by Wade, Vixen
You’re not in Kansas anymore, she thought. I’m going to fuck my way all the way home.
As long as every being of influence she came across in these magical realms continued to do all of their thinking with their penises, she felt she could affect any plan she could device.
Abruptly, the running slowed and she heard her captors shouting out to be answered from other voices coming from somewhere above them. There was a confusion of motion, a bustling starting and stopping. She heard more shouted orders, the sound of metal gears, as if part of a winch, turning and chains winding on a pulley.
There was a heavy groaning she recognized as a door opening and she was carried inside. From across the room a hearty, mocking voice called out.
“Aye, and what has the hunt brought my lord, this time? A pretty piece of ass.”
“True enough,” the Sylvan leader answered.
She was dumped unceremoniously to the floor. Strange hands hauled her to her feet. She felt masculine grips roaming across her ass and tits. She cried out sharply as she was spanked several times on her butt cheeks, and then slapped across the heavy globes of her breasts. She cried out in protest only to be laughed at.
“Well, his majesty is feeling in a randy mood of late. He’s taken to fucking the stable hands, he’s so tired of his harem.”
“He’ll find this one tight enough,” A sylvan voiced assured him. “She was with that wild dog, but I think we took her before he spill any of that chaos seed in her split-tail.”
“Aye, and so,” a third Sylvan spoke up. She thought it was the young one with the long cock. “The mouth on her was made for sucking cock and she does it well. She’s a good tribute. Once cleaned up, she’s more than worth the price of our passing through your lands.”
“Fair enough,” the new voice agreed. “Go with the blessing of the Tower, for now.”
She waited, dread building in the pit of her stomach. She felt a rough male hand running itself across her ass while another squeezed her tit hard enough to make her wince. “You got quite an experience coming up,” the voice promised. In the next moment the man stepped away from her. “You two, thralls. You know the drill. Clean her, then tie her down to wait the Lord’s pleasure.”
4.
Veronica found herself in a world of sensation.
The velvet crush of her blindfold left her sightless. She tried uttering a protest and immediately felt the secure pressure of the ball-gag in her mouth, secured tightly behind her head. Her protests came out as inarticulate cries, and she felt drool running out across her lips and chin in a rope from her mouth.
Her arms stretched above her head, lashed firmly at the wrists with thick, soft rope and attached to a device she couldn't identify. At her ankles leather bracelets bound her legs, connected by a metal chain, keeping her feet secured to what felt like a solid metal ring in the floor.
She was stretched out to her limit, toes barely in contact with the hard, stone floor. Naked, she felt heat emanating from a source behind her, bathing the back of her body with warmth. There was only one word to describe her situation; vulnerable. She was at the mercy of her captors.
She remembered the inhuman gazes of the hunters and held no illusion that mercy was a concept well understood by her new captors. She twisted in her bonds, trying to grasp some concept of her place, but her senses were too isolated to gather an impression.
She heard a foot fall behind her.
Startled, she made a moaning sound and twisted in that direction. Her wrists crossed and her feet came to the limit of her chain, stopping her movement short. It hardly mattered, she could see nothing anyway. There was little use in trying. Her new masters would reveal themselves, and their intentions, in their own time.
She let herself relax, straining to hear any more of the motion coming from behind her. She heard a slow, deliberate step, then another. She felt a large presence beside her. Trembling, she became acutely conscious of how she exposed she was.
She heard heavy, slow breathing and new she was being studied in detail. Every curve of her body under observation, measured, judged. The form leaned in closer and warm breath gently played along her soft flesh. She shuddered at the sensation, but not entirely from fear.
For a long moment, nothing happened. There was only the sound of that deep, calm breathing. She tried to say something, to plead or reason, to verbalize anything at all into the void of her unknowing. The sounds came out instead as inarticulate cries from behind the gag.
She felt something cool lay itself across her lips, thin and pliable, smelling of leather. Instantly, she recognized it for what it was. She owned one herself, though she had not used it since her summers at the horse stable. It was a riding crop.
She froze at the touch.
Slowly, the instrument slid down off her full, bruised lips, and slid down to her chest. Touching her only lightly, it slipped down the deep valley of her heavy breasts, moving slow and smearing some of her own warm salvia across her skin. The riding crop touched one of her nipples and she jumped in her bonds with a startle reflex.
She sobbed, then forced herself to relax. She was not a victim, she was learning what she needed to know to be a Mistress of the realms, to be the ultimate concubine for her lord, the Ogre Magi. She settled back into her chains, and the crop began its slow, languid journey again. It circled her nipple, the flat spatula of a leather flap at the end, slightly rough. Her nipple responded, swelling larger, growing tighter.
Her response was less sob and more moan.
Ever so slowly, the riding crop trailed down the curve of her underbreast and played across her belly. She felt it sliding closer to her waist, knew with utter certainty that its ultimate finish line was junction of her legs. She began to tremble harder as it crept past her belly button and entered the thatch of hair trimmed neatly over her sex.
Behind the gag, she gasped as it reached the hood of her clitoris. It paused for a moment, building up anticipation and uncertainty in her. Then softly it tapped the appendage. Her body betrayed her and it began swelling with her arousal. Nerve ends knew no morals or consent. They merely responded.
She didn’t want to like it, but the feeling was powerful, undeniable. Her sense of self had become lost in her crazy journey. Here, between her legs, was a center, a place she understood. She found herself reacting inexplicably to this fantastic situation, it hardly seemed analogous to any similar situation in her previous life. Here monsters and angels roamed surrealistic landscapes, ruled by the urges of their loins the way civilized man followed the dictates of rational thought.
Only, she found she understood it. So often in life she had fought her most fulfilling, most satisfying urges. To sleep with whom she wanted, feel what she desired, submit when the opportunity presented itself. Here she was reinventing herself into something new, something courageous enough to accept pleasure when she found it.
The stiff leather wand slipped between the folds of her labia, dragging gently over the more sensitive skin there. She went up on her toes in response, calves contracting hard as she arched away from the touch. The riding crop merely followed her motion and, as she tried to speak out in protest, it began carefully sliding back and forth.
She felt it smearing her dampness across her taint and onto the puckered sphincter of her asshole. The experience was electrifying. The mere touch at her most vulnerable physical aspect filled her with a fascinated dreadful, a fearful-hopeful apprehension she couldn't articulate to herself.
The feeling of the cool, soft leather rubbing through her pussy lips and across her anus was exhilarating. She moaned low in her throat and more drool dripped from her gag. The loop trailed to her belly and clung in a broken circle from the top of her thighs. Beneath her blindfold, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to reclaim a sense of herself.
She folded her thighs inward, closing her legs in around the sensation, slowing the gentle violin bow motion of the crop. The crop stopped moving, stilled. Abruptly it yanked f
ree of the crease at the junction of her hips.
She had a moment’s confusion, and then the side of her leg felt the kiss of the leather. The blow was light, just stinging enough to get her attention, but coming from nowhere, and so hard on the heels of the sensual touch she just experienced, it caused her to shout in protest and jump.
Already up on her toes, her jolting flinch unbalanced her and she stumbled into the restraints, momentarily taking her full weight on her arms, feeling the stretch in her shoulder sockets. Another light, but stinging swat, caught her on the opposite of her legs, right along the sensitive length of her hamstring.
She squealed again and hopped, lost her balance, pulled against the chains at her wrist and found the balls of her feet. She tried bracing herself for another impact, but couldn't do it in time. The third strike caught her just under the curve of her buttock, where the cheek joined the back of her leg.
This was a more serious blow. It stung, and she barked from behind the gag, rising up high on her toes. Hot tears blurred her eyes beneath the soft folds of the blindfold. The heat spreading from the impact area was intense, her heart hammered from the adrenaline burst.
Endorphins began coursing through her system, tying themselves to the hormonal current of her flight or fight response, and suffusing her body. She shook her head back and forth, attempt to form words and be understood. She didn’t want another kiss from the crop, she would be good. She spread her knees, offering up her sex again without resistance.
Instantly a big, strong hand, leathery and tough, with callouses marring the palm and finger edges, grasped her. A finger made a rude insertion and she gasped in shock. It was long, thick, and fearfully strong. Finding her G-spot with unerring accuracy, it began finger fucking her with rough efficiency.
Her body responded, immediately and without regard to her will. Those familiar streams of pleasure spiked up through her groin and into her belly, traveling along her spine in a freight train and slamming into the pleasure centers of her brain. She moaned, a high pitched wail that came out from around the gag in a misting spray of her drool.
A second finger inserted itself into her. The hand was of a time she was coming to know, the grip of a warrior, strong and used to wielding heavy weapons in violent conflict. It was powerful, thick with muscle. It abused her in quick, rough strokes.
The feeling was painful, but every time a fingertip found the spot on the back of her cervix, currents of pleasure thrilled through her again and again, until she was moist, sopping wet and dripping. She felt herself reaching orgasm, marveled at how fast the crude manipulation had brought her there. Somehow, not being able to see who was servicing her intensified the sensations.
She gave up and began grinding into the grip, pressing herself down into the fingers, humping the handing back, speeding herself toward her release. She heard a swish and felt the sting of the crop across her ass again. She jumped at the pain, pushing the fingers deeper into her and the rough branch of a strong thumb assaulted her clitoris.
She ground into the touch, mauling her cunt. It pushed back up into her, the sounds wet, organic, intimate. She began smelling herself. Hot air breathed across her tits, reinforcing how close the figure was. The crop fell again. She screamed, but the mix of pain and pleasure was a crazy cyclone ripping through her. She started grunting, low deep sounds breaking from her in sobs.
She started coming.
Fluids gushed out of her, splashing her legs. The crop landed again and she bucked hard in the middle of the orgasm as the fingers continued sliding in and out of her. Tears poured down her face at the intensity of the sensation. She gave up any pretense at saving face, of being in control, and continued bucking wantonly on the fingers plunged inside her.
She shuddered and sagged, spent, as her orgasm rolled out of her in a long flush. Her feet were covered in her cum juices, and she knew, without seeing, that she had made puddles on the floor. She panted, trying to catch her breath.
Suddenly the hand between her legs pulled away, abruptly leaving her empty. The hand, smelling strongly of her vagina, grasped her face, found the back of her head and with two quick jerks, freed her from the gag. She gasped, lips numb from the binding.
She heard a slight squeak of metal, and above her the chains rattled. Abruptly the tension keeping her on toes fell way and she dropped to her knees. Once kneeling, the tension reasserted itself on her bonds, locking her arms back into place above her head.
She let her face droop forward as she rested on her knees. A strong hand grasped her roughly by the hair, pulling her head back, pointing her toward the ceiling. She was no virgin to sexual experience in the magic realms, she knew what was coming next.
Someone, for all she knew, something had made her cum. Now it was their turn.
A heavy bat of flesh slapped her face, draping across her nose and pouting lips. She opened her mouth, blindly turning toward it. The fingers in her hair closed into a tight fist, pulling her scalp tight, immobilizing her neck. The dick slapped her face again, heavy as a blackjack. She heard the soft smack as it struck her. She tried to turn, to take it in her mouth. Again the hand in her hair held her immobile.
She whined in protest, mouth still open. Abruptly, she felt the head of a cock lay itself on her tongue. She smelled male, even just a slight trace of urine, and the salty tang of pre-cum leaking from the meatus. She opened her mouth wider and it shoved in, hard.
She gagged and it pushed farther in, forcing itself down her throat. Now both hands were in her hair, pulling it roughly. As the cock began slamming in and out of her mouth, making her sputter and cough and gag, she felt the oddly familiar sense of comfort at having a big cock fucking her mouth.
She tried moving her head on her neck in time with the thrusting, but the hands holding her kept her firmly in place. She wasn’t sucking this strange cock off, it was fucking her, taking what it wanted. Her tits swung heavily back and forth under the assault, and she began rubbing her thighs together, her vagina desperate for some stimulation.
There was an animal musk odor come from the crotch each time her nose pushed roughly into her captor’s public hair. It was a scent she most associated with the Orc slavers who had double-teamed her upon her arrival from her own plane of existence. She’d learned quickly to love the taste and feel of those green cocks.
It wasn’t the same as pleasing the Magi had been, nothing could ever rival that—but she could still appreciate being split by savage Orc meat. She pressed her thighs tighter, trying desperately to provide more stimulation for swollen clit.
She kept coughing, the throat invasion coming too fast, too rough for her to relax, and she continued to gag up long ropes of spit. She suspected her captor was getting off on her choking, enjoying the sadistic power game. The feeling was, she had to admit, utterly singular.
Gradually she willed herself to relax, to let the meat find its path. The taste filled her mouth, the scent her nose. She coughed up still more salvia onto the cock, continuing to gag. The pounding phallus didn’t slow. The hands in her hair now jerked her face forward as the motions became convulsive, more spasmodic.
He’s close now, she thought.
In the next second her captor slammed her face into his belly, pushing his cock to the hilt in her mouth and down her throat. She heard him growl, moaning in low, animalistic-release. His cum exploded out with enough force that she hardly needed to swallow, instead it just jetted down her throat and into her stomach on its own.
Her captor pulled his dick free. Bending her face back again, she felt several thick slugs of come dribble out onto her cheeks and bridge of her nose. She realized he was looking down at her and milking the last dregs of cum from his balls onto her face.
She opened her mouth, eager to catch it all, and the heavy dick, slowly relaxing into a limp club, began rubbing across her face, smearing the cum around, dipping into her mouth for her to suck clean, then returning to her cheeks to mop up more sperm.
This continued
for several seconds until she licked him clean, then the grip in her hair slowly eased, allowing her to relax. There was a muted sound of shuffling she could hardly discern the meaning to, and then she heard the sound of a heavy metal door slam shut.
Still on her knees, face sticky with her strange captors cum, the taste of him fresh in her mouth, she waited.
5.
A little while later the door opened again and Veronica heard several people enter. A rough, deep but feminine voice spoke to her, tone calm.
“Easy, slave-girl,” it said. “We serve and we’ve been sent to clean you.”
“Please,” Veronica asked. “Where am I?”
“You are in the barbican of Amra the Lion. He is called the Tower Lord, or, also, He Who Rules the Place In Between.”
Names, much? Veronica thought.
“I belong to the Ogre Magi,” she told them. “I bear his mark! Look for yourself.”
Two pair of female hands took gently hold of her and she heard water slop in a bucket. Soft sponges made contact with her body as they began washing her down, cleaning the cum from her. They were efficient, and not shy, cleaning her tender breasts and aching pussy with economical motions. One began gently scrubbing at the sperm dried on her face.
“You’re a beauty,” a second, younger, female voice said. “You’ll fetch a high price at the market should the Coven turn you down.”
“The coven?”
“Hush,” the first voice chastised. “Don’t go filling her head full of false hope.” A pair of hands began brushing out her hair. “You just relax, you’ll have a better idea of your fate in a little while. There’s nothing we can do for you now.”
“Please, I am concubine to Skavis, I am the Magi’s! He is powerful and rich, he will reward your master for my return, I know it.” She didn’t know it, but she hoped it was true.
