it against the very top of L'tirashin's wet pussy lips and clit.

By the Dark Ones! the demoness gasped in her thoughts. This elf is indeed a dancer! The way her tongue moves---incredible!

Amean reached up and cupped the Temptress's tits and squeezed them as her tongue continued to massage L'tirashin's labia. It was a different kind of sensation, though a very pleasant and exciting one, for Amean to be holding a pair of breasts which the size of hers and Simvanna's put together. And how L'tirashin's nipples protruded half as long as Amean's little finger as they hardened was an even bigger thrill.

After a few minutes of rolling and pinching L'tirashin's big nipples between her fingers and even tugging with a gentle firmness on her piercings, Amean began drawing her hands down her mistress's body. Down her ribs, across her washboard-like stomach, over her hips, and around to L'tirashin's tight, round ass. It was not until her hands encountered the base of the Temptress's firm, strong tail that Amean was one again reminded of L'tirashin's otherworldly origins.

How strange, the elven vassal thought as she continued feasting on the thick-as-honey nectar of her captor's pussy, that someone so different from me could be so much like me. On that thought, Amean's face broke into a wide, mischievous smile, even though L'tirashin could not see it. As stealthily as possible, Amean slipped a hand up to her mouth and gave her index finger a thorough and generous coating of their mingled juices. Sure of its wetness, Amean carefully positioned her hand behind her mistress's ass, ready to give her some of what she herself enjoyed.

When Amean pushed her liberally wetted finger into L'tirashin's unsuspecting anus, the demoness let out an audible gasp of surprise. Once again, L'tirashin was taken pleasantly aback by her slave's nigh-expert pleasuring techniques. But, this time, it was the mistress who was smiling. Her new sex slave was not alone in being able to surprise a lover.

Amean's tongue sloshed around in her mistress's freely flowing pussy, delivering tasty mouthfuls of delectable cunt juice to her hungry oral orifice. At the same time, she was also slowly working her finger deeper and deeper into L'tirashin's asshole. Already Amean had managed to get her digit in as far as the second knuckle and was not about to stop until her finger was probing deep within the Temptress's ass.

It was while Amean was licking and sucking on her pussy that L'tirashin decided to give her sexually servile servant a surprise of her own. With the same adroitness exhibited by Amean, the Temptress silently slipped her agile tail between the elf's shapely legs. Because of her centuries of libidinous experience, L'tirashin knew almost instinctively how and where to position her extra appendage for the intrusion she wished to achieve. As the Night One felt the heat within her rising even higher, heralding the approach of what felt like especially intense climax, L'tirashin flicked the tip of her tail through Amean's wet slit and against her stiff clit.

Amean's response was as immediate as it was predictable. Her surprise caused her to shove the remainder of her exposed finger into L'tirashin's asshole and her teeth to bite her mistress's clit. Amean was suddenly fearful of the violent reaction she fully expected from L'tirashin for her clumsiness---but it never came.

Instead, L'tirashin was in a state of pure bliss. Perhaps she would add this one to her already considerable harem of love slaves. Amean was demonstrating that she had quite a bit of sexual talent and experience to her credit and it seemed like such a waste to let it remain unappreciated and enjoyed. To the demoness it felt as if too many of her other "prisoners of love" had since become wearisome and boring to the lascivious ruler of Demnos.

Yes, the Temptress decided, as a wicked gleam came to her glowing yellow eyes. It's been far too long since my harem has been as invigorating and exciting as it was before. Perhaps now is precisely when things should change. And this one will make a good start on that change.

Another hot rush of heat raced through L'tirashin's pussy, serving to remind her of just how close she was to cumming. L'tirashin let herself fall back onto her throne just as she felt her trembling legs threaten to give way. Reflexively, her wings spread wide behind her and gently cushioned her fall, partially obscuring the back of the horrific chair from view. Not for a single moment did the demoness let her grip on Amean relax. As she half-sat and half-fell, she dragged her favorite new sex toy along with her, keeping her slave's head locked against her cunt.

Being pulled forward by her mistress, Amean's own vaginal flower opened even further and was now fully exposed to the penetration being perpetrated by L'tirashin's tail. Right when Amean's knees touched the floor in front of the throne, she felt her pussy lips being spread wide by the blunt end of her mistress's tail. The sensation of that initial moment caused Amean's senses to swim wildly and her eyes rolled up in their sockets.

While the young elf had had a fair share of lovers in her life, none of them had ever thrilled her the way she was experiencing at that moment. Unlike a normal cock, the Night One's tail could flex up and down, left and right, touching her in places never before reached by any other. It looked and felt every bit like a huge cock, buried as deep inside her as any man had ever been---and was trying to push its way even deeper, past her cervix and into her womb. Amean's pussy was beginning to spasm non-stop as many small orgasms started to tear through her lithe body, leading up to what she was hoping to be a gut-wrenching climax she longed for.

L'tirashin was feeling rather randy as Amean tongued her cunt but she also felt as if something was. . .missing. . .in the sex play going on. A simple gaze at the ceiling far above was all it took for the demoness to realize what that certain something was: she had nothing to occupy her own mouth and tongue. L'tirashin smiled wickedly.

"You!" she said, pointing at Simvanna. "Come here!"

From habit, Simvanna responded to the summons before she was even aware she was doing so. There was no doubt in the elf's mind as to why she was being called over: the Night One wanted her to join in on the goings-on. While this distressed Simvanna, refusing to join them would only invite the Temptress's wrath. Silently, she padded over to the throne.

L'tirashin was well aware of Simvanna's feelings about a great many things other than just the hatred she had for the demoness. But the same could be said about all her slaves; whether they were part of the household staff, common laborers, or workers in the mines, various magic items throughout the demoness's stronghold kept her well informed of nearly everything, without being obvious or intrusive. It did surprise L'tirashin that the normally humiliating experience of the "cleansing bath" had had little effect in breaking Simvanna's spirit as did how the elf had managed to conceal that fact so well and for so long. But sooner or later, something would break. Either Simvanna's strong will would ultimately wear away or the still prideful slave would openly defy her mistress. If it were the latter, L'tirashin knew she would have no other recourse than to. . .

But such thoughts were for later. Right then, it was L'tirashin's wanton desires that needed to be satisfied, even if only for the moment.

As her sister had done, Simvanna hurriedly approached L'tirashin's throne, her eyes steadily locked on the floor. She hesitated at the bottom of the steps for a moment before ascending. In the span of a few dozen fear-inspired heartbeats, Simvanna was at the top and standing beside the hideous chair, trying not to look the Night One in the eyes without her leave.

At the moment, L'tirashin was hardly concerned by such trivial formalities. What she wanted was to taste the sweet juices of another woman.

"Strip," L'tirashin commanded. "Straddle my throne then lower yourself onto my face. I want to tongue your pussy. Now!"

The Tempress's emphatic command made Simvanna move instantly. With haste, the elven slave got naked then placed a hand then her left foot on the bone-crafted throne and held her breath. When nothing happened, she pulled herself up, but being mindful not to step on her mistress's wings. Simvanna placed a foot on both of the throne's arms and steadied herself for a moment before starting to lower herself toward L'tirashin's waiting mouth. Simvanna hesitated when she came face to "face" with the skull mounted at the apex on the back of the throne as well as those that comprised the wall behind. A shiver raced up Simvanna's back. She was already much closer than she ever had intended on getting to the gruesome seat.

And what she (they) was doing! It seemed blasphemous to be having sex atop of what was more or less a mass grave. The mere thought twisted the knots in her stomach tighter. Simvanna had also opted to face away from her sister, as she was still having a difficult time with the image of Amean's delicate flower being pummeled almost mercilessly. But, Simvanna did have to admit that it looked every bit as exciting as it was disturbing.

L'tirashin had very little patience for waiting. The demoness reached up, grabbed hold of her slave's thighs and pulled her down onto her eager mouth. As her tongue swiped through Simvanna's moistening slot for the first time, L'tirashin was suddenly in a forgiving mood and decided it had been well worth the momentary delay. As she knew they would, the elf's juices had a delicate sweetness about them. It had been the dark sovereign's experience that the love juices from dwarves, orks, and humans frequently had either a tart or sour taste to them, but almost never an elf. L'tirashin considered that it was perhaps because of their reverence for, and close connection to, nature that could account for this phenomenon. Ultimately, she opted to just enjoy it as much and as often as she could, instead of needlessly pondering the matter.

On Tiaceor, humans were the inventive lovers, dwarves had delightful stamina, an ork could throw a mean fuck into a girl at the drop of a dagger, and elves could protract a single sexual encounter into lasting almost a full day. L'tirashin enjoyed them all. She even had a few unique love slaves for variety: a male and female centaur; a big, bull minotaur; and a beguiled, young sapphire blue dragon---for those times when she felt like being really, really naughty---were just some of those who rounded out her extensive harem quite nicely.

L'tirashin diddled her tongue rapidly against Simvanna's clit, eliciting a moan of delight from her. The Night One's own sounds of pleasure were muffled by her mouth being busy with Simvanna's pussy---as were Amean's with her mistress's.

Amean had since switched tactics and was licking both L'tirashin's cunt and anus; first one then the other then across them both, making the Temptress gyrate, wriggle, and grind her pelvis against her tongue. For her part, Amean was completely enjoying the fuck her mistress's tail was giving her slick pussy. In and out it plunged, faster and faster with each stroke and feeling as if it was gaining the smallest fraction of an inch every time it invaded her inner regions.

Simvanna could hardly help what she was feeling as the amazing sensations being provided by L'tirashin's highly skilled mouth and tongue flooded her senses, taking Simvanna to ever-higher plateaus of ecstasy. The elf cupped her small tits, first massaging them then pinching her nipples until they were taut and pink and pointed straight out like tiny lances.

L'tirashin's long, dark crimson lingua delved deep into Simvanna's cleft, piercing her like a wet, flexible penis. From the way her orally captivated slave was beginning to ride her mouth, she knew it would only be a short time before she would be drinking down her sweet juices. The Temptress smiled as her tongue continued to dart and swirl in and out of Simvanna's cunt. As she had done with Amean, L'tirashin had a pleasant little surprise in store for Simvanna. L'tirashin's little oral surprise always managed to take the breath away from her female lovers---as well as making them squirt all over her face.

Without a word, L'tirashin split her tongue in two as she held it just beyond Simvanna's succulent and slightly open pussy. As she plunged her now forked tongue forward, one of the halves slipped back into Simvanna's waiting snatch while the other started burrowing its way into her unsuspecting asshole.

Simvanna gasped loudly when the dual sensation crashed over her like a wave, making her raise up a tiny bit in surprise. Her eyes rolled up in their sockets as she let out a loud moan of delight. Never before had she experienced such a thrill. While her fully justified fear of the Temptress had hardly diminished, Simvanna could scarcely deny the truth that her mistress knew how to lick pussy.

Amean was working her own tongue and finger very busily. At the same time, she was also thrusting her hips back harder and harder as L'tirashin's tail slid in and out. In her mind, only two things mattered: getting off on the Night One's wonderful tail and supplying a memorable climax for her mistress.

The trio's simultaneous cumming jolted through their bodies like a bolt of sexual lightning and their screams of ecstasy sounded like a pack of wolves baying at the moons. 

Amean's cunt juices were streaming down her thighs and the Temptress's tail as the elf's pussy spasmed and grabbed at the welcome intruder. As L'tirashin came, she filled Amean's mouth so full of her effusion of sex that it started dribbling from the elf's dainty chin as she tried valiantly to keep up with the flow. Simvanna was actually sitting on L'tirashin's face when the sweltering heat of her orgasm hit her like a wizard's fireball. Although she was almost suffocating L'tirashin, Simvanna was determined to force her mistress's forked tongue as deep inside her as she could, riding it as if it were a wriggling, double-headed cock.

For a long while, the sexually replete trio just stayed where they were, quietly enjoying the afterglow between them. Previously fast-moving hands---and other things---now just caressed slowly and gently each other as light kisses were pressed against sex-flushed skin. As was usual, the demoness was the first to disengage herself from her lovers' embrace.

"Mmmmm," the demoness purred, as her slaves offered their hands and helped her stand. "That was lovely."

"Thank you, mistress," the sisters said in unison.

"For providing me with such excellent sport, you may have the rest of the day to yourselves. But. . ." L'tirashin concluded with a smile of wicked delight. Seeing she held the rapt attention of her vassals, she went on. "Tonight, I desire you to come to me again, in my chambers, where we will explore as-of-yet untried avenues of pleasure."

"As you command, my mistress," Amean said with a genuine and expectant smile. Despite their brutal introduction to slavery and being stripped of everything (a divestment that went beyond her most horrific nightmares), perhaps many of the rumors Amean had heard about her mistress were either exaggerations or outright lies. To the elf's mind, she could not see how someone who was supposed to be so wholly evil could understand the intricacies and nuances of love making as fully as the Night One. While the Temptress demanded absolute loyalty from all she commanded and ruled, it was no less than was her due. Besides, there had to be some kind of order to obey and it was beginning to make less and less difference to Amean that it was the demoness who ruled.




The Temptress Ch. 01



Despite of Amean's enthusiasm, it was Simvanna's silence that attracted L'tirashin's notice. "What seems to be the matter, my slave?" L'tirashin asked as she placed her hands on Simvanna's hips and lightly touched the elf's bald pate with her forehead. Since L'tirashin stood as tall as a typical human male, this made her almost a full head taller than Simvanna. But the demoness may as well have been standing as tall as a tree before the elf. Simvanna could feel her fear beginning to re-assert itself and it was only because of her unbroken will that she was able to remain standing in the demoness' presence.

A silent threat of death always hovered around L'tirashin like an invisible shroud. And even more so when she had taken a "special interest" in someone; much like the way she had with Simvanna.

"Weren't you enjoying yourself just now, my sweet? Hmmmm?" L'tirashin delighted in watching the panic build in her slave's eyes. She knew Simvanna reviled her very presence on this world and would gladly see the demoness destroyed if she could. Breaking the spirit of this one will be quite an excellent challenge, L'tirashin mused, and one I look forward to.

The strong-willed elf felt herself drawing inexorably closer to taking flight from the demoness but Simvanna knew she would never get very far. Even if L'tirashin let her run, she would probably be stopped in her tracks by the first magical or mundane trap she came encountered. Simvanna's only two choices then would be either recapture or death. There was also the question of what would happen to Amean; the Temptress may choose to vent her rage on her sister, something the prideful elf would never forgive herself for allowing to happen. No, the near to despairing Simvanna thought, It would be wiser to remain. . .for now.

Just as Simvanna opened her mouth a little to respond, L'tirashin lifted Simvanna's chin and forced a deep kiss on the flustered slave. As their tongues caressed each other, the demoness could feel her vassal tense up for the briefest moment before compelling herself to relax and "enjoy" the embrace. After a long, lingering kiss, L'tirashin released her.

"There," the Temptress said with a satisfied smile. "Perhaps that will help you to make up your mind to join your sister and I later." With the same abruptness as a change in the wind, so too did L'tirashin's voice and manner. "Now, go!" she commanded the pair in an icy tone, as she dismissed them with a grandiose flourish of her hand. "I have much more matters of far greater importance to attend to than the likes of you."

As the sisters bent to gather their cast-off dresses and take leave of their mistress, a gnarled, man-sized staff floated down from somewhere near the throne room's dark and unlit ceiling and drifted silently into the L'tirashin's raised hand. In the blink of an eye, the demoness's nudity was at least partially concealed by a blood red camisole that had been cut-off just below L'tirashin's breasts. A matching loincloth did its best to conceal the Night One's hairy bush but without much success. As Amean and Simvanna quickly made their way down the dais stairs and out of the chamber, L'tirashin addressed her remaining slaves.

"The rest of you are dismissed as well. You may return to finish up your chores, as well as the ones of those two, after evening fast." Without uttering a word, the Night One's slaves obeyed and vacated the room.

L'tirashin again assumed her throne but waited a long while before doing anything other than that, lest a prying eye or ear glean even the tiniest tidbit of knowledge which would be best left unknown---at least for the time being.

While she sat, L'tirashin took some time for contemplation. Her plans to bring this magic-rich world to heel under the control of her brethren were moving ahead faster than she had dared dream. Within a century, Tiaceor would be ripe for the taking!

But then, why was she feeling less than elated? Even after all she had managed to accomplish on this world and back in the Everdark, why was she feeling so. . .alone? Like there was a permanent hole in her dark spirit that no amount of sex, power, or magic could ever seal.

She knew why. And that emptiness would always be there. It had been so long ago for her that whenever she thought about him, it more often seemed like it had been a memory stolen from someone else's life than one from her own. Millennia ago, L'tirashin had known the kind of true love that bards across the multiverse sang about. For the briefest moment, the Night One, demon ruler of Demnos, felt herself on the very edge of tears, something that had not happened since. . .

Enough!!! L'tirashin commanded herself. Remember: he betrayed you!!!

The Temptress straightened herself on her regal seat, regaining the composure she had almost lost. That life was ancient history on a world that no longer existed; a fact she herself had made true. All that mattered was. . .now! And the future and her place in it. It was time for her to review her plans and. . .strike!!

As she lifted her enchanted staff, it glowed with a deep blue aura of power, streaked with veins of scarlet. A moment later, all five of the audience chamber's thirty-foot high doors slammed shut with deafening bangs and a like number of arm-sized keys turned themselves in their equally huge locks. L'tirashin then waved her magicked stave at the huge windows to her right. Rock suddenly materialized and sealed the openings from which she had enjoyed her earlier view of Xyn. Once assured of her desired privacy, L'tirashin finally summoned what she knew demanded such secrecy.

"Noakcha eeina shaamshi!" the Temptress commanded in the language of magic. The effect was immediate and breathtaking: in the middle of the vast chamber a ghostly and lucent image of the world of Tiaceor appeared. Each nation was represented by a different color and that country's capitol was displayed as a blue-white star. Amid the brightly colored hues, only one nation, a whole continent was shown in black: Eleasheua. Demnos. L'tirashin studied the phantom planet as it hung in mid-air, turning slowly and silently on its axis.

Yes. Far more important things to do, indeed.



The Temptress Ch. 02



 Welcome back to my tale! I truly appreciate all the positive feed back I received about ChapterOne. My only wish is that more people would have left a comment about it, no matter how short or long it would have been. This chapter is more romantic than the first but still just as sexy and laden with sex. After reading this part, please take a moment and let me know what you thought of this chapter.

*

Shrraack! said the razor-edged axe as it split the upright piece of wood in twain. The force of the blow flung the rent pieces to either side of the stump where they landed on top of two ever-growing piles of similar fragments. A strong, sun-bronzed hand deftly pulled the elongated, oval-headed tool from the stump with ease while a second hand placed another section of cut tree on the stump. Once more the heavy blade descended in an arc and made two from one.

The brawny wood cutter paused in his work, leaning the implement against his big, muscular leg as he wiped his sweaty brow. Feeling thirst scratching at his throat, the burly man retrieved a water skin lying atop a neatly stacked cord of wood. As the jiggling bag was up-ended, a long stream of cool, clear water jetted from the bag's wooden spout and into the man's open mouth, providing him with some refreshment in the light of the waning day. To describe Strom Caebl as a "big man" was a lot like saying Tiaceor's twin suns, Sero and Ryhon, were a bit hot. At just over seven feet tall, Strom always stood, literally, head and shoulders above most everyone. His build was equally impressive and massive; in fact, Flontu's resident tailor had to use a tailor's dummy cobbled together from an empty beer barrel and four discarded wine casks just to get the fit right when he made clothes for his biggest patron.

However, at the moment, Strom was clad only in a pair of patched and well-worn brown breeches and soft deerskin boots. His richly tanned body bore very little hair except for the profuse sandy blonde patch in the middle of his chest. Strom also sported a neatly trimmed moustache and beard both of which were cut almost as short as that on his head. Despite the dozen or so scars he had received over the course of his adventuring lifetime, he was still quite comely and charming as far as women were concerned. Strom's sparkling hazel eyes held a trace of sadness as he gazed intently across the waters of the Eternal Sea with his thoughts trailing not too far behind.

The view from his home, situated on top of the highest hill above the port city of Flontu, provided a breathtaking view for miles around and was the very reason Strom had selected it. No obstructions impaired his vigil over the relatively peaceful city and, if any trouble was heading toward Flontu, he would have plenty of time to ride down and warn the city's defenders.

Of course, the sunsets were nice too.

The western sky was ablaze with the bright fiery hues of orange, pink and red as Tiaceor's two suns slowly dipped behind the horizon. To the south, Strom noticed an Okashan skyrunner and its gilded sails come into view. The waning sunlight reflected off the sails like giant mirrors and intensified their golden hue. As he watched, the vessel began to slow until its speed was no longer sufficient to keep it aloft over the waves of the sea and settle into the cool embrace of the outer reaches of Flontu's harbor.

 Probably returning from Aynstaf, mused Strom with a melancholy smile.

Aynstaf.

The thought of his distant homeland so far across the sea struck a chord of angst, if not guilt, in the large warrior. Had it really been more than half his lifetime since he had stowed away on another such Okashan merchant ship, in his quest to find adventure? As he exhaled, a longing sigh escaped him. After so long a time, and given that life in Aynstaf was not easy and wars happened on an almost monthly basis, Strom held out little hope of either of his parents still being alive. It had been just too long.

 And even if they were, he thought, What then? A tearful reunion?

While his departure from home twenty years before may have come as a bit of a shock, he doubted it had been unexpected. Strom knew his father at least would understand since he too had been an adventurer (as well as a soldier before that) until retiring to raise a family. But so would his mother---after a fashion. Even though his mother had been initially attracted by his father's size and good looks, there had been many times she herself would be listening too as Xalgo regaled their seven children with the oft-told stories of his adventures. But El'tin would usually use the preparation of the eveningfast meal to hide her eavesdropping.

Being the oldest, Strom had been the first to leave home. He sometimes wondered how his siblings had fared since his departure. What paths had their lives taken them on? Did they have any children? Were they happy? Were they even alive? The Anystaf warrior knew how he could learn the answers either of two ways: he could return to his homeland.

Or he could ask his wife, Dyanara, to use her magic to divine the answers.

Dyanara of the Blue Robe. Rune Mistress. Spellcaster. No matter what she was called, it all meant one thing: her talent was shaping the mystical forces of magic according to a set of unfathomable rules in ways that always amazed him. Strom Caebl loved his wife more than anyone or anything else in the world but he could never understand how she did what she did. Nor did he care to know.

On that thought, Strom turned and focused his eyes and his attention on the three joined domes that made up the couple's modest home and the huge oak tree around which it had been built. It was to the the tree's uppermost reaches where his gaze went as a look of concern added a few more wrinkles to the corners of his eyes.

 She's been up there for a long time, Strom brooded silently. I hope nothing's gone wrong. He considered going up to check on his wife but did not want to interfere at what could be a critical time in whatever she was doing. During the two moons since they had been home, Dyanara often seemed preoccupied or overly concerned about something but never said what was on her mind whenever he asked. But Strom's warrior's instincts were rarely wrong and they were telling him that there was indeed. . .something. . .going on.

"Blasted magic!" he grumbled as his axe sped downward and split another log.

Strom Caebl was a warrior born and raised. He understood weapons and armor, combat and tactics, the differences between laying siege to a city and a keep, where and when to fight an enemy as well as not. Strom trusted those things he could either see, feel or touch, like the axe in his hands.

But magic was not any of those things.

Of course, this was not to say he never relied, or called upon, any of the abilities or powers of one or more of its practitioners, but it was just not one of Strom's favorite things to do. Oddly enough, it was of Strom's feelings about magic that caused people to wonder---even among his closest friends---as to what kind of spell Dyanara had cast on the mighty warrior for him to want to take her as his wife. "If you only knew," Strom would always say then pull Dyanara close. "If you only knew."

With there being little else he could do, Strom continued chopping wood.

Dyanara dipped her slim brown hand into one of the shallow bowls sitting beside her as she sat on the floor outside of the inscribed casting circle and removed seven dried takalla leaves. As she softly chanted part of the spell's complex incantation, she crumbled the petioles in her hand then carefully sprinkled the tiny pieces in an arc connecting two piles of other herbs within the periphery. As she did so, a tiny tingle of power ran through Dyanara's fingers.

 Hmmmm, she smiled inwardly, though being careful not to break her concentration lest the spell need to be cast again. A very promising sign.

Dyanara untied the top string holding her mage robe closed.

Then the next one.

And the next.

With great care, the Mistress of the Blue Runes slipped out of her cerulean robe and ritualistically folded it before setting it aside. It had only been two cycles of the moon since the Runemasters of the Council Supreme Sorcere' had bestowed on Dyanara her new rank and robe. The lengthy, pageant-like presentation ceremony immediately followed the equally long, ritualistic return of her emerald colored robe. The smooth, silky fabric of the new garment felt cool to her touch and still smelled of buttercups. Her advancement had been some time in coming but the runemistress knew it was an honor she had had to earn and not one that would just be given her.

 Five years, Dyanara thought as she gazed appreciatively, almost lovingly, at her highly sought after mark of status and power. Five long years. I just hope to one day achieve the rank of white robe just as did my mentor, Master Setag.

The leaves all around Dyanara's treetop hideaway rustled and the luxuriant curls of her rich, dark brown hair were lightly lifted as a gentle breeze wafted through. Like the many others who preceded her, as well numerous contemporaries, Dyanara's magecraft workshop was hidden in plain sight. While the specifics of each atelier varied as much as the spellcasters who owned them, their very existence depended on the ingenuity and imagination of their makers. Dyanara possessed a love for big, tall, powerful trees so, when she saw the mighty oak standing by itself atop the highest hill overlooking Flontu, she immediately laid claim to it. Fortunately for her, Dyanara did not have to work too hard to convince her husband to give in to her wishes and leave the tree alone.

Through some magical coaxing and manipulating of the great oak's branches, a large spherical chamber opened up, just above the crux of the tree's trunk. Using her magic to twist the tree's branches this way and that, she made them into natural supports for smaller areas of flooring. As a crowning acheivement, she had created a spell specifically designed to protect her new workspace from the harshest conditions of weather while still allowing the more pleasant ones complete access. But an unexpected side-effect of Dyanara's transformation magic appeared at the beginning of the first Whitime after their arrival in Flontu: the leaves on the runemistress's tree were just as verdant and alive as they had been when she had cast her spell at mid-Highsun.

"So much for being inconspicuous," Dyanara said as the snow fell that first year.

As she knelt naked on the floor in front of her ritual casting circle, Dyanara picked up another of the small bowls and dipped her middle finger into the thin, blue, paste-like pigment it contained. She made sure she had a generous enough daub on her digit before she touched it to her forehead. Slowly, she drew a straight and steady line down across her brow, followed the curve of her nose, over the twin humps of her full lips, past her chin and down her neck. Dyanara gathered more of the colored ungent before she continued. Almost from instinct, her finger went back to the same spot where the narrow blue line had temporarily ended. On she drew. Down between her apple-sized breasts and across the upper half of her firm, flat stomach. Upon reaching her navel, Dyanara drew a circle around the indentation. Gathering twice as much of the pigment, she then traced a line down to her vagina, taking great care as to mark the skin underneath her thick patch of pubic hair. A tiny tingle raced through her body as her finger lightly touched her nigh ruby red clit. For a moment, Dyanara held her breath, forcing herself to breath through the very pleasant, though inadvertant sensation she had elicited. Not just yet, she told herself.

The runemistress followed a similar method as she drew circles around her large aureoles before connecting them to the ring around her navel. Two more lines followed, symbolically linking Dyanara's palms to the rest. Lastly, she painted her eyes.

Finished with the preparations, the runemistress set the bowl of pigment back in its place. She closed her eyes and began intoning the rest of the spell's words of power. Upon the utterance of the final arcane syllable, the turquoise stripes adorning Dyanara's body suddenly pulsed with energy, making her rich, brown skin appear even darker. Again she spoke the final part of the spell. Once more the lines flared, but brighter. Over and over, faster and faster Dyanara chanted the spell's finale'. Brighter and brighter the lines glowed. Just as Dyanara touched her fingertips together just ahead of her navel, forming a small point, she felt a familiar warm tingling sensation stir in her crotch, growing more and more intense each time she repeated the spell's words.

 Not quite there, read her thoughts as she silently gauged the feeling.

Using only her feet, Dyanara positioned a foot-long dowl just behind and below her ass. The wooden faux penis had been rounded-off, sanded smooth, heavily laquered and polished to a shiny finish and mounted on a wide flat base. While Dyanara had several of these "magic wands", as she jokingly called them, this one happened to be her favorite since its dimensions were only a little bit smaller than Strom. Its coolness surprised her a little when it brushed lightly against her outer labia.

The Runemistress's eyelids were fluttering now as the words just poured from her mouth. What had begun as a persistant itch had blossomed into a longing ache begging for relief. Dyanara pressed her fingertips together even harder to combat the urge to plunge them into her womanhood and bring herself to climax. But, just as she thought she could deny herself no longer, she felt the spell's full power rush through her being.

 NOW! her thoughts screamed as she thrust her hips down and back, fully impaling herself on the wooden phallus. The slick inner lips of Dyanara's vagina allowed the dildo easy passage deep into her until she was almost sitting flat against the base. As usual, the depth of the penetration made her gasp in surprise and her eyes flew open wide. But her brown irises saw nothing but a myriad of colors as her first orgasm blotted out the world around her. In a brief flash of light, and accompanied by a soft whooof, the carefully laid out pattern of herbs and alchemical materials literally went up in a puff of smoke. The thin cloud of bluish-gray smoke swirled slowly around within but never crossed the circle's protective border. The lines Dyanara had painted on herself vanished as well.

Dyanara brought her hips up slowly until the carved, wooden cock was being held only by her pussy's outer lips. Then, with the same deliberate slowness, she lowered her hips until her "wand" was in her to its depth. As she continued this gentle rhythm, images began forming in the smoke, images only Dyanara's eyes could see. To anyone else, the smoke would have appeared to be nothing but a confusing dance of implied and imagined ghostly shapes. Even those trained in the Art as Dyanara was would have had difficulty studying any of the images within for more than the blink of an eye. As one shape would appear and almost make sense, it would become obscure and shift into something else. Not a second passed without the smoke revealing---then concealing---one after another image. However, Dyanara's eyes were almost expert at interpreting such things.

All in all the Mistress of the Blue Runes concidered herself fortunate. While many who wished to study the art of magery for the accompanying power, only a few were prepared for the physical rigors they would have to endure to learn even the simplest of spells. Warriors trained hard to make their bodies strong and tough and turn them into leathal weapons but the practitioners of magic trained equally hard to learn the secrets of their physical form, enabling them to harness the nearly immeasurable power contained within.

It had been discovered long ago that sexual arousal and magic were connected though how and why were still unknown. What researchers did learn down through the years was that the seemingly timeless state of mind, experienced at the time of climax, was what increased a mage's ability to interact with the metaphysical plane, thereby increasing the potentcy and effectiveness of their spells. Of course, this did not mean sex, in one form or another, had to be a part of the casting of every spell, just the powerful ones.

To some, this sounded like wonderful news.

But, to those with less than open minds, it showed just how corrupt magic was.

Attitudes soon changed when some of the higher-ranking and greatly respected clergy members of the more well-known and popular faiths started reporting similar and equally remarkable results as well as receiving their gods' blessings to continue what they had begun.

To be taught the Art of magery quickly became more than just learning about how to create a desired magical effect or spending countless hours studying spells from dusty old tomes; it evolved into a journey of self-discovery and awareness. A century following the astounding revelation connecting magic and sex, it was common practice for masters to have their apprentice hopefuls "endure" as much as two years studying the numerous aspects of sex and sexual technique---even before being allowed to open and study their first spellbook. Oddly, it was typically toward the middle or end of this period when most withdrawls would take place. The most oft cited reason for departure by the initiates was their inability to maintain such a sexually active pace for so long.

But it was in that area that Dyanara truly excelled, even going so far as being able to make herself climax merely by concentrating hard enough. Dyanara's penchant for these intimate lessons made her a very popular study partner with the male and female initiates during the years she spent at the Ars Arcana Colligium on the island of Steeshata.

Or, as almost all non-spellcasters called it: the Magic User's Island.

At the moment, though, Dyanara's mind was as far from her memories of that time and place as she was from it physically. Her mind was on focused on making sense of the constantly shifting shapes being formed by the smoke within the circle. And what she saw brought a frown to her attractive face.

A fortified keep, high atop a mountain billowed into. . .

a winged woman with glowing yellow eyes. . .

then a great circle of power that opened up into. . .

a dark, spinning shaft leading down and down and down. . .

then countless armored bodies, swaying back and forth. . .

followed by. . .followed by. . .

As Dyanara moved forward and back, the wooden cock slid easily and freely in and out of her. But when her glassy eyes beheld a final image revealed by the smoke, she suddenly jumped to her feet. The sex-coated, handcrafted penis slipped from her vagina and clattered noisily on the floor. In moments, the smoke was gone.

And the spell was broken.

Dyanara's breathing came hard and fast, as much a result from her sexual activities as it was from what she had seen. But her trembling hands were clearly the result of the latter. The runemistress retreived a clean towel from the small table behind her and rubbed the rough cloth between her legs and across her inner thighs, mopping up the juices that had dribbled down them during the spell. All the while, her mind kept on replaying the last few moments of the enchantment, over and over.

When she closed her eyes, Dyanara could see what had scared her with such great clarity it frightened her all the more: a face. A terrifying, monsterous, horrible face rising up from behind the swaying(?) bodies, like the coming dawn of a day of such unspeakable evil that words failed. Beyond the horrific visual, it was what Dyanara had "heard" in her mind that truly sent a chill through her soul:




The Temptress Ch. 02



"Come to me, my servant. Come! Your master commands you!"

It was if it, whatever it was, could see through the magic of her spell and set its dreadful gaze right on her! Dyanara shook her head, hoping the action would somehow shake things into making something resembling order or sense. I did see it, didn't I? she asked herself as if still only half believing what she had seen. The hair on the back of her neck rose with the goosebumps and a chill ran down her spine as the face again flashed through her mind. The visage had been of a large humaoid face with a broad nose, bony ridges instead of eyebrows, two black, deep-set eyes with glowing red points for centers, two pointed ears far back along its skull and sticking up through the long, disheveled, wet-looking hair atop its head and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, punctuated by two sets of fangs that were at least as long as Dyanara's fingers. And that. . .smile. . .if one could call it such, could be described as being the epitome of wickedness, looking ravenous and more than ready for a tasty meal of mortal flesh and spirit. Again Dyanara shook her head in an effort to rid herself of the unwanted image.

Finished with the towel, the runemistress exchanged it for her azure robe, slipping it on but leaving it open and untied. She started to move toward the steps leading down to the main level of her workshop when her foot found the discarded wooden phallus. She hesitated before retreiving it. Its surface was still somewhat sticky and wet with her juices but appeared no different than it had before the spell. Dyanara frowned at it. This one had seen her through numerous rituals over the years and had even become her favorite one to use. But now. . .

"Diai cho'l neeu," Dyanara commanded as she reluctantly tossed the wooden cock into a near-by empty brazier. Almost immediately, the wide, shallow saucer was filled with a magical blue-green fire that consumed the cast off object quickly and hungrily.

Silently, the Mistress of the Blue Runes followed the branches-made-steps down. Her spell had provided her with more, as well as some very startling, information that she had originally anticipated gaining. And it confirmed some dark suspicions she had been harboring since the day after the robe ceremonies. When she told the guildmasters, they gave her assurances that they would indeed look into the matter. . .but Dyanara had heard nothing more since then. In truth, she hardly expected the guild to tell her of anything they learned especially since she was only a runecaster of middling power while the least powerful members of the Guild Council were masters of far greater magic than hers. They were all members of the White Circle as well and, if there was a problem, who better to handle it than one of their own.

But if all this were true, then why did her spell yield such results? To Dyanara, the meaning could hardly be any clearer. While a bit more information was required and she needed to summon a few absent companions, she knew all too well the road they would all be venturing down and had done so many times prior. When Dyanara reached a particular though unmarked and unremarkable spot on the plank flooring just above the main crux of her tree, she stopped and just stood there for a moment.

"Nai'ron!" Dyanara commanded in elvish. In the blinking of an eye, the Mistress of the Blue Runes sank into the floor and disappeared from view. As the magic crafted into the tree's essence carried her down through the darkness, Dyanara smiled dolefully. She had cast her spell at his suggestion after telling him of her fears. Strom may not be magically gifted, she thought, but it's not too often his feeling of there something being amiss is wrong. 

A moment later, Dyanara emerged from her tree and into the hallway adjoining the seldom used dining room and the front parlor. The quiet atmosphere of their home allowed her to hear Strom still chopping firewood, just as he had been doing earlier. As ever, the silence brought with it a strong feeling of guilt to Dyanara for a reason she knew all too well:

She and Strom had no children.

From the very outset of their union, they tried repeatedly but never succeeded. The moons came and went without Dyanara being blessed by the unmistakable glow of being pregnant. She loved Strom's gentle patience and understanding smile each time she had to break the bad news to him but there was no hiding the misery clearly shining in his eyes. Once, out of desperation, Dyanara proclaimed she was going to give up her magery.

"Maybe that will do it!" she screamed as tears streamed down her face. "I'd trade it all for just one child!" Lifting her head to the sky, she cried out to the gods, "Do you hear me? Take my spells, my workshop, everything I know and have learned! Please! All I ask is to be blessed with just one child! Is that too much to ask?!" With no show her pleas had been listened to or even heard, Dyanara collapsed against her husband's strong chest. "Am I asking too much?" she asked Strom quietly.

"No, my love," he told her as his arms encircled her. "No, you're not. If the gods will it to be so, then we will have children. Until then, dearest, we will always have each other. And I take great comfort and joy in knowing that."

 Gods, but I love him, Dyanara thought as she headed for the front door. Sunlight of orange-gold still streamed through the western windows, making round patches on the wall oppositethe entrance to their home. The chill of her loneliness lessened a bit as she walked through the warm rays but she knew what she really needed. On that thought, she opened the door and stepped out into the day's waning light.

Strom had just brought his axe back above his head, poised for a downward swing, when he felt his wife gently place a hand on his muscular, sweat-glazed shoulder. Strom felt his tension melt away and a peaceful calm sweep through him. He smiled as he retired his impliment to the stump and turned to greet his ladylove. The first thing Strom noticed was that she had not tied her robe, leaving her exqusite figure open to his view. The mere sight of her beauty always stirred Strom's strong sexual desire for Dyanara. A torrid tryst inevitably followed nearly every such ritual casting but he never tired of them. If anything, he actually looked forward to them.

 Perhaps my feeling had been wrong, the warrior thought. But Strom's smile was short-lived when he saw the expression on Dyanara's face. Immediately he felt the small hairs on the back of his neck start to rise.

"What?" he asked, clearly concerned, as he held out his hands to her. "What is it?"

"Shhhh. . ." Dyanara shushed at him, softly touching her fingertips to his lips. "I'll tell you later. Right now, I need you."

Her strained voice left no doubt in Strom's mind about her need being genuine and immediate. The loving warrior wrapped one powerful arm around his wife's slim waist as he swept up her legs with the other. "As milady commands," he said as he kissed the top of her head. Strom carried the love of his life back into the house without another word. A mixture of smells tickled the big man's nose as Dyanara cuddled against him. Her hair still bore the scent of the perfumed candles she used during her ritual magic, her skin like the lilac extract she used in her bath soap and all of her smelled like sex. Strom would be the first one to admit to being baffled as to how sex and magic could possibly be linked but would not say a word against the pleasuring of one's self. Even being with Dyanara almost every waking moment, the warrior still enjoyed masterbating every so often, although he did enjoy it most when the two of them pleasured each other by pleasuring themselves.

Strom carried his woman up the two flights of stairs to their loft bedroom. The whole thrid floor of the tallest dome was nothing but one huge bedchamber, a quarter of which had been left open to the floors below. From seven stout chains beneath the dome's main support rafters hung a circular bed measuring more than twelve feet in diameter. A latticework of strong metal bands were stretched across the tubular frame. On that sturdy foundation rested an air matress made from leather specially tanned and treated so as to prevent the air from escaping. A minor enchantment placed on it by Dyanara kept the bed warm during Whitime and cool even during the hottest day of Highsun. Above the bed was a large, round, westerly-facing leaded glass skylight that acted as both a window and headboard.

Strom kissed Dyanara deeply as he turned down the thick comforter and gently set her on the cool sheets beneath, slipping her mage robe off of her at the same time. He took a moment and delicately wrapped the soft garment around the shoulders of the mannequin standing near the bed for that very purpose. As he turned back toward the bed, he pulled off one then his other boot. His pants and underdrawers followed right after.

Dyanara looked lovingly and a bit hungrily at Strom as he stood there naked. The sight of his rugged body never failed to excite her every time she saw it. She felt her pussy start to tingle and grow wet with anticipation when she saw Strom's half-erect manhood bobbing between his legs, already bigger than most other men's when fully aroused.

"Come here, lover," she said as she reached out a hand to him.

Strom fluidly slid his powerful body onto the bed next to his wife. "Yes?" he asked as he looked into her liquid brown eyes.

For a while, Dyanara put her cares aside. Then with a smile and a playful growl, she pounced on her lover and rolled him onto his back. "Now I have you exactly where I want you!" she declared as she straddled his stomach and held his arms above his head.

"Please (don't) hurt me, "Strom pleaded in a mock begging tone.

"Oh, I plan on it. I plan on it."

The runemistress bent down to kiss him but stopped an inch away from his face. She smiled again then playfully licked the tip of his nose. Strom smiled and chuckled to himself at his beloved's antics. Without warning, Dyanara lunged forward and locked her lips against the side of her husband's neck and started sucking at it noisily.

"Dya. .!" Strom laughed as he squirmed in her embrace. "You know that tickles!"

Lifting her head, she looked at him in the eye and asked, "And your point is. .?"

Strom sighed as his lover continued teasing him.

But Dyanara's torturing of her not-so-helpless warrior husband did not continue too long before her touch became more heated and passionate. Moving down his neck, she kissed her way across one shoulder then to the other before nuzzling into his thick patch of chest hair for a moment. From there, Dyanara's head drifted slowly further and further down his body, her lips kissed and her tongue licked every inch of the way. When she got close to his now rampant erection, Dyanara stopped the length of her nose away then blew on it ever so softly. A moan rumbled in Strom's throat. A beaming smile lit up her face just before she stuck out her tongue and lightly brushed it against his purple glans.

Despite his best efforts to control himself, Strom felt his legs tense up for a brief moment just as Dyanara's tongue touched him. Again he moaned. Strom started to reach a hand down toward his wife but Dyanara batted it away instinctively.

"Uh-uh," she scolded him with a smile. "You just lay there and be patient or you won't get any nicey-nices."

 That'd be the day, Strom thought as a wry curl twisted his lips.

Dyanara was finding it hard to control herself, too. After what seemed an eternity of teasing him, she finally took Strom into her mouth. As she nursed on his swollen prong, her tongue wrapped itself around his throbbing stalk like a small pink snake. It was only a matter of a few minutes before Dyanara's oral ministrations had Strom spurting his love seed into her mouth and down her throat. While he would usually come quickly the first time, Strom more than made up for it by making her climax a dozen or more times before he would get there for a second time. Dyanara was careful not to spill a drop of his tasty juices, relishing the musky flavor before swallowing. The runemistress continued to tongue Strom's cock as it softened and its size diminished just a little. Finally releasing Strom from her lips, she slowly crawled up his body like a predator hunting prey.

"My turn," she said as she straddled his shoulders, positionin her wet muff only a few inches from his face.

"By your command," Strom said as he wrapped his strong arms around her thighs and pulled her forward. He wasted no time tormenting her as she had him. Instead, Strom slipped his tongue straight into her inviting wetness. As he pushed deeper into her, his nose unintentionally wound up massaging her clit.

Dyanara gasped with pleasure. Eventhough it had only been a short time since her orgasm during her spell, her husband's touch always provided her a feeling of even greater excitement. Taking his hands away from her thighs, she pushed them up the curves of her body until they were holding her firm breasts. A couple of squeezes of her hands on his was all the coaxing Strom needed as he continued the intimate massage she desired. Dyanara leaned back, holding herself up with her hands on her husband's muscular legs. She ground her crotch against his mouth and chin, pushing herself to higher and higher levels of pleasure.

Strom was enjoying the almost forced cunnilingus just as much as Dyanara. His tongue slipped in and out of her womanly flower with all the speed and expert skill he could manage while swallowing her juices hungrily. During his early days of adventuring, Strom had enjoyed his share of lovers before settling down with Dyanara. True, two of his paramours had been spellcasters but neither of them could compare with his lady's mastery of love making.

Nor did any pussy taste as good as hers.

From the very first time he tasted her, he had become all but addicted. Her juices had a rich and almost musky sweet flavor Strom knew he knew but it always remained just beyond description. He sometimes wondered if her was the taste of her people since she came from a distant country half a world away. On the other hand, the warrior from Aynstaf also wondered if her taste had something to do with the fact that her magic was runecasting, whereas the other two had been enchantresses. Could it be that her kind of magic is the reason? Strom wondered to himself on several ocassions. Strom had asked her about it but, if she knew the why of it, Dyanara never said. Instead, she would just smile and wink at him or try to look just as puzzled about it as he.

Dyanara was so excited by what Strom was doing to her, she failed to realize just how tightly she was clutching the meat of his powerful thighs. Even as short as she kept her nails, she was still leaving red marks and getting close to breaking the skin every time he flicked his lingua across her stiff love bud. She was also panting and gasping as if she were running a long race. Dyanara's eyes kept rolling back in their sockets as she rose on each crest her lover's tongue propelled her.

Sensing the urgency of Dyanara's motions, Strom switched from kneeding her tits to pinching and rolling her dark brown nipples between his fingers. He knew this would make her orgasm come in short order and always intensified the sensation for her.

The effect was nearly instantaneous. As soon as Strom tweaked her nipples a few times, Dyanara started bucking and grinding herself wildly against his face, uttering oaths in several languages that would make even seasoned soldiers blush. But never did Strom let his grip lessen nor did he take his tongue away from its work. Instead, he just drank her juices as fast as he could.

As her climax subsided then ceased, Dyanara scooted back down a bit then bent over to kiss her man. Strom's lips were still slick with her sex but she hardly cared. Her own taste was not unfamiliar or unpleasant to her in the least. In fact, she liked it almost as much as her husband. Dyanara slipped her tongue into his mouth, pushing and probing against his. Gradually, she slid her legs down along the tops of her lover's until she was laying on top of him. The loving couple continued their deep and passionate kiss.

Both of them noticed Strom's cock was regaining its former hardness. Using only his groin muscles, the warrior made his member twitch against Dyanara's thighs. The pair smiled and laughed to each other.

"I want to be on top," the runemistress whispered before starting to push herself up into a sitting position.

"Yes," was all Strom said.

Dyanara hardly needed to see what she was doing to accomplish her goal. With a few short movements of her hips, the head of Strom's even harder penis was being kissed by her vaginal lips. For what felt like a short eternity, neither of them moved, wanting to make this first touch last as long as possible.

But it was Dyanara's need to be fully satisfied that made her take the initiative so, placing her hands on Strom's chest, she pushed herself up. As she slowly rose, her man's cock slid into her. Inch by wonderful inch it disappeared into her until she was straddling her husband's hips, fully impaled on his prong. Dyanara closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath, steadying herself for having taken so much inside her. No matter how often they made love, the one thing she still found amazing was the size of Strom's manhood. He was almost as long as her forearm though only about half as big around. But she decided that was a good thing since she doubted she could have accomodated him had he been any bigger, no matter how much either of them desired it.

Dyanara tilted her hips forward a little then back, slowly at first but increasing her momentum with each stroke. Bringing her feet up along side her allowed Dyanara to give herself the room she needed for longer thrusts. It was only a short time before the Mistress of the Blue Runes was panting again and letting out the ocassional soft "Oh!" of delight as she bounced more and more energetically.

For as long as he could stand it, Strom was content to just lay back on the bed and alternately play with his wife's nipples and clit. He loved to watch as Dyanara more or less masterbated on his cock. It thrilled him every time she would cum, to know she had been satisfied before he would concern himself about his own release. As Dyanara's movements became faster and more frantic, Strom soon found himself joining in her actions, pushing up to meet her downward stroke. Shortly, Dyanara's pussy was spasming and her juices were flowing. But Strom never slowed his pace. The runemistress came again. And again.

Soon, Strom's arms were the only things keeping Dyanara from falling over on top of him, as she lolled about like a human ragdoll. Pulling his wife to his chest, Strom rolled onto his side then on top of her supine body, moving slowly so as not to slip out of her. As soon as they were both in position, Strom started thrusting deeply into her wetness.

When Dyanara had recovered enough to be a helpful partner once more, they tried several other positions: facing each other on their sides, Strom kneeling with Dyanara's legs wrapped around his waist, and the "animal position", their favorite. They tested some variations of previously tried ways as well, going for every extra little tingle a change of angle might provide.

Eventually, Dyanara wound up back on top.

The stars were shining brightly through the skylight by the time Strom finally felt the tugging tightness in his scrotum, heralding the impending release of his seed. By this time, Dyanara's body was being wracked by intense tremors from orgasms following each other so closely that it felt like one extremely long cum to her. She was near to exhaustion but there was no way she was going to make Strom stop.




The Temptress Ch. 02



"You'd have made a fantastic wizard," she complimented him on a few ocassions, noting his exceptional sexual stamina.

"Perhaps," was all Strom would ever say as he accepted her praise. He had told her once that spellcasters of any kind were rare to the extreme in Aynstaf. And almost all of them had arrived there from somewhere else across Tiaceor. Often they were evil despots fleeing a bad situation, seeking what they believed to be would easier pickings in order to retake what they thought was theirs. Depsite their sometimes conciderable power, those of an evil mindset were dealt with swiftly when their true intentions and goals became known. Eventhough most of the same gods were worshipped across the world, only a select few of their clergy were ever granted the ability to cast spells, and even those were of limited power. To Strom, at least, it seemed ordained by the gods that Aynstaf was to belong to the warrior.

"Dya. . ," Strom rumbled in his throat as he sat up. "Uhhhh!. . . I'm going to. .!"

"Yes, my love!" she responded, holding him tight. "Do it now! Do it now!"

Just as Dyanara's words left her tongue, Strom pushed up into her one last time and held it there. A second later, the pair could feel him spurting gush after thick gush of semen into her womb. Dyanara crushed her lips against her husband's, kissing him with unbridled passion.

As they embraced, Strom slowly softened within his wife. Neither wanted to let go of the one they loved beyond measure, or the all to brief moment they were sharing. The runemistress sighed softly, feeling ever so content and fulfilled. Strom was feeling equally satisfied. To him, no matter how often they made love, each time seemed as wonderful as their first time had been but, at the same time, ever more. . .magical.

"You are everything to me, my true one," he whispered as he felt tears in his eyes.

"As you are to me," Dyanara whispered back as she hugged even tighter.

The warrior from Aynstaf leaned back, bringing she who was the fire of his soul with him. The coolness of the matress against his warm back felt good to Strom.Without saying a thing, he lovingly stroked Dyanara's hair. Even without knowing what her spell had revealed to her, Strom could well guess that the road would be beckoning them to follow. The next few days would be a flurry of activites in preparation for their departure. Equipment had to be packed, their house sealed and warded against "unwanted guests": the usual routine. He truly had no care for where they were bound just so long as they were together.

Over time, following their union, Dyanara related to Strom the story of how she had come to be so far from her homeland. She told him of how she and her father, mother and older sister had been the only survivors from a Shaalan merchant ship that had crashed while enroute to a port city in Vor. Lost in the vast and wild forests, her older sister and mother were the first lives claimed during their trek to find civilization. Her father lived long enough to see Dyanara into the care of a kindly runemaster traveling south to Steeshata who agreed to take the young girl on as his apprentice. Long before reaching their destination, Dyanara was the last of her family.

"I'll be casting a few more spells on the morrow," Dyanara told him, as if sensing his thoughts. "But I'll need you there as well. As soon as I find our friends, we'll decide on where to meet up with them. At that time, I'll let all of you know what the divination spell revealed to me and what I told the White Circle."

"Whatever you think best, dearest one," Strom whispered. "Where to this time?"

Dyanara hesitated for a few breaths before responding.

"Xyn, in Demnos." The mere mention of that fell city's name and its parent nation made Dyanara's stomach turn yet, at the same time, seethe with an anger boardering on hatred. It had been almost sixty years since the once proud nation of Calimaar underwent a transformation and became Demnos and not quite forty years since the entire continent of Eleasheua had been enveloped by a darkenss that was threatening the whole world. Demnos was now a place where all manner of things dark and dangerous could find a refuge, where they could bide their time as they plotted their next move, as well as recruit allies to help them with their goals. The change was both so gradual, and yet so swift, that virtually no one fled as one might from a burning building. Instead, almost all of Eleasheua's population was absorbed by the change.

But word still escaped as to what things were like afterward.

Slavery, a horrible institution that had been abolished the world over five hundred years before, had been re-instated. Those less than satisfied with the change were reported to have "disappeared". Whole villages and towns were seen deserted, the residents taken to unspecified locations.

Most disturbing of all were the rumors regarding the ruler of Demnos.

Reports were often heard about how an otherworldly creature had manipulated and murdered her way to the throne of Calimaar. No word was ever mentioned as from where this mysterious being had come from just that "she" possessed incredible powers and magical skills. Many names had been given this conquorer but one name was used more often than any of the others:

The Temptress.

If there were any truth at all behind the calumnies, and if the results of Dyanara's spell were even partly reliable, then the runemistress could understand the reason for the White Circle's silence in regard to what she confided to them. But it was her overwhelming compulsion to do something, to act, that had brought her and her husband to this point. Their lives as adventurers often put them in life-and-death situations but this path seemed especially foreboding and perilous. They could still turn away, letting others face whatever they and their friends chose not to, but she doubted any of them would.

Dyanara, Mistress of the Blue Runes, snuggled closer to her husband. His loving embrace made her feel safe and as if nothing could harm her.

 If only that were true, she thought as she drifted into slumber. If only. . .

*

 Just to let everyone know, Chapter Three might take me a little longer to edit and get posted because of some re-writing I need to do and the same with Chapter Four. But all may rest assured that just as soon as each of those chapters are ready, I will be submitting them for your reading pleasure.

 ---Ltirashin 



The Temptress Ch. 03



Hail and well met! I must apologize for having taken so long about getting Chapter Three posted for everyone's reading pleasure. I had to do a MAJOR rework on it and nearly had to write it completely over again since the file on my PC got corrupted and I could not find the manuscript. I really do appreciate all the votes and comments regarding my other works and hope you good readers continue to show your support by taking a moment to vote and leave a short comment about what you thought. ALL of the authors at Literotica like to hear from their readers. It's your comments that keep our fires burning to write more and try our hardest to tell better and better stories.

Thanks again.

*

The carved wooden sign above the tavern door proclaimed the establishment as being the Silent Lady. The painted, double-sided relief of a headless woman offered the original owner's opinion about the only way silence could be expected from a woman. But on this night (or most any other night, for that matter) the bar was far from being quiet. Janda's largest and most frequented tavern was quite the nightspot for many of the city's residents as well as those travelers who knew of the Silent Lady's reputation for being a "must see". The building itself was dome-shaped like most of the other buildings throughout the city but the main three-story structure was surrounded by six, smaller ones which were linked to it, and each other, by doors and short hallways. Two of the smaller domes on opposite sides served as stables while the other four were designated for housing those guests who decided to spend a night or two, with basic accommodations on the ground floor and the larger, more luxurious suites above.

But those had been added later, after the Lady had gained its notoriety.

No, the Lady's, as everyone eventually referred to it, main claim to fame was not her comfortable beds, first-rate food, hospitality, or nightly gala-like atmosphere (although all applied equally). Instead, the Lady's patrons gathered within her curved walls to hear the finest musicians play and the most skilled troubadours sing and tell their stories. Only per-formers who were invited to grace the Lady's stage were allowed to show off their talent, although some exceptions were made from time to time. The list of hopefuls who wished almost more than anything to set foot on that rostrum rarely dropped below a hundred---a fact which was always a source of amazement to Psalmanazar, the Lady's current owner, since it was unusual for a featured performer to stay any longer than a night or three.

Above the first floor's expansive dining hall and the second floor's nearly cavernous bar was what performers and patrons alike referred to only as the Stage. The audience would sit on pull-out wooden bleachers almost completely surrounding a slightly raised platform in the center. At the appointed time, the houselights would dim and the artist(s) appearing that night would be raised up through a trapdoor at center-stage. (Of course being artists, some opted to enter through the patron door, shaking hands and greeting their aficionados as the made their way to the stage.)

Trelat Sylvain, a troubadour of some renown throughout the western half of Tiaceor, and an irregular regular performer at the Lady, was sitting center-stage, slowly plucking out the notes to one of his songs on the the strings of his well-traveled lute. Gradually, the tune's tempo increased until Trelat's fingers were little more than a blur flashing back and forth across the strings. The song's rather abrupt end caught the audience off guard and, for a moment, there was silence.

But only for a moment.

Thunderous applause resonated throughout the domed hall, punctuated by whistles and earnest calls for more. Trelat flashed a beaming smile at the crowd before standing to take a deep bow, acknowledging each section of his audience in turn.

"Thank you!" Trelat half-shouted appreciatively, as he raised a hand and waved. "You are too kind!" For some time the clapping and cheering continued, fading away only after Trelat once more took his seat on the stool, the only thing on an otherwise bare stage.

While he was by no means tall or muscular, Trelat Sylvain was a man of exceptionally good looks---and even more remarkable talent. He had a roguish look about him that was only enhanced by his brown eyes. Trelat kept his hair cut somewhat short but maintained a thin, braided rattail that hung down the right side of his head to his shoulder blade. Of course, his appearance would have been incomplete without his thin mustache and well-groomed goatee. But Trelat's most notable feature was his smile. It was the rare woman who would not look at him twice when he smiled.

"With barely any effort," he once bragged to a friend, "I can almost guarantee that I'll not be sleeping alone on any given night. In fact, I'd wager that, by giving it my all, I'd not only be able to get away with murder but convince everyone that I did the world a favor!" To his credit, though, Trelat never had the opportunity to put the latter part of his boast to the test. Killing an opponent in a duel or in combat was one thing but cold-blooded murder was a far different matter altogether.

Dressed in his finest blue silk doublet, matching hose and hat, Trelat looked to be quite the dandy (though in a slightly foppish sort of way) which made him always seem a bit out of place while performing. Once, because of his manner of dress, he had been mistakenly taken to the private balcony box of another city's local lord instead of being guided to the backstage area. Undaunted, Trelat simply introduced himself to the petty ruler when he and his family arrived and proceeded to give one of his most memorable performances to date, including the seemingly "private" one for those in the box.

As Trelat coaxed some soft, light music from his lute, his eye notice two young ladies sitting in the front row giving him the eye while whispering and giggling to each other. To show he noticed them too, Trelat winked at the pretty pair and smiled. Their surprise was plainly evident as they bounced excitedly, though discreetly, in their seats and whispered even more excitedly back and forth.

Ahhh. . .youth, the troubadour sighed mentally. A wicked smile spread Trelat's mouth as the punchline of a particularly ribald joke sprang to his mind as he tried to think of just the song to sing next, suggesting activities he and the enamored duo could explore later, in more comfortable surroundings. From the purposely understated elegance of their pleasantly revealing dresses, Trelat guessed that the twosome were either the children of some wealthy merchants or a petty duke or baron passing through Janda. The exuberance in their applause marked them as being somewhat under the age typically allowed beyond the Lady's first floor. The worldly bard smiled inwardly. It just goes to show how a little bit of gold---when slipped into the right hand---can open just about any door.

It only took a few more moments for Trelat to remember just the right song. Giving a slow wink to his young admirers (and soon-to-be bedmates), Trelat launched into the love ballad.

* * * *

As the master troubadour wooed his ladies and stirred everyone else's hearts, an unseen someone was using the concert as a cover for his own activities. Stealthily, a black-gloved hand slipped through the narrow opening between the rise and run of the wooden benches and carefully lifted the burgeoning coin purse of the portly man to whom it belonged. As the strings tying the pouch to the man's belt slackened, a second hand joined its opposite and pulled gently but firmly at the dangling ends that would free the small money bag from its owner's side. A second later, the knot was undone and the hands were already slipping back from whence they came---taking the pilfered riches with them. The man never knew what happened.

Meanwhile, the owner of the nimble hands quietly slipped the coin purse into a larger bag containing more than two dozen other such prizes. As the black-clad thief pulled the draw strings on his own bag tight with a sharp jerk, not a sound issued forth. Even over the pleasant din of Trelat's music, the jingle of so many coins within should have been heard by those just above, but no one heard a thing. Beneath his black mask, the master thief smiled. Silently, he made his way back through the metal supports to his entry point.

In a few minutes, the burglar was slipping out the thief hole located in the inner wall of the Stage's dome. The descent back down to the crawl space connecting the guest rooms to the main dome was as easy as the ascent had been thanks mostly to the Lady's sloping walls. Soon the thief was entering his suite by means of the secret door in the back of his closet. It was due to such passages throughout the Silent Lady that made it as popular a place to visit, among those of his profession, as it was to those they victimized. Taking the bag from his belt, the still disguised thief quickly emptied the contents of the stolen purses into the larger one just before dropping each one into the space under a carefully pried-up floor board. Once finished transferring his ill-gotten loot, he slipped the small plank back into its correct place. His task completed, he hung what appeared to be an empty sack over the hook of a clothes hanger bearing one of his lady's more elegant dresses. Hidden within the garment, it would be all but undetectable during a cursory search.

At the thought of his paramour, the thief suddenly became very aware of how long he had been absent from her side. He had excused himself from going with her straight to the Stage after the sumptuous banquet Psalmanazar had thrown for Trelat Sylvain, one of his more honored visitors, stating that he needed to take care of some "personal business". It had been nearly an hour since then and it was essential he rejoined her. As he removed his mask, he took down the neatly stored attire he had been wearing during the feast and re-dressed.

The face beneath could have passed for someone in their mid twenties even though its wearer was ten years older. His clean-shaved face was marred only by the small scar on his left cheek and short, sandy blond hair framed his youthful face. To any who met him, the still innocent glimmer in his eyes made them think him to be someone who had yet to experience much---if any---of the world. His lean frame and the almost elf-like grace in his movement suggested that he was of well-to-do or noble parents, though he was truly as far from being either of these as he was from being a frog.

He was, however, Snaggit Ansplit: consummate thief and master con artist. While he was known by some of the other thieving guilds across Tiaceor through his reputation, it was in his native Galamoor and especially in Karroz that Snaggit wielded very nearly the same amount of power as his guild's master there. Supporters urged him to challenge Ioz de Corde for leadership of the guild, but Snaggit always politely declined to do so, opting instead to remain loyal to his long-time friend; he was more than content to be the "power behind the throne". Snaggit knew there would come a time he would have to contest Ioz for the position of Guild Master (even if it meant he would have to face other would-be's before hand), but that was still several years down the road. Besides, he often mused to himself, there are still so many over-burdened purses to relieve and a like number of grand homes I have yet to "tour".

After fastening the wide, white ruff around his neck, Snaggit reversed his black gloves, revealing a contrasting pair of egg shell colored ones, complete with wide lace cuffs. As a finishing touch to his look, he took down a fashionably plumed hat which he tucked under his arm just before stepping into the room he shared with his lady fair.

Gone was the thief Snaggit Ansplit.

In his place stood the well-to-do dandy Gainstan P. Glits: a persona Snaggit had care-fully honed during his twenty-some years of traveling. Much to Snaggit's amusement, his alter-ego had taken on a bit of a life of its own. Those of note who met "Gainstan" often remembered having met him when encountered elsewhere and usually introduced him to the host of the celebration in whose home they found themselves.

A place that would be robbed mere days after Gainstan P. Glits left town.

Snaggit counted himself fortunate that a connection between him and his other self had not yet been made. But, then, who would suspect someone like Gainstan to be a thief?

Before Snaggit opened the door to his room, he tightened the strings of his own purse. After all, he chuckled, with a thief lurking about, one can't be too careful, can one? On that thought, the disguised malefactor headed to the public entrance to the Stage.

* * * *

As Snaggit-come-Gainstan opened the double doors to the Lady's rostrum, a moment of silence followed by thunderous applause greeted his entrance. For the briefest second, he allowed himself the belief that it was for him, although he knew full well it was intended for Trelat. His unhurried approach toward the Stage became all but hidden to most everyone near the aisle when the audience rose as one and cheered the troubadour's latest song. In the prolonged commotion, Snaggit slipped past the excited patrons and took a seat next to a beautiful, red-headed woman dressed in a lavender gown with a deep, plunging neckline. When she finally registered his presence, she regarded him only with a casual glance before returning her attention to Trelat. Light music from the troubadour's lute quickly quieted the audience's appreciative din and had them resuming their seats and listening once more with rapt attention after only a handful of notes.

For a while, Snaggit sat and enjoyed Trelat's performance, too. However, as Snaggit admired the woman's beauty out of the corner of his eye, he also saw the matching money pouch hanging loosely from her waist sash. The temptation was too great for the die hard thief. Snaggit knew he needed a distraction but none availed itself.

His hand inched closer to its intended prize.

Snaggit was fully confident in his light touch since he had retrieved many harder-won prizes than this before. Still, a minor disruption would be of help to him.

As if on cue, the man to the lady's left coughed loudly.

Immediately, Snaggit seized on the moment and leaned behind her and shushed at the man harshly. The woman in lavender likewise looked at the offender and scowled at him. Snaggit smiled to himself and reached out to take hold of the dangling purse strings.

But, much to his surprise, her hand was squeezing his tightly before the knot could be loosened the least bit. Snaggit froze. It seemed like an eternity was passing between them as she held him fast. Options raced through his mind like arrow fire but one with any kind of pleasant end was not very forthcoming. A fight seemed inevitable: a fight he could not hope to win.

A moment later, the woman turned to Snaggit and locked his brown eyes with her light blue ones. "Do you know," she whispered loud enough for him alone to hear, "just how quickly I could have a dozen armed guards around you?"

"And do you know," he asked, "just how beautiful you look tonight, my lady?"

"Flatterer," the lavender-clad woman replied as she released Snaggit's errant hand and leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Just remember, we've not been together this long without me picking up on some of your tricks. One would also think that you'd be tiring of this 'game' you like to play whenever we out like this. But, I take it, that the 'business' you tended to earlier went better than this or else you'd not be here now."

"Indeed," was all Snaggit said as he affectionately slipped his hand on his lady's thigh and rubbed gently. The master thief could not tear his eyes away from her beautiful face even after her attention had returned to Trelat.

Irala Muün: wayfaring priestess of Korrmalin, the Horizon Walker, patron god of the road, travelers, merchants---and adventurers. Although Irala had spent more than half her thirty years of life in the clergy, she hardly looked it. By most outward appearances, Irala could have passed for being a lady of the court. Fine apparel was a daily mainstay, except on days of religious observance when she would don her well-traveled adventuring attire and conduct the proper ceremonies and sermons in whatever town she was residing in at the time. Apart from those occasions, it was only Korrmalin's constantly displayed holy symbol that revealed her true calling. The golden disc hung on a gilded rope necklace around Irala's neck, where it would brush the tops of her ample breasts, and was etched with a half visible sun beyond the horizon and a winding road heading toward it. Irala wore her shoulder-length, loosely curling auburn hair in a variety of styles and ways, depending on her mood, situation, or the local fashion. Her milky white skin was completely dappled with seemingly countless freckles which added an extra measure of beauty to her still youngish countenance. Irala also possessed the shapely figure other women endured the torture of a corset to attain and her natural skin tone allowed her the luxury of wearing only the bare minimums of facial colorations and enhancements. Many were the looks of disgust and envy she saw beneath thin smiles on other women when she would draw the attentions of their other halves when wearing one of her "simple" dresses. Even by the wide-ranging standards of most of Tiaceor's races, she was quite the beauty.

Irala's initial three years in the order had been spent traveling across much of western Tiaceor, assisting in restoring shrines that had been vandalized or destroyed. Korrmalin's temples and shrines were almost always rather small places of worship typically presided over by a single priest and his or her acolyte but there were also a great many unattended road side alters dedicated to the god where wanderers could offer up a prayer for a safe journey. Not long after receiving the honorific of curate, Irala was out on her own. Within a month, she had signed-on as part of a caravan heading to the city of Stellof. She had heard the stories of travelers being attacked whilst on the road and it was clear that the presence of a practitioner of the healing arts was a welcome addition to their number.

It was during this fateful journey that Irala received her "second calling".

While their destination was still several days away from Stellof, the caravan was besieged by the same notorious raiders she had heard about. The first round of arrows fired into the caravan had the uncanny luck of striking dead the leader of the adventuring company who had hired on to protect the procession of wagons. With their morale severely shaken by the loss, it was all the defenders could do to just hold their attackers at bay.

Despite her lack of experience and limited prowess in combat, Irala felt a sudden desire to act, as though divinely inspired. Leaping from the relative safety of the circle of twenty wagons, Irala charged out into the midst of the marauders, her twin-bladed sword leading the way. Her weapon struck without error, slaying all whom it hit. Although wounded by a few arrows and a like number of sword slashes, the enraged priestess still continued her advance through the raiders. The seasoned group of adventurers could only watch in awe as this lone and impossibly brave woman literally fought the battle single-handedly.

For a full minute, no one noticed that Irala was no longer running but just standing. Instead, she was looking down at her most recent kill. It took everyone just a little longer to realize what she had done. Irala had delivered a crushing blow of her own to the bandits: their leader lay dead at her feet.




The Temptress Ch. 03



Inspired by Irala's heroism, every member of the wagon train still standing joined in the fray and quickly decimated the remaining marauders. It was only when their victory was complete that anyone noticed Irala's unconscious form lying across the bandit leader's corpse. For the remainder of the trip, the courageous cleric had even her smallest needs tended to without hesitation, from one sunrise to the next. A celebration in Irala's honor was given shortly after the convoy arrived in Stellof.  

From that point on, Irala Muün started answering the siren call of an adventurer's life almost as faithfully as she performed her duties as a priestess of Korrmalin It was also how she met her lover, Snaggit. The priestess had originally intended to remain with his friends' adventuring group for a short time but the charming rogue stole her heart and she decided to stay. Their travels far and wide allowed her to follow the beliefs of her faith as well as sating her own wanderlust. In almost no time, the five of them became fast friends.

During the remainder of Trelat's concert, Irala and Snaggit flirted and teased each other remorselessly, though discreetly. By the time the evening's public entertainment was over and the bard took his final bows, the stimulated pair was more than ready for some of the private sort. Irala could feel her moistened pussy lips slipping smoothly against each other and getting wetter with her every step, eagerly anticipating both Snaggit's tongue and cock plunging deep inside her. As if to prolong her silent suffering, her paramour did not usher them out with the rest of the crowd. Instead, he guided her up to the stage where a dozen or so other patrons had also gathered, wanting to congratulate Trelat on his presentation. Predictably, they were the last to greet the master troubadour.

Oooooo! Irala raged silently, Just you wait, Snaggit Ansplit. Just you wait!

"An excellent performance, good sir!" Gainstan P. Gltis exclaimed as he tightly clasped the bard's proffered arm. Snaggit could hardly not notice the two young ladies as both were almost hugging each of Trelat's arms as Irala was to his own. "And such exquisite taste in female companions, as well. Talent and taste: a rare combination, indeed."

"My thanks, my lord," Trelat said with a slight nod of his head. "May I present Ladies Dedria Nikete and Ciji Keitra of Janda." The infatuated twosome just smiled.

"Gainstan P. Glits, at your service, miladies," Snaggit said with a bow. From Dedria's eye-widening reaction, Snaggit could tell that she, at least, recognized his name. "And this is Priestess Irala Muün, faithful of Korrmalin."

To Irala, the exchange of pleasantries and inconsequential chatter seemed to be going on forever. The annoying itch in her cunt had become a burning ache needing immediate attention. Irala squeezed Snaggit's arm with ever-increasing firmness, silently conveying her message to "shut-the-hell-up". From the looks on the young ladies' faces, Irala could tell that she was not the only one experiencing a large measure of sexual distress. Trelat's soon-to-be bedmates looked to be feeling just as randy as she.

They're playing with us! Korrmalin's priestess thought. Hummph! If I could be sure of their reaction, I'd take those two with me and leave our men to "entertain" themselves.

Mercifully, Gainstan quickly excused himself, stating the need to see to some pressing business early in the morning. Dedria and Ciji seemed just as thankful for their departure as Irala. The cleric tried hard to hurry Snaggit along upstairs but the master thief was a lot stronger than he appeared, forcing her to keep her pace slow.

No sooner had the door to their room shut behind them than Irala was kissing Snaggit with passion flamed hunger, her lips devouring his with unbridled lust. At first, the master thief tried to remain somewhat casual about things but his lady's fervent ministrations soon had him responding in kind. The incensed pair made their way awkwardly toward the big, comfortable, down-filled bed in the next room, kissing and removing their elegant attire all along their course. Irala fell back on the bed when she backed into it but not before she grabbed Snaggit and pulled him after her with a laugh.

Ever the one to take advantage of his circumstances, Snaggit took Irala's arms and held them above her head. For a moment, he looked lovingly into her eyes, then he lowered his head next to hers and blew lightly against Irala's ear. As ever, her body's reaction was to send a small shiver through her body. Her eyes closed as a moan of delight rumbled softly in her throat. Snaggit smiled. Aside from her more obvious erogenous zones, Irala's ears were her most sensitive spots and a lover's gentle touch on them was all it took to increase the heat spreading though her body.

Although she did not truly wish to free herself from Snaggit's gentle but firm hold, the adventuring priestess found herself hard pressed not to struggle if even in the slightest. Her lover's concentrated attention on her ears was almost driving her crazy. Irala could feel her breath getting short, her nipples tightened and tingled, and her pussy was oozing with more of her love juices. Already, she could feel the sensation of her first orgasm building inside her. She wanted to make him stop but she had been waiting most of the evening for exactly this. All during dinner the two had flirted, then again after Snaggit met her at Trelat's performance. It had been all she could do during his absence to keep from relieving herself right in the middle of the audience. But, now, she could hardly think of a reason not to enjoy a nice little orgasm---the first of a number to come.

Then, suddenly, Snaggit stopped and rolled over onto his back beside her.

"Beg pardon, sir," Irala said, her voice edged with mild irritation, "but I think you've started something here that needs finishing."

Snaggit just sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said finally, "but I find myself strangely lacking the energy to continue at the moment." Smiling, he looked at her and added, "Maybe if I had some 'encouragement', I might be able to accommodate you."

Irala turned on her side, propping herself up on an elbow. "Oh? And just what kind of 'encouragement' do you need?"

"The kind only you can provide, dearest."

Lazily, Irala slid her free hand over to Snaggit's stomach. His profuse body hair always excited her, making him seem like a very manly man. Irala loved the way it felt as she ran her fingers through his course, dark thatch. After a minute or two of making wide circles around his navel, she playfully grabbed a handful and tugged.

"MmmMmmm," Irala growled.

"Hmmm?" Snaggit inquired as he slowly opened one eye and looked at her. "I'm sorry, I must have started to doze-off. It just felt so good.”

“Oh, really?” Irala asked as she released his hair and gently gripped his partially erect cock. “What about this? Do you think this will make you fall asleep too?”

“I imagine it will,” Snaggit said, feeling the blood rushing in and engorging his shaft. “But not until after we're done. . .”

At first, Irala stroked her man's prick slowly but stepped up the pace of her motions as it hardened and lengthened. While Snaggit did not have the longest cock it had been her pleasure to enjoy, he did have the thickest. The only one that even came close belonged to the leader of their adventuring group. Although she and Snaggit had yet to be formally joined by the Union ceremony, they felt and acted as if they already had been and remained, for the most part, monogamous and faithful to each other.

But this was not to say they limited their sexual activities.

On quite a number of occasions, typically after a rather lucrative adventure, they and the three other members of their group would rent the largest and most expensive suite in the nearest town and indulge in a group-exclusive orgy. Sometimes an attractive local barmaid or handsome stable hand---or both---would be invited to join in but those times were rare and the exception to the rule. Between the five, there was hardly an avenue of sexual pleasure left unexplored.

With Snaggit's cock at full attention, Irala turned and lay her head across her lover's stomach. His rampant appendage was almost touching her nose. As she admired its manly magnificence, she noticed some initial seepage leaking from the pisshole. "Mmmmm, yummy," Irala said as she stuck out her tongue to catch it.

* * * *

Trelat moaned in obvious delight as Ciji's blue painted lips engulfed as much of his dick as her mouth could take. Her sexual inexperience was clear but she made up for that lack with her eager desire. She longed to see what she had been missing out on with a far more skilled lover than she had yet known. "That's it," Trelat encouraged her, "Nice and slow. No need to rush."

"How about this?" Ciji asked as she fluttered her tongue rapidly across his glans. His throaty reply was all the answer she needed. The attractive brunette continued nursing on Trelat's cock like a suckling calf.

Dedria was feeling a little envious of her cousin . When the virginal Dedria she got her first sight of Trelat's erection, she hesitated because it looked so large and intimidating to her. Ciji took the initiative and stepped in where Dedria really wanted to be. Ciji had lost her maiden flower to a stable-hand she seduced a year ago but that one time seemed to embolden her into a further exploration of her sexuality---including introducing the both of them to how women could please each other. While the secretly promiscuous vixens used slender wooden phalluses in place of "the real thing", Ciji was always very careful not to deflower her cousin. "Only a real man should have that honor," she told her during a few of their trysts. In fact, her early birthday present to Dedria was the real reason for tagging along with Ciji's father's caravan to Janda in the first place: getting Dedria fucked by a man. She just hoped Ciji would not get too carried away and forget.

Trelat unknowingly broke Dedria's concerned train of thought as he reached over and drew her to him. Mindful of their relative naivety, he began by kissing her tenderly. When she responded eagerly to his touch, Trelat eased his tongue into her mouth. To Trelat, her mouth tasted almost sweet and her tongue felt as soft as a rose petal.

A warm flush ran through Dedria. Suddenly, the blond virgin found herself rubbing a slightly trembling hand across her lover's firm chest before she was even aware she wanted to do so. His muscles felt good and somehow reassuring to her. As she and Ciji often did to each other, Dedria pinched one of Trelat's nipples between her fingers and massaged it. She let out a small gasp when he did likewise to one of hers. His touch was the same as Ciji's, but just as equally different; gentle and loving yet confident and bold. Dedria smashed her mouth and tongue harder against his.

Ciji had been overcome by cocksucker's lust and was taking all of Trelat's length down her throat. Her first couple of tries nearly made her gag on his swollen prong but she was soon able to relax her throat muscles enough to accept his size with ease. To increase her pleasure, Ciji reached down and gently rubbed her clitty. The sensation was incredible! It felt as if her mouth and pussy had been magically linked together and she was getting a good fucking in both at the same time. As if a confirmation of what she was feeling, Ciji's vaginal juices were flowing almost like water between her legs and down the crack of her ass. She could feel a lovely come steadily building within her and was determined to climax just as Trelat flooded her mouth with his seed.

The stimulation Trelat was receiving from his not-so-timid lover impelled the bard into taking more brazen action with the other. While he maintained his hold on Dedria's nipple, Trelat rolled partially onto his right side so he could use his left hand to explore the folds of her young slit. He felt her stomach quiver slightly as his hand slowly caressed its way down her firm midriff. In contrast to Ciji's abundant patch of pubic hair, Dedria had only a narrow stripe of silky blond curls barely an inch wide and a finger-length long that ended just above her tight outer labia. As Trelat slipped a finger just between her cunt lips, she pressed her pelvis against his welcome intrusion in an effort to get his digit fully within her wetness.

A smile pulled at Trelat's mouth as he continued to kiss her. My, he thought, but she's a willing little nymph, isn't she? Seeing no real reason to deny her her desire any longer, Trelat pushed his finger home. A realization came to him like a sudden clap of thunder as he grazed her still-intact maiden flower. So, that's what this is all about! She wants me to be her first lover---or, at least, that's what her cousin has more than likely arranged for her. Trelat felt a bit humbled by this unexpected development. True, he had had more than his fair share of maiden lovers during his travels, but he had selected them, not the reverse. Trelat vowed to himself to make this one's first time the most unforgettable of her life.

The young Lady Nikete was grinding her burning crotch against her lover's hand for all she was worth, secretly wanting his whole hand inside her. Her love sessions with Ciji had been wonderful enough, but left her wanting more. The slim rods her cousin used in place of a real cock had made her come more times than she could ever count, but with each of her orgasms, Dedria grew more and more impatient for "the real thing". Several times at home, she tried using a length of broom handle on herself but always lacked the courage to get any more of it in her than just a finger's length past the rounded end. Trelat's finger was shorter than the faux cocks she and Ciji used on each other but felt far better as it swirled around inside her soaking snatch. Dedria still felt a little intimidated by Trelat's impressive member but could hardly wait to be impaled on his manly meat.

As his young lover's gyrations became ever wilder, the master bard decided to change his pleasuring tactic for her benefit as well as his own. Before completing her transition into womanhood, Trelat felt desirous of a taste of her sweet and unsullied snatch. Taking Dedria by her firm, albescent ass, he pulled her up atop him until she was straddling his face. Immediately he plunged his tongue into her exposed cleft. The master bard was far from disappointed with the succulent delicacy his lingua found waiting within. Her effusion was thick and syrupy like honey with just a slight hint of musk to it. Trelat gobbled hungrily at Dedria's dripping cunt.

It only took a few minutes of Trelat's persistent lapping before both Dedria and he felt their respective orgasms racing toward them. Of course, this was perfectly okay with Ciji as she was about to cream all over her her busy fingers in anticipation for Trelat's warm seed.

Their combined coming ran through them like a flood of delight As Dedria's cunthole spasmed and contracted, she ground her crotch harder and harder against Trelat's tongue and swore oaths and profanities the bard only heard coming from the mouths of seasoned sailors. While Trelat drank down every drop of her creamy goodness, he felt a tenseness grip his balls just before he shot his load into Ciji's expectant mouth. One spurt followed another as his cock emptied itself. At the same time Trelat's first eruption flooded her maw, Ciji's honey pot spilled its contents all over her rapidly moving hand and the unturned bed covers.

Momentarily spent, the trio just lay together and cuddled. Trelat never tired of the joy of having two women share his bed. Tenderly, he stroked their hair as their hands busied themselves on first his chest then his slightly softened erection which started to come back to full attention at their touch. Trelat smiled. It was going to be quite a night.

* * * *

"Now, how was that?" Snaggit asked as he brought his head up from its work between Irala's legs. Thick, milky white ribbons of pussy juice still hung from the short hairs of his mustache and were smeared across his chin.

Instead of replying immediately, the satisfied priestess took a moment to stretch herself and catch her breath. Once more, Snaggit's expert mouth and tongue had sent her soaring to glorious heights, culminating in a series of orgasms that made her feel replete.

"Mmmmmmm. . ." Irala purred. "That was wonderful. Now, why don't you try improving my mood even more by slipping that beautiful cock of yours into me and make me scream your name loud enough for the gods to hear?" 

As Snaggit positioned himself for his friendly assault, he stopped momentarily and gave his lady love a smile. He moved forward slowly until the tip of his iron-hard manhood brushed through the petals Irala's pussy lips, then Snaggit thrust his hips forward and entered her fully. As Irala gasped with his entry, the master thief answered with a soft growl. The lining of her love tunnel stretched until it fit around his rampant cock like a tight fitting glove. Some of her cuntal lubrication overflowed their union as Snaggit squished into her a little further. For a long moment, they just enjoyed the sensation of his initial penetration. He once posed the question if eternity felt even remotely as good as it felt being inside her.

"I hope so," was all Irala would ever say.

Slowly, Snaggit pulled out until just his cockhead remained buried within. Then, with a similar unhurried pace, he pushed his dong back in until his thick, brown pubic hairs mingled with Irala's dark red ones. Stroke after stroke, Snaggit incrementally increased the speed of his thrusts until his balls were slapping noisily against Irala's ass. By the time Snaggit was giving her his all, Irala was riding the crest of one intense orgasm after another. The steady flow of her juices was making an ever-growing wet spot on the covers.

Unable to hold back any longer, Snaggit jammed his prick home one final time as it started spewing thick globs of cum. The muscles in his cock stalk contracted in rhythm with ever jet of his seed he squirted into Irala.

“Ahhhhhh. . !” he moaned excitedly as the last drop was pumped out.

While the pair were momentarily spent, Snaggit and Irala were by no means finished with each other. After taking a minute to catch their breath, they quickly, but carefully, traded places without losing their intimate connection.

“Eewww!” Snaggit protested as he sat his ass in the wet spot.

Irala smiled. “Now, how do you like it?”

“More importantly,” the master thief asked as he pushed up into her, burying himself to the hilt, “How do you like this?”

* * * *

"Oh, my gods!" Dedria exclaimed as Trelat's dick penetrated her for the first time. The tearing of her maiden flower was mercifully quick and what little blood there was mixed with her thick pussy nectar and served to make the passage of the welcome intruder even easier. At first, the nervous young woman was not sure she would be able to take all of Trelat's length inside her. But, inch by inch, his seemingly huge prong disappeared into her tight hole. Once Dedria was sitting flat astride Trelat's thighs, she could hardly believe how wonderful it felt. She could feel the head of his cock pressing against the entrance to her womb as her cuntal muscles rippled and expanded to accommodate him. Dedria held his initial entry for several long seconds before slowly bringing her hips up a little then pushing them back down. Though but a single stroke, it still caused Dedria to cum. Her senses reeled and blackness licked at the outer rim of her sight. The only sound she could utter was a loud gasp of pure ecstasy.




The Temptress Ch. 03



Slowly at first, the maiden-become-woman started humping up and down on the prick stuffed in her cleft. As she increased her speed, the conscious-stealing blackness retreated and a warm flush spread throughout her body. Despite the pleasant breeze from the open window and the cool temperatures that were the harbinger of Leafturn, to Dedria it felt as if it was the middle of Highsun. Small beads of sweat dotted her brow and bathed her in a soft glaze of moisture, her breaths coming in pants as she continued humping up and down on Trelat's cock.

While her cousin got the first real fuck of her life, Ciji was hardly content to sit idly by and let her own desires go unfulfilled. She too wanted to experience, the expert tonguing Dedria had enjoyed just minutes before. Straddling Trelat's face, but still facing Dedria, Ciji lowered her dripping pussy onto the bard's waiting mouth. Almost immediately she felt his tongue probing deep within her. What a difference experience makes! she thought as her eyes rolled back in their sockets from pure delight. When she could once more see straight, Ciji watched Dedria as she bounced ever harder up and down on Trelat's prong. Dedria's face was contorted in a mixture of relief, determination, and concentration. Ciji could not help but wonder if she would be wearing a similar face when it was her turn.

Meanwhile, Trelat was thoroughly enjoying providing a double helping of pleasure to his young lovers. In the hamlet of Solneagles, a mere speck on most any map located half way between Stellof and Janda (and Trelat's most recent stop), the bard was entreated to the simultaneous affections of a local farmer's wife and two daughters but was interrupted by the man's unexpected early arrival home from town. But such were his risks in being so ardent of a lover---along with the minor concern about becoming the unknowing father to unexpected children. Of course, Trelat often reminded himself, that's why the gods made the unique properties of maiden weed and gentleman's wort known to us. Why, without them, we 'd have probably been up to our armpits in people centuries ago. A somewhat impatient moan from the young lady sitting on his face and gyrating wildly brought Trelat's attention back to what he was doing.

Though perfectly content to enjoy her ride atop Trelat's magnificent erection, when Ciji started caressing her breasts, tweaking her nipples, and tonguing her mouth, Dedria found herself rising to ever-increasing heights of blissful rapture. It was not long before she was returning Ciji's touch, loving their familiar intimacy. Dedria was also feeling a deep aching building within her pussy, punctuated with every lunge from below. As her breath became shorter and shorter, she knew an extremely intense orgasm was fast approaching and it would only be a matter of several more wonderful thrusts before she would succumb.

The young Lady Keitra was about to cum. Grinding her snatch even faster and harder against Trelat's mouth, she hoped to hasten the onset of her climax to match her cousin's timing as well as the master bard's.

Even though Trelat knew he could hold out for sometime yet, the accommodating bard decided it would be to his shame if he did so. Who was he to deprive so willing a pair of lovers of a feeling of completeness he could provide? Of course, fucking into a nice, tight snatch like Dedria's was a definite help.

* * * *

Irala felt as though her nipples were on fire as Snaggit's hands massaged her breasts but left their very tips untouched. She strove to meet each one of his upward thrusts, which were coming in rapid-fire succession, with a downward one of her own. Reaching down with a free hand, Irala diddled her stiff love bud. The burning turned into a deep, longing need, crying out for satisfaction.

With each stroke, Snaggit could feel the slight pressure in his groin growing just a little stronger and more urgent for release. He knew what he was doing to Irala probably felt a lot like torture but he wanted to wait for just the right moment before adding to her already heightened pleasure. Besides, he thought, she does like it when I do it like this.

* * * *

A final, deep thrust from Trelat was all it took to push Dedria over the orgasmic edge. Her head was swimming and her whole body shook and spasmed as she came atop Trelat's rock-hard cock. A veritable deluge of pussy juice bathed her lover's member with liquid love and was making a delightful squishing sound. She had never felt so sexually complete and fulfilled before Dedria wanted the feeling to last forever though she knew it would not. Her young body tingled all over and the light breeze blowing in through the window only served to intensify the glowing sensation sweeping through her.

But the former maiden was not alone in reaching the heights of ecstasy.

Trelat held his final stroke as he felt his manhood tense up just before it exploded inside the oh-so-willing cunt he was fucking. As the first jet of his cum shot deep into Dedria, he felt her snatch ripple and grab at his prick. Ahhhhh! he mentally sighed as he kept pushing his tongue into Ciji's quim, sensing that her orgasm was fast-approaching. There's nothing like perfect timing.

Right on cue, the young Lady Keitra climaxed on the talented tongue delving into her wet slit, drenching Trelat's mouth and chin. Ciji gave her cousin's nipples a harder tweak when she realized Dedria was cumming too and was more than delighted when she received the same in return. Suddenly feeling a deep pang of love for Dedria, Ciji leaned forward and kissed her, slipping her tongue into her mouth.

Dedria and Ciji rode Trelat a little longer before the trio cuddled together on the bed, sexually spent for the moment. The bard applied his usual charm as he quietly wooed the love-struck pair, telling them how impressed he was with them and how skilled they were, as well as how good he felt about them choosing him to be Dedria's first male lover. Still blinded by their infatuation with him, the pair just drank in his praise and sighed, dreaming wistfully that more than just a lusty night of fantastic sex would come of their union.

Trelat felt no guilt about what he was telling his young lovers. And why should he? It had long been his experience that all women—no matter the race—needed to hear how well they pleased their lovers just as much as men and holding them close let them feel as if they were as loved as a lifemate would be.

If even for a little while.

It was not long before their tender embrace became further foreplay heralding another session of coupling. The trio remained occupied in their carnal pursuits far into the night, until the midnight blue in the east had faded to just a deep blue, with dawn only a couple of hours away.

* * * *

In their suite, Snaggit and Irala had long since succumbed to blissful slumber, unaware of what the new day would bring.

* * * *

The late morning suns were shining brightly, their rays streaming through the open, and seemingly unprotected, window of Trelat's room and warming the sleeping troubadour. In his dreams, Trelat was vividly revisiting his amorous evening with Ciji and Dedria, as well as conjuring up images of pleasures yet to be explored with them.

"Trelat," a voice called out to him.

"Mmmmm?" the bard hummed as he rolled over onto his side then mumbled, "Yes, my dear?" It was only when his searching arm found an empty space where one of his young lovers should have been that he began to stir to wakefulness.

“Trelat Sylvain!” the voice said again, demanding to be heard.

Why am I being addressed so formally? Trelat wondered sleepily. With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes just wide enough to see. Observing no one to his right, the bard rolled to his left, still seeking his paramours from last evening. But, instead of his ladies, he found only more emptiness---and a surprise visitor standing barely an arm's length away from the bed. Startled, Trelat sat up bolt-right. It only took a few moments for his still sleep-hazed mind to register three interesting facts about the person before him.

First, the richly brown-skinned woman was completely naked. A true vision of beauty were the first words Trelat could think of to describe her. Her exquisite figure seemed to be the very definition of womanhood. Natural, loosely curling raven tresses cascaded just over her firm, round shoulders, serving to only further accentuate her loveliness.

But any thoughts Trelat may have had of bedding this newcomer were pushed into the recesses of mind when the second fact about her became apparent: she was just an image. While still a sight, Trelat realized her body was as translucent as a ghost. Magical projections of this nature were hardly rare and were frequently used by powerful spellcasters as a means of communication since it provided them with a comfortable measure of safety and security, for them and their magetowers. Normally, a personal confrontation with such a powerful sorceress would have made Trelat exceptionally nervous, but it was her familiar face that put him at immediate ease.

And that was the third thing.

"Greetings, Dyanara," Trelat said with a smile. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Are they near?" the sorceress asked, not wanting to waste any of her spell's duration on pleasantries.

"'And good day to you, Trelat,'" the bard replied to himself in a female tone before he responded to her inquiry. "And, yes, they're not far from here, though what they're doing at the moment I can't say." Trelat's eyebrows furrowed as a question came to him. "Can your spell follow me---without being so noticeable?"

"Yes, but you'll have to be quick about it."

"Oh, just keep your. . ." Trelat began as he got out of bed before he realized the irony of his comment. "Never mind." Throwing on some casual attire, he dressed as quickly as he could and was putting his second shoe on as Dyanara's image shooed him to the door. Opening the door slightly, Trelat took a cautious peek into the hallway. Seeing that it was clear, he turned to motion his sorceress friend to follow but was surprised when instead of her naked form standing behind him there was only a small, softly glowing ball of greenish blue light floating at eye-level. Trelat cocked an eyebrow in response, closed his mouth, then motioned for it/her to follow.

The bard's casual gate down the corridor betrayed none of the feelings tumbling around in the pit of his stomach. While it was not unusual for Dyanara to use her magic to deliver messages to her absent friends, most often she used either self-reading scrolls or what she identified as one of her "helper spirits", depending on the urgency of the situation. Never had she sent an image of herself to convey one "personally".

Until now.

The implications were disturbing. But Trelat had neither the time or the desire to consider them as his course quickly brought him to his intended destination. He hesitated for only a moment before knocking on the door to Lord Gainstan Glits' suite. Not wanting to compromise his friend's dual identity, Trelat continued the charade already in place.

"My lord?" he said in a moderate and cautious tone. "Please forgive the intrusion, but may I beg a moment of your time?" For what seemed to be half an eternity there was only silence. Trelat wondered if they had already departed since such had happened previously on several occasions. But a grunt and a loud yawn from within assured the bard that this was not going to be another one of those times.

"Who is it?" demanded a muffled but clearly irritated voice. "And what do you want at such an early time of day?"

"It is I, Trelat Sylvain, my lord. Again, I regret my trespass but I found milady's blue robe in the bath and wanted to return it to her." Trelat hoped his emphasis on those three words would not be lost on Lord Glits.

He need not have worried.

"Oh, alright. Enter, but be quick about it!"

His friends' quarters were equally capacious and luxurious as his but such details hardly mattered at the moment. Reclining against a pile of pillows were two of his long-time companions and fellow adventurers. From the look of things, Trelat could tell that he had nearly barged in on them while they would have been otherwise occupied. The steady up and down motion of Irala's hand under the covers was all the proof he needed of that.

"And where is this blue robe?" Snaggit inquired, noting the lack of the same.

Undaunted, Trelat took a half step to the side. "Right here."

Suddenly revealed, the tiny ball of light that had been hidden behind the bard was gone and in its place stood Dyanara's image. Snaggit and Irala's surprise to the sorceress being there was at least as great as Trelat's had been---once his mind had had a chance to clear the remaining cobwebs away and realize what was going on.

"Brightday, dear friends," Dyanara began with a smile as she took a few paces toward the bed, followed closely by Trelat. However, in a heartbeat, the sorceress's smile was no more and she continued on in a very somber tone. "My spell's time is short and I have so much to tell you that any questions you may have must wait until I am finished." Taking a breath, Dyanara plunged into the ugly details of her vision.

"It all started the day after my robe ceremony on Steeshata. . ."

* * * *

The money bags containing the day's revenue jingled heavily in Psalmanazar's grasp as he opened the concealed and protected coffer in the wall of his small bedchamber located in the Silent Lady's basement. While no one would probably have currently believed it of him, in his younger days Psalmanazar had also been a thief. However, fifteen years of retirement saw his formerly lean and wiry frame gain almost seventy stones---though not a bit of it was fat. The innkeeper's barrel-like body was every bit as solid as a plow horse and his muscular arms were almost as big as his legs had been in his younger days, and all due to his everyday activities around the inn. This made it equally hard to imagine him as being a former thief (aside from the Lady's slightly higher-than-usual prices). Psalmanazar's thick, bushy, graying beard stood out in sharp contrast to his continually receding hair line. His rich brown eyes always seemed to sparkle whenever a new guest checked in and was always accompanied by a warm and generous smile. Likewise, his baritone voice rarely held any anger, unless he was dealing with a particularly rude or very disruptive visitor. Fortunately, trouble at the Lady was rare at the worst, if for no other reason than Psalmanazar's sheer size. His retirement years had been kind to the man and he was content with his current life and livelihood.

But Psalmanazar would always be a thief at heart.

As the small door swung open, his ever-keen eyes noticed a small green painted dot exposed through a small hole in the back of the box where a black one should have been. He immediately dropped the sacks of coins onto his bed as if they were unimportant. Pressing on the corners of the back wall in a specific sequence, it clicked then leaned inward, revealing yet another concealed compartment. Within it sat three more bags of money, though one was a little fuller than the other two. Psalmanazar opened the spring-loaded doors above the catch box to see if there was any more up there before removing the contents. A gentle draft wafted down through the long shaft's opening, betraying how the obviously ill-gotten money had found its way into his possession. Satisfied that there was no more, the thief-turned-innkeeper reset the panel.

While he did not encourage his former colleagues to steal from his guests during either of their stays at the Lady, neither did Psalmanazar really do anything to stop them from doing so. It was just understood that he received one-fifth of their take in return for providing them with the opportunity for some relatively easy pickings. Over the years, he had tried various drop methods but none worked as well as the Chute, which worked just as it sounded it would. To smooth things over if a patron was plucked too clean, the cost for that guest's room and meals would be waived and an extra long stay in a suite or an equal line of credit in the gambling hall would be offered to the injured party. The latter always proved to be the more tempting option though almost all so taken in by the lure of "free money" left with as much as they had started with: little or nothing.

By the way the drawstrings were knotted, Psalmanazar knew that at least three of his guests had been peers but the note he found in the largest bag was a bit of a surprise. He opened it carefully, half-expecting it to be some kind of trick or trap. Instead, it just read:

Greetings Nazar,

Enjoyed my stay. . .

As usual, here's your cut of my take plus a little extra for the guild. . .

I'll see you next time I'm in town. . .

Snag

For several minutes, all Psalmanazar could do was sit there and stare unbelievably at the short message, his jaw hanging open.

Then he smiled and started to laugh, softly at first then as if having a fit.

Oh, yes, you will, Snaggit, Psalmanazar thought as his mind raced trying to determine which one of his guests his "old friend" had been while he rubbed the stump where his left pinky finger used to be. Oh, yes you will!!



The Temptress Ch. 04



To my dear readers, I apologize for the long wait I made you endure as I worked away at putting the finishing touches on Chapter Four. But, alas, my task was of greater enormity than I had anticipated. The re-write for the first half of the chapter went reasonably well as all that was needed was a bit of tweaking here and there. However, the second half is requiring an almost TOTAL re-write and will take that much more time to complete and be submitted to this wonderful site. Until then, I offer my work, thus far, for your reading pleasure. . .

*

"Oh, yess!" L'tirashin hissed through clenched teeth as two of her love slaves rammed their cocks into both her flowing pussy and tight asshole. "Harder!" she commanded in a low, husky tone just before her mouth again engulfed a third slave's erection. Around her on the truly gigantic bed the demoness could see some of her other love slaves indulging themselves though still mindful to attend to their mistress is she so desired them. Out of the corner of her left eye, L'tirashin spied one of her most recent additions to her harem in a position much like her own.

I see Amean has taken to her new surroundings and duties rather quickly, the Temptress mused silently as her head continued bobbing up and down on the meaty shaft in her mouth, coaxing her slave ever-nearer to spilling his seed. In all, fifteen members of her considerably sized harem were currently her bed, all of whom she had already enjoyed at least once, so far, during the course of the night's orgy.

The relatively cool droplets of the simulated rain shower falling from the sprinklers on the ceiling felt good as they splashed against L'tirashin's hot, ebony skin---and thoroughly soaking the bed and the bacchanal's participants. Moving around on the saturated sheets of the tremendous water-filled mattress proved a bit tricky and prompted the occasional fit of laughter and new opportunities for couplings whenever someone tried making too swift a motion and ended up bumping into each other. The circular trough surrounding the bed caught the run-off water and drained it away to be recirculated in the faux rain shower.

On the far side of the bed, L'tirashin saw Simvanna engaged with her third and fourth lovers for the night. A comely female dwarf was tonguing the elf's tasty cunt at the same time Simvanna was doing likewise to an attractive human. The demoness knew her silently willful slave was there for only two reasons: because she had been commanded to and to keep a watchful and protective eye on her sister, Amean. While Simvanna truly hated the Temptress, and was not too pleased about having to participate in the goings-on, L'tirashin did note that Simvanna did appear to be enjoying herself a bit more than her slave would ever admit to doing. But the sultry fiend knew that her head-strong vassal dare not try anything lest she wished to see her sole reason for living be put to the sword as Simvanna helplessly watched.

The very thought of Amean flashing through L'tirashin's mind seemed to prompt the young elf's pussy to choose that very moment to cream against the rampant cocks invading her from behind and making her try all the more to coax the cum out of her ork lover's thick cock. The Temptress started hearing the grunts, groans, and other sounds of delight coming from her slaves all around her as they too reached their own pinnacles of ecstasy. The group's mutual cumming seemed almost contagious as L'tirashin suddenly became acutely aware of the increased thrusting of the two inside her and her own intense ministrations on the one in front of her. She wrapped her lissome tail around the waist of the man fucking her ass and pulled him against her just as she felt his prick swell even larger just before he spurted his seed deep within her bowels. At the same time, her other lover rammed home his pleasingly thick cock, penetrating his mistress deeply. A moment later the warrior-made-slave let loose his cum and flooded L'tirashin's pussy. It did not take much more urging from the demoness and her highly talented tongue to get her third love slave pumping jet after creamy jet of his seed into her eagerly waiting mouth. It was only when she had milked every last drop of cum from their cocks that L'tirashin relinquish her tight hold on their now slightly softening members.

As the slaves withdrew from their respective positions, their dark-skinned mistress smiled contentedly. She had chosen her sex slaves based on their stamina (though her own was far superior to even the most tireless members among her harem), physical attractiveness, and their eagerness to satisfy her each and every whim. Throughout the short history of her harem, perhaps only a double handful or so had eventually proven unable to keep up with the demands of their mistress.

But L'tirashin had other uses for them. Breeding slaves, while somewhat slow, proved quite often to be more effective than capturing new ones, especially since those born into their circumstances had no concept of what freedom was. However, it were those same slaves who seemed to have less of a life's spark within them. The Temptress had yet to come up with a better solution of curbing her vassals' rebellious tenancies without abating their life force but then, there was no rush---and she would find a way.

Satisfied for the time being, L'tirashin let her leathery wings cocoon around her naked body, shielding her from the sprinkling water still falling from above though the pitter-pat of the drops was soothing and relaxing. Unbidden, memories of her life long ago on a world that had since vanished from the multiverse stole their way silently into the demoness's waking thoughts. The sound of the faux rain brought to her mind what had been the happiest day, then night, of her mortal life.

Followed the next day by an unforgivable betrayal---which, ultimately, sealed her fate.

It still amazed her how those pathetic townsfolk could have seen through the intricately crafted disguise and subterfuge she had worked so hard to create. She had worked even harder to conceal her spell workings, even going so far as to hiding her workshop in a cave some distance from the town so as to escape any possible detection.

But, somehow, she had failed.

Her first, innocent dabblings in the arcane arts made her smile every time she thought of them, likening them to a child's first steps. Wouldn't those fools be surprised by how far I've come? she thought amusedly. Her considerable gains had not come without costs to L'tirashin, though. And those memories were still too fresh and painful in her mind to bear for long. Suddenly, the feigned rain had become annoying.

"ghOx!" L'tirashin commanded with a word of magic as she unfurled her wings. At once, the gentle shower stopped. As she stretched herself, L'tirashin moved effortlessly across the fluid surface of the bed to its edge, causing only small ripples from her passing. Sex in the rain, even the make-shift kind the ingenious plumbing above her bed provided was enjoyable but what she truly wanted was a thoroughly relaxing bath. Turning back to her bed, the demoness paused to consider her selection on who she wanted attending her whilst she bathed.

"You, you, and you," L'tirashin said as she pointed to a male then a female slave---and, lastly, Simvanna. "Attend me," L'tirashin told them as she turned and swept through the slightly wet, maroon sheers surrounding her bed. Despite the magically created heat that permeated her entire keep, a cool breeze still managed to find its way in through the many open windows ringing the outer wall of her chambers. The coolness caused the water still clinging to her sensuous body to give her goosebumps and stiffen her pierced nipples. A tiny chill ran up her back. Ooooo! L'tirashin smiled silently. I'm not sure if that feels good or what. As if somehow connected in some unknown way, she felt her clit start to tingle a moment after her nipples became like little mountain peaks. "Definitely good," she said to herself as she strolled across the room's gleaming blue marble floor veined with white.

The Temptress's bathing pool was almost exactly that: a small but deep pool recessed into the floor at the rear of her boudoir, situated beneath three large windows. While the bath was more than big enough to accommodate at least half of her harem of two hundred vassals comfortably, it was a very rare occurrence for more than a fifth of that number to enjoy the pleasure at one time. On several occasions, L'tirashin had heard her love slaves refer to her bath as the Moon Pool because of its resemblance to a gibbous moon as well as the crescent-shaped steps leading down into the deeper part. Another unique feature of her spa was the blue-tinted water and the jets of warm air that made her bath look more like a bubbling cauldron than a relaxing sanctuary.

"Ssavfz!" L'tirashin commanded, once more speaking in the language of magic as she stepped into her bathing pool. "Odtgo djaes!" Immediately, the enchantments enspelled into the Moon Pool during its construction responded to the arcane words and the water began to bubble and froth. In a few minutes, thin wisps of steam could be seen dancing across the top of the water, too. Descending two steps, L'tirashin slowly lowered herself into the warm embrace of the gently churning blue water, wanting to enjoy a good soak. She could already feel her muscles start to relax and her skin come alive all over with an intense tingling. L'tirashin closed her eyes to heighten the sensations. For a moment, everything around her ceased to exist: her cares, her slaves, her keep. Nothing at all mattered to her except the warmth flowing all around her.

But the Temptress's respite from the world was all too brief. A stifled cough from one of her awaiting vassals abruptly broke the moment. Following a reluctant sigh, L'tirashin forced herself to open her eyes. Taking time to consider her options with her attendants, L'tirashin finally spoke. "You," she said, pointing lazily to the man, "massage me, starting at my feet and working your way up." To the female, she commanded, "You, bathe me as gently as you would a newborn babe. And, you," L'tirashin told Simvanna, "I desire your sweet kisses." As the trio moved into their respective positions, she gave them a warning. "There is to be no love play unless I command it. Is that understood?" Their silent nods were all the confirmation she needed to let her know they would indeed obey her wishes, though there was no doubt in her mind that they would not have done otherwise.

Autraeu had been a sell-sword from Inninty prior to joining up with an adventuring party, led by a wizard of questionable sanity, whose intended purpose was not only to depose the ruler of Demnos but enslave her as well. Autraeu realized their folly and betrayed them to the demoness once they had made it into the forboding keep. His life was spared, but not the others. The wizard and priestess were killed outright while the other four were sent to the mines to slave the rest of their lives away. Almost from the very first moment the demoness saw the seven foot tall, hulking warrior, it seemed to Autraeu that she had a special role in mind for him. Autraeu served as one of L'tirashin's personal protectors for a few years until she discovered some of his other talents. While he had no true objection to this change in his "duties", there were times that Autraeu missed the thrill of combat inherent in guarding the ruler of Demnos. He had been allowed to father eight children, though he was rarely able to see any of them. The powerfully built warrior-now-slave did as he was bade, tenderly extending and lifting L'tirashin's right leg, her foot resting in his still heavily calloused hands. Autraeu's firm touch soon elicited a moan of delight from the Temptress. He smiled at his mistress but his look went unnoticed since her attention was already focused on tonguing Amean's mouth.

While Autraeu eased the tension from their mistress's body, Kinda was left to the task of providing her with a relaxing bath. Standing next to Autraeu in the waist-deep water, Kinda soaped up the thick wash cloth with a generous amount of lather from the perfumed soap cake. As she spumed the Temptress's dark skin, Kinda could not help being aroused by what she was doing and the man whom she stood beside. Though born into slavery, Kinda had a naturally voluptuous body with large breasts positioned high on her chest and a round, generous ass. It had been because of these attributes that she caught the notice of the Night One and been indoctrinated into her harem five years earlier. Kinda had always been intrigued by Autraeu's stories about his travels out in the world beyond the keep. It was also her deepest desire to be allowed to bear a child of his, but she dared not ever give voice to that aspiration, lest she displease her mistress. For such a transgression, Kinda would almost surely be sent to work in the mines deep beneath the mountain, keeping her from ever seeing Autraeu again. No, she would never risk that. Better to be content with things as they were than lose it all. Dipping her mistress's leg back into the water, Kinda washed away the cleansing foam.

Lounging on the cool rim next to L'tirashin, Simvanna was trying her best to feign the passion she knew was expected of her but was uncertain of her success. But Simvanna was sure why the Temptress had chosen her for her current role: to hasten her submission to being a slave. The myriad of worldly temptations surrounding her night and day made resisting increasingly difficult and she would have possibly already succumbed had it not been for Amean's presence. Protecting her sister from their mistress and her dark temptations was a source of strength for Simvanna, though she worried just how much longer she would be able to do so. Amean was already distancing herself from Simvanna and making friends---and lovers---among the harem slaves. Simvanna still hoped it was not too late for her naive sister. Or for herself. Giving into the Temptress's lustful demands, Simvanna fluttered her tongue playfully against hers as their oral copulation continued. A lascivious moan from the demoness gave Simvanna hope that her mendacious display of affection was working.

L'tirashin was thoroughly enjoying the attention---albeit compelled---being visited upon her. The simultaneous stimulations of the massage and bath helped her to remain relaxed enough to keep her rising passion in check while still being able to enjoy her flirtation with Simvanna. By her slave's manner, L'tirashin knew Simvanna's demonstrated affection was as false as the rain falling on her bed had been. At the moment, it hardly mattered. It was only a question of time as to how long Simvanna's resolve would last. Many slaves had initially possessed such indomitable spirits, but they all eventually succumbed---in one way or another. Running a hand across her reluctant lover's smooth white skin, a thought came to L'tirashin. Hmmmm. . . she mused silently. Perhaps an earlier experience than usual with motherhood will rid her of her willfulness. The Temptress smiled in delight at the notion. It was an avenue worth investigating since it may very well set her on the right path to solving her slave breeding quandary.

Autraeu and Kinda had switched sides and both had managed to get as far as her waist when, unknown to them, their demonic mistress received an unexpected mental summons.

"Come to me, my ssservant." commanded sharp, hissing voice resonating in L'tirashin's mind. "Come! Your massster commandsss you!"

She had been so unprepared, it almost made L'tirashin jump. Forcing herself to remain as calm as she could, only her wide-eyed reaction betrayed her. With remarkable speed, L'tirashin cleared her mind of all distractions, in preparation of baring her thoughts to the one who demanded her immediate and undivided attention. Even as she did, she already knew who was calling to her. It had been some years since their last contact but her reaction to his voice was invariably the same: it made L'tirashin a little fearful.

Yes, my master, she projected. I shall come at once.

No longer feeling the presence in her mind, L'tirashin focused her attention on sending her vassals elsewhere since what she was about to do was certainly none of their concern. "I'm bored," she told them in an icy tone. "All of you, leave me. At once!" Knowing only too well not to question their mistress's orders, the orgy's participants left without so much as uttering a word, most just leaving what little clothing they were allowed to wear laying where it had been casually discarded earlier.

Kinda was right behind Autraeu but curved her path enough to allow her to scoop up her gauzy dress and his equally flimsy pants before hurrying her pace to catch up with him. Just as the pair got to the door, Kinda slipped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

Autraeu briefly smiled and winked at her, knowing that she wanted the same thing he wanted. A good, lusty fuck. The only problem was finding a way to get together since the males and females of the Night One's harem were kept in separate quarters. But Autraeu was not too worried about that small obstacle because he had befriended one of the guards stationed outside of the male dormitory and that guard just happened to be on duty. Of course, for such a favor, Autraeu knew there would be a price to be paid and he just hoped Kinda would not object to being shared with the guard for a little while. After that, the rest of the night would be theirs to enjoy.

As they walked down the hallway, Autraeu quickly whispered his plan to his smitten lover. He half expected a negative reaction but was more than pleased when she nodded her consent and had a lascivious gleem in her eyes.

Kinda was thrilled. It was going to be a wonderful, albeit exciting, night.

When the last of her slaves were gone, L'tirashin closed the heavy, metal-bound oaken door after them and turned the key in the lock, listening as the triple bolts slid into place in the sturdy frame. She retrieved a cast off pair of pants and wiped the remaining soap from her body as she walked slowly over to a smoked glass mirror set into the inner wall of her chamber, though it stood within the confines of a magic circle. Five, man-high torches, that marked the pentagram's points, became alite with flame just as she stepped across the perimeter. After L'tirashin intoned a long string of arcane words and made some grand gestures, her ebony reflection and that of the room vanished from the looking glass. In their place was a swirling vortex of gray and black streaks that appeared to lead both inward and down. An icy wind coming from the magic portal blew her long, wet tresses out behind her like a comet's tail. Already apprehensive, L'tirashin suddenly felt colder in the face of the gale.

But her master was expecting her---and he was not one to be kept waiting.

"'I come at the bidding of my master'," the demoness said in a clearly ritualistic tone as she stepped across the threshold and into the looking glass. In the blink of an eye, she was gone, carried away by the fierce, extra-dimensional currents of the vortex.

With the same abruptness that sent light or loose objects flying across the room, a calm silence returned to the opulent chamber. Almost every trace of anything ever having transpired in the last few seconds was as absent as the keep's mistress.

But a pair of prying eyes were peering out from beneath the sheers around the bed, still staring at the spot where L'tirashin had just been standing.

Simvanna was dumbfounded. This was a revelation! That their demonic mistress had a master of her own to answer to seemed almost too good to be true. What she could do with this knowledge she was not sure, but it was a start. In the Temptress's rush to usher Simvanna and her fellow slaves out of the room, the elf managed to slip back over to the bed without being noticed. The drainage trough offered her plenty of concealment and the gap between the bottom of the curtain and the floor was more than high enough for her to see but not be seen as she observed L'tirashin's private activities. Simvanna was extremely thankful that she had not been discovered when the wind blew and lifted the sheers, giving away her position. Cautiously, the straggler slave lifted herself out of her hiding spot and slowly headed for the door.




The Temptress Ch. 04



Just as Simvanna was about to unlock the door, she stopped herself. Upon her return, the demoness would surely notice the unsecured portal and know someone had been in her private sanctum when no one should have been there.

And it would take the Temptress little time or magic to learn that person's identity.

Looking around the room, Simvanna desperately tried finding another way out, but one did not make itself known. She was trapped! Trapped by her own poorly conceived plan! Panic threatened to tear her normally cool rationale from her mind, making her heart begin to race. There had to be a way out! There just had to be!

The echoing cry of a battik coming from the valley below was Simvanna's inspiration.

Of course! her thoughts screamed as she mentally kicked herself. The window!

For the sake of convenience, the bisected chamber just below L'tirashin's were used to house her harem of multi-racial love slaves. Simvanna knew the climb would not be easy, but the prospect of a swift death was far more appealing than what she feared L'tirashin would do to her. She also needed to time her entrance so as to escape detection. More than one slave had been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust for no other reason to gain favor with the demoness. For only as long as she dared, Simvanna stood next to the open window, trying to get her body used to the relative chill of the night air. Believing she was ready, Simvanna climbed across to the cliff face and began her descent.

Her assessment of her escape had been correct. The thirty feet separating Simvanna from where she never thought she would long to be was hazardous. Four times she nearly slipped off the jagged cliff, barely managing to hang on. But it was the wait outside the communal bath that truly wore away at her body and her resolve. For what seemed like an eternity, she waited for the small room to be vacant. The rays of Rhyon, the larger of Tiaceor's twin suns, was already giving the sky its morning colors when Simvanna finally got her chance to slip inside.

Taking a brief but thorough bath, Simvanna washed away all traces of her climb down the cliff. Donning her only other dress, the errant elf crept quietly into the large sleeping area. When Simvanna snuggled up against her sister, Amean stirred and shivered slightly at her embrace.

"Where've you been?" Amean mumbled sleepily. "And why are you so cold?"

"Around," Simvanna whispered as she lovingly stroked her sister's hair. "I fell asleep in the bath and the water got cold. But I'm here, now." The elder of the two siblings warmed her hand between her own legs before slipping it around and gently started massaging between Amean's hairless nether lips.

"That feels nice," was all Amean said as Simvanna brought her closer and closer to a gentle climax. As if on its own, Amean's free left hand reached behind her and started to return the favor her loving sister was providing her.

Knowing her sister as intimately as she did allowed Simvanna to hasten Amean's orgasm simply by using her fingers to touch and caress the most sensitive spots in and around her pussy, including her tender, but very aroused, clitty.

But the same thing could be said of Amean.

It did not take the sisters long to make each other's breathing come faster and soft moans escape their lips. Their hands deftly and surely touched and rubbed, lingered and teased until shivers of delight were running through their bodies. After a few more moments, Simvanna felt Amean's pussy muscles clenching and sucking at her fingers as Amean uttered a breathless "Ooohhhhh!" and came. Simvanna felt her own climax race through her, making her body tremble in sexual relief.

"I love you," Simvanna whispered in her sister's ear before she licked Amean's sweet juices off her sticky fingers.

". .luv. .u. . .too" Amean mumbled as sleep swallowed her conscious thoughts.

A deep slumber came easily for Simvanna as well. Her muscles ached but Amean's body was warm. The completion of her night had been the pleasant orgasm induced by her sister and the few comfortable pillows on which she rested. Simvanna was sated for the time being.

But there were two things soothing her psyche.

Knowledge and the satisfaction that came with knowing it.



The Temptress Ch. 05



 Greetings! I thank you all so very, very much for your patience in your wait for Chapter Five. Once again, I had to almost start from scratch but this time it was due to having to complete a M-A-J-O-R rewrite of this chapter because I wanted. . . Oooops! That would be telling, wouldn't it?And I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.

 Without further ado, I present. . . .

Chapter Five

To L'tirashin, her descent into the Abyss felt much like an endless fall.

As ever, the visual effect of the vortex was confusing. No matter where she gazed, it seemed as if she was always looking down into the spiraling gray and black streaks of the sirocco. Her heat-sensitive sight was of no use either, unable to penetrate the chaos of the magic around her. L'tirashin was even deprived of the reassurance of being able to see any part of her body which appeared only as a vague silhouette against the vortex. This was a first taste of what the Everdark was like for all of the damned souls who had "earned" their place in it. Even powerful wizards and ruthless tyrants found themselves humbled by their entrance to the underworld, as the effect was intended to do. L'tirashin and others of her kind, who were given the great honor of returning to the mortal realms to subjugate entire worlds or tempt influential rulers or beings into joining them, loathed returning to the Abyss as they, themselves, were not immune to the effect of the vortex. L'tirashin closed her eyes to shut out the ocular assault but the wind's cacophony never ceased as it blasted at her from what felt like everywhere at once.

Then, as though a door had been shut, there was calm and silence.

When L'tirashin opened her eyes a moment later, what she saw could have been described as a living nightmare that would have driven mad beings hopelessly sane. Farther than any eye could see, the bleak gray and black landscape of Woeful Iscandar stretched into the distance and curving ever-so-slowly upward until being lost behind the unbroken cover of the roiling, ever-present thunderheads floating above the deeply scarred and broken ground. This portion of the Abyss was perpetually locked in a gloomy twilight.

Amid the impossibly deep chasms, the towering mountain crags, and jutting columns of basalt, life---or afterlife---was as abundant as insects on a fresh corpse. Scenes of torture were common and open for all to see, not confined by the walls of cells or dungeons, allowing the torturers to let their imaginations run wild as to what they could let their victims experience. Vast pits of wriggling worms were the fate of some damned souls. With their forms altered into a larval state, they would spend unknowable years trying to escape the pit---lest they become food for a powerful demon passing by. Lakes filled with putrid waters held some more of the Everdark's residents, each one of them being eternally eaten alive by all manner of life hidden beneath the water's murky brown surface.

Not too far away from her lofty vantage point, L'tirahsin could see one of the many fields where the souls of the especially cruel were impaled on lengthy poles and left to "enjoy" the kind of torment they had inflicted on others. To her right, the demoness watched as a pack of fifty or more gnashers as they chased four times their number of wretches toward a precipice and the twisting, turning, steam-filled canyons below it. Gnashers were mindless demons who were best described as being a fang-filled mouth on a round head, sitting atop two legs that never tired of chasing its victim---even after it was caught.

One of the torments L'tirashin had yet to understand was the one in which women and men, in well-tailored clothes and carrying thin leather bags, were being alternately chased or run over by enclosed wagons with flashing lights on top that screamed at their fleeing target with a noise so piercing and shrill that it even startled some demons. "'Tis a strange multiverse we live in," she once remarked to herself.

All were familiar sights, sounds, and smells that surrounded her. Woeful Iscandar was a region of the Abyss where the souls of those who caused great misery for others spent their eternal damnation.

She was home.

But this was only one layer, one plane, of the Abyss---and there were many. No one, not even the demonic rulers or residents, knew just how many planes existed and, given the chaotic nature of the Everdark, L'tirashin doubted anyone would ever know. Some layers were separated from each other by dimensional barriers similar to those that separated the whole of the Abyss from the material universe of the ephemerals. Other regions of the Everdark were not so neatly divided from each other. At times, the division would not even be noticeable, causing more than one jealous Abyssal master or mistress to make war on his or her neighbor over a trespass that had an equal chance of being real . . or imagined.

Far off in the distance, just as the plane started to curve upward, stood a stronghold many times the size the one L'tirashin had on Tiaceor. The dark, foreboding keep towered over the mountainous crags around it an equal measure as they stood above the dark, oppressive reality of Woeful Iscandar.

Just as L'tirashin spread her wings to take advantage of her extra means of locomotion, a polite cough and a tap on her shoulder delayed her take-off. As she turned, the demoness's highly sensitive olfactory senses caught the faintest hint of a very familiar odor---and one that L'tirashin considered even more heady and intoxicating than any ephemerally created aroma.

Blood mingled with violent death.

Silently, L'tirashin regarded the newest arrival to her reality. He was a man of middle years, dressed all in black but for the white shirt adorned with what appeared to be a choke collar beneath his two long coats and vest with a thin piece of silky white cloth tied in a bow around his neck. Dark, finely-tailored trousers dressed his legs and a pair of shiny black shoes bedecked his feet. The black hat atop his head completed his ensemble as well as giving him the illusion of being almost a foot taller than was actual. In his left hand he carried a small satchel with a handle while, in his right, he carried a cane topped with an ornate gold handle. L'tirashin had to admit he did seem out of place but her keen eyes spotted a tell-tale dot of crimson on the very tip of the downward pointing corner on his otherwise pristine collar, betraying him.

The demoness inhaled deeply. The aroma of fresh, innocent blood was all about him and very unmistakable as she felt it swirl around in her nose, titillating and arousing her. L'tirashin smiled with great satisfaction and malice at the man.

"I know what you've been doing," she said with a sing-song voice but the wicked glint remained in her eyes. "You've been very, very naughty, haven't you?"

"I have no idea what what you're talking about," the man stated haughtily, though stretching his neck a bit as if his collar was just a little tight. "Do you know who I am, my good . . eh . . woman?"

L'tirashin was amused. It had most always been her experience that mortals who had just passed from whatever world they came from and found themselves in the depths of the Abyss could, on rare occasion, remain standing when face-to-face with one of the Everdark's populace. But here was a man who was standing his ground against her as if he were her equal. Beings such as this were truly rare.

And, most often, became very amusing subjects for "extra attention".

As to his question, she knew precisely who . . well, at least what . . this man was: a killer. A vile butcher who slaughtered his victims for no other reason than to satisfy some dark need in his equally black soul, a need that would never be appeased no matter how many innocents were place on the alter of sacrifice.

Too bad, L'tirashin sighed inwardly. If I were still residing here, I'd enjoy having this one as a pet. But that doesn't mean someone else can't enjoy him.

"Yes," the naked demoness replied as she slowly walked toward the man, "I do know who you are, though your name is of no use or consequence here, in the Abyss. From your smell, I can tell that you lived in a major seaport, that the climate there is cool most of the year, and that you are no stranger to blood. You murdered four . . no, five women, hated them for how you perceived them to be but relished what you did to them! Death claimed you not long after you took your last victim. That is who you are!" The face of the clean-shaven man blanched and, for the first time, L'tirashin saw terror cloud his hazel colored eyes.

"B-but . . . how?" the man stammered in disbelief, his composure starting to crack.

"Because," L'tirashin whispered as she leaned in close to him until her nose almost touched his, "I am a demon, you silly ephemeral. That's how. And this," she continued, taking one step to the side and making a sweeping gesture indicating the nightmare that was Woeful Iscandar, "this will be your home . . . for the rest of eternity!"

As the black-clad gentleman looked at the horrible vista before him, a few forgotten memories became fresh and vibrant. The ride in a handsome cab from his night's work. The walk up the steps to his house near . . . Hyde Park . . . yes, that was it. He recalled turning and re locking his front door after going inside---

Suddenly, an intense pain gripped his chest. The man clutched at his heart, letting his cane and satchel fall from his grip. As the objects tumbled toward the ground, they vanished as if they had been naught but phantoms.

But the pain the man felt was not imaginary.

"My heart!" the man gasped as the agony bent him forward. "Please! Help me!"

The demoness laughed at him.

"So," L'tirashin managed in between her chuckles, "the butcherer of women was brought low by a weak heart. How tragic! How pathetic!" Grabbing him by his collar, she lifted him up and stared fiercely into his eyes. "Remember this pain well, worm, as you will soon long for its 'tender caress'! What awaits you here will be far more excruciating than anything you have ever witnessed, imagined, experienced, or committed, in your life!" In a heartbeat, L'tirashin snapped open her wings and launched herself and her unwilling companion into the chilly air. The ground swiftly fell away and soon the pair were soaring high above the barren landscape.

As they flew, L'tirashin wondered as to whom she should deliver this damned soul. She knew her own master would probably just throw him into the larval pit, where he would eventually either be eaten by other demons or spend the rest of eternity trying to escape from the pits---just as tens of thousands of millions of other larva struggled to do. No, this one deserved a more fitting punishment. Just about that time, the demoness spotted the form of a big, hulking brute of a demon who was walking behind several hundred bent and misshapen souls, herding them across the harsh, desolate landscape with frequent cracks and lashings of his long whip.

"Shan-Dho!" L'tirashin screamed down at the demon. "Here's another deserving soul for some of your 'special attentions'!" Giving her passenger a mighty heave, L'tirashin threw the man toward the massive task master.

The demon looked up just in time to see L'tirashin cast a man clad in odd black clothes right at him. Shan-Dho, who stood almost three times as high as even the tallest of his ruck---and was an equal measure of both muscle and horn---smiled and let loose a deep and terrible laugh as he stretched out a mighty arm to catch the flailing form headed his way. Unerringly, the monstrous demon's hand found the man's neck and encircled it tightly before bringing the terrified soul within a few scant inches of his dog-like face.

"And yet another victim for me to enjoy!" Shan-Dho's voice boomed as the hand holding the man glowed with a sickly green color. Almost immediately, the man's clothes fell away from him as if they had been turned to ash, leaving him clad only in ragged remnants. With similar swiftness, his form started to twist and bend, eliciting a fresh scream of torment from the hapless soul. In only a matter of moments, the formerly well-dressed man was a distorted version of his former human self and could not be distinguished from the other wretches under Shan-Dho's not-so-tender care. The powerfully muscled fiend hurled his latest "recruit" into the crowd.

"Now, get moving, you worthless piece of shit!" the demon bellowed as he gave his extremely long, barbed whip a sharp snap across the man's back. "Get moving! All of you! We've got a long way to go and I want to get started on training you for battle! The Blood War is eternal and more troops are always welcome!" Shan-Dho's malicious laugh and a second crack of his whip served to punctuate his statement as he forced his small battalion back into motion.

L'tirashin smiled as she flew on, the frigid air not feeling quite as cold as before.

* * * *

The passage of time in the Abyss was an almost impossible thing for the mind of a non-demon to comprehend. There was no yesterday, no tomorrow. Just a perpetual and ever-present moment of now. It was as if every day that had ever been or would ever be all touched the chaos that was the Everdark at the same time. Much like the surface of an unbreakable bubble, the Abyss was surrounded by the eternal whole of time. To the inexperienced soul, what felt like the passing of decades or centuries usually amounted to no more than a handful of days, as mortals would know them.

"Amensio ligna onten romra ym nommus!" L'tirashin spoke, intoning the spell as she neared the towering edifice. Upon the utterance of the final word, a deep crimson aura enveloped the demoness. In a few moments, the radiance faded, leaving L'tirashin clad in her full battle raiment. Her armor was a deep crimson but looked formidable as both protection and as a weapon. The breast plate was better described as being two upward curving horns that covered her full breasts; her shoulder guards were also horns whose points ended at least a full hand span away from her skin. From where it was attached to the back plate, more articulated armor was strapped along the upward sweep of her wings and ended in what appeared to be stingers at the central joint. Her gauntlets were similarly covered with smaller horns and special holes in the fingertips allowed her talons to protrude. The demoness's hairy mons was only just covered by a small triangular leather patch---complete with a matching tusk---and secured to her barb-covered tail armor. Her protective leggings went from mid-thigh, down her sensuous legs, and ended in cloven hooves. They also sported two mean looking horns, sticking out to the side of each knee. Completing her ensemble was a loose fitting belt and scabbard that hung from her left hip. On her head L'tirashin wore a half-masked great helm. Even though the armor seemed to offer little in the way of protection to the wearer, the powerful enchantments worked into it during its crafting made up for any perceived short-comings. Since she had not worn it in nearly a century, her protective attire always felt a bit uncomfortable. But her helm never did. She had earned it following one of the century-long battles of the Great War fought against the Ba'atar, who ruled the Ten Hells. There were many common dimensional borders of the two malignant planes and their similar designs to conquer the multiverse made conflict inevitable. From a time pre-dating the coming of the dark gods (perhaps even before the beginning of time), the two sides had been at war with each other. L'tirashin's strategy at the Battle of Kun'ati had brought victory to the side of the Everdark---though that same ephemeral world became an open battlefield between the two infernal sides only a century later.

L'tirashin's subsequent promotion to war mistress also put her in a position of great authority as the commander of Woeful Iscandar's entire demon army. Equally, it enabled her to further her plans to attain even greater power and status. At the same time she ached for the day she would be the one who ruled Woeful Iscandar, L'tirashin knew she had to be cautious as there would be eyes on her from many sides; some of which belonged to those she used, then discarded, to aid her climb to power.

But, as was more often true than not with beings of her rank and power, L'tirashin had a powerful weapon at her disposal:

Sa'shey.

L'tirashin's completed her warrior visage when she removed the tiny, but finely crafted sword-shaped earring from its spot on her right lobe and spoke a single word of magic at the adornment. In an instant, the minuscule piece of metal grew many times its former size and weight. L'tirashin held the one thing she prized beyond almost anything else tightly in her grasp. The fearsome looking sword's name meant Life's Scourge, in elvish. To its foes, Sa'shey meant death. All along the gleaming black blade's length danced hundreds of pin-picks of light, each one the spirit of a slain enemy---and all used to power the sword's devastatingly deadly powers. With practiced ease, the demoness slid her weapon into the formerly empty scabbard with a satisfying shrringg of metal against metal.

Directly ahead was her master's fortress. While L'tirahsin had let the design of her keep be influenced to a small degree by the inhabitants of Tiaceor, her master's bore no such trace of ephemeral conception. The statement it made to those who beheld it was as plain and abrupt as it was portentous and terrifying:

Fear----without a trace of mercy.

L'tirashin was soaring so high above the drawbridge that the guards stationed to either side of it looked the size of insects. But there was still a great deal of the keep towering above her, making her appear equally insignificant. Pulling her wings in about half way, she dove down at the span hundreds of feet below. L'tirashin landed on the center of the drawbridge and strode purposefully toward the main gate. As she got closer, two of the six jackal-headed guards rushed forward to intercept her.

"Halt!" growled one of the nollwars, leveling his long halberd at L'tirashin. "Our master has forbidden entry to all seeking an audience with him. Leave now or die!"

The nollwar never even saw L'tirashin move. In a flash of black, the luckless guard hit the ground in two pieces, bisected neatly up through the middle of his body. Sa'shey had gained another soul.

Just as the second guard was thinking about attacking her, L'tirashin fixed him with a deathly gaze and cursed at him. "Cur! I'll not waste any more of my time dealing with the likes of you! I am War Mistress L'tirashin Jaduor, commander of the Doom Legions of Woeful Iscandar! Our master is expecting me and you will let me pass---unless you wish to meet the same fate as your friend!" Without saying a word, the nollwar stood aside then waved for the huge portcullis to be raised.

L'tirashin knew her way around the tremendous fortification well. She should, since it had been both her home and prison for many, many years. Brought there initially as one of twelve additions to her master's own harem, the ambitious demoness had gradually worked herself into a position of favor where she continued to labor until she eventually earned her freedom.

Well, relative freedom. She was, after all, still her master's servant.

But her own rise in status had cost many to lose theirs. L'tirashin had no doubt that a fair number of her former rivals still roamed the numerous corridors of the keep, always scheming and seeking ways to regain their master's favor.




The Temptress Ch. 05



When she arrived at the main, circular staircase, the demoness again called on her extra means of mobility and ascended through the central part of the gigantic keep as easily as if she were crossing a room. Shortly, L'tirashin arrived at the main audience chamber. As she landed, she saw guards on duty here as well, barring entrance to any who got this far and dared to try and venture further. But L'tirashin knew they would not challenge her passage, especially since all twenty of them were wearing armor similar to hers. As their fellows saluted L'tirashin, the two sentinels nearest the gigantic doors pushed them open for their leader then closed them directly behind her.

The vast chamber beyond the portals was much like her own, though on a larger scale. But there was one marked contrast between the two strongholds; whereas L'tirashin kept hers unnaturally warm, her master's was maintained in perpetual cold. The demoness's every breath hung in the air for a few moments before being swallowed by the icy air. L'tirashin was more than a little appreciative for some of the minor enchantments woven into her armor.

As she headed toward the dais, the demoness walked along the two long lines of servants who were standing at an angle on either side of their master. Among the slaves, L'tirashin saw a few faces she recognized but most were unfamiliar to her. It was not surprising that many of them had a humanoid form and appearance and most of them probably still resembled what they looked like during their mortal lives.

For the most part.

Invariably, the Abyss had also left its indelible mark upon them, forever branding them as one of its own. Darkly pigmented skin was turned coal black and fair skin appeared almost transparent; pointed ears became even further elongated as did tusks and horns. The twists the Everdark stamped on each soul was as unique as the individual, with no two ever seeming to be exactly the same as the last.

But the Temptress paid them no heed, as was their due---just as those of higher status had done with her when she had been bound thus. In her mind, the slaves present were nothing more than decorations, statues made of Abyssal flesh.

L'tirashin bowed her head as she knelt on one knee before her master.

"Ssso," came a raspy, hissing voice as it echoed throughout the immense chamber, "my ssservant finally returnsss. . .though it isss becaussse her massster hasss sssummoned her!" The demon's disciple was silent. "Well?! Have you nothing to sssay? I know you've a sssharp tongue in your mouth and are rarely afraid to unleasssh it, ssso ssspeak!!"

L'tirashin lifted her head just enough to see the one who commanded her. Sitting on a throne that looked as if had been grown instead of carefully crafted was a white skinned, well-muscled man who appeared to be as much a part of his regal seat as his arm was a part of him. His legs were cocooned in what seemed to be dull brown armor, lacking a finish. Covering his groin and manhood (demonhood?) was an armored codpiece. Claw-like fingers around his upper thighs and waist---and one around his throat---seemed to be what were holding the demon lord against his throne. Atop his head was a skullcap comprised of what looked to be extremely long, brown fingers, two of which reached to just under his jaw. The demon's eyes were filled with a bright, sickly yellow glow that were, at that moment, narrowed at L'tirahsin. Absentmindedly, his right hand stroked his codpiece while his left reached up and caressed part of his throne. 

"I beg my master's forbearance of my inexcusable lack of contact and intolerably lengthy stay on---"

"Ceassse with your ssself-debasssement and ssspeak plain!" L'tirashin's master roared at her. "By the time you're through prattling, the universsse will have been long sssinccce dead."

"As my master commands," L'tirashin said as her head dipped low before resuming her report. "Tiaceor is a most unique world, master; a world worthy of a careful and detailed study---especially because how magic works there."

"And how is that?" he asked with a mixed note of irritation and casual interest.

"There is a definite connection between the casting of spells and sex."

"Go on. . ." the demon prompted.

L'tirashin knew she had her master's attention. His words gave away nothing but his tone and the brief glimmer of interest in his glowing eyes said otherwise. Emboldened, she got to her feet slowly. As she did, L'tirashin explained:

"For some reason, which is still unknown to even their most learned sages, the casting of any spell, whether wizardly or priestly, causes the caster to experience an almost over-whelming desire to engage in some kind of sexual activity. The more potent the spell, the greater the urge. Some enchantments even have sex, to one degree or another, as part of the casting requirements. This unique link could easily be exploited to our advantage. By tempting the mortals of Tiaceor through their basest desires could prove to be a more effective and efficient means of conquering that world than the use of many legions of troops."

As the demon contemplated his servant's words, a wet squelching noise could be heard coming from the throne. Suspended by the tentacles connecting the skullcap to the throne, as well as the one attached to his groin and a second probing his fundament, the white-skinned man rose from the chair and floated toward L'tirashin.

"We will continue thisss conversssation in private," he said quietly. A groan mixed with equal amounts of pleasure and despair escaped the man's mouth and the glow in his eyes faded away, revealing a rather ordinary pair of green orbs. The fingers comprising the skullcap released their hold on his head at the same time the tentacles retracted from his anus and groin before the man was tossed aside like a useless puppet, his naked body landing with a thud against the cold floor and spiraling a dozen feet toward the main doors. The long appendages retracted toward the throne until they were back in their respective spots.

"Leave usss," hissed a voice coming from nowhere. "All of you!!"

The three score vassals in attendance quickly scurried toward the concealed servant exits, none of them desirous of being punished for taking too long over their departure. Two of the white-skinned man's fellows swiftly hefted him between them as they retreated from their master's chamber, despite the dazed man's mumbled protestations as to their actions.

For a few moments, the chamber appeared to be empty except for L'tirashin's presence.

But appearances often lie.

All at once, the throne came to life. Things that had appeared to be decorative, though horrific, protrusions suddenly started moving and flexing themselves. The besprent squishing noise grew louder and, somehow, wetter as the throne began to twist back and forth while finger-thick tendrils writhed and probed all around the spot where an occupant could find repose. Four feet above the seat---and situated in a circle---five eyes opened, each glowing with a sickly blue radiance. With more wet noises, each ocular organ was extended on a stalk about a foot long, where they started to twist slightly to and fro, taking in the immediate surroundings. That which had appeared to have been a skullcap flexed open and shut, the fingers ringing it following in a similar motion.

In synchronization with the flexing, L'tirashin heard her master's voice echo in her head.

"This 'connection' you ssspeak of would exxxplain your activitiesss of late, of which I am very well aware." The look of surprise that flashed across L'tirashin's eyes let the demon know that she had been oblivious to being spied upon. "You ssseem sssurprisssed, though you ssshould not be. Did you think, even for a moment, that I'd blindly trussst anyone---even you---with sssuch a missssion asss thisss without sssome kind of sssupervisssion? Hardly!" Thick brown fleshy lids closed slightly around the demon master's eyes, giving the impression of narrowing as its gaze bore into her. "While you have been inssstrumental in the conquessst of many worldsss, you seem to have forgotten that many eyesss other than thossse of the Dark Onesss watch usss! I know for a fact that you have ssspiesss within my keep, asss well asss many other placcesss throughout exxxissstencce, keeping you apprisssed of thingsss you need to know to keep rivalsss and thossse who would usssurp your power and posssition at bay. I have sssimilar agentsss of my own. And it isss becaussse of our elevated ssstatusss and the precariousss balancce we maintain that we mussst have them. With asss long asss you've been here, you know full well how failure isss 'tolerated' and how thossse who do fail are dealt with. Were I you, I'd keep reminding myssself of what I just sssaid, unlesssss you fancy a climb up from the larval pitsss---asss a larva!"

"No, master, I do not," the humbled demoness said quietly. The mere thought of that wretched place made L'tirashin uneasy, especially when she was the one being referenced.

"I thought not." said Woeful Iscandar's sovereign with an air of satisfaction in his words. "Now, join to me, my pet. It hasss been too long sssincce I have sssavored your essssencce and sssucculent thoughtsss."

"As my master desires, so do I obey," L'tirashin smiled lustily. It took her only as long to say two words of magic to be standing naked before her master. The cold air nipped at her dark flesh, making it tingle all over and her nipples so stiff that her piercings became more than a bit uncomfortable. But L'tirashin pushed such selfish thoughts out of her mind. At that moment, the only thing that needed to matter to her was her master desires. L'tirahsin put a bit more sway in her hips as she seductively stepped closer, even though she knew it was more for her benefit. Her nearness was greeted by her master's appendages, writhing all around her. From having been her master's thrall on more occasions than she could ever count, L'tirashin tucked her wings tightly against her body and presented her back. Two sinewy tendrils came around on either side of her, wending their way toward her voluptuousness. As she casually stroked one, much as a mortal might a favorite pet, the tip of the thin tentacle split open and revealed a tiny mouth, filled with equally tiny teeth. In unison, the two tendrils latched onto her breasts, making the demoness sigh with pleasure. It had been too long, she decided. Far too long since she had felt the ecstasies her master could elicit from her battle-hardened body.

While L'tirashin closed her eyes to further enjoy the prelude of their joining, she both felt and sensed two more, thicker, tentacles silently slip between her well-shaped legs. Unerringly, the pair appendages slithered up and found their respective marks. With a soft squish noise, the first one pushed itself deep into L'tirahsin's more-than-eager pussy while the second was pressing against the tight ring of her asshole.

"Aaaaauuuuggghhhh!!" L'tirahsin cried out as the invader forced its way inside her. The pain lasted several long moments until the tentacle paused in its inward motion.

By the Dark Ones!! the demoness cursed mentally as the initial ache rapidly gave way to delectation. During their numerous past joinings, L'tirashin had always prepared her anal orifice for exactly this kind of abuse with either a small enchantment or a lubricant then, convincingly, hollering her discomfort. For the first time in almost two centuries, the thought had slipped her otherwise astute mind.

But, too, she knew her master truly relished hearing her scream in genuine torment.

L'tirashin's tail curled around first one then the other of the thick tubes of muscular demon flesh as they began sawing in and out of her twin holes, coaxing them into an increased rhythm and pace. She was almost startled when the finger-ringed skullcap lightly touched her on the head, seeking to increase the intensity of the union between master and servant even further. The long, many jointed fingers wrapped themselves firmly around her chin and neck, making resistance of any sort very unwise.

"More," L'tirahsin heard herself implore, feeling as if she were hearing the petition come from someone else's lips. "Please, master. More."

Her response was granted two-fold.

First, from near where the skullcap was joined to the tentacle supporting it, a long, thin, and very sharp stinger slowly emerged---and directed right at the base of L'tirahsin's skull. The pricking sensation she felt as it penetrated was only momentary as the hollow barb deposited a powerful hallucinogenic, that also served as a telepathic agent, right into her brain stem. The effect was immediate. As though a partition had been removed from between them, the demoness was fully aware of her master's innermost thoughts. But, knowing her roll in their joining, she turned a deaf ear to those intellections, not wishing to incur her master's wrath.

Second, L'tirahsin had a vague sensation of being pulled toward the bulk of her master's immense body. As she was settled in the opening within the demon's body, several more tendrils wrapped themselves around her legs, arms, and waist. She was secured in a similar way as had been the white-skinned man who had been there only several minutes before. Unlike that man, though, she was presented with another of her master's appendages. This one was as thick as her wrist and almost as long as tail; it was dark brown in color and a sickly-sweet, yellowish ooze was slowly and continuously seeping from the trio of holes at the center of the flat, flared end, dripping in copious amounts down its length. As soon as the rich, heavy scent tickled her nostrils, L'tirahsin's mouth opened as a reflex. Hungrily, her mouth engulfed the soft, leathery end and she took as much of it into her mouth as she could manage while still being pleasantly restrained.

L'tirahsin's normally fierce mind was reeling from the sexual barrage being carried out on her. Of course, whenever she coupled with her master, it was always thus. The demoness felt her body and mind being violated and ravished in a way that no ephemeral could ever understand or endure. Once, long ago, she had seen one try but the woman went mad within a minute and never recovered.

But, then, her master was no ordinary demon.

Long before the mortal universe had emerged from the chaos of its own beginning, the Abyss was ruled for countless eons by creatures called ry'thorbi. The popular belief among the tanar'ri---demons of L'tirashin's ilk---was that their ry'thorbi masters had been given the spark of life from the very essence of the pandemonium of the Abyss itself. The physical manifestations of the ry'thorbi reflected the truly chaotic nature of the Everdark with some having appearances so completely disturbing that the mind of a creature lesser than themselves beholding it would either unable to see that particular ry'thorbi or just die from having seen it. Equally fearsome was the power the ry'thorbi wielded. Had the gods of mortals been alive during their reign, surely they would have trembled at the mere thought of them.

Of course, even powerful beings can make mistakes.

And the ry'thorbi were no exception.

To serve them and aid in their desires of conquest, the ry'thorbi created the tanar'ri. With the successful birthing of each new generation of tanar'ri, their masters would introduce further innovations and depravities to their creations, making those of the next coeval even stronger. For thousands of generations, the tanar'ri served their masters slightest whims and raged bloody wars against those who they were told were the enemy. . .

Until the day when the tanar'ri revolted as one.

Hundreds of thousands of ry'thorbi lay dead shortly after the uprising commenced. Many of the survivors tried in vain to marshal those forces still loyal to them and affect an escape but often found themselves victims of well-conceived plans to draw them out of hiding. The tanar'ri were now their masters' master---and showed no mercy to them.

Only the most powerful among the ry'thorbi managed to survive both the insurrection and the long march down through the years. Quite often, the ry'thorbi had to change themselves in order to continue to exist and keep their past a dark secret.

L'tirashin's master had been one of those who had survived.

But, even during her long tenure in her master's keep, there were still a few things she did not know. Never once did she hear her master called be name, even when the only other ry'thorbi she ever saw paid a visit. The only name L'tirashin knew her captor as was "Master". The demoness also had no clue as to just how much of her master there was; all she ever saw was that which looked to be the insect-like throne she was currently occupying. It always felt like there was more but exactly where it was hidden eluded her. She also wondered if the physical form of her master had remained the same from the Age before Ages or if it had undergone changes from something far beyond anything she could imagine.

Most puzzling of all to her was whether or not her master was male or female. While possessing some physical characteristics of both, L'tirashin could never figure out which was the more true. But, if one's title was any indication, then she would have to guess that he was male since his rubric was "master", not "mistress". Of course, her master could have also selected a name such as "the Great One", "One Most High", or "P'tla'qaar"---and then how would anyone have known or even guessed?

At the moment, though, none of that mattered to L'tirashin because her master was giving her a joining that she had not experienced in far too long. The demoness felt her consciousness drifting inward, away from the reality of Woeful Iscandar and toward the core of her being. All around her swirled billowing gray clouds. After descending for a few seconds, L'tirashin felt her feet come to rest on a solid surface. Looking down, she could still clouds drifting silently past, far beneath her.

For the moment, she stood alone.

But she knew better than that. L'tirahsin could feel her master all around her. As a wisp of gray-white vapor lazily wafted by, it grazed her already tightly erect nipples and made a warm rush of sexual heat race through her loins. Her eyes became slits and rolled back in her head as a soft moan escaped her luscious, full lips.

"Oooohh, yessssssss!" she breathed.

"Sssooo," came a voice in her mind, "my ssservant enjoysss her massster'sss toucch?"

"It is what I live for, master," L'tirahsin replied as another gaseous tendril passed between her legs, its full length gently flowing across her engorged clit. The moan in her throat became a tiny yelp of pain as a small spark of lightning jumped from the cloud surrounding her upper torso and nipped none-to-lightly at her taut nipples, making the demoness writhe in pleasure-pain. A second jolt found its mark on her right buttock as a third licked against her left inner thigh.

"Aauugghhh!" she screamed as the pain lanced through her, making her pussy wetter.

"You were planning on keeping your dissscovery from me, weren't you?!" her master's voice demanded in undisguised accusation. "WEREN'T YOU?!?!" Punctuation for the words was accomplished by further jolts of lightning across her flesh.

"Master, I. . .ahhhh!. . .was only doing. . .owww!. . .my best to fully. . .aarrggh!. . .assess the situation. . .aauuhhhh!!. . .before informing you of my. . .uuuhhhh!. . .discovery!" L'tirashin managed to convey, between the small arcs of energy sent dancing across her skin.




The Temptress Ch. 05



"Don't you mean that you would have informed me oncce you had a near massstery over that world AND itsss unique connecttion to magic?! ANSSSWER ME!!!"

More tiny bolts of crisp, agonizing energy slapped at L'tirahsin's body from all directions, their intensity increasing slightly with each subsequent lash. The pain was intense although the demoness had experienced much worse during her introduction to life in the Abyss. Over the many intervening years, she had actually learned to not only tolerate the abuse but let it arouse her to near sexual ecstasy. But her master always seemed to know just how to keep applied pain from becoming pleasure. For a fleeting moment, L'tirahsin had felt the urge to tell her master all about her plans for Tiaceor. . . .and even darker, more nefarious secrets. . . .just to get the torture to stop.

Then, the instant vanished, as if never having been.

Down through the centuries, L'tirahsin came to understand the rules of her master's little game. Over that same time, she became quite adept at playing it, too. She knew what she had to do, what was expected of her.

And, most importantly, how to gain her master's trust and allay concerns.

"Their spellcasters are. . . aauuhhhh!. . .very powerful, master. . .Aarrggh!. . .If we would bring. . . ahhhh!. . .our forces through. . . uuuhhh!. . .unprepared,. . . aauugghh!. . .we could find ourselves. . .ooohhhh!. . .willingly walking into an ambush!" the demoness cried through more jolts of electricity. To add further conviction to her statement, she allowed great tears to roll down her cheeks. Never one for emotional outbursts, especially in front of her master, L'tirahsin felt her ploy would at least make her master hesitate, even if only for a second. "Please, master! Hear me!"

Abruptly, the assault on her abated. Silence surrounded her, much like her master and the gray clouds, broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing. L'tirahsin allowed herself a secret smile. Apparently, her gambit had worked and her master was considering her appeal.

"Your wordsss ring true," spoke a very familiar female voice, though its owner remained hidden by the thick vapors surrounding the demoness. A moment later, L'tirahsin found herself staring at. . .herself!. . .as she emerged from the cloud. For a second, the demoness was utterly speechless. Over the millennia, she had experienced a great many sexual delights with her master but this would indeed be a first. She was impressed. In looking at her magical double, she had the vague impression that she was seeing a three-dimensional reflection of herself. That thought made the demoness smile broaden.

Would it be masturbation if one had sex, literally, with one's self? she mused in delight.

As L'tirahsin regarded her mirror image, another voice beckoned for her attention.

"I mussst agree," said a baritone voice, coming from behind her.

L'tirahsin's excited smile turned to pure lust when she saw what could only be described as a wholly male version of herself step into view. Broad shoulders, a powerful chest, thick arm muscles. . .and an equally impressive erection bobbing up and down between his legs as he came toward her.

"You ssseem sssurprisssed but very exxccited, my pet," the demon said.

"Yesssss," chimed the female. "Why isss that, I wonder?"

L'tirashin's tongue lightly caressed her lips before she responded.

"Joining with my master is always exciting," she said. "And my master knows so many creative ways to make it even more. . .stimulating." L'tirahsin reached out and firmly took hold of the rampant erection on her male-self. When she did, the demoness felt a tingling on her already aroused clit and the sensation only increased as she gave the hard phallus a few strokes. L'tirahsin reached her free hand back, motioning her twin-self to join them. To her delight, she felt her counterpart take her hand and slip two fingers into her wet slit. The effect was immediate and very, very erotic. As L'tirahsin felt her fingers slide into the wet folds of her other's vaginal flower, she felt the same esthesis in her own. A deep groan of wanton desire reverberated in the demoness's throat, exiting her lips as a heated breath. The lusty demoness could scarcely believe the sensations her master was evoking from her already sexually amenable body. Whatever kind of touch she visited upon her master, L'tirahsin felt as if she were doing it to herself and having it done to her at the same time. She felt her normally strong will succumbing to her master's as the sexual ecstasy clouded her thoughts.

"Yessss," her master's voices hissed in unison, "Jussst sssurender to our embraccce." The male version of the demon lord then lifted his thrall with a strength that surpassed hers and drew her closer, keeping her hovering little more than a hand width above his rampant demonhood. At the same time, his female self sank to her knees and spread L'tirahsin's ass cheeks and proceeded to tongue her anus while lightly running her index finger along the length of her dripping slit. As another soft moan confirmed his vassal's pleasure, the demoness's master all but let her fall from his grasp, impaling her on his thick member.

L'tirahsin's eyes flew wide open and she threw back her head and screamed a soundless scream as her master fully entered her in one stroke. She was euphoric. The sensation of fucking and being fucked together was almost more than she could stand.

Almost.

The demoness had to admit that it was taking nearly everything she had to resist giving herself, utterly, over to her master as she had done so many times in the past. She knew only too well what such a surrender would mean: abject slavery. If she let herself fall, now, it would take many years and the tiniest increments of increased willfulness to once again liberate herself to the extent she was already free.

But all of this was still part of her master's game, a test to assure her continued loyalty.

As the demon sovereign continued sawing his potent cock in and out of her pussy and licking her asshole, L'tirahsin's sensation-saturated body chose that moment for its release. In a second, she was cumming; bucking and grinding her overstuffed, streaming pussy violently against her master's magnificent erection. The waves of her orgasm broke across her mind and body much like the ones that would pound against a beach in a hurricane. A dreamy, contented smile lit up her lovely face as she rode the crest of each wave until they gradually subsided and everything faded to black.

When the world made sense again, L'tirashin found herself laying flat on her back, her master's head between her legs, hungrily tonguing her still gushing cleft. She wriggled against his face, guiding him to just the right spots to excite. As her fingers entangled themselves in the demon's black hair, forcing his face to remain buried in its delightful work, her twin self was lowering her pussy for L'tirahsin to lick. Again, the sensations were intoxicatedly intense at both ends. To further her own---and presumably her master's---pleasure, L'tirahsin reached up with a free hand and took a hold of her twin's tail. After stroking it a few times against her other's wet pussy, the demoness placed it against her female master's anal ring and pushed the tip slowly in. L'tirahsin almost climaxed from the initial penetration, feeling as if it were her ass that was being entered, instead.

For a considerable time, the Abyssal lord kept L'tirahsin hovering at the brink of another blissful cum but kept denying them both the pleasure. All the while, inquiries about the specifics of her plans regarding the impending invasion of Tiaceor bombarded her. She replied as best she could between the uttered "oooh's" and "aaah's" evoked from her. The demonic sovereign had hoped to garner some insightful or previously unsaid or intentionally withheld information from L'tirashin that she might let slip with her mind clouded by lust. Instead, nothing beyond what had already been said was forthcoming. Finally, convinced of her continued obedience and devotion to her mission in the mortal world, the demon lord ended her torment with a single flick of his tongue across her clit.

L'tirahsin's passion inflamed pussy squirted wetly all over her master's face and deeply probing lingua. The muscles in her cuntal walls rippled and pulsed with each gush of her juices as one orgasm after another coursed through her body. All the while, the demoness kept working her twin's tail in and out of her ass, driving herself to even higher plateaus of bliss. The throes of her passion may have been pre-occupying her body, but L'tirashin's thoughts were returning to their former clarity.  

There will come a time, "master", L'tirashin thought in the back of her mind as she stole a glance down at the top of her liege's head and a lethal smile turned up the corners of her mouth, when I will see your head somewhere other than where it is now.

* * * *

With a wet sound, the small tendril withdrew itself from the ear of the hooded and robed figure that was the demon lord's other servant. Her approach to the joined pair had required no need for concealment since her master was keeping L'tirashin occupied with the kind of sex play she desired so much of late. Looking at the War Mistress as she was being held in their master's embrace sickened the newcomer. Not due to the act itself but because it was L'tirahsin who was thoroughly enjoying the contact. When her master spoke, the robed figure put her own frivolous concerns out of her mind.

"You. . .'obssserved'?" the ry'thorbi hissed.

"Yes, master," answered the vassal without lifting her head.

"And. . ." the sovereign prompted

"Her plans are reckless," the hooded figure said with a derisive snort. "And she is a fool! L'tirashin has become too distracted by her carnal desires to truly be of any further use to you and your plans, master. To invade Tiaceor with your armies could cause irreparable harm to a potentially useful resource."

"Thossse are sssome rather harsshh wordsss to be usssing againssst one who isss your sssuperior. . ."

"My superior?" the woman asked incredulously. "In what way? While she may be War Mistress to Woeful Iscandar's forces and be above me in caste status, she is hardly 'my superior'! Superior slut, I'd say, nothing more."

"Ssso, from your reaction, I would be correct in asssuming that you would have no real objection or hesssitation in 'removing' the War Missstressss---sshhould sshhe become too great of a liability?"

"No, master. None whatsoever." Even though her smile remained hidden, there could be no mistaking the obvious amusement in her tone.

"Thisss isss exxactly why I value you asss much asss I do. You think asss I---and are not afraid to voicce thossse thoughtsss. In thisss inssstancce, I agree with your conclusssionsss: more could be lossst than would be gained as the resssult of an invasssion. Becaussse of thisss, I have deccided to sssend you to Tiaceor, to be my eyesss and earsss there; sssomeone I can trussst far more than L'tirasshhin. Learn asss much asss you can asss fassst as you are able for the time you have may be very sshhort."

"Thank you, master. I will do as you command."

"Then go," her master told her. "Go and learn that world'sss sssecretsss for usss. For me! Await my command and be ready to ssstrike when it isss time. Do thisss for the dark glory of Woeful Issscandar and your reward will be yoursss for the asssking!"

Just as the demon lord's words were swallowed by the chill air of his keep, a man-sized disc of swirling gray and black appeared, one very similar to what L'tirashin used to transport her to the Abyss in the first place. Without hesitation, the sovereign's agent stepped through the aperture and was gone.

Once more alone with L'tirahsin, the demon laughed silently for a moment before turning its mind inward once more.

Rivals, when handled just so, could be very useful tools.