“Be his,” Lysa whispered. “Be Targi’s. His bride. Not a slave. Be who you were. And be his.”
“Yesssss!” the girl screamed as she came, her pussy pulsing around the gertling’s cock, squeezing it with every throb of her heart as she came. Targi squealed in pleasure, his balls tightening as he unleashed a load of his oily seed into her aching womb. She cried out again, throwing back her head as she took the gertling’s essence, the mark of the eye on her mons searing her soul as she gave herself to her new master.
She sagged, spent, atop the gertling. She fell back against the softness of his gut, panting.
Lysa stroked her hair. “What is your name?”
“S-slut,” the girl gasped.
“No. Your real name.”
The girl furrowed her brow. “I… Um… It… it was G-Gizelle.”
“Gizelle,” Lysa murmured, petting her soothingly. “Do you remember anything else?”
“I… N-no…”
“Don’t worry. When they’ve been abused too long, women forget much under the curse. But it will come back. Because you are the bride of Targi now. And, I think your sister deserves to be too…”
Targi tittered as Gizelle climbed off his cock. The girl was confused, but as she traded places with her companion, she rediscovered some measure of her ability. That it was how best to service Targi’s balls certainly didn’t bother the gertling. Nor did how the other buxom beauty’s cunt clamped down on his cock as she began to ride, moaning in glee as the torpid gertling’s cock plunged into her sopping cunt. He grinned over her shoulder at Gorus, the orc practically strangling himself with rage, unable to fight, forced to watch as the obese creature he had once mocked and dismissed was serviced by his slaves, surrounded by a veritable army of warriors and wizards, all beauties, all tender with the pups growing within their bellies.
And as Targi came into the new girl, filling her womb with his oily seed, the gertling eased back with a contented sigh in his throne. In his castle.
Oh. It was good to be the king.
< TABLE OF CONTENTS | NEXT UNCENSORED COVER >
Book Seventeen
Handmaiden of the Red Mage
By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury
@amandasmut
Cover artwork by Deilan12
Map of the Empire of Istanov
Service
It was easy to forget the world outside the Moskov palace had gone to hell. The residents made it a daily exercise, in fact. Stella knew only too well to what lengths the lords of what had been Istanov would go to ignore the horrors beyond, and just what those nightmares were. She’d been nearly taken when the armies of the Duke of Ashes had at last reached the city. How they’d torn through the refugee camps that squatted at the feet of the walls. She’d heard them from her little flat. The screams of the men. The wails of the women, soon turned to cries of pleasure as the monsters took them, branding them with the curse, breeding them into little more than mewling sluts.
Stella took a deep breath, banishing those visions from her mind. She plastered a smile of pure delight as she adjusted the silver bracelets around her arms and ankles, her breasts hidden by a pair of golden caps, while a long strip of silk supported by a girdle masked her bum and quim. It wouldn’t do to frown. To displease the lords of the palace.
Or else she’d soon find herself on the other side of the walls again.
She pushed into one of the many pleasure chambers that dotted the palace. Incense hung thick in the air along with the bitter scent of cum and sweat, all mingled together into a perfume of orgiastic excess. Lords and ladies sprawled among cushions, laughing as they doffed wines and sucked down hasha from pipes. Silks draped the walls. Pillows consumed the floors, and maidens even less clothed than Stella danced for the pleasure of their masters.
Stella wound her way through, carrying her tray of sugary delights. “Would master care for one?” she asked a thin man watching the undulating sway of a dancer’s hips like a man possessed. He said nothing, but plucked one of the delicacies from her platter before popping it into his mouth. She smiled at him, not that he noticed, again riveted to the sight of the dancer on the stage.
Stella left him, wandering across the room. She only approached those who seemed interested. More than a few were far more involved with one another. Noblemen and ladies at times rutting with each other or a serving wench. Stella tried not to wander too near to those. She didn’t want to be caught up in it.
“Treat, master?” she asked.
The noble, his clothes dishevelled around him, raised his head. Despite the starving people in the streets of the city he was immensely fat. His robe was soiled with food and wine, and he smiled blissfully at her.
“What’s this?” he sighed. “An angel has come down to visit me? Fair, beloved creature. How it warms me to see such beauty.”
“A treat, milord?” Stella repeated.
“I would adore one, fair creature. But perhaps of another kind.”
Stella felt her heart lodge in her throat as the hefty noble pushed aside his robe, revealing his chubby cock. “The sensation of your tender touch upon me shall bring me such joy, beloved beauty,” he crooned wistfully.
Stella relaxed a little. Thank the gods. She’d been forced to fuck some nobles before among the daily revelries. A handjob was hardly the worst she’d experienced.
“Of course, my lord,” she said, smiling prettily as she set down her tray. She reached between his veiny thighs and grasped his cock, her fingers delicately stroking his shaft. “Does my lord like this?”
“Ooooh yessss,” he moaned, easing back among the cushions, his eyes growing lidded and lips parting with delight.
“Very good, my lord,” Stella cooed. Shamed as she was to admit it, she’d grown skilled at pleasuring men in recent years. Her hand moved slowly, the tips of her fingers running up the underside, her thumb teasing the head of his cock. “How impressive you are, my lord. Such a magnificent manhood. So powerful…”
“Mmm. You possess a voice as beautiful as you are,” he moaned, his hips lazily rocking, pushing his cock into her teasing hands.
“Oh of course, my lord. I am here for your pleasure. For your mighty cock. For your rich seed.” She reached under him with her other hand, his balls filling her palms like a pig’s as she gently massaged them. “Ohhh my lord. Does this please you?”
“Mnnn. So much. Ah… Oh my beauty. My sweet. You’re so… hmnn… skilled with your hands. Your touch. Ah… yes. Like that. Like that, my dear. Ohhh… Oh that’s so goooood…”
“So glad it pleases my master,” Stella crooned. “So happy he enjoys my touch. Is he getting close? Is my master near?”
“Yes. Oh gods above yes! Ohhh my angel. My precious. I… oh gods yes!”
With a throaty moan his hips bucked, his cum spurting from his cock, splattering across his meaty thighs and her fingers. Stella plastered a smile on her face to hide her disgust. “Oh master. Thank you for this gift.”
The nobleman sleepily waved his hand. By the time Stella had wiped her hand clean on a pillow and picked up her tray once more the man was snoring heavily, sprawled like a toad among the pillows.
Ugh. How she loathed this. The feeling of filth itched across her body as she moved through the drunken revellers. As she threaded her way among dancers and sprawling hedonists, she once more came face to face with her utter loathing for them all. Fools and cowards. Braggarts and weaklings. The failure of an empire gathered in one room, gorging themselves on the bones of their kingdoms and peoples.
But not all.
A flicker of crimson drew her eye. Even in this room of excess such a colour was not present in the stuffings, wrappings or otherwise. As subtle as she could, Stella turned her steps, daintily stepping through the wreathing smoke of incense.
A pillar afforded her cover as she slipped behind it and peeked around the corner.
The emperor of Istanov was sprawled atop a throne. Normally the man would be shouting in his exces
ses, fucking a serving wench or beating the poor girl for his pleasure. But at the moment he merely draped his throne, silken blankets sprawling over it like a toga. He was dressed in his common finery, although the jacket lay open, its size long ago defeated by the emperor’s gut. She’d heard he’d been an impressive specimen once, but by the time Stella had been employed in the palace those days were long behind him.
He was listening with a strange, almost mad grin to the man beside him. The red mage.
Stella felt a chill and a thrill race down her spine, tingling in her core. Even before she’d come to the palace, she’d heard of those strange sorcerers. Men robed in red and masked in mystery. They were spoken of with fear and awe in equal measure, and though her arrival in the palace had brutally cut short any mysteries of the upper classes she’d held, the red figures still held her imagination.
Never had she seen them engage in the excesses that devoured the palace. For them, the world did not end at the gates of the palace. They scorned the wine and pleasures of flesh the nobility gorged in. They moved like phantoms through the halls on errands of their own, like clockwork hidden behind the veil of the world she inhabited.
The mage pulled back and the emperor stood, albeit unsteadily. “Friends!” he bellowed, waving a sloshing glass of wine. “My allies have informed me that soon, the monster shall no longer threaten Istanov! Rejoice, my companions! Rejoice! For your emperor protects you still! And he shall win this war against the vile Duke!”
Scattered and quite drunken cheers erupted across the chamber. Goblets of wine spilled as their owners attempted to toast. Most, however, ignored the emperor. They had long ago given up on the world outside. They had lost their lands, people, and families to the monsters. They no longer cared for the future or the past. Only the moment persisted for them.
The red mage said nothing, but turned, his ivory mask flashing as he glided out of the room. Where he went the revellers drew back and grew sullen at this cold intrusion into their world of pleasures and excess, and redoubled their efforts to drown themselves in wine and women when he was gone.
Stella watched him go. Putting down her platter, she stole after him, moving with a dancer’s grace around the isles of perverse pleasures. The red figure held her attention like a magnet. What had he said to the emperor? What news did he truly bring? The Emperor was mad. Truth and lies had long ago lost any difference to him.
The red mage left the chamber, moving down the warm halls of the palace. Stella hurried after him. He turned a corner and she dashed, silk ribbons fluttering in her wake and between her curvy thighs after him.
And skidded to a halt before a blank stone wall.
Stella stood before the dead end, flabbergasted. She looked up and down it blankly, then touched the cold stone brick. Unyielding and real.
Meetings
Her room in the palace was in the servant’s quarters, and designed to forever remind her of that fact. Hard stone walls, a narrow window and a few shelves for her meagre possessions, it resembled a cell in a cloister more than anything else. Not that Stella minded. After working the opulent chambers where the nobility whiled away the days waiting for their death at the hands of the monsters, it was a positive relief to be somewhere rather more austere.
Plus, it meant the walls were more or less soundproof.
Nonetheless, Stella first made sure her door was locked, then checked around the small room just in case someone was hiding behind the vase. It was silly, of course, but she hadn’t gotten where she was by being incautious. At last, assured she was truly alone, she popped off the tip of her bedpost and reached into the hidden compartment.
The emerald she drew forth was a small thing. Yet it shone in the gloom of her room despite it all. Her thumb ran over the cold jewel, feeling the etchings carved in the precious stone. Then, she brought it to her lips, and whispered the words unknown to the tongue of men.
The stone pulsed in her palms. She hastily put it down on the top of her cushions and stepped back. The stone pulsed again. Again. Faster than before. Brighter. She covered her eyes a moment before the blinding flash she knew would come.
When she lowered her arms, the stone now rested in the choker of a woman of ravishing beauty. Midnight hair cascaded over shoulders, framing a stunning face of sleek dark brows and rosy lips. Skin a pale shade of tan suggested a diluted lineage from faraway lands, the high orbs of her ample breasts rising prominently, the rest of her curves outlined in a gown of red and black, parted down the sides to reveal her shapely hips and long legs. Her eyes opened, and fixed Stella with an amused look.
“Stella,” the woman said, crossing her legs and leaning back like a queen upon her throne. “How lovely to see you.”
Stella lowered herself to her knees, bowing her head. “Mistress Reegan Sinterfell, royal sorcerer of Heimsvak, mistress of magic and the arts, I greet you.”
“Mmm,” Reegan crooned. “I do so love the titles. I should add a few more. Perhaps the lovely. Or the majestic. What do you think?”
“They suit you well, mistress,” Stella said, raising her eyes to the beauty on the bed.
Reegan grinned and tilted her head back. “That’s what I love about you, Stella. You know so well how to tickle my fancies.”
Stella smiled shyly. She didn’t move as the sorceress rose and slowly walked a circuit around the room. Her finger glided along a tilting wooden shelf with distaste. “Hmm. How drab. They do love to keep you in your place.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Reegan ground her thumb and forefinger together. “Ugh. Well, not to worry, darling. When you come to Heimsvak, I’ll be sure to give you some more proper accommodations. Or maybe you’d rather sleep at the foot of my bed like a pretty kitten?”
Stella burned with humiliation tinged with desire. “If… if that’s what you wish, my mistress.”
Reegan laughed and gave Stella’s bum a fond pat. “You’re simply adorable, Stella. But business first,” she said, taking a seat on the bed once more. She raised her leg, her long boot gleaming. “Tell me. What have you learned?”
Stella trembled as she reached out and grasped the edge of her mistress’s boot. “Of course,” she breathed, slowly sliding the shining leather off. “The siege goes poorly. The army retreated into the city and are holding the walls, but it’s only a matter of time before they fall and the monsters overwhelm the defenders.”
“Mmm. No doubt,” Reegan purred as her boot slid off, unveiling her delicate foot. Her eyes gleamed as Stella gently took her foot in hand, the serving girl’s thumbs digging into the sole, massaging her foot. The sorceress’s lashes fluttered with pleasure at the sensation. “The Red Mages won’t allow that easily…”
“No, mistress. The emperor claims the Red Mages are working on a way to destroy the Duke and his army. But…”
“Yes. The fat fool. I’d trust half of what comes out of his mouth, and the other half I wouldn’t pay a bent copper for.”
“Yes, mistress. I think he’s quite mad.”
“Reality is sometimes too much for people to bear, my dear.”
Stella had no argument against that. “Mistress? What are your instructions?”
“Hmm. Well, Stella, if you can’t trust what comes from the emperor, then get it from the horse’s mouth. Do you know the ritual master Arven?”
“Of course, mistress,” she said, her fingers stroking the arch of the sorceress’s foot. “He’s the Red Mage’s public face.”
“Mmm. If you’d ever seen what was under those masks, you’d know they need one. But he’s also the organizer of much of their complex spellwork. It must be such stressful work. And, as you’re demonstrating quite ably, you know so many ways to help one relax.”
Stella blushed. “You want me to…”
“Of course, you don’t have to, my dear,” Reegan said idly. “Though I have heard that he favours young, lovely serving girls…”
Stella’s tongue flicked about her lips uncertainly. “My family.
They…”
“Are settled quite nicely in Akrane,” Reegan said easily. “Living quite comfortably, too. I was only too happy to help you, Stella. After all, you’ve been such an effective servant to me.”
And that was the crux. The words that neither spoke, but both knew too well. That the continued care of Stella’s family rested on her serving the sorceress. Stella wasn’t sure entirely of her feelings towards Reegan. The sorceress was imperious, a queen in all but name, so confident in her power the young serving girl felt drawn like a magnet towards the beauty. And her loveliness was beyond question. Reegan never needed to speak a threat. Never had to debase herself to such a thing.
But the fear was there. The uncertainty. For Stella could never be sure of the sorceress’s purposes. Her end game. And Stella knew too well that she was merely a pawn in the older woman’s machinations, and so was her family.
“I’ll do my best, mistress,” Stella said.
“Good girl.”
And that was the other part of their relationship. The one that made Stella blush. How much she did enjoy serving the imperious woman. How much she adored her mistress, even though she knew she would be cast aside if Reegan judged her useless. And yet, that ease of discarding her only made Stella desire the woman more. Yearn for her approval and trust.
Lust coiled hot in Stella’s stomach. Meeting Reegan’s eyes, Stella raised the sorceress’s foot, and gently sucked on her toe.
Reegan’s smile deepened, her lids lowering over smoldering eyes. “Mmm,” she purred, pushing her feet out, wiggling her toes as Stella worshipped each in turn, sucking on each of them adoringly. “Good girl. Always so eager, Stella.”
“Mistress,” Stella breathed, her tongue gliding around each toe, eager to please. Desperate to be approved of by the statuesque woman.
The Pillaging of an Empire Page 80