Queen of Damnation

"Why do you hate your Queen, Wolf?"

"She often takes over as war leader, due to her husband's being a fool, and she always leads into disaster. She is no fool, however; I know it is planned disaster. Every year she signs away more and more of our land to the Southrons, but I know peace is the last thing on her mind. She serves the Nailed God. She means to undo us."

"And she sent you to me to be rid of you."

"Aye. I hate her, her and her wizard."

"Court wizards always make for interesting tales. Tell me of him."

"He's a priest of the Nailed God, though he looks like no Southron I've ever seen. Tall, pale, with a head like a brick."

Tryamore raised her brows. "Does he carry a long black sword?"

"Aye."

"Is he a despoiler of women?"

"Aye."

"Is his name Nithad?"

Wolf cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know his name?"

"I know the man—if you can still even call him an ape. He's very old and very troublesome. Be careful of him. Kill him if you get the chance." She sighed. "Wolf, why did you come if you knew it would be your end?"

"Because it won't. The Iron Elves will march to war, the High King will be overthrown, and the Southrons will be crushed."

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"My father told me it would be so."

She smiled, got to her feet, and said, "So you are a man foresighted. I've said that you won't sway my father without my good will, so it's as good as foretold that you'll do as I say."

"And what do you want of me, Princess?"

At once, she tore her robes away and stood naked before him. In a voice like thunder, she boomed, "Man, look upon me! Am I not beautiful?"

Wolf stood transfixed. She had looked hard even under her robes, but that told not the half of it. Her form was full and lovely, but every ounce of it was knotted muscle; she looked like the idol of a goddess carved from granite. And she was, of course, beautiful.

Her silver eyes met his, and she barked, "Kneel, ape."

Without thinking, indeed without a single thought in his head, Wolf knelt.

"That is more like it. Now, am I not beautiful?"

"You are beautiful, Princess."

"Of course I am. I am Tryamore, daughter of Sulemain, son of Dahveed, son of Yeshu, son of Iblis, son of Shaitan, heiress to the Blackstone Throne and the Citadel of Glass. You are an ape."

Wolf said nothing.

"You want to serve me. It is in your nature."

Wolf said nothing.

She sighed. "Come here, ape."

He rose and came to her. She put her arms around him. She was, indeed, as hard and cold as stone; Wolf felt she could've crushed him like an egg if she'd wanted to. She put her hands on his shoulders and forced him to his knees. She spread her legs, and Wolf stared into her womanhood, swollen with lust, glistening, dripping; the smell of it filled his nose and clouded his mind.

"You want it."

Wolf nodded.

"You haven't earned it."

She turned around, showing her arse, and said, "There. Now, eat."

Wolf ate. He leaned forward, buried his face in her flesh, and instantly his mouth found her opening. He brought his hands up, gripped her hips, and drew himself in closer.

Betwixt gasps of pleasure, Tryamore was laughing. Wolf didn't notice; his mind was wholly occupied with what his mouth was doing, his lips and tongue caressing her, trying to draw out every bit of pleasure. The Princess sank down to rest her head on the bed, her rump in the air.

After a few minutes, she cried, "Enough!" Wolf stopped. She stood, turned, grabbed his shoulders, drew him to his feet. Taking a fistful of his beard, she said, "Merciful Shaitan, you apes are so disgustingly hairy."

Wolf said nothing.

"It tickles."

At that, Wolf couldn't help but laugh. The Princess laughed as well. She sank onto the bed and said, "You know, Wolf, when dear old Hild chose to serve me, she'd never heard of using her mouth for pleasure at all. I had to explain it to her. Took me a fortnight just to get her to lick my cunny." She was thoughtful for a moment. "The son of Shaitan who blessed you, which stopped me from killing you when I found you in the forest, was a daughter. A nymph, I believe, is your word for her kind."

"She was, Princess."

"Tell me that story."

"When the priests of the Nailed God sent me on my mission, I nearly starved to death in the wilderness within the first month. One day, on the edge of death, I heard a woman's singing. I followed it and found the nymph bathing naked in a stream. I was in such a state that she took pity on me and, rather than kill me, she fed me and bade me stay the winter in her tree."

"And did you . . . oh, Shaitan, what is it that they call it? Did you grow fat on the milk from her teats and the honey from her loins?"

"Aye, Princess."

"Well then that's better than half my work done for me. So many of the apes I find think that a tongue is for talking." She placed her hands behind her head. "Take off that ridiculous skirt and come here."

Wolf removed his kilt and joined her on the bed. She threw an arm around him and said, "At dinner, you seemed amused more than perturbed by Ahmad. Are you a bugger?"

"I am, Princess."

"A bugger who likes cunt. I approve. We'll have a lot of fun together, I think."

She slid a hand down to the crack of his arse, spread him, tickled him.

Wolf tensed and pulled himself away.

Tryamore sighed. "Oh, you poor, poor little ape. Someone hurt you there, didn't they?"

Wolf nodded.

She drew him in. "No need to worry, my little ape; you're with your Princess now. Your Princess will never, ever hurt you. Do you trust your Princess?"

Against his better judgment, almost involuntarily, Wolf nodded again.

"Good. Now, then."

She slid two fingers across her cunny and held them under Wolf's nose.

"You want it, don't you?"

He nodded. "I want it, Princess."

"Have a taste."

He drew the fingers into his mouth. The clear fluid dripping from them didn't taste like cunny. It tasted almost like mulled wine.

She smiled. "You've been so accommodating, I'm almost considering giving you more. Will you do as I tell you?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Good. Will you submit to me?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Very good. Will you bow to me and worship me as I deserve?"

"I will, Princess."

At this, Tryamore moaned as though Wolf's words gave her physical pleasure. She said, "Will the great war leader, son of a god, swear to serve the House of Iblis and obey the Silent King?"

"I cannot do that, Princess."

Tryamore, with a puzzled look on her face, wetted her fingers again and presented them to Wolf, who accepted them. "Who do you serve, ape?" she asked.

"I serve you, Princess."

"To whom do you swear fealty?"

"I swear fealty to none but Woden who is my father."

Tryamore howled with frustration. Roughly, she rolled him onto his back, sprang to her feet upon the bed, and—to Wolf's surprise—sat down hard upon his face. Wolf didn't question the gift, but thrust his tongue deep into her womanhood and lapped. She accepted the tongue and rode his face like a war horse.

"You are an ape," she moaned, "you are an animal. You are a slave. You are born, you live, and you die in a mere instant. I am Tryamore Blackrock, daughter of Sulemain, son of Dahveed, son of Yeshu, son of Iblis, son of Shaitan, heiress to the Blackstone Throne! You! Are! An! Ape!"

She thrust against his face like a rutting stag. Wolf, his ears clamped between her thighs, heard none of this.

"You will serve me! I! Will! Rule! You! I—ah, Shaitan!"

A jet of clear liquid shot from her cunny, filling Wolf's mouth and nearly choking him as her body convulsed. With a loud moan, she rolled off of him to sit beside him on the bed.

"So," she panted, "how did you like that, little ape?"

"It's the most wonderful thing in the world, Princess," Wolf mumbled as if in a dream.

"You want more, don't you?"

"Yes, Princess." He added, "As it pleases you, Princess."

"That's a good ape. You can have more, and more, and more for the rest of your life, if you'll swear to be my man."

"I can't do that, Princess."

She rolled her eyes. "In the name of Baal, Iblis, Shaitan, and The One, why can you not do that?"

Wolf's voice at once grew stern and sober. "You are beautiful, Princess. You are as glamoring, enchanting, and perilous as you are beautiful; don't insult me by thinking I don't know my peril. You are . . . wonderful. I would serve you. I would worship you."

Tryamore nodded. "But."

"But, as you know, I am a man foresighted. My father has shown me a dark and terrible future. My life is not my own to give; I am a thrall of Wyrd. I am Wolf, war leader, son of Woden, and I have a duty to my people that can't be escaped; if I made to escape it, it would find me. Swearing obedience to the House of Iblis is not a part of that duty, and so that doom is not deemed."

Tryamore's reaction surprised him. She said nothing, and looked troubled, for a long while. Finally, she asked him, "Has your god told you the true purpose of my race?"

He nodded. "The Nailed God lives. If the Sons of Shaitan perish from the earth, the earth will perish in fire."

The Princess slapped herself on the forehead. She muttered, "Of course, of course, of course."

"Princess?"

Tryamore sprang to her feet. Staring at the ceiling and raising her fist, she launched into a frightful tirade in her own language. It was as nonsense to Wolf, though the names "Iblis" and "Shaitan" must have come up in every sentence. At last she sank back onto the bed, her eyes still furious. Rubbing her temples, she said, "Ape, when I first heard you claim to be the son of a god, I thought you were a madman. But apes don't know the true purpose of my race. No ape has ever been told." She slapped the bedding. "Your obedience to my House is not foredoomed. Just the opposite, even. Your very coming to my city was foredoomed by Iblis himself, so many thousands upon thousands of years ago. You are the Immanuel. I am a fool for not questioning you sooner. So many humans wander into our lands in blind foolishness, it seemed unimportant. But in the ages I've been alive, do you know how many slaves I've had? Do you?"

Wolf shook his head.

"And neither do I! Your lives are so comically short, I've not even bothered to count how many slaves I've owned. But of that numberless number, not a single one has ever denied me anything; I don't command, I ask, and they obey because they want to, all to a one, but not you. Yes, ape, you are the Immanuel foredoomed." Her rage subsided, and she smiled. "And here I've got you all to myself. You will not be my man?"

"I will not, Princess."

"But you will worship me? You will serve me?"

"Aye, Princess."

"That will have to do."

She threw a leg over him and mounted him, her cunny hovering mere inches over his throbbing prick. Slowly, maddening slowly, she lowered herself onto him. Wolf gasped and moaned at the touch, the pleasure of it almost more than he could bear. When the full length of him was inside her, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "No matter what may be foredoomed, no matter what Shaitan himself might say, you are mine. You belong to me. If you don't yet, you will."

Wolf didn't respond. Pleasure coursed through every inch of his being, pulsing with the very beating of Tryamore's heart. He had been with his share of women; none of them—not even the first—had been anything like this.

He gasped and managed to spit, "Princess."

"Do you like the way it feels, ape?"

Shaking, he nodded.

She laughed. "And I'm not even moving. You must realize, man, that you've just been ruined. No man or woman will ever satisfy you the way your Princess can."

Wolf found that he didn't care.

"Who am I, ape?"

"Princess," he whispered.

"Yes. I am your Princess." She yawned. "I think I'll move around a bit."

She lifted fully off of his prick and fell back upon it. Wolf shot his seed into her with an ecstatic scream. She pinned his wrists to the bed and rode him.

"You lost your seed so quickly," she panted. "You can do better."

"Princess . . ."

"I suppose I can forgive you, this time. If you want it to stop, ape, you need but say so."

"Never," he managed to gasp.

"Good."

She rode him harder, faster, as though punishing him. Wolf felt a world away, drunk with pleasure, entranced by the beauty of his Princess. Time lost all meaning for him; it was both an instant and an eternity before Tryamore, with a shudder and a scream, drenched his loins. Her womanhood spasmed around his member, drawing a scream from him as well.

"Akbar Shaitan!" she howled, laughing, drunk with pleasure and power. "Akbar Shaitan! Wolf, the fearsome swordsman! Wolf, the great war leader! Wolf, Immanuel foredoomed! Wolf, son of a god! Under me, serving me, like a slave, mine, mine, MINE!"

She spasmed again, gushed again, screamed, and it drew another spurt from Wolf. The Princess rolled off of him, clutched his now-flaccid member, and purred, "Seems that one finished you."

Wolf could barely breathe.

"Worry not. You did well, for your first service. And you'll have plenty of practice; so long as you're in my city, I'll expect you back every night."

Catching his breath, he grinned. "I look forward to it, Princess."

"Of course you do." She yawned and reclined on the bed. "You will have the Silent King's good will; I can promise you that. Now dress and go, prove to your friends that you haven't been devoured. After dinner tomorrow, come straight here."

Wolf grinned wider, kissing her boldly before he took up sword and kilt and left the room.

***

Tryamore Blackrock, Princess of the House of Iblis, heiress to the Blackstone Throne and Citadel of Glass, lay staring up at her ceiling for a long, long time. This man Wolf, he knew he was special, knew he was a man with a grim and glorious doom, but this god men called Woden seemed very selective with the information he gave out.

The words of Shaitan, from the mouth of Iblis, were far more informative.

"I don't want it," she muttered, rising to extinguish the lamp.

"I don't want this doom," she grumbled, returning to bed.

"I will not love him!" she yelled into the darkness.

The darkness seemed not to care.