Which was why things were going to change. Oh how they were to change…
So deep in his own thoughts, he never even noticed that Lysa had stopped until he walked right into her plump bottom. He drew back quickly as the sorceress giggled.
“Now now, Targi. Time for that later. Now, hurry up and hide. We’ve got company.”
Targi’s eyes darted about the clearing, at last spotted what looked like an abandoned hunter’s cabin. He felt a silent tension stiffen his limbs, and without a moment wasted he scampered back and behind some stones, peeking out once secure.
With a glance to assure her the gertling was hidden, Lysa walked up to the cabin. Practically falling in, the whole building slumped like the weight of the world was too much for it to bear. A single window was boarded up tight, which made Targi realize that despite the hut’s decrepitude, or perhaps because of it, someone lived within.
The second clue came when Lysa knocked on the door, stepped back, and a massive black skinned orc stepped out.
Targi’s jaw dropped slack. Oh fuck. It was the black orc. And he was even more horrifying in the flesh. He towered, seven feet of pure muscle and savage brawn. Steel armour draped him unlike other orcs whose armour was more suggestive of protection than actual. Sheathed at his side was a comparatively normal sized sword for such a brute, his low-slung jaw bursting with tusk, his dark eyes revealing nothing.
“Lysa,” the orc growled.
Oh no. Oh no no! It was a trap! How? How could the sorceress betray him? Maybe she’d already been bred? Surely not! Targi shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle his scream, instead only producing a high pitched, keening noise.
“Hello, Alia. Really now,” the sorceress said. “There’s no need for that around friends.”
The orc smirked, then touched a golden ring on his finger. Targi’s jaw fell open as the guise of the black orc sloughed off like smoke, revealing the tall woman who lay beneath. She stood with her head thrown back, modest breasts pushed forward. She wore plated steel, but it couldn’t hide the tight muscles that defined her frame. Her skin was tanned, possibly marking her as from that distant realm of Shaddobar, her dark hair tied back and her eyes fierce and proud.
Despite his shock, Targi felt his warty cock stiffen at the sight of the Amazonian beauty.
Alia smiled, stepped forward, and hugged the buxom sorceress. “Mmm! It’s good to see you!”
Lysa giggled, returning the hug tightly. “You too. Still going around fighting the good fight, hm?”
“Always. Not like there’s a lack of monsters around for it.”
“Too true.” Lysa pushed back the other woman, holding her at arm’s length. “Which is actually something I came to talk to you about.” She glanced back. “Targi? Sweetie? Come on out and meet my good friend.”
That was absolutely the last thing Targi wanted to do. But, nonetheless, hiking his belt, swallowing his fear, the gertling stepped out from behind the rock and into the open.
It was amazing how fast Alia’s expression went from elation to utter hatred. “Monster!” she snarled. Before he could blink Alia’s sword was in her hand and she was halfway across the clearing. Targi squealed, throwing up his hands.
Alia’s blade crashed against an invisible wall between him and her. The amazon stepped back with confusion written across her face.
“Now, now,” Lysa said, holding out her hand, magic sparkling about her fingers like motes of light. “See? This is why I never bring company over.”
“Lysa! What are you doing? Let me kill this wretch!”
“Yes, he is quite pathetic. Isn’t he?” Lysa mused.
Targi peeked up from between his fingers. “Eh?”
“Huh?” Alia said.
“He’s tiny and runty. His cock is a little shank barely as big as my pinky. He’s hideous with a huge hooked nose and a scrawny body. He smells like something rotted in a closed room for too long and his cum tastes like vinegar.”
Wow. Targi… didn’t really know how to respond to all that. It was true, but it was still pretty insulting for someone to put it so eloquently right in front of him.
“Well… yeah! And he’s a monster. So let me kill him!” Alia said, jabbing the barrier with the point of her sword.
“Actually, it’s exactly because of that reason that we shouldn’t kill him.”
“What!” Alia gaped, so stunned she almost stopped trying to skewer the gertling.
“Alia, dear, let’s have a talk about the future.”
“One without their foul kind,” Alia said.
“Yeaaaaah, that’s never going to happen,” Lysa said with a defeated sigh. “Like, ever. We lost the war, Alia. Nowadays, we’re just surviving.”
Alia winced. “We haven’t… totally lost…”
“Moskov is going to fall any day now. The rest of the empire is overrun. There isn’t a human village left west of Cleaveguard. And any humans are either the breeding sluts of monsters or soon to be. You’ve been fighting the good fight, Alia. But it can’t last. One of these days, you’re gonna get ambushed. Caught. And you’ll either be killed, or be little more than the moaning pleasure slut of an orc.”
“Shut up!” Alia gasped. Targi’s large brows jumped as he saw tears in the amazon’s eyes. “What else am I supposed to do? Just give up? Let some pathetic creature fuck me? Claim me? Run away? No! No, never that! I’ll never abandon my people!”
“You can’t save them either,” Lysa pointed out, her voice soft with compassion, yet forceful and unrelenting. “They’ve been cursed. There’s no way to lift it.”
“I know that!” Alia gasped. She rubbed a hand under her nose. “I know that,” she said miserably. “But what else… what else can I do…”
“There is another way,” Lysa said.
Alia’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened as Lysa moved her hand down the dark fabric of her leotard. The enchanted cloth parted, opening a window to reveal her tanned flesh.
And the throbbing red eye that emblazoned her mons.
Alia stared, stunned. Then she rounded on Targi.
“You!”
“Eeeeeeh!” Targi screamed as Alia threw herself forward. Unfortunately, due to dramatic reveals, Lysa’s spell had been broken as she showed off her brand. Thus the amazon crashed into Targi, bearing the gertling down to the ground. Her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing.
“You monstrous little bastard!” Alia snarled.
“Hrgggk!” Targi managed in reply.
Lysa grabbed her companion. “Gods dammit Alia stop choking him!”
“Never!”
“Grrk!”
After some effort Lysa managed to wrench the other woman’s hands off of Targi. The two fell back onto the ground, struggling. Targi scrambled back to his feet but neither ran or joined in. There being something curiously fascinating in the sight of the two women wrestling on the ground.
Finally, Alia managed to gain her feet. She stood, panting, her hair hanging in a dishevelled mess about her head as she looked down at Lysa and Targi.
“Don’t worry,” Alia panted, drawing her sword. “I’ll kill this thing, Lysa. And then, you’ll be free of him.”
“No!” Lysa gasped, scrambling to her feet. “Don’t kill him!”
“Yeah! No kill me!” Targi squealed, ducking behind the busty sorceress.
“He’s marked you!”
“And? Alia, some other monster would before long. Wake up to reality! The war is lost! We lost! But we might have a chance of saving people!”
“With that?”
“How many have you saved?” Lysa demanded.
For the first time Alia looked startled. “Wh-what?”
“How many women have you saved?” Lysa said, taking a step forward, confronting the amazon. “How many, Alia? How many monsters have you killed? How many times did their women thank you? Weep in gratitude? How many times did they join you? Follow you?”
“I…”
“None!”
&n
bsp; Alia winced, the word striking true.
“How many times did they moan and paw at their ‘masters’?” Lysa pressed. “How many times did they leave you, wander off to be claimed by some other creature? Some other monster maybe worse?”
“I…I don’t know…”
“Don’t give me that crap!” Lysa snapped. She pointed an accusing finger at the other woman. “Every one did. And you know it! Every time you killed their master, they just crawled off and found another monster to fuck their wombs full of spawn. Bred them like the cattle they were. Sucked their tits until they spurted cream.”
“Stop…”
Targi shifted from one foot to the other. He’d admit to being fairly immoral, but this was getting uncomfortable. Although he didn’t exactly feel will disposed to the woman who had just been choking him, Targi still felt a bit bad for the amazon as she stood there, shaking with the effort to hold back the tears pricking her eyes.
“I won’t stop, Alia. I won’t because we have to face the truth. No matter how shitty it might be. Alia, we’re not fighting a war. We’re not even organizing a resistance. We’re spinning our wheels, hoping to take as many with us before we die.
“But Alia,” Lysa said, stepping forward, her expression melting into compassion. “Alia… I have a solution now. A way to end this. To save them.”
“What? With this… this thing!” Alia said, gesturing furiously at Targi. “This miserable little creature?”
“Yes.”
“How the fuck is that supposed to help us?”
Lysa smiled. “Because he is a weak, pathetic little monster, Alia. If we give ourselves willingly to a monster… surrender to it, and its lusts, we can remain free in mind, at least. True,” she said. “He is pathetic. But that’s to our benefit. Because he’s too stupid to be scheming. Too grateful to be cruel. Too weak to be harmful. He wants wives, Alia. Wives to fight for him. To help him rule. A kingdom of his own, surrounded by women who worship his cock. Who want to fuck him and mate with him.
“And a kingdom like that… a kingdom where his power is wielded through women? Alia, there will not be another human kingdom in Istanov. Certainly not in our generation. But would it be so bad to be the queens of our own?”
Alia stared at her friend in horror. “You’re mad,” she whispered.
“I’m realistic, Alia. It’s this, or we fight our little war without a prayer to benefit the women the monsters have taken. We can do this much. But we need your help. It’s the only way.”
Alia’s face showed the conflict within her. Her hand trembled on the hilt of her sword, her teeth grit tight, even as her hot tears cut thin channels down her cheeks. Targi ducked back into Lysa’s shadow, watching, really hoping she didn’t try and choke him again.
Yet, to his surprise, the amazon suddenly deflated, her head hanging, the point of her sword falling to the ground from her limp grip.
“This is monstrous,” she said.
“I know,” Lysa said gently. “But it’s the only way.”
Alia laughed bitterly. “The only way.” Finally she raised her head, the defeat clear in her eyes. “Fine.”
Lysa brightened. “You’ll help us?”
“I will. I suppose I have to.” She glanced contemptuously down at Targi. “But I won’t mate with that… thing!”
“As long as you’re willing to help,” Lysa said.
“And not choke Targi,” the gertling quickly put in.
“Unless he asks you to.”
“Ehhh!”
Alia gave them both a stony look. “Whatever,” she said. “And your next move is?”
“Hmm. Targi?”
Targi looked up and between them. Cautiously, he stepped out of Lysa’s protective shadow. He almost couldn’t believe this was working. That this was really happening. He rubbed his hands together nervously, his mind racing like a rat on a wheel.
“If have warrior and witch,” the gertling said, glancing between them. “Then, we can hit ogre slave caravan.”
“What slave caravan?” Alia asked sharply.
Targi flinched. “It… it slaves ogres take from other monsters. They bring up and sell to orcs for stolen human things. Use gold on coast for trade with frilly merchants.”
“Did you know about this?” Lysa asked.
Alia grimaced. “I had no idea…”
The sorceress grinned. She settled her hand on the gertling’s head, rubbing his bald head like she might a dog who performed a good trick. “See? Already our little king is paying off.”
Targi gave Alia a nervous smile.
She didn’t return it.
“Come on,” Alia said, turning abruptly back to the shack. “You can stay here tonight. We’ll hit the caravan tomorrow.”
“Mmm. Sounds good. Come on, Targi.”
Targi glanced up, and grinned. He knew that look in the sorceress’s eyes. “Yes!” he squeaked eagerly, padding after the shapely woman and towards the waiting building.
The interior of the shack was about as depressing as its exterior. The walls were just enough to keep out the cold, and aside from a bed the only other furniture was being used to feed a growing fire. Alia glanced at them from her work tending the crackling flames, glaring before huffily standing and making her way towards the bed.
Lysa swayed before the flames and sat down cross legged. She gave the gertling a smoky look and patted her lap.
“Come on over, Targi. Let’s relax in front of the fire.”
Eagerly the stunted creature crawled into the sorceress’s lap. She smirked down at him, her cloak gathering about them like a blanket. “Mmm. Does your throat hurt, Targi? My little gertling master?” she cooed, stroking his thin neck.
Targi shivered at that playful touch. “Mmm. Me okay,” he said.
“Is that right?”
“Want me show?”
Lysa laughed, then gasped as his knobby hands grasped her plush tits. “Oooh! How bold, Targi.”
“Me not need bold. You wife. Me bred. You mine.”
Lysa moaned softly as his hands kneaded her soft tits, playing with those orbs, his thumbs gravitating to the two peaks in the cloth, rubbing her thrumming nipples through the dark fabric of her leotard. “Ooooh master!” Lysa moaned. “You… mnnn… that feels nice…”
“Nicer if no clothes,” the gertling grinned.
Lysa giggled. “Too true.” A whisper of power and her leotard dissolved, revealing her buxom curves in all their pale glory. Targi’s hands sank into her warm tits, unrestricted. The marking above her mons pulsed with the unholy power that marked her as his.
How Targi loved the sight of it. That physical sign that he had bred this buxom bitch. Claimed her as his own wife. His brood slut. His shank stiffened, knobby and twitching at the memory of that night. He leaned in, snuggling against his curvy bride, taking a nipple in his lipless mouth and sucking.
“Nnnnn!” Lysa moaned, thrusting out her chest as Targi abused it with lips and hands. “Ooooh my king! So… mmmph… so good. Oh fuck. It’s… ah… so much better as your bitch… Oh Targi. Yes. Yes… suck at my nipples. Play with my tits. Mnnnn! You’re doing so well, Targi.”
“King,” Targi corrected, tweaking a buzzing nipple, making the sorceress gasp and twitch. “Me King.”
“Yes! Oh yes. How… how could I forget,” Lysa laughed breathlessly. Her hand brushed aside his loincloth, her fingers grasping his warty shaft. “My mighty king. Powerful Targi who claimed this witch. Mnnn. So hard, my master. So eager…”
Targi whined as she massaged and squeezed his cock, teasing that twitching rod of puny virility. The thin gertling humped her hand, panting, smothering his squeaks and moans of pleasure in the glory of her tits, sucking at nipples thick as his thumb, marvelling at the pleasured whimpers and moans of his slut.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Alia sitting on her bed, watching the scene with stunned horror. And… perhaps something else. Targi could see her breasts rise and fall with her d
eepening breaths. A touch of flush painting the amazon’s cheeks.
Targi grinned and suddenly pushed Lysa. The sorceress squeaked in surprise as she fell back. Then, Targi was between her shapely thighs, grinning down at her, warty cock throbbing.
“Me mate,” he said.
Lysa’s eyes flicked to Alia, and her lips lifted in a smile. “Oh yes, my king,” she breathed, lifting her hips, offering up her slick cunny. “Fuck your slut. Breed her again. I need your seed. I need my mighty gertling chief’s cum inside me again. Please. I beg of you.”
Targi knew she was being slightly sarcastic. But only slightly. He could see in the heave of her tits and the spark of her eyes how much she yearned for him. To be filled. To be claimed like the slut she so was.
And to be fair, Targi had no objections to that.
He stepped into her thighs, parting them further, unveiling her dripping pussy, the mark above it pulsing as his cock rose like a dowsing rod. Targi grasped her hips, aligned himself, and thrust.
The mark flared.
Lysa screamed in ecstasy as his puny cock thrust into her cunt. “Yessss!” she screamed, her fingers gripping the floor. “Yesss! Oh Targi! Fuck! Fuck me! Breed me! Fuck your wife! Your gertling bitch! Oooooh!”
She hardly needed ask. No sooner had that warmth engulfed his warty cock Targi was thrusting with all the vigour of an animal in rut. He found it fascinating how all of Lysa seemed to reverberate with his fucking. How her tits bounced. Her hips tightened. Her lips parted in a breathy gasp as his cock slid into her, the mark above her mons blazing with light that rivaled the fire. Fascinated, and unbelievably aroused.
His breathing grew ragged. He couldn’t hold back. With a keening cry he buried his cock within her cunt and came, spurting his oily seed into her hungry womb.
The Pillaging of an Empire Page 77
