38: Sallisha

[Start from the beginning]

Horvan looked around the cell. There was nothing much here, and what there was was familiar. His employers were away on a mission, rescuing some women from the clutches of a demon. Or so he had gathered, from what he had overheard of their planning.

They were often away, of course, venturing into unlit catacombs in the far reaches of the wilderness was, essentially, how they made a living. Normally, at such times, he tended the villa for them. But this time was different. This time they were doing something in the city itself, and more importantly, somebody had sent a demon into the villa.

He shivered inwardly as he remembered facing the thing. He had known immediately that the creature was far out of his league, and that it could kill him in an instant. He had shouted out to it instinctively, before it had turned around and its full nature had become apparent. Not that he was any sort of warrior – in retrospect it was obvious that he should never have made himself visible to it at all.

Those glowing red eyes had fastened on him, and he had known the gut-wrenching fear that he was about to die. Even being hit with the knife was nothing compared to how terrifying that one look had been. It brought him newfound respect for what his employers did all the time, and he still did not know why it had spared his life at all. By all rights, he should be dead, yet it had not taken the trouble to finish him off. Perhaps he was just too insignificant to even care about.

The attack, however, had meant that while the adventurers were away this time, they had insisted he remain safe, away from the villa. His parents were out of the city, and there were few others he would have been willing to impose upon. But he had an aunt that, like his mother, worked as a healer at the Temple of Felanda. She, at least, was in the city at the moment, and had been able to arrange for him to stay for a night or two at the temple.

He was sitting on a small bed in a spare novice’s cell, a sight he was familiar with from his own childhood, although he had never seriously considered the healers’ calling himself. He lacked the skill for it, although perhaps he should have studied harder. But he was lucky in having found the job that he did, as housekeeper to the adventurers. At least growing up in the temple had got him used to doing a lot of cleaning and housework.

Now he was back here again, if only for what should be a couple of nights at most, looking round at walls that were bare except for a single religious icon, and a room that contained nothing else save a bed, a small table, and an empty trunk. Novices had few possessions; it was part of the preparation for ordainment as a healer.

He sighed and leaned back against the stone wall. He had already exhausted the supply of things to do here; it wasn’t even as if they had any need for more cleaners. There was nothing left to do but think. Naturally enough, his thoughts turned to his employers, and to the danger they were currently facing.

It was always a concern when they were away; that, this time, they wouldn’t come back, or at least not all of them. He might not have been one of them, but they were almost as close to him as family now, or so he felt. They were undoubtedly good employers, and he knew that he was privileged to work for them, under their protection – even if that had not worked out so well recently.

But that was not the only reason; there was also Vardala. Calleslyn and Lady Tarissa were undoubtedly attractive women, but there was just something about Vardala that he found incredibly appealing. Her fine features, her lithe body, her deep brown eyes, all combined to make her the woman that fuelled his desires.

It was something he felt deeply guilty about. There could never be anything in it, not least because she was his employer, She deserved better than him secretly admiring the curve of her breasts, or trying to catch a look at her even partially unclothed – something at which he had so far failed dismally. But he just couldn’t help it.

The guilt and the impossibility of it all were both compounded by the obvious fact that she was a gnome, not a human. Although she had all the curves and attributes of any adult human woman – in fact, she looked five or six years older than he did – she barely reached up to his waist. A vision of sexiness in miniature that he should surely have ignored, yet was unable to.

That small size had occasionally fuelled fantasies of her giving him fellatio while they both stood upright, but mostly he just wished that some bizarre piece of magic would transform her into his own size. In the dreams that fuelled his nights, that was how she always was; all but human, until he woke to a damp patch on the sheets and remembered that if such a spell existed, he had never heard of it.

“Horvan, I heard you were here.”

He broke from his reverie, and the inevitable beginning of an erection, to notice the woman standing at his door. “Sallisha,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”

Sallisha was one of the novices at the temple, somebody he had known before his life with the adventurers. She had been his girlfriend at one point, but it hadn’t lasted, and that was before he met the woman of his impossible dreams. She didn’t even look anything like Vardala, even leaving aside the fact that she was obviously human.

Her light brown hair cascaded in ringlets around her shoulders, her slender body clothed in the simple white robes of a novice, a deep cleft plunging from the neck to expose the holy symbol nestled on the thinner white fabric underneath. A narrow girdle wrapped around her slim waist, and the skirt fell to ankle length, giving him only a glimpse of the slippers she wore on her feet. She was, he had to admit, still a very attractive young woman, her skin fresh and supple, her light brown eyes watching him with the caring warmth so typical of healers.

“How is it with… uh…” he struggled to remember the name.

“We broke up. It’s a long story.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“But what about you?” she asked, stepping forward into the cell, her musical voice indicating her eagerness to hear more. “How have you been since… how long has it been now?”

“I, uh… I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I’ve been well enough, thank you. Busy at work, you know.” He couldn’t tell her about the demon, Lady Tarissa had impressed that much on him. And it wasn’t something he wanted to remember anyway.

“Yes, that’s right; you were with those adventurers, weren’t you? But you never decided to become one, did you? It must be a hard life, even if it pays well for some people. A great many never come back.”

“No,” he said, smiling, “I’ve never even felt tempted. I’m no warrior, and I’m certainly not a magician. You’re right, it’s a big risk to take… and not one for me, I have to admit.”

“Good,” she said, sounding relieved, “You should have become a healer. Like me. Maybe then we wouldn’t have broken up.”

“Well…” he said, not wanting to get too far into that side of things, “that didn’t work for me, either. There’s too much learning, and religious dedication… I think it’s great that you’ve found your vocation, and you’ll be a great healer once you complete your novitiate. But that isn’t me, either. I’m happy the way I am. It works for me.”

“Why are you here, then? I got the impression that something had happened, but nobody seems to know for sure. The adventurers you work for… they’re not out of the city, are they? It’s not as if they’d have anything to do here. We don’t have heaps of gold coins lying around in the city guarded by fire-breathing dragons, after all.”

This was what he wasn’t supposed to talk about. “It’s just temporary. Nothing to worry about.”

He had obviously sounded less than convincing, because she took another step forward into the room, a worried frown on her face. “If there’s nothing for them to do here… has something followed them home from their last expedition?”

“No… I mean, uh… no.” A memory of the demon’s face flashed before him, the red eyes burning, the large horns dark and menacing, spurs distorting its face into something less than human.

Sallisha’s hand leapt to her open mouth as her eyes widened in shock, “oh, my gosh, it has, hasn’t it? Something followed them! Are you all right? Did it hurt you?”

He floundered, trying to think of something to say that would allay her suspicions, but nothing came to mind. He really wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.

“Oh my goddess!” she gasped, rushing to his side. “You’ve been hurt! Let me see – I’m a healer, maybe I can do something.”

“It’s fine, really, nothing. I mean, it’s already been healed.”

He winced with the memory of the pain, and she must have caught the look, and perhaps an involuntary twitch in his shoulder, because her eyes immediately darted towards the site of the injury, hidden as it was beneath his clothes.

“No, no, you can never be too sure. There’s infections, and all sorts of things. I have to have a look. What do adventurers know about healing?”

“Quite a lot?” he asked, but she was already fiddling with his shirt, which was embarrassing in more ways than one. “Look, don’t fuss, it’s fine. Lady Tarissa is a paladin…”

“No, Horvan, I am going to inspect your wound, whether you like it or not.” A sterner tone had crept into her voice, the way that healers sounded when they obviously weren’t going to brook any nonsense. “I’ll close the door if it makes you feel better, that way nobody else will see. But I will have a look, just to make sure.”

“Oh, for goodness sake…” he said, knowing that he had already been beaten, “it’s been magically healed by a paladin laying on hands… there’s nothing to see.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said firmly, getting up to close the door.

Reluctantly, Horvan began to peel off his shirt. “See?” he said at last.

“You call that nothing?” She was at his side on the bed again, looking at him with concern.

“Well… nothing much.”

There was a scar; even healing magic only did so much. But all that remained was a pale pinkish streak of slightly raised tissue running across the muscle of his shoulder, where the knife had penetrated deep into his flesh. But he couldn’t really feel anything; apart from the scar, there was just no sign that he had ever been injured, and he had been told that even that would fade with time.

“That looks serious!” she said, “it must have been really deep.” She ran a hand over it, the cool skin of her fingertips pressed against the muscle there. He struggled to ignore that; they had been intimate before, but now she was a healer, and just doing her job. “Move your arm,” she said, “and tell me if you feel any pain or discomfort.”

Reluctantly, he rotated his shoulder, flexing his arm, the muscles moving beneath the skin as her hand lay over it, stroking him in a way that was beginning to seem more than merely professional.

“Nothing,” he said, honestly, “it feels fine, and I’ve got the full range of movement now. See?”

“Perhaps,” she said, a little grudgingly. Her left hand reached behind his back, running up over his spine as her right moved across his chest, cool fingers brushing over his skin, her face just inches from his, her breath warm against his cheek.

“Uh…?” he said; a rather incoherent query.

“Just checking for other injuries,” she said, her voice soft now as her right hand circled lower, moving onto his abdomen, caressing him as her left gently brushed over his ribs. “Yes, everything is how I remember it.” She kissed him on the side of his neck, a brief exploratory peck with her lips. “Is it how you remember it?”

“Should we be doing this?”

“Why not?” she whispered, “there’s nobody else, is there?”

“Well, no, not... uh, no, there isn’t.” Which was true, really, no matter what thoughts he might entertain in the privacy of his own mind.

“Good.” She pressed her nose against his neck, lips kissing the angle of his other shoulder, tongue darting out to taste his skin. “Mmm… you smell good.”

“I mean, it’s just, we’re in the temple, and you’re a novice…”

“I’m not a nun. We’re not celibate.” Her right hand was moving lower, and had reached the hem of his trews, brushing over the top of his hips, the calm, comforting touch of a healer.

“Well, no, but…” he flicked his eyes meaningfully towards the holy icon on the wall, but if she noticed she gave no sign.

“Good,” she said again, with a slight giggle as her hand at last slid down into his trews.

Despite himself, he was already beginning to get hard, and as her hand ruffled his pubic hair and slid round to the base of his cock, he found that she was starting to become irresistible. Her soft fingers slid up his length, then moved back down again, gently pulling back his foreskin.

“Uh, Sallisha, are you really sure about this?” he said at last.

In reply, she stroked her left hand all the way around the base of his back, and round to the front where she began to undo the top of his trews and to pull his underwear down. His cock sprang free as her other hand continued to gently stroke it and moved up to run a thumb over the glistening head. She leaned closer and kissed him softly on the lips.

“You don’t think I seem sure?” she said teasingly.

He had no answer to that, and when she kissed him again, he at last responded, moving his hands onto her hips, to pull her up slightly onto the edge of the small bed. It wasn’t much more than a cot really, but it would have to do. He was never going to have sex with Vardala, that was an impossible dream. Besides, he was all too human to be able to resist what her hands were doing to him.

Her right hand continued to massage his swelling cock as her left moved up to stroke his chest again, and they kissed eagerly. The tip of his erection brushed against the cloth of her robe as she shifted position, moving one leg between his thighs, leaning partially over him as they both sat on the edge of the bed.

Sallisha released him, kneeling back slightly so that she could undo her girdle and throw it onto the floor. She lifted her robes up, pulling them over her head, then shaking her hair loose as they joined the belt. He could see her nipples swelling beneath the thin fabric of her shift, the holy symbol glittering against the white. Smiling, she moved her head down, long hair brushing his chest as she kissed him again.

His hands slid down over her hips, feeling their slight curve, and onto her thighs. Her legs were slender and shapely, much as Vardala’s were, but the warmth and softness of their skin was very real beneath his questing fingers. He surrendered to the sensation, kissing the healer passionately as she finally pulled his trews down far enough that he could kick them free.

Stroking his hands up her thighs, he reached under the hem of her shift, feeling the smoothness of her bare back as he rucked it over her hips. His cock pressed against her belly, throbbing with desire as she reached down to gently cup and stroke his balls.

“Oh, yeah…” be breathed. He had forgotten how good this was.

Sallisha moved so that she straddled him now, legs either side of his. Her gentle caress moved up his cock, pulling it up and under her shift, pressing it against the flesh of her belly until the tip nestled in her navel. She kissed him once more, then leaned back to pull her shift up and away with her free hand.

Her breasts had grown a little since he had last held her, but looked just as sweet and inviting as ever, the pale brown nipples obviously hard as she pressed them against him and delivered another lingering kiss. Horvan pushed her away slightly, and stroked a strand of her long wavy hair, pressing it against her skin.

He ran his hands over each globe, feeling the texture of her skin against his fingertips, brushing in ever decreasing circles towards the centre, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper as he at last fondled her swollen nipples. Bending in, he pressed his lips against one, tasting it, sucking her slowly.

At last she gasped aloud, and he began to wonder again if this was wise. The door to the cell might be closed, but it was not locked, and there might be healers walking along the corridor outside. He did not want to be discovered, and, presumably, neither did she.

She evidently had the same idea, for she muttered, “hush, hush… we have to be quiet.” Which seemed a little unfair, since so far, he largely had been.

She pulled his head free from the delights of her soft breasts, and kissed him on the lips, long hair draping over his face and shoulders. Her right hand behind his head, stroking his own hair, she struggled to pull down her panties with the other, until he helped her, sliding them down over her long thighs.

His cock pressed against the sparse downy hair of her mound as the young healer reached up to stroke it again. They were still kissing, soft pants of desire all that was escaping their lips. One hand squeezed the round globe of her buttocks, pulling her up closer to him.

“Oh, yes…” she whispered, eyes wide with desire.

It was she that eased him inside, pushing him inch by inch between the eager folds of her pussy. Her eyes never left his face as she slowly pressed him all the way in, biting her lip to keep from crying out. His hips began to buck involuntarily and hers soon responded in kind, leaning over him, knees pressed against the bed, narrow waist sliding between his welcoming hands.

He pressed in and out, taking his time, moving slowly, savouring the feeling as her hard nipples brushed against his chest in time with the motion. She gasped out loud, bit down on her lip, and then cried out with a whimper as he pushed himself back in again.

“This isn’t working,” she muttered suddenly.

It wasn’t? It certainly felt like it was working to him! But there was nothing he could do as she pulled herself away, and turned to lie back on the bed. She must have registered the shock and puzzlement on his face, because she grinned, and said “Not that, silly! Come here…” He moved over her, still confused, cock now pressed once more against her belly. “Make love to me like this,” she whispered.

He lost no time in complying, moving one of her legs out of the way to ease himself back inside. “Oh, yes…” she whispered again, her head lying in a halo of brown curls against the pale fabric of the pillow. He began to move again, sliding in and out, pressing her breasts against his chest. Their hands explored each other’s bodies, roaming over slick flesh as he began to increase the rate of his motion.

It finally dawned on him what she had meant by it not working when she grabbed the corner of the pillow and stuffed it into her mouth, smothering a pent up moan of passion. She nodded at him, briefly, her cries now as stifled as they reasonably could be.

Horvan closed his eyes and, to his later shame, pictured Vardala underneath him. Human sized, of course, but it was her face that really filled his thoughts as he imagined it was her that he was making love to. His thrusts increased in strength and urgency, as did the pitch of Sallisha’s delighted cries. She crossed her legs behind his back, giving him more leverage to press into her, and a hand gripped his heaving buttocks.

He opened his eyes again just before he came, letting out a gasping cry that made something of a mockery of the healer’s attempts at silence. It was Sallisha’s face before him again, Sallisha’s eyes wide with passion, Sallisha’s pale lips pressed hard into the pillow as her body shuddered in the throws of her orgasm.

“Oh my goddess…” she said, fingering the holy symbol around her neck, “oh my good goddess…”

He rolled off her, not wanting to look her in the face. It was still not she that would haunt his dreams.

37: Capture

[Start from the beginning]

"Let's…" said Tarissa, just as the corridor plunged into blackness, "…go!"

Her words vanished into the void as she felt herself being spun around, losing all sense of direction. The whirling stopped, but the light did not return. She steadied her breath, sword still held out in front of her, although how she would use it if she could not see anything she did not know.

"Is everyone here? Light!" she called out.

There was no response, and the way her voice echoed off the walls told her that the corridor was now empty. If it was even the same corridor, which she doubted. Whatever magic had extinguished the lights had also whisked them away to different parts of the complex, separating them, and making it difficult to find their way back together again – at least without giving away their location to their enemies.

The demon itself, she felt sure, would not be inconvenienced by anything as minor as the absence of light. The members of the harem should be as blind as she, though… assuming, of course, that Sashjant had not thought to equip them with some sort of magical item. The adventurers were at very much of a disadvantage, caught in a maze of corridors they did not know and could not even see. But how big could that maze be? There was no obvious limit, but surely magic could hide only so much?

She reached out, touched the wall. She was still in some sort of corridor, then. All she could do was keep moving forward, and perhaps she would find somewhere there was light. Or the demon would find her, which would at least give her the chance of doing something. She stepped forward, taking measured steps, trailing her left hand along the wall, holding her sword out in front of her, as if menacing the inky blackness ahead.

Her ears caught the sound of fighting. One of her companions, probably Dolrim, had found something, but she was not there to help. She picked up her pace, hoping to find some turning in the corridor that led in the right direction. Her hand found the wooden surface of a door. It was a little too regular to be real wood, even she could tell that, but it led in the direction of the sounds, no longer of fighting, but of muffled words she could not quite catch. That was not a good sign.

She yanked the door open, but there was only more blackness beyond. She stepped inside, waving her sword about but found nothing. Taking a few steps forward, the tip of her blade hit something soft. No sound though, no indications of movement. She stretched out her free hand, found what appeared to be a bale of cloth blocking her way. Soon she established that she had found nothing more exciting than a small storeroom, with no other exit. She bit back a curse of frustration, and stepped back out into the corridor. There could be dozens of rooms in here, and it would take long enough to search them all if she could see, let alone under these conditions.

Silence had descended once again. Had Dolrim been victorious? If he had faced the demon alone, that seemed doubtful, but it was by no means certain that he had. In addition to Sashjant hjmself, there should be four women in here. One of them was a warrior, a tall brunette who dressed in barbaric leathers, but the other three had seemed harmless enough, merely captives he had taken along the way, chosen for looks, not fighting prowess. A harem was, after all, not intended for personal defence, especially not for something that probably believed itself to be largely invulnerable in the first place.

She found another door; nothing but silent blackness beyond once again. There was no point in exploring that, then; it would be better to stay with the corridor. If Sashjant and the barbarian were prowling about looking for intruders, that was where they would be. At most she might find one of the other women cowering in a room, and she could not see how that would be useful. They would just give her position away, and she had no means of freeing them from their slavery.

She continued walking. Then, just as she turned a corner, her foot bumped into something soft. She knelt, feeling about with her hand. A woman, unconscious. It had to be the redhead, still under the effects of Almandar's spell. At least she knew she was close to the entrance now.

There was a soft sound behind her, and she span, still in a half-crouch, sword levelled as something whirred through the air towards her. It hit her, knocking her back, but not with great force. Too late, she realised that the thing was a net, with cords that magically wrapped themselves around her. Something tore, she could hear the sound, but could not tell what it was. She tried to stand, tried to throw the net off herself, but it was like fighting a creature with a dozen tentacles.

Even as she moved, the cords of the net tightened, forcing her legs into a kneeling position, thighs pinioned to her calves. They yanked her left arm into her side, and she sensed that only her gorget stopped them from strangling her. She could still move her sword arm… it must have been one of the cords she had heard tearing, cutting itself on the sharp blade. Which meant that she had a chance to cut herself free.

If only she could do so in time.

She grunted with exertion as the cords bit tighter, forcing her into an uncomfortable position, even the upper part of her sword arm bound to her chest, only free from the elbow down. She tried to pull it against the cords across her chest, hoping to free her other arm, or perhaps even both.

"Oh, I don't think so," said a voice, masculine and silky smooth. Her sword was pulled from her grasp, thrown away to clatter on the floor. She lashed out with her fist, for that at least was still free, but only caught her assailant a glancing blow. He laughed, cruelly. "That too, will avail you little. You are my prisoner, accept it. You have failed." Before she could reach for her dagger, he had pulled that loose, too. Evidently he could see perfectly well in the blackness, just as she had suspected.

She tried to pull herself up with her free arm, and grabbed at the cords around her body. Pulling them had no effect, it just made them constrict tighter. There was nothing she could do now, she realised, but wait and conserve her strength. Perhaps she would get a better opportunity later. Her companions were, after all, still out there – or so she hoped.

She heard the sound of a muttered spell, saw a flash of bluish light that somehow failed to illuminate anything around it, and then heard a woman groaning. Sashjant had obviously woken up the redhead.

"How many of them are there?" he asked, voice calm yet urgent.

"Four… I think… I only caught a brief glimpse. There might be more."

"Hah!" snorted Sashjant with a self-satisfied sound, "and four I have captured. You see, warrior woman," Tarissa could sense he had turned back to her now, "you have failed. Utterly, as do all who challenge me."

Four, thought the paladin. The woman had only seen four of them. She had missed one, most likely Vardala, with her small size, and at least one of them was free in the complex. Even if only one remained free, perhaps he or she could rescue the others. It was a thought worth holding on to. All was not yet lost, no matter what Sashjant believed.

"I can't be certain," said the woman's voice, "it was only a moment."

"Then let us take this captive to the throne room, and be sure." Sashjant grabbed at Tarissa's free arm, and began to drag her along the floor. He was clearly strong, she had to give him that, but what else could you expect from a demon?

"But I can't see!" wailed the redhead.

"It is a magical protection, part of the wards on this place. Follow the sound, Kara, you do not need me to help you."

Tarissa felt herself being unceremoniously pulled along a series of twisting corridors, moving deeper into the maze. She grit her teeth and put up with the indignity – there was nothing much to be achieved by complaining.

In fact, it was not long before she heard some doors being opened, and then light spilled across her face. She was dragged into a well-lit room, and then half-thrown, half-pulled against a series of scatter cushions.

The room was sumptuously decorated, and from her position on the floor she could see a number of chairs and low tables, one of the chairs high and gilded, which indeed fitted the description of a throne. There were statues here, too, of many-armed demons, prowling cats, and near-naked dancing girls. From her vantage point, she could just make out platters, pitchers, and bowls on the table tops, some of them brimming with rich food.

Sashjant stood back from her, looking down at his prize. He looked fully human, although of exotic extraction. His skin was dark, a rich brown colour, similar to that of many Jalibians, although his facial features were more akin to those of Haredil natives. He had long black hair that fell in a mane around his shoulders, a short, pointed beard, and midnight-black eyes that glowered with disdainful cruelty.

He had on a wrap-around robe of what appeared to be purple silk, trimmed in gold. Unlike the robes of Haredil wizards, it reached to just below his knees, and she could see he was wearing matching silk trousers and white slippers decorated with silver thread, A wide, golden belt circled his waist, tightening the robe to show off the power of his shoulders and muscular chest beneath the silk.

"You brought the sword?" he asked, evidently speaking to Kara, who had just entered the room, blinking in the sudden light. "Never mind. Put it on the table, it is of no use to her. Now, close the door, there is something I must do."

The redhead acted obediently, as Sashjant moved to sit on his throne. There was an orb set into the right arm-rest, a black glossy sphere over which the demon moved his hand. "There," he said, a moment later, "now we will not be interrupted."

"You see," he said, standing up and walking over to the captive paladin, "just in case there are any more of you, I have shielded this room with a disorientation spell. Even if anyone could find it in the darkness, they will lose all sense of direction, and be turned away from the door. Only my own followers are safe from the effect. I believe I have captured all of your companions, but even if I have not, nobody is coming to save you."

She tried not to let the disappointment show. There was always a chance, so long as she remained alive, no matter how small it might be becoming.

"But let us see. Open your mind to me, mortal woman, and tell me what you know."

He leaned closer, dark eyes wide, a hypnotic gaze that she could sense boring into her soul. She sent a hurried, silent, prayer to Pardror and then closed her mind of all thoughts. It was part of the spiritual training of her order, a part of the mental discipline required of paladins. She locked eyes with the demon, imagining a solid wall in her mind's eye, Her other thoughts she pushed to the back of her mind, out of reach of the demon's probing mental fingers. She could feel those fingers, testing the imaginary wall, jabbing and searching for a way in, a most unpleasant sensation in her head, yet one she steadfastly refused to overwhelm her.

Sashjant snarled and pulled back, baring his teeth, and banging a table in frustration. "She has had some training to resist this… some method that keeps me out! I can sense her thoughts, but not read them. Curse you, human – do not think that this will stop me."

He visibly calmed himself down, stroking his robe, although it was not really ruffled, and turned back to Kara, standing dutifully by the side of the room. "You said there were four of them. What did they look like?"

"A dwarf, a man, and a woman – and her, of course," she indicated Tarissa, "the man had dark hair, that was all I had time to see. Oh, and he was not wearing armour."

"The dwarf I have captured myself," said Sashjant proudly, "Geska has him captive. She hates dwarves, you know," he added conversationally to the paladin, "now that I know I don't need him, I suppose I will let her kill him, if she wishes. Gut'rul has the man, she sent me a message," Tarissa wondered how she had done that; perhaps it was part of the magical hold he had over them, "so he need not concern us, either."

He paused, cocking his head to one side, as if listening. "The woman… yes, someone has entered Rupinder's study, that must be her. Well, if she is not captured, we can still neutralise her." He stepped back to the throne, and placed his hand on the orb once more. "The door to the study is now locked. Only Rupinder and I can open it. So, if this stranger overcomes my woman, she will be trapped inside. But, if Rupinder overcomes her… then, we have no problem,"

"All defeated," he added with a grin, stepping back from the throne. "Now it only remains to discover how they got in, and seal the gap. And to find what happened to Mei-Xing." He turned towards Tarissa, looking down at her trussed up form. "Have you killed her? She does not answer my sendings, and she has not come back. So she is either dead, or held captive somewhere I cannot reach. Which is it?"

The paladin, naturally, said nothing.

"No, I thought you would require more persuasion to tell me. Of course, I could read the mind of one of your companions; they cannot all be as shielded as you. But there is another possibility."

"You strike me, warrior, as a woman of honour and principle," he spat the words, as if they were a curse, "the sort that feels the need to help others. Perhaps you wanted to 'rescue' my followers, not realising that they enjoy my company, and serve my superior majesty as all mortals should. But, yes, protect the weak, all that crap, never allow the innocent to suffer needlessly."

"Well, what else are the innocent for? They aren't much use for anything, now are they? So I'll tell you what I am going to do. The two men are of little interest, and I know they are captive, but the other woman. Ah, now, she may be trapped, but Rupinder is not too strong, so how do I know what has happened? I will go there, and make certain that she is captured, if she is not already. It is a pity I cannot use the net, but it seems to be busy with you at the moment, and it is not as if I have no other powers. Either way, I shall capture her, and bring her here."

"Then, I shall torture and rape her while you watch. Every time you answer a question of mine honestly, I shall spare her one little bit of pain. How does that sound?"

The paladin glared at him, struggling not to allow the hatred and anger to overcome her emotions. If he was somehow able to actually carry through on his threat, that might become impossible, but for now she just managed to keep a check on her rage. This creature was truly a monster.

Sashjant grinned, a flash of amusement. "Well, we shall see, shan't we?" he asked, his voice almost gleeful.

"This is the sort of thing you enjoy?" she said, keeping her voice steady. She did not want to rise to the bait, but the longer she could keep him talking, the more chance she might have. "You think you are justified in what you do? Do the feelings of others matter so little to you? Your philosophy, if I can even call it such, is empty and barren."

"Oh, I think not," replied the demon, "if the weak do not wish to be dominated, they should not be weak. Yes, I am more powerful than any mere mortal, but that is because I have supernatural power in my veins, it would be an insult for me not to use it. It is my right and my destiny to rule over humans."

"And it is pleasurable, let me assure you. The strong rule over the weak, because that is the way of the universe. Without it, we would all be dragged down by the pathetic mewling sops of gutter humanity. Lessened, cheapened, by their gutless, worthless, lives. There would be mere anarchy, and anarchy of the most debased kind."

"Do you believe we should help people? That we should protect the innocent? Let them protect themselves, if they can! It is not for us to waste our energy doing their work for them. The weak disgust me, the innocent disgust me, for they do not have the courage to do as they should. And those who disgust me… they are lucky if I let them live. I am power, and majesty, and a superior intellect that cows mere mortals before me. I will not debase myself with their craven stupidity."

"Your beliefs are a weakness, and I shall show it to you. I shall show it to when I rape your friend in front of you, and you know that you are powerless to stop it. You will either tell me what I want to know, thus proving your inferiority, or you will betray your ridiculous rules of honour. Either way, I will have proven myself right, and proven you wrong in your beliefs."

"And all the while, as I torment your friend, you will be quaking in fear, because you know that, once I have finished with her, it shall be your body that I defile next. Think on that, human!"

He strode towards the door, clearly uninterested in any further conversation, but it opened before he even got there. A woman strode into the room; Tarissa instantly recognised her as one of the harem, the dark-skinned one who had appeared to be a secretary or clerk of some kind.

"Ah, Rupinder," said Sashjant, "I see that you must have…"

"You bastard!" screamed the woman, hurling a dagger in the demon's direction.

He was so surprised that he did not even try to dodge, standing there open-mouthed as the knife thudded into his chest. He looked down at it, uncomprehending, and then up at Rupinder.

"I don't understand…" he said, pulling the knife out casually. Even from where she was lying, Tarissa could see that the wound closed up almost instantly, leaving no sign of injury through the slash in Sashjant's robe.

From the blackness through the doorway came a stream of glowing white magical missiles, and this time, the demon did move, although he could not avoid them all, and bursts of light showered around him, causing him to shout in anger and apparent pain, as his hands moved in a blur to cast his own spells.

Even as he did so, Sashjant's skin rippled, his body warping and transforming as he took on his true form. Orange and black fur sprouted over his head and hands, and a whiter patch on the exposed parts of his chest, where the robe had been slashed and come partly open. His shape changed little, save for developing an even more powerful muscular physique, but his face was stretching out into an animal-like snout.

It took only a brief moment, and then Sashjant's true form was revealed. A tall, athletic humanoid, furred, and with a striped head that, colouration aside, looked rather like that of a lion, albeit without the mane. Strong and sharp teeth glistened as he growled, an inhuman snarl from the back of his throat.

It came as no surprise to Tarissa to see Calleslyn rushing into the room, a magical ward raised in front of her, and already preparing to cast another spell. But where was Almandar? Sashjant had implied that he had been captured, and, so far, there was no sign that Calleslyn had been able to free him. Would the elven magician be able to take down the demon on her own?

The red-headed woman – Kara – ran across the room, reaching out for what appeared to be a wand laid on one of the tables. It was unclear whether she intended to use it herself or pass it to Sashjant, although her intention to protect her master was undoubted. But she never reached the table, for Rupinder caught her in a flying tackle, knocking her to the floor, where the pair struggled violently.

Tarissa fumed at her helplessness as bolts of magical energy began to fly across the room. Sashjant had raised a shield that deflected spells, but he still had not managed to land any decisive blow on his assailant. So far the battle was even, but there was nothing the paladin could do to help out.

Then she saw, with a flood of relief, Vardala running into the room, ducking low behind Calleslyn and heading straight for her own position. Her shortsword was out, and she used it hack at the bonds of the magical net. Unfortunately, the strands seemed to be highly resistant to being cut. But that had obviously not been the case before…

"My sword's on the table," she hissed to the gnome, pointing with her free arm, "if you get me that, I can take him down."

Vardala nodded, grabbing the larger sword and passing it over. The blade was much sharper than the rogue's shortsword, a magical weapon that she found hacked through her bonds with ease.

Even as she stood, Sashjant was casting another spell at Calleslyn, a blast of sickly green light that knocked the elf to the floor, her ward sputtering and vanishing before the onslaught.

"Oh, I do so despise physical combat," growled the demon, his voice a surprisingly mellow purr given his bestial appearance, "but I really must make an exception."

"Try this!" Shouted Tarissa, standing behind him, her sword raised. The demon turned, claws outstretched and teeth bared, just as she plunged the blade into his chest, the words of a prayer on her lips.

She infused the weapon with her divine power, calling down the wrath of the gods on the being before her. Golden-white light ran along the metal edge like lightning, blasting into the demon's furry torso. Sashjant screamed, a yowling, inhuman cry, as black blood gushed up around the blade.

No normal weapon could harm him, perhaps, but this was a magic sword, and one, moreover, that was infused with the paladin's holy power. She yanked it upwards, slicing through his ribcage as his clawed hands raked feebly at the air.

Then he fell, sliding off the blade, more blood pumping out of his ruined chest to spread across the flagging beneath his body. His mouth moved once, but no sound came out, and then he went limp, tongue lolling, dark eyes glazing over.

"Is everyone all right?" she asked, panting as she stood over the corpse, eyeing it carefully to make absolutely sure there was no ruse.

"I'm going to need… healing," gasped Calleslyn, "that was just in time. That last spell of his… not a good one."

She looked over to see Rupinder cradling Kara in her arms. The redhead was sobbing now, tears running down her face, clinging to the other woman for comfort. The spell was ended, and Sashjant's hold over the women gone for good.

"Are we too late?" Almandar had entered the room, accompanied by the barbarian woman, who looked more collected than Kara had. Perhaps she was more stoic, or perhaps the half-elf had managed to cast the spell to free her a short while ago, and she had recovered herself since. As Rupinder apparently had, the paladin supposed.

"He's dead. This is over," the paladin said simply.

The barbarian woman rushed to the other two members of the harem, wrapping them in her arms. They seemed to need each other's comfort at the moment, and Tarissa was certainly not going to deny them that.

"Good," said Almandar, "he was a monster in every sense."

"He deserved it," said Tarissa. It wasn't something she often said, but there was no doubt in her mind today.

"Uh…" said Vardala, looking around, "does anyone know where Dolrim is?"

36: Geska

[Start from the beginning]
Dolrim’s axe was already in his hand, and he stepped forward, shifting into a battle stance as the red-haired woman shouted out in alarm… and then, a moment later, slumped to the floor as Almandar’s spell hit her. Anyone else could be around the corner, perhaps the demon himself, or at least the more competent of his remaining slaves.

“Let’s…” began Tarissa, and then her voice cut off as everything went black and the world seemed to spin around them.

“One of you cast a light spell!” grunted the dwarf when, after a few seconds, neither of the magicians had done the obvious.

There was no reply. The spinning had not disoriented him, and he had thought at first that the physically weaker magicians had been affected differently. But no, they were not here, and Dolrim was on his own. He wasn’t even sure he was in the same part of the complex. For all that his eyes could adjust easily to the dim light of a dwarven cave system, nobody could see in the complete absence of light.

Unless, perhaps, they were a demon. He froze, straining his ears to catch any hint of what was around him – although he was blind, Sashjant might not be. He could hear, somewhere in the distance, Tarissa’s voice, muffled by walls of the fake stone, its texture just a little too regular to be the real substance, but otherwise similar in its properties. He took a step in the direction of the paladin’s voice, but then stopped again as he heard a quiet footfall.

There was somebody else here. Someone behind him. Dolrim span about, whirring his axe through the air at what should be the waist level for a human, finding nothing but empty air.

“You deign to attack me physically? How crude!”

The voice was deep, masculine, and dripping with disdain. This was clearly the demon himself, and Dolrim was blind and alone. Yet, unable to make out any route by which he might escape, his only choice was to fight. Fortunately, Sashjant’s voice had clearly given away his location, and the dwarf strode forward, swinging his axe.

The weapon hit something, eliciting no more than a grunt of surprise from his opponent. He could feel it bite into flesh, yet it did not feel right as he jerked it loose for a second swing. Something was not right here, but he did not have time to reflect on what, or even to deliver that second blow, before something slammed into his chest, pushing him backwards a few feet to crash into the wall, his armour clanging against its solid substance.

“I cannot be hurt by mere weapons, you fool!” spat the demon as Dolrim lunged in his direction again.

Something else hit him before he could reach his target, something that wrapped around him, trapping his arm and twisting a leg from under him so that he fell, helplessly to the floor. With shock he realised it was a net, and he struggled to bring the axe to bear against its strands. Yet, every time he moved, the strands of the net pulled tighter… they had to be magical, some kind of weapon he was unfamiliar with.

His left arm was tied to his side now, and his right barely free to move. As he tried to jerk the axe, hoping to cut some of the constricting threads, it pulled sharply against him, jerking his elbow into his body, reducing his leverage. As his legs kicked, the net pulled against them too; the more he exerted his strength, the more it pulled back, fighting against him with its own magical power. He was trapped, helpless.

“Time to end your life, you impertinent worm,” sneered Sashjant.

A sickly greenish glow appeared in the air above the captured dwarf, a magical light surrounding a human-looking hand, yet illuminating nothing around it. It was a spell, and surely a deadly one – if none of his companions arrived in time, Dolrim realised that he was staring death in the face.

“There are others?” hissed the voice, sounding surprised, although not as surprised as the warrior was to discover the demon could apparently read his thoughts. The glow vanished, returning everything to darkness. “Tell me about them!”

Dolrim said nothing, forcing his mind to think of stones and underground passages.

The demon snorted. “I can get around such paltry attempts to hide your knowledge. But not now. I will return for you, little dwarf, but I sense there are others I must deal with first.”

Dolrim felt the net jerk around him, although his armour protected him from what he suspected would otherwise be a painful constriction. A moment later he sensed, rather than saw, a flash of red energy engulfing him, his body spasming in response… just before he slid into unconsciousness.

──◊──

The first thing he realised when he began to come round was that he was sitting down on a hard surface, propped up by something pressed against his back. He tried to move his hands, and discovered they were tightly tied behind him. He was not only disarmed, which he had expected, but divested of his armour, too, making him doubly helpless.

He opened his eyes, and shook his head to clear it. He was in a room, lighted, unlike the corridor, tied securely to what felt like a table leg, his ankles also bound together. He wore only his undershirt and his knee-length pants – they had even taken away his boots.

He glowered angrily at the person sitting in front of him. At least it wasn’t Sashjant, but all of the slaves were so thoroughly under his power that he doubted he had any chance of persuading her to free him. He would have to get free himself, or else hope that the other adventurers had had more luck than he.

“I see you are with us again,” said the woman, an icy tone in her voice.

She was sitting on a small bed, nothing you would call luxurious, and from what he could see around him, he was in a workshop, with carpentry tools hanging from the wall. The stone of the floor, what he could feel of it beneath his fingertips, was fake, which meant that he was still inside the magical maze. Not that he had expected otherwise.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Geska,” she said, “a craftswoman in service to the great lord Sashjant. More importantly, who are you, master dwarf?” He said nothing, not wanting to give away even that much. She snorted, “just like a dwarf, always keeping secrets, even when it doesn’t matter.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know all about your kin, master dwarf", she said, standing up from the bed and beginning to pace. “I come from the southern lands, not far from one of the mountain homes of your people. I am a craftswoman, I could have learned much from the dwarves. They could have taught my family much, if they had wanted. But no, they all had to keep their secrets, the precious secrets of dwarven smithying.”

Her southern ancestry was obvious when he looked. Humans might all be tall and soft, but it was easy enough to tell them apart. Geska’s blue eyes and pale skin both marked her homeland out, for such things were rarely seen here in Haredil. She wore a long dress that almost reached her ankles, made of some pale grey fabric. He approved of the cut, with its high collar and long sleeves, a design that did its best to hide her ample bosom, more demure and respectable than seemed to be the norm among humans. A cold native climate probably encouraged that sort of sensible thinking.

By the standards of humans – which, admittedly, was not saying much – she was reasonably attractive. Her face was broad, her body not too willowy, and the pure blue of her eyes would have been almost fetching, had she not been glaring at him with such ill-disguised hostility.

“I am not a smith,” he said, defensively, “it is not I who has kept those secrets from you.” Although, from what she had said, her original home could not be far from his own birthplace, and it could well be his clansmen she was talking about. Dwarves were less numerous than humans; they had to keep their secrets as a matter of practicality, even were it not also a matter of pride, a part of their racial identity.

“Yet here you are, still keeping secrets. My master will read your mind, once he has dealt with your friends. So you might as well tell me now, to save yourself the torment. How did you get in here, where is Mei-Xing, how many of you are there?”

So Sashjant had not read enough to know how many of the adventurers there were. Since Geska was in here, that left three other women in the complex, in addition to Sashjant himself, and one of the women was unconscious. The numbers were even, and, aside from the barbarian, he doubted many of the slaves were very formidable. That gave them the advantage, and it perhaps gave the some of the adventurers the opportunity to escape detection for a while, and strike back at the demon.

It would, of course, help if he could keep Geska talking in here.

“Why should I tell you? I don’t see anything in it for me.” There; that was better than an outright refusal.

“You’re saying you could be bribed? I doubt it, from what I know of your people. Don’t think we didn’t try, the people from our village. Wealth would not convince you to give up your crafting secrets, I know that much. You probably had too much of your own, with your mines and your unequal trade deals. What else could I bribe you with? I can hardly offer you power, and human things are of little value to the oh-so-skilled dwarves. You aren’t interested in magic, you didn’t want to trade in knowledge, and when a few women from my village got desperate enough to try offering their bodies, you made it perfectly clear that dwarves don’t even talk about such things.”

He flinched at the crudity of the last thing she had mentioned. Dwarves most certainly did not talk about such things, and in Dolrim’s case, he had a secret shame that he really did not want to think about.

“I can see you don’t even want me to talk about that,” she said, sneering, “well, tell me, what do you claim to be interested in? Do you just want to live? Are you frightened?” He said nothing, unable to think of a response. “No, you would never admit that. Not a dwarven warrior. You’re not frightened of anything. Well, apart from…”

She turned away from him suddenly, a slight smile of realisation on her face, and let out a barking laugh. “Apart from the one thing I mentioned that got a reaction from you,” she said, partly to herself, not even looking at him. She turned back to face him, a calculating expression on her face that Dolrim was beginning to find worrying. “I may not be able to offer you much, but perhaps I can threaten you. What worries you, master dwarf?”

She knelt down on the floor, out of reach of his legs, should he have decided to kick her, although, tied up as he was, even that would have been difficult. “No answer? Well, let me tell you: intimacy. Dwarves always dress so heavily, and you, you’re normally hidden in your armour. It probably embarrasses you just to be seen half-dressed as you are now.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, a note of real concern beginning to creep into his voice. He could cope with regular threats, but this was something else, something reminiscent of Raylana, a woman he really did not want to remember. At least there was no aphrodisiac this time.

“I’m going to do this,” she said, reaching out a hand and sliding it under the hem of his vest.

Geska’s fingers rubbed over the taut muscles of his belly, stroking him. “Don’t touch me!” he barked.

“Oh, wrong thing to say,” replied the human woman, “I think I’ve found your weakness.”  Her hand pushed further up, brushing against his thick chest hair, one fingertip running over a nipple.

“Stop that – I won’t tell you anything.”

It was impossible to avoid thinking about Raylana now, and what they had shared. It was not en event that he had dared recall until now, and still he hated himself for it, hated what the aphrodisiac had forced him to do. Yet now, as the memories of the tall merchant’s naked body came to the surface, he found himself aroused, and he had to shift his position, lifting his knees up so that Geska could not see the effect she was having on him. He had to resist.

“If you won’t tell me anything, then I won’t stop,” she informed him, lifting his vest up with both hands, bunching it under his armpits to show off his bare chest and abdomen. She rubbed both hands over him now, caressing him, ruffling his chest hair, moving down to his muscular flanks with slow movements. Her skin was calloused, the hands of a craftsman, not those of a typical human, and he was ashamed to realise that that thought pleased him.

“It is not fit for a human to look at a dwarf’s body,” he informed her, “it just isn’t natural.”

“Then tell me what I want to know!” When he said nothing, she huffed angrily, then gripped his shirt, trying to rip it apart with her bare hands.

“No! Unhand me, you human hussy!” The fabric tore with a loud sound, shredding apart as Geska angrily pulled it, leaving nothing but shreds around his arms.

“Difficult for anyone not to look at your body now, master dwarf.”

“You pervert! Don’t think you can tempt me.”

She actually laughed at that. “I’m not trying to tempt you. I’m trying to humiliate you, punish you for what your people did to mine – or rather, failed to do." She snorted with derision, "I’m not interested in your stunty little cock!”

“It’s as large as any human’s!” he blurted out angrily, recalling something Raylana had told him, “which I think means that your people are the ones under-equipped.”

Geska laughed again, “as if you could possibly know!” She leaned closer, a determined and cruel look on her face, “of course, if you don’t want me to prove you a liar, you had better start talking.”

Too late, he realised what he had just taunted her into doing. “No!” he said, genuine fear beginning to grip him for the first time. If she saw his current state, he could never live down the shame. “No, no…”

“Then tell me about your friends,” she hissed triumphantly.

“I can’t betray them… but you mustn’t…” he tried to think desperately of anything to say to her, “listen… no, don’t do that…”

Geska yanked hard on his trews, forcing him to slide down the table leg, his back nearly flat on the floor, his arms stretched out painfully behind him. She pulled them down around his ankles, then looked up at Dolrim’s naked body, his semi-erect penis now fully exposed.

The blonde woman jumped to her feet, a hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened in shock. “By the gods…” she said, an actual giggle escaping her lips, “you’re turned on by this! You’re actually turned on.” She burst out laughing, slapping a thigh in merriment, “and you call me the pervert! Ha ha ha!”

“I don’t see anything funny,” he snapped in reply, trying to pull himself into a sitting position again, and moving his thighs back to try and hide his shame – although it was far too late now.

“”Not to you, perhaps. Although,” she admitted, still smiling, “I guess you weren’t lying.” She took a moment to steady herself, before putting on a somewhat more serious face. “But this opens up all sorts of new possibilities.”

“It does?”

“Of course. You want me, but can’t have me. Even if you won’t speak, I can at least torment you with that.”

“But I don’t want you! The room is just warm, that’s all it is.”

“No, it isn’t. Oh, and the fact you won’t admit it, even to yourself: that just makes it more fun. At least, it does for me, if not for you.”

He glared at her, but she just bent down to pull off her shoes. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, worried that he already knew the answer.

“You want me, master dwarf,” she said, turning around so that her back was towards him, and then looking over her shoulder to fix her blue eyes on him. “You want to take me, to feel me, but you can’t do that, because you’re tied up down there, and I have no intention of giving you anything. But I will show you what you’re missing, and make you face up to your desire.”

“I keep telling you,” he growled, “I don’t desire you. You’re human, and I’m not. Why should I be interested in such a… such a long-legged, willowy, attenuated, flabby-muscled…” he spluttered in indignation.

“You tell me,” she said as she began to undo the ties on the back of her dress, slipping her arms out of it, “because you clearly are,” she nodded in the direction of his groin, presently concealed by his raised thighs.

Geska’s long skirt pooled around her ankles, and she stepped out of it. As Raylana had done, she wore a shorter dress underneath, of thinner fabric, and almost sleeveless. Under that, he knew, she would be wearing indecently short panties, not the modest thigh-length ones of dwarven women. The thought brought another stirring to his loins, and he had to force himself to remember that he was not attracted to human women.

Last time, it had been the aphrodisiac in the air. That was the only reason for it. For all that Raylana had claimed it could not change desires, only weaken the resolve to ignore them, he did not believe her. It had been a trick, there was no way he would ever have done such a thing with her otherwise. He had to focus on that thought, and show Geska that she had no power over him. Even among dwarves, women were never dominant, and he knew deep down, that what she was doing was wrong.

He could resist it. He would resist it.

Geska turned round to face him again, running a hand seductively down one side, smoothing down the light fabric, stepping out of her dress. “You want this to be your hand, don’t you? Come on, admit it.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. Geska took another step forward, hitching up one side of her shift, showing an expanse of creamy thigh. Her legs were longer and slimmer than those of any dwarven woman, and there was little hint of muscle underneath. So why did that rounded shape, that smooth, pale skin, look so enticing?

“Like my legs? Want to kiss them? I bet your beard tickles.” He turned away, staring fixedly at the wall. He had to stop thinking like this. “Well, that’s the first time you’ve stopped looking, master dwarf,” she pointed out, stepping closer, “but we can’t have that.”

She knelt down beside him, but he refused to acknowledge her. “Look at me,” purred the blonde, “you know you want to. Look, but not touch. It must be driving you mad.” He ignored her, still staring at the wall, pretending she wasn’t there. There was little else he could do, at the moment, to show her how wrong she was about him.

“Oh, but I can touch,” she said, placing her hands on his chest again. He still didn’t look at her. “Come on, not a glance?” He shook his head, mutely, as her hands slid down his flanks, below the base of his ribs, down to his hips, thumbs rubbing the dark hair there. He squirmed as they slid further back, running down over his buttocks, cupping them, holding them, squeezing them. They moved from there to his thighs, first the outside, then the inside, moving up inch by careful inch.

“I don’t care what you deny,” she said, “your cock shows you a liar. You’re as hard as you could possibly be, aren’t you? It shows what thoughts are really going through your head.”

“Are all human women so shamelessly lustful?” he snapped, turning to shoot an angry look in her direction.

“What,” she said sarcastically, “you have some other human to compare me with?”

“No… no, of course not,” he spluttered, turning red as an image of Raylana’s long thighs flashed before him.

“By the gods, this just gets better!” cried Geska in amazement, moving away from him, and rising to her feet. “You really are a lousy liar, aren’t you? How in the name of the gods did that happen? And it’s as if you won’t even admit it yourself! I’ve got to know, did you actually fuck her?”

Dolrim closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, banging his head in frustration against the table leg behind him. If only he could get away from this madwoman!

“That brings me right back to the threatening, now doesn’t it? Because now I know something about you that you really don’t want me to spread around. Why, I could tell just anyone.”

“Please… please don’t…” it was almost a whisper. He felt ashamed, not just of what he had done, but of how he sounded now. If only that shame could do anything to banish the ardour that this woman was raising in his loins.

“So, at last you beg. Well, you know what you have to do," her voice turned hard again, "tell me what I want to know.”

“I can’t… please…” he choked on the words, unable to continue further.

“Then we had better continue with this,” she said, turning away from him again, “until you change your mind.”

She raised the hem of her shift to her waist, showing off the curve of her buttocks within the indecently short panties beneath. His eyes gazed wide open as she gave a little waggle with her hips, enticing him further. Not that it was working, he told himself a moment later. Of course not.

Geska raised the shift higher, then pulled it over her head, giving him a view of her bare, slender, back. It was too thin for a dwarf, gangly by their standards, although perhaps not so much for a human. There was no muscle to her shoulders, either, he told himself. Women should be fit and hale, not all long lines and slender curves like a human.

The blonde woman crossed her arms over her breasts, and turned round to face him again, now dressed only in her panties. Her belly, of course, looked as odd as her back, too slim and tall. On the other hand, he had to admit that her bosom was as impressive as that of any dwarven woman. Raylana’s had been much smaller, he recalled, her nipples abnormally small, or so they had seemed to him.

“Well, I can see what you’re looking at,” said Geska, “ready to admit that you want to see more?”

He knew that it would make no difference what he said, so he simply said nothing. He should really be trying to ignore her perverted games. Geska smiled mockingly, a flash of white teeth against pink lips, and slowly moved her arms apart, hands still pressed against her, until they rested over her nipples, the only thing above her waist now obscured from his view.

The human’s breasts, he reflected, were somewhat saggy, compared with those of a dwarf. They should be firmer, even if their size and rounded curve was pleasing to the eye. These looked like soft pillows, pliable and comforting to lay your head against… he quickly snapped himself away from that train of thought, ignoring the throbbing in his cock.

“You like these, huh? You want to touch them, I can see it. But I won’t let you.” She raised her fingers slowly, moving her hands away from the soft mounds, exposing pale pink nipples with large aureoles. The thought that they resembled those of a dwarf more than Raylana’s ever had made his cock jerk, and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight. Yet he could still see them in his mind’s eye as he heard Geska stepping towards him once again.

“Open your eyes, you don’t want to miss anything.” He shook his head, but then he felt her hand on his knee, and the surprise made them snap open again.

She had reached out toward him, and was sitting just a short distance away, cupping her large breasts in her hands. She fixed her blue eyes on his dark ones, and began to stroke the mounds, running her hands over her nipples, squeezing herself, emphasising the softness of her body. Her nipples were hardening, swelling beneath her own probing fingertips, hillocks of pink flesh rising from the paler skin.

“Want to touch them?” the blonde asked, moving closer, “want to kiss them?” She was just inches away from him now, leaning over him, breasts filling his vision, as she held them up for his inspection. A hand darted down, between his legs, cupping his hairy balls, and he failed to suppress a gasp escaping from his lips. Geska trailed the tip of her index finger up the underside of his erect cock, caressing her left breast with her free hand. “Do you want to squeeze my hard nipples?” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“Well, you can’t,” she said suddenly, pulling away from him, and walking back to the bed, well out of his reach.

He glared at her again, an angry curse on his lips. She was insane, not just to be flaunting herself like this, but to imagine that it would excite him. The fact that she had actually stroked his most intimate areas… his cock quivered again at the thought, and he did his best to ignore it.

As he had known she would, Geska stripped off her panties, and now sat on the bed with her legs spread apart, everything on view to the captive dwarf. Her blond thatch was sparser than that of a dwarven woman, a reflection of the general hairlessness that both male and female humans shared, to varying degrees. It was not just their height and shape that were abnormal, after all. Geska was running her hands along her own thighs, across her belly, and still her legs were apart, a display of such lewdness that he could barely have imagined it before she had started, and yet one from which he could not tear away his own gaze.

The blonde raised her left hand to rub an ample breast, while the other dipped down, riffling through the short hair over her mound, and then pressing against her pink pussy lips. She began moving it in gentle circles, pressing slightly between the lips and letting out a small gasp of pleasure. It was a few moments before he realised what she was doing, never having seen a woman do such a thing before.

"You wish this was you, don't you?" she asked, her voice low and husky, "mmm… but right now, I don't need any man, least of all you."

Her middle finger dipped deeper, and for a moment, she pulled her lips apart, exposing her depths to his startled gaze. He could see that her face was already flushed, and her fingers damp with the signs of her own excitement. She held up her hand, and the light glistened on the specks of moisture.

"What do you think of that, master dwarf?" she said, standing up again and taking a few steps towards him. He struggled to move away, but she leaned forward, her body out of his reach but her right arm outstretched.

"That's just wrong!" he cried as her hand moved closer, and at last managed to haul himself to his feet, his tied hands banging against the underside of the heavy table. She reached out, smearing the juices of her unseemly lust across his face, wiping them on his beard. It was too much, and at last he began to feel his ardour waning.

And then, he realised, as she stepped away to return to the bed, the ties around his wrists had caught on a nail projecting from the back of the table leg, just where it joined the top. The thong was beginning to tear… if he could work it back and forth a few times without her seeing, he had a chance at freedom!

Geska had returned to the bed, spreading her legs again and returning to her self-pleasure, her eyes fluttering shut as she did so. He had just the one chance, and he had to move quickly and silently.

The material ripped, and he yanked his arms free, the shreds of his shirt falling to the floor. He reached out and grabbed at a carpentry knife on the table, as he heard Geska shout out in alarm, and lunge towards him. Skillfully, he rolled to the side, out of her reach, onto his back, kicking his legs up so that he could slash at their bindings with the knife. The human grabbed onto his wrist, but he shook her off, aiming another cut at the bindings, and finally freeing himself.

She screamed as he lunged at her with the knife, clambering up onto the bed. He leapt after her, falling on top of her as he grabbed her right arm in his left and pressed the knife against her throat. Geska went very quiet, blue eyes wide with fear, her earlier passion evidently forgotten.

"How dare you treat me like that!" he hissed, "You're not just a pervert, you are insane! What was all that about? You knew I wouldn't talk, you said as much, so what was it for, just your own pleasure? And don't scream again, or I swear I will slit your throat."

"Punishment for your people ignoring mine," she growled, some of her old fight returning, although she obviously did not dare move or shout out.

"Not just ignoring your people, but ignoring you, am I right? You said that women from your village tried to offer themselves in return for secrets of craftsmanship, something no dwarf would ever accept as payment. You were one of those women, weren't you? This has been about your failure, am I right?"

She nodded, slowly, the knife still tight against the flesh of her throat. "I wanted to know that it wasn't just me, that the dwarven smiths had said no only because they did not want their fellows finding out the truth later. And I proved it; I could tell what you wanted, and yes, damn it, I punished you for it."

"I was not interested!" he said forcefully, trying to ignore the fact that his penis, which had gone limp during the fight, had its tip now nestled in the slight depression of her navel. The comforting, warm, feel of the soft dimple in her flesh was enticing it to swell again, and he tried to persuade himself that he wasn't going to move from his position because doing so might give her a chance to fight back.

"I think we both know that's a lie. You could hardly have proved it more effectively."

"You mustn't tell anyone. Remember, I am the one with the knife now, I can kill you any time I wish." He was hoping she would buy that lie. No matter what else she was, she was a victim of the demon, mind-controlled into doing its bidding, an innocent victim who deserved to live… so long as he could persuade her to stay silent.

"Don't you want to know where your armour and weapons are? I can take you to them, I can show you the way out. I can say you forced me… it's close enough to the truth."

"Do that, and I will let you live," he said, "but cross me again, and it will be your doom."

"On one condition," replied Geska, a hint of steel returning to her voice.

"I hardly think you're in a position to bargain. Your life should be enough."

"But you don't want to kill me, I can see it in your eyes. Oh, you’re angry, but not murderously so. Besides, you enjoyed my little show, so I've already given you something to thank me for."

"Thank you?" he asked incredulously, "you really are mad."

"I'll let you out of here on one condition," she repeated, "I want to know. Know what should have happened back in the village."

"Know what?" he asked, mouth dry, hardly believing she could be asking him what he thought she was.

"You understand me. Those dwarves turned me down, but you're lying on top of me, with a big firm cock pressed against my skin, and it's not as if you haven't done it before. Show me what it would have been like. Or you'll never get out."

He leaned back slightly, raising his body off hers, shaking his head wordlessly. This was like Raylana all over again. What was it with human women?

"It's not as if you don't want to."

He finally snapped. "You think you're so irresistible?" he shouted, angrily throwing away the knife, "is this what you want?"

He pushed himself backwards on the bed, and grabbed one of her legs, lifting it up so that the back of her knee rested on his shoulder. Her blonde bush and enticing pussy were just inches in front of his member, which was already rapidly engorging to its full size.

"Is this what you want?" he asked again, thrusting himself into her. He grunted in pleasure as her soft lips enfolded him, and gripped onto her raised thigh, stubby fingers digging into the yielding flesh. "Is this what you were waiting for all those years?" He began pumping himself in and out, punctuating his words with repeated thrusts. ""You want… a hard… manly… dwarven… cock… in your… human… cunt?"

Geska groaned, a sound of deep satisfaction, panting and gasping as he continued to fuck her. She could only manage occasional cries of agreement or encouragement, urging him on. The feeling, somehow, was even better than with Raylana, her slick cunt yielding to his every motion. His eyes were mesmerised by the rise and fall of her large breasts, jiggling more than a dwarf's would, and by the motion of her not-quite-firm-enough belly.

He pulled himself forward, lying on top of her now, his head just under her chin, her breasts pressed against his shoulder. He slowed his motion inside her, wanting to draw the experience out, taking longer than he had with Raylana. One heavy hand grasped a breast, kneading it as her own hands gripped his shoulders and ass. The feel of the mound against his probing fingers was strange, so soft and pleasant, and he savoured the sensation as he continued to caress the pliable flesh, something he had not done during his previous human encounter.

He pulled himself free, his damp cock slapping against the inside of Geska's thigh as she let out a disappointed moan. In reply, he wrapped both hands around one of her breasts, pressing it into his face, opening his mouth to take the swollen pink nipple inside. He sucked at it, his nose buried in her soft flesh, tongue licking as he gave in to the desire for her.

"I was right…" Geska said, breathlessly, "your beard does tickle."

He pulled back, frowning at the possible insult, and grabbed onto each of her legs, forcing them apart, then moving into a sitting position and pulling her buttocks into his lap, impaling her once again. Geska's head was thrown back, her face deeply flushed, gasps coming more rapidly this time as he resumed his vigorous thrusts. Her thighs were against his chest, knees either side of his head, and he used one hand to steady himself as the other reached out to grab a bouncing breast.

"Admit it…" she managed to gasp, in between moans of pleasure.

He didn't bother to ask what she meant. "You're too tall," he told her , "you're gangly, and soft, your waist is too narrow, your shoulders too frail, your skin too hairless… uhh… uhh… and by the names of all the dwarven gods… I do like it… I really, truly, like it…"

He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth, but he could never take them back not now. There was no aphrodisiac, nothing compelling him, no possible excuse he could create. She was human, and yet he found her incredibly sexually exciting, in a way he could never have imagined possible.

Invigorated by the realisation, he increased the pace of his thrusts, pounding into her over and over again as her moans rose in pitch, wordless now, as she was lost in the throws of her own lust. They climaxed together, he letting out a cry of undiluted pleasure as he filled her weak, human cunt with spurt after spurt of hot, dwarven cum.

He held here there for a moment, making sure the last of his seed was spent inside her, his hips continuing to make small motions until at last he pulled out, gasping for breath as he lay down beside her.

He knew, then, that he did not want this to be the last time.

35: Gut'rul

[Start from the beginning]

The place was evidently extra-dimensional in some way, a pocket of reality that did not fit within the regular dimensions of the physical world. Almandar had heard of such things before, had even seen them on a smaller scale, but he had never experienced one large enough to actually walk into. Judging from the doors that led off from the stone flagged corridor, it was even larger than they could see from here, an entire home hidden by what was presumably an easily portable door.

They stepped carefully and quietly down the corridor, not wanting to alert anyone inside. Luck, however, was not with them. Before they had moved even half way along, one of the occupants turned the corner at the far end and saw them, and let out a sudden yell. He recognised the red-headed slave he had met at the market – he seemed to recall her name was Kara – and immediately cast a sleep spell in her direction.

The woman collapsed, her legs falling from under her, and hit the floor heavily. Almandar darted forward, for a moment moving away from the others as the woman’s shout continued to echo through the magical space, evidently enhanced somehow. He did not want to hurt her, for she was an innocent victim, just as Mei-Xing was, just as all the harem were, but it was imperative that Sashjant and his slaves not have the chance to arm themselves.

“Let’s…” said Tarissa, but at that moment everything went dark.

Almandar found himself being whirled about, as if caught in a hurricane. He could not see or hear the others, but he sensed that they were being pulled somewhere else. He should not have moved away from them, should not have allowed his emotions to override his instincts.

He barely avoided stumbling, but, just seconds later, the motion stopped with a sudden lurch. He threw a hand out to the wall, and found the stone oddly smooth beneath his fingertips. It was probably not real stone, he reflected, but that hardly mattered now. What was important was that he was in a pitch black corridor, apparently separated from his companions.

He strained his ears to see if he could hear anything. The place could not be that large, after all. Sure enough, he thought he could hear Tarissa’s voice some distance away, although he could not make out the words. He was about to move in that direction, when he heard a footfall behind him.

It was soft, barely audible, but unmistakable nonetheless. He span round, and raised his arms in a gesture for a spell, but he could see nothing in the blackness. Was it Sashjant himself, in which case directing a spell with a wide blast down the corridor should hit him no matter where he was standing? Or was it one of the enslaved women, in which case he did not want to cast anything destructive?

For a moment, he was paralysed with indecision – his morals once again getting the better of him, for he did not want to hurt an innocent victim. Whoever it was ran straight at him, and he began the motions to cast a defensive spell. Before he could even finish, however, they were on top of him, a heavy body slamming into him, knocking him to the ground. Whoever it was could apparently see in the darkness.

He wriggled round, trying to free himself, but a strong arm wrapped around his neck, forcing him back, and a heavy leg wrapped around one of his. He could not possibly cast a spell in such a position, and whoever had him in their grip was clearly stronger than he was. It had to be either Sashjant, or the warrior-woman that travelled with him. Hopefully, it was the latter, although one of the meeker members of the harem would have been better still.

He reached for his dagger, the only defence still left to him. A strong hand caught his – his captor’s other arm still around his throat – and he found himself wrestling against somebody powerfully muscular. He heard a slight grunt of exertion from the other person; feminine he thought, which at least meant he wasn’t facing the demon itself.

But if it was one of the harem, she was incredibly strong for a woman, and smashed his hand down hard against the stonework. At first, he managed to maintain the grip on the dagger, although he could get it nowhere near her skin, but she continued to batter it against the wall, and on the third stroke, the weapon slipped from his abused fingers. She pulled the hand behind his back, wrapping a thong around his wrist.

He tried to kick out as she moved, but to no avail, and his other arm was soon caught in her iron grip, and forced to meet its twin, then tied securely to it with the thong.

“You are my prisoner! If you try to escape, I will break your neck.”

The voice was, indeed, feminine, with a guttural accent he could not place. He had only seen three members of the harem; Mei-Xing, Kara, and a stocky blonde woman, but his fellow adventurers had identified two others, one of whom they said was unquestionably a warrior. It was evidently she that he had had the misfortune to meet, but being her prisoner at least sounded better than being dead.

Somewhere out there, Tarissa and the others were still active, and, aside from Sashjant himself, he doubted there was anyone else in here who could pose them much of a threat. Hopefully, then, he just had to wait to be rescued. Which was embarrassing, but hardly hopeless. For now, all he could do was to cooperate and play for time if he could, keeping this warrior away from the others. Once Sashjant was dealt with, she would no longer be a problem.

“Get up!” she hissed, roughly hauling him to his feet, Standing behind his back, she pushed him forward, adding “now walk.”

They moved down the lightless corridor for a little, and it was evident once again that she either knew her way very well indeed, or had some sort of magical assistance that allowed her to see in the darkness. Eventually, she pushed a door open, revealing a lighted room beyond. He noticed that the light did not spill out into the corridor, suggesting that the darkness was magical itself; even if he had had a chance to cast a light spell, it probably would not have worked.

His captor pushed him inside, and he found himself in what appeared to be a kitchen, full of pots and bundles of food, with a metal stove in one corner, and a large, cloth-covered table in front of it.

“Sit!” she said, forcing him down into a chair, and, as she moved away to watch him, he got his first real chance to see her.

His first thought was that she was tall; incredibly tall for a woman. He estimated that she might be six foot six, making her a good deal taller than she was, and she could hardly be described as willowy. It was said that somewhere out in the Wild Lands, there was a tribe of half-ogres, stronger by far than any human. He could believe that from her height and build, but not from her looks, for, size apart, she looked perfectly human.

In fact, like all of Sashjant’s harem, she was an attractive woman, although the angry scowl on her face was doing little to emphasise that. Her clothing, nonetheless, did suggest that she hailed from the Wild Lands, regardless of whether or not she had any ogre blood in her veins. She wore a sleeveless leather top, held on by straps over her bare shoulders, and with a wide belt decorated with metal badges bearing barbaric designs. Below the belt, she wore leather shorts so brief they were hardly more than panties, and a pair of knee-length boots fringed with the hair of some shaggy beast.

Apart from that, and leather bracers around each wrist, her legs and arms were bare. Bare, and very muscular, with thews that would not have looked out of place on a dwarf, but seemed odd on a human woman, especially one so tall. Yet human she surely was, judging from her face, which certainly lacked any trace of ogre or orc in its features. She had long brown hair, cascading down her back, and held in place by a golden circlet with a glittering blue gem – he wondered if that was the magical device she had used to see in the darkness. Her eyes were also blue, a deep, stunning blue that offset the darker colour of her hair, and she had full lips, currently set in something of a sneer.

Even in his current predicament, he could not help but also notice that, above the top of her leather bodice, she had a magnificent cleavage. Sashjant clearly had not just wanted a warrior.

She pointed a dagger towards him. It was not his own, which had been dropped out in the corridor, but a sharp steel blade with an ivory handle that he had no doubt she knew how to use. Almandar decided that, for the moment, it would probably not be wise to annoy her.

“Who are you?” she barked, “and how did you get in?”

“I’m a magician, I bypassed your lock.”

She grunted, eyes watching him warily. “How many others are with you?”

“There’s just me.”

“Liar!” she shouted, jabbing the knife forward until it was less than an inch from his face, “I heard the woman speak, so I know there are others. Two? Three? Do not lie to me.”

He said nothing, and she scowled angrily, before pulling the knife back.

“It does not matter,” she said, eventually, “my master will find and destroy them. And I have you as a prisoner. If you do not tell me what I want, my master will question you, and learn everything anyway.”

“Your master is a demon. I know that much.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but a great and powerful demon, more magnificent than you can imagine.”

“I didn’t think the people of the Wild Lands liked demons?”

She frowned, as if puzzled by something, then shook her head, “he is different. His glory is unsurpassed, as you will find when he crushes you into oblivion. Now, what of Mei-Xing?”

“I don’t know who you mean.”

“Ah, but you do,” she said, taking a step closer, still waving the weapon in his direction. “Kara saw you leave with her. She described you, so I know you are the same man. Although I do not think you are as handsome as she said, for you are puny, like all city folk.”

He could not tell her where Mei-Xing was, for, in the event he was not rescued, he had to at least ensure that the eastern woman had the best possible chance to avoid recapture and enslavement. But he wondered how much he could tell this woman, for perhaps he had another chance here.

He had not told the others exactly how he had manoeuvred Mei-Xing into a place where he could cast the spell that freed her, although Calleslyn, at least, surely suspected. But it had taught him something valuable about their demonic foe. The members of the harem were obsessed with Sashjant, the victims of some powerful ongoing enchantment. They would do anything for him, including serving as his sexual playthings.

But it was clear that the demon had no such attachment to them. He could probably not attack them outright, for such things normally broke that sort of enchantment, but that did not mean he had to actually care for them. In particular, the demon’s sexual exertions had nothing of Sarlene’s love in them. He fucked the women whenever he felt like it, but he was not interested in how they responded to that, only in achieving his own pleasure. The enchantment counteracted that, partly, but it was obvious that Mei-Xing had been sexually unfulfilled, and that was what had allowed him the chance to seduce her.

In short, Sashjant could not give her the sort of sexual pleasure that she really wanted. This woman might well be the same. Indeed, she looked like the type who might want to be domineering sexually, and the demon was hardly likely to give her the opportunity to experience that.

“Speak!” said the barbarian, waving the dagger again, and he realised that he had been silent too long, mulling over the possibilities.

“I distracted her,” he said, “that’s how I found out about this place, about where it was.”

The woman snorted in derision, “she would not tell you such a thing. That is ridiculous! You must be lying. What really happened?”

“We had sex. She liked it… a lot.”

“Now I know you are lying!”

“It’s the truth. Why would I make it up? I guess she needed more than Sashjant could provide.”

The woman let out a barking laugh, but there was something slightly false in it, and she turned away immediately afterward, looking at the far wall, not meeting his gaze. If his hands had not been tied, it would have been a great opportunity to attack her, but he knew how that would end if he tried it now.

“Impossible,” she said, still not looking at him, “Sashjant provides us with everything; our home, our life, our purpose for being. Our lives were empty before we met him and he showed us the way.”

“Mei-Xing didn’t seem to think so. How else would I be here? Are you sure there is nothing you miss? One man cannot provide everything, even if that man is really a demon.”

“He can,” she said, turning back to face him, but she seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as him.

“How sure are you of that? Besides, what do you have to lose? You have said it yourself; my friends and I won’t defeat him anyway, so why not take this chance while you can?”

She was silent for a while, watching him, an appraising look on her face, as if weighing up the quality of a piece of meat. At last, she twisted her lips into a half sneer and gave a little nod. “We shall see,” she said simply, and walked back to the door of the kitchen, locking it firmly in place, before walking over to stand in front of him.

“My name is Gut’rul,” she informed him, “and you are?”

“Almandar,” he said, seeing no reason to make anything up at this point.

“You will prove your words, Almandar. You will pleasure me, and, when you are done, if you cannot make me come, I will kill you.” So saying, she began to pull off her boots, throwing them away to one side.

“That seems… a good incentive…” he said, uneasily, as she undid her belt, “will you at least untie my hands?”

She shook her head, “you are my prisoner. You need no hands.” She threw the belt away, and then reached forward, grabbing Almandar by the shoulders, and pulling him off the chair. With a shove, she forced him down onto his knees, holding him there with one powerful hand, her muscular legs placed slightly apart, leaving him wondering what she would do next.

With her free hand, the barbarian woman pulled at her leather shorts, sliding them down over her powerful thighs to lie at her feet. She wore nothing underneath, and Almandar found himself facing a remarkably hairy bush. He expected her to undress further, but instead she released his shoulder, grabbed the back of his head instead, and pulled him into her crotch.

His nose was pressed awkwardly into her hair, a smell of leather and sweat filling his nostrils. Tentatively, he kissed her between the legs, finding her still dry down there. Gut’rul shifted position slightly, and pulled him down lower, forcing his neck into an uncomfortable position, but pressing his lips up against her pussy.

“Lick me,” she commanded, “taste my cunt, and show me this skill of yours.”

It was hardly the most romantic position he had been in, but he had to try and go through with his plan. His hands were still tied behind his back, leaving him all but helpless while the barbarian woman pushed his face into her hairy groin. If he could please her, maybe there was a chance she might give him more opportunity to do something. It was fortunate that he had plenty of experience, even if not quite in these circumstances.

He ran his tongue along the length of her pussy, feeling curly hairs rubbing against it. Then he dabbed it inside her folds, licking her slowly, tasting her flesh. He sucked on her lips, pulling at them slightly, then releasing them, dipping his tongue in and out as he did so, He probed and teased at her folds, licking and sucking as he moved towards the nub of her pleasure.

The barbarian grunted loudly when he reached her clit. It was unusually large, and he pulled and sucked at with his lips, making her gasp aloud in pleasure. Her pussy lips were beginning to engorge now, and he felt the familiar taste of a woman’s juices running onto his tongue. As he continued to tease at her clit, he felt her hips beginning to grind into his face, her motions uncontrollable.

“Yeah, you are good,” she said grudgingly, and unexpectedly yanked his head back and away, pulling at his hair, “onto the table.”

He stumbled to his feet, still fully dressed, and stepped towards the cloth covered table, gesturing with his tied hands, and hoping she would get the message. She didn’t, and simply lifted him up with both hands, pushing him onto the top, then clambering up after him, forcing him down onto his back with both brawny arms.

“We get a better position here, yes?” she said, looking at him with an expression that actually dared him to disagree.

He nodded meekly, deciding it was for the best, and she grinned, holding him down with one hand as she pulled off her bodice. Her heavy breasts swung free, large pink nipples already erect, but clearly out of his reach. She shuffled up his body, powerful thighs either side of his head.

Now that she had him pinioned with her body, Gut’rul had both her hands free. She used one to pull her pussy lips apart, letting him see the pink moistness that had he so recently tasted, and smell the dampness of her arousal.

“Fuck me with your tongue!” she commanded, heaving her hips up onto his face. “Stick it right in there, and give it to me!”

He obliged, thrusting it as far as he could, sliding in her slick moisture. He nuzzled against her outsized clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, until she began to pant heavily, hips taking up their slow motion again. From his vantage point, he could just see her fondling one breast with her free hand, tweaking and rubbing her large nipple as she continued to move up and down on his face.

Almandar sucked at the barbarian’s clit for all he was worth, kissing and suckling it in between forays deeper into her cunt. Gut’rul let out a low moan of satisfaction, now gripping onto the side of the table instead of onto him, throwing her head back as she rode his tongue.

“Uttrag’na se…” she muttered, or something like it, evidently resorting to her own language.

They continued in that position for some time, she fiercely bucking against him, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion, he exploring every crevice of her cunt, wiggling his tongue from side to side and stroking it up and down, noting what she liked as he continued to pleasure her over and over.

At last it seemed she had had enough, at least for the moment, and pulled herself off his prone body, kneeling poised over him, legs apart, looking down at him from between the fringes of her long brown hair. Her body was covered with a sheen of sweat, her chest rising and falling deeply.

“Like these?” she said, hefting her breasts, “then suck them.”

Moving down to lie over him, she pressed one magnificent breast into his mouth, and he eagerly responded, pulling a large pink nipple into his mouth with his lips. He sucked and pulled at it, running his tongue round it as he already had at her cunt, and the barbarian woman responded by rubbing her body against his. Her bare belly could surely feel the bulge of his growing erection pressed against it, but she showed no interest in that.

Instead, she simply changed sides so that he could sample her other breast. “Good,” she said, and pulled away, staring down at him with those deep blue eyes of hers. “Now what shall we do next, huh?”

“Whatever you want…” he gasped, sensing that was the right answer.

She grinned, the first look of real happiness he had seen on her face – although in fairness, he hadn’t had a good view when he’d been sucking her.

“Oh, fuck it,” she said, still half-grinning, “why not? But if you try anything, I’ll break your fingers.” The glare in her eyes as she spoke convinced him that the second part might well be true, so he made no move as she reached behind his back, and pulled apart the thongs tying his hands.

Released at last, he rubbed his wrists to restore their circulation, and tried to ignore the pain from the one hand she had beaten repeatedly against the stone wall. He gripped onto her sweaty flanks, feeling hard muscle beneath them, but she twisted out of the way, lying back on her haunches.

“Lower down,” she said, “that’s not what I want your fingers for.”

He gripped one powerful thigh, and slipped his good hand up to her pussy. It was his left, of course, which was a little awkward, but, with the right one injured, he would have to make do. He bent forward to kiss her chest just below her breasts as he slid a finger inside. His kisses wandered down over her taut and muscular belly, stopping to lick a navel that he noticed for the first time had a golden ring in it. A second finger joined the first, and he began to move his hand in and out.

“Harder and faster, Almandar,” she warned him, “if you want to make me come, you’ll have to do more than that.”

As his kisses moved down over her crotch, he began to pump his fingers in more vigorously, driving them between her folds with increasing energy. Gut’rul was panting heavily now, her face flushed, blue eyes wide, the traces of his saliva on her heaving breasts glistening in the lamp light.

His mouth reached her cunt, even as his fingers continued to dive in and out. He sucked on her large clit, and she threw back her head, letting out a loud groan of delighted pleasure.

“Yes, give it to me like that! Suck me good. Uttrag’na se!” She let out repeated gasps as he continued his ministrations, hands clenching the tablecloth as her body began to writhe around his expert fingers, hips bucking vigorously now, legs moving against the table top.

“Kusatch!” she shouted, with a hint of desperation, grabbing him by the shoulders again, and pulling him away from her. He thought at first he had done something to anger her, but the look of sheer lust in her eyes soon settled that fear.

Heaving herself up onto her knees again, she pushed the half-elf down, and grabbed at his trews, pulling them down as she whipped his erect cock free. Gut’rul bared her teeth in a wild grin, eyes glaring with passion.

“Big for a city boy,” she said, “you could almost be one of the tribe. Want to stick that where no city-born cock has ever been before?”

She didn’t wait for any response, simply grabbing him, and positioning him where she could plunge down on top of him. She pressed her lower body against him, almost squeezing his balls against the table as she sought to pull him in as far as she could.

“Uttrag’na!” she said again, with a wild look, and began to ride him. “Fuck me, city boy, yes?” she said, almost snarling, “you like it? Tell me you like it?”

She was humping him energetically, breasts heaving, his balls slamming again and again against her ass. He was practically unable to do anything in response, except surrender to the sensations rushing through his body as she continued her wild ride. Her hair was in disarray, long brown locks trailed across her face, shoulders and upper chest, large pink nipples heavily engorged on her bouncing bosom.

He grabbed onto her breasts, fondling her nipples, squeezing the large mounds beneath his hands. “Yes, I like it…” he managed, between his own gasps.

The barbarian closed her eyes, throwing her head back, and muttering something over and over in her strange tongue. Her voice held a hint of desperation, and a hint of approaching climax as her thrusts became ever quicker.

Suddenly, her blue eyes snapped open and she looked straight into his face as she let out a wordless cry, and her body spasmed against his as his seed flooded into her cunt. She continued moving against him even as began to soften, although she was slower and quieter now.

At last, she flicked back some of the locks from her face, and rolled off him, lying on her back beside him, legs dangling off the table as she regained her breath. He was almost too exhausted himself to cast the spell that would free her from Sashjant’s enchantment.

But only ‘almost’.