Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

"If I lose, will they stay here?" she asked, indicating Joras and Ambrose.

"I will take them to the village--"

"For our fate to be decided by some chieftain or shaman or council we have no knowledge of?" Joras interrupted in Thelyrian. He sought Tsonia's gaze. A flicker of dread was clearly visible. "I have a bad feeling about this."

The fire-haired warrior rose to her feet and planted her sword into the ground. "We have a deal, T'pek. How will we settle our fight? I will not be your mate if I am dead. You will not lead us if you are dead."

"No," T'pek agreed, undoing his cord and placing the dagger, sling and pouches atop his pack. "We will stop when one of us is not proud and says 'stop'. Your people will know the agreement."

"'Yield' is the word you want," Tsonia said, watching the beastman strip away his kit. "We will stop when you yield or I yield."

"Yield." T'pek nodded his agreement and unknotted his loincloth, letting his manhood hang free.

"I believe he means to distract me by waving his lance in my face," Tsonia joked to Joras in Thelyrian.

"Yes, well, it's distracting me quite nicely," he agreed.

"You show weakness there," Tsonia pointed to T'pek's naked crotch. His face scrunched into a look that Tsonia interpreted as indignation and realized he had taken her warning as an insult to his masculinity. "No, no, no," she waved in correction and sought a better word. "Soft? Um, bad fight place?"

Comprehension dawned on T'pek's face and he snorted. "I will have no burden. Nothing to grab. Children of my tribe learn to fight with nothing." His grappling gesture put Tsonia in mind of the formalized wrestling that was taught in the Green Cities. "Only fur. Belts hold tools. Packs hold food and water. They are bad for fighting."

So these people fought their duels of honor naked. It wasn't a totally foreign concept. There were stories of great heroes from ages past who also dueled in the nude. It certainly ensured that neither party carried any hidden weapons.

Tsonia pulled off her tattered chain hauberk with a resigned sigh. "Why have clothes at all then?" she asked, gesturing to the discarded loincloth lying on the ground in the firelight.

T'pek's gaze roamed over her rosy skin like a lover's caress. He barked with mirth. "Soft," he said, gesturing to his groin. "Weak. Sharp plants and rocks and bugs are bad. But Red Tsonia is good. It is strong for Red Tsonia."

"You are too proud, T'pek," she smirked.

Tsonia's chain skirt hit the ground with the soft rattling of metal on packed earth. She tossed her armor at Joras' feet and began to circle the camp site, taking the muscular native's measure as he fell into step opposite her. He was taller than her, with wider shoulders and longer arms. Some earlier fight had left his chest and shoulder marked with ghastly scars, the otherwise lustrous fur refused to fully grow back there. Her lips curled into a playful grin as her gaze wandered lower, over his fur-covered abdomen and towards his groin. The fur was almost black there, long and shaggy and nowhere enough to cover a prodigious member which proudly curved towards his navel. His oddly bent legs didn't seem to hinder his movement one bit and his sinuously weaving tail allowed him to easily keep balance.

"If you want the death price for your tribe, you will fight me," Tsonia remarked. "If you just look at me and I just look at you, we will not fight all night." A smile flickered across her lips. "Or would you like to just look at me?" She caressed one of her breasts.

The next moment, T'pek was on her, effortlessly closing the distance in one ferocious leap. His bulk tore Tsonia off her feet and together they crashed to the ground. Strong hands closed around her arm, one above and below the elbow each and when the world stopped spinning, Tsonia was face down in the dirt, with T'pek's clawed foot between her shoulder blades and her arm bent at a very uncomfortable angle.

She had clearly underestimated her opponent's speed and reach, but he didn't know any of her true strength either. Tsonia bucked, hard, unbalancing T'pek. For a heartbeat, his grip on her arm waned and she rolled, tearing her arm free, not caring if his claws tore open her back or the arm creaked in its socket. The sharp jabs of pain, if anything, only fuelled her battle-lust.

In the time it took T'pek to regain his balance, Tsonia came to her feet. She was upon him, a blur of fists and kicks as she employed every trick she had gleaned from the fist-fighters in the Xhastrian coliseums. T'pek blocked some of her blows, took others with merely a grunt of annoyance and countered others. If he pulled any punches, Tsonia didn't notice.

One blow hit her clavicle, cracking it with the sickening sound of bone on bone. T'pek grunted, shaking out his rattled fist. Tsonia dove in, landing a solid hit to his gut which sent T'pek stumbling backwards.

"Lift me up higher," she heard Shala jeer. "I can't see a damn thing!"

"Shush you," Joras muttered. "Don't make this any more awkward."

Shala's gleeful cackling gave T'pek pause. His eyes widened in horror as he beheld the disembodied head, held aloft by a disgusted Joras. Tsonia pressed her advantage, following up her attack with a furious shoulder charge.

T'pek's tail slapped across her breasts, leaving a stinging line of fire across them. Tsonia, not even fazed by the attack, barreled into him with enough force to spill both of them to the ground again. She pinned T'pek's arms to the ground with her knees, her forearm firmly lodged under his maw, pressing hard against his throat.

"Yield," Tsonia hissed, putting her weight onto her arm. T'pek's maw hung open, his tongue lolling to one side, his eyes rolling madly in their sockets. Suddenly, there was a soft sensation writhing between her thighs, tickling her sex. Tsonia's hand flashed downwards, closing around T'pek's nimble tail. Her tight grip elicited a hoarse yelp from the prone beastkin. Too late she realized how much of an advantage she had squandered. T'pek growled, fighting against her weight into a sitting position. Tsonia evaded a vicious headbutt by rolling backwards.

Gasping, she came to her feet. T'pek followed suit, albeit a bit slower.

"You... are strong," he gasped. "You are tired... from two yesterdays... but you are strong. How?"

"It will take more than a primeval forest and some rotting dead to wear me down," Tsonia snarled in Thelyrian, then added for T'pek "You are not weak, T'pek, but not strong like me. Do you yield?"

"No," the beastkin growled something else in his own language, shaking his head in defiance. "I will make you yield!" He raised his fists.

"Many people try to make me yield," she spat. "All have failed."

"I will be the first," T'pek roared, pouncing again.

This time, Tsonia was ready. As he came flying, jaws open, hands ready to grasp and wrestle, she intercepted him. One hand caught his wrist, just behind his splayed claw, the other dug into the thick fur by his loins. Her demonic blood roared as Tsonia redirected his momentum, sending T'pek crashing to the ground back first. Breath exploded from the stunned beastkin in a hollow bark. Tsonia didn't wait for him to recover, instead she mounted his hips, trapping his throbbing lance between them and pinning his arms to the ground with brute strength.

"Yield," Tsonia gasped. His lance underneath her was already drenched and she had to force herself from grinding herself against its searing heat.

"No," T'pek growled, trying to raise his arms. He could have tried to uproot a tree with his gaze alone, the effect was much the same.

"Yield, you oaf," Tsonia snarled. In Thelyrian she added "I could break your bones like rotted driftwood if I so desired."

"I am proud. I will not--" T'pek gasped as Tsonia ground herself against him, a languid, lust-driven roll of her full hips.

"But you are worthless to me as a cripple," Tsonia purred, then in the simple Trade Tongue she said "If I yield and you yield, we both get what we really want." She reached backwards, guiding his shaft. Her sex swallowed his tip eagerly. T'pek's breath caught in his throat as she claimed the full length of his spear.

Tsonia's voracious appetite, never easy to sate, had grown tremendously during their weeks at sea without any privacy and no suitable lovers. She had pondered asking Ambrose for a rowing slave or three, but even she knew how much trouble that could cause in the volatile confines of a warship. Not even pleasuring herself was an option, not with dozens of eager men devouring her every move. Not that she minded an audience, but again, the discipline aboard and the hope of finding and apprehending Kelgore had been more important than her own pleasure. Now, with T'pek writhing under her, she could finally indulge! She pushed herself away from him, only to reclaim his monstrous pole in a slow, breath-stealing descent.

T'pek's growl was the only warning she got. Too late Tsonia realized that she had relinquished her death grip on his wrists, to play with her tits and finger her clit as she rode his massive shaft.

"No!" the beastman snarled. His claws slid under her ass and he pushed her away.

"No?" Tsonia gasped, coming to her knees.

"My tribe do not fuck this way," T'pek growled, towering over her, his glistening shaft pointing at her.

Tsonia glared at him. "What-?" she began, but T'pek was on her again, forcing her onto hands and knees. Before Tsonia could even protest his rough handling, his teeth clamped onto her shoulder, his clawed hands carved furrows into her hips as he roughly adjusted her position.

Tsonia relaxed, anticipating what would happen next. T'pek did not disappoint. His bulbous tip forced her rosy curtains apart and in one fell swoop, he buried his sword to the hilt in her, his hot breath and spittle pouring down her shoulder. Tsonia wailed as he pounded into her, but it was no cry of pain—the demonic cock of Q'alan had more than seasoned her nethers. If anything, T'pek's proud lance was a potent reminder of what she had been missing ever since the God-King had tasked her with finding and killing Kelgore.

"Yes," Tsonia growled, pushing back her hips on his next thrust. T'pek grunted with the effort of keeping her pinned beneath him, his spear slashing deep into her hungry tunnel. His claws found her breast, roughly kneading her supple flesh. Another wail tore from her lips, once more she pushed back against him. Blissful release tore through her already and every thrust only heightened her delirious ecstasy.

"More!" Tsonia howled, answering each of T'pek's thrusts with a roll of her hips. His furry sack slapped against her with blistering abandon each time he bottomed out. Hot blood trickled down her shoulder, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.

Tsonia tossed back her head, jubilating at the pain, the pleasure tearing through her body. T'pek's tail slapped her ass, the squirming appendage caressing the valley between her cheeks like a second phallus. His paw mauled her breasts, but she only spurred him on with wordless moans and grunts. Another climax tore through her.

Tsonia reared up, heedless of T'pek's considerable bulk, heedless of his teeth sunk into her shoulder. She needed all of his delicious cock, buried deep within her hungry cunt!

T'pek suddenly opened his jaws, his shockingly large tongue lapping at the bloody gashes his teeth had dug. He whined in surprise as the black blood oozing from the wounds seared his tongue.

Tsonia rode him like a woman possessed, driving herself onto his shaft for all she was worth. Their bodies made lewd, slapping and squishing sounds as they collided.

Suddenly, T'pek slammed his hands upon her hips and pinned her in place, his breath coming in unnaturally quick gasps. And then he erupted, spewing burst after burst of hot, sticky seed into Tsonia, filling her up to bursting and then more, leaking from their union in thick rivulets, dripping down into the ravaged earth.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of rasping breath and the occasional drip of thick liquid spattering on the ground.

Then Shala raised her voice. "I hope you had your fun, whore. Can we go find my son now?"

***

Ambrose groaned as the light of the relentless morning sun attacked his eyes. He sat up and blinked, trying to dislodge the grit caking his eyelids. The drums, although not entirely gone, had at least quieted down and were more akin to the volcano's distant rumblings than the oppressive, maddening drone which had almost broken him. Joras slept behind him, the artist's arm a soothing weight on his waist. Ambrose pushed some of Joras' locks from his angelic face and breathed a kiss of thanks onto his prickly cheek.

"Good morning." The voice was Shala's, a mirthless, venomous rasp. Her head rested on a tree stump nearby. "Please don't start another round of fornication. I was forced to behold entirely too much of it last night." She made a disgusted sound. "Just look at them. Animals, truly." Her tongue came out, a shriveled lump of flesh, and pointed to the side.

Ambrose gently moved Joras' arm and gazed in the indicated direction. On the other side of the stump, curled into a tangle of limbs, were Tsonia and a monstrous being, naked both and obviously spent. The newcomer had a bestial snout resting on her shoulder, a powerful paw cupped her ample breast. Tsonia had a satisfied grin on her features and the stranger's cock wedged between her ass cheeks.

"Can you believe it? They had me keep watch the entire time." Shala gnashed her teeth. "Twice I had to endure their vulgar rutting. After that, hours of boredom. If I had my hands back I would throttle that whore!"

The stranger raised his head, alert eyes meeting Ambrose's. "Explain why the head talks," he growled. "And why you keep such a thing." He looked down to Tsonia's shoulder. Faint bite marks marred her otherwise fair skin. "She tastes like poison and death," the stranger said, his fur bristling. "Why?"

"I have questions of my own," Ambrose said, his hand inching towards his cane. He doubted he would be a match for the stranger's prowess, but he felt better with a weapon at the ready. "Who are you? What do you want from us?"

"I am T'pek, the hunter," the stranger said. "I came to challenge fire-hair. Tsonia."

"And then the whore allowed the beast to breed her. Twice at least," Shala added.

"How did I miss that?" Ambrose asked.

Stories about Tsonia's amorous exploits were as numerous and outlandish as those of her prowess on the field of battle. He chuckled softly, knowing at least one of them to be true. It involved him, Tsonia and Joras after all.

That particular tale ended with the fire-haired vixen spurned and furious after she caught Ambrose and Joras, naked, sweaty and curled around each other after an afternoon of lovemaking in a nameless pirate inn. She had been so obsessed with sating her own desires, so fixated on bedding Ambrose that she did not, for one moment, consider that Joras' classical beauty and his youthful body were much more to his liking than Tsonia's carelessly presented curves.

T'pek rose, his muscular frame easily towering above sitting Ambrose. With enviable grace, the beastkin crossed the small clearing they had chosen as their camp site and dug into a pile of gear. Carrying a small bundle in his paw, he returned to the stump and knelt down next to Ambrose.

The captain forced himself to look anywhere but the stranger's groin. He had to admit, T'pek's form, though alien to his sensibilities, exuded power and virility he would find utterly irresistible under other circumstances. After all, curiosity was a prized trait in any explorer.

T'pek offered the bundle. It was wound in thick, crimson leaves, with pale yellow and white ribs. The smell emanating from it was at the same time mouth-watering and stomach-churning.

"Do I want to eat that?" Ambrose asked, a tad suspiciously.

"Yes. Eat. You are hurt. It will help." T'pek nudged the bundle into his hand.

"He might be lying," Shala spat in Xhastrian. "You and Joras are of no concern to him. All he cares for is-"

The hunter turned on his heels, claws out. A dangerous, low growl escaped T'pek's throat. The undead witch closed her mouth, spearing the beastkin with baleful glares instead.

"What does it say?" asked T'pek, circling Shala's perch as if looking for just the right angle to punt her into the treetops.

"Treachery and insults that will get her smashed with a rock and then burned to ash if she isn't careful," Ambrose chastised Shala. To T'pek he said "She says bad words about you. Bad words about Tsonia."

"The bad words it says have no use. Why keep it?" T'pek asked again.

"Uh, magic. Strong magic," Ambrose said. He was well acquainted with the words of trade on his tongue, but they were usually spoken across a table over tankards of wine, or between two ships lashed together in the open sea, or between merchant caravans meeting at a crossroads. Hearing the words, simple and ineloquent as they were, spoken by the beastial newcomer gave him a disquieting sensation along the length of his spine. "She promised to bring us home with magic. If we find the man she wants," he continued, fighting to keep a straight face. The bundle's scent was becoming utterly vile the longer he held it.

"Do you trust it?"

Ambrose sighed. "We have no ship. We cannot build one. We can wait many many tomorrows and moons for a ship to come. Or we can gamble." He wasn't certain how to express the concept of 'Hope' in the simple Trade Tongue so in his own words, to settle his own mind, he added. "I'll take a little hope over no hope at all."

"We gamble," he concluded to T'pek.

Gathering all his courage, he bit into the bundle. Rancid juices poured into his mouth. Strange clumps of an alien texture were borne on that vile torrent, their taste unfathomable. Coughing, he dropped the morsel, trying to wipe sticky remains from his lips. They burned as if touched by Thelyrian devil's peppers.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he snarled, raising his cane. T'pek shook his head and left him, sputtering and close to retching.

Joras stirred next to him, no doubt roused by his violent hacking. Tsonia woke up too, disheveled but alert. Her gaze swept the campsite. When she spotted no immediate danger, she fussed about the stains and dirt caking her naked skin. Eventually, she sighed and stood.

"I will bring water," she said, grabbing the water skins. "Good water is not far."

"I will lead you," T'pek offered. "The jungle is hungry in the morning."

"Not as hungry as his appetite for her cunt," Shala muttered to their backs, already halfway across the clearing. Aloud she said: "If you wanted succor for your injuries, sailor, you had but to ask. I can easily restore your lost vigor."

"The price will be higher than you'd wish to pay, Ambrose," Joras warned, then turned to the witch's severed head. "Besides, don't you need hands to work your magic?"

"Small minds ask stupid questions," Shala sighed dramatically. "Not every spell requires elaborate gesticulation. Sometimes a sip of blood and a few well chosen words are all that is needed to weave the powers of the ether into a useful tapestry."

"Do you trust her?" Joras asked, the second time Ambrose had heard the question this morning.

Ambrose gnashed his teeth. Sleeping on the forest floor had done little to dull the numerous aches he harbored. His sprained ankle was a dull throb even when sitting, but he knew it would flare into a beacon of agony after another day of walking for miles on end. Every nick and cut he had suffered stung from his own sweat, every insects' bite itched worse than the caress of a jellyfish's tendril.

"I'm at my wit's end, Joras!" he sobbed. "On the sea, there is a time to wait for the wind to shift and fill your sails, and there is a time to break out the oars and row. The wind is not shifting, Joras. Unless you want to drag or carry me to whatever fate awaits us, I'm going to die here in this jungle... unless I row."