by J. M. Keep
Crouching, Pyriah unfastened the rope from Haniel's manacles, freeing him from the stake in the ground. He blinked and looked at his cuffs, and then up at her, one dark eyebrow rising in question. Pyriah shrugged and looked smug.
"Your hands were in the way," she said, lowering herself down onto all fours like Haniel. Brushing his cuffed wrists out of the way, she shoved the Fallen upright on his knees and thrust her head between his thighs. His cock dangled in front of her, half-softened and still slick with lube, and she breathed in the heady smell of spunk mixed with flower-scented lube. Groaning, Pyriah pressed her lips to one of Haniel's thighs and sucked greedily at the slick of sweat and cum that coated his skin. Her teeth grazed his skin as she tugged hard with her lips, filling her mouth with the taste of cum.
Shivering, Haniel laid a hand on Pyriah's blonde hair. He stroked her awkwardly, the manacles bobbing and occasionally bumping against her head as she licked her eager way up one thigh and down the other. A soft moan escaped the Fallen's lips.
"Oh yes," he whispered. "God, yes. That's it. All for you. All my spunk's for you. You like it? God, lick it up; you look so hot like that. You sexy angel...my sexy Mistress!"
His cock bobbed between his legs, inches from Pyriah's face. She cupped a hand beneath its soft pouch and raised it toward her lips. The rosy tip filled her vision; the smell of cum and lube and sweat overwhelmed her nose. Groaning, Pyriah bent to wrap her lips around the softened flesh.
She heard a moan as she took Haniel's cockhead into her mouth and sucked on it. Slippery wetness dripped onto her tongue and down the back of her throat. Sliding lower on his shaft, Pyriah sucked hard, greedy for every last drop of the Fallen's seed. She licked the sweetly-scented oil from his skin and caressed his balls with gentle, loving fingertips, caught up in the thrill of savoring her prey. He was spent, softened and panting, but she could feel the smooth member twitching feebly in her mouth all the same. It would take so little to make him hard again. To make him hard, and shove him back, and straddle him and ride him until her pleasure was sated...
Grinning, her lips sticky with cum, Pyriah slid back along Haniel's cock until it popped from her mouth. She sat upright on her knees, tits bouncing. They faced one other, both panting for breath and slicked with sweat. His hair was a hopeless tangle. Pyriah was sure hers was worse. She reached up to run a hand through it, shoving limp bangs out of her eyes.
"I almost hate," she panted, "to give you over to the Heavenly Host. I feel like we could do so much more work toward your redemption together."
Haniel grinned at her. For a moment, a trace of his earlier smugness seemed to flash in his dark eyes, but it was gone so fast that Pyriah was sure she had imagined it.
"As my Mistress pleases," he murmured, his mocking tone almost vanished, though a quirk of his lips made him seem more playful than meek. "But why not keep me a while? I am, clearly, not going anywhere on my own." He tried to spread his hands; winced as his wrists came up short against the manacles. "Captured by angels? Fucked by their captain? Beaten, whipped, humiliated...I'd never live it down, even if I did get away clean. Far better for me to stay with you, at least for the time being." His voice was soft, smooth, and utterly reasonable, without a trace of defiance. Pyriah smiled in tired triumph, pleased at how thoroughly she'd broken her captive on her first try.
"Keep me here," Haniel urged her softly. "Here in your forward deployment. No one has to know. It's just your two officers and me. Surely they could be brought around...?" He raised an eyebrow and nodded significantly toward the front of the tent, past Pyriah's shoulder. She started a little at the reminder – any thoughts of Slephia and Lailah had long since faded from her mind over the course of the enthusiastic "interrogation." The two of them would already be wondering about the length of time Pyriah had taken, to say nothing of the noises they had surely heard coming from inside the tent.
Pyriah frowned. Her lust-fogged mind struggled to work quickly through the possibilities. Something had to be done about the other two angels, whether she wanted to keep Haniel with her or not. Even if they said nothing, there would always be a hint of doubt in their eyes after their commander had spent so long in rather obviously intimate company with a Fallen, and that was the sort of thing that would inevitably spread through the ranks whether the lesser angels were aware of it or not. Pyriah bit back an irritated curse. She should have thought about that; should have brought them in on it from the beginning. It would have been safer, as well as...as well as...
A slow smile spread across Pyriah's face. She shook her head in disbelief at her own foolishness. Whyever hadn't she seen it sooner? Slephia and Lailah were her closest friends in the Heavenly Host. Sharing her prisoner with them would have been fun.
She could already picture it in her mind: beautiful, dark-haired Lailah holding the Fallen's hair and pounding away at him with their toy as he pleasured buxom Slephia with that talented tongue of his. And all the while, Pyriah could lounge on the cot and stroke herself, reveling in her unrivaled triumph: a fallen angel, bound forever as their private sex slave. It was delicious. A bit blasphemous, perhaps, to an unsophisticated mind, but any intelligent angel would be able to see that everything they did was for the glory of the Creator that had given them bodies capable of delighting in such lustful pleasures.
Pyriah met Haniel's dark eyes. His smile was small but knowing. She wondered how much he had guessed of her thoughts. She smiled back at him, slow and seductive and just a little bit cruel. A tiny trickle of cum ran from one corner of her mouth as she rose to her feet and shook her wings out behind her body. Her pussy dripped between her thighs, wet and needy. She ran a hand down her curving frame and took a moment to savor her own eagerness.
"Wait right there," Pyriah ordered softly. "I must consult with my lieutenants. They may require...convincing...but I believe, in time, they will come to see the wisdom of keeping you here." Smiling, she bent and unclasped Haniel's manacles. He looked up at her and quirked an eyebrow. Pyriah raised one of her own in reply.
"So that you can help me, of course," she told him. "With the convincing. They may struggle, at first."
Turning, Pyriah strode from the tent, no thought in her mind except to bring Slephia and Lailah into the throes of forbidden lust with her, whether they wanted to come or not. The taste of cum was on her lips, and she had barely even noticed the deep, longing ache for Heaven's glory fading from her soul. All that mattered was that she and her friends go on dominating Haniel, with their pussies and their pleasure, for the rest of eternity...even if they had to stay in Hell to do it!
A single feather fell from her wings as she stepped out to seize the startled Slephia by her wrists. It lay on the ground before a smiling Haniel, soft and silent – and black as the night sky.
~~
A Note from A. Vivian Vane
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A DIFFERENT PRINCE CHARMING
By Maria N. Lang
Amelia had always wanted to be taken away, shown another life than the plush and secure surroundings she was used to as a princess. She dreamed of distant, powerful beings, not entirely understanding her own desires other than the secret she kept most dear. She desired to be a victim, something she never truly had been in her protected life at court. The uneasiness inside had long since grown from seed into full-blown tree inside her, and it was what had made her insist that her father bring her along on his campaign against the forest folk.
It was her father’s desire to expand their lands, and the large, western forests seemed ideal. The scattered tribes of wild elves, nymphs, dryads, centaurs and other, far wilder things were judged an easy enemy to keep at bay. They had been, until their champion had shown up around two years ago. Now, it would all come down to one last battle, one last clash. Man against nature. And here she was, con
fined to the royal tent.
She huffed, adjusting the corset she wore beneath her flowing, dark blue dress to breathe more easily, casting a glance around what had been her home the last few weeks. It was nothing like her quarters in the palace. Much of it was muddy carpeting, most of the mud thankfully concentrated around the wooden table her father and his commanders used to plan skirmishes and battles.
Here, her quarters were nothing more than a double bed, a closet and a large chest shielded from the rest of the tent’s interior by a dark red, heavy curtain. She blew a dark brown lock of hair out of her face, irritation contorting her otherwise pleasant features and poisoning her gentle, grey-blue eyes. The army, led by her father, had departed the camp, leaving her sitting here. Waiting.
She walked to the entrance for the seventh time to ask the same indignant questions to her two guardians that had begun to strain their manners after the second round. The two knights were condemned to guard a girl of 20 instead of participating in the battle, and they were fuming silently. She knew it, and in her frustration at being jailed inside the tent, she questioned them ceaselessly, regardless.
“Who is she, anyway?” she said, the question not directed at either of the knights. The aged, graying veteran replied.
“We don’t know, princess. A wild elf, as dangerous as any predator our lands can offer up, huntress by nature, but more cunning and clever than any queen lynx.”
“If she’s so dangerous, why hasn’t she been assassinated?” she said, making no attempt to hide her petulance. She knew the answer, they knew that she knew, but she was a bored, spoiled child in a woman’s body.
“Your grace, we are fighting seven and a half feet amazon elves, centaurs, nymphs so beautiful that merely laying your eyes upon them blinds you. Living trees, even. We can’t get to her.”
“How did you let it get to this, anyway?”
“We were... Careless, your grace. This champion wild elf united the tribes of the forest before we could react.”
“And why, exactly, does that mean I can’t leave this tent, sir knight?”
“You know your father’s orders, your grace. The camp is crawling with soldiers far less noble than the people you are used to. It is for your own protection.”
Amelia’s nose flared, her eyes shooting needles at the knight. She had no retort, had had none the last seven times, but it did not stop her from clawing uselessly at the resolve of her guardians. She closed the flap of the tent with a huff, returning to the warm interior as displeased as before, but at least her irritation momentarily replaced her anxiety.
There had been no news of the battle, and while her father had assured the men that victory was certain, his tone had been different during command meetings. The forest folk fought in ways the veteran commanders had never experienced, and their army consisted of beings they had never been trained to fight. Civilization had never been in danger when faced with nature. Not until now. Amelia sat down on the edge of her large double bed, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of it. Time crawled at snail’s pace.
~~
She looked up from her angry attempts at sowing. A voice that broke through the low, droning backdrop of the camp had torn her away from her attempt at passing time.
“Retreat! The king is dead! Flee!”
Amelia’s hands slowly sunk to her lap, her eyes staring dead ahead at nothing. A metallic taste developed in her mouth. Tingling exploded in her chest, solidifying and working its way down towards her stomach. A column of shocking realization that nailed her to the bed and kept her breath locked in her lungs. The tent’s flap was torn aside, one of her guards stepping inside.
“Princess!”
No response, except for the girl breathing in, then out, mechanically. Her cheeks burned with powerless shock and adrenaline, knowing that she was in the path of a charging beast but finding herself unable to move from its path.
“Your grace!”
She finally tore her gaze from the empty wall of her tent, looking to the knight with wide, dismayed eyes. Her fingers first clutched, then let go of what she had been sowing. She kept looking at the guard for five long, silent seconds, before swallowing and then taking a gasp of shuddering breath.
“Your grace, we have to leave. Pack what you need most, but do it quickly!”
The knight offered a hurried bow, trained from a young age to show respect to his betters, and then exited the tent to join his fellow guard. She thought it was comical. Stupid, even. Her father was dead, they had lost the battle, and all he could do was bow? She picked up what she had been working on, examining it briefly before throwing it to the ground. How could someone unused to life without servants pack what she needed from a selection of belongings that could clothe and serve ten women for a month? Her father had sent the servants to assist at the field hospital, but surely they were more needed here, now.
Even muffled by the thick, blood-red fabric of the tent, Amelia could make out the sounds of hopeless battle drawing closer. The tide of death was still far away, though. Far enough away that she could still spare a few more moments. She stuck a pale hand past a small stack of shirts, her fingers finding and tightening around a small scabbard. She had never used the dagger in her life, but her father had insisted that she brought it along. Now, she was glad. The cool, unfamiliar handle managed to let her feel just a little safer.
She could hear the guards shifting uncomfortably outside, growing more restless with every passing second. The various attempts at organization that had characterized the resistance she had heard had obviously broken down into desperate brawls as the few guards and the remnants of the broken army retreated through the camp. They could not afford to wait much longer, but she still had things to gather. Not just her own, but her father’s things. Seals, important documents, things of personal significance and memories were all thrown into the trunk she was filling.
“Halt! Remove yourself, creature!”
It was too late. The tone of the knight’s voice suggested that he was containing fear. Even inside the tent, she could hear it. Amelia froze in the middle of feverishly rummaging through documents and maps for anything she had to bring back, looking to the entrance of the tent.
“Get back! Crawl back to the forest that spawn – “
The knight’s voice was cut off with a sickening finality that she had only experienced a few times before, usually at executions. The tingling sensation of worry in her chest spread into her throat, making her try to swallow a nonexistent lump. She darted to her bed, grasping for the sheath to tear the straps away and pull the dully gleaming dagger free. She held it inexpertly in both hands in front of herself, like she might have held a kitchen knife to fend off a burglar in another life.
Her pulse provided the backdrop to what she could hear outside, each thump, grunt and clang of metal causing her to jerk slightly, hardening her hold around the hilt of the small blade she suspected would soon be all that stood between her and whatever was outside. She felt an eternity pass between each blink of her eyes, hearing and sensing the deadly, unchoreographed dance outside her tent with every fiber of her being on end. Finally, there was the dulled rattle and thump of metal and body hitting the ground. Amelia tensed, holding the dagger in front of her as if it could somehow ward off whatever might be coming.
Seconds passed in silence, a silence too deep to be natural, one filled with the promise of horrific things to come. None came. Amelia took a step towards the entrance of the tent, yelping a tearful, feeble challenge.
“Show yourself!”
Another few seconds passed, then the flap was opened and the creature stepped through, changing from silhouette to imposing reality. It was a wild elf. She was impressively tall, dwarfing the princess easily. Amelia was a pampered thing who had never been forced to do anything in her life. She was a frail, beautiful flower. In comparison, the creature standing opposite her was like a flowering cactus. Tough, beautiful in its own way, dangerous, and everything she
had been told.
The wild elf was bloodied, massive and only lightly armored compared to the soldiers Amelia was used to. The sharp, pointy ears clearly identified the creature as sylvan, but it was nothing like the noble, frail creatures she had heard tales of from the south. The woman was thickly muscled, her frame statuesque in the most flattering sense of the word. Her muscles were toned to perfection, at the breaking point between strength and agility, balancing both without limiting either. She was something humans could never hope to be, both a weapon made flesh and ethereally graceful at the same time.
There was no doubt that this woman was a feral, uncontrollable force of nature, her majestic, perfectly sculpted, naturally graceful form easily supporting the muscle that made her what she was, her thick, flowing, dark brown locks framing her chiseled yet elegant features beautifully.
It was the eyes that kept Amelia locked in place, though. The angled, large eyes of an elf, but with a burning passion unlike any she had ever seen. An intensity she had never experienced. The woman was a huntress who had just fought her way to her prey, and her body was her weapon. Everything about her exuded a natural superiority that knightly arrogance and self-importance could not hope to match.
It was no wonder this creature had united the races of the forest, the princess thought. Merely staring into her eyes was enough to feel the world slipping from under her feet, so intense was the sensation that she forgot everything else, the chaos around her tent slipping into the background. All she could hear and feel was her breathing, and how this being seemed to drain her with that gaze.
“Put down the weapon, child,” she growled. Amelia continued to stare into the elf’s amber eyes for a long moment, then shook her head. Despite the savage beauty that surrounded the creature, she knew how deadly the wild elves were.
“Little one, your father’s army is retreating. You have lost. Put down your weapon. Now.”