The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  “Course you do,” Lugin cackled, leaning up and taking the plump nipple between his lips. He smirked as the woman moaned, grasping his head and pulling him into the softness of her breast, her hips quaking in the sweet pleasure.

  The other woman crawled up him. One engulfed his randy cock in her warm mouth. Another began to tongue and lick his musky balls. The fourth Lugin simply reached over and began to finger her gaping cunny, sending the slut panting and moaning.

  Oh, this was the life. Surrounded in a sea of willing female flesh. Lost in the pleasures of their eager rutting. By the nine hells he could get used to this.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The curtain that normally covered it had been thrown back, and the glass now shimmered. Lugin’s brow quirked up as a dainty foot slipped through the glass like it was no more than water, stepping out onto the floor proper. A moment later the rest of the Red Witch followed, the sultry sorceress tossing her bouncing red hair over a shoulder before glancing around.

  When she saw Lugin she rolled her eyes. “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “Play time’s over, imp. Time to get to work.”

  Lugin removed his lips from the quivering nipple of his eager slut. “Aw c’mon honey! Can’t an imp have a bit of fun.”

  “You had your fun when you impregnated the lot of them a week ago.”

  “I consider that more a service to the world,” the imp said, wriggling deeper into the cushions beneath the moaning quartet. He grinned around his smoking cigar. “Tha world deserves my kids in it. It’s a travesty that the women of the mortal realm’ll never know the taste of a real demon’s cock. I need to birth more kids to make sure no lady goes without.”

  The Red Witch said nothing. She simply pointed at him. Magic crackled from her finger. Lugin’s eyes shot wide open as a black band twisted into being around the root of his cock.

  “Ya wouldn’…”

  The Red Witch smirked, hooked her finger back.

  With a squeal of agony Lugin was wrenched from the pile of women and his throne of cushions. His feet skidded on the floor, his wings flapping uselessly as he was dragged forward by his cock, the invisible thread which bound him to the Red Witch’s will hauling him towards her.

  “What wouldn’t I do?” the Red Witch mused.

  “Oh fuuuuuck!” the imp wailed in agony. “I got it! I got it! Lemme go! Please! Hells and bells! Oh fuck it hurts!”

  “Are you going to help me with the spell now?” she asked, lifting her hand, Lugin’s shaft rising into the air like a puppet on a string, dangling the imp, his short wings flapping uselessly.

  “Oh fuck! Yes! Yes! You got it!”

  “Good.”

  The Red Witch snapped her finger, another crackle of magic echoing through the room as the spell released the imp. Lugin collapsed on the floor, panting feebly, curling around his throbbing shaft.

  “Ah shit. Ya didn’t need to go that far…”

  “Probably not. But I have work to do. Now let’s get to it.”

  Lugin moaned and straightened weakly. His wings flapped, lifting him off the floor. “Alright, alright.” He flapped over to the women lounging on the cushions. “C’mon ladies. Time t’ work. Let’s get going. Into your places. Move it.”

  He gave a firm slap on one of the women’s plush bottoms, sending the branded slave into motion. The four shapely women crawled across the floor and into the pattern that had been etched there. Spiralling rings written with strange markings covered the floor, four circles at the cardinal points empty among the spiralling script. To these the women moved, sitting down lazily.

  The Red Witch made a slow circle of the pattern, her lips pursed thoughtfully. Lugin sat aside, stroking his aching shaft and wincing.

  “Good enough,” the Red Witch said, stopping at last. She looked to the doorway. “Enter!”

  The heavy door eased open with a creak. On shuffling feet four stunted gertlings entered the room. The diminutive monsters peered about suspiciously, their hooked noses twitching as they scented the room like wary rabbits. The acrid stench of magic stung their noses, but they overlooked it easily enough when they caught a whiff of the sweet, tingling scent of feminine arousal. Wide eyes fixed themselves on the women in the circles, the gertlings fairly drooling at the sight of the shapely sluts bedecked in nothing, curvy frames panting with lingering desire.

  “Gentlemen,” the Red Witch said with an inviting gesture. “Please. Join the lovely ladies.”

  Though still suspicious, lust, as ever, prevailed with the stunted monster. In a mass the gertlings rushed towards the panting women. Though the monster horde had claimed women in the thousands, the gertlings rarely were given more than a single brood mother for an entire tribe. Too often the larger monsters claimed several brides. Some orcs would take more than a dozen shapely captives, fucking the women into eager, moaning slaves, desperate to carry their master’s pups and be filled again and again with seed.

  The Red Witch smirked as the gertlings began to stroke and fondle the moaning women. “Let’s get started. Lugin?”

  “Hrmph!” Lugin puffed on his cigar, smoke pluming out in annoyance. To think his personal slaves would be fucked by gertlings. Gertlings! But he knew better than to complain. His aching cock reminded him of that. The imp rose and fluttered over to the circle. He hovered above the center ring and grasped his dangling shaft, then began to pump.

  Despite the pain the witch had inflicted on him, the imp’s cock had soon swelled once more to its full length. The imp panted, stroking his cock faster. Faster. Inevitably his eyes trailed over to the Red Witch. The sorceress had spread her arms, her eyes closed as she began to murmur the words of the spell. Magic crackled from her, her hair writhing in the winds of power that surrounded her, her full, naked breasts rising and falling with every breath. By the dukes of hell, it had been so long since he’d gotten to play with those tits. Not to mention give her a right proper fucking. He remembered the time he took her ass. How tight she had been. How she’d moaned and panted, rocking to the pumping of his cock.

  Of course, the women he claimed now were fine. All were beauties. All were more than eager to service his cock after he filled them with his hot seed. And it was a pleasure to have such eager, willing slaves. But he held a special place in his cold, black heart for when he got to fuck the Red Witch. She’d been so innocent then. So inexperienced. It got him so fucking hard thinking about it again. She was so proud and powerful now, but once she had just been some scared girl who stumbled into a cabin and summoned him. And oh how wonderful it had been to give her a good, proper dicking.

  Lugin was breathing heavily now. He felt his orgasm growing nearer with every movement of his hand. “Oh yeah. Oh f-fuck yeah. Yes! Hnnnn!”

  The imp moaned, twitching in midair as he finally came. His demonic spunk splattered onto the floor in the innermost circle.

  And the room changed.

  The walls seemed to waver in unreality. The red lines which covered the floor hissed softly. They beat, glowing with crimson light.

  The women within their places gave a sudden gasp. The marks which emblazoned their mons pulsed. As one they threw back their heads, leaning back on their hands, thrusting out their quims and towards the innermost circle.

  “Ah. Ah. Nnnn…”

  The gertlings who had been amusing themselves with the women paused in surprise. They looked fearfully about the room.

  “Ah ah ah,” the Red Witch said, flicking a finger at them. “You’ve got a job to do. These ladies are here for a reason, and so. Are. You.”

  As one the gertlings stiffened. Their eyes shot open as a symbol glowed on their brows. Their eyes grew misty. Their breathing heavy.

  With an animalistic cry the thin creatures threw themselves onto the panting women. The thralls of the curse cried out in pleasure as bony hands grasped softest breast and shapely thigh. Thin wide mouths engulfed nipples and licked hungrily. Small hands sp
read willing thighs, baring the dripping coves within.

  As one the gertlings thrust. As one the women cried out in pleasure. And the gertlings began to fuck.

  The magic swelled with a hellish glow. Painting the panting women in crimson and fire. They whimpered. Gasped. Clasped their breasts, massaging plump, eager teats as they began to moan and writhe, held in the grips of a terrible pleasure.

  A red mist began to seep from them as they rocked to the unholy pleasure coursing through their veins. Lugin grinned as the mist wound through the room, gathering in the central circle.

  “Oh baby that’s it,” Lugin grinned, continuing to wank his infernal prick. “That’s iiiiiit.”

  The Red Witch ignored him. She raised her arms, her voice rising to a punishing crescendo. The twining magic gathered higher, feeding off the pleasure of the moaning women, coalescing into a new shape.

  The gertlings were ignorant of it all. One cried out, burying his cock inside his mate, shuddering as he came within her. The woman moaned in pleasure, her legs wrapping around the monster, pulling him deeper inside her.

  “Yesss!” she wailed. “More master! More!”

  The gertling couldn’t stop. None of them could. Frantically, feverishly, almost desperately they mated with the moaning women. Plunging their warty cocks into sopping pussies. Their balls smacking off shapely pale bottoms. Their hands sinking in soft, supple flesh.

  The Red Witch watched, her dark eyes burning in the light of the spell as the gertlings fucked their women, lost, consumed in the pleasure. They came. Again. Again. Reedy wails of ecstasy as they stuffed the moaning women with their seed. As they kept fucking. Kept humping. Even as their flesh sank against their bones. Even as their eyes grew hollow and sank into sockets. As their essence escaped them in gasping orgasms, filtered, fed in the red ribbons of power into the center of the circle.

  “Oh fuck yeah. That’s the stuff,” Lugin breathed as he watched the gertlings rut their lives away. The Red Witch’s chant rose, her pale breasts heaving, her arms raised, her voice calling out over the weakening moans of the gertlings. The cries of their mates as they clung to their withering lovers.

  A final scream broke through the room. The ribbons of power ended, the gertlings gasping their last, falling, little more than mummies, withered cocks pumping their last, futile bursts of cum into their mates. The power in the room snapped into the center. A shockwave burst through the air.

  Silence.

  The Red Witch’s feet padded softly across the charred remains of the ritual circle. She walked by the whimpering women, their bodies steaming with the force of their pleasure. The sorceress stopped before the middle of the circle and took what hung in thin air.

  “Oh yes,” she breathed, smirking as she admired the tool birthed from dark magic and the pleasure of woman and monster. “That’s perfect.”

  The Forest

  Jingling steel and the clip clop of hooves were all to be heard as Torria led her squad through the forest’s confines. She peered about the thick pines, wary. The forests of Istanov had long sheltered the monsters of the empire, even before the Duke of Ashes had called them forth in his foul crusade. And knowing the enemy was so near, she was wary and on her guard.

  To make matters worse was the nature of Sallowmarsh. Built in the deeps of the swamps of Istanov, the city was well defended from outside attack, but isolated. Even in its heyday there were not many who braved the misty waterways and fetid marshes. And those who did reside there were whispered to be degenerate half breeds. Bearing more monster blood in their veins than any would consider proper. That the communities lurking in the deep marshes had agreements with the wugs and stranger things whose eyes glowed through the mists, and whose claws thirsted for the unwary traveler and lone wanderers who dared the roads.

  Her men spread out behind her in a ragged line on either side, slowly moving through the forest, keeping within eye sight of one another. They moved with care. This wasn’t their first mission, after all. Though Torria’s main strength had always been her military thrust, she was more than capable of leading such a scouting group. And that her empress trusted it to her meant she was glad to carry it out.

  She tugged on the reins, forestalling her horse. She raised her hand, causing the rest of her troops to halt.

  Torria scanned the forest, her eyes narrowing. What made her stop? Even she wasn’t sure. A silent sense of unease. An instinct from that primal part of the human brain that remembered the days when the warning of a predator’s strike couldn’t take the time to be analyzed, but merely acted on.

  Silence greeted her.

  “Commander?” Ander asked. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Torria said softly.

  Ander nodded. He craned his head about, grasping the hilt of his sword and slowly drawing his blade.

  The ground suddenly exploded beneath her. Torria’s horse whinnied, rearing back. She had a brief impression of fangs and claws and glowing eyed before her sword came down, cleaving the creature’s head in twain.

  Other men were not so lucky. Screams of surprise and pain from men and horses split the air. Torria yanked her horse about, looking about frantically.

  Ghouls. Shaggy things of teeth and claw, they surged out of the ground in masses of horror. Clawing at riders and slaughtering horses. Steel flashed as her men fought frantically back against the monsters risen all around them.

  “Close ranks!” Torria shouted, kneeing her horse towards the others, her sword flashing as she cut down another of the shaggy monsters. “Close ranks!”

  Horns wailed through the woods. Torria twisted about to see bulky shapes racing out from among the trees as if birthed from the mists. Her heart clenched as she made out the brutal frames of orcish warriors, the earth thundering under their stride as they rapidly closed with the scouts surrounded by the ghouls.

  “A trap!” Torria shouted over the sound of battle. “Retreat! Retreat!”

  She yanked the reins of her horse, kneeing her steed into motion. Her men tried to disentangle themselves from their battle, but she didn’t see if any made it. She broke free of the battle, her horse leaping over a ghoul as the monster clawed its way out of the earth, hooves thudding on the forest floor as Torria surged off and away from the battlefield.

  She rode hard, the land rushing beneath her. She rose in her saddle and looked back the way she came, trying to spot a sign of pursuit.

  A branch slammed into her midriff. Only her armour saved her from a broken rib, but it served to drive the wind from her in a rush. Her feet were wrenched from their stirrups as she was thrown from the saddle, hitting the ground with bone numbing force.

  Torria lay there, gasping, watching dimly as her horse continued its terrified dash deeper into the forest. Her head was spinning as she struggled to get her breath back.

  Remembering why she had been running, Torria struggled back to her feet, staggering as her head swam from the sudden movement. She touched her chest, wincing at the pain throbbing through her. A crash of distant foliage had her shoot back a look, spotting dark figures moving through the forest. Without a second thought she started running.

  Branches whipped past her, snapping against her face and arms as she raced deeper into the forest. Every step sent pain blasting through her bruised ribs, but she dared not stop. She had no fear of death. But a woman’s fate at the hands of monsters was far worse than that. No one in the empire didn’t know of what the monsters had done with the women they’d taken. Cursed by foul magic, as soon as a monster seeded their womb, any woman would become little more than an eager brood mother. Slavishly devoted to their foul masters and the spawn which grew in their bodies.

  Torria did not fear death. But that horrified her.

  Grass suddenly made way for a lush carpet of wildflowers. The trees, once twisted with branches like claws were swept away, leaving her in a sudden space of quiet openness. Torria staggered to a halt, looking about herself in shock.

  She st
ood in a clearing, motes of light drifting through the air. The flowers carpeted the grounds around her in a rich rainbow of hues. Their mingled perfume reached her, every panting breath drawing in a gasp of their sweet scent. Torria blinked hard, the olfactory assault making her head spin.

  “Oh, hello.”

  Torria spun about in surprise and took a startled step back. A massive flower with crimson petals as big as a horse grew amid the more modest flowers. A dip in the plant revealed a sloshing pitcher of viscous nectar. Out of this, growing from the waist up was a picture of feminine beauty. Generous hips swelled out of the plant, curving into a perfect hourglass shape to compliment a pair of luscious green breasts. A face of breathtaking beauty topped it all, with lips a deep, dark brown and eyes a glimmering green. In lieu of hair, another immense flower bloomed from her head, slanted to obscure on eye with its long petals.

  Torria reached for her sword. “Monster!” Her hand closed on empty air and she cursed, realizing she’d dropped it on the run.

  “Please, don’t be alarmed,” the plant woman cried. “I’m not like those brutes chasing you! In fact, I saved you.”

  “What?” Torria said.

  “Of course. No one may enter my garden without my permission,” the plant woman said. “I am its protector, and when I saw you racing through the forest, I knew you needed me.”

  Torria hesitated. But it was true, she didn’t hear her pursuers anymore. And knowing the stamina of orcs, they would have caught her by now. When motivated, an orc could run almost as fast as a horse. There was no way she might have evaded them on foot so long. “I… um, thank you.”

  The plant woman smiled. And it was a rather lovely smile, Torria noticed. She felt her cheeks blossom with a blush, her body growing warm. “You’re welcome,” the figure said. “But please, come closer.”

  She… supposed there was no harm in that. Torria walked nearer the plant woman, that pungent, sweet aroma she’d noticed earlier growing stronger. A very lovely scent. Better than the finest perfumes in all of the empire.