Battlemage - Amara

Battlemage - Amara is part three in Artesia's story about being John's champion and wiedling his infernal power. Fair warning: Artesia is a woman with a little something extra, courtesy of her racial heritage. For people who aren't picking up what I'm putting down, she's got a pussy and a cock. If that's upsetting, you might want to read elsewhere.

With that said, everybody here's a unique character not resembling reality at all and they're all over the age of 18.

Artesia's eyes flitted about the common room. Convincing the owner to give her the job was easy. He was busy and tired of losing barmaids when one was injured, scared off, or -- more rarely -- whisked away by a traveler that took a fancy to them and won them over. Even so, she was a woman herself and he'd been leery even if she was nearly six feet tall and had shoulders and arms thick enough to handle the sword strapped to her back.

Lucky for Artesia, she was full to the brim of Infernal power just aching to be let loose on the unsuspecting man. A couple weeks of fucking Dara and teasing and torturing Kameel had given filled her to the point she wondered how Lord John had managed to keep from giving in to the darkness that tempted her with each breath she took.

She'd shown him that she wasn't to be taken lightly, of course. It involved taking him into a back room and letting the smoky tendrils wrap around him and sink their libidinous essence through the pores in his skin until he was panting with lust. He felt things he hadn't felt in nearly a score of years. He wasn't a bad looking man, but he'd lost his wife and their only child and he'd never found it in his heart to try again. His grief turned to emptiness over time and with it he lost interest in the fairer sex.

Until Artesia awoke that slumbering reptile inside of him. He'd been trembling with need and want when she kissed him. A dam broke inside of him and he groped at her. Twenty years was a long time to make up for.

She restrained him with her powers, keeping him on a tight leash while he believed he was leading the carnal dance they were in. Her top came off and he spent several minutes remembering how much he enjoyed a full bosom. By the time he finished Artesia's breath was wild and she had to struggle to keep the beast inside of her from breaking free.

The room was dark, the only light from a lantern hung near the door. She guided him to the back of it and pushed him against the wall. It would have been easy to sink to her knees and finish him there. It would be quick, he was so desperate for release she could have managed it with a simple touch. The wildness and ferocity he struggled against had piqued her interest though. She loved a good fight, even if she was choreographing it.

While he grasped her boobs and twisted and pinched her nipples she'd undone his belt and lowered his pants. His cock was hot in her hands and already slippery with the juices leaking from his swollen head. That made it all the easier for her to turn around and drop her pants to her boots. His hands were still working her tits while she ground her ass against his throbbing hardness.

He gasped behind her as the sensations became too much. Her hand clamped down tight on the base of his shaft, making him think that was all it took to force him back under control. In truth it was her mystical tendrils that had pierced his astral self and forced him to remain on the edge and not go over it. The effort to make her powers behave so contrary to their nature both tired and excited her. It proved she was in control of her powers, which was an aphrodisiac of a different sort to a woman that had been denied control over her life so many times.

She guided the spongy red tip of his cock down her crack and let out a gasp as it passed across her pucker. His cock got stuck for a fraction of a second and, damn her soul, she was tempted to drive herself back on it, even if it would hurt. The magic would turn the pain to pleasure and ease her man's passing.

Her love for John had stopped her. That was where he'd taken her. Her first to do so. First and only. He wouldn't mind, she knew, but she would mind. That was enough. She pulled his cock down a little further and it instinctively dug between her pouting lips.

Her hand was smashed between them. She jerked it out, intending to shake it a few times to make sure it still worked. She never had the chance. He let go of her breasts and grabbed her hips so he could ram himself all the way inside of her in a single go. She hissed and returned the favor on his second plunge. By the fifth he was flat against the wall and holding onto her for dear life while she bounced against him like a hammer striking an anvil.

Artesia let loose her stranglehold of his release for fear that if she didn't she would have one of her own. If they both climaxed she'd have to either kill him or create a contract between them. Not to mention how difficult it would be explaining her cum splattered on the both of them and the floor. No, this was not the time for her release; she needed to be clear headed and not lost in the ecstasy of an orgasm when he peaked.

His breath shuddered as he surged and burst inside of her. Each jet filled her with warmth and power. She squeezed him in time with his pulses, coaxing every last bit of his pent up juices into her. She took the access his vulnerability gave her and began to make use of her plans... until she felt the wrongness in his body.

His heartbeat wasn't erratic, it was wrong. His pulse wasn't strong, it was spastic. His heart was failing. The power of the delayed and then prolonged orgasm had been too much for him. He was dying.

Artesia guided him to the floor and went with him, driving her hips into his lap and keeping his sputtering cock clenched with her fleshy vice. She squeezed, keeping contact while she closed her eyes and pushed more than simple commands into him. She pushed her power, even, perhaps, a touch of her own energy. She touched his weary soul and turned aside from it, seeking instead to infuse his body with warmth and life.

Several seconds passed before she heard him suck in a huge gasp of air. His body surged under her, his cock swelling and forcing another tiny dribble into her. Then he collapsed, falling back fully onto the floor. His cock began to soften at last and Artesia sagged with relief. She gathered her legs under her and rose. She pulled her pants up and secured them, though her swollen cock would be some time in going down enough for her to tuck it away like normal.

She turned at last and knelt down beside him. She reached for his pants and stopped. His cock glistened with their juices. Before she could stop herself she leaned down and licked along his length. The taste emboldened her and she took a second lick before gathering her between her lips and sucking him to the root. She worked her tongue over him thoroughly, telling herself she was making sure he was clean when the truth was she wanted every last drop she could find for herself. Only when she could find no more did she let him go with a smack of her lips and then look up.

He'd woken up and was watching her with a loopy grin on his face. Artesia had laughed at his dopey expression. She'd confirmed she had the job then, one of the few commands she'd managed to get through to him before she'd had to save his life. Then she finished stepped away, turned around, and tucked herself away before securing her pants properly and putting her shirt back on. She grabbed up her sword at last and made her way out with a promise to be back later for her shift.

It was later now. She'd shown up a couple hours before sunset, thankful to be out of the sun. The crowd had been small then and the Desert's Edge tavern was tolerable. Now it was near to full and the heat had grown with all the bodies inside. Some boasted and drank. A few had meals and moved on. Others settled in with hopes for a night of drunken whoring or worse. Games of chance -- bones, dice, or cards -- were running at a couple of tables and third had men and, rarely, women, arm wrestling for coins or favors.

Artesia kept an eye on them all and had even managed to guide a few people to a safer location or even out the door to avoid something violent and costly. When things were calm she tried to help the barmaids and bartender, taking and delivering orders when possible. It was hot, tiring, and thankless work. The smile or rare coin slipped her way didn't justify the work.

Then Aamara walked in. She was a giant among most of them. Taller even than Artesia, Aamara carried a heavy pack on one shoulder and carried a halberd in other. The unwieldy weapon was cause for concern in the tight quarters of the tavern but Artesia let it go. She was transfixed in Aamara's image. The woman was a giant, sure, but she had skin so dark she looked like what midnight would be if it was a color. Her eyes were the color of where grey meet brown, but all of that was nothing compared to her hair. Aamara's hair was shaved on the sides but there remained a long strip of silver that swept down her back in a pony tail that reached middle of the back.

Artesia stood up from the corner she'd placed herself in and forced herself not to smile. She moved away from the table and stopped to grab empty mugs from a table. She moved to the bar carefully, redirecting a couple of men that thought to head to the open table. She tied them up long enough for Aamara to claim the table.

Artesia dropped the mugs off at the bar and turned. She'd been studying the bar's occupants long enough it was easy to pick the ones she needed. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling as she sent wisps of power into the smoky bar and used them to gently caress and arouse a group of men. They were either mercenaries, caravan guards, bandits, or all three. It didn't matter. To Artesia they were tools to be used.

She couldn't whisper words in their ears, exactly, but she could goad them and give them urges. Each time one would look Aamara's way they were rewarded with a surge of desire. When they paid attention to another woman she caused them discomfort. It took less than an hour for one of them, a swarthy man with more beard than sense, to lurch to his feet and turn toward Aamara's table.

He stood there less than a minute before he turned away. Artesia smirked behind a cup of water and risked a quick glance about the rest of the room. When she looked back she reached with her demonic powers to get a sense of how things were moving forward.

They were worked up, frustrated, and growing angry. The anger was at each other, mostly, save for the bearded man. He was angry at himself, the world, and even a little toward Aamara.

Artesia moved closer and gave some gentle nudges to two other men at the table when they looked to the silver haired woman. If Aamara noticed them, she ignored them. She was talking to a serving girl.

Artesia reached out to Aamara. She was careful as she slithered an ethereal tentacle around her. She squeezed gently, coming in contact with Aamara's spirit-self and then stopped. There was resistance. Not a shield against Infernal powers, per se, but she had some sort of protection in place. Artesia retracted her tendril lest it distract her or worse, alert Aamara. Either could ruin her plans and force her to start over. She didn't have time to do that, the trials were only a few days away.

Artesia risked the barmaid instead. She wrapped her up in her magic and instantly felt the woman's fondness for Aamara. She was attracted to her. Not physically or sexually, but they'd at least shared a moment of affection. Platonic, but it was a seed. And if she could have a seed, that meant Artesia was well on her way.

But before she could be plant her own seed, she needed to use her tool to dig the hole a little deeper.

The next man at the table, his beard scraggly and lacking the luxurious volume of the first man's, rose from the table and sent a leering grin Aamara's way. Artesia watched him work his way drunkenly around a table and walk up to hers. He flashed her a grin now that she raised her head to look at him.

Aamara sighed.

Artesia fought back a laugh. She actually sighed!

Artesia strained to listen but couldn't make out much that the woman said. Of the words she did hear she couldn't place them together. The man, to his credit, tried to make light of it and use humor. Aamara shook her head and her head tilted forward, sending a clear message to him. He stiffened, sniffed heavily, and then turned away.

Artesia made her way around the bar and spent a moment helping the barkeep by gathering empty mugs and dipping them in a pot of water and using a rag to wash them out before placing them mouth down on a shelf to dry and be re-used.

A sharp laugh rose above the din of the tavern. Artesia looked up and saw the third man in the group of five rise to his feet from the table. She sent her probes out and felt how determined and sure of himself he was. His confidence was legendary. So legendary that for a moment Artesia began to wonder if he might be useful to have in her stable as well.

The moment was fleeting. Confidence turned to arrogance when he pulled out a chair and sat down uninvited at Aamara's table. He dropped his mug heavily enough to slop some on the table and then chuckled at it.

Artesia moved a little closer as she cleaned. She could hear well enough now, so long as they didn't whisper. She needn't have worried, this man didn't know the meaning of the word whisper.

"You've good taste in men," he complimented her. "Those two... fools with small dicks. A waste of your time. Come, I'll show you how a real man fucks."

Artesia gagged on a laugh. Okay, so he wasn't complimenting her after all, he was complimenting himself.

"I'm not going to waste my night watching one man fuck another," Aamara said.

That marked Artesia's second gag in a few seconds.

"Well, you're no man," he said. "You're a woman... a lot of woman. I bet I could take that pretty silver hair of yours in hand you could take a proper fucking and want more."

"I probably could," Aamara said. "More than you, anyhow."

He slapped the table and let out drunken laugh. "That spirit! You'll be fun to break. I'll do it too, you just wait."

"I'd rather not, I've got a busy week," Aamara said. "Since you won't take a hint, let's get this over with. I wouldn't touch you with your friend's dick."

"Their... what? I don't want..."

"Neither do I," Aamara said. "Are you getting it, yet, or do I need to draw a picture since you don't understand words?"

Artesia was dying. This was perfect! Better than perfect, not only was Aamara proving these men were the perfect asses she'd heard that Aamara hated, but the woman had a wit to her that was wonderful. She was going to be perfect for--

The man stood up fast enough to send his chair tipping over. He glared at Aamara a second and then turned away. He spied his friends watching and laughing and pulled up short. He turned back to her, his face red from a combination of drink, shame, and stupidity.

"I'll give you one last chance," he said. "My boys and I have this bet, you see. We got this bet among us and the winner's the one that's the first to fuck one of the great apes of Britanly. With skin like that and your silver hair, I could win."

"Oh no," Artesia said right before Aamara stood up and grabbed the edge of her table on her way.

The table flipped up through the air and smashed into the man's face and chest. He fell back and the table landed on him. Aamara followed it and she pulled it off and to the side, sending it bumping into the chairs of another table. Those men she ignored in favor of the shocked man on the ground. Him she grabbed by the belt and she dragged him across the ground back to her so she could drive her first into his nose.

Artesia heard the crunch of his nose being broken even as the sound of chairs skidding and crashing sounded in the background. His friends jumped to their feet even as they upset others at nearby tables. Aamara managed a second punch before the first of the men reached her and then he tried to tackle her.

This was not how Artesia had planned the encounter out. She was going to swoop in after the men harassed her and then offer some comfort and friendship. It would have been perfect and opened her up to a kindred spirit of sorts. Then they would--well, it didn't matter. That hadn't happened. Instead she'd found herself in the midst of a tavern brawl on her first night.

She launched herself up and over the bar, using her hands to give her leverage to swing her legs around. She narrowly missed kicking a man sitting at the bar, but the point was she missed him so she didn't put any more thought to him. Instead she rushed forward to help pry off the man that was grappling Aamara.

Except she didn't need help after all. Aamara had broken his grip on her by striking the inside of his elbow. Then she'd grabbed the same arm and twisted it, forcing him to go with her as she turned him around. What she didn't see what the second man -- the one with the massive beard -- coming to give aid.

Artesia met him with a kick to the back of his knee that drove him down to the ground. He caught himself on his hands and knees and started to rise, but not before Artesia's fist caught the side of his head and sent him slumping back to the floor.

Three more men came rushing in and one of them grabbed Artesia by the shoulder and twisted her about to face him. He hesitated when he realized she was a woman and that was all the time she needed to drive her right hand into his stomach and then brought her left down on the back of his head when he started to double over.

The man dropped toward the ground and Artesia's rising boot. She caught his chin and caused his neck to absorb the shock. Her foot slipped out of the way while he struck the floor forehead first and lay still.

The bar was in an uproar, patrons surging and either trying to escape or to join the growing fray. One man scooped up coins off a table and then turned to another that had a card game on it. Someone else caught his wrist in their hand and when he looked up he was met with a fist to the face.

Artesia punched, grabbed, and fought her way back to Aamara's side. They ended up bumping their shoulders together. Artesia pushed harder, making Aamara take a half step and then grabbed the fist that sailed just past the taller woman. She yanked on the arm and kicked out as the man stumbled past, tripping him and directing him towards the bar. He fell into a bar stool and crashed to the ground, taking it with him.

Aamara returned the favor with a kick to the groin of another brawler and then she grabbed him by the hair and brought his head down to her rising knee. He collapsed over one of the other bodies already on the ground.

They turned back to back and circled while the brawl surged around them. A few times men stumbled in their direction close enough to pose a threat. They grabbed them and either put them down or redirected them away.

"We should probably leave before they call the city watch," Artesia shouted over the sound of grunts, shouts, thuds, and fists striking flesh.

"I didn't finish my drink," Aamara argued.

"I'll buy you a new one."

Aamara waited long enough to respond Artesia thought she hadn't heard her. "Follow me," she said at last and lunged forward and grabbed a man that was bent over and holding his head.

Artesia followed, stepping over some fallen brawlers, and watched Aamara use the man as a shield to push aside others in the way of the door. As they neared it the barkeep called out to her. "You were supposed to stop this!"

"Sorry," Artesia shouted back. "Take it out of my pay!"