Thrall of the Warrior Witch

Chapter Three-3

Though he stood on an identical mosaic within another ring of mirrors, the dancing yellow of those no-longer-so-confounding fires had been replaced by the steady rich orange of the declining sun. This poured in through expansive windows; they were now high above the surrounding town. The airy room’s décor was far more refined and there were wide corridors and fewer doors leading away.

Somewhere nearby there were footsteps and people talking. Disregarding this Nala led Drake as swiftly as his shackles allowed (everything had come up with them after all) to the nearest of those doors. They slipped through unobserved and proceeded down another dark passage.

Here Nala quietly resumed gloating.

“Not only will I alone attend until the end and share the Empress’ bed. She has promised me a memory crystal, a rare and potent piece of magic all my own, so that I may relive this night as often as I like to the end of my life. When I am old and feeble, you and Jia will still be making me writhe and climax in my pitiful weakling’s bed.

“I owe so much to you slave, and so might our entire world. If there are truly many more like you and they can be identified, we may all be saved. This night of our delight will also insure a glorious new future for all of Shatra!”

As much as Drake treasured his mistress’ elation, sharing all her glee and pride was hard. She was talking about using knowledge he’d blithely provided to more effectively target many more Americans in perpetuity. Though he’d accepted his mad destiny enough to choose new allegiance, contributing to damning endless other Jeffs would be impossible to live down.

Disturbed by this dilemma, Drake almost bumped into Nala when she stopped in front of him. In the dimness she glanced over a tattooed shoulder.

Impishly she winked, a jerk of her head indicating the heavy wooden door before them. No words were necessary. Empress Death was on the other side. Keys jingled and Nala turned back to attack the lock. Drake eyed the lovely lines of her bent neck, unhidden by any hair. He could easily throttle her, use her keys to free himself and…what? Find a way out of the fortress? Hide from psychics so powerful they could see other realities?

Jump off the battlements to save his soul and countrymen before they could catch him?

The lock clacked back and the door creaked forward.

Foolish fancies and imperative worries dispersed. They floated off like the wildly evocative smoke swirling in the murk beyond. Tugged onward by his collar, Drake Green thought no further. Bloated balls boiling, he went eagerly to greet his destiny.

***

Gloom shrouded the high-ceilinged room.

Stone block like the rest of the keep, the walls were hung with woven tapestries that seemed to depict decisive battles in the Sisterhood’s history. It looked like a bloody business, but it was hard to tell: the whole room was flooded with incarnadine.

The sinking sun’s orange poured through gauzy red curtains screening off an arched oriel or maybe balcony. Furthermore the torches on either side of the enormous bed (made up in scarlet silk with piles of tasseled black pillows) and the larger braziers spaced around roared a hellish red now as well. Clearly whatever art kept them alight could also alter them to fit the occasion.

Tinged crimson, precious gold glimmered all around.

Set up here and there were odd instruments, the most complex one imbedded with several large gems. The smoke came from incense; its alien tang seemed to make his groin hurt even worse. Driven by his screaming need for release, Drake hunted the shadows for some glimpse of his executioner. All he saw were racks of torture implements. Besides the bed, several cabinets and a pair of comfortable chairs, the only furniture was an upright square; a sturdy wooden frame set up just beyond that sumptuous bed’s spread.

More shackles rested on the floor and two dangled from the upper corners. Chains ran from cuffs through pulleys to a side-mounted cranking mechanism. And from the midpoint of the crosspiece hung a slender cord already looped into a noose.

Nala pulled him toward his gallows and a thin moan escaped Drake.

All the s*x he’d ever had, the marathons and other punishing runs, his kinky experiments with Shanelle and even the past week’s madness were all about to be superseded beyond belief. If he had to die to achieve such transcendence, then it was criminal idiocy not to make a friend of fear and revel in every second. Hackles rising Drake hurried forward, and was almost tripped by his hobbles. Nala steadied him into position.

“I need to remove your chains, slave. Be a good little thrall and behave.”

“I love you more than anyone else ever mistress,” Drake admitted to them both.

He thought again of Shanelle’s assurances that a chastity device made for an ideal husband and actually laughed aloud. When the manacles fell off he meekly lifted his arms so the mate of his heart could restrain him again. These snugger cuffs were adjustable leather at least, as were the ones that replaced his leg irons. The galling collar came off next. Fitting the noose snugly up above this redness, Nala grinned at him up close. He was already panting and quivering as if expecting a trap to drop open beneath him at any second.

“Are you excited, beloved?”

“Extremely so, mistress.”

“Wonderful. How about now?”

She unlocked and removed the chastity cage.

Drake’s balls seemed to balloon up and drop like sandbags at the same time as his prick leaped into unprecedentedly huge rigidity. He was still crying out inexpressible relief/imperative need even as Nala turned the crank and the chains began retracting, hauling him into the air.

Seconds later he hung by his hands, splayed out spread-eagled with his feet about a half-meter above the furs underfoot – just below the level of the bed right in front of him. Nala tightened the chains until his limb sockets threatened to pop and Drake gasped his almost orgasmic appreciation. She giggled her own excitement and moved behind him.

One hand rubbed his bung, an insistent finger reminding of their fun. The other palpated balls bloated to bursting, fulminating like faulty hand grenades about to explode before oh-so-gently stroking his insanely raging spew-spike.

“How I’ve longed for this moment! You are not so small after all, with the Sisterhood’s potions hot in your blood. Too bad for us both. Shall I make up for all the pleasure denied this and us with a lifetime’s punishment tonight instead?”

“Please, mistress!” Drake wailed.

All the madness of the week peaking, he writhed uncontrollably, an insect trapped in a black widow’s web, avid for his devourer to come and slurp him out. Yet where was the promised succubus? As Nala pinched his most sensitive tip between sharp strong fingernails digging viciously in, the exquisite agony made him cry out the same question as a million martyrs before him. Only his prayer was answered.

“Where is my goddess?”

“Here, thrall! Come to accept your sacrifice!”

A shadow dimmed the room further as a hulking form appeared in that oriel.

Framed by its arch and backlit by the sunset flaming through her translucent raiment, trailing a banner of spectacular hair and boasting the brawn of a warrior, the haunches of a satyr and yet the breasts and loins of an odalisque, the glorious Empress Jia proved to be a giantess indeed.

Aware that his perceptions might be skewed by circumstances (or the occult influences he could sense already working on him), Drake estimated the female before him to be nearly six foot-ten in height – well over a full foot taller than he was anyhow.

Robust as he was spare, she easily doubled him in weight. Yet there was nothing maladroit about that massive frame. The Empress was simply an exceptionally athletic woman genetically blessed with extraordinary stature – not to mention beauty, talent and drive.

A stunning sapphire blazed on her brow, centered there by a thin golden fillet. Just as blue and twice as brilliant, the eyes below were beyond piercing in their equally regal setting. Sternly authoritative with a hint of playfulness, that autocratic visage was divine indeed, beautiful enough to make the entire being a knee-weakening, c**k-hardening epitome of fearsome feminine power and appeal.

What world-hopping skeptic wouldn’t accept this paragon as a goddess? Atheism suddenly seemed as irrelevant as abstemiousness. Drake could only goggle and whimper and feel his entire groin throbbing as with some kind of deadly infection. So important to him only moments ago, Nala slipped unobtrusively away and his new mistress, owner, Empress and deity smiled upon his awed response. She spoke to him again in fluent American.

“And this is the male that worships women, is sexually compelled to suffer for them, avidly serves maids’ purposes, seeks the mightiest female possible to subjugate him and thus willingly offers his precious energy, seed and even life to satisfy me.’

Forgetting the threats in the tent (to his tongue as well as his eyes), Drake spoke without thinking even as he gazed amazed at those Herculean lines, luscious curves, pointy big n*****s limned by silk and a loveliness as hard as steel yet still as fresh as a flower.

“I present myself on your sacrificial altar, my Goddess.

“Though you steal me unjustly, your allure is irresistible.

“All that you say of me is true. I would service and suffer under and worship you forever if allowed, just as I would the incomparable Nala. We would be all-powerful deity and soul-enslaved subject for eternity. Instead I’ll have to be content to treasure whatever you give me until it finally kills me.”

Belatedly Drake veiled his gaze. Luckily the great mistress only smiled at his effrontery.

“Let us hope that moment is delayed indefinitely, slave,” she purred as she approached, the sheer yellow robe clinging to her so enticingly even as her looming hugeness daunted so excitingly. Even moving in sporting circles, Drake had never encountered anyone larger.

“You are very forward to speak to me so. I trust you will be as forthcoming when we talk of more important matters. For now though you will hold your tongue until told, or until your passions demand release. I have waited many frustrating days for this, to enjoy your exudates; to sample the energies you seem so outrageously awash in. I taste them on the air even now. I have seen your eagerness and found it too tempting to be believed.”

Jia moved to the bed, loosening her airy robe. Gracefully she draped herself over the pillows at the foot, reclining directly before Drake’s stretched-suspended helplessness. She smiled at the Afflicter, who after closing off the balcony was going around sealing the room completely.

“Nala is incomparable indeed isn’t she? Talented and admirable in every way. I have come to love her as you do, my surprisingly wise thrall. I approve of your romance and have enjoyed allowing it. It has blessed us all with this blissful complicity, so superior to the usual adversarial scene. Our mutual darling will afflict you for me now, and we will begin to see just how special you can be. Feed me pleasingly with your remarkable passions and I will repay you personally with unimaginably honored intimacies.”

What sacrificial victim could resist an offer like that?

***

And so after so much anticipation the slow execution got underway.

In a spooky smoky reddish gloom, Drake’s lover, jailor and terminal torturess returned.

Nala descended on him with widely smiling affection and the tools of her trade in hand.

Clearly not trusting his ability to withhold, the first thing she did was to tighten a silver clamp onto the root of that outrageously tumescent appendage, preventing any overexcited spillage. Then though his balls were too obscenely swollen to be similarly collared about the base, Nala produced a long tough rawhide thong. Stretching and winding this tightly all about both hugely bloated gonads, she finally tied it off before hanging enough dangling weights from an attached ring to be satisfyingly agonizing.

“Ahhhhhhh, yes, I taste you well, special vessel.”

As the sacrifice broke a heavy sweat Jia’s appreciation gratified him more than the horrible roiling in his squashed, overstuffed seed factories. Her deep breathing released a savoring sigh.

“Your pain, your lust, your shame, your inseparable devotion and craving: how the flavors of your passions mingle on the palate! You strengthen me deliciously. You dampen my loins and swell my breast. I have enjoyed none like you in ages, if ever. This I can tell already. Continue please, Nala. Give this precious male a lick of leather. I promise both of us will bless you for it.”