| Garrick Strongbow wearily climbed the muddy rise, his last reserves of
energy being sapped in the process. The rain pelted down mercilessly, and
the low roll of thunder rang in his ears. He collapsed onto the wet earth,
panting with exhaustion. He was badly wounded; his left leg lacerated from
the fight he'd had with two trolls a few days earlier. He'd managed to
escape them finally, but not before they'd seriously wounded him. He'd
bandaged it as best he could, but the wound was clearly infected and needed
medical attention. In addition to this, he was out of rations, and slowly
starving in this accursed swampy country. Not for the first time, he asked
himself why he'd left his safe village seeking a life of fame and
adventure. He'd been a simple fisherman before all this, living a tranquil
if boring life. And then, his best friend Carl - another fisherman - had
come to him that day with a map that he had and a named Leroy had found
some weeks earlier. They'd been fishing near Friar's Cove one evening and
were about to come back home when Leroy had spotted something floating in a
small rockpool and retrieved it. It had turned out to be a map of a long
lost pirate treasure. And so, starry eyed, they'd set off for the North
country, after spending their last pennies on swords from the blacksmith's
shop and basic armour. Everyone had pleaded with them not to go, for the
journey was dangerous. But they had stuck to their resolve and before long
they found themselves on their way, three novice fighters beginning an
exciting life of high adventure. At first things had gone well. The
weather had been fine, and they'd had few encounters or troubles. On one
occasion they met a small band of hobgoblin mercenaries, who, being ill
armed and ill organised, had fallen to their swords. They'd celebrated
their first victorious battle that evening, drinking from their wineskins
and telling tall about the exploits of various adventurers of
legend. And then, they had come to the Tortured Lands. Here the air
became and oppressive, and from afar they heard ominous calls and
even the odd scream. Their morale fell, and they became lost. Then, one
evening as they prepared to make camp, out of nowhere came two horrible
creatures, with long terrible claws and sharp teeth . In the gloom, Leroy
had recognised them for Trolls, for as a his fathers had
once been attacked by one. The trolls swept through them like a storm.
Leroy had been the first to fall. A blow from the trolls right fist
knocked him out cold, whereupon the demonic creature had bent down and torn
his head from his shoulders. Garrick would never forget the sickening
sound, and the streams of dark blood, and the cries of agony from the
unfortunate farmers son. Carl and he had tried to withdraw, but they
came after them fiercely. It was then he had taken a blow to the right leg
that had knocked him off his feet. Carl had come up behind the troll and
saved his life by hacking off its head with a single well placed blow. But
no sooner had he done this when the other troll grabbed hold of him and
dragged him away into the gloom, screaming piteously. He had got to his
feet after a few moments. There was now no further sign of Carl. In the
foggy gloom, he had no hope of finding him. And as he watched, the troll
whose head Carl had removed began to regenerate before his very eyes. He
had fled, screaming, into the darkness, and ran and ran until he could run
no more. And so he found himself here. He had gone as far as he could,
and now he would lie down here and die. And then, he had fallen into a
deep, nightmarish slumber...
Far away, there was the sound of laughter. It was the laughter of a
young ... carefree, yet disturbing. There was something unholy about
it. He saw a bright light, and the laughter seemed to come from there. He
felt strangely drawn to it. He was walking toward the light. He came to a
steep set of marble steps. As he gazed down at himself, he saw he was
naked. "Come to me, my warrior." Whispered the voice. "Come..." He gazed
up at the light. He smelled roses, and something else he could not
identify, a musky, sweet scent. He began to climb. He climbed for what
seemed like hours. But he was so intrigued by the laughter, and that
scent... And then, finally, he reached a flat area, like a dais, at the
top. For a brief moment, he saw what appeared to be a black robed figure
walking out of the light toward him. The scent grew stronger, and he felt
himself growing weaker. The laughter swept over him, mocking him it
seemed. He fell to his knees and then everything went black.
When he came to, he was in a large bedchamber, lying in a comfortable
bed laden with silk sheets. There was a large window looking out onto a
desolate moorland to his right. A faint light from an overcast, gloomy day
filtered into the room. For a while he just lay there, unable to figure
out where he was or how he'd gotten there. Then, he reached down and
lifted the covers to examine his wounded leg. It had been properly
bandaged, and some sort of herbal medication had been applied to it. It
imparted a slight burning sensation to his leg, but the could feel it doing
its healing work. Perhaps, he mused, he might be able to walk on it. No
sooner had he begun to lift himself up, however, than he felt an
incredible, invisible force pushing him back onto the bed. To his alarm, a
melodic, musical voice rang out in his mind : "No my sweet warrior
[laughter - that same laughter he'd heard before!]... Rest ... You are
mine now. You must rest, or else you will be useless to me." Once again he
feel into a deep sleep. When he next awoke, it was dark outside, and a
young woman, plain of features, her simple white gown and distant,
industrious manner suggesting he to be some sort of servant, was helping
him out of bed. He was too dazed to resist, and he found he could now
stand without much discomfort. "Who are you ? Where am I ?", he heard
himself ask. The woman busied herself with unwinding his bandages and
checking his wound. As the bandages came off, the pungent smell of strange
herbs filled the air. "My name is Luna, and I am a priestess in the
service of Lady Fanja and Danjela Midthorne. You are at Castle Midthorne.
One of Lady Fanja's diving spells detected your presence as you passed near
our stronghold. Some at arms were sent forth to bring you back here. I
have used what skills I have to tend to your wound, and along with Lady
Fanja's enchantments we seem to have brought you back to nearly full health
again." "Well, I guess I owe you my deepest gratitude." She stood up and
glanced at him, a strange expression on her face. It almost looked like
pity he thought. "I'm only doing my duties, you owe me little gratitude
sir. Now that you are well, Lady Fanja and Lady Danjela wish you to dine
with them this evening. I have some clothes you may wear, and arrangements
will be made for you to bathe and refresh yourself." He saw a pile of
impressive looking clothing sitting atop a small table just by the window.
Next to the table, a pair of polished black leather boots. "Who are these
ladies of whom you speak ?" "Come, sir, follow me to the bathrooms. I will
answer your questions, those I can answer, along the way."
She led him down a long flight of stairs, and down a long corridor lit
by dim lanterns. "Lady Fanja is an extremely powerful sorceress and major
landowner in these parts. She was recently made a Duchess by Queen Esther.
Queen Esther rules these lands, the lands of Mauristatia." He had vaguely
heard of the realm of Mauristatia. But he knew nothing of it. "She is
well over a hundred years old, but as an Enchantress she remains relatively
young in appearance. Her is Danjela. She is only sixteen." "Lady
Fanja has only one ?" "Only one." They walked in silence for a
while, before finally they came through a set of double doors into a large
steamy chamber, tiled. In the centre of the room, steps led down into a
large square pool of steaming water. He could see no sign of what heated
it. The bath - or rather pool - was at least fifty feet to a side. "They
must be gracious ladies to take mercy on a poor such as myself, and
nurse me back to health. I owe them - and you - my life." Again, Luna
regarded him with a peculiar, guarded look. "Their ladyships have their
reasons for saving you sir. But I'm sure they will enlighten you about
those this evening. And now I must excuse myself. You will find
everything you need here. I will return with your clothes in an hour." And
with that enigmatic remark she turned and left him alone to contemplate his
Garrick sat at the magnificent long table in the Great Hall of the
strange stronghold. He had been told by Luna to await the arrival of the
two ladies of the household. From time to time, blank faced, industrious
servants entered from the adjoining kitchens to check that his glass was
full. When he'd been asked by the butler, a bald headed, sinewy with the typical dignified air of one of his profession, what he wished to
drink, he'd inquired what was on offer ? The reply had been - what would
you wish, sir ? And so he'd elected wine, to which the butler had
inquired - which wine sir ? It was then that he began to realise the
sort of place he'd stumbled upon. Obviously the owners were well prepared
to live in this desolate part of the world, away from even the rudiments of
civilisation. Still, they were sorceresses, and and women of magic
were not known for their sociability. He sat now sipping the fine Corbyyr1
wine that he'd requested; bizarrely, he'd only ever tasted it once before,
it being far too expensive for the likes of a peasant farmer to afford.
That had been on a rare visit to the city, and his Uncle Rupert - a
reasonably well to do trader who lived there - had taken the out to
celebrate Garrick's 18th birthday. He was on his third glass, the women
taking their time in arriving. Many possibilities presented themselves to
his speculative mind. For all he knew, they could be evil women and meant
him harm. But then, why would they have sent out their guards to rescue
him from certain death in the blizzard ? Perhaps to use him in grotesque
magical experiments. He did not trust magic. More often than not, it was
used for evil purposes. But surely he must give them the benefit of the
doubt. They had saved him after all. And in any case, he had no choice
but to accept whatever they had in mind for him. He could not go forth
into the wilderness again; his death would be certain. At the very least
he needed their help to get back home. As he took another sip of his wine,
the double doors behind him and to the left suddenly swung open. These
were not the doors leading to the kitchens, for they were across from him.
He did not know whence they led. But as they swung open, a tall, elegant
looking woman entered. She wore a long, flowing dress of heavy, plaited
deep blue, the hem trailing a little along the floor after her. Her feet
were not visible, but she wore sharp heels, for her steps clicked against
the gleaming grey white marble of the floor. She walked steadily toward
him, looking at him with a half smile. He judged her to be maybe forty
years old, and still very beautiful. Deep brown eyes, a mane of silky
blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and full, expressive lips. Then a
younger lady entered. She was tall like her mother, her equal in height,
though with the more slender build of a teenage girl. Her robe was of
identical design, but of deepest violet. Whereas her was beautiful,
she was, at least in his view, stunning. Her hair, a long, waist length
river of chestnut brown, fell in an uninterrupted swathe behind her. Her
eyes, wide, expressive and emerald green, glittered with mischief,
and yet there was a seriousness there not common to someone so young. Her
mouth was just like her mother's but her lipstick was a more vivid in
hue, giving her a more vixen-like appearance. She glanced at him but once,
and, ignoring him now, made her way to her seat at the end of the table to
his right, while Lady Fanya seated herself at the end to his left.
Servants seemed to materialise out of nowhere and pull back their chairs.
He glanced first at one, then the other, it being impossible on account of
their respective positions for him to watch both them at once. As servants
filled their tall glasses with white wine, apparently already aware of
their wishes and tastes, Lady Fanya was first to address him. "Well then
!", she said brightly, quietly, in a hushed, chesty sort of voice, "We are
most pleased to have you accept our hospitality, Master - ? Gilbert ?"
"Garrick, madam." He corrected awkwardly. He was thankful for the soothing
effects of the wine. These women were not of his class, and he knew not
the faintest thing about how to behave in their presence. "Garrick
Strongbow. And I be no master, ma'am. I'm only a simple farmer's son."
"That is clear enough from your speech." Said the Lady Danjela
suddenly, and he turned to look at her. She was looking at him with a
faintly mocking smile. Her eyes glittered mischievously. He did not know
how to reply and so he said nothing. Lady Danjela took a sip of her wine,
eyeing him steadily as she did so. "What then were you doing alone on
these dangerous lands, ?", asked Lady Fanya, her tone more
mocking than judgemental. "I was on a quest ma'am." And he went on to
describe as best as he could, under their intent stares (and the odd snort
of - was it disdain or disbelief, or both ? - from Lady Danjela), the
circumstances that had led him there. When he had finished his tale, Lady
Fanya threw her a meaningful glance across the table. "You're an
adventurer then ?", Danjela asked. Her eyes continued to flash
flirtatiously at him. "Yes ma'am." She narrowed her eyes at him and cocked
her a little to one side, as though slightly cynical of his story. "You
haven't done very well so far have you ?". She smirked as she brought her
glass up to her cute, small mouth His face grew flushed, and he felt
ashamed of himself. He nodded, and looked down at his plate. "Nay ma'am."
"Still," Lady Fanya pointed out, "these are dangerous lands." He looked up
at her. "You are very lucky to have survived", she continued, as a number
of servants entered and began piling pots and plates laden with mouth
watering food upon the table. "Very lucky indeed." "Ma'am, I am mighty
thankful toward you for saving my skin. If there's anything I can do to
repay you - I've no money or possessions, but -" He did not know how to
conclude. The silence that followed was most awkward. Suddenly, Lady
Danjela giggled. He turned to look at her. She sat back, arms draped over
the rests of her chair, looking at him with that same disconcerting
expression. He looked at her with blank incomprehension. Lady Fanya said,
in a plesant voice, "Come, brave warrior - you must eat now and regain your
strength after such a harrowing experience." Garrick concentrated on the
task of filling his empty belly. It was easily the best food he'd ever
tasted, and this coupled with his ravenous appetite ensured that for a time
he was happy enough to forget his concerns. Knowing that he was in the
presence of ladies, he made a more conscious effort than usual to eat in a
dignified fashion. At one point he caught Danjela eyeing him speculatively
again, and he blushed uncontrollably. At length dinner was finished.
"Well." Said Fanya with a sigh, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "You are
welcome to stay as long as you wish, man. I should point out that we
rarely leave this place, and that if you wish to leave you will need to
make your own arrangements. Although, until the unfavourable weather
improves, you would be most unwise to journey forth again." He listened to
her in amazement. Then he forced himself to say, "My heartfelt thanks to
you ma'am, for your hospitality." He couldn't believe his fortune! Lady
Fanya arose, a servant rushing forth to attend her. "I will retire for
this evening and leave you two alone." She gave her a meaningful
smirk. He wondered where his quarters would be. No doubt, he thought,
they would be arranged. They bade Lady Fanya goodnight. When she had
gone, he looked over again at the pretty sorceress. She drained her
glass and ordered a servant nearby to retrieve her another.
"It was I who ordered the guards out to save you, you know."
"Oh! Well then. Thank you ma'am!"
She smiled again, and he felt his heart melt. She was so very
"And I did it for a reason."
As she spoke, her eyes bore into him, and her voice seemed to take on a
far off, ethereal quality. In an instant, he knew it had been her voice
he'd dreamed of before, her shadowy silhouette he'd seen in his dream. He
felt a peculiar feeling of calm and contentment come over him. She seemed
to grow even more lovely to him as she spoke. He felt her every word must
be of the purest truth, and that to satisfy her every wish must be the
highest task he could ever hope to aspire to. "Yes. I thought it would be
fun.", she said strangely. Before he could ask her what she meant by this,
she suddenly asked, "Tell me -would you like to play a game ?". "A game
ma'am ?" "Yes - a game." He found himself returning her coy smile. "Come
here." She said, lifting her hand and gesturing toward him with a crooked
index finger. He felt utterly mesmerised by her. Something in the back of
his mind told him he was not in complete control of himself. He arose,
walked over to stand beside her chair. Danjela drank wine and watched him
with a wry smile. She finished her glass, and threw it over her head. It
landed with a crash against the wall. "My game is very simple." She
explained. "I make the rules, and you follow them. Understand ?". "Yes
ma'am." He heard himself say. "Rule One. All of Lady Danjela's orders
must be followed unquestioningly." She giggled again and her hand cupped
his crotch, gently but firmly. "Yes ma'am." He could not believe this was
happening. Never in his entire life had he felt so embarrassed, and yet
the idea of disobeying her in any way seemed to present itself toward him
as ridiculous. He was aware of the fact she had magically charmed him.
And yet it was not how he had imagined such an enchantment. He had
imagined his brain would simply turn off for the duration of such a spell,
and that he would come to at some point and be hard pressed to remember the
events that had transpired. But clearly, this would not be the case.
"Lady Danjela's first order to her new slave toyboy is this : get
undressed." She spoke quietly, that same innocent smile playing across her
red lips. Against his own will, he found himself slowly removing his
shirt, then his trousers, and finally his boots, as the beautiful watched him. Before long, he stood naked. He felt utterly
humiliated, and yet utterly unable to disobey this girl. Danjela
finished her wine, pushed back her seat, and stood up. He saw her slender
hands, lined with rings, hanging at her sides as she turned to face him.
"And now," she said sweetly, "it's sleepy time." She giggled and raised her
hand toward him, speaking strange words. A strong lethargy overcame him,
and he felt himself losing consciousness. Within moments, he was asleep at
He awoke in a huge dark chamber lit by torches in sconces on the walls,
lying on his stomach on a smooth, cool floor. He was groggy, he was cold,
and he was afraid. He found that he was entirely naked, and that around
his wrists and ankles were metal bracelets, about two inches thick.
Affixed to the ends of these bracelets were taut metal chains that were
hooked into metal rungs on the cold black marble floor. He could sit up on
his hands and knees, but if he tried to move any further than that, he ran
out of chain length. He tried futilely to break free, but it was quite
clear to him he had no chance, despite his considerable strength. He
decided to sit on his hands and knees, it being more comfortable than lying
flat on his stomach. He reflected on his ridiculous situation. Why had he
left his idyllic life behind ? His foray into adventuring had proven
to be an utter disaster. He thought of what his friends would say if they
could see him here in this humiliating predicament. They would surely
laugh and shake their heads and say, "I always knew that was strange.
The Gods only know where he got such strange notions in his head." His
situation here was beginning to make sense to him now, and he did not like
the that was forming in his mind. He had been saved because these
strange, beautiful women felt he might be an amusement for them. He didn't
like to consider what would happen if he ceased being so. He was 20 years
old. And although he hated them for doing this to him, he could not help
but reflect on the incredible loveliness of the Lady Danjela. He had
been raised to respect those above him in station, especially the
landowning classes. These women were clearly of that class in addition to
being powerful and accomplished sorceresses. He had been taught that their
position was ordained by the Gods themselves. And yet he had his pride.
To do this to him was surely an abuse of privilege. He was angry at them
for doing this to him, and he began to think of what he would say when Lady
Danjela arrived. He would demand to be released. If she refused, he would
refuse to do her bidding, whatever it might be. But then, he thought, do I
have the power to resist her ? He remembered the strange spell that had
overcome him earlier when, mesmerised by her words, he had undressed and
exposed himself to her despite his sense of shame at doing so and his most
ardent attempts to resist. He recalled how she had inspected him, her
emerald eyes wandering over his body, lingering on his manhood which, to
his immense humiliation, was fully erect with an arousal he did not
understand. Her gaze had been admiring, for he had a strong, lean body
hardened by years of hard physical work. And yet, it had been mocking and
disdainful at the same time, as though she regarded him as nothing more
than a beautiful slave. His thoughts were interrupted when a heavy door at
the far end of the chamber opened. In the darkness, a solitary rectangle
of bright light streamed into the room from beyond the threshold of the
open door. He saw nobody standing there. His heart began to beat rapidly
in his chest. And then, a tall, slender figure stepped through the open
doorway and came to stand casually, leaning a slender arm against the
frame. He knew it was Lady Danjela, although he could not make out her face
from his present position. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that she wore a
long, shimmering robe of deepest black. He briefly saw the outline of her
body beneath the semi transparent material. She started walking towards
him. He heard her soft, musical laughter as she came. It seemed to echo
lightly around the room with a peculiar cadence and resonance. She walked
slowly, with small measured, careful steps. Suddenly, the open door eased
itself shut, blocking out the bright light that had briefly streamed into
the dim chamber. She continued to approach. Her small hips swayed
sensuously. He was mesmerised. As she neared him, he saw her oval white,
finely featured face. Her hair was drawn up into a tight ponytail with a
black leather braid. A single, deep rose decorated her hair just above
her right ear. Her eyes glittered as though with excitement. As she came
within a few yards of him, she pouted her lips together and seemed to blow
him a kiss. Instead of walking straight up to him, she now negotiated a
circular path around him. A wonderful scent swept over him. It was roses,
scented oil, and herbs. There was a quality to it he could not identify,
but which seemed to drive him insane with desire for this mysterious girl.
He heard her slow steps behind him. She continued to laugh quietly to
herself now and then. She came back into his field of vision, standing
about an arms length away from him. He watched as she placed her feet
about a foot apart, reached out, and caressed his forehead as he gazed up
at her. Her hands were clad in gloves of smooth black leather. He could
smell leather everywhere now, mixed with the other wondrous scents.
Adorning her fingers were an assortment of rings. Her left hand hung
loosely at her side as she toyed dreamily with his hair with her right. He
studied the rings on her left-hand fingers. One was a diamond that
glittered softly in the dim light. Another was a small, deep stone.
"Poor little peasant boy," she said, in a little voice. "You really
have no idea what's going on here do you ?" He tried to look up into her
face, but she pushed down gently but firmly with her hand on top of his
head, and giggled again. He studied the fabric of her robe. In the bright
light before, it had been semi transparent, but now it was inky black, made
of a peculiar, shimmering silk. Her hands went up to her bodice now,
intricately laced. The soft swell of her breasts. He had never
looked upon the naked body of a woman save his mother. He was a shy
person, and had always frightened him somewhat. But, being handsome,
he had known that watched him from afar, their giggling faces
behind their hands as they whispered about him. And besides, he had rarely
seen them, for he had no sisters, and only rarely had he and his ventured into the village on business. Despite his shyness however,
he imagined and fantasised like any other man. At any rate, this
young sorceress was like no other he'd ever seen before. She was of
the upper class, the type of the likes of him very rarely, if ever,
chanced to meet. And there was something about her beauty that was almost
unbelievable.2 She allowed him now of course to look up. He watched as her
fingers converged upon a point just below her throat. Something glittered
there - a silver chain perhaps ? - and as her fingers began moving he
realised she was undoing a button. "I am a Houri Sorceress." Another
button. "We are sorceresses who dedicate ourselves and our Art to the
pursuit of beauty." Another button. A glimpse of white skin against the
deep blackness of her robe. "Most of us seek only our own pleasure."
"I am one of those. Nothing must interfere with my pleasure."
She unfastened what appeared to be the last button at her navel.
"What else is there but pleasure ?"
Her hands swept up to her shoulders, and gently slid the robe back from
them. With the front buttons unfastened, it fell smoothly to her feet,
where it lay in a small, inky black pool.
Garrick Strongbow gazed upon the most incredible vision of beauty he had
ever seen, or would probably ever see, in his life.
For a moment, his brain could not register the sight, and he gaped in
incredulity at it. He was a virgin, and knew nothing of women. To see an
ordinary woman's naked form would have been enough to fill him with wonder,
the wonder that any experiences when he first looks upon such a sight.
But this was no ordinary woman, and the attire she wore was both
bizarre and intensely erotic.
She stood there in black leather riding boots that went up to her
slender calves. Elbow length black leather gloves encased her arms. Her
sweet body was thrust into some sort of exotic leather corset. About the
breasts it was worked into a swirling pattern, with a pair of small metal
studs that seemed designed to hide the ladies' nipples. From between the
breasts down to the crotch there were tight laces holding it together. At
the abdomen, there were three small metal clasps that appeared to hold the
thin triangular strip of leather between the legs to the upper half of the
Just above the top of the right boot was a broad strap of leather wound
about her leg. Fixed to this strap was a small loop, and a long, slender
riding crop was thrust into this.
She giggled again. "Ohhhh ... poor baby."
She ran her hands lightly over her breasts, half from view
beneath those intricately patterned breast-cups.
"You want to touch me don't you ?"
He looked up at her. Now at least he understood his situation.
She smiled coyly at him as she reached down with one hand and unclasped
the three metal clasps at her groin. The triangular flap fell away,
exposing her perfectly trimmed sex - deep brown in hue.
He felt as though he was going to pass out. He stared wide eyed at this
heavenly vision before him.
Her finger inserted itself between the lips of her sex and began
stimulating something there. A musky scent surrounded him. He had an urge
to put his face there and inhale that incredible scent deeply, and to drink
of the flowing essence that was seeping forth.
She sighed and, putting a hand firmly atop his head, swung a leg over
his shoulder expertly. Then the other. Her small firm buttocks now just
above the bridge of his nose.
"This," she stated breathily, her splayed fingers wandering over her
moist sex, "is my pussy."
She continued to stimulate the small button between the lips of her
"pussy". He'd heard such references to a woman's sex before, but only
vaguely. He'd heard talking about a woman's "love button" as well,
presumably the object of her fingers attentions.
In any case, he wasn't thinking very coherently.
"Tell me what you think of my pussy", she said quietly. He noticed her
legs and buttocks quivering a little.
"... well ma'am ... it sure is beautiful."
Her breathing was getting very laboured, and the trembling in her legs
was becoming more pronounced. Her scent was all around him.
She reached down, and caressed his hair; he felt the smooth leather of
her glove against his forehead.
"Mother says a will do anything to get to a beautiful ladies' pussy.
Would you do anything to get to my ?"
He nodded. Once again, he tested his chains, but they were far too
secure and he could do nothing but watch this teasing spectacle.
"Ahhh!", she cried suddenly, reaching out to put both hands on his head
to steady herself. Suddenly, a of fluid gushed from her sex and
struck him in the face, just below his nose.
Laughing to herself, she lowered herself down to present her dripping
sex to his mouth. "Clean my out now hunky warrior boy!", she breathed
Yes, he had heard that word too. But it considered far too rude to
speak out loud, only in hushed curses and whispers. He found the foulness
of such a seemingly refined ladies language to be a big shock. Her sex was
already against his lips. He could feel her silken hairs tickling his
nose. Her scent, coupled with the sight of her lovely body in such erotic
attire, had driven him so wild with desire that he wasted not time doing
her bidding. As he thrust his tongue out, she suddenly, roughly, grasped
him by the hair, and yanked his head upward so that he found himself
staring into her pretty, sweat lined face. She was smiling happily, almost
innocently. "Beg me first." She said, flashing her eyes at him like a
little being deliberately naughty.
1 Named after the Corbyrr region in the Land of Mauristatia, for
its winemaking qualities and producing a sweet, mellow tasting grape. 2
Danjela, like her a Houri sorceress, possessed a beauty that was
attainable only through the use of magical enchantments. The Houri
specialise in the spheres of Enchantment and Charm, and are always female
humans. The basis of their profession is the use of female beauty,
augmented by magic highly specialised and refined for that purpose.
Certainly there is more to beauty than mere physical characteristics, but
the Houri have a highly detailed set of theories regarding the nature of
physical beauty and tend to mold their bodies to reflect those theories.