Wicked Amusement Ch. 02

He gasped as she squeezed the head of his member, her smile coy. "Do I feel dead? Just relax, boy. Don't my words feel nice crawling over your skin? Concentrate on my swinging hips. Back and forth. Back and forth." Her voice was so soothing. Her smile was so pretty. The fingers on his cock were so perfect, so soft and smooth and . . .

He tried to shake his head, but he was held too tight. He couldn't feel the bonds anymore. He couldn't see anything but Alma. She shined before him, a silver star in a sea of gray murk. Her eyes glittered with unnatural light. She's so beautiful . . . a part of him thought.

But Snatch was not Larya. His willpower came from a mixture of stubborn spite and something else, something he never, ever spoke of. One could more easily get the name 'Alrek' out of him than that something else. He managed to glare at her, though even that expression quickly gave way to blank staring again at those shiny, half-lidded eyes. "Go . . . to hell . . ."

"But this isn't hell, boy." Both her hands were on his cock, now, tickling it, stroking it with the barest of touches. "Doesn't this feel good? Don't I . . . feel good?" She leaned close, her breath hot on his cheek—but not close enough to block his view of her incessantly swinging hips. He couldn't tell if he was watching her eyes or her hips. He looked at her eyes, and was dazzled by their brilliance, dazed by her smile. He looked at her hips, and was sucked in by that steady, rhythmic pendulum.

"You feel very happy, don't you?" she whispered. "You love to watch my ass. To feel my touch. You feel so happy right now. So much life . . ."

Her hips swayed from side to side. Her fingers started to stroke faster. His whole head was buzzing. He could almost hear a song amid the buzzing, distant, broken-up.

It sounded like a lullaby.

And he could feel his eyes growing heavy.

~~~~

Alma—for the thing that once was Alma still favored that name, still wanted that life—couldn't suppress a moan as she watched Larya's partner slowly going under.

He was still fighting. She sensed he still had a lot of fight left in him. But he was giving way. She drew her fingers over his shaft, keeping him in her gaze. "Feels good, no?" she cooed.

He grunted. But his eyes had gone dull and vacant. That was the first step. His grip on time was fading. His world was her, whether he liked it or not. And soon he would like it quite a lot.

"So much easier to listen to me," she whispered, "and think what I think. Oh, but isn't this nice? You're becoming so empty, so . . . sleepy . . ."

One of her hands pulled off of his cock, though she kept touching him with the other, pleasuring him with long, firm strokes. She had to make him come, she decided. He needed to be caught off-guard. Pleasure would make him vulnerable.

With her other hand, she reached between her legs. Then she thought better of it. Without taking her eyes off of the adventurer's, she beckoned with the hand. "You're going to feel so good," she sang softly, to the tune that never left her head. "Just like me. Just like mi esclavita Larya."

She felt Larya crawl between her legs. Felt the druidess push up her dress. Bring her head up. Felt hairs tickle against her inner thighs, and then—

She started to moan as Larya gave her one tentative lick. "Oh, yes," she gasped. "More. More." She knew it was risky to distract herself like this mid-hypnosis. Indeed, his eyes were starting to clear a little. But she was too hot to resist. She needed her Larya, and she needed her now. As long as she kept those strokes, kept swaying—oh, she'd stopped swaying.

Alma locked her hips around Larya's head, ignoring the druidess's startled, muffled moans, and started to swing her ass again. The adventurer's eyes gradually regained their glaze.

Larya kept licking, compelled even as she was dragged back and forth by Alma's steady undulations. Alma was in heaven. She had found two new pets.

This man would be fun for a while—then she'd send him off to spread more seeds. But Larya. "Oh, Larya," she whimpered, petting her beautiful little slave's long, dark hair with her free hand. Larya she would never give up. Larya she . . . she . . . "I love, I love," she gushed, "love, love, love—OOOH!"

She barely maintained the sway, barely maintained the touches to the cock, as she came. The pleasure soared in her like thermals raising a bird to the clouds. Beneath her, she heard Larya screaming as well. Alma had unconsciously activated the seed again. What fun they would have with that!

The adventurer before her was starting to gasp as well. His eyes were totally dead, filled with silvery streaks. She leaned closer. "Doesn't that . . . feel better?" she husked.

"Yeah," he mumbled, trembling all over. "Oh, fuck. Fuck."

"Do you wanna cum?" she cooed.

He didn't speak, but his eyes gave all the answer she needed. She grinned and leaned down, planting a single kiss on his chapped lips. "Then scream for me, boy."

Her hand started to move faster, and she giggled at his hoarse moans. But a wetness started to climb inside her. Her breath caught. Larya had started again. She started to moan herself. "Scream!" she cried, using her free hand to press Larya against her drooling cunt.

The man's hips started to buck. He screamed as he came, spurts of cum shooting out and landing around him. She felt some land on her hand, but continued to stroke him, pumping out every last drop, her world narrowing down to two things: his cock, and the tongue in her pussy.

As his orgasm subsided, she started to gasp for breath once more. She knew she needed to make Larya stop, needed to concentrate on this task, but Larya was so good. So good.

Still, now was her chance. He was dazed from pleasure, overwhelmed, ready for her. Now she would make him hers. Then he could put this big cock inside her and give her what she deserved. "Oh, yes," she hissed, trying to keep her words level, "doesn't that feel nice?" She took her hand off him and tickled his balls. "Don't you feel so much better now? Don't you want more?"

Slowly, struggling at every motion, he opened his mouth to speak.

But in that second, Alma blinked.

She whirled, nearly tripping on the druidess between her legs, and lurched backwards just in time to avoid a searing arc of fire.

Fire. Instinct took over. Panic reigned, thundered in her heart. She let out a screech and leaped backwards, off of Larya, away from the elk and her two captives.

The fire was wielded by a strange woman, and there was a man behind her. He had more fire. She hadn't heard them approach. Had Larya known? Her panic immediately shut the thought down. There was no time. Fire. Fire.

Go! the daemon sang to her comrade, Drop the human, kill them, kill, KILL!

The elk turned, letting the adventurer fall from its antlers. It let out an incervid scream and rushed forward, antlers lowered to impale its foe.

It all happened in flashes of fire. Alma's instincts forbade her from registering anything beyond that. Before her wide eyes, the woman raised something up and loosed three bursts of flame.

Fire, the elk sang to Alma. Fire. Fire. Fire.

Her fellow daemon was terrified. But its fear did not last long. As the flames struck it, she watched its silvery spirit inside writhe for a moment in mindless agony. In seconds, the flames had consumed it utterly. The elk fell's body to the ground, quickly surrounded by a bright red blaze.

In all her panic, Alma spared one look at Larya, her pet, her slave, her love.

But she loved life more.

With another hateful scream, she took off at a four-legged gallop, growing her arms and legs to match her fear. The thing once called Alma sprinted into the forest, leaving the humans far behind.

~~~~

"Damn." The blue-haired woman grimaced, lowering her bow. A burning pitch arrow was nocked, but there was no point in fighting. The daemon was gone.

Larya stared up at them. She was still on her knees, naked in the grass. Her head was buzzing still, but something about the fire made it less pleasurable, more . . . panicky.

The seed feared fire.

With a flash, her mind came to awareness. The seed feared fire. Unused soulstuff—or whatever it was that made these seductive, cancerous creatures—was vulnerable to fire.

She crawled towards the two humans, coughing as smoke entered her lungs. She looked up at the woman. "It's in me!" she cried. "Don't let it—don't let it—" She felt tears entering her eyes. "Kill me first! Before it makes me—"

"Hey!" The man stepped forward. He was a large fellow—someone who did strenuous labor for a living, but who could clearly afford plenty to eat. Perhaps a butcher, or an innkeeper. His skin was a russet brown, and he had a scraggly, bushy black beard. He carried a number of torches—one lit. A large backpack was slung over his shoulder. He held up both hands. "Hey. It's okay. You're gonna be alright."

"She's clear," the woman said irritably. "Alma, I mean. We'll have to hunt her down. I hope you weren't hoping to get home early tonight, Carrow."

"Okay, that's great, Talla," the man said, turning back to her, "but maybe you should . . .?" He gestured not-so-subtly to Larya.

Talla glanced down at Larya, evidently giving her a quick once-over. Her skin was a bit lighter than the man's, and heavily freckled. Her blue hair was done up in a tall topknot. Unlike the man, she wore armor—steel scales glittered in the torchlight, tarnished but in good condition. Over the armor, she wore a yellow tunic and a dark cloak pinned and a brass clasp. A ranger, Larya realized. A Spirit Ranger, like Alma.

Talla's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry. Listen, miss, you're going to be fine."

"No," Larya said, shaking her head. "It's inside me, you have to—have to—"

"Carrow. The matches." Talla fixed Larya with a serious look. "Do you want this out of you?"

Larya nodded frantically.

Talla accepted from Carrow a small book of matches. She struck one match and held out the flickering flame. "Stick this in your vagina and don't take it out until the buzzing stops."

"W-what?" Larya took the match, but could barely parse what she'd just been told. The buzzing in her head was telling her to run, to seek out Alma, to flee these people and their bright, burning, flickering flames—

"Oh, and try not to burn yourself." Talla shrugged. "I've never seen anyone get burned, though. The seed will melt around the match in its desperation to escape. Just pull it out quickly. You'll see what I mean. I promise. It won't hurt at all."

Larya stared at the match. Its flame was slowly lowering.

She sucked in a deep breath. Better to burn it all than die now.

She did as instructed.

Talla was right. It didn't hurt. She felt the seed morphing inside her, the big silver ball melting and crawling out her inside. It kind of tickled, actually.

The second the buzzing stopped—and that was a weird feeling, a weird but relieving sense of quiet—Larya jerked the match out. She found herself holding a small twig completely encased, save where she gripped it between index finger and thumb, in glistening, scorched silver.

"Cool. Hand it over." Larya looked up at Talla and did as instructed. Talla took the twig and tossed it to Carrow, who dropped it in a pouch at his side. Talla paused and gave Larya a little encouraging smile. "Good job! You're doing great, miss."

"Th-thanks." Larya didn't feel like she'd done a good job, all things considered. It did feel good to have that thing out of her, though.

"Hey!" she heard Snatch yell. "Could you all quit fucking around and get this thing out of me!" She turned. Snatch lay on his side in the grass, half-naked, next to the smoldering elk. His face was red. He looked like he really wanted to strangle something. He was clutching the place he'd been injured—the place the strand had been lowered into, which, she realized, had somehow already scabbed over

"Oh, boy." Talla straightened and walked over, accepting the torch from Carrow. "Now, in this case, that thing about it not hurting?" She held the torch out. Snatch stared at it, his dark eyes glittering with uncertainty and misdirected anger. She glanced back at Larya and shook her head. "Does not apply."

Larya exchanged a look with Snatch. She scowled. "Please don't tell me you're going to blame me for this, Snatch."

"No." Snatch's eyes were narrowed to slits all the same. "I just fucking hope this didn't match your concept of 'fun'."