The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  Madia let him lead her away and back out of the dungeon. The last sound she heard was Cariana’s scream of orgasmic bliss, echoing down the dark before Pavior shut the heavy wooden door.

  The Master of the Beasts

  Madia expected to return to the parlor, but instead she found herself taken deeper through the dark stone tunnel. They climbed a set of stairs and Pavior opened a door, admitting her to an ill lit bedroom, the walls littered with the golden filigree and more strange paintings. A tall dresser rose in a corner, and a large, sturdy bed occupying another.

  “Have a seat,” Pavior said, pressing her down into a waiting chair.

  “Thank you,” Madia said, her knees weak after the scene she had just witnessed. As she revisited it in her head the unreality of it occurred to her. The sight of Cariana, her friend, being taken by the monstrous troll again rose to the front of her mind.

  “Some brandy?” Pavior said, already pouring two glasses from a waiting liquor cabinet. Madia glanced over the cabinet, noting the painting of a woman rutting with a ram on a field of green. She felt a blush return and accepted the drink shakily. “Th-thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Pavior soothed. He leaned against the post of the bed, sipping his drink. “I’m surprised. I would have thought the wife of a red mage would have seen a monster before.”

  Madia flushed, looked into her drink. “I… He likes to keep his business separate.”

  “To protect you, no doubt,” Pavior mused. He swirled his drink lazily. “His is a hard career, I must admit. Easier once, before this whole Duke of Ashes business. Once it was far easier to hunt down such monsters. They hid in the dark corners of the world. Yet now? Now they rise, and humanity flees before them.

  “I’m not surprised to find you here,” Pavior mused. “No doubt he has discussed his work. Particularly of late. It must have made you wonder. Imagine what could compel a woman to submit so eagerly to such horrific creatures. To offer themselves, body and soul, to the hungry mating of a monster. Sorcery, in some cases. But there is more, of course.”

  Madia looked up at the tall man in surprise, feeling herself warm under his dark gaze. “I… I was a… a little curious…”

  “Of course,” Pavior said, setting down his glass. He grasped his glove, giving it a tug, revealing a large hand, thick brown hair tufting the back. “I wasn’t surprised you rejected the troll. His style of mating is rough. Brutish. He’s little more than a beast. But there is an appeal to that. A vitality that women, held in the soft hand of civilization, sanitized in the bonds of marriage and society still yearn for. They desire to race naked through the night, hair streaming in the light of the moon, breast and bodies quivering as they are taken, mated in the wilds.”

  Madia’s breathing had deepened. Her knuckles were white against the glass of brandy, her heart palpating faster as Pavior set down the gloves and lazily began to undo the buttons of his coat. His voice had taken on a similar lilting tone that his music had possessed. She felt light, as if her body were filled with nothing but air, only her heart pumping, thumping, sending hot blood rushing through her curvy frame.

  “Human men cannot match that need,” Pavior continued as he tugged off his other glove. “But you? Ah, you don’t want a brute. A beast. You want something more. Something more than human. Something more… powerful. I know you well, Madia. How you yearn to be truly taken. To be more than conquered. To submit not to some beast, but to a master.”

  He opened his coat. Madia gasped. Pavior was tall, broad, and beneath the coat, wore nothing. At first she thought his chest covered in a thick carpet of hair, one which spread down his arms and back. But the more she looked, she realized it wasn’t hair.

  It was fur.

  Her eyes snapped back to his own dark orbs. He smiled, kicking off his strange boots, revealing cloven hooves. Around his neck, bound by a silver chain, hung the bone flute he had tantalized her with.

  “A satyr,” Madia whimpered.

  “Monsters never went away, Madia. Do you not wonder how so many have arisen across the empire? When we were thought to be… pushed away? We merely had to be clever. Learn to hide. And it was easy, in the end,” Pavior said, slowly crossing the room. His thick cock began to stiffen, rising, filling the air with a smell of wild musk that sent her heart pounding. As she watched, two curling horns grew from the sides of his head.

  “Oh,” Madia murmured. He leaned over her, his hairy chest an inch from her, his cock resting in the lap of her skirt, his balls sagging beneath him, huge and virile. The scent of him swirled around her like some impossible spice. She trembled, looking up at him.

  “You’ve wanted this since before you can remember,” Pavior said. “And I will give it to you. Now.

  “Strip.”

  He stepped back. His command lingered in her ears. As if in a trance, Madia rose, setting the glass aside. Her hands shook a little as she undid the buttons of her dress, every time she fumbled an amused twitch of his lips sending shame and desire racing through her. What was she doing? What was she doing! She had a husband! Daughters! Yet here she was, fumbling like a school girl, stripping before a monster.

  The thoughts raced through a mind already divested of her body’s actions. Her gown fell away, her plain bra and panties revealed, the former tenting under her hardened nipples, the latter damp with her desire. Pavior laughed at the sight, and Madia trembled as he reached out and tore aside the flimsy fabric.

  She gasped, the strap digging into her sensitive skin a moment before it broke against the satyr’s strength. The monster loomed over her, admiring her nakedness. Her mature, womanly curves fairly glowed in the lamplight. His nostrils flared, scenting her arousal. He leaned in, loomed over her. He grasped her and set her on the edge of the bed.

  “Wonderful. Your husband has excellent taste,” he growled.

  “P-please. Don’t talk about him.”

  “Why not?” Pavior growled, his large finger stroking her damp cunt. “Are you ashamed? Ashamed that you came to me to be pleasured? That you lust for a monster while he cannot satisfy you?”

  His thick lips captured her nipple. She gasped, clutching the edge of the bed, trembling, helpless before the knowing touch of the monster.

  “O-ooooh…”

  “I’m going to take you,” Pavior growled. “I’m going to fuck you like your husband hasn’t in who knows how long. And when you’re quivering, screaming, begging for more, I’ll invite you back. Because your husband has such important work to do. And it would be a shame to deny you the relief you need.”

  “O-oh P-Pavior…”

  “On your back, Madia. It’s time for me to fuck you.”

  Resistance didn’t enter her mind. She lay back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Naked. Vulnerable. At the mercy of the massive beast looming over her. Behind him, she saw again the painting of the ram taking the woman, and again her hot flush raced across her face.

  Pavior grabbed her hips. She gasped, his cock stroking her damp folds. He smirked, and thrust.

  He filled her in a stroke. Stretched her around his manhood. Her cry came short, sharp, a gasp of pure pleasure as her pussy tightened around him. “Oooooh!”

  Pavior didn’t waste time with niceties. The feel of her around him spurred him to a sudden, brutal thrust. Hot pleasure seared through to her core. Madia screamed with ecstasy, her cries echoing in the dark sanctum of the monster. He pounded her, his thick balls slapping her ample bottom, her full breasts bouncing on her chest as he fucked her without finesse, but with an insatiable, brutal hunger.

  “Ooooh yessss!” Madia screamed, surrendering to him. She clutched the blanket, her ass rubbing against the fine silks. The feel of it and the satyr’s wild, wiry fur made her skin tingle with contrasting sensations. “Yes! Yes! Pavior! Oooh Pavior! Take meeeee!”

  “Look at these,” Pavior growled, grasping her swaying teats. Madia gasped as his hands engulfed her breasts, his palms leathery as he mauled her pale orbs. “B
ig as a holstaur’s. Too bad the milk’s dried up. Wouldn’t that be fun, hm? For me to suck you dry?”

  “Oooooh!” Madia moaned. Her hips bucked. Her body tightened.

  She came.

  Her orgasm burst through her in a sudden flood of pleasure she could barely comprehend. Her cry deafened her. A sudden explosion of pent up pleasure and need.

  Pavior laughed at her flushed, gasping face. “You did need this! Well, let’s see how many I can bring you to. Hm?”

  “Mnnn!” Madia moaned, bucking her hips as he continued to pound her into the bed. Her whole body shuddered with her helpless ecstasy. Her second orgasm surged through her, as explosive as the first. Her mind spun, wallowing in the sharp musk of sex and surrender. She watched his flute bounce off his thick chest with a strange fascination. He was humming, she realized, then promptly forgot as a third orgasm burned through her.

  “I’m close, Madia. Where do you want me to cum? Where do you want this monster’s seed? In your hungry cunt? Or perhaps all over your breasts? Hm?”

  Madia’s mind grasped at the question like a drowning man would a raft. “Ah… ah… In… inside… inside meeeee!”

  Pavior laughed. “Good bitch!”

  He rammed himself home, and came. She felt his heavy balls tighten, his orgasm stiffen his already steel rod. Then came the sudden burst of his virile seed within her. Madia screamed, shuddering as she took his cum, feeling him fill her near to bursting. Pavior bleated with pleasure, holding her beneath him as her own orgasm surged through her, fairly blinded her.

  Madia collapsed. Her chest shuddered with her heaving breaths. She could only manage a weak groan as Pavior unsheathed his inhuman cock from her gaping cunt. The satyr grinned down at her, curled a finger in her golden hair.

  “How was that?”

  Madia could only whimper in reply.

  “That’s what I thought,” the satyr said, patting her cheek. “I think this is the beginning of something… wonderful.”

  Madia failed to answer. But her input wasn’t needed. She merely moaned as Pavior lifted the flute to his lips once more, and began to play a tune that swept her away into darkness, and a world of utter… bliss…

  The Daily Grind

  “No, Amelia. Remember? The Grand Duchess is the sister to the Emperor.”

  Amelia huffed, blowing an errant lock of hair from her face. “Well, I hardly see why we even need to study. Not likely we’ll ever meet the emperor out here.”

  Madia sighed and shook her head, shutting a book of heraldries she’d been reading from. “Nevertheless, darling, every young lady must know the families of the crowns scattered across the realm.”

  Amelia huffed. Anette smiled from her own chair, peeking over the edge of her book.

  Madia eyed the pair with parental exasperation. She shut the book with a clap. “Oh very well. We can take a break. I can see quite clearly I’m not going to get more to you today.”

  Amelia brightened. She jumped to her feet and rushed from the room. Anette rose as well, ducked a quick curtsy to her mother, and scampered off after her sister.

  Madia sighed and crossed her hands on her lap. It felt strange to return home. To return to a life unchanged after what she had experienced at that dark house.

  She still wasn’t sure what to make of it. After her last orgasm things had happened like in a dream. Pavior had dressed and fetched the painted woman, who had eagerly bathed Madia. Then, dressed again, she had been carefully brought back to the dark carriage. She’d found Cariana already inside, the other woman’s face flushed and distant, her clothing still stained with mud and dishevelled. She had reeked of the troll’s musk, and Madia had made little attempt to converse, still too addled by her own experience that night.

  After being dropped off by the silent driver Madia had stumbled into her room and collapsed onto the bed. By morning she was feeling a bit more herself, and could have almost dismissed that strange night as no more than a dream.

  Almost. But not quite. Not when she felt the heavy ache that rolled through her from her core. A feeling of intense satisfaction. At times, she found herself humming that strange tune that Pavior had played on his bone flute, and felt her heart quicken and breathing deepening in answer.

  She stood as she heard the door open and shut heavily. Her hands went to her chest as her husband walked inside. “Arven!” she cried, hurrying forward and throwing her arms around his neck. She kissed him adoringly.

  Arven blinked down at her. “Well. Hello.”

  “Hello indeed! How are you my beloved?”

  Arven smiled wistfully. “Oh. Well enough, my love. Well enough.”

  “What happened? You were gone dealing with… gertlings, was it?”

  His expression soured. “I was,” Arven said grimly. “A small band had moved in near the shores. They’d snatched some refugees off the highways.”

  “What a shame,” Madia said idly, tugging him out of the foyer and towards the stairs.

  “Yes,” Arven said, following her without much interest. “The troublesome thing was they seem to have gotten so near the walls without being seen. The city watch should have spotted them, but nothing happened. We need more troops to properly patrol the border and highways, but the emperor isn’t willing to assist us, and the baron doesn’t have enough house guards.”

  “Hm,” Madia hummed.

  Arven stopped her abruptly. She looked up at him, his hand tight on hers. “Madia…” he began. Closed his eyes, gathered his thoughts. “Madia… I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been around too often, but… I won’t be even more. The huntresses of Ctharne are working with the Crimson Council now. And there’s a small delegation of red mages from the capital arriving to look into these monster attacks. I’m going to be away more to work with them and arrange an investigation as to how the gertlings got so close to the city. Other people have gone missing. The baron is worried, and so am I.”

  Madia stared at him, a vague smile on her lips. “So… you won’t be around too often?” she murmured.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Madia sighed airily. “A shame, Arven. But, I know your work is so important to the kingdom and the baron.”

  “I know this had been hard on you, my love. But I promise, things will get better. Once we deal with these monsters raiding the area and manage to get the refugees back home, I’ll be able to show you and the girls the attention you deserve.”

  “I know,” Madia said, patting his hands, looking into his eyes happily. “Don’t worry about us, Arven. Things will be okay. I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive,” Madia breathed, her eyes dim. “I’m positive everything is going to be… just… fine…”

  Return to the Beast

  A sound piped through the dark.

  Madia woke with a start. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, her heart beating slowly. Again she heard that sound. A whisper on the wind, muted by distance, yet potent. Calling. She rose slowly and went to the window and peered out, her breath catching at what she saw. The dark carriage was back, parked before the house, its driver shrouded atop.

  Madia rubbed the curtain between her fingers, her breathing deepening. She realized she was humming that strange tune once more. She glanced back to the bed, Arven lying asleep, head turned aside. She hesitated only a moment, then tiptoed to her closet and opened it.

  She shed her filmy nightgown and donned a pair of dark lace panties and a bra that cupped her heavy breasts. The very same she’d worn that night she’d enticed her husband. She hesitated, then swept on a dark cloak, and tiptoed out of the room.

  She hurried out the doors and towards the dark carriage. The door lay open, and with but a last glance back, she slipped inside.

  Immediately the door shut, the carriage lurching into motion and down the road. Madia eased back in the seat, her heart beating quickly with uncertainty and excitement. Her head was spinning, her core warm with the thought of again experiencing
the sinful pleasure at the satyr’s hands. Fear lingered in the back of her mind. Shame. But they didn’t hold her back. Instead, they spiced the thought of what she was about to do.

  She was surprised when the carriage creaked to a stop, the door swinging open. As she stepped outside again that curious tune tickled at her ears. She bit her lip, her nipples stiffening against the confining fabric of her bra. Without a thought she walked up to the dark manor and inside.

  The painted woman met her. Madia’s eyes slid over her curves, lingering on the hardened nipples and the silver chain that looped between them. No words were needed. The whore smiled dreamily and led Madia down the corridor. Madia doubted she’d need the girl. That song. That sweet, calling song drew her on like it was bound to her very soul, plucking at the fibers of her being like the finest musician, and she his instrument.

  She was breathing deeply by the time they reached the room. The whore stepped aside and Madia entered.

  Pavior reclined in the chair, a leg propped up on the arm, the scrimshaw pipe to his lips. He smiled when he saw her, his dark eyes simmering with a desire that was more beast than man. His lips blew a low, reedy tune through the flute, every note singing up Madia’s spine.

  He let the flute drop and rose lazily. Madia looked up at him, breasts heaving, mouth parted. He stepped closer, his broad, powerful form filling her vision. His scent rolling over her in animal musk and lust. He reached out, touched the clasp of her cloak. It fell away, revealing her lacy underwear.

  “Ah, Madia,” Pavior hummed as he grasped her breast in a large hand. “So glad you could come.”

  Madia’s lashes fluttered. She let out a breathless moan as he mauled her generous teat in his broad palm. “Mnnn…”

  “And so promptly. I had a feeling you would, my dear. You see, I’ve had ample opportunities to learn about human women. I had to. After all, if I had to live among your kind, it was necessary.

  “And haven’t I flourished,” he murmured, stepping nearer. His other hand stroked her chin, Madia leaning into his palm, her eyes weak and glazed with need. “Haven’t I carved out a place among you. But then, I’ll never be a human, you know. Never be able to walk the streets in the open. Oh no. I’m barely tolerated. If your husband knew I existed, he would hunt me down. Burn me with his magic, as he has so many of my brethren.