by Mike Truk
“I don’t know. It was a general statement. Just as I might kill any of you.”
“A general statement.” I was treading water, buying time. “Who am I talking with?”
I could hear the amusement in her powerful voice. “With me, Kellik.”
“Yeah, but Yashara-me, or demon-me?”
“There’s not much of a difference right now.”
“I beg to differ. One is a queen worthy of being worshipped. The other little better than parasitic vermin.”
“You offend our sensibilities.”
“Somehow I doubt you’re that vulnerable.” Fuck fuck fuck. If the demon had full control of her, she’d be immune to my powers. With Seraphina gone back to the Hanged God’s cathedral with Baleric, I was out of options.
Then, a thought. “Why are you still here?”
The burning yellow eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’ve been asking myself the same question.”
“Not true. You’re the one who chose to remain. You have to know why.”
“Boredom? Curiosity? Perhaps I wanted you to come back and see how badly you miscalculated.”
“Perhaps. That, or you’re not completely convinced by this transformation. Perhaps some part of you is still holding out, still Yashara, and knows that this is wrong.”
“Unlikely,” said the voice, affecting boredom.
“Why did you knock out Tamara?” I was reaching for straws, trying to manufacture some sense from this impending disaster. “She was healing you. You didn’t act for a whole day. Why now?”
“No reason,” said Yashara, voice growing harsh. “I grew bored.”
“Or… did she heal Yashara? Did she make it so she could cast you out?”
“Your questions are starting to annoy me. I’d hoped to find you amusing. Now I think tearing you apart with my fingers will have to do, instead.”
I pushed the door open wide so that dim light filtered into the room, revealing Yashara’s statuesque form against the far wall. She was clad in the same armor in which she’d been petrified; formidable, gorgeous, imposing, brutally strong, endlessly seductive. Her mane of dark crimson hair was black in the gloom, falling about her shoulders. Her skin was gray, and the wrought black iron which covered her in places - one segmented shoulder, a cruel bustier, her gauntlets - glimmered as if made of wet obsidian.
“You know, I’ve grown hard to tear apart,” I said, extending my arms out to the sides. “But you’re welcome to try if that makes you feel better. Meanwhile, I’ll have a chat with Yashara.”
There - a form lying at the foot of the bed. Tamara. I saw her chest rising and falling. Blind Fortuna be praised.
Yashara extended her hands, and her nails grew into talons five inches long, each wickedly curved. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yashara,” I said. “I know you’re in there. This isn’t you. I mean, obviously. You’re a fucking queen. How can you let this demon control you like this?”
The half-orc sneered and lunged forward, swiping at my face as she came. It was easy to duck and step aside.
“Tamara healed your body,” I said. “She must have, for the demon to have acted. You can get rid of it. It doesn’t have power over you. Just lies.”
“Silence,” snarled Yashara. “You’ll be the death of her.”
“I doubt that.” I straightened from my combat crouch. “Yashara? Enough. This is beneath you. Crush this demon like a roach already.”
Yashara chuckled deep in her chest. “You fool. I am ancient, was born before the world was young. You think -”
And then she froze, face twisting into a scowl.
“Hmm?” I asked. “You were saying?”
“I was there when the oceans boiled,” Yashara rasped. “I was there when - when -”
With great difficulty she raised both hands, arms shaking. She grimaced as if trying to stab herself in the gut.
“You will die without me,” she hissed. “You will fall apart into steaming gobbets of flesh. Without my healing - without my - my -”
Her face crumpled into snarl, her shoulders hunched, chin lowered as she shuddered.
I watched, waiting, ready to step in at a moment’s notice. Unsure if speaking farther would help or hinder.
“Get out,” rasped Yashara, her voice subtly different, her own. “You mewling piece of shit.”
She hunched over in strain, every muscle tensed. I marveled at the display. Muscles striated across her broad shoulders, her thigh muscles clenched, each delineated from the other, her abs crunching into smooth definition. Arms swelled as she clenched her hands into fists, talons retracting, her mane falling before her face, hiding her features.
“No,” she cried. “You cannot do this - get out, you putrid sack of hacked of cocks - I will not be - get the fuck out!”
With a great cry, Yashara flung herself back, leaving in her place the floating form of the demon, pale and gaunt, skeletal and hissing in fury.
Yashara straightened, heaving for breath, and decidedly did not fall into gobbets of steaming flesh. She examined her hands, turned them around, then let out a snarl, lunging forward to send a furious blow through the demon’s ephemeral form.
“You can’t hurt it,” I said.
“I know that.” She bit her words of in her fury. “But it feels damn good to try.”
She unleashed a flurry of blows into its fading form, each one passing harmlessly through its image until at last the demon was gone.
“Fuck,” said Yashara, reaching up to run her strong fingers through her thick hair. “That was…” She trailed off, focused on me, then blinked and turned to Tamara.
I was already there, dropping to a crouch by her side. But I need not have worried. Her breathing was regular, her pulse steady, her expression calm. Whatever damage had been done had already healed over.
Benefits of being an Exemplar of the White Sun.
“I’ll have to apologize and thank her when she awakens,” said Yashara.
I glanced up at her. “What took you so long?”
She arched a regal brow. “You think it easy to cast a demon out?”
“For you, yes.” I rose to my feet, looked up into her haughty, brutally beautiful visage. “By the Hanged God’s ever questing cock, it’s good to have you back.”
Her dark lips curved into a dangerous smile, giving me but a second’s warning before she seized me by the throat. Bearing me across the room, she pinned me against the far wall.
She lowered her face to my cheek, inhaling my scent, the tip of her nose drawing a trail of fire across my skin. “I dreamed, Kellik. While I was stone. Was thrust into nightmares. Nightmares I held back by thinking of you. Thinking of this.”
It was that easy to get me hard. I gripped her thick wrist with one hand, snaking my other hand out to try and draw her dagger from her belt.
“It was crude but effective,” she whispered, breath hot against my ear. “Thinking of your cock. How I would use you. How I would pleasure myself. The nightmares could find no purchase while I thus dreamed. But now I am awake, and I need release.”
My fingers closed around the leather-wrapped hilt of her dagger, and with a jerk I drew it, bringing it up to her neck only for her to laugh and smash it out of my hand. Or try. I’d grown tougher than she expected. With a wrench, I broke her grasp on my neck, and together we stood, each grasping the other’s wrist, straining for control.
But fuck me, if she wasn’t seven feet of towering muscle and half-orc strength. Her luscious body bowed over me as she sought to crush my resistance, her lips writhing back from her fangs in a delighted grin.
Sweat beaded my brow, running into my eyes as I growled, fighting to keep her python-like arms from breaking me. But she was too strong. It was like trying to hold back a mountain.
“You’re mine,” she growled, voice low in her chest. “I plan to mate with you all night, and you will pleasure me as I demand. You will fuck me as hard and as fast as I tell you, and no faster, no harder. A
nd you will only find release when I allow it. I’ve spent too long waiting for this moment, Kellik. Now I will have it exactly as I wish.”
My arousal was battling with legitimate concern. Not that I minded fucking Yashara all night long - it wasn’t as if we’d been chaste before. But there was something dark in her tone, in the gleam in her eye. Some residue, perhaps, of the demon’s passage? Yashara was always physical in bed. But tonight promised to be something more.
My arms were shaking, bending back, and I was forced to retreat against the wall. She loomed over me, her beautiful smile a pale arc above me, body overwhelming my own.
Dominating me.
Making me hers.
And that thought, that realization, plucked a special chord in my soul.
I was a king troll. I was the one who did the dominating around here. I was the one who ruled.
And nobody, not even Yashara, a woman I loved more than life itself, would ever control me like that.
Something within my chest unlatched. A door deep in my core opened, and I felt strength steal forth, felt my power double, triple. My arms ceased to shake. My muscles ceased to burn.
I took a step forward.
Yashara’s possessive smile became pleased at what looked like a moment’s resistance, and then gradiated down into a frown as I began to grow.
I inched up, becoming her height. My skin darkened, beginning to turn black.
Growling, she redoubled her efforts, her arms quivering now, tendons standing out in sharp relief, her whole body bent toward denying me an inch.
She failed.
I kept growing.
My clothing tore, shredding about me as my muscles took on a leaden density. Whatever softness remained evaporated, leaving me an anatomical study in musculature. Her resistance, her strength, seemed to disappear before my raging power.
I was now a head taller than her. She was forced to look up at me, eyes wide in shock, her lips writhing in a silent snarl.
My smile was all quiet assurance as I applied my strength and dominated her.
I bent her back. Inch by grudging inch, I bent her down. She sank before me, fighting every step of the way, till at last one knee touched the rugs.
Then the second.
Bending back before me, her body magnificent, her resistance undiminished, her strength was inferior to my own.
I held her thus, grip cruel around her one wrist, the other clenched in her shaking hand.
In a desperate bid for freedom, she released it. Trying to throw herself aside, into a roll, she fought to get clear of me.
But I was too fast.
My suddenly free hand shot down, grasping her by the back of the neck. I clasped her with a grip of iron and held her fast.
She panted for breath, reaching up with both hands to clutch at my fingers, trying to pry them apart.
I turned, lifting her with one arm to her toes, then pressed her against the wall, hard enough that she had to turn her face.
I leaned in close, taking my time. Nuzzling her pale green cheek, I slowly, slowly licked the length of her ear, up to its tip. She cursed, bucked, fought, but the nature of her breathing was changing.
From ragged gasps to pants.
My heightened senses could smell her. A rich, musky scent coming from between her legs.
“You’re mine,” I rasped in her ear. “Mine to do with as I desire. Mine to fuck as I wish. You cannot resist me, Yashara. You cannot defy me. I will do with your body as I will, and you will obey my every whim with enthusiasm. Because I will give you no fucking choice.”
I didn’t use my power on her, didn’t infuse my words with the authority of a king troll. Still I spoke the truth, and felt her shudder with arousal.
She fought me one last time. Strugging with all her worth, lashing out with backhands, kicking at my knees, snarling, desperate to push away from the wall.
I took it and didn’t flinch.
For long minutes she fought, doing all within her power to defy me, and finally, at long last, went still.
“Mine,” I said, leaning in again. This time I licked the side of her face, from her jaw to her temple, tasting her sweat.
She shuddered one more time, and I felt her nod her head.
“Yours,” she whispered; I heard a need in her voice, a desire, that I’d never heard before. “Fuck me, Kellik. Use me as you will.”
I laughed, turned, and flung her four yards through the air so she crashed down upon the massive bed. Her impact caused the ponderous frame to slide a foot, several planks within it snapping as it did so.
She had time to turn around, fighting to free herself of the blankets, then I was upon her. Reaching down to clasp her by the neck again, I pressed her back into the mattress, looming over her as I tore what remained of breeches away.
“Now worship me,” I growled, and drew her close.
Her eyes widened as she beheld my cock, with good reason. Even lost within the mists of my king troll power, I was taken aback by how huge I’d become. Easily a foot long, its girth as thick as my wrist, its length throbbing with heavy veins.
I’d kill any normal woman I tried to mate with.
But Yashara was no normal woman.
She let out a shuddering breath of appreciation and gently touched my monstrous cock, hesitant, eyes wide. She glanced up at me, unsure, and her dark lips pulled back into a delighted grin. She grasped me strongly, wrapping her large hands around me.
“Now this is a cock,” she whispered, then lowered her mouth to my head, where she extended her tongue and tasted my precum. She moaned deep in her chest and swirled her tongue about me, taking her time. Her callused hands slowly worked my shaft before she opened her mouth as wide as she could and lowered her head further.
I rumbled in satisfaction. The pleasure was good, her touch perfectly firm and rhythmic, her mouth hot and wet, her attentions eager and appropriate.
But it was the power I felt - this form, this body. It brought out my desire to dominate. It was that urge made flesh. The sight of mighty Yashara - my savage queen, for so long beyond my ability to match, to meet as an equal - worshipping my cock in this manner felt right.
I felt like a lord seated on his throne of gold, legs parted, watching his courtier worship him as she should. I felt, if anything, that there should be more women beside her, that I should be thronged with willing bodies. Surrounded by adoring, worshipful women who wished nothing more than to please me, endlessly, till I declared myself done. To gaze out and see writhing bodies, nubile flesh, to hear their pleading cries.
I knew if I wished it, such a reality could be mine. I could create a court filled with eager slaves. I could pick the most desirable women in the city, in the realm, and make them mine, could create a temple to my power. I could sit and rule from my throne of gold while my cock was ministered to by princesses and queens, by the most beautiful and powerful women in the world; rein over my realm, hear the pleas of the weak, administer justice, and issue commands while I was so pleasured.
For I was a king troll.
This was my birthright.
This was as it should be.
To restrain myself was wrong.
To not exercise my will was a crime.
I stared down at Yashara. To think, I’d not used my authority on her - her love, her devotion, my strength, was all that it took to compel such obedience.
Her head was bobbing up and down as she sought to take all of me into her mouth. I was too large for her to do it easily. She kept trying, however, and would make deep, intimate gagging noises each time my massive cock hit the back of her throat.
I rumbled in approval, and she tried harder.
But the angle was all wrong.
“On your back,” I commanded.
She hastened to obey and flipped over, her gorgeous, sculptured body spread out before me, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, mane hanging over the edge of her bed. I tugged her closer so her head hung clear over the edge,
then wrapped my fingers around her bare throat.
Hissing with slow, controlled pleasure, I eased my massive cock between her lips. One inch, two, almost three before I hit the back of her throat.
“Relax,” I commanded, still not using my power, only my authority over her. “And open.”
She did as bid, and I’d never seen Yashara so compliant. The sight caused my cock to grow even more engorged. I moved my hips from side to side, ducking a fraction, and, finding the right angle of approach, thrust forward.
Her throat swelled under my fingers, the passage of my cockhead discernible; she clutched at my thighs as her body tensed, her back arching.
I pressed in deeper, three inches, four, five. When I withdrew all the way, she sucked in air, thick strands of spit hanging from my cock head where it hovered before her lips.
“Open,” I said, and she did so eagerly.
Again I thrust, harder, and this time my cock shouldered its way right in, into her tight throat; again the passage swelled. I slid in smoothly, six inches, eight, ten. Her nails scored deep grooves into my flesh, which healed over immediately.
I withdrew but stayed in her throat, squeezing with my hand to apply pressure to my cock.
Yashara trembled, lifting her ass right off the bed, then mastered herself. Breathing powerfully through her nose, eyes wide, she calmed down, battering her instincts into submission, and forcing herself to relax - to let me have her way with her.
And I did. Slowly. Methodically. Sliding my huge cock into her tight throat again and again, applying ever more pressure to her neck to arouse myself further; then, with a guttural roar I came, ejaculating directly into her stomach, sliding all twelve inches all the way in, thrusting hard. Yashara thrashed and flailed until I withdrew with a cry.
She clasped her hands to her neck, inhaling with a ragged whoop, then turned onto her side, strands of spit thick across her face, eyes wide, heaving for breath.
Coughing roughly into the blankets, she looked up at me with a raw, wicked grin of sheer lust. “Something tells me you’re not done.”
I laughed, stroking myself, feeling my cock growing hard immediately. “We’re just getting started.”
I might have been more powerful, larger, more dominant, but Yashara gave as good as she got. The ancient bedframe, made of massive planks of old oak, shattered half an hour in. We fucked amidst the wreckage, then fought our way free when the mattress began to disgorge its feathers.