The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  She felt her core warm. Cleaned of the filth from the night, her body on display before the lustful eyes of the minotaur, she found herself looking at him again. Noticing the scars of battle that littered his expansive chest. His muscular frame, denser than any man she had ever seen. He was a pinnacle. A creature of pure, raw, animal muscle and power. A thing of savage wilds so divorced from the world she had know she didn’t even know how to categorize him.

  Yes. He was a monster. And he intended to make her his slave.

  Again that shudder. She had to flee. And yet, she knew too well she wouldn’t be able to escape the brute before her. Not now. Perhaps not ever. But she would try. Her freedom. Her mind depended on it.

  But for now, she had to admit that she was his. And that so long as she was, she was safe from the other creatures in the party. Jax appeared to hold some rank. Perhaps even be the leader of the band. Which meant her only prayer to keep herself pure of the mark of the monsters, lay in his lustful hands.

  She waded towards the shore. Her red hair hung in a damp tangle around her head. Her curves shone in the daylight peeking through the trees. Shapely. Feminine. Her cunny was puffy and flushed, for though she might fear the monster before her, she could not deny that he was indeed male. And that his very savagery tugged some silent chord buried deep in the animal realm of her essence.

  Jax watched her intently. His loincloth was brushed aside, his shaft standing tall and proud. Thick and flared like that of the bull he so resembled. Her breathing began to deepen as she walked from the shore and towards the minotaur. Even sitting he nearly dwarfed her own height. His musk lingered around him like a miasma. A poison that filled her with every breath, warming her flesh, banishing the cold and sending her every pale inch buzzing with awareness and sensitivity.

  “Jax,” she breathed, stopping before him. Kneeling before him.

  “Doria,” Jax grunted, her name thick and clumsy on his tongue. He reached out and pulled her in, gathering her against him. She gasped as her sensitive breasts pressed against his furry chest, her nipples tickled by his wiry hair. His hands slid down her sides, engulfing the soft globes of her bum. She arched, gasping as he massaged and molded her bottom in his massive hands. She shuddered, a strange, perverse pleasure shooting through her like tingling lightning. A coming storm of lust she couldn’t deny despite all she was rebelling against.

  He leaned in, sniffing her shoulder. She gasped, moaning softly as he kissed her neck, his thick tongue stroking her tingling flesh. Tasting her. She quivered, vulnerable, naked and bare. Helpless to the power of the monster who held her.

  “I fuck?” he grunted.

  She whimpered. “P-please,” she whimpered. “I don’t… don’t…”

  Jax rumbled, the sound rising from his chest, reverberating through her pale, trembling form. She looked up, pleadingly into his dark eyes. Whimpered as she was lifted over his thick, throbbing shaft. He slowly lowered her onto his cock.

  But not into her.

  She gasped as she found her folds resting atop the veiny thickness of his cock, her legs straddling him. The minotaur grunted and began to thrust, rutting against her velvety folds.

  “O-oh! Oooooh!” Doria moaned as her lower lips rubbed along his shaft, the slickness of her folds slickening the pillar of his fuck-meat. “Mmmmmnnn!”

  She found herself moving her hips, rubbing her pussy against his immense cock. Her breasts heaved and her breath came in short, panting gasps. Her clit rubbed against his cock, her hands resting on his thighs as she sawed herself on his shaft with growing eagerness. With deepening appreciation for the immensity of his cock.

  “Oh yes. Ah. Ah!” she panted, moving faster. Faster. The minotaur groaned, thrusting, the strength of his iron hard cock fairly lifting her up, pressing her against his barrel chest, her nipples beads of buzzing pleasure as she rubbed her glistening pale tits against his strong, firm chest.

  “Oh gods,” she moaned. “Oh gods I… I’m close. Jax. Jax! I’m… I’m… mnnnnn!”

  She tried to hold back. Tried to resist that tide of pleasure that threatened to sweep her away. But in her heart she knew she didn’t try too hard. With a scream of pleasure she came, her spurting juices shining his cock as she continued to ride it. Jax gave a great bellow of pleasure, the sound sending birds winging into the sky as he came, his cock pulsing as he shot ribbons of thick cum onto the forest floor.

  “Yessss!” Doria screamed, riding out her orgasm on his cock. “Cum! Cum Jax! Cummmmm!”

  She cried out with pleasure and collapsed atop his chest. She panted, the strength of her orgasm seeming to peak with all the stress and fears she’d known in the last few days. She felt his cock, still hot and hard as fiery steel between her legs, but the minotaur made no move to fuck her. His arms slowly wrapped around her, and he lay back, resting her atop him.

  For a moment she could only lie there atop his chest, rising and falling with the minotaur’s breathing. Her emotions and thoughts were in turmoil. Fear. Pleasure. Safety. Hate. And something blooming in her. Something that let her muscles unknot as she rested atop the bulk of her bestial master. Uncertain and frightened of what had happened, how it had felt, and what the future might have in store for her, she could only rest, surrounded by his musk and wiry hair.

  Finally, she raised her head. “Jax,” she said softly, working up her courage. “Where… where are we going?”

  The minotaur lifted his horned head, his dark eyes staring into her shining browns. “We go meet master,” he said, resting a hand on her back. “We march meet Duke.”

  Doria shuddered, the name passing through her like winter’s winds. The Duke of Ashes. The calamity that had swept across fully half the empire. Who had destroyed and plundered human lands, killing the men, offering the women to his monstrous hordes to breed a new kingdom of horror.

  And she would be meeting him.

  “M-must I?” she asked softly.

  “Yes,” Jax said. He glanced down at her. “What wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, sighing. She shook her head, resigning herself to whatever would come. “Nothing.”

  She felt the minotaur’s hand on her head again, gently petting her soft red hair. She felt the strength in those thick fingers, but the tenderness too. A gentleness that belied the monster’s brutish features and his strength. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t know what she cried for.

  And in that ignorance, she fell asleep.

  Slaves and Masters

  It took a full week of marching to reach their destination. A week of stumbling in a line, chained to the other slaves. Every night and every break her master would take her aside and have her cum for him. Sometimes she would suck his cock, others she would stroke him with her hands and soft, full teats.

  But it wasn’t only him who had the bliss of orgasm. With his thick fingers he stroked her cunny and made her scream as she came. Atop his cock she rubbed herself to a moaning peak. His hands mauled her breasts, hungry for the softness of her curves while he pressed her, trapping her against his mighty chest. The shame of those moments had quickly been subsumed by the pleasure. She had tried to resist at first, but to her humiliation had come to enjoy his pleasured touch. It was an odd thought, to no longer hate he that had ruined her life. That had claimed her body for his own, who chained her every day and yet pleasured her every night. Her feelings for Jax were a turmoil of uncertain pleasure tinged with shame.

  But not fear. No longer that. Though every time he took her in his hands he asked if she would accept his seed she had rejected him. And to her shock he had let that be the final word every time, instead taking his pleasure from her in other ways. His affections and the warning on that first day had warded away the other monsters from the band. Not a one had tried to touch her since.

  A security she now held in doubt as they walked into the monster army’s camp.

  It was a strange scene to be sure. By the grim darkness of the forest’s night s
cattered campfires burned, revealing their inhuman residents in ghastly glows of crimson light and deepest shadows. Reptilian things hissed at each other. Trolls slouched in the dark like hills, moss encrusting their brows and stony backs. Ogres belched and laughed as they guzzled barrels of ale. Steel clanged as orcs duelled for honor while gertlings cackled and cheered. Strange, insectoid things whose wings hummed and compound eyes seemed to watch everything lurked in the dark among even stranger creatures Doria had never dreamed could exist.

  She shuddered, her collar jangling. As they moved through the camp she saw many women among the beasts and monsters. Some were held in cages or collared to pegs hammered into the ground. Others were in the grips of their inhuman masters, moaning as they bounced atop the cocks of the creatures, breasts shuddering as they drove their lush hips down onto the laps of their brutal masters or kneeled in the dust, swaying to the thrusts of strange cocks. More than a few had already begun to swell with the spawn of their masters, with breasts grown large and milky in readiness to feed their master’s spawn.

  Jax brought them to an open part of a clearing and grunted, waving to the others of his band. “Rest,” he informed them as he wrenched open Doria’s collar. “I go talk with Ghostheart.”

  Several of the orcs cheered and unlocked their favoured women from the chain. Jax put a hand to Doria’s back and guided her away from the others and into the camp.

  The heat of the campfires beat against her. She felt the eyes of many of the monsters who lurked about the flames linger on her form. Her clothes had been shredded to nothing over the march, leaving her body bared to the hungry eyes of the strange things that lured among the fires. She shrank against Jax, the minotaur’s hand coming to rest against her as he led her deeper into the sprawling army.

  She divined their location eventually. A tent rose among the rest, the skulls of beasts decorating the entrance, poles rammed deep in the earth around it sporting the rotted head of men. Doria shuddered at these reminders of the brutality of the creatures she was among. A pair of powerful orcs guarded the gate. As Jax approached one grinned and stepped forward, clasping the minotaur’s hand in his.

  “Jax! You come!”

  “I do. I come talk to Ghostheart. I bring my slave.”

  Doria gasped as the minotaur stroked her hip, tugging her more thoroughly against him. She glanced up at the orc, who grinned in approval. “You choose good! She make good broodmother.”

  Doria flushed at their crude comment and appreciation of her body. She found herself drawing closer to the minotaur as he laughed in agreement. When the orc pulled aside the flap of the tent she followed her master inside.

  The air within was thick and pungent with the scent of almost animal musk and smoke. Pelts littered the interior of the tent with savage decorations. A fire blazed in the center of the tent, illuminating the scattered denizens. A number of orcs populated the space, and near the rear of the tent was the orc who could only be Ghostheart.

  He sat on a mat like some savage idol of green flesh and raw power. His body was a mass of corded muscle decorated with scars. He wore little but a loincloth and some strange bands and bangles. White paint patterned like a skull decorated his face, his eyes dark and cold. Expressionless. The sight of the orc chilled Doria to the soul, to say nothing of the feeling which came from spotting the other woman in the tent.

  There were around half a dozen, all beautiful, all naked but for savage paints and designs. A number giggled and fawned over Ghostheart, stroking him and kissing him, one fondling his cock through his loincloth. Their eyes fairly glowed with adoring submission of their monstrous master, the mark of the eye burning above their mons, mingling with the savage paint which coloured them.

  Despite the best efforts of those shapely women, Ghostheart paid them little attention. In one hand he held in his iron grip a golden goblet looted from some noble’s home. The deep crimson of wine could be seen within. As Jax entered with Doria, Ghostheart’s eyes flashed. The orc rose, brushing off the protesting women easily.

  “Jax,” the orc said.

  “Ghostheart,” the minotaur grunted, nodding respectfully. “I come.”

  Ghostheart inclined his head in greeting. He glanced towards Doria.

  “My slave,” the minotaur said, giving her rump another squeeze.

  Ghostheart shrugged. He looked to the corner. “Mina!”

  A woman raised her head. Her hair was long and black, beaded with gold and trinkets. She smiled softly, but not with the same drugged insensibility as the other women in the tent. She rose slowly, her movements heavy. Little surprise, for her bare stomach swelled out with pregnancy, her breasts heavy with milk and nipples dark and puffy. The savage paint which decorated her swirled around her stomach and her breasts, a thin rope around her waist carrying several small pouches, her flushed, gaping cunt on full display, advertising the affections of the orc.

  Ghostheart nodded to Doria and the woman came forward. She smiled, taking Doria’s hand. “This way,” she said. “Let’s let our masters speak in privacy.”

  Doria glanced nervously at Jax, but he merely patted her ass to hurry her along. Uncertainly, she stepped away from his protective presence, following the heavily pregnant woman away from the others and towards a more unoccupied corner of the tent.

  Mina drew Doria to a seat among some scattered rugs. She picked up a wineskin and passed it to the other woman. “Here. Drink. I imagine you need it.”

  “Oh, um, thank you.” Doria took the wineskin and brought it to her lips. She tipped it back, the wine burning down her throat in a surge of sweetness. She coughed, taking it away. Mina laughed gently.

  “A bit strong. But don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. My master always shares it with his allies, so I’m sure yours will give you some soon.”

  “I-I see…” Doria gasped, wiping the stinging tears from her eyes. She glanced back towards where the minotaur and orc conferred, their heavy forms cast in sharp shadows by the crackling flames in the middle of the tent. Her eyes again wandered to Mina, taking in the voluptuous woman’s curvy form. “You… You aren’t like the others I’ve seen. The others with the… the mark…”

  Mina smiled. “Thank you. I’m something of a special case.” She looked lovingly towards the painted orc. “Do you remember Novrod?”

  “Of course!” Doria said. Even her tiny village had heard the stories of the city, the first it was said to begin the Monster War. Where the gladiators from the pits rose up, killing their human masters and razing the city, claiming its daughters for their own before vanishing into the night.

  “I’m surprised,” Mina said. “It seems like a lifetime ago. Ghostheart was owned by my father. Every day I would go to the arena and watch him battle. Fighting for his life for the entertainment of the nobility and commoners of the city. As I watched him, I realized how powerful he was. How strong and potent. And yet, he was enslaved by pathetic, weak men. Men without an ounce of honour or strength. Whose only real merit was the fact they had gold.

  “But not him,” Mina sighed, her expression rapturous love. “Not my master. I went to him first. I gave myself to him, because I knew, deep in my heart, that I should be his. That if it wasn’t for the pathetic chains that held him, he could have taken me, mated me. Made me his bride and slave. He knew it too. And he claimed me. Took me with the blood of my father still on me. I gave myself to him, then.”

  “You… But… but that was before the cursed mark,” Doria said in shock.

  Mina gave the other woman an amused glance. “Is that so shocking?” she said. “To desire a true male? One who isn’t constrained by the pathetic shackles of civilization? He took me as a man should. He made me his own, fucked me.” Her hand stroked her taut, painted belly. “He claimed me in a way beyond mere marriage vows or sorcery. When the curse was laid on me, I welcomed it. Because it made me utterly his. Completely his slave. Not that I needed to be marked,” she giggled, shifted to show her plump bottom. Doria’s eyes shot w
ide at the sight of a brand there, marking the shapely young woman like one might cattle. “Ghostheart had already given me one long ago.”

  “So… the curse… It didn’t…”

  “The curse makes a woman a slave to their master. His breeding slut. But I already wanted mine. I already knew I was his, and gave myself to him willingly. My mind is my own, because the curse couldn’t change me. I wanted this, Doria. And I think,” she added with a sly look. “You do too.”

  Doria drew back from the former noblewoman, her lips trembling. “I… no. No! I don’t… I would never…”

  “Jax has often spoken to my master,” Mina said. “He wanted a woman like me, and asked how he could have a slave who still had her mind and will. Ghostheart told him how he claimed me. The mere fact that he hasn’t bred you yet shows that he wants you, Doria. But,” she added with a warning look. “You must be careful too. Because so long as you aren’t marked by him, other monsters will try and steal you away. And believe me, Doria,” Mina said. “There are far worse creatures than your master in this army. Those who see their slaves as little more than tools for their pleasure.”

  Doria recalled the hungry eyes of the monsters on their march. The glowing eyes of the creature that had claimed Tina, always watching her. Hungering for her. She shuddered.

  “Surely… surely there’s some escape,” she murmured.

  “It’s not man’s world anymore,” Mina said, gently patting Doria’s shoulder. “It’s the monsters. They are taking their rightful place. Destroying the corrupt human kingdoms. We are the vessels to breed the new race into existence, Doria. Jax will be a good master to you. He will love you as a woman should be loved. As their slave.”

  Doria pressed her knuckles against her forehead. Oh gods. Oh gods, was it true? Was it inevitable that the monsters would triumph? That no matter where she fled, she’d merely be the toy of a different horror? Another creature?

  “Doria.”