The torch on the ground sputtered and finally went out, and in the dark, Lania could only moan.
The Hunt
Pata’s blade made a suitably meaty thunk as she plunged it into the orc’s skull. The prone monster twitched a few more times and lay still. With a sigh of effort, the young huntress wiped her brow of the sweat lingering there and straightened, surveying the battlefield. The corpses of a half dozen orcs lay scattered about the forest floor, their hulking green frames unmarked save the slim cut to the throat or a small hole where she’d pierced their dark hearts. It always amazed her how much monsters underestimated her. To be sure she didn’t look much like a huntress of Ctharne. She was short and curvy, but sharp as a whipcord. Her blonde hair framed a pretty face with a button nose and sparkling blue eyes. The leather armor she wore was bound with straps and hugged a slim frame with modest breasts but shapely thighs, outlining her perfectly.
She smirked to herself and drew her sword free. Fetching out a rag she began to clean the silver blade, a tool specially made for slaying such horrors that stalked the dark of the world. Every hunter had such a weapon, though its nature sometimes changed, a sword was the standard. Had been since Penelope had founded the new order of huntresses after defeating the god who had cursed Ctharne.
Ah, Penelope. Pata smiled fondly at the memory of that potent woman. She who had slain a god and saved the world itself. A figure to look up to for every huntress. A demonstration of what will and a single woman was capable of.
Pata hummed, finishing cleaning her blade. She lifted it, examining the silver edge.
A hiss was all the warning she had. Coils wrapped around her legs and suddenly pulled. The young huntress yelped as she was wrenched off her feet, her sword falling from her hands to clatter to the ground. Scales shone as more coils wrapped around her, binding her arms against her sides, but only rising to her waist, leaving her pert breasts bare.
The owner of those coils rose over her. A lamia of fierce beauty, her pupils slits, her grin baring fangs. Her hair was long and silky black. Her skin yellow, her scales diamond patterns of black and orange.
“Ssssilly human,” the serpent woman crooned, bringing the huntress closer to her piercing eyes, holding Pata’s gaze with their power. “Letting your guard down. Why, anyone could just come in and… take advantage…”
Pata squeaked as those coils tightened, pushing her tits out further, squeezing her breath from her. The lamia’s tongue flicked out, forked, tasting the air and the sweat of her captive. “Mmm. And so much to take advantage of…”
Pata gasped as the monster’s clever fingers undid the upper buckles of her shirt, pulling it aside and baring a window to her tits. Pata moaned as the monster’s hands cupped those firm orbs, her thumbs rubbing a pair of budding nipples.
“Oh my,” the lamia crooned. “Is she enjoying this? Is the little huntress… getting off from having her nipples played with? What a ssssinful little slut you are.”
“S-stop t-teasing me,” Pata gasped, blushing fiercely.
“But you love it so,” the lamia said, her voice a sibilant croon that wrapped the huntress’s thoughts in teasing whispers. Squeezed her mind delightfully while those coils squeezed her curvy frame. As the lamia leaned in, her tongue flicking out against a stiff nipple.
Pata gasped, arched, tensing in those confining scales. She quivered as that tongue again flicked out, again lashed her quivering nipples.
“Such lovely breasts,” the lamia hissed tenderly. “Such needy tits. Oh dear. What would the other huntresses say if they knew how… sensitive you were, little huntress. How needy your pretty little tits are…”
“Ohhhh,” Pata moaned, panting.
The lamia smirked. Leaned in closer. “Shall we have some fun with them?”
“Fun will have to wait.”
Pata groaned and the lamia stiffened at the new voice. Both turned.
The newcomer was far more toned that Pata but possessed a similar controlled power in her stance. She wore scattered plate, the steel masking her vital spots, a sword slung over her shoulder, Heimsvak pistols holstered at her sides. Her hair was mostly white despite her apparent youth and her eyes were flecked with gold; telltale signs of a huntress close to the blood. Her look was fierce, a long scar running down the side of her face and neck. Another nicking her lip, her brow. Her lip curled at the sight of the other huntress and the monster, her arms crossed and glare contemptuous.
Pata sighed. “We weren’t really going to do anything, Anda.”
“No. And I’m here to make sure you don’t,” the other huntress said. She glanced between the two. “Come. Sanna wants us to hurry.”
“Alright. Alright. Xima? Could you let me down?”
The lamia rolled her slitted eyes. “Oh, very well.”
Her coils loosened around Pata, dropping the young huntress to the ground. She landed cat-like, scooping up her sword and sheathing it.
Again Anda curled her lip and turned, marching sharply away. Pata rolled her eyes and then gasped as the lamia licked her neck.
“We’ll have our fun later,” the monster promised.
Pata giggled and swatted away the monster, who deftly ducked from the blow, smirking. Pata strode after the others, grinning at the lamia. Many huntresses bound monsters to their service. The mark of servitude was one of the newest tools that Penelope Helsdottir had brought to the order upon re-establishing it. A means with which a huntress could make a servant of a monster, binding its will to their own. Of course, it was often a risky prospect. If the monster’s will was too strong, or the huntress to entrapped in pleasure, the mark ran the risk of backfiring, turning the huntress into the monster’s slave for all her days. Though frowned upon by some huntresses, the most successful bonds were mutual, with a huntress and her bound monster accepting an almost equal arrangement.
Pata still remembered the day she had claimed Xima for her own. A battle in a desert temple deep in Shaddobar. She’d bested the predator who had been raiding passing caravans for years. Xima had been known as the Viper of the Sands at the time. Pata had fought the lamia in close combat, but hadn’t been able to kill the voluptuous serpent woman. Instead, she’d found a far better purpose. With pleasure she had broken the lamia, enthralling the creature as her own.
Xima didn’t hold a grudge, but since then the lamia had made it a point to remind Pata that she was a master of seduction, teasing the huntress whenever possible. Pata let her, knowing it pleased the lamia, and hardly complaining about the delights she’d known in the monster’s coils. Even if her playful relationship did sometimes chafe at Pata’s fellow huntresses.
Light flickered through the woods, and in a moment the trio arrived in the glow of a fire. Before it sat a particularly buxom, shapely huntress. Around her was an air of motherly affection, her face warm and soft, but her gear betrayed her, as did the callouses on her palms. Leathers bound her ample frame, the hilt of a saber at her side, and her gloves knuckled with silver brands of banishments.
Pata had once seen the elder huntress destroy a succubus just by punching the beauty in the face. Her hair was silver and long, tumbling about her head, but the face that looked up had that ageless beauty that defied placement. Her eyes were almost pure gold. Sanna was very close to the blood indeed. Pata thought she might one day become the High Huntress of Ctharne.
She smiled as the three arrived and gestured. “Sit, sisters.”
Anda took a seat at once, the frowning amazon giving the older woman a nod of respect. “Huntress Sanna.”
“Just Sanna,” the silver haired woman said, her voice soft. “We have much to discuss tonight.”
“We’re close, then?” Pata asked.
“We are.”
“I thought that monsters didn’t dare approach the mines,” the lamia said as she let her coils wind beneath her, settling into them before tugging Pata onto the scaly cushion possessively.
“Quiet, creature,” Anda spat.
“Peace,
sister,” Sanna said. She nodded at the serpent. “Indeed. Normally they do not. But these orcs were raiders. And that is answer enough. They were camping, which means they feared to go on, but were reluctant to leave. Humans passed this way not long ago, and I followed their tracks after dealing with the orc’s chief. I saw the mountains, and the old road that once left the mines. We are near.”
“But what is it that’s kept even the Duke from going there?” Pata asked, snuggling into the softness of the lamia’s coils, ignoring Anda’s glare.
Sanna stared at the ground for a long moment. She stirred the logs of the fire with a stick, then brought it about and marked the ground with a line. “The mines are a thing well known in the empire, but only in history as the source of much of their fortunes. But it has an older history still, my sisters.”
Anda stirred. “Oh?”
“Indeed. Though few know of what the lands that became Istanov once were, the ruins of Ctharne held many scrolls. Ancient things from before the ages of man’s rule. When races since forgotten walked the world. Races such as gnomes.”
“Gnomes?”
“Oh! I heard of this,” Pata said, siting up quickly. “Gnomes were known to have facilities across the world in the ancient days. They kept to themselves mostly, and few bothered them. Their mastery of artifice was unparalleled. Even today, few can match their works. Their pieces are highly prized!”
“Indeed,” Sanna said with a nod. “Very good, Pata.”
The young huntress blushed at the compliment. “Thank you, sister.”
“And the mines were one of these facilities?” Anda said.
“They were. Once. Before the great cataclysm wrenched apart what became Istanov. Records from that time are sparse at best. As if something had sought to have what was done here forgotten.”
Anda frowned. “Strange,” she said. Then shrugged. “But, then, how do we know of these gnomes and their lair?”
“Because they had created something in it,” Sanna said softly. “A device which could spell the destruction of any force of magic users in the world. A shield that nullifies all magic used against it.”
Pata gasped. Even Anda sat up. “They did?”
“Yes,” Sanna said. “The scroll within Ctharne spoke highly of it. But it was kept a secret from most. For with such a device, mages would be useless. And there is nothing sorcerers fear more than losing their power.”
“And that’s why the Duke hasn’t gone for the mines?” Pata asked.
“No,” Sanna said, shaking her head. “The order does not believe he knows of it. Nor did the empire. We suspect instead it has lain secret beneath the mountain. Possibly until the miners of Istanov delved deep enough and uncovered the workshop.”
She drew her saber, holding it out, the edge gleaming with the silver that lined it. “Silver is one of the most potent materials against creatures of darkness. We believe that the gnomes used it to guard their workshop against those who would attack them. And when the cataclysm befell these lands, the worksop was buried.”
“And once Istanov’s miners took the silver, the workshop was without defence,” Pata finished.
Xima hissed. “Typical stupid humans,” the monster said.
“But not me, hm?” Pata asked, tilting back her head to have a look at the lamia looming behind her.
Xima scoffed. “You are the stupidest of all. Tempting a lamia with your fertile little body.”
Pata giggled as the monster’s coils moved around her, gathering her against the serpent woman.
“Do you mind?’ Anda said sharply.
“It’s alright,” Sanna said. “We near the end. Pata? Please do try and focus.”
Blushing again, Pata squirmed out of the coils of her seducer. “I’m listening, sister.”
“Good. Now, this shield we believe remains within the buried workshop. But we do not believe the Duke knows of it. If he did, he surely would have seized it by now. But the huntresses can no longer leave such a treasure alone. Should the Duke discover it, nothing could stop his advance across the world.”
“And if we have it,” Anda said, finishing the thought. “We could use it against him.”
“Precisely,” Sanna said.
The four were silent, absorbing this idea and the implication of it. At last, Anda shook herself. “Do we know what guards the mines? I’ve heard tales of the town and the village…”
Sanna shook her head. “We do not. It may be a defense built by the gnomes, or a monster powerful enough to ignore the Duke’s call to war, and one he has no desire to try and best. Regardless, we cannot hope for such a situation to remain. Above all else we must recover the shield and return it to Ctharne. No matter the cost.”
Pata shivered, a foreboding chill passing through her. She caught Sanna looking her way.
“I am glad you understand the importance of this mission,” the huntress said, then smiled again. “But it will be okay, sisters. We are huntresses of Ctharne. We are prepared to see it through.”
She rose, stretching, her ample breasts pushed out with a creak of leather. “But we have talked late, and the battle has worn us out. We must rest.”
“I will take watch,” Pata quickly said. “Xima and I aren’t so tired.”
Anda scoffed and stood. “Hardly. I will take the watch. I doubt how much ‘watching’ you and your pet monster will do anyway.”
Pata puffed up her cheeks in indignation. Xima hissed at the scarred woman.
“Enough,” Sanna interrupted. “If Anda wishes to keep watch, she may. We all need our rest. Tomorrow promises to bring fresh danger.”
Still flushed with annoyance, Pata nonetheless nodded. “As you say, sister.”
Anda gave the elder huntress a short bow and turned. She found a tall tree and deftly climbed into the upper branches, her back resting against the trunk, her eyes turned out to the dark forest, senses keened to the sounds of interruption.
Pata watched the other huntress take roost, then fetched out her pack and unrolled her bedding, Sanna following suit. As the pair bedded down, Pata knew the watch would be a quiet one. Bristly as a porcupine though Anda was, the huntress knew her business. Not to mention the stench of the dead orcs would ward away most creatures, and those it didn’t would be the sort that would give ample warning of their approach.
She heard the soft susurrating as Xima wound her way around her, the lamia gathering up the young huntress, resting Pata’s head against the pillow of her soft breasts. “Now,” the serpent purred. “Where were we?”
“Xima,” Pata sighed, squirming. “Really?”
“You know. Some women would beg to have a serpent as lovely as myself seek to mate with them. They would throw themselves on their knees and beg for a lick of my attention, and my tongue. And yet you deny yourself the opportunity to experience such pleasure out of hand? Pata. Frankly, I am beyond offended.”
Pata giggled as the lamia’s forked tongue tickled her neck. “Someone has a high opinion of herself.”
“Don’t say that as if I’m wrong.”
“Mmm,” Pata moaned as the coils slithered around her, teasing down the bedroll, baring Pata’s ample curves once more. Without the leather straps which normally garbed her, she was entirely helpless against the smooth scales stroking her sensitive flesh. “X-Xima…”
“If you want to rest, my pretty slut,” the lamia crooned, her hands sliding down Pata’s front, grasping the girl’s full breasts, grinning at the gasp escaping the huntress, “then you will have to satisfy me. And I am so very hard to satisfy, as you well know. Hmm?”
Pata whimpered as those teasing fingers found her hardened nipples, pinching them between two fingers, rubbing them delightfully. Pata wriggled in the coils of the serpent, only serving to further bind herself in those silky confines. She gasped as she felt something teasing her bum. She couldn’t see, but she knew well enough that sensation.
Lamias came in many sorts and kinds, and Xima was among the strangest she had known. Fro
m the deserts of Shaddobar the serpent woman had been found, and Pata had been beyond surprised when the serpent woman had first claimed the huntress’s fertile curves. How that slit had opened among her scales, and that wedged, reptilian cock had emerged.
Pata was panting as she felt that spear of cockmeat rub against her once more, teasing against her ass cheeks, slickening that tender seam with oily pre. She whimpered, quivering in the silken stroking of the serpent’s coils. “Ooooh Xima…”
“Mmm. I knew this would remind you of your true place, my slut. Such a lusty young huntress. So eager to be claimed by a monster. Shall I fuck you, my slut? Shall I make you scream?”
“C-can’t scream. Others… resting…”
“Hmm. Too true. Well then, I fear you’ll have to satisfy me before I can fuck that pretty little cunt of yours.”
Pata knew what the lamia meant. Her heart quickened as the coils moved around her, turning her about, bringing her lower. Soon enough she was face to face with the serpent woman’s cock, the blue spear of flesh throbbing for her attention. Body trapped in the confines of the lamia’s coils, Pata could only move her head, and she opened her mouth, and took that reptilian shaft between her soft lips.
“Mmmnnnn,” Xima moaned as Pata began to suck, head bobbing, the strange, exotic spiciness of the monster’s shaft dancing on her taste buds. Xima seethed with pleasure, “Oh yesssss. Ssssuck me, my ssssilly slut. Oh yessss. Very good. Such a wanton… mmm… whore…”
Pata flushed at the lamia’s demeaning words, even as they excited her more. Pata didn’t know what it was about her that made her so eager to taste the lusts of monsters. And yet, somehow, it made her one of the best among the huntresses. Her eagerness for pleasure, to provide it, to serve, allowed her to take and bind monsters that would break the wills of other huntresses. Those who sought to dominate the beasts they preyed upon. But not Pata. No. She adored to serve. Delighted to be fucked and used. And that made her more than ready to pleasure Xima. Pata hollowed her cheeks, bobbing faster. Faster. More eager for the taste of the lamia’s essence. Hungry for it. Oh she wanted that cum. She wanted it so bad.
Pleasure Hive of the Breeders Page 2
