The screaming woke Mayael up… yet despite that, it didn’t manage to startle her or even make her jerk. Her eyes opened slowly, exhausted… crestfallen, and slow. The sad truth was that if she was going to be roused in terror every time she heard screams down here, then she would be in a constant state of panic. Instead, she had grown well-accustomed to the misery around her, every bit as accustomed as she had ever been to the scent of morning rainfall or the chirping of birds.
They weren’t even screams of a woman being tortured. There was no fear in the voice… only pain. These were the screams of labor.
Mayael raised her head just enough to look at the scene. Ionnia was the one shrieking while other, lesser slaves held the beautiful woman down. The pale-skinned slave girl lay on her back atop one of the hills of bullion and gold that filled the cave in waves like dunes of sand. The Unicorn was shifting her head from left to right so rapidly that her horn swished through the air like a spear in the wind. As usual, the fair-haired girl seemed madcap with terror. Since the day Mayael had arrived in this imprisonment, her mind had been like a piece of shattered glass.
"It's clawing through me!" she bellowed into the slavegirls’ faces. "It’s rending my insideeees!"
Mayael could completely understand her point. Ionnia's pregnancy protruded from her stomach like a ball, stretching even further from her skin than her horn did. The two reached almost exactly the same peak, making her look almost like a frog her belly was so swollen. Unlike a frog, however, her belly undulated around like a wineskin on a ship at sea whenever she bucked and bridged from pain, which was why the other slavegirls were trying to hold her down. Once they had her arms and legs pinned, the swollen bulge of her womb only stirred as Archleon's spawn punched or clawed against its walls from the inside.
"Please, Mistress, think of the Prince," one slave girl said.
"Eeeeaaaahhh! Noooo! I don't want another Dragonspawn baby!" Ionnia screamed.
"Hold her thighs! We must secure the Prince!" another slave girl yelled.
Mayael reclined her head upon the roll of silk she had been using as a pillow. She could not understand how the unicorn woman kept treating every single day in this hell like it was her first of enslavement. Always yelling. Always shouting. Always acting like the pain was fresh. No wonder her mind was broken into a thousand pieces. The druid could only speculate if this curse was some idiosyncrasy unique to Ionnia or a trait shared by her solitary species. Ionnia’s blood was so rarefied it was unknown even to a druid like her.
Some part of Mayael wished she could still consider the misery of her life so novel… but instead, hope had abandoned her rather quickly.
So pathetic.
One of the slavegirls scurrying in Ionnia's direction made a brief detour by Mayael’s position. There, she knelt down and gently grazed her hand over the elf’s bulging stomach. The druid pursed her lips in a wince of pain as the dragonspawn impregnated within her own womb, festering like an invasive parasite, vigorously pawed back against her hand.
"Bless this Prince," the slavegirl prayed.
"Bless this Prince," Mayael mumbled back emotionlessly.
Gratified with Archleon’s progeny's health, the slavegirl rose and resumed heading towards Ionnia. She hadn’t said a single word of comfort or familiarity, made no show of kindness for their shared fate. There never was here. Mayael was only valued for the spawn in her belly. That unborn Prince which would be a minion of his father.
The seed of Archleon, planted by rape.
Archleon's lair was a vault for all his riches… both the monetary and those made of flesh. Mayael and the rest of the dragon’s prize breeders existed in imprisoned languor amidst gemstones and treasures valuable enough to buy a mansion in Waterdeep, juxtaposed with hard rock walls and stalagmites for stars.
The way the Great Serpent ruled this domain reminded Mayael of the walrus ruling his Harem. They might outnumber him in wombs, but he far outstripped them in size and power, and complete authority was vested in the dragon’s might. Archleon bred them at will… the dragon desired descendants the same way he desired gold. However, once born, he cared relatively little for the spawn… any but the most exceptional were little but footsoldiers for his hordes.
Even among the once-maidens that Archleon had claimed, they were separated into different castes. Those exalted in his amber-glowing, snake-like eyes were the breeders… those who had given him a full dragonspawn offspring and survived to do it again, and from whom he expected that fate in the future. Having to survive being raped by a being as mightly as he meant that these women were, to a one, women of power… rare races, magical abilities, and exceptional beauty to make them nubile enough to bear his spawn and beautiful enough to be worth his time. Then there were the many, many, many maidens who had not survived being claimed by the dragon, or those who had only to die before birth. The skeletons of those women were half-buried in cairns of gold, forgotten by the dragon entirely.
Between them, there was a middle ground… those he considered worthless for fucking again but who had survived the process… his slavegirls. These kept these women to be servants, but not for the breeders’ comfort… instead, their only purpose in life now was to ensure the fertility of their wombs and the survival of Archleon's spawn. For the most part, they were a broken, hopeless lot… as enslaved to the will of wyrm as an ant drone was to their queen.
Initially, Mayael had considered the slavegirls as the fortunate ones trapped within their grotto. That impression hadn’t lasted long, though. It had only been on the fourth day of her captivity that one of the girls, just walking by, had been plucked up from the ground by the dragon and almost immediately devoured. She had barely had time to scream. Gone in a single crunch and a gulp.
Mayael couldn’t even remember the girl’s name.
The incident had, for a time, made her pity the slavegirls even more than she had pitied herself. That conviction however, hadn’t lasted. The longer she was exposed to her owner’s sexual tyranny, the less Mayael found herself able to care about anything else at all… traumatized her so thoroughly she could barely feel a whisper of sympathy for anyone else. Perhaps it was better to die so quickly than to spend an elf’s lifespan as one of the dragon’s walking wombs.
"EEEAAAAYYYAAAHHHH!!!"
Mayael’s attention was brought back to Ionnia with a great startle. Jerking around like that was a mistake… it caused her bulging stomach to move. That angered the Prince within her, making the dragonspawn inside her claw against her womb in protest. Mayael yelped in pain, clutching at her belly. The elf felt like she was some kind of grand elk, wounded in a king’s hunt… capable only of moving in weak shambles.
More slowly this time, she forced her gaze over the golden dunes towards Ionnia… and she winced again. A red-skinned, black-horned, spade-tailed monster towered above the unicorn, one of her hoofed feet planted right on top of her bulging stomach. She was pressing down, grinning as she did so, and the other slavegirls scattered around her in horror.
Ionnia kept screaming every bit as loudly as she did when Archleon fucked her. "The Prince is impatient!" the succubus, Zunatana, cackled theatrically. "Hurry it along, fucking horse. Let us present Archleon with his damned welp posthaste!"
"EEEAAAAHHH!!!" Ionnia hollered, her face crimson, her horn looking like it was about to pop from her forehead.
Mayael was pretty sure there was nothing in the whole world she hated and feared more than the dragon… but Zunatana was an easy second place. The devilish princess was one of his favorite slaves, and she clearly resented being forced into submission, even to a titan of power like the archdragon. The succubus was like a plague that followed war and famine, the source of nearly as much torment and misery as Archleon himself. The reason was clear to Mayael - her bondage was different from the rest of them. Hailing from the Nine Hells, she didn’t fear dying nearly as much as the rest of them did… because she wasn’t mortal. If the dragon ever killed her, it wouldn’t mean the end… it would just send her back to Hell for 99 years. The glinting collar around her neck was what held her here, not the fear of death.
So if she could provoke the dragon into finally killing her, she would… and that meant she was always pushing boundaries.
"IIIIEEEEAAAAAHHHH!" Ionnia kept yelling as the scaly, oversized babe was being squeezed through her cervix powered by Zunatana's hoof.
Zunatana's grin widened as she pressed her hoof harder into Ionnia's swollen belly. The succubus's eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure, her black horns casting ominous shadows in the dim light of the cavern. She leaned down, her voice a hissing whisper that carried the weight of Hell's malice.
"Push, you wretched beast," Zunatana taunted, her claws digging into Ionnia's thighs. "Let the Prince see the light of day before I crush it back inside you."
Ionnia's screams reached a fever pitch, her body convulsing under the pressure. Zunatana's hoof shifted slightly, applying just the right amount of force to manipulate the baby's position within Ionnia's womb. The succubus's tail flicked impatiently, its spade-like tip tapping against the golden ground.
"Come now, don't be shy," Zunatana cooed, her voice dripping with mockery. "Archleon will be most displeased if his heir is late to the party."
With a sudden, brutal motion, Zunatana twisted her hoof, causing Ionnia's body to arch in agony. The unicorn's horn glowed faintly, a desperate attempt to channel her pain into magic, but it fizzled out under the succubus's relentless assault. Zunatana's other hand moved to Ionnia's abdomen, her claws pressing into the skin as she guided the baby's descent.
"That's it," Zunatana purred, her eyes locked onto Ionnia's face, watching every flicker of pain and fear. "Just a little more... yes, there you go."
Ionnia's body shuddered violently as the baby's head emerged, slick with amniotic fluid. Zunatana's grin turned predatory as she gripped the infant's skull, pulling it the rest of the way out with a sickening squelch. The baby dragonspawn let out a piercing cry, its scales already glistening with life.
"Welcome to the world, little Prince," Zunatana sneered, holding the newborn up for all to see... a red-scaled, humanoid dragonkin, like the rest of Archleon's elites. "Your rapist daddy will be so proud."
The slavegirls around them stared in horrified awe, their faces pale and trembling. Mayael watched from her spot, her stomach churning with dread. The scene was a grotesque tableau of birth and brutality, a reminder of the cruel reality they all lived under Archleon's reign.
Thick and frothy ale yeast splashed from the mug as it was slammed down onto the wooden table with a resounding thud. The accompanying burp was just as uncouth and wretchedly thunderous as the sound of impact. "Another!" the blonde warrior demanded, having downed the entire cup in one go.
She impatiently drummed with both fingertips and toes against the crummy table and wooden floor, whatever surface they could touch, as the sheepish barmaid brought her a new mug. Her posture was straight-backed and stiff, gazing across the room with nervous intensity… her eyes large and unblinking.
Every single visitor to the inn glanced toward Maia Thaugindottir with curious expressions. This was not a reputable establishment… it was very much the opposite, a rather infamous den of ill-repute and travesty. The tavern was as backwoods as the backwoods could be, and its walls saw a lot of unsavory characters pass through its doors. Freaks and outlaws, bandits and rogues, and other ner-do-wells too brusque or uncouth to ever be accepted by any roadhouse establishment located on any King's road.
Yet even to these many and varied colorful characters, Maia Thaugindottir’s tattooed, heavily muscled form was quite the sight. The tavern was located just to the south of the tribal warriors’ lands, so the sight of one of the muscle-bound warriors wasn’t too shocking… but the fact that one would ever, ever deign to enter a place like this was shocking to the people nearby. The barbarians had a certain… reputation for being quite uptight and not wanting to associate with people they deemed culturally impure. They were quite smug and arrogant, actually… obnoxiously so.
Maia started chugging down the second mug as quickly as the first. "M-Miss…" the barmaid nervously stammered, intending to tell her that she wasn’t supposed to drink the ale with her nostrils. It certainly looked like that was what she was doing… tilting the glass so far back that it poured down every gap in her face down into her gullet. A single glance toward the barbarians’ greatsword, lying discarded beside the wooden table, made her think better of saying anything the tribal woman might find offensive.
Instead, the barmaid turned towards the innkeeper with a plainly concerned look… as if to ask, shouldn’t someone do something about her before something bad happens? Her concern, however, was too late… Maia's ostentatious carousing had already caught the wrong kind of attention.
Four men sat in a dark booth, paying attention to her as she moved… four blackhearted villains whose moods and morals were rotten even by the standards of the usual man here. There was Singrave the Half-Orc. A despicable thief who had been promoted from cut-purse to cut-throat, thief to mugger, cat burglar to home invader, and pirate to sea devil. Sallow-faced and with limbs so long he looked almost simian, the half-orc seemingly confirmed every loathsome stereotype about his race.
Next in line sat Perdicilious "Perdy" the One-Eye… the meanest, most cantankerous, and most bloodthirsty half-elf this side of the Tablelands. Unlike most people bearing his disfigurement he refused to wear an eyepatch. The insides of that hollow were blackened and scorched like ash, and he kept it open for everyone to see.
The third in the row was Tom-Tom the Blank. Unlike his fellows, Tom-Tom hadn't been born with a taste for mindless violence. Losing half his brain had done that to him. Stitches ran along the entire length of his bulbous bald skull, signifying where the cannibal tribe had tried to scoop out their fill.
And finally, sitting at the end of this despicable line-up was the adventuring party's vile headman, a gray-bearded Dwarf as thick as he was tall. The duergar might have left the Underdark, but Manvar "the Cat Stomper" Blackstone had left none of his people’s savagery or bitterness behind him when he did.
"Oii! Cow tits!" Manvar hollered while resting his double-headed axe against his shoulder. "Git your attestations over yonder."
Maia turned her neck stiffly but not her body as the disreputable party approached. She eyeballed every single one of them with the kind of empty expression of a child not recognizing the danger of a wild animal… or that of a drunk not recognizing the danger of a mugger. Ale yeast dripped freely from her lips as she did so. The foamy liquid even rained down on her voluptuous cleavage. "Yeees?" she answered, voice several pitches too high.
The bartender noticed instantly that they were looking at the half-naked woman… and the lust on their faces. He knew the danger they represented… and that this was one bar fight he had best not get in the way of.
"Somethings stupid with this bigun!" Singrave exclaimed.
"Ah, she's a stupid halfwit, you dumbheaded orcling!" Perdy loathsomely snarled. "As damaged in the thinker as Tom-Tom! Even stupider than most of those primitives… but she sure is big."
"Aye, a dumb stupid Northerner," the Cat Stomper concurred while leering towards her cumbersome tits in the kind of way dwarves normally only reserved for gold. "A dumb little manling-girl with breasts like udders."
Maia blinked once towards each of the reprobates. Then she glanced down towards her fleshy bust that swelled like twin hillocks from her chest as if re-discovering their presence after several years. Her lips tugged into a half-smile. Several patrons rose from their chairs as she reached down and clasped her naked steel blade. "Halfwit, you say?" she replied while swinging the greatsword around in such a wide arch that the barmaid yelped and nearly got sliced in two… she rapidly retreated from the danger, screaming. "I'll show you half-men who is the wholewit!"
All four villains leered while mustering their weapons. "Better clear the room, barkeep!" Singrave hollered even though everyone was already mid-evacuation.
"Yeaaah," Perdy injected in a nasal clangor. "We're about to have some fun with this Northern sexpot. Maybe cut her up a bit. Take some things away from her. Maybe make her a half-man in a few manners of speaking," he added while glancing towards her two functioning eyeballs.
"Nah! Tits and cunt!" Tom-Tom exclaimed.
"Ahhh..." Manvar practically purred as his leer grew ever wider and ever lewder. "Easy prey like this is why I left the Underdark in the first place."
The tavern erupted into chaos as Maia Thaugindottir and the four villains clashed. The first to charge was Singrave, his long limbs flailing as he swung a dagger at Maia's throat. She parried with her greatsword, the blade ringing out like a bell as it deflected the attack. The force of the impact sent Singrave stumbling backward, crashing into a table that splintered under his weight.
Perdy the One-Eye darted in next, his rapier flickering like a snake's tongue. Maia spun on her heel, narrowly avoiding the thrust that would have pierced her side. She retaliated with a backhanded swipe of her sword, but Perdy was too quick, leaping back just in time to avoid being cleaved in two.
Tom-Tom lumbered forward; his club raised high. Maia met him head-on, their weapons colliding with a deafening crash. The impact reverberated through the room, sending shockwaves through the floorboards. Tom-Tom's club shattered, but he didn't seem to notice, swinging wildly with the jagged remains. Maia ducked under the blow, driving her shoulder into his midsection. Tom-Tom grunted, his breath huffing out as he was sent sprawling into a wall, which cracked ominously under the strain.
Manvar was the last to join the fray, his double-headed axe gleaming wickedly in the dim light. He charged at Maia from behind, aiming for her exposed back. But Maia was ready, pivoting on one foot to meet him head-on. Their weapons clashed, sparks flying as metal ground against metal. Manvar growled, his face twisted in a snarl, but Maia matched his ferocity, pushing him back with sheer strength.
The fight raged on, each combatant trading blows with reckless abandon. Tables were overturned, chairs shattered, and walls bore the marks of their struggle. The barmaid cowered in a corner, watching in horror as the inn descended into ruin.
Maia's opponents were relentless, each one taking turns to harry her, but she held her ground, her greatsword a blur of motion. Despite their viciousness, none could land a decisive blow, and the battle continued, a brutal dance of steel and sinew.
The bar was in total ruins… Practically every single bit of furniture in the tavern had been broken during the furious brawl. The destruction was complete and all-consuming, and the only way it could have been more thorough was if one of them had set the place on fire. Despite that, the scrap had been more tumultuous and chaotic than it was deadly. None of the villains were looking to cleave Maia Thaugindottir in twine or make her into a fine skullcup. No… that would have been a waste of a woman as well-stacked and statuesque as her.
At least, not before their prize had been plucked.
In their victory, the halfmen’s lust for battle had readily been turned into ordinary venal lusts. They shared her body with uncharacteristic comradeship and equality… Each one of them already knew precisely where he preferred to socket his prick.
"Uuuuuhhuuu!!" Singrave gasped with a level of profound satisfaction no whore had ever before succeeded in providing him.
"Aye, a real bountiful piece of treasure!" Manvar groaned back. "With enough of a whore’s body to satisfy all of our dicks! This is a real wench of the surface!"
Naturally, what remained of Maia Thaugindottir's clothing was mere tatters. She hadn’t been wearing much, but after the damage the men had done to them, even the most savage and pelt-skinned of the Northerns would have considered her shoddy and unkempt. The Northerner herself was down on her hands and knees being assailed by male poles from each possible direction.
They plugged her fuckholes, all three of them, with those engorged cocks, stabbing her with them instead of their more deadly weapons. They were vicious and violent, hammering at her, and a less tough woman might have found themselves actually torn apart by their brutality. Only a woman as statuesque and strong as she could have survived such a tremendous gangbang.
"UUUGGUUGGUUH!" the Northern blonde nastily croaked around choking manhood.
Singrave was the one fucking her throat. Not her mouth… He had barged through that orifice as if it was a mere passageway leading to the tightness he desired to violate. The Half-Orc was pounding its down-curving tunnel with a level of roughness and indelicateness that only a lifetime of brigandry could have inspired. Nothing made him feel more in contact with his more bestial blood than skullfucking a human woman raw. It was as if tribal drums were beating in his heart every time she was made to chug.
Maia's gullet was clobbered hard, made to squelch and gag alongside every dickering blow. Singrave might as well have been churning butter inside her windpipe he was being so rough. It was the kind of pummeling any mortal woman would have failed to withstand for even one second, left regurgitating crassly in distress. Yet Maia did not withdraw from his double-handed clutch even as he tenderized her throathole, leaving it toughly marred and abraded.
“Gnnnuuh! Gllurgh! Glurkh! Gurgh!” she ignobly resounded, suffocating on stiffened green dickmeat.
In addition to any physical damage caused, much of the intoxicating lager Thaugindottir had drunk was being exhumed alongside her spittle and phlegm. With every single backstroke of Singrave’s prong, this watery substance came tumbling outwards from her gorge. For Singrave this effect was lovely, attractive even. It confirmed her desecration in the concrete. Not to mention inspiring some watery convulsions inside that already spasming hole -- whose constriction he liked almost as much as he loved killing. “Aaaarghhh!!!” he cried, a warcry like his ancestors… his eyes bloody and red as he wheezed through his nose.
"Hahahaha! Have you gone feral, surface-orc?" Manvar scornfully laughed while pounding her asshole. "I recognize that reaction from green-skin captives who went mad and berserk inside their slave pens."
It was a coarse and insensitive jeer from the Druagar. However the comment was also as true to himself and the rest of the crew as it was to Singrave. They were all, in their own way, equally madcap about violating the barbarian's tight and unwilling holes. They flexed their muscles, zealously pumping with the most speed and power possible. Somehow, the sex had turned even more frenzied than battle – and even more competitive, as well! The four of them had gangraped more than one woman in the past, but even the most unseemly and vicious ones they had ever done didn’t amount to a spectacle as much as this.
While Singrave had commandeered her front, Manvar and Tom-Tom the Blank shared Maia's primary slutholes between themselves. It was the human who lay prone underneath her with his meaty dick protruding upwards like a mighty flagpost. The mental cripple fucked with the sort of unconstrained energy that only a man completely unconcerned about looking ridiculous could tap into. For every second that passed, his upturned hips slapped into her downturned loins several times over, practically buffeting her like an upturned rabbit and sending his erection cleaving into her welcoming cunt.
"Hehehehe!" he inanely laughed throughout the slapdash intercourse. Having lost so much of his cognition to that skull-cracking cannibal, this was the most articulate form of communication the brigand could muster… Yet none of the others could disagree he had much to be joyous about. Tom-Tom didn't understand intercourse as anything besides banging his cockhead as deep inside of his victim’s cunt as he could, as hard and fast as he could. Needless to say, it was not the kind of sex that endeared him to any kind of willing lover. Not even the wenches or streetwalkers plying their trade on the filthiest of waterfronts stomached Tom-Tom the Blank.
Yet Maia… she was a different story entirely.
Verily, Maia Thaugindottir's cunt was as wet and as appetizing as her beer-spilling throat. It made Tom-Tom feel like his meatpole was plunging into a hot, contracting tunnel throughout the vicious gangrape as she squeezed on him. No woman reacted like this to having intercourse with a monster like him, but despite everything, her cunt was practically worshipping Tom-Tom's dick. Its velvety folds squeezed and clutched alongside every stabbing plunge… All reactions designed to generate the maximum amount of ecstasy possible. No wonder his thrusting attacks were so energetic in speed.
Nature served to guide both of their reproductive organs toward their inevitable conclusions. Tom-Tom came, and came, and came again… his orgasms burning so hotly and rapidly they became virtually indistinguishable amidst the bedlam of pleasure. The sperming of her pussy and womb with halfwit seed continued without a conscious thought from any of them… he didn’t slow down at all. And neither did she.
Somehow, the Northern barbarian was keeping up with the freak, matching Tom-Tom's pace. It didn’t matter that she was being raped. Even while handling the other outlaws at the same time, it seemed like she was cumming as often as they did.
"Hahaha!" Manvar laughed like a pirate. "This wench's Underdark is much more desirable than her surface cave!" The stout and barrel-chested dwarf was, naturally, mining out Maia's shithole from behind. He probably wasn’t actually indulging the duergar's inborn love for digging into unventured hollows, but he reamed her ass so enthusiastically that a viewer couldn’t have been sure. His gauntlet-like hands were firmly clasped around her swelling hips like a rock climber might scale a rocky facade. As he fucked, his thick hairy beard reached down almost to her swelling buttocks… the beard swaying even as her meaty assflesh jiggled about with great prodigious ripples.
Compact and oak-limbed, he could fuck with ogrish power. Each buggering stroke was delivered with the kind of might meant to hew out tunnels and hollows in the rocks of his native Underdark. Whenever his brick-like hips slammed into her swelling buns, the bones of her pelvis rattled like fine porcelain during a quake.
Manvar's manhood was as broad and as cumbersome as any other dwarven member. Many a surface wench had squealed when trying to fit it inside before this insolent Northerner crossed his path. His dick matched his proportions in thickness… no human posterior, not even one as giant-sized as this one, was designed to fit something that wide within its hollow.
Manvar, however, didn’t care. His dick ransacked her backdoor. Her outstretched sphincter had to hug onto his rod like a second skin during the reckless intercourse. The violence was extreme… probably too much for her shitter to ever again clutch as tightly. "Baaah!" the druegar exclaimed. "She's stouter in the shitter than any mushroom-limbed Drow harlot! I’ll give the insipid barbarian that!”
“Glugh! Glurck Guugh! Glurk!” Maia responded, her throat still being vandalized as thoroughly as her butt.
“Aye… this stately wench was born for taking cock! Bitches usually break way earlier than this point. Not that I’m complaining, mind you!” He laughed. “Surfaceworlders, I tell ya! Easy prey and tight fucking!"
Manvar was as violent as could be… his thrusts were as explosive and spirited as somebody of much superior leverage. His hips would brutally buck into her accentuated posterior, then back up before repeating the whip-like motion not one second later. This flattened Maia’s buttocks and had her rectum mercilessly rammed. That was not to mention his madcap tempo. Manvar was pushing through fatigue with willpower only a duergar possessed to keep her asshole continuously hammered.
Through his lustful efforts, Maia's rectum was fucked from a seemingly unventured chamber into a well-trodden grotto. His granite-hard dickhead punched and slammed against its membranous walls very much in the same way his fists had her figure during the brawl. Several bruises and marks now dotted both her exterior flesh and the lengths of her rectal passageway, discoloring them in grievous displays of physical hurt. Sometimes Manvar's dick would even bump up against Tom-Tom's bulge when it raided into her in time with him. These double impacts were the most egregious of all. Such collisions threatened to scrape asunder the thin membrane separating the entrances in two. Manvar and Tom-Tom did not care if they caused that kind of damage, though… They were caught up in the ferocity of the fuck, like wild horses in a sprint.
Such were the attitudes of all the outlaw halfmen. They fucked her… neither as a team nor as individuals, but as a swarm of hyperactive ghouls slovenly focused on pursuing the only hunger that mattered. Their dicks were the instruments of their hunger, and they fed most ferociously.
All sensations of time or space were lost amidst the bedlam. The other patrons who had vacated the premises left the scene realizing this would be over no time soon. Even the innkeeper and barmaid did likewise, realizing that the day’s business was assuredly lost. None would be as foolish as the interrupt lust-mad cutthroats in copulation as fervent as this. Yet no matter if they violated her pussy or her throat or her guts, not once did Maia wilt from the overweening barrage. She was constant in her service as a fulcrum of sex. Her athletic figure remained on hands and knees, presenting every orifice to be fucked.
The blonde Northerner’s entire being seemed dedicated to serving as their whore, seemingly without end. Wiser men would have realized. Wizards whose senses were attuned to things unseen or hidden would have sensed something was wrong. These men, however, were neither… and they did not.
"Bah! Crack, you despicable harlot!" Manvar Blackstone exclaimed with his first hints of frustration. To underscore his insult, the duergar smacked Maia's bubbly flank while holding his fuckstick buried balls-deep in her. The savage thrust sent a shockwave through her shithole, one that caused that tunnel to vibrate against his impaling dick. Maia screamed a gargled scream at the attack, yet she didn't yield the way any normal, sane human would have… she squeezed his cock even tighter.
Despite the pleasure these reverberations caused, any evil man would be able to understand his tingling frustration. Such a gangrape was not merely about accumulating pleasure; it was about making the victim wilt, about the sadistic satisfaction that followed in pulverizing another person's willpower and soul. About having the power over her, completely and utterly. The party was having their fill in the realms of sex but in the realms of power…
Maia was winning.
By now, the four men were matted in perspiration and sweat, soaked through in backs and armpits and loins, with muscles and thews starting burning from acute overexertion, breath raw and haggard in their lungs. Even their dicks aching from how roughly she was being fucked. Maia Thaugindottir, however, was showing no signs of approaching a collapse or even slowing down. They couldn’t abide that. Bravado and pride compelled them to keep going despite this mounting fatigue… and the pleasure helped, too.
In all honestly, the proud, Northern barbarian was the best fuck any of them had ever had. Maia Thorgidottir's holes, even so repeatedly raped, were providing them with an absolute treasure trove of otherworldly bliss. It was blinding. Addictive. All-consuming. Singular in its quality… Like fucking a King’s concubines. It was the kind of fucking the men simply couldn't let go of. They had already orgasmed multiple times into her thoroughly vandalized orifices, yet no amount of discharge could lessen the tempo of their pumps or the stolidness of their throbbing cocks. Even as her holes suffered, growing sodden and grimy with deposited sperm as their manly bodies were drenched in sweat. Maia was turned into a slime pit, and lewd, squelching noises resounded with each pump. The most prideless dockside whore in the world would have demanded a shower…
Yet in this backwater inn, no one slowed down to so much as to wipe the sweat from their brows.
"Fucking... worthless... surfaceworld... bar-whore!" Manvar cracked with every sodomizing stroke. "You'll learn to fear your betteeeers!" Reaching over, the Duergar seized ahold of Maia's braided ponytail. He pulled on that wheat-blonde hair like a teamster yanking on an oxen's reins. Maia's skull was pulled back into her shoulder blades, the roots of her hair under such strain that her scalp seemed to be tugged from its skull.
"OOOUUUHHHUUUHHUUU!!!" Maia ululated, her mouth now unplugged from Singrave's cock. She was orgasming from the effects of Tom-Tom daggering her cunt. Not really the kind of sound Manvar was wanting to hear from his rape-bitch. He unhanded her hair, letting her skull whip back forward with a nearly neck-snapping lurch. From there, Singrave sought to re-seize her skull and resume deep-throating her gorge.
Right before he could do so, Maia was able to look down towards her mound-like breasts. They were being fucked as vigorously as any of her holes were. Perdicilious was holding them pressed together while daggering his cock through the makeshift cleft for stimulation. The soft, pillowy flesh of her udders was wrapped around his cock like dough.
"Hahaha!” the half-elf laughed madly as he fucked his way between her tits, sounding almost as insane as Tom-Tom. In truth, nothing about the half-elven marauder looked as grim as it had from the one-eyed highwayman earlier. Even with the gaping black pit of his missing eye, there was something positively gleeful about his smile. It seemed that his hateful rage had been replaced by a wholesale addiction to Thaugindottir's tits. He couldn't get enough of them… He couldn't stop fucking them.
Moreover, the pupil of his one good eye was so dilated it bloated out almost any other color. He had the look of a person riding high on the most potent of intoxicants, the hardened killer entirely under the barbarian bitch’s spell as he took her body again and again. He thrust, and the head of his cock peeked out from through her voluminous titties. The region of skin he had been fucking had already chaffed due to constant friction, but he did not adjust his angle. Her cleavage had likewise been plastered with a coating of his sperm, but Perdy didn’t even seem to notice. The man's dicks and his fists were interlocked with Maia's udders as if the two were one... like a centaur joined at the hip. Socketing that improvised fuckhole over and over and over seemingly was all the half-elf seemed to live for.
Maia smiled. Not with her mouth, of course… but with her eyes. A tiny glimmer of flame gleamed beneath the surface for just a second, far too subtle for any of the lust-maddened reprobates to notice. Then Singrave managed to get his cock back down her throat and resume raping it, and even that opportunity vanished.
Maia screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed…
But no one could hear her.
The void was black and endless, and Maia was trapped within it, the sheer lack of connection an almost omnipresent point of pain. It wasn’t the only one, either. She could still see everything, could still feel everything. Her body just wouldn’t obey her commands as Maia Thaugindottir, First Born Daughter of the Bear and princess of the assembled clans, did things so shameful that not even the lowest-born woman on the desperate periphery of her tribe’s society would have allowed them… they would have taken their own life first.
She was fucking her rapists back like the most baseborn whore, having all but thrown herself at them, provoking them, allowing herself to be defeated, and enchanting them with her flawless body. The muscles and shape she had spent years training and shaping into a perfect temple for the worship of her ancestors and gods were now being used for shamefully carnal pursuits, and she was assisting in the process… no, she was cumming over and over again as if she reveled in it.
Maia's spirit - though dispossessed of her body - was tethered to its nerves and sinews still, the bounds of the physical still linking them together in the desolate void she was trapped within. When her flesh felt pain, Maia's actual body didn't shoulder its burden… her spirit did, the sensations coming in as clearly as could be. Every exertion and injury inflicted during the gangbang was experienced by the barbarian.
"Niiiiiaaaahhhhaaaaahhhaaaa!!!" she thundered across the boundless expanses, voice reverberating undiluted of fatigue or exhaustion, for such things were bodily things, not hindrances for a spirit. She begged and pleaded and wept and allowed the hurt to overcome her utterly in the manner of a child who is completely overwhelmed by the pain. In the language of the warrior and the culture of the barbarian, she was pathetic, something miserable, a defeated thing. Yet Maia was by now so overmastered by her pain, shame, and misery that she didn't even care about martial values. She merely wanted it all to end... wanted it with the entirety of her being.
Her captor’s cackling filled her mind… the baleful, malevolent laughter that turned Maia's once valorous spirit colder than the polar winds of the North had ever managed to. It resounded all around her, even within her ears, carrying its draconian tenor through every menacing tone, mocking Maia for her bodily bereavement. The feminine laughter echoed in her soul, sheer joy in her misery.
"Yandazaaaaaa!!" Maia screamed. "PLLLEEEEEAAAAASSEEE!!!"
As always, the only response was further demonic laughter. The half-dragon succubus was the only one in control here, shaping her body’s responses. The malevolent Sorceress commandeered it like a puppeteer, taking her stringed flesh through abuse after abuse after abuse while Maia handled all the suffering. This was the only experience with the outside world she had. She could not even count the passage of time nor the miles her body traveled because of Yandaza’s manipulations.
"PPLLEEEEAAASEEEEEEEEE!!!" she thoughtlessly wailed into the unfathomable dark without cease. The despondent swordswoman had long since been broken from her experiences. This was not the first group of men Yandaza had coaxed into raping the barbarian… nor the tenth, or even the hundredth. It was practically her favorite thing… the succubus’s preferred method of hunting.
"EEEEIIIIIAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" the once powerful princess screeched as another uproarious orgasm scorched her flesh like the flames of hellfire.
Maia Thaugindottir wished that she had never become an adventuress. She wished that she had never taken up a sword and taken to the road going south. But most of all, she wished that she had never encountered Archleon and his malevolent daughter. The glory she had been hunting for would never be hers. She should have left that fucking village to the dragon, and he could burn it down, rape and ravage it all he wanted… at least then she would be safe. Possessed and puppeteered by Yandaza in this unidentifiable place... her only remaining role for the rest of her life would be unfathomable and overpowering torment.
"Uuuuuhuuu!!" Manvar exhaustibly groaned inside the ruined tavern.
"Guuuuhuu!!!" Singrave wretchedly wheezed from his opposite end.
"UUnnnUUnnnUUUhhhh!" Tom-Tom ignobly croaked in a manner only possible to a halfwit, more animal than human in tone.
All three had their cocks still socketed balls-deep within Maia Thaugindottir, the barbarian’s every single muscle straining to keep them contained and squeezing on their lengths. They were orgasming with preternatural power and bliss, testicles contracting so hard they practically looked like withering fruit. It was killing them… yet in terms of pleasure, it was giving them an orgasm worthy of the Gods. Despite that, no heroic fusillade sprang from their cocks to accompany their pleasure… indeed, every drop of sperm, down to the tiniest sliver of cream, had long ago been milked from their overspent nuts. Their powerful ejaculations were as void and airy as their haggard breaths.
Every single bit of semen their stout bodies could possibly produce had already been dumped into her holes, churned into a froth by their suicidally relentless pummeling. Unknown to them, their souls have been just as drained as their balls, and so had their vital life force and innermost energies. All the intangible bits of vitality that kept a mortal body alive… all of it had been drained into Yandaza, feeding the succubus. It didn’t matter that, for at least an hour now, all four of the half-men had been trying their best to stop fucking the statuesque blonde… they couldn’t. They were trapped in a vampiric spiderweb, one intent on draining them dry before sending what remained to the afterlife. This gnosis concerning unseen magic didn’t help them any. Now, they were as helplessly ensnared in Yandaza’s terrible magic as Maia Thaugindottir was.
“No—No—Noooo!” Manvar Blackstone managed to croak before the final moment came.
As the pitch of their terrified pleasure screams ended, so did their lives. Dwarf, Half-elf, halfwit, and Half-Orc all suddenly went rigid like cadavers in their ungainly copulatory postures, cocks finally allowed to turn slack. The four died twisted and sunken things, their figures enervated and haggard enough that Maia could see the glimpse of cheekbones through the pallid colors of their cheeks.
Almost as one, Manvar, Perdy, and Singrave toppled groundwards, collapsing like great oaks being felled in slow motion. They hit the wooden floorboards with loud, hollow thuds. Tom-Tom merely stiffened where he had been positioned in his horizontal posture… what was left of his brain now having been consumed by another cannibal.
For a moment, the blonde was equally still. Then she laughed.
Yandaza rose upright as if bearing no impairment. Merely moving caused the superabundant sperm they had dumped within her holes to squish and splatter outwards lewdly, but the succubus didn’t care… The puppeteering sorceress gasped once and licked her lips as if savoring the aftertaste of their souls.
“I think we’re nearly to your homeland, are we not?” Yandaza mused, speaking out loud… and why shouldn’t she? The only other people who could hear were dead. “It took us a while to reach it, I admit… but we had some fun on the way, did we not?”
She looked around for Maia's greatsword, picking up the huge weapon. The sorceress found it amusing to lug around the huge chunk of steel… it was just like the barbarian. Big and dangerous-looking, but ultimately just a prop, good for show. She laughed again, smiling wide. Fleshlings could provide such stupendous entertainment. Such wondrous opportunities to have fun! She dipped one finger into her thoroughly spermed asshole, scooping out a bit before sucking her finger clean. “Delicious,” she purred. “These men weren’t bad. Do you think your reputation has spread back to your people yet? I hope so… I can’t wait to see what your people will do to you, Maia… how they will punish you. What I can coax them into doing to their disgraced whore of a princess.”
Hefting the discarded greatsword and ignoring the faint echoes of Maia’s unending screaming, Yandaza left the tavern to discover a beautiful sunrise outside. Its warm rays warmed her flesh most excellently. Her lust - momentarily - appeased, the sorceress began to walk North along the road, clothes still in tatters and her breasts hanging out. The North awaited.
For the moment, the psychic pain channeling Maia’s torment had ceased, but her misery had only grown. The shattered Barbarian struggled as hard as she could, trying at first to turn around and walk in the other direction… and when that failed, she tried just to slow a single, steady footfall back towards her home. All to no avail.
The suffering barbarian knew that, soon, her torture would resume again… and again… and again and again and again, until Yandaza tired of wearing her sculpture of towering flesh and enjoying all of the varied opportunities for fun it could bring her. Or perhaps Maia would get lucky, and it would only last until the succubus’s spellcraft failed in keeping its battered flesh stitched together like a mummy’s cloth.
One day, Maia would die. She longed for that day… because until then, Maia’s body would do little but provide amusement to Archleon’s favorite daughter, ripped from Zunatana's womb. Her reputation would be blackened as the most disgraceful whore princess ever to come from the North. The succubus probably would force her to seduce her brothers or even her father, further ruining the memories of one once-proud first daughter… and there was nothing in the whole world that Maia could do about any of it. Her thunderous screams within the boundless void echoed endlessly… but they were just a sweet, ecstatic symphony that no one else but Yandaza would ever hear.
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