She Who Wanders Part IV

As far as the artist, Belman, was concerned, Cherry was just an admirer who had wandered into his workshop one day and willingly offered herself to him. She was a gorgeous, black-haired woman with radiant eyes and a milky white body seemingly sculpted by the God of Artists himself, so he did not turn her away. What had followed was five days locked inside his workshop having more sex than he could have dreamed of. There was nothing this woman would not do for (or to) him. At first he had been hesitant and stayed within safe boundaries but there was something about this woman that compelled him to explore. Every moment he wasn’t having sex with that beautiful woman, he was thinking of new things he wanted to do to her. Soon he was having fantasies that had never crossed his mind before. He wanted to make her gag on his cock and spank her until her perfectly white arse was bright red. He wanted her to bend over and let him take her as roughly has he could, wherever he wanted. His mind was fixated on her as his body filled with strength the likes of which he had never before felt. He could hardly remember how many times he cum in and on her, though the image of her mouth wide open and her pink tongue poking out, hungrily accepting his seed was forever burned into his memory. 

Then one day, quite strangely, the woman left him. She had asked him to paint her something beautiful, full of passion and carnal displays. Then she had walked out the door and vanished.

Belman, naturally, was distraught. Images of her body in all poses flashed over his vision every time he closed his eyes. He could almost feel her pink lips wrapped around his shaft, sucking the seed out of him, but without the real thing it was just agony. The sight of her breasts swaying as she had rode on top of him like a horseman trying to break a stallion played in his mind at every waking moment. 

‘Damn it all!’ Belman shouted, throwing an empty bucket across his workshop in his anger. 

He had tried to masturbate but his hands felt like numb sandpaper compared to the soft wetness had found between Cherry’s legs. His body was hot and tight, burning for sex. To fuck. Where was Cherry now? Why had she left? Belman cursed the air for the tenth time that day.

In his workshop he found a large canvas that was yet untouched by paint. Six feet wide by two and a half feet tall, the canvas was perfect for a wide landscape.

‘If she wants her damned painting, she will get it,’ Belman spat as he prepared his workshop. 

Fuelled by the burning lust and anger within him, Belman attacked the canvas with every ounce of artistic talent he could muster. Thoughts of Cherry flowed through his mind as his hands took on a life of their own. First they painted the distant mountains in deep purple that shimmered in the sunlight. He capped them with snow and led rivers from them, down into the vast forest he painted from edge to edge of the canvas. These forests, that seemed to sway the non-existent breeze, were populated by animals that hovered near the edges of the field, watching for what he would paint there. Front and centre on the canvas, Belman painted a wide, green field and let an orgy unfold there. Men and women took positions around the field, copulating in the sunlight in every pose that Belman could imagine. He relived every lewd moment with Cherry he could recall. Each couple or cluster of bodies was painted with a level of detail and attention that Belman had never thought he was capable of. Every breast, cock and cunt was lovingly painted. The expressions on the faces of partiers showed their ecstatic bliss as they fucked and poured wine down their throats and across their bodies.  

The artist took a step back on the eighth day of work and admired his creation. He had hardly slept or eaten, but it was worth it now that he saw the whole of his artistry. There was something for everyone to found in the orgy: women sucking on hard rods of flesh, being covered in cum, men fucking men, women fucking women while being fucked by men. Threesomes and foursomes could be spotted everywhere, in every combination. Hovering over all of them, bathed in the golden light of the sun, was Cherry. It seemed like the natural place to put her, Belman had thought. Her ebony hair waved in the breeze. Her long, slender arms wrapped around her curvy, milky-white body, hiding her nipples and neat vulva from view. She stared out from the painting with her luminous eyes, cutting through the artist as he was nothing. She was perfect and yet… wrong. He looked at her closely and wondered why she looked the way she did. He had painted her from memory as best he could, but now that he looked at it, she was different. Her hands, feet, forearms and shins were covered in blood red scales. Her neck and jaw also had these scales, as did the long, menacing tail that curled around her body. He had painted her with two, curled horns that dipped low near her jaw. The horns were unlike any animals’ he had seen but it was the pair of large, bat-like wings that spread outwards from Cherry that worried him the most. 

‘Truly a masterpiece, Belman,’ said Cherry.

Belman jumped. He had not heard her come into the workshop. She was standing by the door to the street outside, dressed in a dark purple silk robe with gold edging. Her large bosom was clearly on display and somehow made all the more enticing by the purple and gold that surrounded it. From her gold necklace hung droplets of sapphire and emerald that resembled droplets of water that had frozen on her smooth skin as they flowed into her more than ample cleavage. Her ebony hair that flowed from her head like a black spring framed her flawless, mature face.

‘Cherry,’ he breathed. ‘You’ve come back for me.’

‘To collect my painting,’ she corrected.

Belman looked crestfallen. He slumped to his knees in front of her, broken and exhausted. The effects of his painting marathon were beginning to overtake him. His face was gaunt and haggard, like the beggars who lived on Anza’s streets. His tattered clothing that he had not bothered to change in a week completed the image. 

‘Take my painting to the office,’ Cherry ordered to two men who had come in behind her. 

They looked like mercenary types, the kind found throughout the city who worked for the wealthy and powerful. Their armour looked new and had a coat of arms etched onto the breastplate. 

They took Belman’s painting and carried it out of the workshop, leaving Cherry and Belman alone. Cherry knelt down in front of the artist, her large cleavage mere inches from his face. Her expensive silk dress seemed to magnify her already exquisite body. It clung to her like a second skin of water that shimmered and flowed as she moved. Belman wanted to rip her clothes off and ravage her on the floor of the workshop like he had done weeks ago, but somehow he could no longer summon the energy.

‘You’ve done a spectacular job, Belman,’ Cherry said as she stroked the artist’s short hair. ‘Your work will be remembered for millennia.’

‘Why won’t you stay?’ Belman asked weakly.

Cherry tilted her head and looked at Belman with sympathetic eyes. Belman noticed they had lost much of their luminosity but were still other-worldly in their beauty.

‘You have given me more than you know, Belman. And I have given you something you may never appreciate,’ Cherry said softly. ‘I have other places to go and more people to meet. Your place is here’.

Cherry took the artist’s head in her hands, kissed him one last time and pushed him into sleep. She could not kill the artist. He was one of her chosen, after all. Cherry decided he had suffered enough as it was and deserved a good sleep. When he awoke he would have only a vague recollection of Cherry and their week together. It would help him to move on and enjoy the few years he had left.

                                                                 *

Whatever regrets Cherry had over what she did to the artist were quickly forgotten once she saw the painting he had made mounted on the varnished walnut walls of her office. She had ordered it placed directly behind her desk so that it was always the first thing people saw when they entered the room. 

She stood in front of her own rosewood desk and admired the masterpiece. It truly was a painting to match anything she had seen in the halls of her previous masters. It could not have been anything less after what Cherry had done to Belman. There was no term that Cherry knew of for the process she had performed on the hapless artist. It was a slow and delicate operation that took a while to complete. It began by draining a man of his essence bit by bit. Cherry had chosen the artist because their essence was always so unique and worth savouring. During their time together, she had drained Belman of his soul entirely, slowly filling him with some of her own in return. 

An artist filled with the soul of a demon was capable of magnificent works but at a terrible cost. There were always stories about artists making deals with demons in exchange for amazing talents, but the truth was almost none of them would dare make such a deal. What Cherry had given Belman was immortality. Not physical immortality like she had, but rather immortality of name. He had a few years in which he could create a body of work that would ensure his fame for generations. All his works would be grand accomplishments worth more than their weight in gold. When those few years ended, he would begin an inevitable decline into madness; the kind of madness that would lead him to smear excrement on the walls and shriek about rats. Such was the life of great artists; a spark quickly extinguished but remembered for all time. He could not appreciate the gift she’d given him and she did not blame him for that. He was mortal and they struggled to see the big picture or care about things that would only come to fruition once they were dead. She had given him a legacy that would probably outlive empires, though at price many would consider too much.

                                                                  *

The Ruby House had been Cherry’s home for five years now. When she had first begun work at the brothel it had been a small, unremarkable building near the end of the alleyway that contained Anza’s red light district. Only twelve girls worked there at the time, working for a man named Cyrus Puller; a pimp of unexceptional intelligence. It took Cherry exactly one year before she was the undisputed boss and Cyrus was never heard of again. Oh course, the demon named Cherry could have taken the place over in a matter of days if she wanted, but decided the life of a whore would be fun for a little while. 

She did her work eagerly, servicing three or four men a day, draining them of cum and essence until she felt her demonic body swell with new power. She fully allowed the lifestyle to overtake her. Every day was sex. New bodies and flavours. More men to drain and more fetishes to indulge in. She was the kind of whore every brothel wanted; she never tired or became ill and not once allowed a client to get the better of her. Every cock was pleased to the best of her considerable abilities. In the end it was only Puller’s smell-mindedness and lack of vision that forced Cherry to take over the business. Her reputation had attracted more business that the small brothel could handle, but Puller refused to expand. He was shovelling the gold into his own pockets and letting the business struggle under the increased demand. The mortal girls were beginning to suffer too. 

Cherry never told the other girls what happened to Cyrus, only that he was gone and she was now in charge. The mortal whores were so under Cherry’s influence by the point that none questioned her and gladly accepted her as their leader and mistress. 

After that, the Ruby House began its climb to success. Cherry began her rule by purchasing the abandoned building next door and turned it into a theatre that rivalled the city’s own theatre in terms of luxury. While the Anza theatre was host to singers and acts from across the kingdom and overseas, the Ruby Theatre performed sex shows. Three times a week a girl was chosen and fucked live on stage in front of a cheering crowd. The theatre also offered private booths for the wealthy that did not want to sit near the rabble below and perhaps wanted a girl with them to play with as they watched the show. It was around this time that Cherry tripled the number of workers she had. Cherry made a point to hire several men as well, for the few women who visited the brothel and the more numerous men looking for a walk on the wild side.  

Cherry continued to sell herself to the men who could afford her. Finally she could pick and choose as she wanted and no longer had to settle for what was available. However, her main pleasure was partaking in the sex shows in her theatre. Hers always attracted the most viewers and were often whispered about in ports and brothels all across the coast. Her gangbangs were especially popular with both the crowd and Cherry herself. Nothing quite got the crowds cheering like Cherry exhausting three men and a woman then walking away triumphantly. 

Nowadays, however, Cherry had dialled her public appearances back a little. She still took clients and performed the occasional show, but day to day she busied herself with running her little empire. Her brothel had taken over several of the other brothels in the district either by buying them out or by making close partnerships with the owners. Cherry had felt almost like her old self when she had been handed the deed to the Amber Fox, the second largest brothel in Anza at the time. It was worth approximately 50,000 gold coins but Cherry had paid with her body.

Harold Spa was the ex-owner of the Amber Fox. At forty years of age he was supposed to be passed his prime fucking days but, as Cherry had found out, that was far from the truth. He stood at 6’3” and was full of bulky muscle. On his face he wore a strong, grey beard that seemed to speak of a long, experienced life. His rough, tanned skin backed this up. He was the first man in this life Cherry had met who could keep up with her and was not afraid to make Cherry his. The man was a pirate at heart who had acquired the brothel by chance and come to feel trapped inside it. He longed for the sea and the life of danger and plunder. Cherry was happy to free him of that burden in exchange for what Cherry thought would be an easy weekend. 

Several hours later, Cherry began to think she had underestimated the man. Her skin was shiny with sweat and large globs of thick, creamy cum dripped off her chin and onto her breasts. Harold was gulping down another goblet of expensive wine as he recovered and gathered his strength for another round. Cherry rubbed the burly man’s thick seed into her skin and licked it off her fingers. She admired his back, covered in thick hair that some women would have found repulsive, but for Cherry it was just another sign of his manly virility. Not that Cherry needed further proof of this man’s virility, after all she was covered in it and suspected she was about to get a second round. 

Cherry was not wrong. A few minutes later Harold was hard again and sliding his large, thick cock down her throat. Cherry had jumped on the chance to suck on this man’s rod again. He grabbed her by the head, where her horns would have been, and forced her further down on his shaft. Cherry gagged on him, coughing up thick saliva that made for a better lubricant in her mouth. Cum and spit mixed in her mouth and dribbled down her chin onto her breasts as she gagged on Harold’s shaft.

The large pirate pulled himself free of Cherry’s mouth and moved her into position to accept his cock into her pussy. Cherry pushed her curvaceous backside into the air while resting her head and shoulders on the smooth sheets of her bed. Harold took her by the hips and pressed into her. Cherry moaned in delight as she felt his girth fill her and begin to pump. 

Harold was no gentle lover. He was a man used to pounding his women into sexual submission through the sheer force of his sex. But Cherry was no normal woman, he discovered. She took everything he threw at her and seemed to relish everything that was sex. He had fucked her as hard as he could muster but she had taken it all in her stride, delighting in her rough treatment. At first Harold saw this as a challenge. Surely he, Harold the infamous, could out-fuck some mainland brothel owner. He was soon proven wrong, however. Cherry had been able to delight in every bit of rough treatment he dealt her and even begged for more. Eventually, he had to admit there was simply no sexual act he was willing to do that this woman would not love. Harold felt a twinge of happiness at the thought. It was the kind of happiness a men felt when his son bested him for the first time. 

Cherry and Harold continued to screw and fornicate long into the night, until finally Harold’s mortal body gave up. He collapsed onto the bed panting and sweating. Beads of sweat and sexual fluid were mixed all across his body and even into his beard. He glanced out the window, seeing the pale light of dawn and hearing the morning chorus of birds. Cherry lay down next to him, rubbing her sweaty body against his.

‘By all the gods of all the lands, have you not had enough, woman?’ Harold asked as he felt Cherry being to massage his limp cock.

‘Enough? I had “enough” several hours ago. I just wanted to see how far you could go,’ Cherry replied as she planted little kisses on Harold’s barrel chest.

‘I was waiting for you to tell me to stop,’ Harold laughed.

‘Funny, I was waiting for the same thing,’ Cherry replied.

 She slipped out of the bed and wandered to the table where a silver jug of red wine sat. She poured a glass for herself and Harold and brought them back to the bed. Harold gulped his down quickly, smacking his lips and burping while Cherry slowly sipped hers.

‘So what will you do now?’ Cherry asked.

‘Probably go back to the infernal whorehouse I call a home,’ Harold said.

‘The Amber Fox? You don’t like it there?’

‘Not at all. It was fun at first but I live for the sea. The damn business takes up all my time and the profits rarely go to anything I want. I’m trapped there more than the damn whores are!’ Harold exclaimed, throwing his goblet aside. 

‘Why not sell it then?’

‘No buyers. No one who could afford it wants it.’

‘What do you want?’ Cherry asked.

‘I want my damn ship back, but its sleeping on the bottom of the Davinic Sea, along with half my crew,’ Harold answered.

‘What if you could acquire a new ship?’ 

‘Then I’d sure as day return to my old ways. A new ship and crew and a chance to remind the sailors of the Davinic why the pirate Harold was the best of them all!’

‘What would you give for a chance like that?’

‘Anything.’

‘Including the deed to the Amber Fox?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well,’ Cherry said, rolling onto her stomach and looking into Harold’s pale eyes. ‘A merchant friend of mine is looking at retiring soon. Perhaps I could convince him to hand the captaincy to you.’

‘And give him the deed?’

‘No. Give the deed to me and I’ll make sure he asks nothing from you.’

Harold thought about it for a moment. The brothel had made him rich, though there was nothing he would not give to return to the sea. In the end, he agreed. The next day the deal was officially made and contracts signed. 

One night with the captain ensured his cooperation in the deal. As payment he was given a permanent room in the Amber Fox so as to indulge himself in the beautiful women there. Free of charge, naturally. Cherry did not even really need to slep with the captain again to make him cooperate. What could be a better retirement gift than the ability to sleep with any of a hundred women every day?

                                                                *

Cherry did not get to see Harold very often anymore. She could have easily placed a snare on him and made him her willing slave for the rest of his life, but that was not how Cherry chose to operate. She had true freedom for the first time in a thousand years and she was not about to steal that away from the men and women she considered worthy. And she considered Harold very worthy. He spent most of his time away at sea, only docking in Anza from time to time. Cherry always made sure he visited her again to release all his pent up energy into her. 

During his last visit he had presented Cherry with a gift of six dark skinned beauties liberated off an unfortunate slave vessel Harold had come across. Though the women were hardly happy to be freed from one slave master only to be sold to another, Cherry made sure each of them were under her influence before they started work in her brothels. 

Sighing heavily, Cherry cleared her mind of thoughts of Harold. She had a business to run now and pleasure could come later. She locked the door to her private office and closed the windows, shrouding the room in darkness. She removed her clothes and placed them in a neat pile on her desk and then let her true self show. 

She had grown massively in power since arriving in the city. Her magically abilities were greatly enhanced and powerful enough for her to overpower the minds of most mortals. Physically her transformation was nearly complete too. Her wings had sprouted and were almost large and strong enough to give her flight. It would require some exercise before that was possible, however. Cherry would try to fly again tonight, once most people were asleep in their beds. This was what the sperm and souls of a thousand men had done to her, but it was still not enough. There not “enough” for Cherry. 

A memory surged up from the darkness of Cherry’s past like a bubble emerging from the bottom of a lake. She recalled being in a city not unlike Anza, many years ago and using her wings to land on the balconies and windowsills of homes. She would break in and turn the occupants into her playthings for the night. Cherry grinned widely at the memory. 

She would do so again in this city. For the thrill of being a thief was too much for her to ignore and, Cherry was soon to discover, she was not the only one who revelled in such thrills…