Wicked Amusement Ch. 02

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You . . . did something." Larya's accusation sounded weak and uncertain, even to her. Questioning, even—as if Alma would explain it all for her, so she just wouldn't have to think anymore.

"You said that already, amorita. You're confused. You are not thinking clear." Still smiling, Alma took a step forward, but Larya shuffled backwards at the same pace. Her eyes cast about. Where was her staff?

Oh, no. There it was. Right by the door. On the opposite side of the room. Larya bit her lip. She'd been too desperate to get laid to think about keeping it with her. She could call upon the druidic magic without it, but it could be so difficult to control. Especially when she was . . . "Y-you had the box open," Larya stammered. "You . . . you took one out."

"Oh?" Alma didn't look alarmed that Larya had unraveled her plan. Her eyebrows were raised in interest, but Larya realized that she was just ogling Larya's naked body while she talked. It was obvious she liked what she saw.

Face hot, Larya continued. "Y-you took one out, and you—" Her heart gave a jolt as a jolt of motion electrocuted her senses. She trailed off, resisting the reflex to gag.

Something was in her pussy.

The pleasure had been small, but shocking in its swiftness. One short, delightful buzz. She bit her lip, trying to remember what she'd been saying. "Um . . . y-you, you took one out, and you led me—"

Buzz. This time, the vibration was stronger, and Larya could barely keep her cry contained. She sneaked a peek at Alma. Alma's expression hadn't changed. Did she notice? Was that a glimmer of mischief in her eye? Was that pretty smile turning a bit . . . cruel?

No. She needed to stay focused. She'd been talking. She . . . "You led me upstairs," she whispered, "and—AAAH!" She doubled over, clutching her stomach, as an arc of vibrant energy surged through her joyous cunt, tingling her clit, her lips, her entire body. She bit her lip so hard that a salty taste appeared on her tongue, but couldn't suppress the cry.

"Are you okay, mi esclava?" Alma giggled. "I'm worried about you. I think you need to let me hold you. Let me touch you." She shook her head ruefully. "Isn't it so hard to think? So exhausting, when you are so horny? Oh, mi jai pequiña."

Larya felt the vibration again, weaker this time, urging her towards more. She fought through it, trying to remember what Alma had told her—assuming any of that had even been true. Daemon seeds will kill their host. Daemon seeds are destructive and dangerous. "You put one inside me," she gasped. She looked up at Alma, who only smiled back at her. "It's . . . it's making me cuAAAH!"

She shook all over as a violent orgasm overtook her, grabbing the ladder for support. Her knees buckled, and she pressed her back up against the wall—as much to get as far as possible from Alma as to remain standing. Her nerves were tingling all over. Even as the orgasm rapidly died back down, Larya's body was screaming for more. She stared into Alma's beautiful silver eyes. Since when were they silver?

Not taking her eyes off of Alma, Larya reached down towards the floor and grabbed something hard, thin and cool. It was a trowel. Still, better than nothing. She held it at arm's length. It's not much, but I can put a lot of force behind it if she makes a move . . .

Admittedly, the thought of impaling someone with a blunt digging implement was a little bit disturbing to Larya. She tried not to let it bother her. She needed all her adrenaline right now to keep her will steady, and besides, it wasn't as if she'd never seen especially horrific injuries. She'd even inflicted one, once, though that had been a long, long time ago.

"Oh, Larya." Alma's hips started to sway, drawing Larya back to the present. Larya's eyes unconsciously tracked the motion, making sure Alma wasn't moving any closer. "You wanted me from the second you saw me."

Larya swallowed dust. "That's not true."

"You saw my power. Our power." Alma laughed, her eyes glittering in the silver light of the dangling beads. Her hips swayed in time with a silent drum, slow, ponderous, reeling Larya's eyes in. "You're just a fledgling. You look for a mistress, for someone to command you." Her voice turned soft. "I will command you, Larya. I will love you. You can be mine forever."

"No."

"'No'?" Alma's tone was condescending, like a teacher correcting a pupil. "Oh, but Larya, you cannot even stop watching my hips." Her voice went soft again, sensuous and husky with arousal. "My ass just keep swinging, no? Back and forth . . . back and forth . . ."

Larya realized her mouth was hanging open. She was practically drooling. She tried to snap back to attention, but something held her back. She kept watching the swinging hips, puzzled. What could it be?

"That's right," Alma hissed, but Larya was still watching that cute, perky butt swing. It seemed to be moving slightly faster, now, and her eyes were getting tired from watching it. "Keep watching. Let it make your eyes sleepy. Because when your eyes get sleepy, what else gets sleepy?"

"My . . . my mind . . ." Larya realized. She needed to break free of this hypnosis. But how? How could she break free while continuing to watch Alma's sexy ass sway?

Wait. Maybe that was the problem.

"Yes," Alma cooed. "Your mind gets so sleepy, mielatrapada. But you can't stop watching. Because it just feels so good to watch." The ass jerked to one side, then the other, timed with the emphasized words.

"No," Larya whispered. "I can fight it—fight yaAAUGH!" The pleasure caught her off-guard as it streaked through her, blowing her thoughts away with orgasm. Juices trickled down her leg as she pressed herself harder against the wall, gasping for shallow breaths. Her mind was being smothered in ecstasy. She needed to fight this. She thrust her hand between her legs. Had to . . . get it out.

"Oh, you silly little puti! Mi pobre jai pequiña!" Alma's tone was like that of one addressing a small child, now, and Larya felt her pussy give a twinge from her domination, even though she didn't know the words used. "You want to touch yourself? I give you permission, but no clitty!" She gave a bubbly little laugh. "You love to watch my ass, don't you? Watch it swing. Back and forth. So slow . . . so heavy . . . Just like your poor little slutty head."

Larya had no intention of touching herself, though. She thrust two fingers into her cunt, where she knew the seed must be, and started fingering her outer lips, tickling along the delicate, sensitive folds. She moaned. Alma's ass just kept swaying, and now every swing seemed like a battering ram, casting her mind into turmoil.

"That's right. Doesn't that feel better? Don't you feel good? Just touching yourself, and focusing on how I swing back. And forth. And back. And forth." Larya's head swam as another orgasm ripped through her body. She couldn't think anymore. She could only see, and feel. And hear Alma's sweet piano-note words sinking into her, filling her with . . . emptiness.

"Feels so good to be an empty little titiere, no? Oh, just feel it tingle . . . Let your mind go blank, little slut. Do you like to watch me, jai?"

Larya realized, deep down, that something in her plan had gone horribly wrong. But her fingers felt so good down there. She felt a beatific smile stretching across her slack face, and giggled. Whatever plan she'd had, this was clearly much smarter.

"Yes," she burbled, barely managing to get the word out. No point in lying, right? And maybe, if Alma really liked the answer—

She squealed as the seed's vibration rewarded her reply. "Good girl," Alma whispered. "Yes, you do, don't you? And I'll make you enjoy more than that. Would you like that, jai?"

Her whole body was tingling. Larya nodded frantically. One of her hands climbed out of her vagina—ostensibly to stop the dangerous self-pleasuring that was making Alma's brainwashing work even better, but really, she realized, to touch her breasts. Oh, and it felt so good to do that. "uh-huh," she breathed.

The seed vibrated in her again, filling her with that wonderful, wicked, lustful energy. "Good girl," Alma cooed. "Good jai. And . . . What are you? What are you, Larya?" The way she spoke the name was almost mocking.

Larya shook all over. She was so close. She twisted a nipple, her mouth hanging open, staring at Alma's beautiful swaying hips. She had to fight. Had to fuck. Had to break. Had to fight. Had to submit. Had to watch. Had to fi . . . had to . . . to . . .

"What are you . . . jai?" Alma's sensuous voice was inescapable. The swinging motion was inescapable. Larya's mind tried to rally for one last defense, but again, vibrations from the thing inside her took those bad thoughts away from her and told her to behave.

And this time, she listened.

"I'm your . . . jai," she breathed, and she sensed intuitively that 'jai' meant 'slut', or something like it. "I'm your puppet . . . I can't stop watching, can't stop touching . . . Oh, please, Alma , make me . . . make me like you!"

"Like me?" Alma's hips were coming closer. "Oh, my silly little girl. You can never be like me, mi radientita." She leaned in. "Because I am in charge. Can't you see that you are too silly and horny to be in charge, little puti? I am the master, and you are . . .?"

Larya hesitated, unsure. Alma was very close now; close enough to smell her fresh pine scent. Then the seed inside her—the wonderful seed that was going to teach Larya everything she needed to know—gave a throb. Still no orgasm came, but the pleasure was intense enough that Larya's entire body went slack. Something clanged on the floor next to her as she slid back against the wall onto her butt. "The slut!" she cried. "Your slut! Your horny, silly puppet, your . . . Oh, please, Alma, please, master me! Make me yours!"

Alma's hips stopped swinging. She crouched in front of Larya, holding a strand of silver beads to glitter before the druidess's dazzled eyes. "I think I gave you too little earlier. It will work, but too slow . . . oh, too slow, Larya, for me to do everything I want to do to you." Her eyes gleamed with lust. Her dress shimmered, catching Larya's eyes in all its pretty sparkles. "Do you want it to go faster?"

"Yes!" Larya practically whined. "Oh, please, yes!"

"Are you sure?" Alma pouted. "Because you seemed very concerned about all this a minute past. Are you sure you want me to empty that pretty little head of yours?"

"I'm yours," Larya whimpered. "You hypnotized me." It was as much a thank-you as it was a accusation. How could she ever not be hypnotized by Alma? Being hypnotized felt so good. She'd forgotten how good it felt. "I'm in your power. Please, make me your puppet, make me your slut. I'll lick you, I'll—I'll be an empty-headed little jai for you, just please, please, please. I'll do anything!"

Alma slowly smiled. "Then open wide."

Larya hesitated only a moment before doing as she was told. Alma raised the strand, taking Larya's head in her other hand and tilting it backwards to receive the seeds.

There was a tapping at the door.

"Oh!" Alma perked up. "That should be him now." She leaned in and kissed Larya on the cheek. The kiss was almost chaste, but it lingered just a second too long. Larya was leaning forward to make it even less chaste when Alma abruptly stood up and turned away, taking the strand with her. She glanced back at Larya, flashing a mischievous grin. "Don't you go anywhere!"

Larya squeaked as the seed in her pussy began to dully throb.

~~~~

Snatch was not happy.

This was a general personality trait.

It was also an extreme understatement for his current mood.

The thief-turned-bounty-hunter-turned-adventurer lay spreadeagled, tangled within the zombie elk's strange, flexible antlers. His scythe lay a couple miles off, discarded in a tree's branches. He had already determined that his daggers would not cut the antlers, and struggling just made the bonds tighter. Some of the antlers retained their points, too, and it was not a comfortable resting place.

"Oh, my," he heard the ranger say. But it wasn't the ranger. It wasn't the fucking ranger.

The elk had brought him back to the ranger's cottage. He could see her, though his view of her was upside-down. She was wearing a tight silvery dress now. It looked like it had been stained recently, and Snatch's keen sense of smell picked up a scent he instantly recognized: Larya.

He hated that he recognized this smell.

The Not-Alma smiled at him, a finger to her lips. "Whatever will I do with you?"

"Put me down!" he snarled. "There's an idea!"

"Snatch?" he heard a bleary voice say from behind Alma. He glimpsed a slumped naked form at the back of the cottage, both arms thrust between its legs.

He managed to point at Alma, earning a nasty jab in his arm for the effort. "You're dead!"

"D-don't threaten her, Snatch," Larya said. "Just . . . go away. Leave me with Alma."

"It's not a threat!" His eyes narrowed. "I mean, it can be, but—that ain't Alma! Alma's lying dead in a clearing a couple miles north with a fucking hole in her chest!"

A pause.

"What?" Larya didn't sound so much disbelieving as she did confused. It was like she'd barely registered what he'd just said.

But Alma was just giving a sad smile. She patted Snatch's cheek; he flinched away, but couldn't avoid the touch. Her hand was warm and moist. "I killed the doe. Killed the fawn." She shrugged. "I missed the elk. It caught me off-guard. I didn't tell you this, Larya, but if you die near a daemon . . . Well, that's a host it can implant."

"Alma?"

"I was so confident." Alma gave a short, harsh laugh. "I was so . . . so sure I'd gotten them all. Oh, poor Alma. Poor me. So full of dreams and plans."

"You're dead." It seemed to finally be penetrating Larya's daze.

Alma whirled on the slumped figure, sounding angry. "Only by your standards! I breathe, don't I? You felt me in you, around you! I'm warm. I'm soft. You felt me! I felt you! Isn't that enough?"

Larya didn't say anything.

"You're dead," Snatch snapped. "As a fucking nail."

"You can go to hell!" Alma shouted, turning back to him. "I wasn't talking to you! It is not fair! I never got to . . . to breathe enough breaths! Never felt enough—never learned enough—it is not fair!"

"Put me the fuck down!" Snatch shouted back.

For an instant, Alma's eyes seemed to blaze with silver fire. She advanced on Snatch, and he suddenly regretted every single time in his life he'd chosen to be rude to someone who had the power to kill him in seconds—but mainly this one.

Then she stopped. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed over Snatch's tangled body, through the mass of antlers. Snatch craned his neck as far as he dared to see what she was looking at, but he didn't want to risk taking an antler to the jugular.

Alma muttered something under her breath. Snatch stopped craning and listened closely. ". . . still ten minutes off. I have time. Probably some lost hunter, anyways. I have time to . . ." Her eyes lit up. The fire was gone, replaced by a pair of sparkling silver cinders. "I have time to play," she said, smiling at Snatch. Her hand reached forward, lovingly caressing the long, shallow gash the elk had torn up his torso when capturing him. He winced as she touched him through his shirt and armor. "Poor thing," she said, in an almost motherly tone. "Isn't life cruel."

"Larya," she said, louder, "be a good esclavita and bring me a strand of daemon seeds."

"Um . . . but . . ."

"Larya." Alma's voice turned syrupy-sweet. The air around them seemed to vibrate, and Snatch heard Larya let out a little squeak.

". . . okay, Alma." And sure enough, he saw Larya getting up and grabbing one of the strands from the ceiling.

"The whole place is infested," he realized. "You filled it with those . . . things. The fuck are they?"

"Ooh, yes." Alma's hands rubbed between her legs through her dress. "Lots of nice . . . What is the word? Recess?" She giggled. "Wait, I am silly. Excesa. Excess. Lots of excess soulstuff looking for . . . fertile soil."

Larya trotted up from behind, her head lowered. At first, Snatch thought this was a sign of deference, or perhaps shame. Then he realized her eyes were locked on Alma's rear.

Alma plucked a shimmering strand of silver beads from Larya's hands and smiled, caressing one of Larya's breasts. The air vibrated again, and Larya let out a moan and collapsed, writhing in the grass outside the hut. "Good girl."

She turned to Snatch and flashed him a smile that made his heartrate accelerate. It was a dazzlingly pretty smile, and there was danger there. She held up the silver beads and winked. "Watch my hips, little man."

He closed his eyes and for once didn't say anything. He knew how this worked. Balabar had taught him how hypnosis worked.

Then a point jabbed him in the side. He yelped, his eyes opening. Alma was smiling wider at him. "If you won't play," she crooned, "you can be a dead host. Your choice!"

Snatch thought about it a moment. He had a better chance to survive resisting the hypnosis than he did getting impaled. He grimaced, but didn't close his eyes.

"Good boy!" She giggled. "Now." She leaned closer, dangling the beads over his wound. Snatch's eyes bulged as his blood seemed to . . . boil. He didn't feel anything, though. "I think you'll be a fine 'incubator', don't you?"

"Go to hell!" He glared at her.

She met his gaze evenly. Her hips swayed. "Oh, but that's where I'm from, boy. Or it might as well be. Do you know what it is like to not exist?" Her hips had a strangely musical beat to their sway. Her voice was musical. Her eyes sparkled. "It's just . . . so . . . empty."

Snatch's head was getting fuzzy as she lowered the beads into the wound. He could see his flesh . . . accepting the strand, pulling it into the injury. It was having an effect on his mind, he realized.

Alma's hips swayed back and forth, a rhythmic beat to the song of the buzzing. She winked at him, twirling the strand between her fingers. "So empty, so hard to exist. So hard to think. So hard, when everything's all silvery, and my smile's just so pretty, isn't it?" Her other hand started to slide along his crotch, stroking his member lightly through his leather armor, slowly undoing the straps. "And I can make you feel . . . so good . . ."

"Go . . . to hell!" he snarled. Had he already said that? Time seemed to be getting . . . strange. He blinked blearily. The beads flashed. They were almost all the way in him now.

"Oh, but isn't this nice?" Her fingers were beneath his armor, now, touching him through his underwear. He tried to pull away, but the antler-like bonds tightened warningly. She laughed. "Just relax, boy. Listen to my voice. Listen to my words crawling over your skin. It feels so good to listen . . . and watch!"

She gave her hips a little irregular shake, disorienting him. He'd gotten accustomed to the regular motion. Her smile quirked a bit.

"Go to . . ." He stopped himself. He'd definitely said this already. Right?

"Oh, but isn't this nice?" She was stroking along his cock. He was getting hard. Really hard. "Just lose yourself to the emptiness. It's so hard to think." Her hips swayed in time with the buzzing. The buzzing was getting louder. The beads were all the way in him, he realized, and his wound had closed.

"You're . . . dead . . ." he growled. Suddenly, it seemed more important to get her mad. Anything to make her stop, to make her stop fucking with his head, with time, with his head, with his—