The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  “Yesssss!” Anora screamed, beyond caring of such blasphemy. All of her, all of her existence had narrowed, been consumed by the pleasure shuddering from her rippling cunt. Her whole body ached with the wonderful pleasure of his cock within her, his venom blazing through her veins. She grabbed her breasts, squeezing them, the pain mingling with the pleasure to bring her to heights she’d never dreamed existed.

  “Want me to cum in you, slut?” the diminutive imp cackled, enjoying it perhaps more than even her. The debasement of the priestess a fiercer delight for the tiny demon. “Want to feel my hot demon cum in your slutty cunt?”

  “Yesss!” Anora cried out, wracked with another shuddering orgasm. “Oh goddess yessss!”

  “Pray to me then. Pray for my cock to fill you up!”

  “Oh master!” Anora gasped. “Oh master. Please. B-bless your slut with your thick cum. Give her the-ah-the g-gift of your cum! Your priestess needs it. She begs for it! Master! Masterrrrrr!”

  The imp cackled with delight. “Alright! Here it comes, slut. Take it… all!”

  With the final shout the imp hilted his massive cock in her rippling cunt. He howled as his balls tightened, his cock quivered, and his seed exploded into the young woman’s fertile womb.

  Anora wailed at the completion of her pleasure. The ecstasy of it was hot. Primal. Consuming. She melted beneath the sensation. Every pulse of his cock blasting her thoughts to nothing. Filling her with a sense of completion. Of adoration. How stupid her youth of service to the goddess seemed before the pleasure she was facing. How worthless her devotion to the cold presence of a distant deity. She nearly wept with the years wasted in her service to the goddess.

  The imp sighed and unsheathed his cock from her cunt. “There we go,” he said, grinning.

  Anora’s eyes slid open as a new sensation bled through her. She raised her head shakily, staring in wonder at her mons. Just above her cunt, a red light was growing. It seemed to emerge from her pale skin, cresting in a strange pattern like an open eye.

  “What… what is it?” she gasped.

  The imp cackled. “Did you think the Duke of Ashes was content just taking land from you humans? Oh ho no,” the imp said. “This is his new sorcery! Him and the Red Witch have been summoning us to support his troops! And with it, we’ve been helping him with some new enchantments. This is a sign, slut. That you’re mine now. Your womb is already seeded and your stomach’s going to swell with my spawn. We’re going to breed out you humans and make a world for only monsters! You’re mine, aren’t you?”

  Anora stared at the tattoo. Dimly, she felt that she should have been horrified by the prospect of being impregnated and conquered by such a pathetic and foul creature as the imp. Yet, as she looked from the mark of the eye emblazoned on her mons to the imp, her heart thumped. Love for the crude creature swelled in her chest near to bursting. Her face lit up with joy.

  “Oh master,” the young priestess sighed, stroking her stomach eagerly. “Thank you so much! Oh. Oh this is wonderful!”

  “Of course it is,” the imp grinned as he strutted towards her. “You’re my slut now. Far better than that stupid goddess, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” she panted eagerly. “Of course! Your cock is so much better than her.”

  “Good! Now on your hands and knees. There’s one hole of yours I haven’t taken yet.”

  “Yes master!” Anora gasped. She scrambled about, beyond excited. Her master was going to fuck her ass! Oh she’d never imagined such a filthy thing could be pleasurable. But if master would do it, she was sure it would be just wonderful!

  The imp grinned as the shapely priestess rolled onto her front, her plush bottom in the air. He flicked aside the muddy robe and took a moment to admire the heart shape of her soft ass, simply waiting for the thrust of his demonic cock. This was becoming a great day. He suddenly smacked her ass, making Anora jump and moan in delight. “Stupid slut. You’re too big! Turn around. Ass towards the rock so I can properly fuck you.”

  “Yes! Of course master!” Anora panted, doing as he commanded. The imp climbed onto the stone, his waist now level with her ass. He grabbed her soft cheeks and spread them, baring the wrinkled star of her asshole. He smirked, aligning his cock, still nice and slickened from taking her hot cunt.

  “There it is. Alright, slut. Praise your master!” he cackled, and thrust.

  “Ahhhhh!” Anora wailed in ecstasy as his hot cock plunged into her virgin ass. “Ohhhh master! Thank youuu! Thank you for your cooooock!”

  The imp cackled with glee, his tiny hips slapping her plush bottom. His tail wound about and plunged into her ass once again, filling her anew with his intoxicating venom.

  Anora screamed with bliss beyond anything she had dreamed. Her ass tightened around his plunging cock, her hand rose, plunging between her legs, frantically fingering her cunt as pleasure boiled through her.

  “Ohh master! I’m cumming! I’m cummmiiiiing!” Anora squealed, pulses of pleasure throbbing through her, her juices splattering into the mud as she came again.

  “Stupid slut! Never cum before your master!” the imp barked, slapping her ass again as he continued to fuck her.

  “Nnnn! Forgive your slut, master! Forgive her! She’s so dumb and horny!”

  The imp grinned. “At least you know your place. Here it comes, whore! Here comes your master’s seed right in your slutty ass. Here… nnnyaaaaa!”

  The imp squealed as his cock again exploded, filling her tight backdoor with his oily seed. Anora wailed with delight, cumming again, her orgasm filling her with sweet ecstasy of infernal bliss. “Yes master. Yessss! Cum in me! Breed my ass! Breed your sluuuuuuuuut!”

  The imp cackled, the sound barely audible over the slap of flesh on flesh as he continued his conquest of the shapely priestess, her cries of orgasm swallowed by the dark woods around them.

  The Enemy’s March

  “Anora!” Safira called.

  “How could you let her wander off?” Camilla snapped at Marianne.

  “I’m not her babysitter,” Marianne moaned, wincing at the sharp voice. Her head was pounding with her hangover. She rubbed her brow, miserable. As she had been since she’d been awoken by Camilla shaking her, wrenching her from her pleasant, inebriated slumber. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “You should have gone with her!”

  “Don’t talk to me that way!” Marianne snapped back. “I’m the wife of lord Dorin Rickard. I had three coaches in my home and a manor! I was treated like a queen!”

  “Well you’re not there anymore!”

  “Enough!” Safira barked, glancing back at the pair. “Nothing’s to be done about it now. Come! We have to find her.”

  Camilla cast a furious look at Marianne, who met it with a wall of sullen silence. Safira glared at the pair before whirling about and forging on ahead. She cursed herself anew for having ventured off, even as she knew it had been unavoidable. They’d had to be sure they were safe. What was the blasted priestess thinking! It was like herding bloody cats.

  Safira paused as a low glow flickered across her hammer’s engravings. Her brows furrowed.

  “What is it?” Camilla asked.

  Safira didn’t answer. She scanned the forest, moving her hammer before her like a dowsing rod. The golden runes engraved on the steel pulsed and she halted. Grimly, she forged forward in the way the hammer indicated. She heard the other two follow but paid them little attention. The light on her hammer crackled, the steel hot through the leather handle. Which meant only one thing…

  They stepped into a clearing, a weak light beaming through a break among the tall trees. Camilla followed, her nose at once wrinkling at a pungent, foul scent that filled the space. “Ugh. What is that?”

  “Demon seed,” Safira said, noticing glistening foulness on patches of grass, pressed down here and there. Something flashed in the sunlight, and Safira’s frown deepened as she knelt, brushing aside some grass and picking up what she found.

  The war p
riestess stared at the platinum amulet in her hand, cold and heavy.

  “Is that…” Marianne murmured.

  Safira nodded, her hand tightening around it. “It seems Anora was… taken.”

  Marianne moaned. Camilla cursed.

  Safira shoved the amulet into her pocket. “Come,” she said firmly. “They can’t have gotten far. If we-“

  “Sh,” Camilla suddenly hissed. “What was that?”

  Safira glanced to the soldier, then cocked her head, listening as well.

  For a moment she heard nothing. Then, from a distance, the sound of something moving in the underbrush reached her ears.

  “Behind the rock. Now!” she hissed.

  Camilla started, but moved, grabbing Marianne and dragging the terrified noblewoman behind the large stone in the middle of the clearing. Hefting her hammer, Safira joined them, ducking behind the rock and peeking out from behind it.

  The sounds grew louder, and shapes moved through the distant brush. Huge, hulking shapes that were unmistakeable to the watching priestess

  Orcs.

  The distant figures snorted, riding what looked to be horses. Guttural voices rolled through the silence, steel gleaming in their hands.

  In the midst of passing them by, one paused, lifting his head as if scenting the air. Safira’s heart stopped when she saw a broken tusk and a rough, scarred face. A face she remembered from that dark night, while the camp of the emperor burned around her and men screamed and died. A face she’d last seen when her hammer had struck, battering the orc from her path as she fled with the others.

  She nearly rose to face the brute, the power of her god burning within her, but a soft whimper forestalled her. She glanced back and saw Camilla with a hand over Marianne’s mouth. The two stared at her, listening with terrible fear to the rustling march of the orcs.

  Safira bit her lip until she tasted blood, smothering the righteous fire of her wrath. Her anger. Her will to slaughter the savage brutes who threatened her and her god. But she didn’t move. She stayed hidden, watching, hating as the orc at last turned away and ventured once more after the others and deeper into the forest.

  Safira let a breath out. She glanced at the others. “We have to go. They’re searching for us.”

  “But… Anora…”

  “Is lost,” Safira said harshly, rising. “Come. We have to go. Now. Before the orcs return.”

  The thought of the brutish monsters killed any protest in either women. But as she led the other two away from the path of the orcs, Safira felt the weight of the platinum amulet in her pocket, and bitter bile rose in her throat at the loss.

  The Drink of Surrender

  The rain drove the trio hard, lashing them while thunder rumbled above. Marianne held her arms tightly around herself. She was miserable. She was wet. She was cold. And worst of all, she was now sober.

  She trudged after the two warriors, feeling the resentment radiating from Camilla and Safira. But how was it her fault the priestess had gotten herself taken by a demon? It was the stupid slut’s own fault for being taken. How was Marianne supposed to stop it? It wasn’t like she asked for any of this. She never wanted to be out and away from her warm home. From her servants and its baths and the society she had been born and bred in. She sniffled, feeling the tears of misery well up once again.

  She could barely express her relief when a shape finally made itself known. The slouched form of an old inn along the highway rose out of the darkness. She restrained herself, barely, from rushing in as Safira pushed in first, investigating the abandoned tavern.

  “Empty,” the priestess said as she emerged. “The residents no doubt fled from the monster’s advance. We should be safe here tonight.”

  “Oh thank the gods,” Marianne moaned, hastening inside and out of the rain. Camilla gave the noble woman a contemptuous look but she ignored it, shuffling to the large hearth and taking a seat. Camilla came forward and eventually kindled a fire, the warmth wafting through the empty common room.

  Marianne sighed, snuggling close to the open flames. “How far to Tatarod?” she asked the pair.

  “We’re close,” Safira said shortly.

  “You’ve said that every day now,” Marianne said. “And we never seem closer. And now those orcs are in the woods with us… Oh…” she sighed, shaking her head. “We’re doomed aren’t we? We may as well just give ourselves up to the monsters and pray for their mercy.”

  Camilla snorted. “You’ll get none from those brutes. You don’t understand what the Duke of Ashes wants. He doesn’t just want land or position. He wants the end of us all.”

  “Then why does he capture women?” Marianne asked. “Maybe if we surrender, we’ll be treated well. It can’t be worse than this. Can it?”

  “What do you know of misery?” Camilla snapped. “You’re just some soft noble woman. I bet you haven’t worked a day in your life, have you? Always been waited on so long as you do just what your husband said. Well this is the world now!”

  Marianne burst into tears. “I didn’t want any of this!” she gasped miserably.

  “Camilla! Marianne! Quiet,” Safria barked. She glared at the pair darkly.

  Camilla flushed and jolted to her feet. “I’m going upstairs,” she said shortly, marching past them.

  “I’m for the kitchen,” Marianne sniffled, grabbing a candle off one of the tables and lighting it from the fire. “Maybe there’s some food left behind…”

  “Don’t leave the tavern,” Safira warned sharply. “I’ve warded the building. No beast or creature of darkness can enter without my knowing. But be careful!”

  “Yes, yes,” Marianne said indifferently as she wandered behind the bar. She rubbed her eyes harshly. What did that soldier know? Odds were the stupid slut had lived like this all her life. How could she appreciate all that Marianne had lost? All that was hers that was now gone? She was used to comfort. To security. But now… now what did she have? Some rags and the prospect of being the brood mother to a band of gertlings. She shuddered at the idea.

  The door to the kitchen swung open on creaking hinges. The gloom within revealed little. The cupboards were bare, save some cheese that was already growing its own ecosystem. She grimaced and slammed the cupboard shut, looking around.

  And spotted a set of steps leading down.

  Marianne’s interest was piqued. She had rarely visited taverns before, but along the road, she and her husband had occasionally stayed in some on the campaign trail. And it was in the basement taverns typically kept their barrels of ale. Marianne licked her lips, and not even the prospect of that deep darkness could stay her from carefully descending the cold stone steps.

  She gasped in delight as the glow of her candle gleamed off misty bottles of wines lined up in racks. Huge, heavy barrels of ale filled another wall, their brands burned into the fronts, still corked tight.

  “Oh gods. At last,” Marianne breathed as she grabbed a bottle from its place. She tore out the cork and eagerly took a gulp. Sweetness burned down her throat as the noblewoman tasted the rich flavour of the wine. Soothing the hurts and aches to her pride and body endured the last few days.

  She sat down on the bottom step, nursing the bottle lovingly. Oh how she had missed this. This sweet bliss of oblivion of drink and surrender. Ever since her flask had run dry each day had been a misery. And was it her fault, she wondered, taking another drink. Of course not. She hadn’t asked for any of this. It had all been forced onto her by the war and its warriors. And how horrible it would be when it was all over. When they were inevitably caught. After all, both Anora and the other soldier had been lost. Taken.

  And Marianne knew, without a doubt, that if push came to shove, the other two would abandon her. She again felt that old misery swell up in her chest and quickly took another drink to dull the pain. Oh yes. They would abandon her and flee, leaving her to suffer whatever fate awaited her. She knew Camilla hated her, and she had no doubt Safira was similarly inclined. Hadn’t they made i
t obvious with their ill feigned contempt? Their curses? Their pushing her on and on. If they were cornered, they’d probably throw her to the monsters. Trade her for safe passage.

  Perhaps that had been what they’d been doing. Marianne’s hand tightened on the bottle she held. Maybe that was all they had kept the other two around for. Sacrifices to continue their journey. Selling Anora and that soldier to the monsters. Perhaps that was why they kept her around. The final token to throw away. They were peasants. It was what they did. They didn’t respect nobility in the least.

  “No!” Marianne said, surging to her feet, swaying a little as the blood rushed to her head. “No. I’m not that. I’m… I’m nobility! I… I won’t…. they can’t…”

  But she didn’t have a choice. Did she? After all, so long as she was with the pair, they controlled her fate. Well… well then she didn’t need them! She was noble! She would decide her fate. Clutching her half drunk bottle, Marianne slunk back up the stairs, being as quiet as she could. She reached the top and peeked about, just lifting the candle enough to see the room. No one. Little surprise. Of course they wouldn’t check on her. No doubt they were sure she hadn’t the courage to leave them. Well! She would show them! She stalked up and out of the wine cellar, glancing at the door back into the common room. No. They were probably still there, guarding the front door. But there were other ways to leave the tavern…

  As quietly as she could, Marianne snuck towards the second door from the kitchen. As she expected, a rear door to allow goods to come in lay open. She pushed it aside and glanced outside.

  The rain had stopped, the sky lit with a lone moon, its pale light glinting off dewy grass and the leaves of trees. Marianne glanced at the rune etched in the door’s frame and carefully stepped past it, holding her breath.

  No flash of light. No blaze of alarms. So. It seemed the priestess had only attuned it to monsters. Marianne smirked at the woman’s overconfidence. She took another heavy swig of her bottle and made her way into the back.