Wildlings Enraptured: The Novella: (Fantasy Dark Erotica, Paranormal Sex Stories, Fairy Sex)

by Jill Soffalot

  Neora looked up at the Negress, all the memories and emotions of another life flooding through her veins. She smelt blood. “I will claim my vengeance, Negress. But first get me out of this fucking chair.”

  Chapter Eleven: A Study in Contrast

  Andrax sat with Herrik on the battlements of Bower Ridge, watching as the Negress extended her arm and began her incantations. The wind whipped at his dark hair, the streaks of grey seeming to darken as the sun fell across the western sky. Below, the grass fields and riverbed were a bustling mass of ravenous Fay. If he narrowed his eyes and relaxed his mind, the clamoring mob became a generalized sea of distorted faces and outstretched limbs. But then he would find the details creeping in at the edges, the images beginning to sharpen in the red twilight.

  Some of the Fay were merely caught in the throes of libidinous abandon, their shame and inhibitions discarded in the pursuit of unattainable release. A few were Fay that Andrax had fucked in his isolated house, and a small part of him was strangely resentful of their heightened delirium. You may have given them your cock and made them howl in the night, but that is nothing compared to the Moonmother’s seed.

  Three of these water nymphs were cresting the wave of flesh, their hands locked together and their lips enmeshed in a frantic three-way kiss. As they surfed the Fay ocean, hands below would reach up and finger their passing cunts and assholes, but the trio never lost sight of each other as their gaping orifices were explored. A wood elf yelped with joy as a sprite burrowed into his dilated asshole. The man helped the multicolored Fay by pulling his ass cheeks apart with brown hands, and the creature managed to slip its whole round body in with only two kicking feet spilling from the stuffed asshole. They were perverse displays, but nothing Andrax had not tasted with Minerva when they had briefly shared the moon.

  Other visions were more disquieting, the Fay more violent. Two groups of competing wood elves fought over the cunt of Laurel, a wood elf with big brown eyes and a sublimely rounded ass. She was sprawled in a rosebush when the quarrel erupted, oblivious to the thorns that pricked her skin and bloodied her and her ravagers. The one group of wood elves impaled the others with their rapidly sprouting pricks before descending on the enraptured nymph. One was her brother, Dapple, all sense of familial bond eroded as he drove incestuously between the willing thighs of his sister. Elsewhere the dead were being torn apart and feasted upon while they were fucked, their physical corruption an irresistible aphrodisiac for the enslaved wills of the Fay. Andrax turned away from the rampant necrophilia and uttered a prayer for the living and the dead.

  Andrax watched the Negress whispering to herself with her smooth head bowed, her sensual lips moving almost imperceptibly. She sat astride the mighty Nightgift, his mane the same midnight hue as his rider. Blue wisps of smoke emerged from her hands and surrounded the castle. Standing on the battlements alongside her were fifty bowmen she had brought from the interior, their arrows tensed and ready to strike any Fay that threatened to breach the outer wall. Andrax observed the thin blue strands coalesce around the besieged castle, forming a barrier that repelled the oncoming deluge.

  “Will any be saved, Overseer?” asked Herrik, his face bruised and haggard.

  “The Negress does not know. Some are probably beyond even her reach. These corruptions… Those who survive will remain forever tormented, haunted by the memory of their own appetites. Minerva has shown them the darkest parts of themselves, and they will carry that wherever they go. The Negress cannot make them unsee the abyss.” He glanced at the Fay seer as she climbed off Nightgift and continued the weave. Her lace dress clung provocatively to her curves as she spoke the enchantment, and Andrax noted the carnality in her hips and the supple grace of her long neck. She is a goddess come to save the Fay world.

  “I am sorry I did not see this coming, Overseer. Reports of outlanders in the forest, the silence of Rorke Bower. More could have been done. But the harvest occupied all our minds, and…”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Herrik. You may appear small next to me, but you have without doubt the biggest heart in Shadehaven. The Bower women would still be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

  “That was the Negress’s work, not mine...”

  “The Negress may have ended it, but you killed Brandi and Halla. Don’t be so self-effacing. Your heroism here will not be forgotten.” Herrik smiled to himself and looked down at the ground, a blush stealing across his bearded face.

  The Negress left when the weaving was complete. The changeling sat behind her on Nightgift, her glorious body draped in a loose-fitting green robe fringed with the white fur of a snowcat. Andrax remembered his night in the arms of the great oak, and how he dreamed her taking the length of him in her mouth and chomping down on the inflamed skin. The memory made him grasp instinctively for his cock, but it had only been a dream and the hanging phallus remained. Nevertheless, the woman unnerved him, and he eyed her suspiciously as she folded her pale arms around the Negress and rode off. One of the Negress’s captains appeared and announced that the Negress required his presence, so Andrax ruffled Herrik’s hair and followed the burly soldier into the depths of the castle.

  He found her in Bower Ridge’s opulent glass bathhouse, her svelte physique floating on the water’s tranquil surface. The tubs were fed by hot springs below the earth, and steam rose to frost the high ceilings. Candles surrounded the largest tub and cast sinister shadows on the glass walls. She was naked, white ink simmering beneath her black skin as the candlelight stroked her face. She made no motion to cover herself when she noticed Andrax’s eyes on her firm breasts and the kinky hair between her legs.

  “Perhaps you are surprised I am not smooth down there, and that is why you stare?” She smiled enigmatically, her hands gliding beside her in the warm water. “Please, join me. The water is to die for.”

  Andrax hesitated when he saw Neora sitting in a hidden alcove, watching him while she trailed a toe in the water. She, too, was naked, her body as ripe and inviting as it had been in his dream. The Negress whistled softly and Neora dove into the pool with impressive poise, her body transforming into a darting red swordfish as she slid beneath the water. The fish swam around the Negress in lazy circles, and Andrax reluctantly began to undress.

  The Negress’s eyes studied his sculpted chest and his half-erect cock as he tentatively walked into the water. The warm liquid lapped at his skin like a million hot tongues as he approached the Chief Councilor of the Fay. Neora swam past him, her scales brushing against his thighs and sending shivers racing to his crotch. The Negress righted herself and paddled to a miniature waterfall carved into the wall. She waited there, water trickling down her breasts as she beckoned Andrax with an elongated finger. Andrax treaded water inches from her face, his cock hard near the heat of the Negress’s hidden slit. Shadehaven faces destruction from one ex-lover, and here you are swimming with a fish-woman and a master of the weave. And it feels so good…

  “See, I told you the water was divine. You’re pleased to see me.” The Negress wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, her eyes never leaving his as she slowly massaged the swollen shaft. Andrax moaned beneath the expert grip. “The slipstream opens into a lightly guarded room in the theatre of pain. It is there that your mission takes you.”

  “My mission…” he muttered, his voice guttural and low.

  “To destroy the Moonheart and finish the Dark Lady. I have a moonglass blade that you must bury in the tree’s heart. The sword is crafted so only Fay can wield it, but you are not an ordinary outlander, Andrax.” She squeezed hard as she said his name. “It is the only way to save Shadehaven and prevent the collapse of the weave. You will take Neora with you. She is a fragile thing, and there is a part of her that will always be a mistress of the moon. But she knows the Imperial Palace, and she is fuelled by hatred as pure as rapture.”

  “Are you sure this is wise? Even if Neora is true, you don’t know Minerva like I do. She will see through this ruse.” Andrax could b
arely keep his thoughts straight as Neora appeared behind him and ran her tongue from the base of his spine to the back of his neck, her breasts pressing against the scared muscles of his back as she nibbled his ear.

  “Do you know why I gave you Nightgift, Andrax?” She took his hand and placed it on her holy twat. He slowly rubbed her clit beneath the water as Neora ran a finger through the quicksilver streak in his air and rubbed her cunt against his hip.

  “You knew what a poor rider I was and that I needed all the help I could get?” he replied lamely.

  The Negress smiled as she wrapped her long arms around his neck. “He is the finest stallion in the known world. His blood can be traced back to the primordial centaurs that roamed this world before, the creatures that were half human and half Fay. Some say these were what the Moonmother’s children rode upon when they first settled the wild green earth, but no one knows for sure.” Neora slipped a hand beneath him to cup his balls.

  “I gave you Nightgift for you are alike. You are both beasts touched by the divine. When Minerva risked her immortality for you, I thought her a fool, but when you crawled into the chamber half-dead and bearing warning of the Moonheart, I realized why she loved you even if she had forgotten.” The Negress licked the end of his nose playfully. “I fell in love with you that day, Outlander, because you chose the right path when the wrong one was so wide and tempting. I'm a sucker for a man with principles.” Andrax decided it was best not to argue with the Negress as the three of them fell on each other beneath the falling water.

  Neora straddled Andrax while she kissed him and guided his firm cock inside her. The Negress unrolled an unnaturally long tongue and licked her own nipple, watching as Neora fucked him. The water churned as she rode him, her pelvis driving her to a fierce, selfish orgasm while Andrax shoved three fingers in her mouth. The Negress pulled Neora’s head to the tit that she had been sucking, and the changeling tenderly ran her tongue around her areola. She pulled Andrax to the other breast, and they each slurped on a tit like nursing twins. She arched her cunt toward Andrax, and he filled her as well, Neora shifting the lower half of her body so she could take him from behind with a smooth cock. The women were a study in contrast, but they complimented each other well. Andrax was spent in the end, sandwiched between black and white skin in a sticky mess by the side of the tub. He never spared a thought for the Dark Lady.

  Later that night, the Negress produced the moonglass longsword to Andrax, and he strapped it to his back. Neora laced up her old cloak as they went over their plan once more. Andrax hugged Herrik and Nightgift and turned his back on them, wondering if he would ever see Shadehaven and his Fay again. He walked into the slipstream with Neora, letting the blue current wash over his humming skin. He stepped out into a dark room occupied by four guardsmen deep in conversation. They bowed before Neora, and their eyebrows rose when they saw Andrax’s swinging blade.

  When they were all dead, Neora went to the door and peeked out. She looked back at Andrax and put a pale finger to her lips. “Silence, Overseer. The masochists are putting on a performance. You must try to slip by unseen.”

  Andrax followed the avenging changeling into the black heart of the Imperial Palace, wondering what kind of reception they would receive from the Queen of Desire.

  You shared the moon once. Now you must take it from her forever.

  Chapter Twelve: The Impaler

  Minerva watched from her throne as the would-be thieves were led into her hall. There were eight traitors in all, and they were filed in front of her with chains wrapped around their ankles and surreal helmets in the shape of rats’ heads fixed to their skulls. Blood dripped from their hidden faces and spattered on their filthy feet. A storm raged outside the white walls of the Imperial Palace, and Minerva wondered if the first Moonmother ever had to deal with usurpers in her own flock.

  She was twitchy and volatile, the mask of serenity she usually wore, cracking as lightning lit the airy hall. Her flesh was dry and emaciated, and her breasts appeared to be drawing back into her body. A serving girl stood to her left, fanning her with a sheet of human skin. Her body convulsed periodically, and great avalanches were breaking from the mountainside and crashing into the Lonely Sea. There was no news from Neora and the rapture was becoming uncontrollable. The moonblood betrays you, Minerva.

  Her guardsman read from an unrolled scroll. “After extensive interrogation, these eight have confessed to the crime of high treason, and thus have forsaken their lives. Their attempt to steal into the Garden of the Moon was quelled by a tight knot of your most faithful swordsmen. Four more rebels were cut down in the melee.”

  “And those true men shall be rewarded.” She looked at the serving girl. “Prepare a feast for our conquering heroes and let them have their pick of the dungeon sluts. Let it not be said that the Dark Lady is ungenerous.” The girl nodded and took her leave.

  Paranoia held her in its grip as she scanned the faces of her personal guard, wondering which one would attempt to deceive her next. Neora’s continued absence was sowing doubt amongst her people, and they feared the wrath of the Council should Shadehaven’s enslavement be discovered. That black bitch was right, and the Moonheart is beyond the control of man and Fay alike. “Double the guard around the Moonheart, and hang the corpses of the dead in gallows to show my people the price of subversion.”

  “And these vermin? Would you have me take them back to the theatres of pain? When Neora returns, she can flay them the slow way. None of the others have reached her level of expertise with the skinblades.”

  “No, I rather like them here. Take off their helms and arrange them on the floor with their asses exposed. I have a special punishment planned for them.” The traitors’ helmets were opened with iron bolt cutters, and they were made to crouch on their bloody knees with their hands nailed to the floor. They were arranged in a circle in a grotesque parody of supplication, their heads tied to their pinned hands by leather cords. Their eight asses protruded into the air in the circle’s inner spiral, and her guardsmen walked around them and stripped off the remnants of rags clinging to their scourged flesh.

  Minerva reached a shaking hand into the pail of gelatinous moonblood on her right. She required more every passing hour as the withdrawal symptoms grew more intense. Stabbing needles of pain constantly attacked her skin, and her spinal cord seemed to be bending into an abnormal new alignment. She brought the sap to her mouth and gobbled it like a snuffling pig. She took another handful and splashed it on her soft tits. She luxuriated as the moonblood spread through her and banished her pain, but she knew that it would not last long. Neora must return soon. You must fuck Andrax in the shadow of the Moonheart and reclaim your dwindling power. For now, she had to content herself with the petty distractions of leadership. Though they are not without their own pleasures…

  “Bring in the Impaler,” she whispered.

  A hush settled over the hall as four guardsman holding chains struggled through the door, the shackles wrapped around the bulging torso of a gigantic man. Minerva’s scouts found him working a plow in one of the eastern villages. He was just under seven feet tall, with musculature that was almost comical in its exaggeration. Minerva had removed his tongue when he first arrived due to his incessant yells of protest, but that was not the organ that concerned her right now.

  His cock hung down to his knees, a monstrous appendage even when it was limp. It swung back and forth between his colossal legs like the dial of a metronome as he approached his queen. When he first arrived, he used to pass out whenever he got an erection, the amount of blood needed to engorge his prick draining the rest of his body. The moonblood fixed that little problem, and now his cock was Minerva’s to wield however she desired.

  The guardsmen brought him to a halt below her throne. Minerva stood and staggered down to face him, the bucket of moonblood in her right hand. He looked down at her with defeated grey eyes, his chest a map of old scars. Minerva dipped her hand into the moonblood and ran her wet fi
ngers along his ridiculous manhood. His cock began to throb, the hood slowly pulling back as Minerva massaged the waking flesh. Inch by glorious inch the cock rose, and his eyelids fluttered as Minerva’s hand began to pump faster. Eventually, his cock was completely erect, a fifteen-inch rod that projected from his crotch like a new limb. The head winked at Minerva like a glistening pink eye, a tiny spot of pre-cum leaking from the urethra like a tear.

  Satisfied with his engorgement, Minerva slapped the cock once and turned to look at the wailing conspirators. “Show these worms the cost of betrayal. Your Moonmother can be a most forgiving and loving queen, but tonight I will have blood.” She poured the remains of the bucket over her white hair. The moonblood cascaded down her body and reanimated her ailing flesh. Her tits regained their round shape and her back straightened with an audible snap. She spread her arms and relished the heat of rapture, as sweet and all consuming now as it was when she first shared it with her beloved Andrax. Licking her lips and running her hands down a stomach alive with black ink explosions, she took to the air and claimed a bird’s-eye view of the punishing.

  “Strike his chains and let him live up to the terror of his name! Take the center, Impaler, and do not stop while breath remains in their lungs. They thought they could fuck me? Well, fuck them!” she bellowed above the heads of her followers. The guardsmen obeyed her and loosed the enraptured giant. Minerva twirled through the air in exultant pirouettes and figures of eight, the pain and Andrax’s delayed arrival forgotten as she enjoyed the show.

  The Impaler lumbered to the center of the circle and studied the uncovered round gapes. He chose one and grabbed the man by his hips. The man pleaded desperately, but the Impaler knew what his queen demanded. He spat roughly onto a calloused hand and spread the saliva over the asshole, and Minerva almost laughed at the silliness of the gesture. They will need more lubricant than that you walking cock. And they will not get it.