tagNonHumanThe Half-Breed's Journey

The Half-Breed's Journey


*For those who read my stories, my friend is running me ragged! Begging me to write these. Hi friend, you know who you are! Anyway, this is more quest-based then I ever expected to write, so I hope that you all enjoy it.

As a bit of a disclaimer, the sex in here is very rough, and a little extreme. If you do not like tentacles, this is not your story. If you do not know what I mean, look up 'tentacle hentai' and then decide if you want to read.

All characters are 18+*


Helen had been a strange girl from the start. Raised by her mother, her mother's husband died before she was born. In the village, her father had been a respected huntsman, so no one openly spoke about the controversy around her birth.

Both Moll and her late husband Malthus had been hale and healthy, with sturdy bodies and reddish complexions. Moll's daughter was born six months after her husband died in a hunting accident, and her child had midnight-black hair and bright green eyes. Unsettling eyes.

In a small town like this, a low degree of inter-family relations was unavoidable. First cousins were frowned upon as marriage partners, but not forbidden. Second and third cousins were often married. Everyone in the town had the same basic coloration. Blonde and tawny hair, brown eyes, ruddy well-tanned skin and large bones.

Helen broke the mould already as a babe with black hair and green eyes, and as she grew older, more and more set her apart from the others. She was a tiny little thing, always smaller and slighter then the other girls her age. She was quick, and intelligent, and had clever long-fingered hands that could pick up sewing faster then any other girl her age.

Moll was terrified for her clever different little girl. The unnamed village was isolated except for the wool traders that came once a year. It had been twenty years since the last witch-scare. Moll didn't want her strange daughter to bear the brunt of the village's superstition. Especially since Helen had a birthmark on her thigh. The mark was shaped like a crescent moon, and it was just the sort of thing that would drive the superstitious village into a frenzy.

Moll forbade Helen to swim or bathe with the other children, and instilled into her at an early age that it was forbidden to take her clothes off.

Helen's mother needed to keep her safe, for she knew better then any suspicious villager how inhuman her daughter was.


Helen had grown into a young woman, but not a well-loved one. Helen knew what she was. She was an odd creature, and she had never seemed melancholy about not having friends, beyond a vague yearning. The boys didn't like her because her strangeness was threatening. The girls didn't like her because they remembered all of the 'incidents' when they were children.

No one had tried to trace these back to Helen, or even tell anyone. But the group of girls that were Helen's age avoided the strange petite girl with a wary watchfulness. Just her presence was enough to put them on edge.

It was spring, and the new strawberries had just been picked. Helen was bringing a basket to sell to the widow Hautzig, who made jelly, and was the strange girl's one friend and confidant.

Helen had always stayed short and slim. She was barely a hair above five feet tall. Her body was curvy, but still slight. She wore a dull green skirt that went to her ankles, but her feet were bare. Helen hated shoes. Her hair was twisted into a plain braid. On her upper body she wore a simple chemise (loose linen shirt with puffy sleeves and a low neckline) next to her skin and a plain brown vest over that. Some women liked to tighten the vest to make their breasts look bigger, and in some cases, spill over the edge of the vest, barely contained by the translucent chemise.

Helen however, kept her breasts tucked tightly and comfortably under the vest, with the chemise pulled up tight, barely a hint of cleavage showing. Boys hated her anyway, might as well not give them the show.

The widow Hautzig saw her and took the basket of strawberries without a word, giving the girl a few small copper coins. Helen went to her assigned spot next to the loom, where she wove beautiful wool shawls that sold for a high price when the traders came. The friends spent a comfortable minute in silence, until Hautzig broke it.

"I heard that the Richard's boy has been suffering from some terrible dreams lately. He hardly gets a wink of sleep."

It was quiet for a bit longer. Then Helen spoke. "I was bathing, and he was spying. I saw his manhood, he was playing with it."

She closed her eyes, feeling the faint pulse of warmth in her crotch, and the faint feel of slippery wetness. The Richard's boy was a filthy spying tom, why would his dirty gaze make her feel this way? Helen's mother had been hesitant about telling her daughter anything about what a man and woman do to each other, but the widow Hautzig had none of Moll's reservations.

Most of the village girls only knew what strict talks from their mothers and dirty jokes could tell them. Helen knew all about a man's urges, from nightly eruptions, to the soreness they felt if they didn't come. She knew all about her own body, including how to give herself pleasure, and why she became wet if she thought about a man in a sexual way. (In Hautzig's colorful language, "It's to grease yourself up for his pole, so you better be greasy, or it will hurt like hellfire...")

She wondered what it would feel like if it ever happened. Would if feel as good as her hand made her feel every night? Would it hurt? Hautzig's voice woke her up from her rambling thoughts.

"It's been at least five years since you've used your illusions on anyone. You'd best be careful, not that the little inbred brat didn't deserve it anyway, but no more dreams. No more visions, and for heavens sake, don't do that bit where you change yourself. It's downright unsettling, even for me."

"Yes Hautzig." Helen whispered, her hands flying over the loom.


Moll was a laundress now that her husband was dead, and she knew that her frail-bodied daughter would never be able to handle the heavy work, slinging wet bundles of bedding and clothes through boiling water with a pole, beating filthy garments on rocks, half-blind from the lye in the cleaning fluid.

Helen had her weaving, and she made baskets and mats out of willow branches that she gathered herself. They brought in good money, but only one day a year when the traders came. Helen spent a part of her day weaving shawls at Hautzig's house, but she spent the rest of the day in the forest.

That was another reason the village thought her odd. Only the huntsmen went into the forest, and everyone else was too clumsy and unexperienced to get through the underbrush, and terrified of the grey mountain wolves that roamed the forest. Helen went deep into it almost every day.


Helen went home to the little hut in the scrublands near the edge of the village. Steam normally billowed up from the large cauldron in front of the house, but today it lay there empty and brooding. Helen shivered, feeling a tingling sensation in her spine. She felt uneasy. Something was wrong.

She ran into the hut, dropping the basket that she had used to bring Hautzig her strawberries. She ran into her hut to see her mother lying peacefully on the bed they shared. But when Helen ran to her, her callused hand was ice cold, and her eyes did not open.

Helen took in the half-full cup of boiled hemlock on the table, and the way her mother had dressed in her finest clothing and combed her hair. The effect was somewhat ruined in how Moll had voided herself after death.

Helen very calmly walked outside, and into the woods with tears streaming down her face. She was walking when she entered the woods, then she started jogging, and then she started to run.

The girl was running as fast as she could, sobbing, screaming, blind. Thorns and branches tore at her arms and skirt, rocks and twigs tore at the hard soles of her feet. Her hair tore free of it's braid and filled with leaves and twigs as branches raked at it. Helen had gone mad.


Helen's frantic run had slowed to a limping shuffle. She sobbed as she limped over ridges of rock and a carpet of needles. When she came to a trickle of water from a small spring-fed pool, she dropped to her hands and knees and dunked her face in the water, slurping like a horse. The water was like ice, and it shocked her out of her confusion and grief enough to finally realize the danger she was in.

She had no idea where she was. To get to the pool she had crossed a rocky plain, and she had no idea where she had come from, or where to find her trail. The sun was setting, and all she had was a sewing kit, a four-inch knife, what she was wearing and a shawl.

Helen collapsed by the pool and cried, this time with frustration at herself as well as her grief.

Helen was not entirely unprepared. The tears slowly stopped as an deep reserve of steel began to show itself. She would make a fire, find some berries, catch a squirrel maybe. She would survive the night, and then go about finding her trail. She must have left some kind of trail, tramping through the woods like a wounded deer.

She slowly got up where she had collapsed in the stones by the edge of the pool. She took assessment of her situation. Her skirt and the sleeves of her chemise were badly torn. She cut away the hindering tatters of cloth with her knife. The sleeves of her dress now only went to her elbow, and the dress to just a bit below her knees. She wrapped the rags around her sore feet. Her foot-soles were rock-hard from always being barefoot, but even her feet had taken the toll of the long crazed run.

She was beginning to feel how sore she was. She stood to stay limber, and walked into the woods, looking for materials to start a fire.


She had a length of springy strong wood about three feet long. She used the cord belt for her skirt to make a rough bow-shape. A resiny halved log was the base, and she had whittled a spindle from a bone-dry piece of cedar. A palm-sized rock was her socket.

She steadied the halved-log base with her feet and placed the tip of the spindle in a small v-shaped groove surrounded by dry shredded birch bark. She wrapped the string of the fire-bow twice around the spindle and then applied pressure on the spindle with the socket-rock in her hand.

After a few clumsy tries, she was moving the bow back and forth, making the spindle rapidly spin in it's groove. Eventually, a wisp of smoke started to trickle from the groove. Helen kept spinning, panting and not daring to wipe the sweat from her brow.

There! A flare of light and a larger wisp of smoke. Helen crouched and blew gently, seeing a small ember flare amongst the tuft of shredded birch bark. A tongue of flame greedily ate up the tuft, and then she was putting in twigs and larger shreds of bark. In no time at all she had a mid-sized blaze going, and was feeding more resiny branches in. She made a shielding firewall of stacked stones on the windward side and went into the woods to gather what she could find.


She found a rabbit warren just half a mile away. She had a decision to make. Either take time and effort to make snares, which would be more likely to succeed, or to use a part of her that wasn't human. She decided to use the latter.

She walked away from the warren, and stripped out of her clothing. First the vest, then the skirt, then the rough woolen shorts (they were male undergarments, but she found them far more comfortable) and finally her chemise. She stood naked in the late warmth of the early autumn day.

The setting sun lit up the creamy paleness of a body that was never exposed to the sun. Her face and hands and feet were pale, but they looked dark in comparison to the rest of her. Her matted hair hung down to the middle of her back. Her vulnerable white back with the delicate sculpted wings of her shoulder blades showing through the skin. Her hips were full, and her ass round and firm and pale. The crescent mark on her thigh was just below the bush of dark trimmed fur between her legs, right on the inside of her long left thigh. Though she was short, her legs were long and shapely.

She found a small trail worn into the thick moss by generations of rabbit's feet. She lay on her stomach, crushing her small full breasts into the thick soft moss. She ducked her face against the moss, smelling the green earthiness of it. She concentrated as hard as she could. Despite years of practice, full body changes took a lot of energy out of her, and gave her terrible headaches.

As she concentrated, the rabbits huddled in their burrows noticed that there was no longer a human above them. Their primitive minds had instantly forgotten it, and their sharp senses were fooled. There was no longer a scent, a sight, a sound, or even the weight of a human on top of the warren.

Helen's body looked radically different. If you were to touch her, her skin would feel smooth and fleshy and real, but she looked, smelled, and weighed as much as the moss she was lying on. If you squinted, you would see a vaguely woman-sized hummock, but besides that, nothing remained of the young girl that had been lying there moments before. It was an illusion, a very clever illusion.

Within moments the rabbits were up again, nibbling on grass around holes in the warren. A few times, a rabbit came so close that it's fur nearly brushed her hidden skin. But Helen remained still, in deep concentration. Both of the rabbits that had touched her were scrawny yearlings. She wanted a fat rabbit. Her stomach growled.

Suddenly a rabbit dashed from it's hole right in front of her eyes, making her flinch, and her illusion flickered from the shock. The rabbits could smell and see and hear her again. She lunged for the rabbit, feeling it's fur against her fingertips before it rushed into the hole.

"Fuck the devil's mother! You fucker! You fucking whore-rabbit! You little shitty furry CUNT!!!"

Helen started to cry with frustration and disappointment. Her stomach felt hollow, and empty. When she finished crying and was ready to start again, she noticed the pull.

She looked around startled. It was very faint, but it was as if something was pulling on her body ever-so-slightly. As if she were a magnet and a piece of iron was nearby. Helen didn't bother to go get her clothes, she just followed the pull. She went in the direction that it was pulling her, and it never got stronger, or painful, but it just kept showing her where to go.

Helen moved around a ridge of rock and saw it. Two concentric circles of massive stones. The outer ring was of huge rectangular stones by themselves, and the inner circle had horizontal stones lying on top of the rectangular stones. It was huge, and the pull was taking her within. Leaves were falling, but inside the circle, the leaves floated lazily. In circles and spirals and spinning in opposite directions of each other.

Something was contained inside the circle of stones. Helen neared the outer ring, but paused ten feet from the outermost stone. The floating leaves inside the ring started to stir. A soft whispery voice, like leaves rustling came from inside the circles.

"Come in pretty one. We will have a time to make the angels sing."

A thick intoxicating smell rose from the circles, a purely sexual smell that smelled like burnt sugar to Helen. "Come in pretty one, pleasure me and I can tell you anything you need to know."

Helen took a deep breath and tried to speak rationally. To ignore the way wetness was growing between her legs and the warmth that was spreading through her naked body.

"Who are you?"

"The ancient humans trapped many of my kind. I need pleasure, I need it. The ancient humans knew our power and weakness. In this cage I am denied. Give me pleasure, and I can give you whatever you need."

"Can you tell me my way home?"

The leaves stirred restlessly. "I need pleasure, come into the circle, and we can discuss this later..."

The rustling voice was full of need and longing. Helen realized that though this was some ancient and powerful demon, it was made into a child by how much he needed sex. It gave her power. And it couldn't leave the circle.

"No, we will discuss it now. I need a rabbit and I need directions home, and then I will get into the circle." She moaned. The smell was making her soaking wet, her body pulsed with pleasure.

The demon in the circle whipped the leaves around with frustration. "Yes, yes I will give you anything you desire, just please, come into the circle!"

Helen took a deep breath. "Do you give your word? To honor my promise and to let me go when I desire?"

When all of the sentient creatures of the earth were made, the creator gave them gifts of magic and elements and flight. To the humans he gave the power to lie. No other creature on earth could lie.

The leaves whirred wildly and the demon in the circle cried out with frustration. It would have kept her in the circle, would have literally fucked her to death. That's what the circle demon had done to every woman, and every man who had wandered by it's circle for the last five hundred years. It needed pleasure, needed it so badly.

"I give my word to reward you for my pleasure, and to release you."

Helen choked, breathing the intoxicating smell. "To release me before I am dead trickster. Do not toy with me, I will walk away and catch my own damn rabbit..."

"Noooo." The demon moaned, sounding pitiful. "I promise! I promise! I will reward you with whatever you desire and release you after three hours, I give my word! I give my word!"

Helen took a deep breath of the intoxicating scent and stepped into the circle.


The demon was a shapeshifter. It could split his form, be man or woman, be a mix of both, appear as any living creature. When the girl walked into his domain he split his essence into three.

She stared with wide, lust-glazed eyes as three men appeared in the circle. The scent of burnt sugar was a drug, a powerful aphrodisiac.

The men were exactly the same, carbon copies of each other. It was a copy of a man that the circle demon had fucked to death as a woman and a man almost three hundred years previous. The men stood six and a half feet tall, powerfully muscled, covered thickly in hair, but with the muscles oiled in sweat. Muscular legs, and each one had an engorged cock leading out in front of them. Eight inches long, and thick.

Helen watched them with her dilated eyes. Her nipples were like hard rocks standing out from her full breasts. Her thighs twitched together, putting pressure on her moist pussy.

One of the blank-eyed man-puppets went behind her and held her arms above her head. He ground his cock against her soft firm ass. His soft groans filled her ear. She could feel the hot trickles of precome from his cock dribbling between her ass cheeks to her asshole, making it twitch and flare.

One of the puppets dropped to his knees and picked up her legs so her knees were on his shoulders. The sudden helpless feeling just sent a dizzy wave of pleasure through her. She screamed when the puppet put his voracious mouth against her pussy. She could feel it's tongue tasting and swirling and lapping against her hot throbbing pussy.

She was dizzy and moaning with pleasure when the third man-puppet went to his side and put his rough hands on her breasts. He buried his head in them, biting and sucking on those rock-hard rose nipples.

"All of you." One of the man-puppets moaned.

"I want all of you." The one behind her hissed.

The one between her legs lifted his head, his mouth smeared and wet. "I want every hole you've got!"

The one between her legs sucked on her clit and she came for the first time. She shrieked and bucked her hips in the puppet's face. She was used to giving herself pleasure, going for one climax and then going to bed. She had already climaxed, but a mixture of arousal and the effect of the aphrodisiac had her even hungrier for their hands on her body.

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byCruel2BKind© 20 comments/ 47624 views/ 45 favorites

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