Targi grinned nervously. “Not come fight,” he said quickly, raising his hands. “Targi not come fight witch!”
“Lysa. You may as well know my name before I blast you to bits.”
“No blast! No blast!” Targi squealed. “Me not come fight! Me come talk! Just talk!”
“What would a gertling have to talk about to me?”
“Me want help!”
“Help!” Lysa laughed. “Like you helped my sisters and brothers at the academy? Like your kind has tried to ‘help’ Istanov? Oh no. I know too well your kind’s idea of help.”
Ohhh this was going badly. “Me not want like that!” Targi squeaked.
“Is that right? Well! Maybe I should show you how it feels to be enslaved. I think I’ll dominate that pathetic little mind of yours and make you walk off the cliff!”
“Wait! Me not want that!” Targi squeaked.
“Too bad!”
Lysa raised her hand. Magic like crimson chains wound around her hand. Her voice rose, calling out in the tongue of magic. Words that seemed to sizzle on the burning chains.
There wasn’t time to talk. Targi only had time to grab the amulet shoved in his belt and raise it before him like a shield.
With an exultant cry Lysa finished her spell. The chains of magic rushed forward like a striking snake. Targi winced as the spell struck the amulet with a sound like a gong.
Lysa had just enough time for her triumphant smile to drop in slack jawed wonder as the spell rebounded on her. Then it struck, flinging her back and onto her shapely bottom.
Targi stood, his knees knocking like castanets, the amulet still raised before him. The world swam, and he nearly passed out in relief. It had worked. Oh, thank Murgo god of gerts it worked.
Lysa’s groan summoned the gertling back to the present. He looked back down at the sorceress as she swayed, her body crackling with crimson energy. Targi gnawed on his lower lip with doubt. But he’d come this far. Warily, as strung as a rabbit to flee, he approached the sorceress.
“Witch?” he asked, nudging her shoulder.
She moved lightning fast. Targi yelped as her arms grabbed him, pulled him tight.
And into the cushiony warmth of a pair of expansive tits.
“Oh Targi!” Lysa cried in delight. “Oh master! Did I hurt my precious iddy biddy gertling? But how could I? After all, my handsome Targi is so strong and masculine and just… just…”
Lysa grabbed Targi’s cheeks, pulled up his face, and kissed the stunned gertling with soft, red lips.
Targi blinked rapidly as he tried to process what was happening. Finally, Lysa broke their kiss, beaming down at the stunted gertling.
“…You… me… wha?” Targi managed.
“Mmm. Sorry, master, I just couldn’t help myself. I love you so much. Here. You can enjoy my tits some more.”
“W-wait! Me mmph!” Targi gasped, his voice once more muffled by those pillowy tits.
“Mmm,” Lysa moaned, hugging the struggling gertling into her plump tit flesh, her eyes lidded with the bliss of loyal servitude.
Targi was in a conundrum. On the one hand, this was absolutely amazing. He’d dreamed of being so fondled by so beautiful a human woman. On the other, he had an objective here, and as enjoyable as being smothered in this goddess’s tits, it wasn’t what he was aiming for.
Finally, Targi managed to wrest his head out from her soft embrace, gasping. His hooked nose twitched at the sweet, floral perfume the sorceress wore. He forced himself to look into the blissful face of his captor, only then seeing the low, pulsing red chain of light wrapped tight around her throat.
Had he needed more evidence the spell had worked, it was before him. But he had to focus. Targi took a deep breath. “Lysa? Me talk with you.”
“Of course, master!” Lysa said happily. “I’ll listen to your every command. Would you like to fuck me now?”
“Yes. Wait! Me mean no! Not now. Uh… not here…”
“I have a cave not far, master. Would my wonderful, breathtaking, powerful and oh so handsome master be more comfortable fucking my tight pussy in there?”
“Um… yes. Me want go there.”
“Of course!”
She rose, cradling the gertling against her tits. Which… if Targi had to admit, was hardly the worst position in the world. Nestled against the softness of her breasts, the sway of her hips and ample bottom felt in her every step, he was carried along the path and the brutal face of the mountain, the dark stone glassy with frost.
Lysa stopped abruptly and said a word that sparked with power, and before Targi’s eyes a portion of the mountain face seemed to melt away like ice in the spring, revealing a spacious cave. The moment Lysa crossed the threshold candles burst to life, illuminating a warm and surprisingly homey space. A bed of soft reeds had been built in one corner. Another had shelves carved into the stone wall, filled with potions and bottles of sorcerous nature. The center of the cave was dominated by a large cauldron over some ashen wood, while jutting from the far wall was a stone smoothed into a table.
“Here we are, my glorious master,” Lysa said, plopping him down among the reeds of her bed. “Now,” she said, laying down beside him, her hands moving down her tight leotard, a finger sliding along the gusset of her cunt. “Would you like to fuck me?”
Targi stared at her, offering herself to him. So curvy a woman. So eager a slave. He felt his knobby prick stiffen even thicker than before. Oh, he wanted to. He wanted to bend this slut over and tame her pussy. To fuck her into an eager submission and whimper and moan.
His hands were stretching out. Sinking into her plush tits. Lysa gasped, her lashes fluttering as he kneaded those glorious mounds. Oh. Oh, they were so soft. So wonderful. He inhaled her scent, that sweet floral medley. His head spun at her whimper of eager pleasure, the flush on her cheeks and needy eyes. Glassy with devotion and desire just like…
Just like Gorus’s slaves…
Targi winced. No. No, this wasn’t what he wanted. Sure, it might be enough for a mere gertling. Having a willing, eager human slut to obey him. To be bred by him. But Targi wanted more than that. He needed more.
“Lysa?” he said, fumbling over her name.
“Please, call me slut,” Lysa moaned.
“Um… slut? How does Targi undo spell?”
Her eyes opened in surprise. “Huh?” she said. “But, master, why would you want to undo the spell? Have I displeased master? Would master, perhaps, like to spank slut’s ass until she learns her lesson?”
“Uh… maybe later me spank,” Targi said.
“Promise?”
“…Sure…”
“Then you’re not mad?”
“No. But, me not want witch enslaved.”
“But, why not?”
Targi took a deep breath. How to explain? “Me Targi,” Targi said, his hands continuing to grope her breasts. It helped him concentrate. “And me want be king. Gertling king.”
“That sounds amazing master,” Lysa moaned.
“Yes. It good. Me want be king and keep women. But me not want slave women. Me want keep as wives. As harem. Me want strong women who can help Targi save other women from orcs and make Targi king.”
“Ooooh master…” Lysa gasped.
“Yes. So, me need you have mind still. So can use spells. And me hear that if woman gives self to curse, they keep mind. So, me want those women.”
“You doooo?”
“Yes. And me not think you give yourself willing with spell. So me want spell off so me can ask if want it?”
“Oohhhh maaaster! But… But I was so dumb before. I didn’t see master’s true glory. How can… mmmph… how can we be sure I won’t just… ah… kill you?”
“Me uh… hope witch not…”
Lysa nodded, her cheeks pinked with flush. “Mmmnnnn. If… if master is sure… then he must be right. Because master is so wise and strong and brave. And master so good and kind to stupid sluts…”
“Yes, yes. Targi v
ery good. He be good master. Now, spell?”
“Mmm. Just… just kiss my mark, master, and bid me free.”
Lysa tilted back her head, baring the burning chain emblazoned on her throat. Targi licked his lips. Well… here went everything. He leaned forward and kissed the dove-white flesh.
“Witch free.”
The spell broke, the chains shattering to light with a sound like breaking glass. Targi felt Lysa stiffen the moment the spell was done. Targi held his breath. He glanced aside as he saw her hands rise. He closed his eyes tight. Fuck. He should have been happy with just a slut. Now he was going to die. Be reduced to cinders. Blasted to oblivion.
Have a pair of hands grasp his cock… and stroke…
“Mmnnnn!” Targi moaned.
“Like that?” Lysa said, her voice impish with wicked delight. “Does my master like having his itty bitty cock stroked? His tiny little pecker played with?”
“Ooooh,” Targi moaned. “Spell… spell not broken?”
“Oh no,” Lysa said, wriggling closer, pushing her tits against his thin frame. Her eyes sparked with mischief and her lip quirked with mirth. “It worked. I’m not a slave anymore, Targi. I’m my own woman. I could use these hands to freeze you like a block of ice. But I think I’d rather wank your little cock. Wouldn’t you?”
“OOooh yessss!” Targi whimpered as her fingers slid up and down his warty shaft, teasing the head and slickening her touch with his oily pre.
“That’s what I thought,” Lysa cooed as she teased his cock. “After all, actions speak louder than words. And I think yours said a lot. You could have kept me as your brain-dead little slut. Fucked me and marked me with the curse, turning me into nothing more than a gertling sow, carrying your disgusting little pups.
“But you didn’t,” she said, moving in closer, her breasts an inch from his face, her eyes looking down on him. She shifted, rolling him over, straddling him, trapping him beneath her curvy frame. Her cloak fanned out around them like a massive tent. “You released the spell. That took guts, Targi. And more. It made me think… maybe he’s serious. Maybe he wants this.”
“Nnnn! Me serious!” Targi gasped, his hips moving, pumping his stunted cock into her stroking hand. “Me serioooous!”
“I believe you. And maybe, I’m a little tired, Targi. Tired of running around, praying there isn’t an orc around the corner waiting to rape me. A ghoul finding my cave and taking me in my sleep. A centaur hunting me down and reaming me with his horse-cock. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being a gertling wife. A queen.”
She was silent for a moment. Only the slick sounds of her fingers on Targi’s cock and the gertling’s eager whimpers audible.
“…And maybe I know this war is lost. Humanity lost. And maybe… maybe we should be focusing on how to live in the world as it is. And maybe… with enough strength… enough power, we could make a place for women. A place in this world where they can be more than just slaves to a monster.”
“Me want that,” Targi gasped, his thin hips pumping his cock into her hand. “Me want make that! Me want wives! Me want… oooh… me want women with minds!”
Lysa continued masturbating him as she absorbed these thoughts. “Alright,” she said at last. “All right, Targi. I mean,” she added with another wicked grin. “I suppose it could be worse. I could be little more than a centaur mare. At least taking your tiny cock won’t be nearly as hard. And I could always tease my gertling chief. Couldn’t I?”
“Mmmhmmm!” Targi panted.
“You did very well holding back, Targi. But I think that’s enough,” she breathed. Lysa straightened, looming over the panting gertling, her hips trapping his beneath her. She snapped her fingers, and her leotard vanished into dark smoke, revealing all of her pale curves for the admiration of her mate. Targi stared up at her flawless breasts capped with needy pink nipples. Her slim stomach, and finally, her slick, pink slit.
“Time to make our pact official.”
Lysa lowered herself, and sheathed Targi’s cock within her.
This was too much. Targi threw back his head with a cry of purest pleasure. His cock, teased to the point of madness, exploded within her, pumping burst after burst of oily gertling seed into the sorceress’s shapely frame. Lysa screamed in delight, the sudden surge of hot pleasure searing her. The feeling of his seed claiming her hungry womb too much. The flesh of her mons sizzled, the mark of an eye emblazoning itself above her cunt, marking her as bred, a slave of the monster.
“Oh fuck yes!” she gasped, rising, falling, plunging the gertling’s spurting cock into her cunt. “Fuuuuck! Oh shit! Mnnn! How can… ah… your tiny cock be so good Targi? Mnnn! You little warty cock… ah… so deeeeeep!”
“Oooooh!” Targi moaned as the buxom beauty bounced atop him, her pussy swallowing his cock, her plush hips and bottom pounding him into the floor. Oh fuck. Oh by the gods! It was so good! It was everything he’d dreamed and never dared believe would happen to him.
“Yesssss!” the gertling cried as he fucked the plush sorceress. “Let fuck! Let Targi fuck! Me breed. Me breed agaaaaaain!”
He squealed as his cock once more pulsed, filling Lysa with another load of his oily spunk. The sorceress bit her lip in delight, her lashes fluttering as she again took the essence of her owner. Her breeder. Her master. She leaned forward, planting her hands on the ground as she continued to hump his tiny cock.
“Mnn! Targi. Oh fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me with your pathetic little cock. Oooh! I can still say it! I can still say you have a pathetic little gertling cock. Oh fuck yes!” she gasped, her eager motions denying she had any problem with enjoying the goblin’s stunted shaft. “Oh fuck! H-here. Suck my tit. Suck my fat nipple. Oh shit… I’m gonna be… gonna be so milky for you. Ah. Hah. Have your pups. Be your… your wife!”
Eagerly Targi grabbed her bouncing tit, capturing a nipple in his lipless mouth while his hips continued to thrust into her molten cunt. Lysa threw back her head, crying out in boundless pleasure as he sucked at her budding nipple.
“Yesssss! Oh gods yessss! Suck me, Targi! Suck my nipple! Oh fuck. Fuck! Yesss! Cumming!”
Her cry was a wail of pure ecstasy. Her cunny rippled around his warty cock, her juices soaking his lap. Panting, she slowed, her face pinked and flushed with pleasure.
Targi moaned, letting her slow, but never quite stopping. Her hips continuing to ride her atop his warty cock even as she came down from those glorious heights. “Ooooh Targi,” Lysa moaned. “Looks like… mnnn… you were r-right. I’m still me. I just… ah… just love my little gertling beau all the more. Especially when… nnn… his mouth is sucking my pretty titty.”
“Mmm. Me like too,” Targi moaned.
“Did you have a plan, my king?” Lysa said, gathering the gertling up against her plush breast. “Someone next to join you as your bride?”
“Mm. Know about… some slaves… owned by orcs…”
“Is that right?” Lysa said. “Hmmm. Well, when you’re done milking my tit, and I’m done milking your cock, I might just have a few ideas for that…”
Warrior’s Mask
There was a pop, and Targi found himself in the forests, on his knees and heaving.
“Oh, right,” Lysa said, her cloak whispering as she turned to the gertling. “I suppose that might have been a bit much for you. Teleportation can be such a shock to the unprepared.”
“Gnn… N-no. Me… urp… me fine.”
“Mhmm. Well, I’ll just wait for you to stop being fine over here.”
After a few minutes Targi finally felt well enough to stand. To his relief the ground no longer swayed beneath his feet, and seemed likely to remain solid for the immediate future. Thus assured, he looked around.
The forest was vaguely familiar, as all forests in Istanov seemed to be. Grim. Thick. And dark enough to hide a great many things that would see him as supper. Targi grimaced, but wasn’t worried. After all, with Lysa by his side, he was no longer merely some gertling drudge. He was a gertling wi
th one of the most powerful spell slingers around backing him up! Her loyalty assured through her words, and the symbol which pulsed above her mons.
“Okay,” Targi said at last.
“This way.”
The gertling pattered after the sorceress, admiring her plump bottom and the way it swayed with her every step. “So, who we find?” he asked at last. “Me not know human warriors in woods.”
“Mmm. Well, she is. Alia Brook. One of the finest swordswomen in Istanov. When the Duke washed over the lands, she was a part of a large mercenary company in the employ of the emperor. After that idiot got his army routed, she just barely escaped with her life, cutting through the monster ranks before taking refuge out here. She’s been fighting a one-woman war against monsters since.”
“She… not sound like might want work with Targi,” Targi said nervously.
Lysa giggled. “Well of course not,” she said, suddenly scooping up the gertling, pulling him once more into the soft embrace of her expansive tits. “She doesn’t know what an eager little lover ‘master Targi’ is. Does she? Besides, things have changed in Istanov. I think we can convince her.”
“But mrphh!” the gertling squeaked as his argument was cut off by a mouthful of smothering titflesh.
“Just let me do the talking, Targi. I have a plan.”
Well, that was more than Targi had. And he supposed since she had agreed to be his wife and let him breed her, he could trust her. Not that it was entirely comforting, mind. But it was about all he had, so no sense in arguing.
Consigned to whatever the future held, when Lysa set him back down the gertling trotted after her once more, eying the foreboding forest with the proper caution anyone four foot high would. It was tough being a monster considered a snack by pretty much everything else.
In fact, the more Targi thought about it from a position of power, he realized just what an unrelenting shit show his life had been before now. It was an understanding he hadn’t really considered. Of course, every gertling dreamed of growing fat, pampered by lovely breeding sluts who couldn’t wait to take their warty cocks. But he’d never considered the specifics of how bad his lot in life had been. Sleeping outside. Fighting his clan for the scraps of hunting. Not bothering to get to know his clanmates since they were on the verge of getting eaten every day. Huh. His life truly had sucked.
The Pillaging of an Empire Page 76
