Thrall of the Warrior Witch by Lance Edwards
The Sisterhood of the Oculus rules Shatra with mystic arts. The power required is sexually siphoned from sacrificial ejaculators. Yet endless generations of domination have sapped the vitality of the Empire’s males. Having achieved the means to abduct “energy vessels’ from the fantastically advanced reality known as America, Empress Jia believes she’s found a reprieve from her society’s demise.
Captured Californian Drake Green not only survives having his seed repeatedly leeched. He thrives, willingly wallowing in being victimized. If they can discover what makes this vessel so exceptional, fewer abductees will be needed. The Sisterhood’s sway may be maintained.
Enthralled by giantess Jia, a warrior-witch of illimitable allure, slave Drake cannot but obey his brawny-beautiful new ruler. Despite the abhorrence of betraying his origins (and the surety that his aid is hastening his fatal replacement), the besotted sacrifice is forced to guide Jia on a predatory quest back to America.
Inspired to find an endless supply of similarly vital men, the voracious succubus cuts a swathe through the LA fetish scene. Addicted to the lavish vitality of aggressively-bred men, enamored with a myriad modern marvels, Jia becomes content to stay and torment her forced-voyeur pegging pet indefinitely. Glutted with energy-gorging, the sadistic sorceress even attempts to augment their respective sexual equipment!
Meanwhile Shatra’s peril swells apace. It’s not until undue notoriety forces Jia’s attempted return that she learns the qualities they went in quest of may have been available all along ” and will be needed like never previous.
This fantasy is filled will fellatio and stuffed with sodomy. It also details torture, orgasm control, cuckoldry, hermaphrodism and pansexuality.
Smoldering incense sent up ribbons of smoke. Curling and unfurling, these undulated elegantly, creating shapes as suggestive as they were evanescent before unraveling in random eddies of air. Deep in one of the innermost chambers of the command tent, the only breeze came from screams and the relentless whipping eliciting them.
It was enough to disperse the aphrodisiacal smoke about the chamber, bathing the victim in its aromatic influence. Unfortunately after only two drainings this one was so sapped of vitality that even the strongest potions had little effect. The subtler incense was wasted. And pain could only squeeze so much energy from a subject compared to (or without) passion. Already the delicious exudations had lessened.
Ruler of Shatra and all lands within the encircling seas, First Practitioner of the ancient mystic Sisterhood of the Oculus, the Empress Jia reclined on sumptuously stuffed cushions. Concentrating with all her prodigious will, she threw back her head and drew breath deep. Along with incense and the sweat and musk of her attendants, and the stronger reek of the captive suspended spread-eagled above her, Jia absorbed-imbibed-inhaled what she could.
Angrily dissatisfied, she strained for every elusive wisp of the sustenance leaking (along with so much else) from the victim’s pores. Yet even with studded whips tearing his hide to shreds and his chain-stretched suspension savaging his skeleton this latest slave was now producing almost nothing beyond stink.
Even the last weak screams had ceased. Seeing the second attendant moving forward with a glowing brand (the occult symbol shining in nearly white-hot iron the one for enhancing the subject’s sensitivity), Jia waved her back.
Further torture was pointless. It was time to finish with this one.
Slipping off her light lounging robe, Jia rose upright. Agile despite being the largest warrior in her army, her lines were an almost idealized mix of brawn and beauty.
Lush curves were married to firm sinew in perfect synergy. Heavy gold armlets circled each bicep, emphasizing and ever-increasing that intimidating physique. Far more slender, the imperial fillet about that haughty brow gleamed like the raven waves it contained. Always unruly, these mantled the broad back and cascaded past a tapered waist to drape hugely protuberant haunches.
Similarly projecting breasts seemed too big to be anything but detrimental in battle. Yet scars from sword cuts marred only those powerful arms – and the long yet similarly sculpted legs. Nude but for that wealth of precious metal, the statuesque Empress presented such a stunning figure that surely no male could fail to be aroused.
This one was depleted to a husk however. Certain it would be useless but angrily determined that discipline be served, Jia waved the two attendants forward again. Perhaps their skills could stimulate some last residue of eros that her imminent eminence no longer could.
As adept at inflicting pleasure as pain, the two young women had set aside their implements upon seeing the mistress rise. With the Sisterhood’s most sacred rite about to begin they knew what to do. Honored by their service, neither betrayed any hesitance to sully themselves with unclean touches.
Considerably smaller in stature, both were also lush yet muscular thanks to the demands of their calling. Heads shaved after the Cadre of the Afflicters, each was breathtakingly lovely.
The simplicity of baldness emphasized the perfect symmetry of their incongruously cherubic features. Clad in but simple leather body harnesses, the sweat of their long exertion in proximity to the room’s braziers gleamed on tattooed skin. With the practiced efficiency of twins they worked urgently trying to coax an erection from the almost insensate remnant dangling swaybacked in his shrinkage-slackened shackles.
Humming in a harmony known to rouse on a subliminal level, one Afflicter worked on the penis, the other the testes. Expert concurrent caresses in the chain-spread hollows to either side, along the inner thigh and especially the sensitive stretch behind the balls vastly enhanced the straightforward squeezing, rubbing, fondling and pumping. Still the victim hung drooling and glassy-eyed – and stubbornly flaccid.
At a peremptory signal a crank was turned, lowering that splayed form into easier reach.
Mouths replaced fingers. Plump lips, nimble tongues and voracious suction were employed with simultaneous virtuosity. Despite her expectations of failure, unappeased greed incensed Jia increasingly. Still the moments passed with no reaction.
She would feed on seed regardless. But with no emotional component (much less orgasm), the product would be robbed of its almost limitless potential. Absorbing such piddling energy would be like sipping thinned grape squeezings rather than guzzling strong wine, brandy or undiluted alcohol. The men of her realm grew more unsatisfying by the season. As Jia ground her teeth and waited she determined to summon Mina as soon as she finished.
Enough was enough. They needed more of the others.
It had been two turns of the moon or more since they’d succeeded in accessing one of the infinite overlapping other worlds to claim more vital vessels. That had to change. Suddenly more impatient for that confrontation than even the draining at hand, Jia spoke up at last. From a purr to a growl to a battlefield roar, her contralto could wield the highly nuanced language of Shatra with the subtlety of a lore-master or the force of a cudgel according to the occasion. Her worshipful attendants obeyed with alacrity.
“Enough, sisters. You demean yourselves to no purpose.”
“Forgive us, mistress.”
Kala, the senior of the two Afflicters, gave a bow that smacked of a shrug. She knew they were not at fault. Younger Pell had paused to wipe her mouth however; this unseemly lapse earning her belated bow a reprimand.
“Forgive me, great mistress. My sloppiness shames us all.”
“Then put it to use, sloven.” Piercing blue eyes betrayed dangerous impatience. “Wet the thrall’s entrance. It seems I must empty this one manually.”
Pell ducked around to the split in the victim’s scrawny haunches. Her pre-lathered tongue stretched out and slathered, pushed in deep and lavishly slickened the usual exit for entry. Though she performed her chore with gusto, this time she withdrew with more decorum.
Already the chains were retracting, raising the splayed slave well into the air. The moment she had clearance, giant Jia stepped underneath. Despite enduring two drainings already, the male still didn’t react. With angry contempt Jia used far more force than was strictly necessary ramming her first two fingers in deep.
More adept than the most accomplished Afflicter, she found the small bulb immediately. Mentally reciting a complex incantation for augmenting the potency of the untapped life-energy still remaining in this vessel, she began rubbing methodically. Emotionally and cognitively empty as this disappointment might be, on a reflexive level certain physical tissues were forever responsive.
If a subject lacked the capacity to ejaculate, the Sisterhood had learned thousands of sun-cycles previously that there were other ways to drain off that concentrated vitality. And while it might be thinned juice rather than vintage brandy, Jia would have every drop regardless.
Still delay continued to vex her. It took longer than it should have to see the first evidence that her manipulations were having an effect. Finally however a clear sticky seepage began to ooze from the opening dangling just above her upturned face.
Pre-ejaculatory seminal fluid, this was nevertheless both sweet in taste and rich with energy: a lovely appetizer for the feast about to follow. Before enough could gather to drip, Jia altered her mental mantra as the spell required. Then she opened up and accepted that uselessly drooping organ into her mouth.
Taste buds rejoicing and greedy need screaming at that first delicious sip, Jia redoubled her rubbing even as she began sucking. More of that thin sweet ooze rewarded her efforts, and now there was seed in the seepage, a tiny amount but enough to send a thrill of power and anticipation through her. Still Jia was careful not to skip a syllable of her incantation, getting every inflection of the ancients’ abstruse tongue just right. And when the medium turned to semen and the load of seed it carried exploded, the conjuring worked to perfection. She made the absolute most of everything available. It wasn’t her failure that the satisfaction was so lacking.
Rather than a powerfully jetting injection shooting all that concentrated vitality into her at once (enormously augmented by passion and orgasm), she had to work to imbibe what she could in a gradual drizzle. Her frustration building, Jia sucked harder and harder. Already the fresh energy of new life was lessening. What she was drawing out now was mostly anima, the dregs of being still left in this spent vessel.
The splayed slave sank toward her incrementally as the shackles suspending it slackened further. Still Jia drew on that conduit, draining the victim ruthlessly. The replenishment of her own potency was barely a stirring inside – nothing like the delirious, addictive, supra-orgasmic rush of sustenance she craved. And too soon (always too soon) the sap ceased to flow, the well ran dry and the shriveled testes were permanently emptied.
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