Eye of Dagon 3
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Deals and Thievery.
Hakim stepped into the small smoke filled chamber, the weight of some
vague dread upon the necromancers shoulders. "Vulkos my ghost, I have a
task for you," Quoth Hakim to his retainer.
The lithe albino Kushite looked up from his hoopa. "Yes." He stated with
elucidate stillness, deadly pink eyes dilated in the thrall of the
Stygian drug Noce. This was a substance which placed its imbiber in a
detached state, passive to the point of catatonia until they acted. But
when the user erupted into action they were blindingly fast, faster than
a striking adder. Fearsome tales were told of the berserk warriors of
Noce.
"There is a barbarian and slave girl I want you to eliminate."
"Yes," the alabastrine Vulkos prompted. His limber limbs could have been
hewn from stone, so still was he. The totality of the rangy man's
demeanor bespoke minimalist economy, from his compactly powerful frame to
his choice of unadorned twin falchions that hung snug upon his rangy
hips. The man at arms listened with the no sign of emotion.
Hakim was perturbed as he considered his assassins quarry. Despite
appearing to be an ignorant barbarian, the sorcerer sensed that Amra was
shrewd and wily, a dangerous man to cross. Crossing the burly warrior and
his nefarious sidekick was fraught with risk. But remaining idle was to
court disaster. This was a desperate situation and his hand was forced;
Amra and Kilis must be eliminated, swiftly and in a manner that did not
point towards Hakim. "Amra and ... Kira. They are hiding somewhere in the
ruins."
"They shall be dead before the setting of the next sun." The albino stood
then vanished through the doorway to the shadows beyond in a white blur,
stepping with the noiseless poise of a hunting wolf. So swift was his
departure that it left one wondering if the man had been there at all, if
he truly was an insubstantial ghost.
Hakim rested his hands upon a stone window sill, his ancient eyes burning
with desperation as they swept across the decayed metropolis. The events
in the market were at the fore of his thoughts. Whilst there was always
intrigue afoot amongst the wizards of Hrul Throst, plotting against the
omnipotent Ashir was foolhardy at best. The heartless Praetor had made
countless examples of those who sought to depose him. At this moment
Hakim deeply rued hiring the two rogues to kill the despot, but the deed
was done. Now he needed to clean up his mess. He must deal with the
assassin and the slave girl then dispose of his assassin. After all it
was much easier to dispatch retainers than directly opposing the Preator,
especially when the wily old wizard was on guard.
* * *
Amongst the glum shadows of teetering chimneys and off kilter roofs an
icy hearted thief watched the barbarian and slave girl with avid
interest. With wicked calculation the voyeur noted that the pair had
exhausted themselves in spectacular lovemaking and would lie together in
sated bliss till dawn. The guileful thief had easily followed the
barbarian and the slave girl where the city guard could not. After all,
the back ways and hidden roof top routes were his daily paths and guile
was part of his nature.
Rigo knew of the incredible bounty on Amra's head, but Rigo's also
featured on the wanted notices that fluttered on the gibbet posts in the
square, albeit less prominently then the barbarians. The Praetor was not
known for his mercy, but surely Rigo could convince the fickle ruler to
pardon a small fish like himself to net a big one like Amra, particularly
since Amra had personally slighted the Praetor.
His mind made up, Rigo the thief slipped back through the mazing
alleyways to the purple tower of the High Praetor. To occupy himself he
estimated the weight of Amra's head. As rounded the last turn and
approached the tower his feet began to drag. Arm throbbing with pain he
loitered about the towers gates, not wanting to enter, beginning to doubt
the wisdom of his plan. Perhaps he could have someone else to enter the
tower in his stead. If Wila were still alive she would do, but she was
not. The choice was taken >from his hands when two guards rounded the
corner behind him and spied him skulking like the cut purse he was.
With nowhere to flee the gutter rat approached the guards. They eyed him
warily. "You. I know you. You're a wanted man." The guard grabbed him.
"It's the gallows for the likes of you."
"I have news. I know where Amra and Ashir's slave girl are," he said
urgently.
"Tell us!" a guard ordered grimly, the other nodding. By the shrewd
glimmer in the guardsmen's eyes it was deadly clear they wanted the
reward.
"Tell us or we'll have a sorcerer read the truth in yer smoldering
entrails..." the other said with a cruel leer.
Rigo grinned but did not cower. "I'll tell the High Praetor himself and
only if he gives me the reward and a pardon."
"A pardon? No one ever gets a pardon..." The first guard considered then
snorted. "Very well, come with me." The guard led the thief through the
gates, his partner following with a firm hand upon the thief's shoulder.
They strode across a torch lit courtyard, their shadows prowling sinister
upon the blue marble walls, then through the gargoyle and sigil adorned
doors. Somberly the trio ventured into a curiously appointed ante chamber
lit by flittering firefly lanterns which limned Rigos haggard features in
livid hues of lime and lilac. "Touch nothing if you value your life."
Rigo eyed the furnishings, calculating their immense wealth but wisely
waited. Shortly the first guard returned and lead Rigo into a small smoky
chamber. Within, crouched like some sinister spider, sat the Praetor at a
simple desk. Ashir sniffed the rogue with repugnance. "The guard tells me
you are nothing but a common criminal which should be hung from the
gibbets as food for the crows. And you come before me seeking a reward
and your freedom in exchange for the whereabouts of the barbarian? A
brave fool... Tell me where Amra is and you shall live," there was
something sinister to the way Ashir enunciated the word live that raised
alarm bells with the duplicitous thief.
"The barbarians reward and my pardon or I say nothing!" Rigo blustered.
"It is not fitting that a wanted man goes free. It sets a poor example.
However I think I can accommodate your wish without breaking the law.
Bend it perhaps, but not violate its integrity. Yes, I shall ensure that
you will no longer be a wanted man," the Preator smiled at the double
entendre which only he understood. "You shall be free with all the wealth
you can carry," Ashir explained. "In fact with my arts I can even cure
you injured arm. It smells like it is going septic. Quite a fair deal I'd
say."
Rigo scowled uneasily. This felt more like a deal with the devil. "You'll
not have me executed or put in jail?"
Ashir shook his head, "and your criminal record will be a thing of the
past. And with the wealth I shall give you, you could live like royalty.
You could even have your own personal harem... if you like. What do you
say? Is it a bargain?"
"Yes. My reward first!"
Ashir grinned and reached within his voluminous robe and withdrew a
glowing piece of amber. "Very well then... look into the eye."
* * *
Long before dawn stole over the city Kilis opened his eyes. Half asleep
he stared up at the cracked ceiling and in that moment of reverie he felt
that his sense of self was wholly normal. Absent mindedly he sighed in
relief. He was no longer haunted by the possessive nightmare of being
trapped in the form of a well turned voluptuary.
In his languid oneirism he considered the memory of his uncanny dream
avatar and was disturbed that the remembrance lingered in his mind more
vividly than any dream. In that fevered fantasy his nature had been
abnormally sundered. He lazily considered where the notion of being a
shapely female wanton had come from. He had always liked woman. Loved
them in fact, adored their bodies and worshiped them with his, but in all
his wildest imaginings he had never contemplated being one, let alone
having his aggression and masculinity sublimated to a raging and
unquenchable female libido. Why would he dream of being ensnared in the
form of a sultry woman ruled by hot blooded desires? And such a sensuous
body at that? The recollection of the firm tender breasts on his chest
and the hedonistic pleasure in his loins dried his mouth. He felt his
heart palpitating, urging him to true wakefulness.
A feeling of sexual desire was aroused within Killis, at once unfamiliar
and yet disturbingly familiar. Killis reached down and felt a warm
moistness. "Oh no," she said as she sat up. Her lustrous dark hair
spilled about her narrow shoulders and the heavy weight of her pendulous
breasts swayed enticingly.
"What is it?" Amra asked, his hand resting upon her graceful waist.
"I must tell you something. I am not who I appear to be. I... I am
Killis," the girl blurted, her eyes becoming tortured with shame.
"What is this nonsense you prate?" Amra asked.
She looked down obsequiously. "The High Praetor did this to me. He is a
vile sorcerer. He unmanned me, trapped me in this body which makes me
submit to my masters whims and wishes..."
Amra considered the subservient attitude of the girl. Could it be? There
were similarities in the mannerisms and voice. Amra removed his hand from
her generous hip and regarded her graceful beauty with a growing horror.
It came back to him, their mutual recognition at what he had presumed was
their first meeting. "Killis?" he whispered, all colour draining from his
face.
A tear streamed down her check to drop upon her left breast and run in a
rivulet between the curves of her cleavage.
"But I bedded you. You let me..." He turned his memory to the evening
before, his teeth gritting in anger and his entire body shuddering with
pent rage.
The girl nodded. "I could have stopped had I wanted to. But I did not
want to!" Her fists balled at the shame of it all. "I considered it for a
moment, but then I yielded to my desires. I wanted you. I still want you!
I am driven to indulge in carnal acts. I have become a creature of abject
obedience. Even now, were you to command me, I would be yours." So saying
she hopefully lifted the curtain which covered her lower body, offering
herself to him.
Amra regarded her naked charms and, whilst he was drawn to her, he shook
his head in denial. "The Praetor did this to you? Did this -" he motioned
at her splendid body. It was truly desirable. He rose and stalked to the
window, his emotions in turmoil.
With a gentle padding of feet Killis approached him from behind, placed
her arms about him. Her fine hair spilled like rivulets over his powerful
back. He let her hold him for a moment, taking comfort in the soft press
of her flesh upon his. He swallowed, turned and disengaged her velvet
arms from his, deciding that he could no longer desire her in that
manner, despite what his body wanted. "Tell me how."
"With the Amber Eye. He brought it to my cell and made me stare into it.
The thing twisted my body, stripped me of my manhood. A transmigration he
called it. Death and rebirth. As I was held spell bound the changes
occurred. You can see the results." She motioned at her well formed
breasts.
"But that was merely my physical sublimation... he made me imbibe his
sorcerous philtres which infused my body with such cravings as you could
not imagine. Then he gave me to that brute Queeg. I performed other
acts..." she paused, her mouth working but unable to find the words,
"...other rites which moulded and bent my will to his. He tithed my body,
enforced me to act upon the philtre inspired desires until they were
second nature," the look in her glimmering eyes was fiery yet haunted,
begging him to ask no further. She did not wish for him to know that no
force was applied, that once she had ingested the love potion she had
become a willing and rampant pleasure seeker.
"Finally when Queeg was done Ashir returned and took me to the secret
chamber where he kept the eye. He told me that I could take it, look into
it and will my former body back. He laughed in my face. ‘If you have the
will!' he mocked. He knew I did not. I did not!"
Amra ran a hand reassuringly over her dainty cheek. He considered
wrapping his hands about that delicate neck and ending his friends
suffering. It would be a mercy. No man could survive this. He swallowed a
laugh, full of madness. No man. But he could not kill a woman in cold
blood.
"Then, when Ashir knew I was truly broken, he questioned me again about
our mission. I told him everything I knew, but not what he desired. I
knew not our patron or our target, but when I mentioned we were to
retrieve an artifact he grew agitated. I suspect he believed it was the
Eye."
Amra nodded and closed his eyes. "You were correct. We were to kill the
Praetor ... but I dare not hand the Eye to any man. It must be destroyed.
But if I were to force you to look into it first, could I will the return
of your body."
The girl nodded. "I believe so. But, I am not sure that it would cure me
of all my desires. The potion Ashir gave me... it twisted my mind. I...
have grown to like this body. Being your bondmaid is what I aspire to.
But if it is your will, I shall submit, though I suspect I would forever
after be a slave girl trapped in a man's body." Her eyes begged him not
to force that fate upon her. "Amra, we should flee this place as we are,
if not for my sake then for yours!" she pleaded.
Amra stared at her for a moment in disbelief. "Talk like that and I'll
knock your head in, girl or not," Amra growled in a quarrelsome voice.
"But-"
"We shall get you back your manhood. The drugs and your body have clouded
your mind but it shall pass," he said with dauntless determination. He
lifted Kilis' bag with his poisons. "I have a plan. Tell me of this
secret den where Ashir keeps the Eye."
* * *
In the late hours of the night Amra perched atop the outer garden wall of
the purple tower. Below him a troupe of guards led by a beautiful girl
exited the tower for the city. She looked to be a slave girl, such was
her state of undress, yet gold and gemmed jewelry dripped like honey over
the splendid curves of her naked body. She moved hesitantly, unusually
self conscious amongst the guardsmen. Amra sense something unnaturally
feminine about the girl and suspected that like Kilis she had not always
been a woman. His curiosity was piqued and he briefly considered
following her, but decided against it.
Instead he waited, sighting down his axe, nimble muscular limbs poised
for attack. Below a patrolling guard paused, not quite certain what was
amiss. With innate feline grace the barbarian fluidly twisted his entire
body to send the axe whipping downwards with unerring aim, impaling the
guard through the head. So quick was his demise that there was not even a
cry. The Cimmerian thanked Crom for his good aim.
There was the sound of footsteps and the barbarian pressed his lean body
into the top of the battlement wall, eyes narrowing. More guards were
approaching. His blue eyes searched the hedge maze, ears straining with
preternatural attentiveness to the sounds of the city. "From where?" he
growled, eyes flashing like a wildcats. In an instant he discerned that
they were heading away.
In a whirlwind of activity the man dropped from the wall upon which he
was perched, crossed to the guard in two graceful bounds, snatched his
axe and quickly slipped away along a hedgerow path.
Amra flitted noiselessly amongst the verdant shadows with the predatory
grace of a hunting cat. He stole through the labyrinth of privet hedges
then scowled as he suddenly rounded a corner and was confronted by a
guard patrol crossing a small octagonal courtyard surrounded by
shelterbelts with paths existing on all corners. Without pause the guards
drew their blades and advanced hurriedly upon him. Assuming an open
stance he raised his ready axe in an exaggeratedly broad movement, his
other hand drawing a dagger. He backed away and let them close on him so
the confines of the maze were to his advantage and their numbers worked
against them.
"Make way or your innards will nourish the trees," Amra said with such
calm conviction that three of the guards faltered in their advance. But
two still advanced. One of the guards thought to take the barbarian
quickly and moved to swat the axe from his hand. With a fluid riposte,
Amra dove forward under his swipe and scored a deep wound along the
impudent guards forearm. The man dropped his blade and swore, staunching
the flow of blood with pressure from his good hand as he backed away.
The second guard hissed angrily as he lunged forward. His blade was
blocked and then forced high by Amra's axe. Without pause the rangy
barbarian stepped in close to the guard and drove his dagger deep into
his shoulder. The guard grunted in surprise. He winced in pain as the
blade was pulled free. He back peddled out of the fight.
The remaining trio of guards moved cautiously forward after seeing their
compatriots so effortlessly dispatched. "Come on, it's the three of us
against one," one of the guards snarled encouragingly to his friends. "He
was lucky against the others."
Sensing that they had the advantage of numbers the guards moved forward
with greater certainty to dispatch their solitary foe. Two fanned out,
moving slightly to each side of Amra and the third bided his time
directly in front. Amra stood his ground like a wolf at bay, waiting for
the guards to make the first move. With a bark from the middle guard, the
three warriors attacked, swinging stabbing and slashing with abandon.
With a flurry of feet Amra spun, twisted and hacked up, blocking
masterfully with his axe and dagger. A blade dove at his eyes and he
knocked it aside with his dagger, following through with a wickedly fast
axe swipe at his foes face. The centre guard fell back, his skull
shattered.
Now Amra faced two guards. Still confident with their numbers, they
pressed the attack. Amra feinted towards the first guard then dropped and
spun, his axe cutting clear through the seconds leg. Without pause, Amra
continued his spin and leaped up into a forward dive towards the first
guard, lashing out with his axe at the zenith of his leap. His blade hit
the guards hand. The last guard yelped in pain as his fingers were
mercilessly severed and his sword fell from his stump of a hand.
Amra landed deftly and sped away towards the tower. Those remaining
guards still mobile struggled to follow but Amra was too fast.
"Ah, horse dung!" Amra swore doing a rapid about face and heading back
the way he had come. Ten more guardsmen poured through the entrance to
the courtyard he had just vacated, with others storming the other
entrances. Amra was surrounded.
A tiny crossbow bolt clipped the stone at his feet. He looked up. Almost
half of the guards were armed with tiny little crossbows that were
trained upon his chest. "Yeild!" a guard ordered.
Amra grinned with the mirth of a wolf. He might be surrounded but he was
not captured. Amra had long ago vowed to die on his feet rather than live
on his knees especially since the fate which the Praetor would have in
store for him was most undesirable. Amra hardly feared such puny weapons.
He spun his axe in his hand. Hardly feared them that was until with a
twang the first barb bit into his flesh. He staggered sideways drunkenly.
"Poison," he muttered, vision swimming. Four more arrows found his flesh
in rapid succession. His weapons dropped from his suddenly feeble fingers
and he swayed. As the world fell and the light dimmed he realized with
final horror that he was captured.
* * *
Rigo had been swindled. The Praetor had been true to his word, had given
Rigo wealth and freedom as promised. But as the transformed thief led the
soldiers towards Amra's hiding place with a kings ransom of jewelry
adorning her otherwise naked, voluptuously feminine body, the knowledge
that she was no longer a wanted man made her feel most queasy. Catching
the glances which the guards bestowed upon her, she felt very much like a
wanted woman.
Rigo felt like an utter rube at being fleeced of her manhood, but right
now she had to focus on other, more important things. Like leading these
soldiers to Amra and capturing him. The Praetor had made it clear that
her life depended upon this, and despite the questionable quality of this
new existence she did not want to die. Certainly the jewelry she wore
could give her the affluence she had always dreamed of. Her stride
quickened at this positive thought. She could buy a submissive slave girl
as she had always wanted. Or perhaps a slave boy, muscular and rugged, to
take her through the paces of being a woman and play at being her master.
Her step faltered as she realized what she had been thinking.
Pressing such confusingly enticing thoughts from her mind she led the
guards through the city.
* * *
Quaeeg led Amra through a curtained doorways into the main ante-chamber
lit in ghoulish twilight. Within the vaulted chamber Ashir reclined in
otiose grandeur upon a cushion piled dais, supping indulgently upon blood
red wine and casually stroking the lithe Stygian slave girl stretched
forth upon her supple belly beside him. His luxurious lassitude was in
direct contradiction to the cruel sparkle of his eves as he surveyed the
chained figure of Amra. Despite the opulence of the ante chamber a
brooding terror haunted the place. "You took what was mine," Ashir
growled.
Amra glowered at his captor, every nerve tense, "these girls are not
rightfully yours you vulture-hearted charlatan," swore Amra. "You traffic
in the black arts and sacrifice innocents to glut your own rapacity. I
know what you are! Mark my words fiend, your days are numbered."
"You shall know the truth of the matter shortly," Ashir promised as he
drew forth the Amber Eye from his robes. His face was alight with a
sinister eagerness.
At the gleam of the Eye, Amra felt his blood congeal in his veins, but he
steeled himself and averted his gaze. He stared at the silken couches,
chairs of ebony and ivory, the parquet floors, the satin arrases and
velvet hangings which adorned the marble walls, the arabesque ceiling;
anywhere but at the High Praetor.
Queeg peered curiously at Amra, a grin upon his broken face
"Amra, look at me!" Ashir commanded with an overpowering voice. The
behest wrought havoc upon his nerves as the barbarian strained against
its preternatural force. "Look at me!" Against his will Amra felt his
gaze drawn towards the Praetor, bidden by the compelling voice. He beheld
the hated countenance of Ashir, met the sorcerers black eyed gaze with a
brimstone fire of his own. Sweat beaded his brow as the terror of
unnerved hysteria grew. "Good. Now look into the Eye of Dagon!"
The moment Amra laid eyes on the monstrous oculus encased in ancient
amber he gasped, frozen to immobility. A chill tingling gripped his
limbs. There came a period of dim impetus where he became naught but a
mote which tumbled adrift through time and space, whirling through the
endless cycle of his past incarnations in the infinity of existence.
He transmigrated through all his previous forbears, residing once again
in all the bodies which had born his ego. He struggled as a babe, a
child, an adolescent, an adult and an old one. Bodies slipped from him,
both male and female, till he lost all awareness of form. Dimly Amra
sensed the interconnection between all living things, all souls, all
bodies, spanning endless continuums, an intricately interwoven skein so
gnarled and tangled that it bore no semblance of sanity. On and on he
tumbled till he reeled at the very core of his being and his sense of
identity wavered.
To the dimmest dawn of time he was drawn where he found his antecedent
self stalking naked through an eerily lit cave, naught but a primeval
creature armed with stone spear and indomitable courage. His instinctive
barbarian progenitor sought to ambush a many eyed horror limned in the
flickering light. The thing was without form but possessed floating
oculus which sparked horror and fear. As his ancestor he leaped high and
thrust down with his spindly spear. The spear bit deeply but the thing
whirled with unnatural speed and crushed him with one of its many
tentacle like members.
To the core of his soul Amra felt the enmity of this creature and
recoiled from it as his ancestral being died. Forward through time he was
propelled, the things burning eyes still upon him throughout the agonized
throes of his return. Again he fleetingly relived all his lives, his body
blurring and twisting between man and woman, boy and girl. He felt that
he could tumble down any path, to any time or form.
He also sensed the proximity of the thing, its brutal desire for him, its
knowing gaze and he hated it. He sensed that the many eyed tentacled
thing still existed within the shadows even now. The Eye of Dagon was a
two way portal. He saw it and it saw him. He felt its hate.
With a primal roar Amra pulled himself free of the power of the Oculus
and flexed his arms. Such was his rage his bonds give way as if they were
not there at all. His eyes rose to those of the Praetor. Ashir flinched
at the blue hellfire which burned in that primal gaze. Amra lashed out at
Queeg and sent the jailor sailing back. He leaped forwards, hands
clutching for the Praetors neck.
"Stop!" the Praetor ordered.
Amra froze.
"Very interesting..." he approached Amra. "The transformation was not
precisely what I intended. Inexplicably the eye seemed to opt for this
soma, drawn to this form amongst your myriad past incarnations. It is
most pleasing. And much like the form I wear, your form is potent, imbued
with latent power."
Amra's face wrinkled in surprise. Transformation? He felt no different.
Or perhaps he did. Perhaps his chest felt a trifle heavier and swollen.
Perhaps long wisps of blonde hair wafted about his eyes and draped like
silken threads to his markedly slender shoulders.
"Look down!"
Midnight blue eyes looked down and reeled as they focused upon a pair of
rounded, fleshy swells. His body was that of his caveman progenitor, or
more accurately cavewoman; a primal force of nature, a creature exuding
raw sexuality. This was the lithe fiery lass who had stalked a monster,
who had mastered her fear and leaped with the supple grace of a panther
atop a tentacled horror. The limbs were slender but quite muscular, the
waist narrow, the breasts and hips generous. In that moment he realized
that he had not broken the manacles, they had slipped from his suddenly
smaller hands, as had his loincloth. As he considered this in his
paralyzed stae he flexed his arms and felt much weaker.
Frozen, a silken gossamer slip was pulled over her head by the slave
master. The material of the meager garment settled upon her like a second
skin, its spry fiber conforming tightly to the nooks and crannies of her
curvy chest, the sleek lines of her sensual belly and the heart shaped
cleft of her ass. The chemises plunging neck line exposed a great deal of
her fulsome cleavage and fleshy breast, her nipples proudly distending
the flimsy fabric. The skimpy hem did little to conceal her loins or ass
cheeks. Her long athletic legs were disarmingly sexy in their innocent
bareness.
Queeg also remedied her freedom by looping a narrow silver collar about
her neck. Matching manacles of silver were used to bind her arms before
her and hobble her slender ankles. A filigree chain from the cuffs linked
to the collar and two dangled to the anklets. "Follow me," Ashir ordered
and she was compelled to obey. She took in her stride the gentle mincing
sway of her broad hips, the dimpling of her sexy derrière, the soft
bounce of her breasts and the soft slipping of her silk smooth thighs as
they hitched together in the fetters. As she moved the shifts hem rose
embarrassing high and she paused, her face reddening at the loss of her
scant modesty.
As she dawdled Ashir tugged on her leash, making her cantaloupe sized
breasts heave up and down as she jolted forward. He led the girl up a set
of winding stairs to the top of his mighty tower. A sumptuous candle lit
bedchamber greeted her. He unfastened the manacles about her wrists and
chained her collar to the head of the velvet-covered dais-bed. With a
sinister laugh he left her in his boudoir to secure the Eye in a safe
place.
When her returned he bore a potion. "Drink this." He commanded as Amra
stared. It was not the potion that captivated Amra but Ashir's
appearance, for now the sorcerer wore her former body. Ashir's voice held
none of the preternatural compulsion to obey it had before. Obviously the
power came from the spidery form he once wore, his primal body as he
described it.
She shook her head so he gripped her jaw grimly and forced the sparkling
liquid concoction to her lips, tilting her head back. The philter burned
in her throat as it went down, silver dregs running down her dainty chin
and upturned neck. Her eyes watered and she gasped, hot flushes wracking
her body as the neurological alterations took affect.
"Now you are mine!" Ashir declared as he circled behind her, his hand
gliding under her shift and between her legs seeking the moist sensitive
folds of feminine loins. She squirmed, not in fright but in pleasure.
Pealing back her chemise he exposed the hourglass shaped flesh of her
womanly hips and taut abdomen. She nudged her hips eagerly towards him,
her back arching and her rump rising in seductive undulation.
His broad hands cinched about her waist in a crushingly possessive grip
eliciting a muffled moan from the girl. She wiggled her hips expectantly
and fearfully whimpered as he straddled her from behind. She felt
something round and firm pressing between her loins. With a pantherish
thrust he slipped into the warm moist sheath of her sex. He began pumping
leisurely into her. Meaty slapping sounds echoed off the cold marble
walls. Faster and faster he slammed into her causing the platform bed to
squeak. She grew increasingly frantic as guttural feminine grunts slipped
from her lips. Her collar restricted her movement. She let out muffled
grunts and her breasts wobbled to the forceful beat of his thrusts.