A fate none dreamed of escaping. And Sanna least of all.
The Warrior
“We can’t leave her down there.”
“Quiet,” Anda snapped. “Sanna can take care of herself. She’s slain hundreds of monsters. She will meet up with us or she’ll be dead. Focus!”
Pata bit her lip, stifling her complaint. But her eyes still burned with angry resentment. Anda sighed. This was why she hated working with young hunters. The ones who hadn’t felt the true sting of loss. She winced, her scars aching again. She grabbed the other huntress by the shoulder.
“Pata. Listen to me. This mission is too important to jeopardize. We have to get the nullifier. No matter the cost. If the Duke of Ashes finds it first, the world won’t have a prayer. We have to keep moving forward. No matter what. Understand?”
Pata swallowed thickly, but gave a solemn nod, conviction burning in her eyes. Anda had to suppress a smile. Maybe the novice had some skill after all…
“Good. Now come. We have to keep moving.”
“Yes,” Pata said softly.
“If you both are quite finished, the tunnel goes deeper this way,” Xima said.
Anda glared at the lamia, who ignored it. Releasing Pata’s shoulder, the huntress stalked forward and past the monster, her skin crawling at the creature’s nearness.
Most huntresses hated monsters. After all, it was their duty to slay the creatures. Yet, Anda doubted there were many that shared the depth of her loathing. She could never understand those who offered themselves freely to monsters. Who were able to bind the creatures through desires, hanging so near to the edge of giving in themselves. It was too dangerous. Too close.
Too much like what had happened to her.
She still remembered those days when she had been a captive of the demon. She’d been young, then. Young and foolish and brash. Too confident by half, and she had paid for it. She hadn’t gone in prepared. She had thought it was merely a low level cult. Fools worshipping a monster who sold themselves as a demon. It happened often enough. Who could have thought a bunch of peasants would have gotten their hands on a true grimoire? Had been able to cast from its pages printed on human skin?
But they had. And Anda had walked right into their trap.
The air in the tunnels reminded her uncomfortably of those weeks she spent at the demon’s feet. The scent had that same thick, pungency. The musky sweetness of arousal she had grown so familiar with in the time before her sister’s had come to free her.
They had been hard times. The demon hadn’t killed her. No. That would have been a mercy beyond the creature. It wanted to break her. Tame her. Fuck her into a whimpering, eager slut. She remembered so clearly the feel oh his cock within her. Stretching her. Pleasuring her despite her horror. Her disgust.
And worse. She remembered how she had liked it.
That was the part she loathed the most. That it hadn’t been all terrible. That she had grown to yearn for the feeling of the demon’s lust. His cock within her. His tall frame, impossibly built. A paragon of masculinity. Of raw sensuality. Her pussy tingled even now with the memory of him within her. How she had come to crawl to his feet, to beg for his cock near the end. How she had screamed in joy as he filled her. Sated her. Took her and branded her for his own.
It had been like an addiction. A need. A fire that could only be quenched by giving herself to him once more. Feeling his cruel hands on her modest tits, his cock within her. Oh how she’d prayed for a better body to please him. Plumper tits and ass. A waspish waist. How she’d wept with the agony of knowing she could serve him more. How much she needed his praise and his manhood within her once again. When her sisters had finally rescued her, it had taken months to purge her of that need. But it always remained. Tingling at the back of her mind. Urging her to submit. To give herself to the hunger of the monsters she fought. To submit to their cocks and lusts.
She shuddered, a hot wash of desire coursing through her. It was why she’d never tried to bed a monster since. Never used the tool of seduction that she’d trained for. No. She’d become a slayer. A killer. Because she was afraid. Afraid that if she tried to seduce a monster. Attempted to bed one, she would be lost. Unable to resist the foul pleasures once again.
She would rather die.
“Wait.”
Anda stopped, realizing she’d been lost in thought. Stupid! She turned back quickly, blade half raised. “What? What is it?”
Pata was near the wall, squinting. The fleshy creep that infested the tunnels was thin here, having not quite absorbed the passage. And when she got closer, the scarred huntress realized why. Silver still gleamed in the walls, the creep shrinking back from the gleaming seam. But it was no natural ore. It formed a frame, illustrating words written in a strange tongue of symbols and sharp, geometric shapes.
“What is it?”
“Gnomish script. Hold on, let me see…”
“You can read it?” Anda said.
Pata scoffed. “Of course. You didn’t think I spent all that time in Ctharne’s library for nothing, did you?”
Anda tightened her lips but said nothing. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, impatient to move. She didn’t do well when forced to be still. He body yearned for action.
A smile tugged on Pata’s lips, her fingers following along the sharp symbols. “We’re close,” she breathed. “It talks about the treasure of the workshop. Their magic nullifier… they called it the End Stone. It’s set in an amulet and lies in their vault on a silver pillar. I think… I think this place was built to house something. Something the amulet was supposed to suppress.” She lifted her head, looking about the tunnel. “I think the workshop fell mostly intact. These tunnels… they’re part of the old passages. We just can’t see it because of this stuff covering it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure enough. This way.”
Pata moved off, Anda warily following. The scarred huntress ran her finger along her blade, her eyes snapping to every branching passage. Now and again Pata would pause, scrutinizing more markings carved in the walls, nearly consumed by the fleshy creep. But the letters survived. Etched in ancient silver they directed Pata deeper down into the earth.
The further they went, the more Anda could tell that the corridors were indeed unnatural. Even under the cancerous swelling of the creep she could just make out sharper angles and shapes to the walls. Ones becoming more common the deeper they went. More of the silver script peeking out, glittering in her enhanced eyesight. Anda felt her heart quicken with excitement. They were nearly there. She was sure of it.
She froze when a sound reached her ears. A distant shuffling and clicking. At first, she couldn’t make sense of the thrumming sound. What was making it?
Then she realized it was many. Many things were making it.
And they were coming their way.
Silver flickered as Pata drew her blade, stepping up beside Anda and facing down the tunnel. Anda glanced about quickly. Tunnels branched off on either side. She grabbed Pata.
“Split up.”
“What?”
“There’s too many. One of us must reach the end. We have to get the device.”
“Anda-“
“Don’t argue with me, neophyte. Now move!”
She shoved Pata towards the far tunnel and turned. Before the other huntress could react Anda was dashing down the corridor, quick as she could. Her brows were furrowed with purpose. Her heart pounded with adrenaline and the heat of battle. This was where she thrived. Where she was at her best.
The tunnel wound before her, serpentine. The chattering sound grew louder. Behind her. Pursuing her. Her heart pounded with every step. She took a turn. Another.
And skidded to a halt at a dead end.
At first she didn’t understand. But after a moment the grim truth of it settled on her. Fine, she thought, turning to the tunnel mouth as the sounds of pursuit hissed louder. This was the way she wanted it anywa
y.
Horror boiled from the passage and met the flash of her pistols and the stinging impact of lead shot. As those behind sliced their way through the bodies of their brothers Anda drew her sword, the silver along its edge singing as she brought it about, and began her dance of death.
The blade sang in her hand as it met the first of the monster’s scything claws. Her sword scraped up the curving talon, meeting the limb, slicing through it and the creature’s neck. Ichor fountained. It went down. She whirled, her sword slicing deep into the chest of another. Its death scream was like sandpaper on a chalkboard.
Bodies piled in the entrance of the tunnel. She fought on, holding them off. Every breath panting. Her head beginning to spin.
The air was so thick.
Hands on her thighs. Her breasts. A tongue against her throat.
She stumbled back, memories hitting her. Her body tingling with desire, remembering the touch of the demon. That terrible, wonderful touch.
His whispers. His strokes. Her high breasts captive in his hands. Teased and massaged until she whimpered and moaned.
The anorax warriors surged over their fallen, driving her back. Her body burned, washed in waves of hot and cold. Her pussy ached as she desperately parried another claw, her body throbbing in that wonderful, pleasurable aching.
“Mine,” he’d said, his cock sliding into her, completing her, filling her. How she’d moaned. How she’d tensed and thrust against his pounding cock.
Her sword was ripped from her nerveless hands. The air was more their miasma than oxygen. Crammed in that space. Oozing from the dead. Her legs trembled. She fell back against the wall. The anorax closed in. Their dark forms seemed to ripple in her enhanced eyes. Their claws rising, pressing against her.
Her clothes were torn away. She gasped, whimpered as her toned body was revealed. Naked anew. Her nipples hard nubs of desire. Her stomach fluttering. And her pussy… oh her pussy…
Molten. Wonderful. Eager as it wrapped around his cock. As she took him deep within her. How her cries of pleasure had filled that forgotten chamber. Ringing off the stones. She’d thrust back. Eager. Desperate. Needing more. Needing to submit. To be his. His bitch. His slave. His eager, moaning slut.
The anorax moved over her, their teeth shining. Their secondary arms reaching out, grasping her, pushing her down to the floor. She didn’t resist. She turned over, panting. She needed… needed cock. Needed to be fucked. Her pussy was dripping. Her body trembling.
She felt the swollen shape of their ovipositor against her trembling pussy lips. She moaned as it pressed against her. Stretched her. Opened her. “Ooooooh!” she moaned, shaking with desire. Oh it was so good. So wonderful! So long since she’d felt it.
Then, the first egg pressed against her cunt.
“Ah!” she gasped. Her hands tightening on the ground. “Ah. Mm! Nnnnnn!”
She arched, crying out as the white pearl pressed against her pussy lips. Her voice rose in a scream of ecstasy as she came, the egg pushing past the resisting muscles, filling her and pushing up her trembling cunny, into her empty womb.
But not empty for long.
Her arms gave out. She collapsed on the floor, her breasts cushioning her as egg after egg was stuffed inside her. Her stomach grew swollen with the pearly spheres, her whimpers of delight hitching as orgasm after orgasm rippled through her. She forgot why she should hate this. Why she should be horrified. So long denied the pleasure of flesh. The delights of orgasms, she lost herself in the seemingly endless throes of ecstasy.
Finally, her lover pulled back, its hiss of satisfaction making her twitch. Was it over? No. No, it couldn’t be over. She needed more. She needed it so bad.
Then the second came up, and its ovipositor teased her tight bum.
Anda gasped, fisted the ground with delight as her puckered backdoor yielded to the pressure of the monster’s breeding stick. “Oooh yesssssssss!” she cried as the first egg pressed against her ass, spreading her tight bottom before pushing through. “Oh gods yessss!” she screamed. Why? Why had she denied herself so long? Why had she resisted the urge to be fucked? To be used? To be bred like the fertile bitch she was? Her ass twitched as egg after egg pushed inside of her. As that glorious sense of fullness, of completion radiated through her.
She needed this. She didn’t realize until now how much she did. How little life would be without this wonderful sensation. Without this glorious breeding. She whimpered, panted, thrust back against the hungry pseudo-cock as it stuffed her with eggs. Bred her two holes with insatiable lust. She realized then the truth the demon had taught her so long ago.
Mine, he had said.
“Yours!” she screamed as she came once more, her juices puddling on the floor beneath her pussy. “Yoooooooours!”
And as the ovipositor was withdrawn from her ass, as their claws gathered her gravid form up and bore her down the tunnel, down to her future, she knew this was the fate she’d been waiting for.
The Queen
Pata slowed, the slap of her shoes on the floor fading as she ground to a halt. She stood in the tunnel, panting, her head cocked as she listened tensely for the sound of pursuit down the passages.
“We’re alone.”
She spun, sword out, halting an inch from Xima’s throat. The lamia’s eyes widened, the serpent woman freezing.
“Oh,” Pata gasped, pulling back her blade. “Sorry, Xima.”
“It’s fine,” the lamia said, touching her throat. She gulped thickly. “No harm. But it looks like the angry one drew the attention of the creatures.”
“Yes… Yes, she must have. I hope she’s alright…”
The lamia shrugged, no love lost between her and Anda.
“Maybe… maybe we should go back.”
“But didn’t you separate for this exact purpose?”
Pata grimaced. But the lamia had a point, loathe as she was to admit it. And even if she did double back, there was no guarantee that she could even find Anda in the nightmare that was the mines. She sighed and shook her head.
“You’re right, Xima. You’re right. We have to see this through.”
“Of course I’m right. The sooner you recognize that I’m always right, the better.”
Pata tried to smile, but the expression was stiff on her face, and she soon let it fall. “Come,” she said. “Let’s hurry. The hive is awake now. Who knows how long we have.”
Xima gave no argument. The anorax creeped out the monster as much as it did the human. The pair hurried down the passage, delving deeper still into the heart of the mountain and the mines.
With every step the air continued to grow warmer. Heavier and thicker. The scent that Pata had noticed was heavy the deeper they went, the thicker the strange, creeping substance that coated the walls grew. It was soft and spongy beneath her feet, contorting to the bends and curves of the passages. Now and then they passed strange, bloated sacks that made her stomach turn, and defied even her curiosity to investigate. And just as the nature of the passage changed, they soon began to see more instances of gnomish architecture. Smooth, white stone that jutted out of the tunnels, not quite overtaken by the corruptive substance of the anorax. Pillars and the corners of walls, the seams of them worked with a faint bluish glow that pulsed in the darkness.
The sight of such ancient wonder fascinated the young huntress, but even that couldn’t distract her thoughts from the fate of her companions. She prayed that Sanna and Anda were okay. Both were accomplished huntresses. Among the best in their order. They would be alright. They would have managed to survive the terrors of the hive. But the words rang hollow, even to her, and she soon tried to force herself simply not to think about it.
Which was growing increasingly easy. The thicker the miasma grew, the more Pata became aware of herself. Her body. How her pants flexed around her legs, the leathers tightening and loosening. How her panties rubbed her cunny, her bra her pert nipples, hardening in arousal. She was breathing heavily. Sweat beaded her brow.
“Something’s ahead.”
Pata slowed, looked back at the lamia dimly. “Hm?”
The eyes of the serpent woman seemed to glow in the dark. “Can’t you hear it?”
Pata listened. Her brow furrowed as something did reach her. A distant murmur of sound. A gasping and panting. The sound of a woman. A woman… in pleasure. Pata felt her face heat up. She knew those sounds well. Gods knew enough had come from her. But more, she’d heard them on her hunts. In freeing women caught in the grasp of monsters, their corruptive natures eroding the wills of the poor girls, turning them into willing pleasure slaves to the monster’s hungers. Sluts eager to take the pounding cocks of their inhuman mates.
Pata set her face and moved forward.
The sounds grew, and soon enough Pata found their source. The tunnel opened up into a large room. A natural chamber instead of a carved one. Water pooled here and there, dripping from stalactites and into low pools. The spongy creep blossomed thick here, surging from walls, the miasma of the hive so heavy it formed a low green mist about the floor, masking its true nature. The walls seemed to breathe. To thump. To swell and deflate. Other passages branched off from it, but the main sight was at the far end.
Before Pata, askew as if dropped carelessly into the chamber by some giant, was the vault of the gnomish workshop. Whatever cataclysm had wrenched it beneath the earth had not destroyed that monument. It made up the fair wall, the creep of the anorax’s lair not quite covering it, the doorway open to the air.
But they were not alone.
Pata looked down from the gnomish structure and across the floor. Despite the sea of miasma that whispered and seethed, she could just make out a number of pits worked into the floor. The gasping whimpers of pleasure were coming from a young woman, her head just visible, her eyes dim and distant.
“Gods,” Pata gasped. She hurried across the room, the miasma stirring around her feet, tickling her nose and making her flush deepen. She reached the girl and kneeled next to her. “Are you alright?”
Pleasure Hive of the Breeders Page 4
