What should I do?
Guard against the abhorreth
Use Finesse Attacks against the abhorreth
Use Power Attacks against the abhorreth
Talk to the abhorreth
Flee from the abhorreth
Surrender meekly to the abhorreth
Surrender eagerly to the abhorreth
Mind slave of the abhorreth
Each day I awaken from a smell bed of kelp alongside the lagoon and await my service to begin with the Lord Splugwyrth. Some days my master wants me to meticulously massage his soft, boneless body. I knead his blubbery flesh and inspect him for any parasites that he might not be able to see with his singular eye. Tiny crustaceans are the usual parasite, with the occasional eel-like creature. When I find one of the latter trying to drink the anbhorreth’s blood, I pry it loose and feed it to my master’s toothless mouth.
He slurps up the fish greedily and smacks his shapeless mouth. A part of me knows this is revolting, but I do not care. I exist only to serve my master.
Some days, master wants me to swim with him after I tend to him. I dive until my ears hurt and my lungs ache. The water of the lagoon is deceptively clear, and it can be difficult to tell how deep I have dived. More than once, I am far deeper than I realized and I pass out before I can surface. Each time this happens, I awaken choking up water on the rocks with one of my master’s tentacles thumping me on the back.
“Now, now, my little slave,” he says, comforting me. “I do not want you dying so foolishly. Please remember to surface before you perish.”
“Y-yes, master,” I gasp, my face hot with shame as I choke up the water in my lungs. “I would give my life to serve you.”
“Yes, I know, my sweet,” he says, his suckered tentacle curling over my shoulder.
I delight in serving Lord Splugwyrth and no service I render is more wonderful than pleasuring him with my body. I bathe my pale flesh in his warming slime, glistening as I writhe among his tentacles and coo with the simple pleasures of my human flesh. Some days he presents one or more of his cocks for me to serve with my glistening curves. I grasp a cock between my breasts, I take one in my eager mouth, or I offer my bottom to him. He thrusts his throbbing cock into the greased clench of my asshole, plowing in and out of my ass with abandon.
“Oh, yes, master!” I cry, riding my plush bottom back against his thrusting cock. “Take me! Take me however you please!”
“My sweet slave,” he purrs in my mind, stroking me with his will, “you will come for me when I count to three. One…two…three!”
“Ahhhhhhhh! Yes, master!” I cry, unable to disobey his command. My body is as much a thrall to him as my mind. I worship him with my ecstasy. I sing out to him, calling his name again and again as I am wracked with the power of my orgasm. He sheaths my naked body in his tentacles, grasping my breasts, cradling my ass, and stroking my head as he feeds his cock into my mouth.
“My sweet slave. Now is the time! Your body craves my seed! I must satisfy such urges! Drink my potent seed!” He emits a psychic howl of pleasure that triggers another orgasm in me. In that moment, caught in the undulating waves of his will, I feel him cum. His hot seed spurts into my bowels, as it has done so many times before. It gushes into my mouth and I drink it down, feasting upon his generosity and gulping every thick, slimy drop.
Oh, but such heavenly encounter can last for hours, depending on my master’s whim. At times he is content to explore my body with his slender sensory tentacles. They taste every bit of my flesh and plunge into my every nook and cranny. He reveals sucker-tipped tentacles that latch to my nipples and draw them out. He covers me in his cum and enjoys the sight of me writhing in his milky spunk. The only pleasure he denies me is the pleather of conception.
“A slave is not worthy of my son,” he says one day when I beg him to cum in my pussy. “You would dishonor me to bear my child. You do not want to dishonor your master, do you?”
“N-no, of course not!” I cry.
“Good,” he says, pulling two cocks from my stretched pussy. “Then I shall bathe you in my seed!”
In the hot fountains of his seed I can almost forget what I am being denied. I lose myself in the pleasure, in the warmth of his seed, and, ultimately, in the task of serving as a mind slave to my beautiful and wise master.
Weeks after my thoughts and memories were consumed by the abhorreth, we receive a visitor. I am surfacing after a deep dive with Lord Splugwyrth. I climb out of the lagoon, gasping for breath, and look up to see a man, handsome and bearded, with steely eyes and white hair at his dark temples. He smiles when he sees me.
“Hello there,” he says. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I say.
“What do you want?” demands my master, sending his thoughts in a wide band so that I can hear them. I am surprised when the human replies in my mind as well.
“I wanted to congratulate you on your mind slave.” The man’s voice rumbles in my head. “Beatrix here is quite a catch.”
Although this man seems friendly, I instinctively dislike him. I want to attack him, especially because he dares speak into my mind, but I restrain myself because my master does not ask it.
“And you intend to set us free?” asks my master.
“Oh, you know the rules, Spluggy,” laughs the man’s voice in my mind. “You have to put a bun in her oven if you want to be set free.”
“My kind does not mate with our pets!” growls my master and I feel shame and guilt for not being worthy to help set him free.
“Then you shall remain in this prison,” says the man, gesturing at the cavern around me. “Though…”
“What? What is it?” demands my master.
“I might reconsider if you were to loan your slave to me for a while.” The human raises an eyebrow as he suggests that I be loaned out like a neighbor sharing a tool. To my horror my master quickly agrees, “Very well. For how long?”
“Ah, a difficult question,” says the man as he strokes his beard. “Two days, perhaps?”
“No longer,” growls Lord Splugwyrth, and yet I sense that he is beaten and almost powerless in this negotiation. The human could have asked to have me forever and my master would have agreed. This fills me with sadness. But my master commands, “Go with him, Beatrix. Serve the wizard and obey his commands.”
“Yes, master,” I say sadly.
“Oh, chin up now, my lovely,” says the man, lifting my face with a finger. “We will have such fun together. I’ve never bedded a mind slave before!”
I resent my new master, but I have no choice to obey him as he makes me take his hands. He must be a powerful wizard, for as he grasps my hands, violet energy swirls around us. My psychic link to my master is severed as we are transported to another place. I feel a terrible emptiness as the cavern and lagoon where I have been so happy are replaced by this new environment.
It seems a house of some sort, high above a crashing sea, with curving stone walls as if we are in a tower and thick windowpanes that rattle with the force of winds. It is daylight here, but a gray, storm wracked daylight. Despite the misery outside, it is quite warm and cozy within this stone tower. Torches burn in iron sconces and the furnishings are comfortable, though seemingly quite dusty.
“This way, my sweet,” says the wizard. “Apologies for the dust. It has been a long time since I have brought anyone here.”
“Where are we?” I ask, following him up a spiral staircase and to another level.
This floor is smaller than the one we left, with a large porcelain bathtub and a fourposter bed arranged before a hearth. He waves his hand and flames burst in the hearth, steaming water fills the tub, and dust puffs away from the moth-eaten bedding.
“It is a place where something terrible happened to me,” he says, his smile fading for a moment. “A memory I wish to relive, but improve, with your help.”
I don’t understand, but I say, “Master told me to obey you.”
“Yes, he did,” says the wizard. “Int
o the tub with you. Let’s get that awful fishy smell off your body. Yes, that’s it, into the water. Here, let me add some soap.”
His fingertips crackle as I settle into the hot bath and the water turns a rosy pink color and begins to smell of flowers. Despite my worries, I groan with pleasure at the heat of the water. I remember hot baths. I do not know why or where I had them, but this profound comfort cannot be forgotten. I rest my head against the porcelain rim as my tension melts away.
“There we are,” chuckles the wizard. “Almost human again.”
He strokes a lock of hair from my face and I flinch from his touch. He grimaces and stands.
“No more of that,” he snaps. “Have a good soak. I’ll bring you something to wear.”
Despite being cut off from the comforting presence of my master’s will, I am relaxed by the warmth of the bathtub. My nipples become all puffy and the tips of my fingers go wrinkly as if I have been diving with master for hours. The wizard returns with an elaborate garment of several layers of white lace draped over one arm and thick, fluffy towels draped over the other. He waves his hand and a small table scoots over to the bathtub. He places the neatly folded garment on the table and helps me out of the tub.
“Yes, much better,” he murmurs, looking me over as I step out of the bath. I cry out softly as he begins to dry me. The towels are as soft as they looked and the wizard is surprisingly efficient, lingering only long enough to dry each part of my body. His touch is so unlike my master’s. He stands very close to me as he dries my body with both hands. There is something familiar about his smell, like perfume and ink and singed parchment.
He steps back and admires my naked flesh. The way he looks at me makes me blush.
“There are some details I need to change now, Beatrix,” he says, his fingers against my breasts. I jerk at that name. My name. From long ago. He continues, moving his fingertips over my face and touching my ears. “This may hurt a little, but it is only temporary. I intend to return you to your master in the condition in which I borrowed you.”
“W-what will hurt?” I ask, flinching from his touch.
“I said no more of that,” he says sternly. “Hold still.”
He touches the fingertips of each hand to my ears and murmurs something. I feel a sharp sting and a tug on my ears. It is eye-wateringly painful and I continue to ache after he withdraws his fingers. I reach up and touch my ears and realize they are elongated and pointed at the top. Like an elf’s ears.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
“Look at me,” he says. I stare at him, wide-eyed with disbelief, and he points his fingers at my eyes. They flash with violet light. Nothing hurts or feels different to me, but the wizard seems satisfied with whatever alteration he has made. Lastly, he places his fingers against the pert mounds of my breasts. “Of course, the hips could use a bit of widening, but that’s a bit too painful for our little visit. I will deal with the slight inaccuracy.”
“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” I ask him as I look down at his fingers indenting the soft perky mounds of my breasts.
The wizard answers me by muttering another spell under his breath. Heat sears my chest and my eyes widen again as my breasts begin to swell beneath his fingers. They double in size. Triple. Quadruple! The tiny buds of my nipples thicken and the areolas widen. The reddish pink hue lightens to a pale, peachy pink that nearly matches the tone of my skin.
“They’re huge!” I cry. “What have you done to me?”
I heft them and squeeze them. They are so very soft and heavy. It feels as if I am wearing a weighted vest upon my chest. I gasp as my fingers brush my thick nipples. They are extremely sensitive and touching them sends jolts straight to my clit.
“Ah, more of that,” chuckles the wizard. “Now then, let’s get you dressed while I explain what I will need you to do for me.”
“I will do what you ask of me,” I say as he begins to dress me.
The garments he has prepared for me are very elaborate and require him to slide the layers of lace first onto my bare skin, with the lowest layer being very soft and comfortable, and the upper layers heavier and sturdier. The garment, despite being quite complex, leaves much of my body exposed. My legs are mostly bare, despite a long, trailing tail of lace behind the short petals of the skirt. The bodice leaves a heart-shaped expanse of my newly formed cleavage exposed. I marvel at this creamy flesh, pressed tightly together and displayed by the lace window of the bodice. My arms are bare, but my hands and wrists are covered by lace gloves. There is even a headpiece and delicate veil that covers the upper half of my face.
As he dresses me, the wizard explains, “You will call yourself Molly. It is short for Mollyanna. She’s…she’s someone I knew. When I ask you, you will promise to love me forever. You will agree with whatever I say and tell me that you forgive me.”
“But I do not love you,” I say, watching him tying the laces of heeled white boots on my feet.
“We are acting out a play,” says the wizard. “I will be called Zimon. You will be Molly. And when the play is done we will, ah, make love.”
“You will mate with me?” I ask, more curious than upset by this.
“Yes, but not to produce a child,” says the wizard. “My life is too complicated. I would make a terrible father.”
“Very well…Zimon,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “I will do whatever you desire.”
“Good!” He claps his hands together. “Now, a few finishing touches.”
He uses his magic to summon a wind that whips my silky hair into loose curls and colors it a pale shade of gold.
“I do have a type,” he remarks, looking me up and down and grinning.
Another snap of his fingers and a tingle on my lips and around my eyes and I get the idea that he has painted my face with magical makeup. It all makes me feel like a life-sized doll that he is dressing and playing with, but I also feel beautiful and strangely stronger because of that.
“Now then,” he says, taking my hand. “Come stand with me by the fire, where it is warm, and let us begin our scene together.”
We stand together in the warm golden light of the hearth. He holds me close enough that my bigger breasts squeeze against his chest. He is handsome, damn him, and even though he has taken me from my beloved master, I do feel desire for him.
“Molly,” he says, squeezing my hands tightly in his and gazing into my eyes. “I beg of you to forgive me for what I have done. The girl meant nothing. Just a passing infatuation. But my love for you is deep as the ocean.”
“I…I understand,” I say, though I am far from understanding. I know I am meant to be Molly, this blonde elf girl with some significance to him, but I do not know the meaning of what he is saying. Perhaps he betrayed Molly and is using me to feel better about what he did.
“So you forgive me?” He asks hopefully.
“Yes, of course,” I say. “I forgive you, Zimon.”
“Oh!” He shudders and smiles. “Say it again, Molly. Like you mean it.”
“I forgive you, Zimon, my love,” I say, trying to feel what he asks.
“My star,” he whispers, caressing my cheek. “My beautiful angel. I am so profoundly sorry.”
I think he is about to kiss me on my lips, but instead, he leans his face against my shoulder, pressing into the crook of my neck, and he begins to weep. He holds me tightly, his body wracked with sobs. Unsure of what else to do, I gently caress his back and shoulders.
“It is alright, Zimon,” I say. “I still love you.”
“You do?” asks the wizard, looking up and blinking away tears.
“Yes, my love,” I say, letting some of my desire motivate my acting. I smile at him and meet his heartfelt gaze. “All is forgiven, my sweet.”
“Oh, Molly!” he cries and kisses me passionately. I reminded of the warm, soft pleasure of kissing a human. His tongue is so unlike my master’s tentacles. His hands so crude and yet so eager to caress my hips and squeez
e the firm peach of my bottom through my layers of lace. He excites a natural lust in me, an animal hunger for pleasure, and I answer him with my lips, tongue, and soft, shuddering sighs. Between molten kisses, he gasps to me, “Tell me you will love me forever, Molly.”
“Yes, my sweet Zimon,” I cry. “Forever and ever.”
He wails with apparent pleasure and kisses his way down my body, caressing me through the lace as he falls to his knees. His hands know the hidden path beneath my lace skirt, pushing it up above my hips to reveal my long legs in their stockings and my hairless cunt beneath the lace. He curls two fingers into the lace gusset of the panties and moans at the sight of my slick, blushing folds.
“Oh, but you should have a bit of fur down there,” he says, waving his hand. I feel a tingle and violet energy sparkles above my mound. A trimmed patch of blonde pubic hair appears. He caresses it and massages my clit and the lips of my pussy with his passing fingers. A shudder of pleasure runs through me. I feel as if he knows my body well. Almost as well as my master. He caresses my inner thighs, kissing them and nuzzling his face against my cunt. He breathes deeply, moaning, “You even smell right.”
He takes me with his tongue, licking me with such force and enthusiasm that I can do little other than throw my stockinged legs over his shoulders. He moans against my dewy folds and his tongue divides the tender folds of my cunt. He kisses and suck me. His beard tickles against my inner thighs. It’s so much different than my beloved Lord Splugwyrth that it almost makes me burst out laughing.
His tongue finds my clit and he pays it particular attention, licking again and again and driving hot lashes of pleasure into my core. I cradle the back of his head, squirming and bucking against his tongue, eagerly seeking the ecstasy of a climax.
“Ohhhhh, Zimon! Your tongue…is driving me mad!” I’m making a mess of his beard with my flowing nectar, but I cannot stop writhing against him.
“Go mad, sweet Molly! Cum for your beloved Zimon!”
“Yes!” I grasp his head with both hands, pulling him tightly against my throbbing pussy. My ecstasy erupts in a hot rush, rippling from my core and sending hot jolts from my clit. I call his name, or at least the name he told me to use, and I cum for him. It lacks the mind linked depth of the pleasure I have found with my mate, but there is something raw and naughty and messy with the moment. I feel his saliva mingling with my juices and dripping from my crack.
Fertile in My Ex-Boyfriend's Dungeon 4 Page 7