Empire of the Black Moon

The daughter bucked and squirmed underneath her mother's voluptuous body, her whimpers both of fear and desire. Both their bodies shined with sweat and they slid against each other with smooth friction. When the daughter quit her struggles and her body stiffened, Parisa knew she was done for. Instead of fighting against her busty mother, the girl's hands now pressed down on her plump and curved ass cheeks, forcing the one she trusted and loved to flood her with more corruption.

She watched the lascivious mother press her huge tits against the rampant and blossoming slopes of her daughter, their voluptuous flesh glistening in their fervid sexual heat. The daughter arched her back, her face stretching into a soundless scream of unfathomable pleasure, her breasts like ripe melons dipped in ivory as they widened out against the silken pressure of her mother's overflowing bosom.

Parisa looked away. "I can't do this anymore."

Joran pointed to the space above the orgy, where lilac stained white light danced and shimmered in the air. "This is how that foul witch stays young and powerful. Some witches bath in virgin blood, others suck the souls of men... this one feasts on purity. Righteousness."

Parisa spared one last look to Queen Morgana. She had stood up from her throne and her shapely, powerful thighs glistened with her own love juices while her eyes were dark with lust and heavy lidded. The orgy had thrown her into delirium. In a sudden movement she spread her arms wide and pushed her lush and giant breasts out. At once the the purity that had been forced out of the slave girls rushed into her in a single lance of light.

Her voluptuous body shook and shuddered underneath the fresh vitality sucked into her black soul. The tight alabaster swells of her deep cleavage heaved. Her silvery chain piercing jangled seductively across her soft, writhing belly. The sheer loss of goodness sent a wailing wind through the chamber, kicking up the Queen's silk, offering fluttering glimpses of her clenched and jutting round ass cheeks, jiggling and meaty spheres of firm feminine flesh.

Her mountainous cleavage swayed and bounced while her silvered bra gleamed with blinding light from the brightness of the souls. Even with her holy necklace on, Parisa felt a paralyzing thrill of pleasure pin her in place as she listened to Morgana's wild moans of pleasure. The Queen's toned yet soft body undulated like a snake to her ecstasy. And as the last of the shining goodness was sucked into her glowing eyes, Parisa noted slight and subtle changes.

The Queen's face seemed to have grown a little more youthful, her cheeks carrying a new glow and her lips more voluptuous. She might have passed for a woman slightly older than Parisa! Her hair, as black as the void, shined with star like radiance and her bountiful breasts, while not growing larger, rounded out more and grew more puffy and plump near the top.

The Black Knight and Ingrid caught her as she fell back, dazed and utterly spent from her debauchery. In the arena a symphony of all that was wanton took place. Moans floated in the air as if from some deranged choir, supple and curvaceous women writhed and coiled amongst each other, licking the nectar of corruption from flowing slits and drinking it from ripe and round tits.

"You aren't old enough to know of her treacherous usurping of the old kingdom. But as you can see, she has only grown more maniacal with time. This... creature, steals all that is good and wholesome from this world." Joran got on his feet and gave Parisa a hand up. "Now you see why she must die."

Parisa looked him in the eye. "What do you need of me?"

***

"Though five decades have passed since that fateful day, as the last Paladin, His Holiness has not permitted me to die from age, not until I teach another." Parisa and Maria nodded to Joran's recounting of the kingdom's fall, knowing nothing of the outside world of Camelot from their distant home. Around them was a circle of knights and rebel fighters, all warming around a campfire in a part of the capital that had laid untouched since its fall generations ago. "Which I'll only do when the wicked witch is put in the ground.

The eternal warrior sat down on a log in front of them. "Still, it's fortuitous I found both of you. The old hag is most jealous of any woman that enters her city, she must be losing her step to have her slaves so unguarded. To the point, did you two overhear anything useful from her overseers on your way here?"

"Apologies, my lord, but I remember nothing." Parisa looked to Maria, her nods telling her that she too was similarly afflicted. "I can barely remember my own family, much less what our journey here was like. But the pains of it are still with me."

"Not too unusual..." mused the Paladin, "it is most like the witch to deprive her future slaves memories of home and hearth to better ease their fall into damnation."

"Thank you sir, for saving us from that fate." said Maria, her eyes appreciative and the tanned slopes of her swollen breasts temptingly close to falling out of her rags.

Joran stroked his beard and sighed. "It was my duty, my lady. I only wish I could always be so bold."

Parisa leaned closer to the firelight and noted appreciative glances from men at the cleavage down her blouse. Though she wasn't as endowed or shapely as any touched by Morgana's sex magic, as a woman from Camelot's southern provinces she had some curves to work with. Not as much as Maria did, however.

The former slave girl marveled how her friend had grown, as if the long horrible journey had somehow made her even more beautiful. The cut of her blouse seemed lower than she remembered, low enough to showcase a mile of soft cleavage that she knew she didn't have when they lived in the village. Men gawked openly at her monumental breast flesh, glowing in the firelight and jiggling with every flick of her hair.

All but Joran was subject to such base lusts, his holy radiance putting him above it all.

"With respect, my lord, why are you not always so bold with the witch?" said Parisa, her eyes still distracted with her friend's giant, protruding tits and her dumb little smile that she flashed at every man who met her eyes.

Joran stoked the fire solemnly. "Ever since she took my cousin as hostage, I have ceased all open attacks. The girl is kept alive with the queen's infernal black magics. She's the only family I have left. And I will not risk her." He pulled his sword to his side and took a swig of water. "But... the false queen has let two women go. Women who aren't her own. We can use that. Come closer..."

Parisa inched closer, listening to his plan, unaware as Maria gave her the slip and fooled the surrounding men that she needed a drink of water. She blended into the night like a crow against the sky, the man she slipped away from still carrying the divine image of her soft and heavy endowments bobbing to her stride.

Unknown to all, Joran's plans were merely the starting moves for another player, one with a darker heart and a crueler mind...

***

Joran sneaked into the uppermost cell of the Tower of Darkness and there he found what he had loved but could never protect for so many years. "Clara. I'm here." The woman in the cell turned around and smiled.

Various arcane runes and wards of protection, the kind that had prevented his rescue but also her aging over the decades, distorted her appearance through a hazy field of magic. But he knew it was her behind it all.

Her face was heart shaped and elfin, her hands as small and as delicate as her feet and waist. "Uncle Joran!" she said, overjoyed at his appearance. The last remaining person he could call family had turned out to be a real beauty. Spectacularly so. Decades of magical imprisonment had turned her long maiden locks into a vivid and splendorous mix of red and gold. Her eyes sparkled pale green, dancing with celestial light and her ivory body was both heavy breasted and thick bottomed, her backside sculpted and tight.

It was only by the grace of His Holiness that Joran's thoughts did not take a more carnal turn when he saw her round, milky breasts pressed tightly together. "I can't rescue you yet but I still bring happy tidings. Your imprisonment is coming to an end. Luck and faith has been on our side and it would seem..." he paused and looked at her, almost unbelieving of how well things had gone, "that I have figured a way to vanquish the Queen without ending your life."

"Oh that's wonderful, uncle!" said Clara, her eyes bright, pure and naïve. "I can't wait to see the world, breathe the fresh air-"

"Easy now. Don't get too excited. Morgana might think the worst if you get too jubilant. Just be aware that things will change..." he put his hand against the glowing magic barrier "and that I love you. Nothing will stop me from getting you out of there. I promised your parents that."

He snapped his head to the side at the sound of clattering and commotion down the hallway. Guards. He put his finger to his lips and backed into the shadows.

"I love you too, uncle. Be safe." whispered Clara.

She couldn't wait.

The next time they met there would be no barrier between them.

***

A week had passed since Joran had detailed his plan and Maria's disappearance. Parisa was concerned about her friend who had turned strange beyond belief since coming to the city, but figured all would be resolved once the evil queen was vanquished.

Joran had disguised her as a caterer for the queen's latest party, celebrating Black Moon victories over barbarians in some distant land. Within the throne room, rows upon rows of hooded followers assembled for their queen while Morgana herself was accompanied by all of her greatest minions.

To the far left, were her Dark Maidens, voluptuous and treacherous harlots whose stained and ruined robes still glowed heavenly white wherever they weren't marred and spoiled. Below horned foreheads, their eyes glowed in a demonic hue of yellow while carnivorous teeth gleamed behind sly smiles, their gowns so ripped and low cut it seemed at any moment their heavy and pale breasts would spill free.

To the far right, were the Black Knight's bastard sons, born of his tainted seed and the Dark Maiden's befouled wombs. Tall, strapping and as numerous as they were demonic, they were a far cry from the aristocratic handsomeness of the two sons the Black Knight had given to his Queen who were not present.

Morgana sat in her throne like a statue, perfect and immaculate, the rounded tops of her massive, alabaster white breasts ached to overflow their constraints and be free for all to admire. Her fit belly gleamed with silver chains and adornments while her sleek, toned legs were splayed, taunting her followers with a view they dare not take.

At her side stood the Black Knight and Ingrid. The Mistress of Flesh's sparkling honey hued skin matched her resplendent golden hair, which glowed with the same unnatural and eerie light as her crystalline eyes. The roundness and size of her vast bosom was emphasized within her crimson corset, showcasing a deep, deep chasm of cleavage. The rest of her one piece was cut high, allowing her hyperfeminine hips to breathe, her long, shapely legs accentuated.

Only her mistress and Queen surpassed her in beauty that should not be.

Parisa moved as she thought a Black Moon cultist might move: aimlessly yet with a sense of foreboding. She looked at the floor leading up to Morgana's throne and Joran's words came to mind. A frontal attack on the Queen is pointless. Magical wards would incinerate the trespasser of the First Circle. An engraved halo of bronze as wide as the throne room itself sprawled out before her, while a second halo of silver intruded at the edge of its border. At the end of the silvered circle's border were the beginnings of the final and golden halo, which ended at Morgana's feet. The Third Circle. The wards can only be overloaded with magic and since there isn't a surplus of witches to hurl past the circles... we'll have to be more subtle. Parisa thumbed the archaic stone dagger in her pockets and felt its malevolence seethe and prickle under her skin. The weapon was corrupted by Morgana in her earliest days, and stolen in her last. Only it will let you pass through the circles unharmed.

Parisa ambled through the crowd and was so lost in Joran's words that she couldn't stop herself when she bumped into a fellow cultist. One that, as their eyes met, found that she was not a cultist. It was Maria. Parisa's blood ran cold as she beheld her friends cold smile and dead eyes.

"Ohhhhh..." moaned Maria as she cupped her hands around Parisa's breasts, squeezing like a lewd drunkard. "She's so right... you would be here!" Lurid purple light filtered through Maria's cruel eyes and then Parisa knew, somehow, some way, her friend had fallen into darkness.

"Please don't..." whispered Parisa, her voice trembling as she tried to remove her friend's hands.

"Please don't what!?" Maria grinned and yanked Parisa by the shoulder, throwing her to the floor. Parisa's robes made her skid along the smooth marble, and she stopped just before the border of the First Circle. "Please don't show the Queen and all her fine friends that there's a snake in our midst!?" She cackled out loud while the other cultists receded like a black tide, leaving behind hushed whispers as they fixed Parisa with disapproving eyes.

Morgana clapped in the silence. "Well done my sweetest Maria. That you have delivered me the one who deprived me of your purity and her own is cause for reward! You shall be beautified even more within Ingrid's embrace!"

Maria beamed with malevolent joy at her Queen. Parisa saw how much she had changed since her disappearance. Though not as alluring as the usual Black Moon convert, her looks had the undeniable flourish of magic's caress. Her complexion had an uncanny smoothness to it, her legs more refined and elegant, and the tightness of her robe which strained against her ample chest, now jutted out like a shelf, even larger from when she last saw it.

"Give her my gift, my pet! Give her soul the kiss of darkness!" cackled Morgana, the squeezed slopes of her porcelain smooth cleavage jiggling to her malicious laughter.

Maria looked down on Parisa with fanatical eyes. "Yes, my Queen..." In one motion she ripped off her soft robes, revealing the body of Parisa's nightmares. Heavy and enormous breasts pointed outwards, their round and perky shape boring into Parisa's eyes. No woman should have looked like that... and yet she did.

Parisa's nerves turned to ice. Powerless and paralyzed with fear, the fact that she had the dagger on her person escaped her mind. Maria leaned over her, her gigantic tits bobbing into Parisa's face as her soft fingers skimmed down the nape of her neck, cooing with delight at the prospect of bringing her friend into darkness.

Parisa sighed with erotic resignation as her friend's violet eyes mesmerized her own, almost accepting of what was to befall her. It all seemed so familiar, as if she had danced this dance before, perhaps in her dreams... or nightmares. It was impossible to tell which was which in this city.

Maria's breathy moans vibrated against her sensitive neck. Parisa stared at her friend's luscious swinging breasts with longing. How a clear, iridescent fluid that shined with surreal color under the light leaked from her dark puffy nipples, running across the beige slopes of her tits in tempting rivulets. The nectar of her downfall.

"And now sweet Parisa, you will drink and the veil will be lifted..." cooed Maria, lowering her twin globes with fateful inevitability. Parisa's eyes beheld not only feminine melons, but destiny, sighing as her friend's ample endowments grazed across her cheek like warm silk, ever closer to her lips...

Just when she thought the violet eyed Maria was to deliver the Gift of Morgana, a tremendous clamor erupted in the air. All spun in the direction of the noise and it was hard for the country girl to admit that she was both disappointed and relieved she was spared the exquisite darkening of her soul.

"You do not stand alone, Parisa of the Southlands!" Joran emerged from the assembled cultists and threw back his hood. Unsheathing his gleaming sword high in the fire dotted darkness he shouted, "Knights! To me!" More rebellion fighters pulled back their hoods, and a whole chorus of unsheathed blades filled the air.

Morgana looked on with an amused smirk, not bothering to rise out of her throne as the Black Knight unsheathed his sword. All the brazier's flames in the royal court blazed and wavered to Joran's holy presence, throwing a cast of shifting shadows across the supreme witch's sizable and lush ivory mounds.

Joran ignored the cries and shouts of fright from the huddled and robed masses as he and his men formed up in the center. "Morgana of the Black Moon! For crimes of black magic, sex magic, wars against Camelot and the spiritual desecration of its leaders, I, Joran Baird, Protector of His Holiness, declare you a heretic. The punishment of which is death!"

Parisa came back to her senses and inched away from her friend's full breasts, their seductiveness numbed to Joran's holy aura. She hovered her hands above Maria's hips, ready to pitch her at any moment.

Joran looked to Parisa. "Parisa, now!" The slave girl shoved Maria back across the delineating line of the First Circle and watched with remorse as her childhood friend turned to ash. Joran bounded over the now deactivated line and carved his way through a band of loony sycophants and seasoned warrior sons of the Black Knight, lopping off their heads with graceful precision. His men joined and threw spears, skewering stunned Dark Maidens, witches and warlocks like kebabs.

As he came to the silvery border of the Second Circle, Ingrid the Deceiver, Mistress of Flesh, leapt down from her Queen's side to confront him. She did not come bearing spells, but charms. His men's spears flew past her and past the Second Circle, disintegrating instantly. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him with sweet, imploring eyes.

And then she put her fingers under the buttons of her corset and pulled. Silver buttons burst free, pinging off of Joran's armored chest. Like a crumbling dam, the halves of her corset split and the gorgeous and huge honey globes of her chest rushed out as if a levee had broken. Dark areolas and sharp, aroused nipples arrested his attention, and for the moment, the veteran Paladin lost his fighting spirit.

They hung in the shape of a heart and sat perfectly on her chest, goading him to drop his weapon and lose himself in between the luscious valley of her silken slopes. Her wavy tresses framed her bronzed mounds in rivers of silky gold, and for a moment, the righteous Paladin felt he had gone to heaven.

"Isn't this easier, Joran?" Her voice chilled him and raised goosebumps. His world was reduced to her divine bare form. The shouts of his comrades had faded to nothing and Parisa's pleas went ignored. "Our Queen... is a good Queen. Come to me. Be with me. Lay with me."

Her voice, sweet and sumptuous like erotic nectar, rattled him. But then her words cooled his lusts and he remembered he was on the cusp of ending a tyrant. "No. No she's not. Your words are bitter honey." In one movement, she was decapitated. Before her head had hit the floor, Joran kicked her corpse across the border of the Second Circle. In the space of a breath, she crumpled to ash and the magical wards were thrown in disarray.

Joran walked across the seal and stopped before the Third Circle's golden border. He extended his hand behind him, waiting for Parisa but not taking his powerful stare away from Morgana's mirthful face. "Parisa!" he called. There was no response. "Parisa, the blade!"