Wildlings Enraptured: The Novella: (Fantasy Dark Erotica, Paranormal Sex Stories, Fairy Sex) (7 page)

Chapter Twelve: The Impaler

Minerva watched from her throne as the would-be thieves were led into her hall. There were eight traitors in all, and they were filed in front of her with chains wrapped around their ankles and surreal helmets in the shape of rats’ heads fixed to their skulls. Blood dripped from their hidden faces and spattered on their filthy feet. A storm raged outside the white walls of the Imperial Palace, and Minerva wondered if the first Moonmother ever had to deal with usurpers in her own flock.

She was twitchy and volatile, the mask of serenity she usually wore, cracking as lightning lit the airy hall. Her flesh was dry and emaciated, and her breasts appeared to be drawing back into her body. A serving girl stood to her left, fanning her with a sheet of human skin. Her body convulsed periodically, and great avalanches were breaking from the mountainside and crashing into the Lonely Sea. There was no news from Neora and the rapture was becoming uncontrollable.
The moonblood betrays you, Minerva.

Her guardsman read from an unrolled scroll. “After extensive interrogation, these eight have confessed to the crime of high treason, and thus have forsaken their lives. Their attempt to steal into the Garden of the Moon was quelled by a tight knot of your most faithful swordsmen. Four more rebels were cut down in the melee.”

“And those true men shall be rewarded.” She looked at the serving girl. “Prepare a feast for our conquering heroes and let them have their pick of the dungeon sluts. Let it not be said that the Dark Lady is ungenerous.” The girl nodded and took her leave.

Paranoia held her in its grip as she scanned the faces of her personal guard, wondering which one would attempt to deceive her next. Neora’s continued absence was sowing doubt amongst her people, and they feared the wrath of the Council should Shadehaven’s enslavement be discovered.
That black bitch was right, and the Moonheart is beyond the control of man and Fay alike.
“Double the guard around the Moonheart, and hang the corpses of the dead in gallows to show my people the price of subversion.”

“And these vermin? Would you have me take them back to the theatres of pain? When Neora returns, she can flay them the slow way. None of the others have reached her level of expertise with the skinblades.”

“No, I rather like them here. Take off their helms and arrange them on the floor with their asses exposed. I have a special punishment planned for them.” The traitors’ helmets were opened with iron bolt cutters, and they were made to crouch on their bloody knees with their hands nailed to the floor. They were arranged in a circle in a grotesque parody of supplication, their heads tied to their pinned hands by leather cords. Their eight asses protruded into the air in the circle’s inner spiral, and her guardsmen walked around them and stripped off the remnants of rags clinging to their scourged flesh.

Minerva reached a shaking hand into the pail of gelatinous moonblood on her right. She required more every passing hour as the withdrawal symptoms grew more intense. Stabbing needles of pain constantly attacked her skin, and her spinal cord seemed to be bending into an abnormal new alignment. She brought the sap to her mouth and gobbled it like a snuffling pig. She took another handful and splashed it on her soft tits. She luxuriated as the moonblood spread through her and banished her pain, but she knew that it would not last long. 
Neora must return soon. You must fuck Andrax in the shadow of the Moonheart and reclaim your dwindling power.
  For now, she had to content herself with the petty distractions of leadership.
Though they are not without their own pleasures…

“Bring in the Impaler,” she whispered.

A hush settled over the hall as four guardsman holding chains struggled through the door, the shackles wrapped around the bulging torso of a gigantic man. Minerva’s scouts found him working a plow in one of the eastern villages. He was just under seven feet tall, with musculature that was almost comical in its exaggeration. Minerva had removed his tongue when he first arrived due to his incessant yells of protest, but that was not the organ that concerned her right now.

His cock hung down to his knees, a monstrous appendage even when it was limp. It swung back and forth between his colossal legs like the dial of a metronome as he approached his queen. When he first arrived, he used to pass out whenever he got an erection, the amount of blood needed to engorge his prick draining the rest of his body. The moonblood fixed that little problem, and now his cock was Minerva’s to wield however she desired.

The guardsmen brought him to a halt below her throne. Minerva stood and staggered down to face him, the bucket of moonblood in her right hand. He looked down at her with defeated grey eyes, his chest a map of old scars. Minerva dipped her hand into the moonblood and ran her wet fingers along his ridiculous manhood. His cock began to throb, the hood slowly pulling back as Minerva massaged the waking flesh. Inch by glorious inch the cock rose, and his eyelids fluttered as Minerva’s hand began to pump faster. Eventually, his cock was completely erect, a fifteen-inch rod that projected from his crotch like a new limb. The head winked at Minerva like a glistening pink eye, a tiny spot of pre-cum leaking from the urethra like a tear.

Satisfied with his engorgement, Minerva slapped the cock once and turned to look at the wailing conspirators. “Show these worms the cost of betrayal. Your Moonmother can be a most forgiving and loving queen, but tonight I will have blood.” She poured the remains of the bucket over her white hair. The moonblood cascaded down her body and reanimated her ailing flesh. Her tits regained their round shape and her back straightened with an audible snap. She spread her arms and relished the heat of rapture, as sweet and all consuming now as it was when she first shared it with her beloved Andrax. Licking her lips and running her hands down a stomach alive with black ink explosions, she took to the air and claimed a bird’s-eye view of the punishing.

“Strike his chains and let him live up to the terror of his name! Take the center, Impaler, and do not stop while breath remains in their lungs. They thought they could fuck me? Well, fuck them!” she bellowed above the heads of her followers. The guardsmen obeyed her and loosed the enraptured giant. Minerva twirled through the air in exultant pirouettes and figures of eight, the pain and Andrax’s delayed arrival forgotten as she enjoyed the show.

The Impaler lumbered to the center of the circle and studied the uncovered round gapes. He chose one and grabbed the man by his hips. The man pleaded desperately, but the Impaler knew what his queen demanded. He spat roughly onto a calloused hand and spread the saliva over the asshole, and Minerva almost laughed at the silliness of the gesture. 
They will need more lubricant than that you walking cock. And they will not get it.

The traitor screeched in agony and wrestled futilely at his restraints as the Impaler thrust the behemoth inside the man’s ass. Only the fat head could be accommodated at first, but as the Impaler rocked his hips, more of the thick cock slid inside. When he finally had his whole cock inside, the traitor sounded more animal than man. The Impaler fucked him senseless, pile driving the tender meat while he grunted and slobbered over the man’s back. With his free hands, he grasped the asses of the men on either side of his current victim, tearing at the pallid orbs in an excruciating promise of what was soon to come. The other men could not see the sodomites due to their restraints, but they heard them well enough. The Impaler used a huge foot to push the first man off his cock when his noises finally ceased. He stretched his back and roared at the soaring queen before continuing his relentless journey around the circle of death.

“Let them know the Moonmother's wrath! Impale them on that freakish prick!” screamed Minerva as she fingered her cunt and asshole. When she was enraptured, she always preferred to service both orifices at once. Her hands were both sunk in almost as far as her wrists, her fingers wriggling inside as she flew over the men being raped at her command.
Look at what you have become. No wonder he left you.
The thoughts surfaced unbidden, and she responded to the unwelcome words by savagely biting the inside of her cheek and sucking at the raw wound. 
These are the depths he has forced you to trawl. When he returns, you can rediscover rapture together and rebuild your crumbling kingdom.

Minerva buckled in mid-air when she reached her climax, and a glass ceiling in the great hall shattered with a resounding boom. Rain and glass showered her as she removed her fingers from her spent holes, trails of her translucent blood falling on the Impaler’s skull as he finished the final man. She lingered in mid-air for a moment, her majestic form framed by blinding lightning. She was a chilling portrait of the power of unbounded desire, and she slowly descended with her bare feet settling in a puddle of blood.

The Impaler stood still, his cock hard and red in the falling rain. A few of her guardsmen exchanged nervous looks, edging away from their Moonmother. Minerva turned away from the mess and was about to order it cleaned when a terrified guard ran into the room. He hardly glanced at the carnage, and Minerva knew at once that something was dreadfully wrong. “Dark Lady, come quickly! Neora has returned, and she is laying the theatres of pain to waste!”

Minerva unleashed a primal roar and flew for the treacherous changeling.

Chapter Thirteen: Neora Faces the Queen

Minerva heard the screams from the theatres of pain before she reached the entrance. Air rushed over her nipples and tickled the damp patch between her thighs as she flew through the pre-dawn gloom of the Imperial Palace. The tapestries of desire that adorned the moonglass walls fluttered as she whooshed past them, their depictions of Fay orgies and ritual purification an indistinct blur in the corner of Minerva’s vision. Blood dried on her feet and cum stained her fingers as she imagined walking around in the changeling’s flayed skin.

As the cries became clearer, she fantasized about the million ways she would redefine suffering when she had Neora in her hands.
You can give her to the Impaler and watch her flail on the end of his monster cock. You can let your horses fuck her devious ass until she can no longer walk. You can slice off her eyelids and force her to watch a pair of starved snowcats feasting on her lower body. That is always exciting to watch!
These images of the changeling’s destruction were even more satisfying than her memories of Andrax’s rigid cock and adroit fingers. Bloodlust burned hotter than her love ever had, the desire for annihilation speeding her flight to the dying heart of her palace.

Minerva’s rage at Neora boiled beneath her skin and morphed the planes of her face into an unrecognizable mask of hatred.
You commanded her to capture Andrax, and the cunt has repaid you with sedition.
She had always been wary of the changeling, but the reason for her betrayal vexed Minerva. Why come back and enter into a war that Neora knew could not be won? What did she hope to achieve with this vulgar attack on the theatre, the very place she had exulted in her most terrible glories as Chief Inquisitor? When Minerva finally saw the decimated throng of her people, she knew exactly what Neora had brought for her fracturing Moonmother.
Damnation
.

Her subjects were streaming out in wild-eyed confusion, some carrying devotees who were either too injured or too dead to walk. Masochists with severed limbs and empty eye sockets ran into each other in bewilderment, white bone glinting in the pulpy mess of their stumps. Male and female dungeon sluts wrestled with the restraints of skin straightjackets while their hair burned and their flesh cooked. The Bone Priestess wandered through the crowd aimlessly, her entire body encased in the bleached bones she wore as ornaments. They were pierced beneath the surface of her skin in an elaborate rendering of the Moonheart. She did not seem to be aware of the blade jutting from her left breast like a shifting plate of the earth breaking through soft ground.
Your children are dying.

Some of her wealthier disciples from the eastern cities had been in the audience, their jewels winking as they drank in the glow of the Dark Lady. Many had been with her since the beginning and had helped her breathe life into her dream with gold and moonglass. They occupied spacious chambers in the Hall of the Aristocrats, their rooms outfitted with the finest whores and instruments of torture their coin could buy. When they saw their naked queen soaring toward them in the full splendor of her power, they began to cheer, but their exultations died in their throats when they saw the fury burning in her eyes.

They do not deserve to drink from your womb.
Minerva spread her arms and unleashed a horrific scream as skinblades shot from the palms of her hands. She raised her arms in wrath and addressed her followers one last time. “Useless fucking wretches! You may have peeked beyond the veil of the flesh, but you remain as weak as the day I found you. I sacrificed eternity to raise these walls, and you repay me with cowardice! I brought you into this new world, so it is only fitting that I take you from it!” The massacre of the free flesh began as she decapitated the Bone Priestess with the sweeping edge of her left skinblade.

She slashed her arms in dizzying arcs while she sailed through the doomed press of her followers. Limbs flew and arteries were severed as she tore the mob to bloody ribbons. A few of the surviving masochists appeared to be relishing Minerva’s balletic slaughter. They huddled in a small group and masturbated each other with a recklessness befitting certain death. One of them had procured the Bone Priestess’s head and was pissing in the dead woman’s mouth, one hand grasping her filthy hair while the other moved frenetically across the engorged clit of a brunette alongside him. She was close to coming; her eyeballs fixed on the death-wielding Moonmother as she gyrated against his fingers and slapped herself viciously in the face. Their enslavement to self-abuse was absolute, and their imminent death did nothing to diminish their crazed need for completion.
You hate them because you made them in your own image,
thought Minerva as she interrupted them with the point of her skinblade.

She noticed a doggedly faithful guardsman fucking himself with the hilt of his dagger as he watched Minerva’s rage. Others were ripping off their armor and fucking each other’s asses in full view of the queen they were supposed to protect.
The Moonheart is consuming even the most temperate of your men. Soon rapture will be all that is left, a vile white tide seething from the Imperial Palace and polluting the Lonely Sea.
In a wordless rage, she stretched her hands before her and dived at the man before he could blink. She passed through his thick torso in a single smooth incision and emerged covered in his gore. His jerking legs remained absurdly rooted to the ground as she exploded through his skin and landed on her blood-drenched feet. The Dark Lady stepped over the bodies of the fallen and entered the theatre of pain.

The carnage was even more devastating inside. Neora had always been a marvelous killer, but today she had reached a new level of cruelty and artistry. Minerva had first taken the changeling under her wing on the recommendation of some of the patrons now choking on their own blood in the theatre’s blistering heat. It was said she possessed the skill and emotional austerity of a master inquisitor, and she would achieve great things in her studies of the desiring body. Now Minerva saw the fulfillment of the bitch’s potential on a grand scale, and for half a heartbeat, she felt a glimmer of admiration for Neora’s perverse handiwork.

The room was stacked with eviscerated corpses, and the unmistakable stench of seared flesh wafted from the viewing pits. They had been packed with the connoisseurs of pain today, and some were still moving in the red glow of candlelight spilling from an immense iron chandelier. Neora had gone through them with blade and fire, reducing the audience to blackened husks and pools of viscera. Astonishingly, some of these damned souls were still nibbling on cocks and filling their orifices with whatever implement was at hand as their lives leaked from their grievous wounds. The paroxysms of orgasm and the contortions of pain could not be differentiated on their faces, and in their terrifying union, Neora had come closer to the nightmarish heart of desire than Minerva had ever seen.

The heat in the room was stifling, and sweat coated Minerva’s legs as she walked toward the deafening yells of terror emerging from a nearby stage. Neora stood naked at the bottom, her blue-black hair stained red from her rampage. She was still scything her way through the devotees with a black skinblade, and shadows played across the bloodstained swells of her tits and ass. Neora looked up at Minerva as she finished a masochist with a flick of her wrist, his head spinning on the floor as her blue eyes glared up at the queen. “Come to join me? It seems fitting it should end here. How many times did we fuck on this stage, Dark Lady?”

“Neora, child of night. You must be deranged if you think you can defeat me.” Minerva descended slowly toward the assassin, her feet gliding over entrails and disembodied limbs. “All the trust I placed in you, the years I spent grooming and teaching you. Did it mean nothing?” Minerva raised her own skinblade and circled the changeling on the stage. “Before I end you, tell me what became of Andrax. Did he abandon Shadehaven to rapture?”

Neora smiled cryptically and licked the blood from her lips. “I had a daughter once. Grace was her name. Your thugs abducted her from Estlemoore when she was still a child. I came here in search of her, but it proved an empty quest. She was dead and I had failed her. For many years, I hid the truth from myself and buried my grief here.” Neora reached down between her legs and touched her wet outer lips. “I gave myself over to the pleasure of the flesh and forgot the wounds of my soul. But those days are over, Dark Lady. I have one question to ask you. Do you remember Grace? You look upon her as we speak.”

“Many anonymous cocks and slits have passed through this palace over the years. How can you expect me to remember one pretty slut I pulled from the sewers?” Minerva tensed her body and prepared for Neora’s charge.

“Well, this slut was special to you even if you didn’t realize it at the time. If you hadn’t taken Grace from Estlemoore, you would never have met me. You would have reigned as Queen of Desire until the seas rose and drank the world. But you took Grace, and planted the seed of your own death. So spare a thought for grace the slut!” Neora attacked with speed, but Minerva was faster.

Minerva cut off Neora’s left arm with a mighty down cut of her skinblade. Neora threw back her head and wailed before grabbing a nearby bucket and throwing its contents into Minerva’s face. Cum and blood blinded Minerva as she staggered backwards. The changeling shifted into her dog skin and jumped at Minerva, her teeth snapping at the lifeblood of her throat. Minerva craned her neck away from the savage bites and impaled the bitch through the shoulder. Neora dangled off the skinblade as Minerva held her in the air and prepared to finish her with a thrust from the other blade.

“You are a fool, Neora. I am the Moonmother reborn. How did you think you could defeat me by yourself?”

Neora smiled as the Dark Lady twisted the blade. “Do you think I was stupid enough to come here on my own?” Minerva looked into the changeling’s eyes and saw the truth of her brutal charade.
She has drawn all the guards and left the Moonheart’s defense weakened…
Her scream collapsed the theatre’s roof and tore a chasm into the side of the Imperial Palace. Rain and debris poured into the room as Minerva took a final look at Neora’s remarkable face.
Such a stunning beauty…

She threw Neora into the Lonely Sea and went in search of the man she had once loved.