Princess to Pleasure Slave Collection: The Forbidden Book of Monstrous Pleasures

by Amanda Clover

  “Never trust a demon,” said Natalya and she administered several slow, wet licks around Penelope’s anus before moving back to the demoness’s lovely pussy.

  “Good advice,” moaned Penelope. “You never know when a demon, ahhhhh, might turn on you!”

  Penelope quickly and easily reversed their positions by nearly throwing Natalya back onto the bed. The demoness dragged the weight of her dangling tits over the tsarevna before she descended up on the beautiful blonde’s furry pussy.

  Whatever thought Natalya might have had about taking charge in the bed was gone from the moment the demoness’s tongue made contact with the tsarevna’s yearning flesh. Penelope preyed upon Natalya’s pussy. She ravished it with fingers and tongue. Natalya could do little but abjectly submit to such pleasure, arching her back and thrusting herself against the demoness’s slurping lips.

  As Natalya felt her orgasm rising, she moaned out a request she knew would heighten her pleasure.

  “Feed,” she pleaded the succubus.

  Penelope moaned and lifted her mouth a finger’s width from Natalya’s steamy pussy.

  “You naughty strumpet,” giggled the demoness. “You know I fed on you last night. I do not need more tonight.”

  “It feels so good,” gasped Natalya. She rocked her hips and thrust her dewy quim closer to the succubus’s lips.

  “That is the point. But, very well, do not be surprised if you sleep away the day tomorrow. This will leave you weakened.”

  Before Natalya could reply, the demoness began hungrily fucking her tongue into Natalya’s pussy and slurping at her wet folds. At the same time, the demoness slid her tail over Natalya’s thigh and the fleshy tip of the tail began to flick at the tsarevna’s straining clit like a second tongue.

  “Ohhhh gods, I love it when you do that,” cried Natalya as she slipped her fingers into Penelope’s silky black hair. “Eat me! Eat me, my love.”

  “You are delicious,” moaned the succubus.

  As the tsarevna’s body tensed, as the hot throb of her orgasm crested from pleasure into powerful contractions, another sensation joined the ecstasy. It was as if something was being taken from inside her and the more that was taken the better it felt. There was a hint of lavender light from between Natalya’s shapely legs. The succubus moaned and swallowed the tsarevna’s flowing juices and something else. Penelope drank deeply of Natalya’s essence. It prolonged her orgasm and left her a gasping, exhausted wreck, drenched in sweat.

  Reluctantly, Penelope stopped short of swallowing everything. She climbed beside Natalya’s and stroked the beautiful tsarevna’s eyes.

  “You’re glowing,” said Natalya and it was true. The succubus was outlined in faint lavender light.

  “And you look like death.”

  The succubus pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed her on her shoulder and neck. When their lips met, Natalya was as hungry as the succubus, forcing her tongue into the demoness’s mouth and sucking at the sweetness that lingered on her lips. The kiss became so intense that the succubus pushed the young tsarevna away.

  “You should rest,” gasped Penelope. “I have drained you. If you died then I would have wasted weeks turning you into a proper wizardess and I would be no closer to that castle.”

  “No rest,” said Natalya and she began to swirl her tongue around one of the succubus’s plump nipples. “I want you to do that thing you did last night.”

  “With my fingers in your bum?”

  “No, save that for later,” giggled Natalya. “When you sat your lovely bottom on my face.”

  “Oh my, Natalya, that is a request I cannot refuse…”

  The demoness gracefully disentangled from Natalya and began to climb atop her face. Despite her weakness, the tsarevna smiled with anticipation as the light from the lantern was eclipsed by the luscious roundness of the succubus’s bottom. As that soft warmth covered Natalya up and she began to lick, she imagined she might remain in her studies for a long time to come.

  Book 20 - Orc Warlords

  Emira Zaina was the eldest daughter of Sultan Nassar of Shaddobar, ruler of the great city of Ilamien, and the most powerful of the triumvirate of sultans that ruled over the great desert nation. Her station entitled to her a life of leisure and romance. Had she chosen that path, Zaina would not have lacked for suitors.

  The emira was a striking beauty, with glittering green eyes that spoke of her heritage in their angle, lustrous black hair that fell in a fishtail braid between her shoulders, and smooth, olive skin that rarely showed a blemish. Her lips were full and her nose, though perhaps large, was perfectly suited to her strong features. She was a beauty with few to compare and yet she was not married nor did she wear the modesty veil of a lady in waiting.

  Instead of this life of pampering and courting, the emira had sworn the oath of chastity and given herself to holy war as a knight of Shaddobar. Her martial prowess was unmatched and she developed the mind of a master strategist. At the tender age of 25, she stood as the high commander of the armies of Shaddobar. She won numerous battles against minor threats to the kingdom such as raiders and city-states. She grew the strength of Shaddobar’s military by sealing alliances with the sand elves and the Kornasi horsemen of the southern wastes.

  And it was all falling apart.

  “Rally to me!” cried Emira Zaina, her banner flapping from her lance and her head protected by the golden hawk helmet of her family.

  All around her, the remnants of a brigade of light cavalry heard her voice breaking through the din of battle and began to stop their retreat and return to her side. She repeated her cry and was joined by trumpeters from her father’s foot infantry. The brave men of Shaddobar were rallying, but the mercenaries were fleeing, the Kornasi had broken off without even fighting, and the sand elves were cut off and completely encircled by a superior mass of orcs and lizardmen.

  Kilal, one of her chief lieutenants, and Jubel, her father’s vizier, joined her on their horses. The visor of Kilal’s helmet was red with the blood of an orc and his scimitar dripped with gore. Jubel seemed untouched by the fighting, his robes and jewels immaculate, but grave concern showed on his sharp features.

  “Emira, we must break off,” he said. “The goblin warg riders are circling back for another charge and Ferrok is bringing up his reserves of ogres.”

  Zaina studied the chaotic battlefield. She could see that Jubel was right, the lumbering ogres were pushing past the orc warlord Ferrok’s banners and moving towards the clashing fronts of her heavy infantry and the orcs and goblins. Their numbers were few, but their immense size served as a terror multiplier that would almost certainly break her front ranks. She knew all too well how few of her own reserves remained.

  “My cavalry will fight to the last man if you command it,” said Kilal as he shook the blood from his sword. “We have the men to meet those warg riders.”

  The emira turned her gaze once more to the plight of the sand elves. They were graceful warriors, fearless and skilled, but the Kornasi betrayal had left them unprotected and now their numbers were dwindling to half. She knew she could count on them to fight to the last, but for what good? There were many women among their number who might be raped by the orcs or, worse, the lizard men or ogres. If she allowed their unit it to be wiped out or captured, she could expect no more help from the sand elves. They would do as they were inclined to do and disappear from the affairs of humans.

  But a heroic act, a display of courage and sacrifice, might preserve Shaddobar’s alliance with the sand elves.

  “We have lost the day,” said the emira, “but we may yet save Shaddobar from the pet orc of Empress Jurrinus. Kilal, I will lead your cavalry in an attack to rescue the sand elves.”

  “My emira, please!” he objected. “Give me the honor of—“

  “There is no time for your objections,” she said. “You are in command of the battlefield. Hold the line against those ogres and goblins for as long as you can. Give me a chance to break out those
elves.”

  “Yes! Yes, emira!”

  “You must not do this,” cried Jubel. “We must order a full retreat!”

  Kilal had already wheeled and returned to his command troop to take charge of the battle. Zaina held her banner high.

  “Cavalry to me! We ride for Shaddobar! For the Sultan of Ilamien!”

  The cavalry wedge formed around Emira Zaina and her unwavering lance. The front ranks of infantry parted and she and the last riders of Ilamien broke through the surprised orcs before her army. The greenskins tried to flee, but were impaled on lances and crushed under the shod hooves of the mighty chargers. The way was opened to the knot of battle surrounding the sand elves. She saw the ogres moving to the front lines, but they were slow and poorly suited for fighting off a cavalry charge.

  “Straight for the elves!” she cried, shaking a dead orc from her lance. “To me, brothers! To me!”

  The wedge reformed, down only a handful of riders from the first charge. The moment the formation was tight, she launched a fresh charge towards the trapped elves. They built speed, faster and faster. Goblin archers volleyed arrows at them from the flanks. An arrow rung from Zaina’s heavy helmet. Another thumped into the shoulder of her charger. The great beast did not miss a step. Even as cavalrymen fell on all sides from the goblin archers, their charge lost no speed.

  The orcs and lizardmen surrounding the elves were caught completely unaware by the charge. Fifty fell in seconds and another dozen as the chargers wheeled and Zaina and the other riders drew their swords. The elves saw their chance and fought like mad. Male and female elven warriors became whirlwinds of desperate fury. Zaina lopped the head from an orc. A lizardman trident caught her stallion in the throat and she dismounted as her faithful horse fell to its knees. She killed the lizardman and took off the arm of the next that approached.

  “We’ve got them!” she cried. “We’re almost through!”

  The horns of retreat sent a cold chill up her spine. Someone had ordered a full retreat! The lines of Shaddobar were withdrawing!

  “Quickly! We must get through to them!”

  Zaina drove her blade through the throat of one orc and opened the belly of another with a deep slash. A lizardman struck her with his trident in the lower side of her armor. The steel buckled painfully, but the trident did not penetrate. She turned and the lizardman deflected her wild swing with its shield. She feinted and threw a knife from her boot into the creature’s eye. It dropped to the ground and writhed in agony, its muscular tail knocking her from her feet.

  Zaina’s head hit something hard enough to dent the helmet at the back of her skull. She blacked out for a moment and when she came to the sounds of battle were muffled and distant. A blade slipped under her throat and cut the chin strap of her helmet, nicking her neck in the process. Her family’s priceless helmet was yanked free from her head and held aloft by a massive orc. He was bellowing in the guttural language of the brutes.

  “No,” moaned the emira.

  All around her, orcs and lizard men were finishing off the last of her cavalry. She looked behind her and saw that some of the elves had managed to escape and were running for the retreating human lines. Most of them were being cut down, shot in the back by the cowardly goblin archers or run down by warg riders. She could only hope that a few reached the lines of Shaddobar to tell their brothers and sisters of her sacrifice.

  An ogre loomed over Zaina. It reached down to pick her up and, despite her dulled reflexes, she rolled away from its huge hand. She grabbed for a weapon and found the saw-toothed sword of an orc. She rose to her feet, completely encircled by orcs, lizardmen, and goblins jeering at her and watching as she squared off against the ogre.

  The brute was half again as tall as Zaina and twice as wide. He wore a ragged jerkin stained with blood and a skull cap as big as a hammock. His face, like most ogres, was grotesquely deformed. One eye squinted and the other bulged, a single tusk jutted up from his fat lower lip, and his huge nose had clearly been broken several times. When the massive brute saw she intended to fight, he guffawed and lifted up his cudgel.

  “Tenderize yoor cunt,” he said and thumped the tree trunk-sized weapon into his huge palm.

  Zaina braced her feet as if she might meet the ogre’s charge. She had no intention of doing that, it would be suicidal, but she wanted him to think she was so foolish. The orcs taunted her and threw clods of dirt at her. She heard one complaining, in the common tongue, that the ogre would ruin her “tight pussy” with his enormous cock. She did not have time to consider such fates, impaled on ogre cock. She had ogre’s club to worry about. It charged, rearing back to swing the club.

  She took a deep breath, watching the tension in its shoulders and the trap-like release of force as it began its swing. She tucked and rolled into the charge, veering slightly as she somersaulted past and behind the charging ogre. As she came up behind the brute, she swung with all her force at the base of his massive skull. The sword chopped into his corded neck muscles and bit past them, finding his spine and cleaving between it. The sword was stuck. It pulled free of her hands as the brute’s momentum carried him to the ground.

  “RRrrrrrggrrrrr,” gurgled the ogre, his limbs hanging limp as he began to suffocate under his own weight.

  The orcs and goblins that had been jeering fell silent. Zaina dropped heavily to her knees beside the dying ogre. She had spent every last ounce of her strength and, after a moment of breathing heavily, he toppled onto her back on the soft ground.

  The orcs came for her in a mass. She did not fight them as they stripped off her armor, hauling away boots and arm-guards and pauldrons as trophies. When they had stripped off her armor, they began to pull at her hair and strip off her clothing. One orc fell upon her chest and begin to snort and lick at her breasts. She moaned at the sensation, but it was a thing she felt distantly. She knew they would rape her. It was the way of these brutes.

  They wrenched her legs wide and some of the orcs had their foul cocks in their hands. They rubbed them against her slack face and smacked them onto her breasts. A short brawl broke out over the dominant males as they fought to see who would have the right to claim her. Finally, a mohawked orc with a severely scarred arm seemed to win the contest. He knelt between her legs and took his cock in his. She felt his awful fuckmeat against her opening.

  If this is what the gods will for me, thought Zaina, I have done my part to deny my fate. It is out of my control now.

  Just as the orc seemed about to thrust forward and claim her virgin flower, another orc appeared, larger and more festooned with trophies than his compatriots. He roared in the orc language and smashed the orc between Zaina’s legs with a blow from the back of his hand. The orc tumbled away and retreated.

  “I am Grenk,” roared the orc in the common tongue. “This bitch property of Warlord Ferrok the Skull Taker. If any of you have problem with this say now, I take your skull for Ferrok.”

  The massive orc drew his nasty blade and turned to survey the orcs waiting their turn to rape Zaina. The brutes backed away from Grenk and sought out other amusements. When Grenk seemed satisfied he would face no resistance, he turned his attention back to the emira.

  “You get up,” he said and proceeded to yank her to her feet. “I take you to Ferrok.”

  “Please, could I put some clothes back on?”

  “No!” shouted Grenk and he shoved her ahead of him.

  The emira was marched across the battlefield in her full nakedness. For a woman born of a culture of modesty, to have her large, round breasts and her dark-furred pussy exposed to these savages made for a painful parade.

  All around her, the orcs and goblins looted the dead humans and elves, while the lizard men had set about dragging away some choice corpses for a grisly feast. The wounded called out for mercy and a few of the better-disciplined orcs walked among the scattered bodies to administer the fatal blow to those who asked. A few of the elf women had been taken alive and already they were being rap
ed among the dead and dying. Zaina averted her gaze from the sight as the savage orcs crowded around the moaning elf women.

  They reached the encampment of Ferrok’s mixed army and Grenk’s big hand wrapped around the back of the emira’s neck. He kept her close and breathed loudly through his nose as he guided her through the maze of tents, mud dugouts, and brush warrens erected by the various warriors and camp followers. At last, they reached a huge patchwork tent of hides and canvas mounted with numerous banner poles from orc clans. Ferrok’s Skull Takers banner was the largest of those savage icons. Among these flags Zaina saw a more human flag. The red banner with the golden owl and crescent belonged to the self-proclaimed Empress Jurrinus. Its presence meant that one of her generals or advisers was in the tent.

  “Inside,” grunted Grenk as he parted the tent’s flaps.

  She walked into the darkness of the tent. She covered her breasts and her pubic mound with her hands as her eyes adjusted to the smoky torchlight that filled the war tent. The magic map of terrain that occupied much of the space added a faint green glow to the torchlight.

  The wizard’s map was surrounded by several huge orcs and a handful of lizardman clan leaders. Zaina had never before seen Ferrok in person, but there was no mistaking him. He towered over his subordinates, nearly as tall as an ogre, though rather lean at the shoulder for an orc. He lifted his gaze from the shimmering map as she entered. The room fell silent.

  “I save her,” said Grenk. “She not touched.”

  Ferrok stepped around the table and approached Zaina. A human figure seemed to appear at the side of the enormous orc. The bald-headed man was much smaller than the orcs and she had not noticed him at first. His face was cruel and his red robes were immaculate. He wore a golden owl’s head pendant around his collar. With a start, Zaina recognized the human. It was Taliun, the exiled sultan of Ibn Ulan and one of the traitors who had joined the empress voluntarily.

  “Taliun,” snarled the emira. “I see orcs are keeping you as a pet now.”