Empire of the Black Moon

Morgana spoke, her voice breathy and silvery smooth. "Parisa, darling, your Queen insists that you give him the blade."

What the holy warrior received next was not a blade in hand but a blade in the back, followed by moans of wanton arousal. He slumped down to his knees and saw Parisa grinning evilly, before she too fell to the ground, writhing and gasping in pleasure as some otherworldly force overtook her.

Morgana rose from her throne and descended down the marble steps with inhuman grace, her heavy alabaster breasts jiggling to her stride. "Did you not think it odd, Paladin, that your latest recruits possessed no memory of how they came to be slaves? How ill-guarded their convoy was?" Joran gasped for air, feeling warm blood stream around his plates and trickle through the chain mail underneath.

Something else was seeping into him, too. Unnatural, forbidden lust. When he looked back up to the vile sorceress, he gulped, as beheld the voluptuous view of her full and heaving bosom, glistening like polished mountains of creamy flesh to her heated arousal. "You presented me with a quandary. How does one lie to a man that cannot be lied to? Simple. By giving him a liar who does not yet know she is lying." she said, looking at the pleasure struck Parisa.

Everything came back to Parisa. The burning and sacking of her village. The corruption of her family. The beginning of her journey came back to her, how on a cold night, Maria, already turned by Ingrid, crept up on her. Sharing their warmth, her childhood friend held her close, not to comfort but to betray. She brushed her soft lips against her neck and whispered dark words of enslavement, entrapping her unsuspecting soul for all time.

As she moved in for a kiss, a tiny mote of violet light floated from her mouth into Parisa's. A seed of corruption. When Parisa's eyes snapped open in surprise, her irises clouded with the violet light she had come to fear so much, an insidious smile stretching her face, before she exploded in orgasm at the sheer pleasure of being enslaved. The two girls spent the night writhing in rapture, until the morning, when the dark touch lifted and things seemed normal yet... off.

"A servant, who did not know she was a servant." Morgana smiled and stopped in front of Joran, jutting her hips out. She kept her eyes on Parisa, watching with pride as the evil simmering in her soul at last came to a delicious bloom. "It pained me to withhold from her the full power of my grace, but it was a necessary hurt, lest your keen eye spy the very quality within her that would prove your downfall."

"You... treacherous... misbegotten... harlot!" Joran struggled, and coughed up a substance that was not blood. He rolled on his back, wheezing and crying out. "End the witch... men! The time is... is..." he coughed once more and his eyes grew hazy.

Joran's men stepped forward, weapons brandished, until the Black Knight stepped in front of Morgana. "You are welcome to try and best my champion, or you may surrender to my coven." Morgana pointed to the newly arrived witches behind them, already dropping their tight fitting outfits to the floor and extending their arms in welcome of their new lovers.

Gigantic jutting breasts, ivory white and succulent, jiggled and sparkled in the dim light of the court. Their smooth rounded hips awakened primal desire within Joran's men. Hyperfeminized bodies and lustrous raven locks made the choice between their warm embrace and the Black Knight's cold blade all the easier to make. The men, as one, dropped their blades and headed for the nubile sirens. They surrendered to plump bosoms, high and ripe, and drowned in their plush lips, reveling in the peachy softness of their bubble shaped asses.

All but for one. A blond, scrawny lad with an oversized sword, tore his eyes away from dark paradise and settled on the nightmare in midnight armor that was the Black Knight. "For the kin-" his war cry was cut short, not making it three steps forward before the Black Knight threw his jagged sword like a spear and impaled the young hero through the heart.

"Ah. Regrettable." said Morgana. She noted with satisfaction the raucous moans soaring into the air as Joran's men began fondling, groping and sucking on her sorceresses. "Perhaps you should have chosen men possessed of higher character... not that such a thing has stopped me in the past." She looked down to Joran, hazy eyed and hyperventilating.

"My poor champion..." she said, leaning down to him and letting her delicate hand graze against his sweaty forehead. "So long you have warred against me, all for this one little moment." She looked straight into his eyes and kept her vast, pendulous breasts hanging just above his face, tormenting him.

"I will fuck you." she said, running a hand through his hair. "I will make your defeat... be the greatest loss you have ever experienced. And you will want it over and over again."

"No..." he groaned, finding himself paralyzed yet tortured by his infernal lusts.

"YES! Oh fuck!" sobbed Parisa across from the two. Weeks of pent up lust and darkness, darkness she never knew she had, clawed up out of her formerly pure soul, ripping her innocence apart and turning the white light of her spirit into a sore, pulsing core of roiling violet.

Her hands stretched out, scoring the marble with steaming blacken nails as she moaned her nirvana into the chamber. Her voice was but a sonorous accompaniment to the forbidden rutting of Joran's men and the delighted coos and gasps of Morgana as she stripped Joran.

Her amber complexion paled across her body, her blue black tresses darkening into an abyssal hue of night. Her nipples tingled and her hips bucked as her forbidden spirit at last saturated her flesh with corruption. She had the feeling of an invisible hardness funneling up her pussy, dulling her mind with pleasure and tearing out the last bits of noble resistance.

But there was no stopping her fall. It was inevitable, even if she could marshal her willpower... Morgana's dark enchantment had been buried too deep to resist. Her aroused gasp to this dark realization transformed into a hiss as the malevolent energy spread deeper into her tattered soul, making her toes curl with pleasure, her hips jerk with excitement.

As she came, she felt the final wall to corruption break down. Orgasmic waves ripped through her, burning through blood and flesh as the evil essence became one with her. Before she could even contemplate what had been taken away from her, it was gone. That she was lost and defeated only emboldened her lusts. Lost in her storm of pleasure, her thoughts drifted on what duties Morgana would have for her, what treachery she would visit on the innocent.

Before she could contemplate further, she cried out as heated pleasure bloomed in her bosom, and she felt her back muscles strengthen. She was changing even more.

Her breasts, a handful before, quivered and bloomed, expanding upon her chest like two bouncing, overripe melons. Her back arched and her eyes rolled back into her head as the erotic enslavement overcame her, making her luscious, expanding mounds jiggle in rhythm to her orgasmic convulsions.

The former daughter of the Southlands gasped in pleasure as the spheres of her ass ripened into prominence, soft and voluptuous. When she rolled over to grind herself on the floor, her succulent backside stuck out as two soft globes, aching to be grabbed. She slid her hand underneath one of her giant tits, grasping the cool, smooth flesh as she pinched for her dark nipples.

Being of a sun touched people, her complexion had not bleached into the pale marble perfection of so many Black Moon fanatics, but rather lightened into a soft, pleasing creaminess. The torch light blurred the edges of her curvaceous form, lending her vile personage an almost heavenly cast. As she rolled back onto her back, gasping for air in her storm of dark pleasure, so too did her eyes roll back down.

Narrow, violet, cat like eyes. Lovely, caring Parisa, was no more.

She rose up from the marble floor with feline grace, her new, massive bosom sitting high on her chest like some living sculpture, the kind seen in only the mad dreams of poets and artists alike. She watched Morgana's witches couple with their noble victims.

A smile dawned on her face. She saw a mix of shuddering bodies, round and feminine ass cheeks in a blur as they took the warrior's seed. Huge breasts bounced and swayed atop narrow waisted nymphs. Some were already finished, with the witches hugging the knights like long lost lovers as the men offered the last of their life into their yearning wombs, filling the treacherous women with their virtuous seed. Seed that would ripen into dark life.

Other warriors were more lucky and Parisa grinned when she saw the tell-tale signs of gray skin and dimmed hair. Yet more to join her Queen's ranks, so great was their thirst for life and lust for dark beauty that they simply could not die like their more noble brethren.

However delightful the sight of that defilement was, nothing compared to when she witnessed the greatest depravity astride the greatest good. Morgana swiveled her hips and clawed into Joran's chest, just as he squeezed her soft and massive globes around his desperate fingers.

She rode him sinuously, her beautiful back arched, his manly hands immersed in her bountiful breast flesh, her copious ivory tits pouring through his fingers. Her moans and his grunts filled the chamber and all watched in awe, even the dying, whose last sight was of primal evil entwined with the essence of good.

Morgana drew blood from Joran with her glossy black nails, biting into her lips as the jiggling porcelain domes of her perfect ass bounced atop his hips. From the head of his shaft to the root, she owned him, body and soul. When she pulled his head up to her round and giant tits, she meant to cement his servitude. Already fluids of corruption ran from her proud nipples, coating her mountainous melons in a glistening, delectable sheen.

Joran had faced such devilry in the past and come out righteous, but this was different. This was Morgana. The vile dagger Parisa had stabbed him with seemed to have not only instilled unholy lusts, but severed his connection with His Holiness. As those milky teardrop mounds loomed before him, he cried tears of joy and terror and gave a quick prayer to his lord for deliverance.

There was not an answer.

But there were immense and soft breasts in his face, and then in his mouth. He spat and sputtered at first, but Morgana would have her due. She smothered him beneath her pillowy bosom, stuffing his mouth with her luscious flesh as the essence of evil flowed as free as ever. The scalding mixture burnt his throat and yet he could not tear himself away.

"Yes suck them, noble hero!" she moaned, squeezing his face against her swollen mounds. Each pulse of her unholy concoction down his mouth filled her with nerve searing ecstasy. Her whole body trembled and quaked, her pussy clenching his cock mercilessly, pushing him to spew his seed and soul into her depths. "Let go, Joran! Pump it inside me, cast off the light!"

Her words sent him over the edge and the irrepressible tingle at the head of his cock told him it was over. He groaned and took handfuls of her juicy ass cheeks as his manhood fired off the load that had waited so long. "Yesss!" hissed Morgana, raking her claws down his back as spurt after spurt of his goodness spewed into her.

His mouth fell away from one of her tits and it resumed its perfect, gravity defying shape, huge and full. Steam rose from his mouth as corruption needled through his veins and stung his heart. He held onto a pearl of goodness even as his soul caved before the vile witch's onslaught. He clutched the hot flesh of her plush ass cheeks helplessly, pleasure wracking his body so hard it almost hurt.

Life ebbed from his muscled form as he ran out of semen to give and her devouring slit sucked on his soul instead. If firing off his cock inside her was divine, giving his soul was unbearable. Her strong vaginal muscles clamped down on his member, choking off his senses with pure ecstasy as her body choked off his life.

As darkness fell he saw endless pairs of violet eyes floating in the darkness. The cultists, witches, Parisa and even his men, all turned, all gone forever...

***

When Joran woke he was still in the throne room. His skin had diminished in radiance but had not taken the dead gray cast of so many of her faithful. Still, he was without weapons and Morgana still stood while her underlings washed out the bloodstained floor from the botched attack.

"What is this madness? What mad purgatory is this?" he demanded of the wicked witch.

"Paradise, good Paladin. For those wise enough to see it." purred Morgana. "Your soul is gone and yet you live through my beneficence alone... rejoice!"

"I'd rather die than enjoy your 'beneficence'." Though truth be told, the Paladin didn't feel that wicked. He didn't feel a compelling need to act like a wild eyed maniac, like so many of the Queen's lackies. He almost felt as noble as before, but something was... missing.

"Oh! I am so pleased you said that!" Her enormous ivory breasts swelled to her breath, her body electrified with excitement, eyes gleaming over the new trickery she had conjured for the holy warrior. "For you have one final test, Joran of Camlann, one that I have left just enough of your free will intact to make it even more exquisite."

Morgana stepped aside and before Joran stood a vision of beauty. Chained to a throne room pillar and bathed in radiant white light, the voluptuous figure of Clara writhed in chains.

"Oh no..." He felt a burning lust pulse through his veins at the very sight of such nubile innocence, such was her beauty as to move him to his feet.

"Oh yes! A question of life and lust. Is it better to be innocent and dead, or alive and wicked? Can you resist her with my Gift, and keep her innocent... and cold? Or will she experience her uncle's degeneracy and live forever?" Morgana saw the mingled looks of confusion and carnal longing that played across Joran's face. "Oh yes, once my magic fades from her... all those years will not be so kind. Aging all at once may be enough to stop her heart..."

Clara jangled her chains and her straining swelled the top of her soft and bountiful cleavage in such a way as to ignite fresh heat between Joran's legs. "Please uncle! I'd rather be humble and gray than be cursed with sinful beauty!"

"Rut with her or watch her die, Paladin!" screamed Morgana, her face alight with a carnal rage, her eyes bright with madness.

Joran stumbled forward to his niece, compelled by a perverted and dark lust that he could not call his own. She was so trembling, scared, helpless... and pure. "I'm sorry... Clara! I can't stop!" His muscular arms reached forward, his corrupted black veins writhing in anticipation as much as his swollen cock.

He had a feeling that he could have stopped it all. But the way her long and lustrous golden red tresses framed those two hefty melons, like sweet slopes of porcelain, pressed together and billowing to her frightened breath... it was too much. He had to feel their ripe softness squeeze through his fingers.

"No! Uncle, fight it!" Clara cried, her radiant ruddy yellow locks frolicked to her struggles as her full breasts bounced within her low cut dress. She gasped and felt thrills race around her nipples as his hands ripped apart her paltry satin gown, exposing her creamy maiden breasts for all to see. She involuntarily arched her back in pleasure as his greedy hands sank into her luscious flesh, his thumbs teasing her nipples.

"I can't... it feels too good..." he growled, yielding to the irresistible dark power that pulsed through his being. His cock spasmed obscenely as it came near her virgin petals, eager to spear something so innocent and untouched. Pure sexual heat surrounded his manhood as he slid inside her, warmed by her wet feminine nectar.

Clara bucked and whined, trying to resist her corrupted uncle but her struggles only helped him slide further inside. He buried his corrupting weapon into her lubricated passage with obscene eagerness. The former maiden both craved and feared what she would become if he released himself inside her. Though when she looked into his deranged, lusty eyes she saw there was no 'if' about it.

He was going to tarnish her soul in every way possible and that made her heart pound even more.

Joran was addicted to squeezing and groping her perfect bobbing tits. Like full and supple mounds of ivory topped with pink crowns they yielded to his groping hands, his fingers leaving momentary imprints upon her soft flesh. He bottomed out inside her with each thrust and relished the feel of his heavy balls slapping against her pert ass cheeks, a reminder of what seething evil churned just below his shaft, ready to inject itself into her innocent center.

A greater purpose than just release thrummed within Joran. The urge to stain, ruin and corrupt and turn yet another soul in the world away from righteousness pressed him on, luring him with a greater pleasure than even the common orgasm. He squeezed his face in between her ample, jiggling globes and clutched her ripe cheeks, hammering into her wet slit at a brutal pace.

Clara screamed as he plundered her body but not in pain. She was ashamed of the raucous ecstasy that played and teased her nerves, making her tingle and her belly writhe with an eroticism she never knew she had. Her innocent and unknowing flesh was seduced by the former hero's forbidden seductions. Wet tingles ran down her supple thighs as her feminine nectar ran riot with arousal. Her senses were lost in a haze of carnal euphoria and she couldn't dodge the feeling of ultimate climax creeping up on her.

Joran's tongue play and slamming peeled away layers of her fragile willpower. He looked with triumph and hunger into her lost and lusty green eyes, so close to the delectable cusp of surrender. Her soft moans leaked from her lips like a stream of whispers. The fallen Paladin held her tight as he plunged into her at a more upright angle, hitting her pleasure spot.

Her body sprung to violent life as sexual release blazed through her lithe and voluptuous form. Her hands clawed down his back and her hips went off as if electrocuted, rolling against his cock and smacking his own hips. "Oh fuck uncle!" she sobbed as her young and tight passage quivered and clenched around his cock, drowning his frothing masculinity in the walls of her pink flesh.

Joran groaned and felt dark power well up behind his cock. Morgana's malevolence, powerful and exquisite, pulsed through his body and stiffened his muscles. He was the channel for her evil, ready to be passed into the chaste and unsuspecting young thing entwined in his arms. He so wished to say 'Forgive me!' but instead only "YESSS!" came out.

Like a tidal wave of power, heathen thrills raced up his spine and down his legs, until at last, like a volcano, he erupted his unholy seed straight into her ripe and innocent womb. He pinned her ass cheeks around his cock and stuffed his mouth with one of her ample and plump tits, sucking furiously as Morgana's curse spewed into the redhead's shuddering body.

Clara held him close, loosing a series of helpless whines and pleasure filled whimpers. Her body went stiff as the first ropes of his corrupted semen lashed the moist walls of her womanhood. Right then she knew her beloved uncle could have only been pumping pure evil inside her, for only something evil could feel so good.

She could feel such wicked power overcoming her, spreading through her womb like an irresistible tide of shadow. She was a soft girl, not seasoned by the hardships of the world. Whatever determination she had to resist flickered and died before the ethereal temptation of damnation.