Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

He relinquished the hilt of his knife and caressed the sizable bulge in his robes, the embers of lust flaring to fiery life. Not only did he relish the sight of the naked warrior before him, her ample curves and taut limbs promising exhausting revelry, but the feeling of his mind ensnaring hers, the delicious sensation of his hypnotic tendrils exerting their subtle, yet overwhelming influence. Oh how he would delight in ravishing her, coaxing unspeakable pleasure from her body and mind both!

Tsonia had stopped washing herself. Instead she swayed gently to the cadence of his words, her hands wandering her body, as if she were presenting herself for his approval, a quizzical smile on her ruby lips. "What do you have in mind?" she wondered.

"Take hold of me," Kelgore murmured, parting the salt-stiffened fabric of his clothes and offering his throbbing lance for her fingers. His free hand touched her luxurious, wet mane of fiery tresses, guiding her face towards his yearning manhood. Her breath was hot on his skin and her lust rushed up through his fingertips as they touched her scalp.

At her touch, Kelgore's vision blurred as he latched on to one of her secrets, wrapped in shadows at the edge of her mind, but right at the surface where the most important secrets are always kept. Kelgore became Tsonia. He saw through her eyes, heard through her ears, and relived the memory she wanted to bury but couldn't.

He was bound naked to an altar made from some strange green rock. The surface had been polished smooth by aeons of use. Thousands of bodies had languished here until they met their demise. Icons wrought from ribs and spines and skulls adorned torchlit alcoves. Naked priests and priestesses, their bodies painted with unholy symbols writhed around the altar, their voices brittle from hours of chanting. And towering over him, confusion and lust flickering in its monstrous eyes, was the jackal-headed demon Q'alan, his jet-black skin slick with sweat, his prodigious erection dripping with hellish seed.

"M-more..." Kelgore heard himself beg through Tsonia's swollen lips. The burning taste of demon seed clogged his throat. Patches of the vile stuff caked his breasts, his stomach. A veritable lake of it pooled under his behind. And his hand wandered downwards, splaying open his hungry cunt for the demon to see. Thick rivulets of demonic seeds, mixed with virginal blood dribbled over his fingers and onto the stained altar.

"Give me more," Tsonia's voice demanded as she spread her legs as far as the chains around her ankles allowed. She rammed two fingers into her sex, displacing another gob of the foul seed. "You are not sated yet, are you?"

Her voice was hoarse and rough, but there was something in it, a force even the mighty Q'alan could not resist. Growling, hot spittle dripping from its jagged teeth, it grasped Tsonia's hips. A large, bulbous sensation pressed against her rear, demanding entry to that as-of-yet unspoiled orifice. Tsonia groaned and wailed as the demonic phallus forced her open, but her moans turned to cries of ecstasy as Q'alan's mighty spear filled her up. The demon gasped and frothed at the maw as it relentlessly pounded her, trying to break that insolent human who dared to challenge him.

And yet, he couldn't. He was as much a slave to her body as she was helpless to escape the pummeling Q'alan unleashed upon her.

Hours passed in a moment of Kelgore's memory. The jackal-headed demon took Tsonia every which way, pouring unending streams of his demonic seed down her throat, cunt, or ass. His claws left bloody furrows in her unblemished flesh, but the wounds seemed to heal as soon as he gouged them. And instead of tiring, becoming weaker under his monstrous assault, she seemed to thrive, urging him on for another fuck.

And then the unthinkable happened. Q'alan tired. His rampant shaft, which had been erect for days and able to spew gallons of his demonic fluids, flagged. Tsonia, breasts heaving in heat, grinned wantonly up at him. One of the chains holding her arms to the altar had broken and she beckoned, curling her fingers at her cum-streaked lips.

"Have me drink from your well once more, oh mighty Q'alan," she groaned, her body making disgusting, sucking sounds as she slithered on the cum-slick stones. "Your seed is sweet nectar to me."

Q'alan threw his head about in irritation. The priests and priestesses, by now only whispering their binding chants in hoarse, broken voices, were barely able to stand. Snarling, he lashed out, cutting open a priest from head to groin. Hot, bloody intestines fell to the floor in sloshing tangles. The man was too hoarse to even scream as his life cascaded onto the befouled tiles. But the deed was done. The circle was broken. Q'alan was no longer bound.

Spitting curses upon his inept cult, the jackal-headed monster vanished in a gout of foul-smelling vapor, leaving behind a tangle of confused and fear-stricken priests. When they saw Tsonia reach for the second chain holding her body to the altar, the cultists clambered over one another to flee from the torchlit catacomb.

The chain broke as Tsonia flexed her arm, her body infused with Q'alan's hellish strength. There were no wounds. There was no pain, not even from her ravaged nethers which the demon had abused for uncountable hours. Her bones were stronger than the rusted shackles tethering her to the soiled stone altar and she broke them with contemptuous ease.

Tsonia came to her feet, wishing she could break her mother's neck as easily as she could break these chains. Kelgore understood how Tsonia's own mother had offered her virgin daughter to Q'alan for the promise of influence, riches and power.

His vision snapped back, the flickering images of the underground crypt replaced with the twilit glade. There were no chanting priests, just the irritated chatter of jungle birds and the unceasing beat of the distant drums. He was standing next to the spring, his fingers entwined in Tsonia's magnificent locks, her lips locked around his throbbing manhood, her tongue a fluttering sensation almost as sweet as the taste of the secret he had plucked from her.

"Yes," he purred, slowly rolling his hips forwards. "You and I shall make a fine pair. Demon-blessed, you and I. The world will tremble at our offspring's might!"

Her answer was a hungry growl deep in her throat. Strong hands dug into his buttocks and her mouth exerted delicious suction. This was different from the scared waifs he had coerced into his bedchambers, different from the docile noblewomen he had twisted and broken for his amusement.

Kelgore found it hard to find words under Tsonia's dexterous assault. One hand dove under his clothes, finding his sac. Expertly, her calloused fingers caressed his balls.

He didn't dare use his voice, for fear of inadvertently breaking the spell he had just put upon her. None of his prior victims had displayed such vigor under his control. But then, he never had tried charming another demon-touched being before.

Tsonia's growl had turned into a playful purr. One hand pumped his shaft, her other was busy between her own thighs. Kelgore slowly fucked her glorious mouth, amazed at how deep she was able to take his lance. She spurred him on with moans, with a clawed hand to his buttocks and he obliged, feeding her his shaft until his loins curled up in that all-too familiar sensation of imminent release.

Once more he drove his lance home, eagerly devoured by the red-headed temptress kneeling by the spring, and hot spurts of seed poured from him. Kelgore loosened a triumphant yell as his body shook from an almighty climax, more satisfying and visceral than anything those tepid Xhastrian whores had been able to coax from him!

A low, ominous growl answered him, shattering the magic of the moment. Kelgore's spell, tenuous as it had been, faded away. Tsonia, Kelgore's seed dripping down her chin, shook her head as if she had just woken from a perturbing dream. Her eyes caught him, robes wide open, his erection still proudly on display and a grim expression settled on her beautiful face, promising the inevitability of untold torment.

A flicker of comprehension dawned and she flung herself at him, tearing his knife from its sheath as she barreled into him. They tumbled into the grass. Tsonia, gloriously naked and wet sat astride his prone form, one hand a crushing vise around his throat, the knife hovering above his eye, poised for a lethal descent.

"I don't know what fell magics you employed on me, but I hope for your sake there is a good reason why I have your taste all over my mouth!"

Kelgore, stunned by her sudden fury and for once at a loss for words, noticed movement in the branches above. A tall, man-like shadow watched with unknowable intent. Two more shades silently joined on adjacent branches. They carried nets made from vines and short spears tipped with stone points. Inquisitive eyes flicked this way and that. Their heads inclined as if in conversation, but whatever whispers they uttered were unheard over the rumble of the drums.

There was no air to breathe. There was no air to bargain with. He could wait and hope the strangers would free him from Tsonia's grasp, but Kelgore doubted he could hold on for that long. He'd rather take his chances with her than the ominous strangers. Croaking a warning, he raised his arm, pointing.

Tsonia opened her mouth in a stillborn question. Before she could give words to her thoughts, a feathered dart sprouted from her neck. On instinct, Tsonia pulled it free, relinquishing Kelgore's throat. Greedily, he sucked air into his burning lungs as Tsonia came to her feet, warily searching for the attackers.

Ever the opportunist, Kelgore grasped the chance at freedom. He mustered his voice. "Drop the knife!"

Tsonia obeyed, relinquishing his blade. Then her fighting instincts took over and she tumbled to the side, just as tall, muscular shapes arose from the undergrowth around them. Kelgore plucked his weapon from the ground and came to his feet in a scrabbling run, sprinting towards the tree where he had left his mother's head. The first dart missed him by a finger's breadth, but the second found its mark.

A soothing calm fell over Kelgore as he stood there, watching Tsonia naked and grappling with a green-skinned savage. Slowly sinking to his knees, he was certain he saw Tsonia's hips roll in a particular motion against that man's groin. An irrational burst of jealousy gripped his heart. How could she still be so full of energy while he only wanted to sprawl on the floor and sleep until that beautiful tranquility had passed? How was she so willing to copulate with a beastly savage while he was here, still horribly aching for her body?

The last thing Kelgore saw before sleep took him was a grinning face, tongue wagging as someone or something slung him over her shoulder.

***

The stone blade was aimed at her ribs but Tsonia held it at bay and threw her weight to the left. The man or beast or whatever it was that grappled her shifted his feet to compensate. For the brief moment he was off balance, Tsonia caught hold of a jungle root, anchored herself, and with a mighty twist of her hips she sent her attacker sprawling to the ground.

Was this creature even a man? Only the leather skin wrapped around his loins and the strap slung over one shoulder suggested any degree of civilization. His skin mottled in shades of olive, sage, and lime, was unlike anything he had seen before.

Atop his powerfully muscled torso the head had a feral, beastial quality. Short fur rippled in the breeze and thin flews curled around canine teeth in a face that was more muzzle than mouth. The man's arms ended in strong, clawed hands. A sinuous, striped tail curled from a shapely backside and the hind legs bent backwards were built for long, powerful strides and ferocious jumps.

As Tsonia stood, the jungle seemed to twist around her, a verdant kaleidoscope of madness. The beast man didn't regain his feet as much as he sort of oozed into an upright posture. The short spear undulated in his grip. The tangle of jungle roots beneath her feet shifted as if she stood upon a lattice of ship's cables and the constant drum beat became muddled and lethargic.

Tsonia shook her head to clear the dart's poison from her vision, but it did no good.

With a growl of anger, the beast man charged flapping like a banner in the wind. Tsonia leapt away from his attack leaving her feet and hands behind. She found herself next to the bouncing pool, next to her discarded chainmail top, which crawled into her hand and wrapped itself around her fingers.

Before she could reorient her senses, her foe was upon her, clawed fingers at her throat and the point of his spear driving into her shoulder. Black blood hissed against the flint.

With a roar of pain, Tsonia bashed him across his stubby snout with her handful of rubbery chainmail knocking loose a fang from his slavering lips. It left an arc of crimson hanging in the air like a sanguine rainbow. She brought a knee up into his groin where his twisted loincloth provided no protection. The beast howled but did not release his grip. She could feel his claws piercing her throat like gimlets twisted into cork. Again she brought the chainmail flailing down on his head, this time ripping away a pointed ear.

The beast man released her throat, and caught her wrist in a grip like twine wrapped around bread dough. It was the opening Tsonia had hoped for, and she followed his motion adding her own considerable strength to his momentum, rolling the pair of them down the colorful brook that scarpered idly away from the spring pool.

They tumbled down the slope and the world seemed reluctant to drag itself around in a spiral. Tsonia felt as if everything was made of honey as green and brown and claw and chain were mingled by a slow spoon. She saw the breath expelled from her lungs as she landed hard on top of her attacker, his fuzzy chest against the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. His arms wrapped around her and his clawed hands raked at her exposed throat and midriff.

A bloody cry caught in Tsonia's throat. She clutched at the beast's pulpy arms, hoping to arrest their assault when she noticed the long, trailing appendage wavering gently from her shoulder. It must be the spear haft, still embedded within her like a spent lover.

With all the focus she could muster, Tsonia released her attacker and took the spear in her grip. Clenching her teeth and straining wary thews with all her demon-blessed might, Tsonia forced the spear point through her shoulder, out of her back, and into the heaving chest of the screaming creature beneath her.

For another moment he fought on, even as his life slipped away from him.

Tsonia felt the flesh of her throat and her stomach melding, knitting together like a weaver's handiwork. She yanked the spear out of her own body, black blood hissing and steaming along its length, and she pushed herself up and up and up to her feet. She hadn't realized the ground was so low.

The jungle continued to swirl around her, twisting and undulating. The spear felt pliant in her hand, as if made of soft leather, but she knew it could not be so. She shook her head again to clear the fog of the dart's poison, but to no avail.

Above her, a coarse series of syllables were barked in a language Tsonia didn't know. She blinked into the twining tendrils of the jungle and saw another man, like this one, waiting by the flat ground by the pool. He carried a short spear in one hand and a net in the other. Both seemed to flutter in time to the sonorous beat of the distant drums.

"So your people have honor of a sort?" Tsonia asked, mounting the hill. "You could have joined your friend and ganged up on me, but instead you waited for single combat. You have my respect, but not my mercy."

She was battered and bloody, her skin caked with mud and what must have been Kelgore's seed. But she recognized a challenge when it was issued and while she didn't know what would happen if she declined, she knew she was too vain to find out.

"I don't suppose you'd let me dress first?"

The second foe barked a single word, hefted his spear and began to circle Tsonia cautiously, a wary eye on the captured spear and the chainmail hauberk she wielded.

"No? No, I suppose you're almost as naked as I am. Fair is fair after all."

Tsonia lowered her weight and readied for his attack, trying to hold her opponent in focus as the jungle blended and kneaded itself around them.

The beast man lunged, stabbing with his spear, an experimental strike to gauge Tsonia's speed. She parried it easily, although the spear shafts felt supple as they met, the clack of contact numb and muted. Whipping her handful of chainmail, she attempted to catch her opponent's arm, but the steel seemed to pass through his limb even as he withdrew.

Tsonia sprang after him, jabbing under-handed, short, rapid strikes to force her foe to give ground, but he dodged left and right, both at once as if there were two of him and she could land a blow on neither. He caught her spear in his net that seemed to move and tangle on its own and pulled her forward, seizing her balance. She surrendered her weapon, yielded to gravity and flung herself forward, tucking her shoulder and rolling under the slash of his spear blade.

As Tsonia let her momentum carry her back to her feet, the slowly spinning jungle suddenly stopped with a jerk and reversed its direction, sending Tsonia sprawling into the underbrush.

Whatever tipped those darts must have been potent indeed, Tsonia thought. Under different circumstances, the heaving, undulating, stretching hallucinations might have been enjoyable. But now was not that time.

Tsonia scrabbled quickly to her feet, groping at a slender tree trunk for support. Suddenly her eyes met another's and she nearly lost her tenuous grip on reality. There, wedged in the crotch of the sapling's branches was the severed head of Kelgore's weather-witch.

"Why won't you just die already, you miserable gutter whore!?" the witch's head spat with such unexpected vehemence that Tsonia stumbled backwards into the clutches of her charging adversary.

He had retrieved his companion's spear and, discarding his net, attacked Tsonia with both weapons, plunging the two stone spear heads into her back and out through her abdomen. Tsonia screamed in agony, but her opponent took no chances. He bit into her shoulder, and tore out a gobbet of flesh.

The beastly native had not reckoned on the demonic taint of Tsonia's blood though. It sizzled his hands and he coughed and sputtered on the foul meat. Tsonia grasped the twin spears protruding from her belly. In anguish she bent double, and then snapped backwards, driving the back of her skull into her foe's slavering muzzle. He staggered, pawing at his bloodied maw, eyes blinded by tears.

With a will few warriors possess, Tsonia yanked both spears free of her flesh, sending a spray of black blood hissing against leathery foliage. Even as her wounds began to knit, she advanced on the snarling beast man ready to return his dual attack with a vengeance. Her foe looked up with a long, low growl and readied his claws for her attack. She charged.

As Tsonia raised both spears, her enemy turned, exposing his back. She almost smiled until she felt the curling grip of the beast's tail around her ankle, felt her feet left behind her, felt herself sprawling, hurtling headlong into the body of the wounded beast man. They collided in a tangle of limbs and tumbled forward splashing into the pool.

Down they sank, claws slashing, spears stabbing, a violent snarl of limbs and flesh and fur. The pool was deeper than Tsonia expected, or maybe that was still just her drug-skewed perception. The beast-man fought free of her grasp and clawed towards the surface. Tsonia found his tail, and yanked him back down, jabbing, jabbing, jabbing with her spear. As her lungs began to burn she could feel her foe's desperation and fear. Her heels found purchase on the pool's steep slope and she tucked the whipping tail under one arm while plowing the spear over and over like a ravenous lover in the throes of ecstasy.