Wildlings Enraptured: The Novella: (Fantasy Dark Erotica, Paranormal Sex Stories, Fairy Sex) (6 page)

Chapter Ten:
Changeling Hides True Form

Neora tried to move her feet, but the Negress’s restraints bit cruelly into her ashen ankles. They were living vines that cut deeper into the skin the more she struggled, and they wound across her naked body like a thick red snake. Her indigo hair stuck to her wet face, and when she tried to shift her weight, the magic creepers drew fiery ribbons of blood from her heaving breasts. The futility of her situation was obvious, and all she could do was perch immobile on the tiny stool and wait for the Negress to return.
The bitch has you wrapped in the palm of her ebony hand.

In her role as the Queen of Desire’s archfiend, she would have welcomed this lacerating incarceration. She had been fucked by outrageous mechanisms with giant wooden cocks that pumped viciously into her cunt until she begged her queen for release. Minerva had nailed her hands into the ground and watched as her slaves pissed on Neora’s face and breasts, the liquid steaming in the frigid shade of the Moonheart. She had allowed the eastern tattooists to apply their needles to the wet maw between her legs, her blood mingling with cum on the slopes of her thighs.

Yet she relished these horrors and the countless other indignities of her servitude, the moonblood coursing through her veins compelling her to go deeper into the abyss of self-abnegation. But the black Fay’s entrapment was not a pain she relished. Despite the tone of her skin, she was not Neora’s Dark Lady, and she had prevented the changeling from abducting Minerva’s precious Overseer.

After the ill-fated confrontation in the hall, the Negress ordered Herrik to place suction cups on her nipples and drain her of the moonblood. Neora thrashed about and cursed at the meek wood elf as he pressed the hand pump and drew the priceless liquid from her tits. The pain was tremendous, and she watched disconsolately as the viscous fluid snaked down two tubes and collected in an extravagant bronze goblet. Herrik seemed to relish the opportunity to milk the woman who borrowed his skin, and he smiled as she mourned the loss of the moon. With it went her power and her only hope of escape. The cunt had ruined her, and as she ruminated on her failure, she pondered how best she could repay the favor.

She was sitting in Trixie Bower’s bedchamber, as cruel a place as any the Negress could have chosen. The slipstream sparkled cerulean blue by the fireplace a mere five feet away from her, its flickering surface a tantalizing promise of home.
So near, yet unreachable.
Trixie’s bed occupied the left side of the room, an oaken monstrosity with pillars carved into the shape of cavorting water nymphs. Neora’s portrait hung above the ornate headboard, depicting the Moonmother delivering the world from between her massive thighs.

Trixie begged Neora to pose for it for months, and she eventually yielded and allowed the love-struck Fay to paint her image. In the painting, she reclined against one of the bedposts, her legs spread but her pussy hidden by a stunningly rendered hand. Neora looked at the portrait’s sullen violet eyes, wondering if she ever lowered herself further than she did for Rorke Bower’s perverse progeny. It was a nauseating task winning the Bower girls over. The younger ones were swayed by cock, which Minerva had in ready supply. Trixie, however, had been infatuated with the glamorous etiquette mistress who always wore her dress a little too tight and her hair slightly wild. She required feminine persuasion, so it had fallen to Neora to appease the tiring Fay.

Trixie had knelt upon this bed with her dress hiked up and her rump in the air while Neora ate out her asshole. Neora wore gloves that ended in three inch long snowcat claws, and as she sucked, she raked the razor-sharp edges across Trixie’s exposed ass. Neora remembered the moans of the arrogant Fay as she pressed back against her tongue and teeth. A moonglass tourniquet had cinched Trixie’s wrists in front of her, the device designed to tighten as the wearer’s wrists rebelled against their restriction. Neora almost laughed at the bitter parallel with her own situation, and she whispered a prayer of vengeance to the empty room.

The door opened to her right. The Negress bent beneath the low lintel and glided to Neora’s ivy prison. At seven feet tall, she resembled a bald giantess treading through the home of a child. Her skin was the black of starless night, and it seemed to shine in the dim room. Her dress was a masterwork of lace and iridescent pearl. She was high breasted and impossibly long limbed, with a face that appeared to be chiseled from dusky glass. The contours were proud and angular, and she lifted a hand laced with white Fay tattoos to hold Neora’s chin as she inspected her. Her eyes glanced up at the portrait, and her laugh was a surprisingly sweet contralto both rich and tender.

“A secret admirer? How touching. The likeness is remarkable.”

“It was a necessary evil. Minerva needed a safe place to house the slipstream, the Bower girls needed etiquette lessons. A deal was struck. How can I help you, wench?” She gazed up defiantly at the Negress, her dynamic eyes meeting the Negress’s coal stare.

The Negress smiled, and a dazzling eruption of white etched across her inky face. “No evil is necessary. Somehow I struggle to picture you as an educator. But I will give the Bower girl her due, she had excellent taste. You are a most exquisite creature, Neora.”

“Then come here and eat my pussy. It is the most decadent flavor those ancient lips will ever taste.”

The smile died on the Negress’s face. “Just when we were becoming friends. Are you comfortable, Neora? I can tighten those restraints if you like. Judging from your reputation, I doubt you’ll mind.”

The Negress’s lips parted slightly and she blew soundlessly in Neora’s direction. The vines bit even deeper into her flesh, and she could feel the raw sear on her shoulder as the plant kissed her scapula. Neora winced, fighting the urge to sink into unconsciousness.
You have had worse than this in the theatres of pain. Do not let the cunt see you suffer.

The Negress closed her mouth and the vines relented. She stepped closer to Neora, reaching toward her face with the long black fingers of her tattooed hand. Neora spat at her, and the Negress responded with a callous backhand. Neora grated her teeth as the Negress cradled her head, her hand cold and unwrinkled.

“Why do you hide your true form, changeling? I understand the appeal of this skin, truly. Such a divine shape, such physical perfection.” The Negress brought her face to Neora’s neck, her breath inches from the strained flesh.

“Is this what you want, dyke? All you had to do was ask. I will make you come so hard the weave will collapse on itself, and you’ll thank me for it.”

“Who are you, changeling?”

“I am your mother, you black slut.”

“Such a wit. Well, if you won’t tell me, I suppose you will have to
show
me.”

“I will show you nothing…” started Neora, before she was interrupted by the Negress’s teeth sinking into her neck. The Negress began to drink her blood with vampiric passion, and the world around Neora obscured and spun. They were the center of a whirling hurricane, the details of the room collapsing and time freezing. The black woman’s lips pressed to Neora’s ivory skin and fed like twin leeches.
She is taking you through the hall of your memories. Keep the door closed Neora, keep her hidden…

Neora is strapped to a steel bondage wheel, her body spread eagled by restraints carved from human bone. Minerva watches from her throne, each hand choking the throat of a doomed young man while a concubine with massive tits and an even bigger cock fucks her brains out. An extremely muscular man is spinning the wheel, and when it stops
, Neora is upside down with her blood rushing to her head. The ripped man jams his cock inside her mouth and fucks it while he fists her with a gloved hand. The glove is ribbed with spherical contusions, and Neora moans like a common whore while the hand flexes and relaxes. He spins her again, and this time she lands upright. He mounts her, pressing his cock inside her while Minerva clenches the life from her slaves’ eyes…

“Deeper then,” said the Negress, watching with dispassionate eyes, the world around Neora reforming once more…

Neora sits at the foot of the Moonheart, offering her lifelong service to the Queen of Desire. Minerva takes her by the hair and shoves her face beneath the water, her hand harshly twisting the blue-black tresses. “You wish to serve me, then drink me!” she screams, and when Neora’s head surfaces, it is soaked in moonblood. Minerva licks at her face and Neora returns her attentions. She throws Minerva to the ground and climbs atop her, her fingers seeking the divine snatch while Minerva bites her overhanging nipple…

“We must go further.”
No,
thought Neora.
That way there is only pain. Please don’t do it, not the child, anything but the child…

A little girl with blue-black hair sits in a cage in the back of a carriage, her face contorted by fear and her hand stretching through the iron bars. Her young mother chases her through the snowfall, reaching out for her daughter’s hand. But the distance is too great, the carriage too fast, and the girl is soon lost in the winter snow. A dog howls and Neora howls with it, her pain and sorrow a terrible weight crushing her kneeling frame…

Neora’s screams reverberated through the years and suddenly she was back in Trixie’s room. Her skin had shifted, and she was an attractive woman in her late forties with an elegant face and well-preserved body. Her eyes were a clear blue.

The Negress staggered backwards, an unexpected look of empathy softening her face. “Forgive me, I misjudged you. You are a child of loss.”

“Spare me your pity, whore. I am the defiler of youth and dreams. My hands are red with the blood of babes. Theirs is the greater loss.”

“Minerva claimed your daughter for her pleasure. In Estlemoore, when she came searching for new slaves to join her retinue. You meant to seek her out at the Imperial Palace, to take your revenge. You searched for your daughter, but she was long dead. Then you drank too deeply of the Moonheart and became a slave to the same base desires you initially sought to punish.”

“What do you know, Negress? You and that pack of flaccid cocks and dried-up cunnies you name Council would not know desire if it crept into your beds and took you by force.”

“I know the authority of pain, and the trauma of losing someone you love. Your girl had indigo hair, and your primary skin is a dream of what she may have been. You kept this dream alive even though you repressed all memory of her. You are both the stern mother and the guileless child, and Minerva’s torture theatres gave you the perfect space to express your loss without facing it. Let it go, Neora, there was nothing you could do.”

Neora sobbed then, the memory of her little girl’s impudent smile and indigo hair welling up her eyes. “Her name was Grace, she was my only child. I never knew another love like I had for her. Then the queen took her.” Her face hardened. “What would you have me do, Negress?”

“Betray the false queen Minerva and redeem your wicked life. The Moonheart is an ancient power that cannot be controlled, I told her as much myself.”

“There is nothing false about her power. The earth trembles beneath her feet, and she can stiffen the cocks of the dead. Why don’t you go, most powerful Priestess?”

“I cannot approach the Moonheart. The temptation to drink would be too great, and it would not be wise for a being such as me to imbibe moonblood. You must go, but not alone. Take Andrax to her, as you always planned. But not as a prisoner. Take him as your ally.”

Neora looked up at the Negress, all the memories and emotions of another life flooding through her veins. She smelt blood. “I will claim my vengeance, Negress. But first get me out of this fucking chair.”

Chapter Eleven:
A Study in Contrast

Andrax sat with Herrik on the battlements of Bower Ridge, watching as the Negress extended her arm and began her incantations. The wind whipped at his dark hair, the streaks of grey seeming to darken as the sun fell across the western sky. Below, the grass fields and riverbed were a bustling mass of ravenous Fay. If he narrowed his eyes and relaxed his mind, the clamoring mob became a generalized sea of distorted faces and outstretched limbs. But then he would find the details creeping in at the edges, the images beginning to sharpen in the red twilight.

Some of the Fay were merely caught in the throes of libidinous abandon, their shame and inhibitions discarded in the pursuit of unattainable release. A few were Fay that Andrax had fucked in his isolated house, and a small part of him was strangely resentful of their heightened delirium. 
You may have given them your cock and made them howl in the night, but that is nothing compared to the Moonmother’s seed.

Three of these water nymphs were cresting the wave of flesh, their hands locked together and their lips enmeshed in a frantic three-way kiss. As they surfed the Fay ocean, hands below would reach up and finger their passing cunts and assholes, but the trio never lost sight of each other as their gaping orifices were explored. A wood elf yelped with joy as a sprite burrowed into his dilated asshole. The man helped the multicolored Fay by pulling his ass cheeks apart with brown hands, and the creature managed to slip its whole round body in with only two kicking feet spilling from the stuffed asshole. They were perverse displays, but nothing Andrax had not tasted with Minerva when they had briefly shared the moon.

Other visions were more disquieting, the Fay more violent. Two groups of competing wood elves fought over the cunt of Laurel, a wood elf with big brown eyes and a sublimely rounded ass. She was sprawled in a rosebush when the quarrel erupted, oblivious to the thorns that pricked her skin and bloodied her and her ravagers. The one group of wood elves impaled the others with their rapidly sprouting pricks before descending on the enraptured nymph. One was her brother, Dapple, all sense of familial bond eroded as he drove incestuously between the willing thighs of his sister. Elsewhere the dead were being torn apart and feasted upon while they were fucked, their physical corruption an irresistible aphrodisiac for the enslaved wills of the Fay. Andrax turned away from the rampant necrophilia and uttered a prayer for the living and the dead.

Andrax watched the Negress whispering to herself with her smooth head bowed, her sensual lips moving almost imperceptibly. She sat astride the mighty Nightgift, his mane the same midnight hue as his rider. Blue wisps of smoke emerged from her hands and surrounded the castle. Standing on the battlements alongside her were fifty bowmen she had brought from the interior, their arrows tensed and ready to strike any Fay that threatened to breach the outer wall. Andrax observed the thin blue strands coalesce around the besieged castle, forming a barrier that repelled the oncoming deluge.

“Will any be saved, Overseer?” asked Herrik, his face bruised and haggard.

“The Negress does not know. Some are probably beyond even her reach. These corruptions… Those who survive will remain forever tormented, haunted by the memory of their own appetites. Minerva has shown them the darkest parts of themselves, and they will carry that wherever they go. The Negress cannot make them unsee the abyss.” He glanced at the Fay seer as she climbed off Nightgift and continued the weave. Her lace dress clung provocatively to her curves as she spoke the enchantment, and Andrax noted the carnality in her hips and the supple grace of her long neck.
She is a goddess come to save the Fay world.

“I am sorry I did not see this coming, Overseer. Reports of outlanders in the forest, the silence of Rorke Bower. More could have been done. But the harvest occupied all our minds, and…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Herrik. You may appear small next to me, but you have without doubt the biggest heart in Shadehaven. The Bower women would still be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

“That was the Negress’s work, not mine...”

“The Negress may have ended it, but you killed Brandi and Halla. Don’t be so self-effacing. Your heroism here will not be forgotten.” Herrik smiled to himself and looked down at the ground, a blush stealing across his bearded face.

The Negress left when the weaving was complete. The changeling sat behind her on Nightgift, her glorious body draped in a loose-fitting green robe fringed with the white fur of a snowcat. Andrax remembered his night in the arms of the great oak, and how he dreamed her taking the length of him in her mouth and chomping down on the inflamed skin. The memory made him grasp instinctively for his cock, but it had only been a dream and the hanging phallus remained. Nevertheless, the woman unnerved him, and he eyed her suspiciously as she folded her pale arms around the Negress and rode off. One of the Negress’s captains appeared and announced that the Negress required his presence, so Andrax ruffled Herrik’s hair and followed the burly soldier into the depths of the castle.

He found her in Bower Ridge’s opulent glass bathhouse, her svelte physique floating on the water’s tranquil surface. The tubs were fed by hot springs below the earth, and steam rose to frost the high ceilings. Candles surrounded the largest tub and cast sinister shadows on the glass walls. She was naked, white ink simmering beneath her black skin as the candlelight stroked her face. She made no motion to cover herself when she noticed Andrax’s eyes on her firm breasts and the kinky hair between her legs.

“Perhaps you are surprised I am not smooth down there, and that is why you stare?” She smiled enigmatically, her hands gliding beside her in the warm water. “Please, join me. The water is to die for.”

Andrax hesitated when he saw Neora sitting in a hidden alcove, watching him while she trailed a toe in the water. She, too, was naked, her body as ripe and inviting as it had been in his dream. The Negress whistled softly and Neora dove into the pool with impressive poise, her body transforming into a darting red swordfish as she slid beneath the water. The fish swam around the Negress in lazy circles, and Andrax reluctantly began to undress.

The Negress’s eyes studied his sculpted chest and his half-erect cock as he tentatively walked into the water. The warm liquid lapped at his skin like a million hot tongues as he approached the Chief Councilor of the Fay. Neora swam past him, her scales brushing against his thighs and sending shivers racing to his crotch. The Negress righted herself and paddled to a miniature waterfall carved into the wall. She waited there, water trickling down her breasts as she beckoned Andrax with an elongated finger. Andrax treaded water inches from her face, his cock hard near the heat of the Negress’s hidden slit.
Shadehaven faces destruction from one ex-lover, and here you are swimming with a fish-woman and a master of the weave. And it feels so good…

“See, I told you the water was divine. You’re pleased to see me.” The Negress wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, her eyes never leaving his as she slowly massaged the swollen shaft. Andrax moaned beneath the expert grip. “The slipstream opens into a lightly guarded room in the theatre of pain. It is there that your mission takes you.”

“My mission…” he muttered, his voice guttural and low.

“To destroy the Moonheart and finish the Dark Lady. I have a moonglass blade that you must bury in the tree’s heart. The sword is crafted so only Fay can wield it, but you are not an ordinary outlander, Andrax.” She squeezed hard as she said his name. “It is the only way to save Shadehaven and prevent the collapse of the weave. You will take Neora with you. She is a fragile thing, and there is a part of her that will always be a mistress of the moon. But she knows the Imperial Palace, and she is fuelled by hatred as pure as rapture.”

“Are you sure this is wise? Even if Neora is true, you don’t know Minerva like I do. She will see through this ruse.” Andrax could barely keep his thoughts straight as Neora appeared behind him and ran her tongue from the base of his spine to the back of his neck, her breasts pressing against the scared muscles of his back as she nibbled his ear.

“Do you know why I gave you Nightgift, Andrax?” She took his hand and placed it on her holy twat. He slowly rubbed her clit beneath the water as Neora ran a finger through the quicksilver streak in his air and rubbed her cunt against his hip.

“You knew what a poor rider I was and that I needed all the help I could get?” he replied lamely.

The Negress smiled as she wrapped her long arms around his neck. “He is the finest stallion in the known world. His blood can be traced back to the primordial centaurs that roamed this world before, the creatures that were half human and half Fay. Some say these were what the Moonmother’s children rode upon when they first settled the wild green earth, but no one knows for sure.” Neora slipped a hand beneath him to cup his balls.

“I gave you Nightgift for you are alike. You are both beasts touched by the divine. When Minerva risked her immortality for you, I thought her a fool, but when you crawled into the chamber half-dead and bearing warning of the Moonheart, I realized why she loved you even if she had forgotten.” The Negress licked the end of his nose playfully. “I fell in love with you that day, Outlander, because you chose the
right
path when the wrong one was so wide and tempting. I'm a sucker for a man with principles.” Andrax decided it was best not to argue with the Negress as the three of them fell on each other beneath the falling water.

Neora straddled Andrax while she kissed him and guided his firm cock inside her. The Negress unrolled an unnaturally long tongue and licked her own nipple, watching as Neora fucked him. The water churned as she rode him, her pelvis driving her to a fierce, selfish orgasm while Andrax shoved three fingers in her mouth. The Negress pulled Neora’s head to the tit that she had been sucking, and the changeling tenderly ran her tongue around her areola. She pulled Andrax to the other breast, and they each slurped on a tit like nursing twins. She arched her cunt toward Andrax, and he filled her as well, Neora shifting the lower half of her body so she could take him from behind with a smooth cock. The women were a study in contrast, but they complimented each other well. Andrax was spent in the end, sandwiched between black and white skin in a sticky mess by the side of the tub. He never spared a thought for the Dark Lady.

Later that night, the Negress produced the moonglass longsword to Andrax, and he strapped it to his back. Neora laced up her old cloak as they went over their plan once more. Andrax hugged Herrik and Nightgift and turned his back on them, wondering if he would ever see Shadehaven and his Fay again. He walked into the slipstream with Neora, letting the blue current wash over his humming skin. He stepped out into a dark room occupied by four guardsmen deep in conversation. They bowed before Neora, and their eyebrows rose when they saw Andrax’s swinging blade.

When they were all dead, Neora went to the door and peeked out. She looked back at Andrax and put a pale finger to her lips. “Silence, Overseer. The masochists are putting on a performance. You must try to slip by unseen.”

Andrax followed the avenging changeling into the black heart of the Imperial Palace, wondering what kind of reception they would receive from the Queen of Desire.

You shared the moon once. Now you must take it from her forever.