Creation Mage 7

by King, Dante

  The bed was a little small for five people, now that we were all on it, and I was forced to move out of the way, my raging boner sticking out about a foot as Janet squirmed around on the bed to get comfortable. In the process, the Storm Mage gave me an eyeful of her stunning, lithe athlete’s physique.

  Janet turned around so that her glorious bubble butt was pointing in my direction. Then she got ever-so-slowly onto all fours and spread her legs wide for me. If she had yawned, I would have been able to see all the way through her and to the moon-washed horizon of the sea beyond, like some pornographic telescope.

  I grasped her hips and rubbed the tip of my cock up and down her wet slit. Then, as Janet moaned in expectancy, I thrust hard into her so that my pelvis smacked onto her ass with a meaty thud.

  The time for nice and slow was over, to my mind. Now, it was time for the money-shot and to see if I was going to be the recipient of the kind of spell that I had been after.

  Janet was jerked forward and cried out with pleasure through gritted teeth. Her hands clutched at the blankets, her knuckles turning white.

  She growled. “That’s it! Create those spells, Creation Mage. Use us as your fucking canvas!”

  I started banging Janet hard from behind. She had that flawless, bubble butt stuck up in the air and was giving out caveman grunts and groans of delight with every push. It was part of the Storm Mage’s charm; that she was usually this little enthusiastic deviant. If anyone could be guaranteed to talk and fuck me over the edge in good time, it was Janet.

  We were going at it so vigorously that Enwyn, Alura, and Cecilia stopped with their mutual pleasuring so that they could watch us. Then, almost as a sexy afterthought, Enwyn crawled in front of Janet, lay on her back, and opened her legs right in front of the other woman’s face.

  Janet clapped her hands to the Fire Mage’s creamy thighs and pulled them further apart to reveal the glistening pink slit between them. Enwyn’s sex gaped, and she gave a little moan of rapture as Janet Thunderstone commenced to stick her tongue into it.

  Taking her lead from Enwyn, Cecilia swung her leg dexterously over the older woman’s head and squatted on her face. Enwyn started feasting on the meal between the lean elf’s thighs.

  As we were short on space, Alura had to content herself by standing beside me and running her hands up and down my thighs, pecs and stomach.

  As Janet’s moans and cries got louder, Cecilia began to grind her pelvis harder into Enwyn’s face. The blonde’s face was flushed, her long hair spread over her countenance in utter disarray. Enwyn too was obviously getting closer to the big O once more. Her fingers were entwined through Janet’s brown hair, and she was groaning into Cecilia’s crotch.

  I had to hand it to whoever had designed the female ability for multiple orgasms—it was a neat trick.

  I picked up my rhythm even more, jackhammering away at Janet, but making a point of pulling her ass toward me so that I could go ever deeper.

  “Come on, Justin!” Janet growled. “Come on! Give us those spells, Creation Mage! Put your money where your mouth is!”

  My breathing became ragged as I drew to the brink of orgasm, to the limits of my self-control, my thrusts getting wilder. I looked down at Janet just as her back arched and her whole body locked up into the throes of ecstasy.

  Enwyn too, almost immediately, cried out as she climaxed once more, at the same time as Janet.

  A second later, Cecilia threw back her head, her golden hair fanning out around her head, bleached of color in the light of the moon that was streaming in through the window. She gave a croaking cry and shuddered, grabbing at her small breasts as she came.

  The women went limp and collapsed as one. Totally spent.

  But not for long.

  “Up,” I said, in a horse whisper. “Quick come here.”

  I stepped back, and the four women, as if anticipating my very thoughts knelt in a semicircle around me. All of us were sweaty and disheveled and exhausted, but there was one thing that needed to be done to set the seal on this five-way union of ours and make sure that everyone came out on top.

  With all that we had just done, it was of no surprise that it only took a couple of tugs for me to pop my cork.

  The girls, each of them with their tits pushed up toward me, were watching me eagerly. With a grateful sigh, I blew my load over the assembled breasts of the quartet kneeling reverentially before me. I was careful to make sure that each chick got at least one decent spurt of my seed over their breasts.

  Afterward, I collapsed, jelly-legged onto the bed and looked at the jizz-covered women in front of me.

  “Check... check my spellbook,” I managed to gasp, pointing at the magical transmogrifying cloak that was lying nearby. My spellbook was sitting a few paces away, where it had fallen from the pocket of my breeches when I dissolved my clothes.

  Janet, who looked totally unfazed by the fact that she had just been used as human Kleenex, reached down and rifled through the little book.

  She stuck her finger to a page and tossed the book to me. I caught it and looked down, still trying to catch my breath.

  METEOR SHOWER (Hybrid Magic): Conjures a meteor shower to devastating effect. A truly potent and rare spell, marrying Storm, Frost, Fire, and Earth Magics.

  I grinned and snapped the book shut.

  That was exactly the sort of thing that I had been after.

  “How did everyone else go?” I asked, when I had read the spell aloud to the four women.

  Cecilia was wiping my seed off her with a cloth she had found in one of the trunks while pouring over her own spellbook.

  “Frozen Armor: Summons a frost-based armor set around the wearer.” She looked up at me and winked. “I could have used that when you came, darling.”

  I snorted.

  “Lightning Orb,” Janet said, wrenching the cork out of the bottle of wine that she had brought into the room with her. “An orb of lightning that follows the caster and zaps nearby enemies. Nice. A defensive and offensive spell.”

  “What did you get, Alura?” I asked the Gemstone Elemental.

  “An upgraded form of the Gemstone Pup summoning spell,” Alura replied, looking down at her spellbook and running a hand along the text. “Gemstone Hound it’s called. I wonder if it is anything like as powerful as your Lightning Skink.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have long to wait to test it,” I said.

  “And I got Conflagration,” Enwyn said, snapping her grimoire closed. “It says that it’s a roaring inferno that reduces everything in its path to ash.”

  “One that Damien will like the sound of, I bet,” I said.

  We passed the bottle of wine around while we cleaned up and got dressed. Although we were all pretty tired, I thought that a bit of fresh air might do us good before we hit the hay.

  “Come outside with me,” I told the women now that they’d cleaned themselves up. “I want to see something, and I want you ladies there too.”

  We trooped back outside, took up a spot at the bow of the ship, laying down in a nest of ropes and snuggling together.

  The dude on the mandolin was still doing his thing, his fingers plucking notes out of the instrument and sending them swirling around the masts to dance along the shrouds and out to sea. The lamps were still hanging from the rigging. Everyone—pirate and rebel alike—were full of beer and food. There was an unmistakable atmosphere and sense of goodwill to all men, which only came after a good meal.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  I conjured the staff that I was beginning to think of as the staff of the Twin Spirits, pointed it up at the stars, reached deep into my mana reserves, and cast my new Meteor Shower spell.

  I aimed it high, high into the heavens, as far as I could project my mana power.

  The spell, up on the edge of the firmament, erupted into life. It was like the greatest firework display that there ever was. The giant lumps of burning crystal with their icy hearts and w
reathed in lightning, touched the upper atmosphere and sparked and exploded into all sorts of colors and weird and wonderful shapes.

  There was, because there always is, a chorus of ‘Oooohs!’ and Aaaahs!’ from everyone who was still on deck.

  Renegades and pirates stopped what they were doing. Even Captain Nutlee, who was involved in an intense game of dice on the other side of the mast let out an appreciative sigh. “Blow me down, can’t say I’ve seen much better things than that there display.”

  Barry, who had been dicing with her, replied, “Aye, it’s seeing things like that there that make me stop dwelling on all the misery of this world, and start attending to the beauty that still remains.”

  To my astonishment, I heard Captain Nutlee sniff. For a moment, I thought she’d been moved to tears. Then I heard her spit and say, “Argh, stop with that fucking bilge and lay down your bet, Chillgrave.”

  Over near one of the railings, I heard one of the pirates from Captain Nutlee’s ship say, “Well, that’s the last bit of natural beauty we’re going to see.”

  “What do you mean?” asked a rebel who was standing nearby.

  The pirate laughed, but there was very little humor in it. “Ye’ll see well enough when we get to journey’s end, matey. Cupido Island might very well be just about the least beautiful thing in the entire multiverse.”

  So, there was shit to come, sure. For now, though, my women and I would simply concentrate at the beauty taking place above our heads.

  Chapter 10

  It turned out that Cupido Island, the official lair of the Pirate Queen, was not just a single island.

  A single island would have made things too simple, I realized, when I clapped my eyes on the archipelago that loomed up from the hazy blue horizon the next morning. One island meant that there was only a single place on which the Pirate Queen’s blinging gold castle could be situated. It meant that we might have been able to do a little clandestine circling from afar and come up with the best route to get in and out of the joint.

  But, no.

  This was an archipelago, by the looks of it—a group of islands all clustered around one another. This was not going to be a simple assassination job, not just a bit of a smash and grab. There was, I could tell, going to be more to this mission than appeared on the surface.

  “Par for the Avalonian course,” I muttered to myself.

  I cast an eye over our port side, to where Chopsticks Nutlee’s ship was cruising alongside our schooner. The gnoll captain was standing at the helm with her helmsman. The vessels were close enough for me to clearly make out the greedy look on her flabby face and the way that her piggy eyes would flash from the looming shape of Cupido Island on the horizon to Barry standing at the wheel behind me.

  I was going to have to keep my eye on that woman. I trusted her just about as far as I could throw her and, judging by the Eric Cartman physique she was sporting, that wouldn’t be fucking far at all.

  I closed my eyes, trying to clear my head of all those whirling worries that were going to be future Justin’s problems, and endeavored to enjoy the feeling of the early morning sunlight on my face.

  The wind was blowing gently, bringing with it the smell of spice and salt—not to mention just a smidgen of acrid bile from a patch of hastily cleared vomit over by the starboard railing. After the meteor shower I had put on the previous evening, spirits at the coming adventure had risen, and there had been a deal of, what I believe pirates called, debauchery. Drinking, merry-making, and random bouts of public fucking had taken place amongst the crew. Definitely more Pirates II: Stagnetti’s Revenge than Hook.

  “Yargh, but there is a fellow that has the sinkissed look about him,” came a voice came from over my right shoulder.

  I hadn’t heard anyone approach. Then again, that was no real surprise. Captain Chillgrave might have had more solidity to him than I had ever seen, but he was still a denizen of the Spectral Realm. The motherfucker had proved yesterday that he still had the ability to float when he wanted to.

  “Sinkissed?” I asked, not opening my eyes, the more to enjoy the warm sun that was bathing my countenance. “Don’t you mean sunkissed, Barry?”

  Barry chuckled to himself. With my eyes closed, I could hear the weariness in his voice now too. The pirate captain did a good job of hiding it, but for someone who was used to his bouncing, innuendo-laden poltergeist form, it was apparent that the ghostly dude was running on fumes.

  “Nay, lad, sinkissed is what I said and sinkissed is what I mean,” he said. “Ye’ve the look on your mug of a man who has been up to no good the previous evening. Making the beast with two backs—or, perhaps, the beast with many backs, eh?”

  I could hear that old familiar leer in his voice, and I couldn’t help but grin.

  “You should have been a fucking detective, Barry,” I said, opening my eyes and turning to face the eldritch cove. “You would have made a good Sherlock Holmes.”

  Barry made a face. “I don’t know who this Sherlock Holmes is, sir, but the very notion of acting in any sort of lawful capacity makes my skin crawl. Besides,” he added, “it don’t take half a working brain to be able to fit the pieces together. I went down to my cabin, after that fine light show that you put on last night. It looked like the aftermath of the sort of orgy that old Barry himself used to enjoy back in his glory days.”

  I laughed at that and clapped Barry on his boney shoulder. To my surprise, I found that I could.

  “Not only that,” Captain Chillgrave continued, his one good eye twinkling at me, “but Miss Thunderstone and dear Miss Emberskull are walking around with sex rats on the backs of their heads.”

  “Sex rats?” I asked.

  “Argh, it’s what me and my old crew used to call that matted up bit o’ hair on the back of a lass’s head after a night of vigorously making butter with one’s tail.”

  I laughed again and pointed out at the growing smudges on the horizon. “Won’t be long now until those shriveled old balls of yours are floating in Death Energy and you can have your turn at making all the sex rats that you can.”

  Barry’s chest swelled as he took a deep breath of sea air and sighed it out happily.

  “Aye, sir,” he said. “That sounds mighty fine indeed.”

  “I assume that you’ll be able to, you know, get it on and everything, once you’re dosed up with that Death Energy, right? I mean, even though we’re in the Spectral Realm and you and your kind are, technically, specters, you all look pretty solid. You feel solid. I was thinking about that last night. Now that we’re here in this place, you must be able to act, basically, like mortals do back on Avalonia, right?”

  Barry gave me a look that someone might give a dog that has rolled over and played dead the first time it’s been asked: surprised and impressed.

  “Mighty fine deductive technique, sir,” he said approvingly. “And ye are quite right. Well, almost completely right.”

  “How almost completely right?” I asked.

  Barry made a throaty, crackling sound that I recognized as a chuckle.

  “Because we can enjoy things like mortals do back on Avalonia, sir,” he said, “only more so.”

  “Want to explain that one to me?”

  Barry shrugged and nodded out toward Cupido Island. “I think you’re goin’ to see the evidence of what I’m talking about soon enough,” he said. “And trust me when I tell you that seeing it will give you a much better idea of what life, or the afterlife, in the Spectral Realm is really like, sir.”

  “Is it like Purgatory, this place?”

  “Purga-what-do-ye-call-it, sir?” Barry asked.

  It had been quite some time since I had done that, since I had inadvertently assumed that someone from the magical world into which I had been transported would know something about Earth. Of course, Barry wouldn’t have a clue what Purgatory was. So far as I could tell, there was no religion in Avalonia or any of the parallel realms that had a doctrine like it. I guessed that was because
they had enough to fight over as it was.

  “It’s like the sort of waiting room for the dead,” I said. “Like, where you go when you weren’t a terrible person in life, but you also weren’t a great person either.”

  Barry considered this as the sharp prow of our schooner cut neatly through the gentle swell that rocked the vessel under our feet.

  “I think, sir, that that is a little beyond my pay-grade, so to speak,” the poltergeist said to me after a few seconds of cogitation. “It’s more than I can answer to. All I know is that everyone in the Spectral Realm is a spirit with unfinished business. I suppose, in a way, it does sound a little like this Purga-thingamajig place that you speak of. As far as any can tell, it’s for them spirits who decide, in the moment of their passing, that they have a few more things that they need to take care of before they go on.”

  “Go on where?” I asked.

  “Ah, that’s the bloody one-million doubloon question, ain’t it, sir?” Barry said.

  Before we could head further down this theological road, Janet Thunderstone came marching up the deck and stood between us. She gave me a kiss on the cheek as a morning greeting and shot Barry a wink that made the piratical old sea dog blush like a maiden.

  “Morning, gents,” she said.

  I made a show of looking around us, as did Barry.

  “Did you see any gentleman this morning, Barry?” I asked.

  Barry took off his enormous hat and ran a hand through his lank black hair. “Gentlemen? They’d be a fucking rare breed on this tub, sir.”

  Janet punched Barry gently on the shoulder.

  “Fine,” she said, switching to the most over-the-top pirate voice I had ever heard. “Avast there, ye black-hearted and barnacle-encrusted scallywags!”

  Barry’s eyebrows rose, and he gave an appreciative chuckle. “And here’s me thinkin’ that my own ancestor, Cecilia, will be the first to turn pirate! You’re a natural, Miss Thunderstone.”

  Janet smiled at the old rascally poltergeist. Then, as she looked out at the shape of Cupido Island, the pleased look on her gorgeous face faded a little.