The Fisher Queen

by Jay Aury

  Therain screamed in agony, writhing with her death throes. Dinah put all her weight on the sword to avoid being flung off the monster. At last, with a final shudder, Therain sprawled back, and lay still.

  Panting, Dinah withdrew her sword from the monster. She staggered back and off Therain, whose glowing marks were already beginning to fade. Shaking her head, Dinah looked about herself blankly.

  The room was different without the cursed creature’s presence marking it. It was dimmer, though the creature’s hide continued to swim with its strange colouring, robbed of its hypnotic pull now. Panting, Dinah collapsed on her rump on the golden pile, planting her rusty sword beside her as she sought to recover from the shock of her battle.

  Her head throbbed like her brain was a size too big for it, but already that was beginning to fade. The coolness of the room seeped into her, soothing the unnatural heat of her desire. She glanced towards the corpse of the cursed princess and shuddered at what had nearly become of her. A thrall to the monster, and, perhaps, its prey before long.

  Dinah closed her eyes, centering her thoughts. Her breathing slowed, calming. As she sat there, a faint breeze had her raise her head and look in the direction. A passage lay in the far wall, framed with the figureheads of ships long lost, the paint on the women flaking like they were rotting from some disease. Carefully Dinah rose. She ignored the fortune beneath her feet, slowly making her way towards the exit.

  The passage beyond was smooth and wide. As Dinah padded through, she began to make out sounds. A thumping beat of a drum that echoed down the stone tunnel, reverberating through her in a strange way. The huntress scowled as she crept onward, her stolen sword at the ready.

  Light glowed at the end of the tunnel. Dinah made her way to it and peered out the doorway and beyond.

  Below lay a village of gerlings. Dozens of the foul, toad-like fish-men were gathered about a huge bonfire kindled from driftwood and the scattered wrecks of ships. Their crude hovels rose against the rocky shore of an inlet, shielded by ragged rocks along the shoreline. But it wasn’t gerlings alone who sat before the raging bonfire. Among them were women, some with the swollen stomachs of pregnancy, near all with heavy, milky breasts. Now and then a gerling would lean over, squeezing the soft breast of one of the women, milking the moaning thrall into a dish he would drink. Far more however merely attached their wide mouths to their victims, guzzling the addled thrall’s cream with every hint of satisfaction.

  Stunned by the strange, savage scene, Dinah remained frozen where she was. She had seen many things over her career, but what was going on below shocked even her. And yet, there was something other than anger that quickened her blood at the debauched sight. Something she dared not name.

  She focused on the anger. Not hard. There was ample enough of it. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, squeezing the tattered leather of the hilt, her stomach turning with revulsion at the creatures below and their thralls.

  One of the gerlings climbed before the others. He wore a crown made of an old lantern, what passed for his neck draped in crude necklaces of bone and carved wooden fetishes. The drums lowered their beat, thumping out more slowly, yet somehow more heavily. Instantly he was the focus of attention from those around the bonfire.

  The monster spoke, his croaking, hissing language sending prickling goosebumps down the huntress’s arms. The speech did not last long before the monster beckoned.

  Dinah gasped as a familiar figure was led into the firelight. Veria’s normally fierce face was slackened, her eyes vague and her body naked, marked with strange, painted designs. The tanned woman was a firm picture of strange beauty among the savage monsters who watched her approach, led on a lead held by several gerlings like cattle to the slaughter, her arms bound behind her back. Dinah’s horror was amplified as Veria was dragged into the middle of the camp and before the fire.

  The chief gerling was speaking again, but Dinah ignored the beast. She had to do something. She crept down the stony path and towards the wattle village of the gerlings. She had no trouble seeing with the bonfire aflame. She passed a number of totems and fetishes arranged along the path to the cave where the cursed princess had resided. Made of strange leather, bone and driftwood, the totems filled her with a strange, instinctual revulsion. The leather in particular…

  She soon reached the edge of the huts and crept among them. The gerling chief was still talking, but Dinah dared not get closer. She made her way around, looking for some vantage point, at last ducking behind some barrels, doubtless stolen from a wreck. As she crouched in her hiding place, Dinah glanced down at them. The paint was faded, the light weak, but she made out a word. Rum.

  And slowly, an idea began to take shape.

  Panic

  Veria didn’t know where she was. What she was doing. Her head felt heavy and thick with a slurry of drunkenness. She remembered only soft touches. Moans. And the sweet taste of milk. She smacked her lips, wishing she could taste it again.

  It was hot too. Her sensitive skin tingled against the glow of the bonfire. Arousal burned through her veins, her breasts aching, her heart pounding and cunt tingling with desire. She could see the gerlings watching her. Why wouldn’t they touch her? She moaned, thrusting out her breasts, rocking her hips side to side in an attempt to entice the monsters to take her. To fuck her. To give her what she needed. The other woman were getting it. Veria eyed those dark eyed thralls, with their wonderful full breasts and pregnant bodies. Oh how she wished she was them. So soft and obedient and pleasured. She whimpered with need as she watched one cradle a gerling to her engorged breast, feeding the monster and quivering as the gerling fingered her cunt with a webbed hand. Oh how she wished that could be her!

  The chief of the gerlings suddenly croaked something and the leash around her neck tugged. Veria followed the motion, slowly kneeling. Immediately she parted her thighs, easing back, panting as she took in the watching eyes of the gerlings. Something was happening. Something that would give her pleasure. The thoughts trickled through and she looked towards the chief as the heavy gerling swayed over to her. The chief looked over her marked body critically. It had nearly driven her mad when the gerlings at the barn had painted the designs on her toned flesh, their harsh brushes flicking her nipples and stroking her curves. She’d whimpered and begged but they hadn’t touched her with their hands. When she tried to finger herself, they’d tied her arms behind her, and the torture had gone on.

  The gerling chief nodded and cupped her breasts. Veria gasped, moaned, pushing out her chest to be better fondled by those webbed hands. “Ooooh,” Veria moaned. “Y-yes… P-please,” she whimpered, panting.

  The chief ignored her. He merely continued to fondle her. Touch her. Inspecting the heft of her tits. Veria burned with the shame they weren’t as heavy or milky as the other women. She whimpered, bowing her head.

  But it would be alright. She would be alright. It would all be set right…

  The chief nodded. His hands vanished from her breasts and he beckoned over another of the gerlings. This one approached carrying a clay urn. The gerling tilted it forward, and Veria smiled at the sight of the translucent eggs within. A memory trickled in. What she had seen when first arriving at the camp. Her breasts heaved with her excitement. She parted her legs wider, pushed forward her hips. Her eyes begged the monster before her.

  “Please,” she moaned, her pussy damp, needy, welcoming. “Please… f-fill me. Breed me…”

  The gerling chief reached down. She gasped, her wrists tightening against their bindings as his webbed finger slid up her needy slit. She crooned desperately as the gerling slowly stroked her, petting her cunt, spreading her arousal over her lower lips until they glistened.

  His touch was driving her mad. “Please. Please,” she panted, a mantra of mindless need, her mind given over to the pure animal lust that raced through her. She ground her cunt against his touch, tears springing to her eyes.

  At last, the chief deemed her ready. He turned
back to the other gerling and reached into the bowl, retrieving one of their eggs. Veria watched with bated breath as his hand returned to her mound. She gasped as he teased her lower lips with the pearly sphere, rubbing it against her until she thought she would go mad. The drums thumped around her. The world narrowed, consumed by the raw sensation of the soft, pliable gerling egg rubbing against her needy cunny.

  Another drumming broke through the celebration. The gerling chief paused, looking back. A shape bounced out of the darkness, hit a ledge and flew high. Gerlings turned, watching blankly as the barrel soared over their heads, and crashed into the bonfire.

  The explosion consumed the nearest monsters in a sudden gout of flame. Those behind the first warbled in agony as burning splashes of rum smacked their slimy hides. The chief yanked his arm back from Veria’s slit, ignoring her cry of denied pleasure. Two more barrels crashed among the celebrants, flattening several before bursting against the stones, their dark fluids quickly catching fire as they spread across the floor.

  With a whoosh several huts went up in sudden pillars of flame. Gerlings howled and ran. Their female thralls moaned and cried out.

  Chaos engulfed the celebrants. Gerlings trampled each other. Some fought to get away. Others ran about, living torches soaked in rum and flame.

  Veria looked about herself blankly. She saw a figure leaping out of the darkness, assumed it was one of those lost slaves. She watched without comprehension as the woman raised a sword and brought it down on the first few gerling guards. The monsters went down, too stunned to even try and fight back. One of the monsters got his spear up, but the old blade sheared through the thin wood and sliced the monster across its fat neck.

  The chieftain whirled towards this new attack. He cried out in surprise as Dinah stepped into the light like some avenging goddess of the wilds. Breasts and cunt bared, clothes in tattered strips and skin glowing and splattered with blood. The huntress lunged at the monster with her sword.

  The chief fell, skewered, his crown rolling free and striking Veria’s foot. Veria fell forward, gasping as the gerlings holding her leash abandoned their task, running away. Dinah grabbed the panting woman and pulled her to her feet.

  “Come on!”

  Veria obeyed thoughtlessly. She staggered after Dinah, up and away from the inferno of the gerling village. Smoke billowed from the blazing huts, choking more of the monsters and covering the pair’s flight. The gerlings stampeded for the water, plunging in, their fins flicking up as they swam frantically for the break in the rocks hiding their home.

  None saw Veria and Dinah escape the conflagration, fleeing into the shadows of the rocks. Dinah yanked Veria behind some stones, holding the young woman against her and glancing back at the chaos of the village.

  The touch of the other woman’s body against her fired Veria. She moaned softly, rubbing herself against Dinah. “Veria!” Dinah hissed. “What are you doing?”

  “My… my hands… Please…”

  Veria felt behind the other woman and found the bindings. With a grimace she brought her sword around and sawed through the crude ropes. No sooner were her hands free then Veria grabbed the other woman and pressed a hungry kiss against Dinah’s neck.

  “Veria!” Dinah gasped.

  “Please,” Veria moaned, grinding her burning cunt against the huntress’s leg. “Oh please. I… I need you to touch me. Oh gods. I need it… Please. Please…”

  Dinah hesitated, but another glance at the other woman’s glassy eyes resolved her. “Alright. Just… just stop rubbing against me.”

  Veria nodded, quivering with the effort of holding herself back as Dinah carefully reached between them, her hand brushing the other woman’s quim. “Ah!” Veria gasped, thrusting forward her modest breasts. “Ooooh yes. There. Oh please Dinah. T-touch me more. I need it. Oh gods I need your touch…”

  Dinah was blushing hard, but her fingers stroked Veria’s cunt with greater confidence. Veria groaned with please as Dinah grew more certain, her stroking touch making the other woman rock against her, press her aching teats against her body.

  “Yessss,” Veria panted. “Oh Dinah. Dinah. I… I’m gonna…. Mnnnn!”

  “Shhh!” Dinah hissed as Veria’s cry of orgasmic relief broke the silence. Frantically, Dinah kissed the other woman, swallowing her cry of pleasure. Veria pressed against Dinah, deepening the kiss, moaning as the huntress continued to finger her, driving her to another panting climax moments later.

  Dinah tried to fight it, but the sensation of Veria against her was arousing. The feeling of need radiating from the drugged woman pulsed into her, and slowly, she shyly began to kiss back. Sensing her weakening resolve, Veria groped Dinah, touching the other woman’s naked breasts, pulling her deeper into her arms as they fell into the act of pleasure, releasing the tensions of the last days in a sudden swell of desire.

  The two remained there, locked in their torrid embrace, Dinah’s face flaming as she fingered the other woman to another orgasm. Then another. All the while the fires burned, smoke pluming into the sky.

  A New Day

  Dinah watched the boats bob at the edge of the rocky shore. They’d come at dawn, the smoke of the burning gerling village like a beacon to the small fishing community. When the fishermen arrived, to a man armed to the teeth, they found a village empty, the monsters of their old stories gone, fled from the inferno, their goddess and their chief slain.

  But Dinah had been there, an old cloak covering her nakedness. She’d met the fisherman and explained what had happened, and showed them the way to the barn.

  Now the huntress sat on a rock overlooking the hidden inlet, her stolen sword resting against her leg, the old cloak settling over her. She watched as the victims of the gerlings were led out from the barn and down towards the boats.

  “Is there hope for them?”

  Dinah glanced back as Veria climbed up beside her. After purging herself of the gerling’s potions, Veria had managed to find her old clothes. She looked almost like herself again, but a faint blush still tinted her tanned cheeks. The huntress returned her attention to the thin line of survivors as they were helped into the boats, some still bloated with gerling eggs, breasts dripping milk, docile as cattle. “Some,” Dinah said. “Your sister and the other girls should be alright. The others…” Dinah shrugged.

  Veria looked down at them, pity etched on her face. Dinah couldn’t blame her. After all, how close had Veria come to sharing that very fate?

  “They’ll be cared for,” Veria said, which was the best that could be hoped.

  Dinah nodded.

  “What about the village?” Veria asked, glancing back at the ruins.

  “The survivors won’t return,” Dinah said. “The secret of the cove is known. Their village burned and goddess dead. They’ll flee south, to warmer waters and easier prey. Some might remain to harry the shores.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do,” Dinah said.

  Veria hesitated. “What of you, huntress?”

  Dinah sighed. She stood as the boats began to join the others in an exodus from the shore. “I’ll need new clothes. New arms. Then, I’ll start hunting down the surviving gerlings.”

  “You think you can?”

  “I must,” Dinah said simply. “The Borderlands have menaces enough without these creatures running loose. I’ll kill as many as I can.”

  “And then?”

  Dinah shrugged. “There are always more monsters in the world.”

  Veria was silent for a moment. “You saved me, huntress. My sister and me, I mean. And I’m not ungrateful. What ah… what happened during the attack. I… Should you need help in your hunt…”

  Dinah cocked her head towards the scarred woman, smiling a little at her blushing efforts to express herself. “Thank you, Veria. But your sister needs you more than I do. I’ll manage.”

  Veria sagged a little. She nodded, then rallied. “Well, if you ever pass by again, know that you’re welcome at our home.” />
  Dinah chuckled softly. “I’d like that.”

  Veria cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well, huntress. Shall we go?”

  Dinah took a slow breath, let it out. “Yes,” she said, picking up her sword. “Let’s.”

  Together, the pair made their way down the barren rocks and to the waiting boats, their feet crunching through the ashes of the town, and the scream of seabirds ringing out over the crashing waves.