Courage of the Empress

by Amanda Clover

  “I know,” Damera moaned softly beneath him. “I know. I only wish… ah. If it all goes wrong, Janus, I would rather be carrying your child than that of a monster.”

  “Damera. I can’t offer you that. My wife… I love her, dearly.”

  “And I love you,” she said, touching his cheek.

  Janus smiled and leaned down, his lips again meeting hers. Damera moaned softly, pushing against him as his hand engulfed her soft teat again, massaging that firm orb. Damera whimpered in pleasure, again feeling the heat of her core pulse with desire for the muscular man atop her. Her arms laced around his neck. Her pussy ground against his waist, still so hot. So needy. So eager for another taste of the king’s cock.

  “Empress!”

  Janus bolted back and upright. With a squeak Damera sat up as the tent flap was thrust aside and Torria stepped in. The Amazonian general froze, eyes widening at the sight that greeted her.

  “Torria!” Damera gasped, clearing her throat awkwardly and tugging the sleeping robe back onto her, hastily hiding her breasts and tightening the sash. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  The general flushed brightly, hastily averting her eyes from Damera, only for them to fall on Janus. The Istanovian general scowled a little at the king of their neighbouring realm. Janus coughed a little.

  “I had… best be going. Farewell, Empress.”

  “Oh. Yes,” Damera said lamely. “Farewell.”

  She watched as Janus thrust aside the flap of the tent and left. Damera let out a breath in regret, then turned her full attention to the blushing general before her.

  “Well, Torria?” she said, rising, once more the graceful empress of the realm. From a side table she grasped a decanted and poured herself a glass of wine in order to calm her nerves. “What news? I do trust it was important.”

  Torria flushed deeper at the quiet reprimand and bowed her head, thumping her fist against her breast in salute. “Forgive me, my empress. I didn’t know… Ahem. We intercepted the monster forces spotted departing through the east woods. A minotaur was leading them, but fortunately, he was killed early in the battle. The enemy forces were overcome with minimal casualties.”

  “Hmm,” Damera mused, staring into her wine. “Which means you didn’t face the Duke’s true forces.”

  “No, mistress. It was as you suspected. It appeared they were probing our army for weaknesses.”

  “Did any escape?”

  “Some of the monsters did. But it seems unlikely they gained any useful intel.”

  “I see.” Damera downed the glass, feeling the liquor burn its way down her throat. She set it aside and brushed some of her golden hair back. “Then instruct our forces. We ride out of Sallowmarsh immediately to face the Duke.”

  Torria’s head snapped up. “My empress? But…”

  “The Heimsvak forces are pulling back to Kirinovo, depriving us of much needed man power. We have to strike at the Duke before he manages to rally his forces further. And before he can prepare any sorceries.”

  “Why? With the Red Mages- “

  “They left.”

  Torria stiffened. She raised her head, stunned. “What?”

  “The Red Mages have departed,” Damera repeated with a cold smile. “It seems they have left Kirinovo as well. They are returning to Muskov, in order to assist my brother with some sort of ritual.”

  “But… but why?”

  “They did not say,” Damera said with a bitter laugh. “It seems they don’t feel it necessary to explain themselves to me for their abrupt departure.”

  Torria’s hands tightened to fists at her side. “My lady, give me the word! I will ride them down and hang them from the battlements by their withered necks!”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Torria. But I can hardly spare you for such vengeance. Even if you could intercept them, I doubt you’d be able to best them all. The Red Mages work in their own ways. Who can say what they intend? But my brother is a fool if he thinks they come to aid him.”

  Torria watched as Damera took another drink of wine. Little wonder, the general thought. Without the troops of Heimsvak and the Red Mages, they were in a tight spot indeed. Their forces depleted by the endless combat; it would be a hard fight to be sure.

  But Torria didn’t hesitate. She went to her knee before her empress, bowing her head. “My empress. Give me your command. So long as I live, I will not fail you. By my sword and my soul, I will serve you come what may.”

  Damera’s look softened at the amazon’s words. She rested a hand on the other woman’s head. “Thank you, Torria. It’s good to hear. And I have an important task for you. The monsters still gather their forces. So, we must strike now. At the black heart of them. We advance on their position at once, but I will have you lead the vanguard. Scout ahead. Clear any enemies in our path. This I entrust to you.”

  Torria raised her head to her empress. The saviour of her kingdom. Of her race. “I will not fail you, your majesty.”

  “I know,” Damera said fondly. “Dear cousin, I know.”

  Shadow Schemes

  The campfires glowed like willow-the-wisps among the low mists of the Sallowmarsh. The walls of the city rose high above the tortured trees of the grim land, dark towers rearing against the night, torched burning along the narrow walls. The moonless dark wrapped the land, creeping in on the human camp, held at bay by campfires and the dim shapes of sentries at watch.

  Even if it were day, it was doubtful any would see the dark figure standing on the distant cliff, watching with burning eyes the human camp. A dark robe rustled around him, his pale hand flexing on a cane topped with the symbol of a staring red eye.

  “More than I expected,” the Duke of Ashes mused as he surveyed the camp.

  “Worried?”

  He glanced aside to a pale figure near at hand. Voluptuous, naked, the Red Witch’s firm breasts swelled from her chest in flawless peaks, her crimson hair moving in the wind of her power, fairly crackling with her magic. Once she had been a noble lady, but that had been a lifetime ago. Now, she was the only other human besides the Duke not a slave in the monster horde, and despite her display of female flesh, not a creature would dare touch her.

  The orc, Ghostheart, grunted. He stood head and shoulders over the two humans. Clad in only a loincloth, his scarred, grey form was corded with muscle and carved with scars. White paint emblazoned his face with the shape of a skull. Thrust in his belt was the dark dagger of his clan. A weapon of murder, which he had used in the arenas of his servitude and won his freedom with, slaughtering his would be master. Taking the man’s daughter as his personal slave.

  “No,” the Duke said, glancing back down at the human encampment. “The empress got lucky at the Skull Keep. She won’t be again. At least, she won’t, so long as the trap you set is in place.”

  “Of course,” the Red Witch laughed, her eyes sparking in cruel madness. “The poor slut won’t know what hit her! I’m awfully proud of it, you know. I’ve put a lot of work into this.”

  “Good,” the Duke said, turning to face them. His eyes flicked to Ghostheart. “I leave the battle to you. Crush them, Ghostheart. Water these lands with the human’s blood. Without the empress, all of Istanov will fall at last, and the monster will once more rule.”

  Ghostheart grunted. “I kill.”

  “You’re leaving it to him?” the Red Witch said with an amused glance. “What about the Red Mages? They’ll make short work of this meat head.”

  Ghostheart turned his cold eyes to the redhead. He curled a lip back over a tusk.

  “He won’t need to worry about them,” the Duke said, his cane tapping the stone as he moved past the pair. “The Red Mages have departed.”

  “Huh?” the witch said. “Wait, they did? Why?”

  “Ah,” the Duke breathed as the darkness swallowed him. “That, indeed, is the question…”

  The Weapon

  Lugin yawned and took another drag on his cigar.

  The imp had don
e well, if he did say so himself. It took guts and skill to get to where he was today. Naked, his small frame was nestled among some cushions in the old palace. His small derby hat was pulled low and his familiar cigar between his lips. He took another puff, breathing out the coiling purple demonic smoke.

  At his feet, the four human women eagerly inhaled the twisting ribbons of corruption, moaning softly. All were utterly naked, their curvy frames and plump breasts on full display. As was the pulsing mark of the eye above their hair tufted mons. Lugin grinned down at the sluts as two resumed their worshipping of his fat cock, eagerly licking and sucking at his shaft. The imp moaned happily, crossing his arms behind his head.

  “That’s it,” the imp sighed. “Just like that. Good sluts. Mmm. You lot were born to be fucked by a proper demon. Oh yeaaaaah. Hm?” He cocked his eyebrow as one of the neglected women crawled over him, offering up a plump teat. “Oh? Want me to suck your fat titty?” he asked, reaching up and groping her breast.

  “Oooooh,” the woman moaned. “P-please master. Please. N-need it.”

  “Course you do,” Lugin cackled, leaning up and taking the plump nipple between his lips. He smirked as the woman moaned, grasping his head and pulling him into the softness of her breast, her hips quaking in the sweet pleasure.

  The other woman crawled up him. One engulfed his randy cock in her warm mouth. Another began to tongue and lick his musky balls. The fourth Lugin simply reached over and began to finger her gaping cunny, sending the slut panting and moaning.

  Oh, this was the life. Surrounded in a sea of willing female flesh. Lost in the pleasures of their eager rutting. By the nine hells he could get used to this.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The curtain that normally covered it had been thrown back, and the glass now shimmered. Lugin’s brow quirked up as a dainty foot slipped through the glass like it was no more than water, stepping out onto the floor proper. A moment later the rest of the Red Witch followed, the sultry sorceress tossing her bouncing red hair over a shoulder before glancing around.

  When she saw Lugin she rolled her eyes. “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “Play time’s over, imp. Time to get to work.”

  Lugin removed his lips from the quivering nipple of his eager slut. “Aw c’mon honey! Can’t an imp have a bit of fun.”

  “You had your fun when you impregnated the lot of them a week ago.”

  “I consider that more a service to the world,” the imp said, wriggling deeper into the cushions beneath the moaning quartet. He grinned around his smoking cigar. “Tha world deserves my kids in it. It’s a travesty that the women of the mortal realm’ll never know the taste of a real demon’s cock. I need to birth more kids to make sure no lady goes without.”

  The Red Witch said nothing. She simply pointed at him. Magic crackled from her finger. Lugin’s eyes shot wide open as a black band twisted into being around the root of his cock.

  “Ya wouldn’…”

  The Red Witch smirked, hooked her finger back.

  With a squeal of agony Lugin was wrenched from the pile of women and his throne of cushions. His feet skidded on the floor, his wings flapping uselessly as he was dragged forward by his cock, the invisible thread which bound him to the Red Witch’s will hauling him towards her.

  “What wouldn’t I do?” the Red Witch mused.

  “Oh fuuuuuck!” the imp wailed in agony. “I got it! I got it! Lemme go! Please! Hells and bells! Oh fuck it hurts!”

  “Are you going to help me with the spell now?” she asked, lifting her hand, Lugin’s shaft rising into the air like a puppet on a string, dangling the imp, his short wings flapping uselessly.

  “Oh fuck! Yes! Yes! You got it!”

  “Good.”

  The Red Witch snapped her finger, another crackle of magic echoing through the room as the spell released the imp. Lugin collapsed on the floor, panting feebly, curling around his throbbing shaft.

  “Ah shit. Ya didn’t need to go that far…”

  “Probably not. But I have work to do. Now let’s get to it.”

  Lugin moaned and straightened weakly. His wings flapped, lifting him off the floor. “Alright, alright.” He flapped over to the women lounging on the cushions. “C’mon ladies. Time t’ work. Let’s get going. Into your places. Move it.”

  He gave a firm slap on one of the women’s plush bottoms, sending the branded slave into motion. The four shapely women crawled across the floor and into the pattern that had been etched there. Spiralling rings written with strange markings covered the floor, four circles at the cardinal points empty among the spiralling script. To these the women moved, sitting down lazily.

  The Red Witch made a slow circle of the pattern, her lips pursed thoughtfully. Lugin sat aside, stroking his aching shaft and wincing.

  “Good enough,” the Red Witch said, stopping at last. She looked to the doorway. “Enter!”

  The heavy door eased open with a creak. On shuffling feet four stunted gertlings entered the room. The diminutive monsters peered about suspiciously, their hooked noses twitching as they scented the room like wary rabbits. The acrid stench of magic stung their noses, but they overlooked it easily enough when they caught a whiff of the sweet, tingling scent of feminine arousal. Wide eyes fixed themselves on the women in the circles, the gertlings fairly drooling at the sight of the shapely sluts bedecked in nothing, curvy frames panting with lingering desire.

  “Gentlemen,” the Red Witch said with an inviting gesture. “Please. Join the lovely ladies.”

  Though still suspicious, lust, as ever, prevailed with the stunted monster. In a mass the gertlings rushed towards the panting women. Though the monster horde had claimed women in the thousands, the gertlings rarely were given more than a single brood mother for an entire tribe. Too often the larger monsters claimed several brides. Some orcs would take more than a dozen shapely captives, fucking the women into eager, moaning slaves, desperate to carry their master’s pups and be filled again and again with seed.

  The Red Witch smirked as the gertlings began to stroke and fondle the moaning women. “Let’s get started. Lugin?”

  “Hrmph!” Lugin puffed on his cigar, smoke pluming out in annoyance. To think his personal slaves would be fucked by gertlings. Gertlings! But he knew better than to complain. His aching cock reminded him of that. The imp rose and fluttered over to the circle. He hovered above the center ring and grasped his dangling shaft, then began to pump.

  Despite the pain the witch had inflicted on him, the imp’s cock had soon swelled once more to its full length. The imp panted, stroking his cock faster. Faster. Inevitably his eyes trailed over to the Red Witch. The sorceress had spread her arms, her eyes closed as she began to murmur the words of the spell. Magic crackled from her, her hair writhing in the winds of power that surrounded her, her full, naked breasts rising and falling with every breath. By the dukes of hell, it had been so long since he’d gotten to play with those tits. Not to mention give her a right proper fucking. He remembered the time he took her ass. How tight she had been. How she’d moaned and panted, rocking to the pumping of his cock.

  Of course, the women he claimed now were fine. All were beauties. All were more than eager to service his cock after he filled them with his hot seed. And it was a pleasure to have such eager, willing slaves. But he held a special place in his cold, black heart for when he got to fuck the Red Witch. She’d been so innocent then. So inexperienced. It got him so fucking hard thinking about it again. She was so proud and powerful now, but once she had just been some scared girl who stumbled into a cabin and summoned him. And oh how wonderful it had been to give her a good, proper dicking.

  Lugin was breathing heavily now. He felt his orgasm growing nearer with every movement of his hand. “Oh yeah. Oh f-fuck yeah. Yes! Hnnnn!”

  The imp moaned, twitching in midair as he finally came. His demonic spunk splattered onto the floor in the innermost circle.

 
; And the room changed.

  The walls seemed to waver in unreality. The red lines which covered the floor hissed softly. They beat, glowing with crimson light.

  The women within their places gave a sudden gasp. The marks which emblazoned their mons pulsed. As one they threw back their heads, leaning back on their hands, thrusting out their quims and towards the innermost circle.

  “Ah. Ah. Nnnn…”

  The gertlings who had been amusing themselves with the women paused in surprise. They looked fearfully about the room.

  “Ah ah ah,” the Red Witch said, flicking a finger at them. “You’ve got a job to do. These ladies are here for a reason, and so. Are. You.”

  As one the gertlings stiffened. Their eyes shot open as a symbol glowed on their brows. Their eyes grew misty. Their breathing heavy.

  With an animalistic cry the thin creatures threw themselves onto the panting women. The thralls of the curse cried out in pleasure as bony hands grasped softest breast and shapely thigh. Thin wide mouths engulfed nipples and licked hungrily. Small hands spread willing thighs, baring the dripping coves within.

  As one the gertlings thrust. As one the women cried out in pleasure. And the gertlings began to fuck.

  The magic swelled with a hellish glow. Painting the panting women in crimson and fire. They whimpered. Gasped. Clasped their breasts, massaging plump, eager teats as they began to moan and writhe, held in the grips of a terrible pleasure.

  A red mist began to seep from them as they rocked to the unholy pleasure coursing through their veins. Lugin grinned as the mist wound through the room, gathering in the central circle.

  “Oh baby that’s it,” Lugin grinned, continuing to wank his infernal prick. “That’s iiiiiit.”

  The Red Witch ignored him. She raised her arms, her voice rising to a punishing crescendo. The twining magic gathered higher, feeding off the pleasure of the moaning women, coalescing into a new shape.

  The gertlings were ignorant of it all. One cried out, burying his cock inside his mate, shuddering as he came within her. The woman moaned in pleasure, her legs wrapping around the monster, pulling him deeper inside her.