Red Tsonia & The Witch In The Dark

Tsonia eyed the scroll, then the grinning witch. "I swing swords, not brushes," she said. "Joras, the companion Shaskar fed to the flesh-eaters, would have been much better suited to this task."

"I would apply the sigils myself if I had a mirror, but alas, I must have left it back home in the Green Cities," Amalthra said with a mad giggle. "Besides, we have no brush. Your fingers must suffice."

"And what if I paint them wrong?" Tsonia asked, her impatience rising like a fiery flood. "The ritual will be for naught!"

The naked witch placed the scroll on the floor, next to her feet, and handed Tsonia the glowing bowl. "For a fearless bringer of destruction, you dither too much, my dear. 'Tis no elaborate portrait I ask of you, merely a few deft strokes of your finger to help guide the mystical forces I need to unleash." She exhaled slowly and locked gazes with Tsonia. "You do want your demonic blessing back, don't you?"

"You are a fool to trust me with such delicate matters," Tsonia grumbled, suspiciously eyeing the sludge roiling inside the bowl, though no flame boiled it.

"After watching you from afar for DuFrain these past months, I am certain I have your full measure, my dear," Amalthra whispered. She stood ramrod-straight, eyes closed and hands to her sides, proudly presenting her body as a canvas for Tsonia to paint on. "First, the eyes for my lord to see through."

Tsonia gazed at the scroll, then dipped her finger into the bubbling green sludge. It tingled in the same way that the chill flames lapping around the circle had. Gingerly, she drew pupils onto Amalthra's eyelids, just as the scroll instructed.

"Yes, well done," Amalthra hissed. "Now, lips for my lord to speak to you."

"That you could do yourself," Tsonia growled, smearing green sludge across Amalthra's lips.

The witch blew her a kiss. Then she began to mutter, knotty syllables not meant for a human mouth to utter. Tsonia shivered as she recognized the demonist's tongue she had heard so often before.

"A vessel for Xelathu to inhabit, given of my own free will," Amalthra croaked.

Coating her finger with more goop, Tsonia traced a pair of matching sigils over Amalthra's breasts. The witch held perfectly still as Tsonia's fingers crossed her erect nipples, her mouth forming the arcane syllables with barely a gasp.

"My flesh as his, to shape as he pleases." There was a strange tone in Amalthra's words, as if a second voice had joined her, a low, dangerous rumble Tsonia heard more in her stomach than in her ears.

She went to her knee to paint the next symbol onto Amalthra's taut stomach. It was a quartet of waves going across the witch's abdomen, requiring two more trips to the bowl for paint.

"Now, a tool to enact Xelathu's will," the witch growled, her breath coming in short, pained gasps. Tsonia looked up, only to see Amalthra's body shift and sway, as if strange currents under the witch's skin were pulling her flesh every which way. There was the sickening grinding of bones being reshaped as Amalthra's shoulders widened and her arms lengthened. Thick strands of muscle swam under her milky skin, forming and dissolving as Amalthra and the demon fought for control.

Tsonia checked the scroll for the last sigil, the one she was to paint onto Amalthra's depilated sex. Some kind of obelisk motif pointing up to the witch's navel. She coated her finger with more green sludge and traced the symbol onto Amalthra's sex, one sharp slash upwards, another one downwards.

Suddenly, Amalthra placed her hand onto Tsonia's head, keeping her in place with strong, taloned fingers. "Watch," the possessed witch growled, her voice setting Tsonia's whole body a-quiver. "Watch what we have wrought this day."

Tsonia raised her head in query, but then, movement caught her eye. Movement from between Amalthra's labia. A pale nub was inching forwards. Laughably tiny at first, but growing with every shocked gasp Tsonia exhaled. Soon it was as large as her thumb, then as two fingers combined, then even bigger. Amalthra groaned and gasped as her body reshaped, her voice drowned by the low rumble. Tsonia couldn't look away from the phallus growing from the witch's cunt. Entranced, she gazed as it rose and curved upwards, to finally spring up to its full length and girth, proudly pointing past the witch's navel.

"Hail the mighty Xelathu," Tsonia murmured, locking her gaze with the demon who had taken possession of Amalthra's body. The being that stood naked before her was a seductive amalgam of man and woman, long smooth limbs, powerful muscles and sensual curves. Bewitching patterns of blazing green were etched onto its creamy skin and long, coal-black hair tumbled past its breasts. Its strong jaw was set in a playful smirk.

Tsonia had seen other demons before—the towering, ram-headed Q'alan and the nameless, tentacled mass a deranged cult underneath Salath had summoned. These monstrosities had evoked nothing but revulsion in her, but this strange, smooth being before her fanned the flames of desire like none ever had. Male, female, demon, witch, it made no difference. Tsonia's loins trembled with desire for this being and her lust would not be denied.

Without hesitation—and more than just a little curiosity—the flame-haired warrior closed her hands around Xelathu's erect shaft, eliciting a pleased growl from the demon. Stroking the hot, throbbing lance, Tsonia guided it to her lips, kissing the engorged head before slowly licking it. Even the taste was new, a mixture of feminine nectar and masculine musk.

Before she knew it, Tsonia had closed her mouth around the shaft, struggling with the thickness of Xelathu's mighty cock yet desiring as much of it between her lips as she could take. Spit dribbled from the edges of her mouth and trickled between her bare breasts as she tried to swallow its girth, and her hands clawed into the demon's firm buttocks.

"So, this is Red Tsonia? Bloody Tsonia? Tsonia the Savage?" growled the voice of Xelathu from Amalthra's throat as its hands stroked Tsonia's hair. "The virgin slut who broke Q'alan like a routed army?"

"The very same, my Lord," answered Amalthra's voice from the same lips, but with a gleeful tone that edged on mania. "She would know your price for restoring her vigor."

A peal of lunatic cackles arose from the belly of the being and Tsonia was uncertain whose voice it was that laughed. She let the mighty shaft slip from her mouth but continued to caress it with both hands, holding it tight to her face, as if it might escape if her attention foundered.

"Name your price, demon," she gasped, her chin and chest slick with her own drool. "In coin or blood or service, name your price that I might mount this steed and show you the lust that broke Q'alan. What price for your restorative seed?"

The laughter quelled, and glowing green eyes looked down upon her. Strong hands guided her mouth back to the hermaphroditic cock. Only when she had devoured it again with the same debaucherous ardor did the demon speak.

"Service, I think," growled Xelathu's voice as its fingers twisted in her flame-red hair. "Service to be determined at such time as I have a task worthy of your talents. When you are summoned, you will answer, and you will perform whatever undertaking of chaos that I command. And then your service will be complete and your debt fulfilled. In exchange the gifts of your demon-blood will be restored through unhallowed baptism. Are we agreed?"

The deal was not to Tsonia's liking. Demons were not to be trusted, and while she stood on very few moral principles, there were lines that Tsonia preferred not to cross; lines that Xelathu would surely delight in watching her violate. But what was the alternative? To grow old and wither and retire to a life of epicene helplessness? Tsonia was a competent warrior even without the gifts of her demon blood, but merely competent. A day would come when she would be bested and her glory would fade and her name would be forgotten.

No, Tsonia decided, neither defeat in battle at the hand of another nor safe and quiet obscurity were to her liking. Tsonia's name would be remembered for generations, whether it lived in glory or infamy so be it.

"Uh-huh..." she moaned around the demon cock held taut in her lips. Her fingers crawled down her slick belly and under the chainmail kilt to find her dripping cunt and her engorged nub eager for the same attention.

"Then let us seal our bargain with the lust of chaos!" Xelathu's voice affirmed. It grabbed her head in both hands and with an indomitable heave, jammed the length of its phallus into her throat making her gag and sputter in surprise.

"Yes!" cried out Amalthra's voice. "Oh, yes master, it feels so good... so good on our cock... Mmm, oh... sooo very good..."

The corded thews of the demon-witch held fast Tsonia's head by knots of crimson hair as it pounded its hips into her face, fucking her throat with brutal vigor. Her jaw craned around its flesh as its cock plowed deep into her gullet distending her violently with every thrust and she reveled in the debasing sensation as her fingers worked in a wet flurry between her thighs.

Through the fog of delirium, Tsonia felt her lungs begin to burn as the monster deprived her of air. Try as she might, she could gasp no wisp of relief past the flesh that filled her airway, and yet so strong was her appetite she could not bring herself to release the demon organ. Neither did she expect the demon-witch to release her as Amalthra's voice moaned and mewed with ecstasy every time Xelathu's cock stuffed Tsonia's abused throat.

"Great Xelathu, I've never known a pleasure such as this... " Amalthra gasped.

Tsonia knew she had to make Xelathu cum quickly, or else suffocate on its relentless cock. With her free hand she reached for the being's ballsack, as she often did to please men, but was surprised to discover only the wet folds of Amalthra's cunt. The warrior recalled how the demon phallus had emerged from its host's body, and she wondered if both organs were equally as responsive in this alien amalgam.

Her fingers probed it, eliciting a squeal from Amalthra along with a deeper, guttural sigh. Within the hot loins of the demon-witch, Tsonia found a pruney tract of moist flesh, the same as the delicate furrows she was vigorously buffing within herself. She burnished the demonic erogenous zone with equal enthusiasm and was rewarded with redoubled moans of pleasure both squealing and rumbling.

"Cum master! Cum!" begged Amalthra's voice. "Fill her belly with your glorious seed!"

The world began to close in on her, dark shadows surrounded her fading vision, and Tsonia desperately ground her nimble fingers into both of their tender flesh even as her lungs screamed out for air. Just as her consciousness faded and her vision went black, she heard a rumbling grunt of release, felt the demon cock swell in her distended throat.

Tsonia came with a trembling spasm, silently screaming an ecstasy more intense than any she had ever known as a torrent of hot seed flooded her innards. The beast released her head as it bellowed in orgasm. The mighty phallus slipped from Tsonia's lips as she collapsed, quivering on the floor, gasping for lungfuls of the warm, fragrant air.

"I do hope you're not spent already, mighty Xelathu," Tsonia rasped in a battered voice, coughing as she pushed herself back up to her feet. Viscous semen oozed down her chin and dripped into her bare cleavage, and she noticed that the ever-present pain in her shoulder had abated somewhat. "Q'alan lasted longer than that," she taunted.

"This form is a new and novel experience," growled Xelathu, groping its own tits with an expression mixed of curiosity and satisfaction. "But you have not sated my appetite yet, my fire-haired slut."

"Then take me!" demanded Tsonia, snatching the demon-witch's hands by the wrists, and wrapping herself in its embrace, pressing her slick, buxom chest into its pert breasts and writhing sensuously against its pale skin. The drooling cock of Xelathu throbbed between them.

She took Xelathu by the chin and turned its mouth towards hers. "Take me and slake your lust upon my body," she whispered, and nipped at its lip. "Unleash the full measure of your passion and restore my potency as you promised."

She kissed it then, her sticky fingers raking through its ebon hair. It grabbed her mail-clad ass, returning the kiss with enthusiasm, their tongues wrestling in a vicious bout for dominance. She dragged the inside of her thigh up its leg and ground her ravenous cunt against its smooth, hot skin. Her hand once again found the demon's cock straining between them and guided it down.

"I would ride this beast," Tsonia rasped, as its lips suckled the curve of her neck with mad ferocity, and then her mouth devoured its tongue again.

It seized the chainmail kilt around her waist. She yelped with surprise as the steel and leather dug into her hips. With one mighty tug, broken links were flung tinkling across the stone floor, leaving Tsonia naked in the flickering candle light of the stygian crypt.

They guided each other down to the cold stone floor and the shared body of Xeelathu and Amalthra reclined back on the discarded white gown as it pawed at Tsonia's supple flesh. She straddled its hips on her knees as its hands explored her, and she held the great phallus of Xelathu to her belly, measuring its length against her own midriff. With their nether lips kissing, even as she arched her back, the tumescent cockhead nearly carressed Tsonia's heavy tits.

"This spear may well kill me if your ritual fails," Tsonia huffed, stroking its shaft reverently as she caught her breath.

The demon-witch took Tsonia by her waist and lifted her to her feet, holding her poised for their unholy conjunction. "Mount me," Xelathu's voice growled with an underlying tone of amusement, "and we shall see."

"You shall suffer pleasure few mortals will ever know!" the voice of Amalthra swore with a manic giggle as it held its cock upright and teased the hungry mouth of Tsonia's sex. The warrior woman opened herself and seated the swollen tip between her soft folds, easing her weight down, relishing the slow, erotic stretch with a low moan.

"Yes!" screeched the witch as it pulled gently down on Tsonia's thighs, "Sheath the mighty sword of Xelathu in your cunt and be reborn!"

"Ooooh... This is so tight..." Tsonia gasped, clutching her belly as she impaled herself on the demon's pike. "By the gods, it's already so deep... Mmmm-nngh!"

"By the gods?!" exclaimed Amalthra with a laugh as Tsonia's knees settled on the floor once again. "By Great Xelathu!"

Tsonia gritted her teeth, screwed her eyes closed, and exhaled one last deep breath as she consumed the very root of the demon cock. Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed and let her body acclimate to the mass that filled her. She cradled her tits in her hands, teasing her nipples, rekindling the desire that had smoldered under the strain of her desecration.

"You have done well, Slut Tsonia," Xelathu's voice rumbled. "You've mounted the beast... Now ride!" It thrust its hips upwards into Tsonia's slackened frame and she cried out in shock as the cock of Xelathu pushed even further still into her guts. She fell forward, catching herself with her hands on the firm tits of the demon-witch beneath her.

Her fingers dug into its soft flesh, its nipples stiff in her palms, and with renewed fervor she rode the great beast, matching its cadence, gasping for breath as her legs pushed away, groaning in ecstasy as she plunged back down. The engorged clit of her lover, protruding just above the base of its cock, rubbed against Tsonia's own inflamed nub and she rocked her hips with every thrust feeling the electric jolt up her spine.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me!" Tsonia begged as she churned herself on the demonic shaft, pendulous tits heaving on her chest in rhythm to their mad union.

"Yes!" echoed Amalthra's voice. "Fuck her, master! Oh, fuck her, fuck her, fuck her..."

***

Darkness entangled him like a fishnet. It clung to him and bound him and smothered him, blinding him to the faint twilight, stifling his screams of rage and terror, restraining his efforts to thrash, kick, bite, or claw his way free.

As he was dragged into the abyss, he had the sensation of falling. This time, there was no roof's edge he could grasp to avoid a painful death, smashed to a red pulp on Thelyria's streets below. Joras's life flashed before his eyes—every bad decision he had made, the face of every lover he had taken, even some of his art flickered against the all-devouring blackness that ensnared him. But there was no abrupt, life-ending stop. The swarm of skeletal limbs that ensnared him arrested his fall and held him aloft. Why hadn't they let him fall?

He ceased his thrashing and struggle and let the ghouls bear him along wherever they were bound. For the moment they wanted him alive, and if they dropped him, or he broke free, they would all be disappointed. Time lost all meaning to him. There was only the sensation of the barely controlled fall and the looming, inevitable expectation of a missed grasp, a slipped grip, and a bone-crushing landing.

But the life-ending impact never came. The flesh-eaters held onto him, grasping his limbs and clothes in an inhuman grip, effortlessly maneuvering down the sheer side of the bridge by the tiniest gaps and imperfections in the brickwork. Then, after what felt like aeons of breathless descent, the momentum changed as the throng of chittering ghouls reached solid ground and scuttled towards a tunnel, carrying his body along at dizzying speed.

Joras couldn't see any of this, the blackness was impenetrable, but he could hear the muffled difference in the echoes and the scratching of claws on stone and hasted breaths. He thought he heard a hungry, expectant note creeping into the flesh-eaters' chatter. Some claws loosened their grip, instead caressing his limbs or body, fondling and pinching as if to deduce which parts of him to gnaw at first.

He wondered if maybe a death by falling was preferable to being eaten alive.

"Please, don't eat me," he croaked in the crude language of the wastelands, suspecting it was futile. He'd known desperate hunger himself, and he knew hunger to be a cruel and impatient master. Hoarse laughter answered him as he was hauled around a sharp bend. Someone smacked their lips right next to his ear, followed by a caress to his temple.

"Or... if you have to," Joras appended, this time in his native tongue, more a prayer to the gods than a request of his captors, "please kill me first."

"You're Thelyrian?" said a surprisingly rich voice near his face. "I've lost count of the years since my ears last held the fair words of my homeland."

"Yes!" Joras exclaimed, his heart jolted by the first shred of hope he'd felt since the ghouls had swarmed him on the bridge. "Yes, I am Thelyrian. I... I have much news from the Green Cities. Perhaps we could stop and... have a nice chat for a bit?"

"Hmmm..." the voice grumbled. "We need to eat. Can't be too picky down here."

Nonetheless, the horde's mad dash slowed somewhat and the tone of their clucking, clicking chatter shifted in an odd way. And suddenly they stopped, unceremoniously dropping Joras onto something dry and soft before skittering into the darkness. Joras tried to sit up, but a too-slender body sat astride his chest. Joras thought for a moment that he might hurl the meager creature aside, but he knew if he tried he'd be quickly overwhelmed again by its gaunt companions.

"Close your eyes," the same voice said from just above him. Joras couldn't stop himself from imagining that velvety tenor singing one of the rousing Thelyrian prayer hymns he used to listen to in the temples. A bright green radiance flared to life, instantly blinding him.