Lilly And The Raven - Part 6

Part 6 ends chapter 3 and starts chapter 4. The story begins to move in a new direction after chapter 4, so stick around. Check out the series page for parts 1-5.

In this post: Amazoness, elves, prostitution, cock expansion, bukakke, masturbation, futa-on-girl, milking/lactation

The next day, I examined my cock in the daylight. It had most definitely grown. It was now almost a foot long, five inches at least in girth. It felt massive as I held it, but it didn't sag at all when it stood erect. My breasts had grown too, another three inches in the last week. They were now bigger than my head, and none of the close fitting dresses I owned could contain them any more. I had ordered new ones, adding another five inches to my bust measurement in anticipation of how large they would be when the dresses were completed. The tailor had sent a messenger, asking if my measurements were correct. The messenger could see quite clearly for himself. They felt heavy, but didn't bother me. As the man grows in me, so does the woman, I thought to myself. It was romantic at the time.

Every night I bought a new body to ravage. Sometimes I would be the most tender of lovers, thoughtful, deliberate, giving my lover countless orgasms before I ever penetrated her. Other times I would attack them as I had the red haired girl, ravage them violently and quickly, raping them with such abandon that it frightened even me. My moods seemed random, but I went wherever they took me. I always picked Human girls, usually small but buxom. Months went on, and I started buying two or three a night. I would go out in early evening, when the sun had just begun to turn red, find a girl with pouty lips or beautiful lipstick and buy a blowjob. Always I made them swallow my seed, no exceptions. Then I would wander the streets, visit the few open shops. In a few hours I would find a new girl, take her to some dark corner and kiss her, feel her body, get worked up until I felt that if I didn't feel hands or lips or pussy against my cock soon I would burst, and then I would leave her. I would stalk the buffet until my eye settled on one girl in particular, guided by my lust, and take her off somewhere to love her or rape her, it didn't matter. Other times I would buy two girls at the same time, or three. I would take them to little hostels and watch as they all got on their knees before me, each taking turns pleasuring me. I'd line them up on the bed like my own mini buffet, sampling this one then that one, until finally the one I liked best would feel the full force of my passion and take my cum inside of her.

Each time, my cock got a little bit bigger, a little bit harder. My breasts got a little bit bigger along side, a little fuller, more supple. But they ached. Always I had heard that large breasts were supposed to give you back problems, but it was my breast themselves that ached. Occasionally some mysterious liquid would stain the front of my clothes, leaking just a bit from my nipples. I didn't know what to do, so I just ignored it as best I could.

One cold winter night, after my fourth girl of the day had been recently ravaged, I was soaking in a hot tub in my private powder room. My cock was erect again already, the head resting on my sternum, the hot water making it ache for the hot embrace of pussy—a young one, yes, one of the child whores pimped out by those crooked-toothed men...But my breasts simply ached too much to go out again. I ran my hands over them. My bust measured two feet now. I gave them a squeeze around the nipple to see if it dulled or distracted the pain a little bit, and a white liquid shot suddenly out from them, accompanied by the immense relief felt after holding one's bladder too long. I gave a startled yelp, then squeezed them again, feeling that relief wash over me. I squeezed and pulled forward against them, and the white liquid came out even faster, fuller, turning the clear bath water a murky white. I milked my tits as fast as I could, the relief almost orgasmic after holding in this milk for so long. When no more milk came, I released them, and they glowed with pleasure and contentment as if I had just finished off another little whore. I basked in that contentment and the steam of the bath and masturbated, as I hadn't done in months and months, as if in celebration. It hardly seemed fair, that my breasts could have release but my poor cock couldn't! So I worked that giant shaft as well as I could, lifting it out of the steamy water, then dipping it back in as it began to dry, the temperature changes driving me wild.

Finally the release came, and I at last understood what I had done to hundreds of women these past months. I always I had expended my passion buried deep in their wonderful little pussies or down their welcoming throats. Now I saw what my tremendous girth could do as a huge jet of semen blasted into my face from just a few inches away. I let out a little cry in surprise, and the next blast found its way with tremendous accuracy into my mouth. Reeling, shocked, but cumming, I thrashed as if in a fit in the bathtub, filled with shock and ecstasy at the same time as another huge blast hit my face, and lost some of its energy, dribbling onto my tits. Another shot, less powerful now, dumped another load onto my tits, then a small dribble. I gave my glowing member one more stroke, pushing out the last of my spent seed onto my waiting chest, then collapsed into the tub, careful to not to let the semen be washed away. I panted for a few moments, then got out of the tub, walking over to the mirror to see myself. I could barely see my face beneath the huge swaths of semen, even as it slid down and fell onto my breasts, which were also soaked with that filmy white liquid. My cock hung enormous between my legs, nearly reaching my knees in its semi-erect state. I watched it retreat to its easily manageable size, watched gravity pull all the cum to the floor so slowly. I felt well and truly spent. Milked and then milked, I thought. I washed up, and went to bed.

Chapter 4

The Slut Within

My routine became utterly depraved, and I loved it. I'd stay out all night, come home, sleep the whole day away, and get up only to leave again and find more flesh to satisfy myself with. I would milk myself when I got up, and before I went to sleep. At first I did it out of necessity, but then I grew to take nearly orgasmic pleasure in it as my breasts became even larger. They were even bigger, now, than the raven haired whore of whom I had dreamed so long ago. They came to rest just above my navel, so full that they stuck out three feet, and maintained their perfectly formed, symmetrical shape. I could only cover them with men's dress shirts that would never button, tucked into my microscopic skirts and belted with corsets that I tied tighter each night. I found a shoemaker who made me the impossible tip-toe heels of the common streetwalker. Adding eight inches to my height made me appear like a giant. The way I was forced to walk in those unforgiving arches made my bare legs tense all the time, the powerful muscles of my thighs visible like lines of charcoal drawn onto my skin. I was constantly approached by men trying to buy me, absolutely dumbfounded by my freakishly huge breasts, and I turned them all down no matter how much they offered. Money meant absolutely nothing to me, and I had in my possession the one thing a man could possibly have to offer me. They were like insects, these men. All men. I cared only for the women whom I hadn't yet ravaged, and that number was dwindling. News of the Elf woman with colossal breasts and a special, even more gigantic surprise somehow tucked under her skirt was in the ear of every prostitute in Al Zitti. Few would submit to accepting such a giant cock, and eventually I could only find the most desperate of whores, and even they would only agree to suck on it. I longed to feel it inside a tight, hot pussy again.

And that's when she found me, the one I had never seen out here, offering her body on the buffet. I almost didn't recognize her as she stood before me, for I hadn't thought of her in months. But I caught the glimpse of those sapphire eyes and it all came flooding back. It was she, the raven haired one from my dream, the one who had shattered my last flimsy hope for a normal life! Her breasts were twice as big as I remembered them now, and seeing her for the first time standing up I saw that she was only a few inches shorter than me, but it appeared we would meet eye to eye once our punishing shoes were off.

“How much for a fuck?” She asked me, licking her lips the way she had in my dream. I was absolutely raptured by her. I stared into her eyes, and I could see something strange there. They were vacant, somehow! She was driven by absolute lust, yes, I knew this, for my eyes looked this way each evening when I looked in the mirror. Pure, carnal, instinctual, insatiable lust. The possibility of her exploded in my mind, this Human woman who was almost as big as me, whose breasts also heaved, nearly exposed, covering her whole torso. She would not be a dainty flower for me to crush or caress at a whim, she would be my equal in power and lust. What had driven her to the absolute zenith of lust and depravity that I had found, had thought I occupied alone? What did she want from me that she could not find selling herself on the streets?

She gave me a questioning look, her eyes never gaining their own sentience. Well, the time had come, hadn't it? Time for me to become what I had wanted to be all along.

“Well,” I said, my mouth dry, “Two copper and you can do whatever you want to me.” Excitement rushed through me like it hadn't since those first days. To sell myself so cheaply! The going rate was a hundred gold.

“My,” The raven hair beauty replied, “What a cheap slut you are.”

“Yes.” Was the only answer I could make, and she slipped her arm around my waist and lead me away to a nicer part of town. To her own home, I realized as we stepped in, for again I smelled her smell in that place.

Immediately she turned after closing the door and pulled off her flimsy top, her tits spilling out like an avalanche of flesh. She tossed her hair and took two big strides to crush herself against me, straining to overcome the distance created by the mass of flesh smashed between us, and locked her mouth on mine. I barely had to bend my head to meet her, and I felt her power flung against me like the crashing waves against a cliff face, flowing into me through her hands as they felt along my arms, down my back, over the sculpted contours of my ass. I kissed her back, furiously, not to be outdone. My fingers raked through her gorgeous fine hair, lingered on her shoulders, felt boldly the inside of her thighs. We were like dueling titans as we stumbled, locked together at the mouth around her home. One held another against the wall, crushing her to it, until she gained the upper hand and forced the other one against a table, trying to push the other onto her back, into submission, and the tide would turn again. She ripped off my shirt and I tore at her skirt, falling to the ground on top of her as she stumbled with it wrapped around her knees. We grappled there even as we kissed, even our tongues dueling. Neither one of us would ever give up.

My cock had become hard the second the struggle began, and it rubbed constantly against her flesh, wedged between her breasts or beating against her like a club as we struggled to overpower each other. Her body was becoming slick with my lubrication, the flawless skin rubbing against the sensitive under side felt too good, made me lose strength. She rolled on top of me, straddling over my hips and grabbed my breasts, which responded with a sudden short gush of milk. She cried in surprise as I cried in pleasure. It was late evening and I was desperately in need of a milking. The raven haired one grinned and grabbed me by the hands, pulling me up. We both stumbled along, our impossible shoes clattering loudly on the wood floor, as she pulled me to another room. It was her wash room, a gas lamp already lit inside. Before I knew what was happening she had got me to my knees, was bending me over the ivory tub. I struggled, trying to grab at her leg and throw her off balance to get on top of her again, but she had me compromised, pressing her whole weight against my collapsed pelvis so that I could only squirm and try in vain to dislodge her. My cock ached, unbearably turned on by the frantic struggle that I was losing for the first time!

She grabbed my breasts again and squeezed, pulling downward as I had done a thousand times. Except these weren't my hands, I wasn't alone in my wash room doing what must be done and only vaguely enjoying it. This gorgeous, evil, powerful Human girl had me powerless in her home, milking me like cattle, breathing breathless questions into my hair about how it felt, calling me a whore and a slut for liking it so much. I couldn't have spoken to tell her, I had no words at all. Each pull was like an orgasm in itself. My mouth opened, my body went limp, my eyes rolled up and I could no longer struggle. For hours it seemed like she milked me, until the basin swam with a thin coat of milk and she released me. I struggled to stand up, and now she helped me, tenderly. I still felt her exuding power, but I couldn't fight it. She led me back to her bedchamber and laid me out on her bed, as I had done to her in my dream. She crawled on top of me, running her hand over the two feet of my burning hot cock. It lay nestled between my breasts, and she took one in each hand, closing them around it, and slowly pushed back and forth, massaging my cock with my own tits. I wanted to fight back, to seize her wrists and throw her over beside me, pounce on top of her and rub it between her tits, but I couldn't. It felt so good I couldn't move. She lowered herself as she slowly pleasured me of me, her breasts surrounding the other length of my member, and closed her lips around the head of my cock. They were just as supple, wet, and tight as they had felt in my dream. Her tongue felt rough but somehow smooth as she licked and probed.

I realized that, whatever had happened in her life, somehow she had seen cocks bigger than this. She knew how to handle it perfectly but more than that-- she loved it more than any normal cock she had ever known.

My desire for her flared suddenly at that moment. She could give me what I had wanted, had burned for for weeks now! My strength returned, a burst of primal, animal strength as I rolled over onto her, pinning her finally beneath me. She didn't struggle now. I had been in her power, now she would be in my power. We could go back and forth for all eternity.

I fumbled frantically to get myself into position, to guide my member to the spot between those spread legs that could give me what I wanted at long last. Her face contorted as I pushed in with a long cry of ecstasy and release, feeling the immensely tight fit of my freakish cock inside of her. It was tighter even than the little red head's ass had been when I raped her. But I could see on her face that this was what she wanted, that it reminded her of something she had known, something she had desired for a long time. Our passionate moans and screams went on almost ceaselessly, I was instantly lost in utter abandon from the pleasure, each moment itself an orgasm stretched over a hundred years, each thrust more earth shaking than the last. Her capacity to yield to my massive girth was astonishing, I could see the faint bulge beneath her skin as I ravaged her as fast and as hard as I could. Her pussy felt deeper than any I had felt, tighter, hotter, slicker, more textured, like a million tiny hands and open mouths massaged my member as it plowed into her. I watched in a trance as her enormous breasts heaved back and forth in time with my frantic plowing, nearly hitting her in the face and then nearly slapping against her thighs. My own breasts hung immensely heavy from my chest, slapping against hers in ceaseless, hypnotic rhythm. I drew myself up, my back straight, kneeling on the bed and pulling her up at an angle to penetrate her and pulled her to me as I thrust with my hips, and she ground her hips in a circular motion, jerking back and forth randomly. I couldn't count how many times she had cum, it seemed for her to be one long, endless orgasm of ever increasing intensity. Her whole body was tense with the pleasure of it, her face a mask of concentrated bliss.

I felt the end fast approaching. I felt my mind melting, my body becoming that beacon of pure energy, focusing down, down, down to one point, ready to burst forth. I tore my cock from her and she fell limply onto the bed. I collapsed to the side, and my cock pointed straight at the ceiling and began to cum so violently I nearly lost consciousness. The cum shot out of me in a huge geyser, the contractions deep inside of me so rapid and so powerful that the flow never broke. My cock swelled to twice its normal size, the orgasm going on longer and longer than anything I had experienced before. Huge gobs of cum showered me and the raven haired whore, covered our naked bodies head to toe. I was straining to hold my cock upright, to keep the shower going, but its sudden growth and weight too much for me. My arms gave out, and my cock crashed against me like a bludgeon with a loud, wet thud, and still my orgasm went on. Now just an inch from my face, my wild, uncontrollable member poured steaming hot cum into my face, filling my mouth as it opened in a gasp, matting down my hair and soaking the bed around me. Longer and longer it went on, it seemed it would never stop. For fully twenty seconds after my member had crashed down on me it dumped that liquid into my face, the whole episode lasting almost two minutes. I was exhausted, spent beyond words, completely unable to move when at last it finished. I laid there until the cum was cold against my skin, and the raven haired girl never stirred beside me. Finally I mustered the strength to reach up, to wipe the semen from my eyes and open them. My cock was still erect, but it felt content. It was bright red and the veins were thick as ropes on the mast of a ship. I shifted to my side, feeling huge globs of cum slide off of me, to look at my lover. She was laying as I had left her, legs spread, arms at her sides. She was staring up at the ceiling, but she was wide awake, basking in the glow of her hour long orgasm.  

Lilly And The Raven - Part 4

Part 4 kicks off chapter 3 of part 1. Now things start getting interesting~ New work coming soon as I work out a commission.


In this post: Amazoness, elves, prostitution, futa-on-girl

Chapter 3

My Whores

I set off for the city with my pockets stuffed with gold that very night. I had the presence of mind not to go out decked with jewelery and fine fabrics as I would have at any other time. These things would show my status just as sure as wearing the livery of my husband's house. The only women on the streets of Al Zitti after sundown were prostitutes, so I would have to look like one in order to avoid being discovered. Accordingly, I put on the skimpiest outfit in my wardrobe. It was so offensive to me when I was presented with it that I refused to ever wear it, but now I slipped it on with mounting excitement. It was a garb of pure leather lined on the inside with silk, metal rods carefully stitched inside the hide gave it a permanent shape. Like a corset it squeezed my flesh into submission, forming my body into some impossible shape. I pulled it down a little further to ensure that the small bulge between my legs would go unnoticed, but this meant my breasts were all but fully exposed. The tight, constricting fit was uncomfortable, the highest of high heels that I owned even more so, but I did it all to look the part, or so I told myself. I slipped out of the house and hoped that no one would stop me and try to acquire my 'services'.

I headed straight out of the imperial district, into Al Zitti itself, to the open air bazaars that were now closed up as the moon slowly crept across the sky. At first I saw no one but the far off figures of watchmen patrolling. I walked into seedier, more dilapidated parts of town, my feet aching and the rub of the too-tight dress maddeningly sensual. I could almost see myself walking down the empty street, the outline of my ass working beneath the leather, visible as if I wore nothing at all. The flesh of my breasts jiggling like gelatin, the spill off my light blond hair over my face like a mask. Those I passed only glimpsed at me, and I wondered what they thought of the elegant looking Elf woman in such depraved attire. Finally, I came along the intersection of the bazaar street with the main travel artery of the city, and I saw them at last.

My heart pounded as I looked at them. They wandered the streets in every direction, dainty little female forms squeezed into as little clothing as possible, faces painted elaborately, some of them looking horrifying, and others absolutely stunning. It was a veritable buffet of flesh, something to satisfy anyone in the world in this city where anything desire could conjure could be bought and sold. The women all ranged in age from those who had just barely sprouted breasts to gray haired crones, ugly to beautiful, fat to thin, dark skinned or light skinned. Human, cat-woman, Elf, all intermingled in small groups along the street or stood solitary beneath a lamp post, scanning the area for available men. Even as I watched, I saw them negotiate with their clientèle, gesturing furiously or pulling close to him as his arm slithered around her waist and they walked off together in random directions. Despite all the people here, it was very quiet. The sounds of the night were louder than the mutterings of living beings. Occasionally a crack of laughter would burst through the silence, or a muffled cry, but mostly those in groups talked in low voices to each other, and those alone stared impassively at those around them. I was ignored as I walked along the street, just another body in the buffet to them. I looked at each face, appraised each nearly naked body.

Finally I found a blond haired Human girl who couldn't have been older than sixteen standing by herself in the shadows. She wore a white sun dress that was so unlike the tight leathers and see-through fabrics of all the others that I thought she might not be a prostitute. It hung loose around her, and she looked like a carefree country girl except for the devious white high heels she wore, so steep she stood on her tip toes. These shoes seemed to be the mark of a prostitute, for they all wore something similar. But she looked so young, so innocent and frail in spite of it all. When the evening summer wind blew I could see the outline of her body as the thin dress pressed against her, and it was exquisite. I had made my choice, and I fought to keep my member from swelling up and escaping its prison to thrust itself immediately at this girl and dominate her the way it had dominated the other one, the black haired one, in my dream. I licked my lips and approached her, my Elf stature in high heels towering over her so that her eyes stared into my breasts.

She looked up at me, wide-eyed, but scowled.

“I told you I don't want a pimp, I'm just doing this for a little while.” She spat at me with such an acrid tone that was so out of place with her angelic face that I was taken aback and couldn't respond for a moment.

“No,” I stammered finally, “You misunderstand. I have no wish to own you, except to bring you to my bed.” I realized suddenly that I was talking like a noblewoman, that no one on the street, certainly no one who had to sell herself, would talk like this. But the girl didn't seem to notice, or care.

“Oh,” Her face changed now, became neutral and impassive. “You want me to entertain your husband, do you? So many do. It's strange.”

I shook my head, “No, no. I merely want you for myself.” My heart was pounding as I spoke the words and heard the truth of them ringing in my ears. Speaking so candidly was not something I had known in my life of careful deceit and scripted obedience. The girl stared at me. I suddenly got the impression that she hadn't been a prostitute very long, didn't know how to handle this situation. But she nodded dumbly.

“All right.” She said, but I could see in her eyes that she added, but I've never been with a woman before. I grinned inwardly to think that soon she wouldn't find it all that unfamiliar.

I left with her guiding us to a “private place”. I slipped my arm around her waist and held her against me as we walked as I had seen the men do, taking an even greater excitement in feeling her against me, knowing that for the time being this body belonged to me and I could do anything to it that I wished.

We stepped into a tiny house that was little more than a kitchen with a bed in the corner, and I could tell it was hers, for the fragrance of her skin and her hair that I found so intoxicating was in this place. She lit a few candles and turned, her mouth open to explain her prices and her rules to me, but I was holding out a fist full of gold coins to her. She stared at them dumbly, utterly shocked to see so much money in one place. I could discern this, but it made no sense to me. This much money had been a paltry sum for my whole life, I had found myself wishing I had brought more as I perused the streets, taking in the buffet of breasts and lips and thighs. She took it, whatever rules she was about to recite to me in a cold, reprimanding tone erased from her mouth. For this much money, she would do anything at all. I felt a flash of the noblewoman's contempt for such debauchery. That she would degrade herself so much for a petty handful of coins! Rather than filling me with disgust as it would have any time before drinking that strange elixir, now it filled me with lust, and I could scarcely contain it. Was this how men felt about this depraved exchange of cash?

I walked over to the bed and she followed after stashing the gold away somewhere. She stood before me, visibly unsure of what to do next. I was long past my cultured subservience to indecision now; I positively burned to make her mine. I reached out, bending down slightly to grab hold of her flimsy little dress and pull it up over her head. She was naked underneath it, and the audacity of that sent another wave of desire through me. With my superior size and strength I picked her up, set her on the bed, a trembling doll made of flesh for me to play with. I got on my knees in front of the bed, and now I could see her delicate flesh up close for the first time. Her skin was soft, flecked with tiny imperfections and nearly invisible little hairs that made it even more alluring, totally unlike the flawless alabaster of the other one, the dark haired one. There was a birthmark on her right breast, her abdomen was smooth but not muscular like mine or the other one's. Her thighs were delicate but firm, and I could have stared for hours at the dainty beauty of her little pink pussy glowing in the candle light. I ran my hands all over her body, the constricting leather wrapped around my body making it hard to breathe as I needed to breathe faster to keep pace with my racing heart. My movements felt sluggish, my head was light, I felt drugged, but I still moved over her, cupping her arched back with my hand, closing my mouth around one small, perfect little breast. I drank in the feel of her, her scent, her voice, like a bottle of wine against my lips, growing rapidly intoxicated by her heady aroma and the salty taste of her nubile flesh, the strange taste of her mouth against mine.

At last I could stand the leather and metal rods no longer, I stood and pulled the thing off of me impatiently and as an after thought I pulled off my undergarments as well. I heard her gasp as I she saw the raging python slip out from between my legs, roaring for pleasure, demanding her utter submission. I brushed aside her questions, ignoring them. She resisted me for a brief moment, then yielded again as I pushed her further onto the bed and climbed on top of her. So what? It was just another penis, and the pay was astronomically higher than what she usually got for this same service.

She came after me now, her small hands groping at my breasts, which seemed even larger now though I didn't stop to examine them. She tweaked my nipples and ran her hands over my back as we kissed and pressed my member against me with her body where it lay sandwiched between us. Our blond hair tangled together and we rolled on the bed once, where she squirmed on top of me for a moment before we rolled again and I crushed her to the mattress with my superior size. I thought incessantly of that pretty pink pussy I had looked at, had run my fingers over. I probed it again now and found it wet and sticky as the fluid that came from my own member. I shifted now, drew myself up. She sensed this at once and shifted as well, spreading her legs open as much as she could in the small space. I gripped my member and probed between her legs, seeking some purchase there, now panting like an animal in heat. It seemed like forever that I prodded and caressed, but soon enough I felt something give and I pushed against it, guiding my thick member into that tiny orifice until at last I felt it yield to me completely, felt my member enveloped in a wet, burning hot, incredibly tight mass of flesh. A sound of pure delight escaped me against my will, and I pushed harder, deeper until I was in as far as I could go. I drew myself down against my squirming prize, my petite blond beauty who seemed so innocent. I would rend the innocence from her flesh!

I pressed her against me, my strength finding no task in of controlling her body completely. Slowly I backed out of her squeezing orifice, then thrust back in, feeling the ecstasy of that first push all over again. A low cry escaped the dainty thing in my arms, but I thrust again, feeling the blast of pleasure all the way at the top of my skull so that my eyes rolled into the back of my head and my mouth hung open dumbly. I thrust over and over, mechanically, with zealous mania, memorizing the feel of her delicate insides as they yielded to my power. I hated her and I loved her, I wanted to shower her with kisses and low murmurs of affection as I gently pumped pleasure through both of our bodies, and I wanted to hold her face against the bed and slam against her hips so hard and fast her spine would snap like a twig. But I kept holding her against me, working my hips in that hypnotic fashion, my thoughts nothing but currents of vague, primal feeling that surged and retreated in time with each thrust. I could see our shadows against the wall. I now sat back on my legs, holding her up with my hands against her arched back as she went limp with pleasure or submission I don't know. I saw my arms lift her body like a doll, saw the powerful shaft of my member in shadow, connected to her, then watched it disappear inside of her as I pulled her back into me. My thighs looked like the trunks of great, ancient trees compared to her tiny sticks. My breasts were mountains heaving upwards from the earth compared to her tiny rolling hills. My arms holding her up were things of iron, and her shadow was enveloped in mine, indistinct, the post script scrawled at the end of a massive treatise on raw feminine power.

Her brown eyes watched me beneath nearly closed lids, her face was serene, her body was responding to my assault with hard nipples, slick pussy, deep moans. I could feel my mind slipping into that dreamlike state that came before climax, that utter stillness in which all lust and all thought seemed to grow still and then culminate in a great rushing river of joy and delight, where all things were possible and nothing mattered. I felt that river rush through me, felt my throbbing cock swell and grow even more sensitive, feeling every tiny cell of her pussy as I drove against it faster than ever. I felt that river rush from me, my body tense, eyes flung wide open, mouth agape, guttural sounds being pushed out of it by the contractions deep within me. I felt my cum rush through my shaft and into her limp, flexing body, harder than I had ever cum before. I felt it leaving me like a gunshot, pouring into her in great, gushing streams. She cried out at the heat of it, the volume of it. I couldn't move. I was utterly stunned, completely lost in the wilderness of my empty mind, everything that had been there washed away in that torrent of ecstasy and now coursed through her body. I lowered myself on top of her again, my legs aching from the strange position I had held her in. Slowly, very slowly I returned to myself, looked down at her serene face, finding her eyes mercifully closed as I stared at her. I realized she had gained some sort of release as well, and basked in the afterglow of it as I now did. I shifted to pull my member out of her, finding it impossibly sensitive now, gasping at the sensation so close to pain but so kin to pleasure that I continued pulling it out, letting out another sound of pleasure and delight as it pulled free of her with a little sucking sound. Immediately a small stream of cum came pouring out of her. I had definitely spent my passion! I caught my breath there, straddled on all fours over her. 

Without a word I got up, still pulsating with that light and that feeling of being inside of her, of pouring myself into her. I squeezed back into my hooker's disguise and found that I didn't mind the exposure so much. As I walked home I experimented walking as the prostitutes did, one foot in front of the other, swaying my hips hypnotically, and I felt truly alive.

As I laid in bed that night, trying to will myself to sleep, my body was still a riot of remembered pleasure. I felt her against me, felt the incessant grip of her pussy against my member as if I had only pulled out seconds earlier. My erection throbbed again already, feeling bigger and more powerful than ever, but eventually I fell asleep purely out of exhaustion.

Lilly And The Raven - Part 3

Part 3 of part 1, concludes chapter 2! Enough numbers yet? Tomorrow will probably be a new original work.


In this post: Elf, Amazoness, masturbation, futanari, self-cumshot

My eyes opened again to the real world, my dark room, the same one from my most vivid of dreams. I was disoriented, sure that when I looked up I would see the limp body of my lover, naked and covered with a thin film of sweat, the great swaths of spit drying on her beautiful face. But the bed was empty, though my body still glowed with something resembling the passion I had felt in my dream. I felt light headed, my legs could still feel that warm, supple body pinned beneath them, my mouth still felt stretched and exhausted from that eternal kiss. I sighed and rubbed my face. A strange, wonderful dream, to be sure, but nothing more.

I threw aside the covers, finding myself still dressed as I had been when I had gone off to die. Laboriously I pulled myself to my feet, cursing the uncomfortable high heeled shoes for the millionth time. I felt strangely heavy, as if I was carrying buckets on a bar across my shoulder like a peasant woman or a servant. My legs felt strange as they rubbed together with my walk, pinched as they were into the tight pencil skirt. I ran my hands over my dress to smooth it out as I walked for the door, wondering where my husband would be so that I could ask him what happened and beg his forgiveness. But something stopped me, my hands coming to rest on my breasts. Strange...they felt different. I looked down, but I couldn't see much in this dull light, only the elegant curve they formed against the marble floor. I found a candelabra and lit it, taking it with me over to a mirror, where I gasped and nearly dropped it. My breasts had been large before, but now they were positively bulging, pushing against the tight fabric of my tailored dress so hard that the unfettered flesh curled around the top of the fabric in great piles. I turned to see my profile. I had gained five inches to my bust, at least. I was completely dumbfounded. I left before I could think about it any more, rushed through the house to find my husband, pulling on my dress as my bouncing breasts threatened to break free at any moment.

When I found him, he would barely talk to me, and I could scarcely ask any of the questions raging through my mind. What I was able to find out was that I had drank an experimental elixir, one that was supposed to make female soldiers more like men in strength, but it was nowhere near complete. He had given me the antidote, but that too was experimental. I would probably still suffer the side effects, just not as badly as I might have. When I asked what side effects, he only muttered something I couldn't understand, then refused to answer me. I felt my old fury returning, and now fear fed the flames like oil. I raged at him then, like I had been afraid to before. Something gave me strength, something in me gave my blind anger all the justification it needed. I hurled every insult at him I could think of, leveled every accusation I had kept to myself. He was too stunned to come back with words of his own. That a woman would talk to him like this...!

Finally I made my demands. He would confine himself and all his things to the west wing of our vast mansion, and he would give me the east, and neither one of us would cross the dividing line of the kitchen, which was itself neutral ground. He could have all the whores in Al Zitti, and I could be left in blessed peace to never have to look on his face again. I saw his own anger flaring up, the suddenness of my attack losing its edge. I could tell he wanted to threaten me, beat me like the other noblemen did their wives to keep them in line, but as I watched him, waiting for the slap such as I had taken from my father countless times and wondering how I would react I realized something. He was afraid of me! I was taller than him, bigger, very probably stronger. Just as he wounded my dignity with his procession of slutty outfits for me, I wounded his pride with my sheer size. He wouldn't hit me, because he feared that I would hit back! I think I smirked at him when I realized this. I drew myself up, trying to appear taller, bigger. For a long moment I kept him locked in a fearsome gaze, meeting his eyes in anger as a lady was never to do, fighting with all my will to not back down. Finally he turned away, and said that I could have it my way, what did he care if some freakish woman didn't want to be near him.

“I'll just fuck that gorgeous little whore I brought home those weeks ago when I need it. That's all your kind is good for anyway.” He shot me, trying to wound me, and I didn't care. The mere mention of her called up the image of her face quite against my will. I saw her staring at me over her shoulder as I went up the stairs, saw her drawing close to kiss me as I stormed across the house, saw her pinned and writhing beneath me as I slammed the door to my chambers and threw myself upon the bed. I closed my eyes and relived my dream, wishing desperately that I could recreate the powerful pleasure I had felt.

As I thought about kissing her supple lips, hefting her heaving breasts, caressing her smooth thighs, a change came over me. I felt the flush of excitement I always felt in my fantasies, but this time it was different. A tingling sensation came from between my legs, first the feel of skin on skin, and then skin on gentle cloth, tingling and growing more insistent. It was real, tactile sensation, and I was confused. I sat up, lifted my skirt, and stared down at the cock between my legs. I felt the scream well up in my throat. There it was, just as it had been in my dream. Long, solid, powerful, throbbing. The sound froze in my throat, my whole body went tense in alarm and indecision. Well...side effects indeed. Make the women as powerful as men...by making them into men! Had the process been stopped in me? Or had the reversal potion been one to make women more womanly, and accented my feminine features? And so now my breasts finally broke the straps of my dress as my whole body was tensed, spilled free as I looked down at the member staring back up at me. The fatalism that had held me in its grip for so long suppressed the horror I should have felt. Well, who cares if I'm deformed now, anyway, it's not as if my husband will ever see it. Shock was replaced by curiosity. It had felt so good to ravage that tight little throat in my dream, and that was just a dream, my mind's approximation of how it must feel. Good enough to enslave women for its entertainment, to pay them huge sums of gold to give up their bodies to it...

With one trembling hand I gripped the shaft of this strange thing attached to me. The pressure felt good, but not amazing. As I watched, a little dab of clear fluid came out the top and began to slowly work its way down. I lifted my hand and put my finger to the strange liquid, spreading it around experimentally. It was slick as spit. I spread it around more until I ran a slick finger over the skin of the shaft just below the head and nearly cried out as a lightning shock of pleasure shot through me. I ran my finger over it again, back and forth, a sigh escaping me in ragged breaths. It was like nothing I had ever felt in my life, not even in my dream. I squeezed my shaft again, seeing another tab of the mystery fluid come obediently out. I slicked the palm of my hand with it, then gripped the end of my member, stroking it in short movements. I had never believed that any sort of God existed before this moment, but now I was a true believer. My whole body squirmed against my will, my breath came in short gasps followed by sighs and stuttering cries. I laid back on the bed, spreading my legs a little more and stroking faster. The lubricating fluid came out on its own now, just as what was there began to dry up it would be replenished, working into a thick paste that made wet squishing sounds as I worked my hand faster, my strokes getting longer as the whole shaft became slick. On and on I went, my arm cramping until I grabbed the shaft with my other hand, working it rapidly as my dominant hand went back to short strokes along the head and the soft skin underneath. My gasps and moans became louder and more frenzied, their impassioned, abandoned music making me only more turned on. I thought again of the whore, thought of her pinned beneath me, her mouth open, her eyes closed. Thought of her leading me to the bed, her ass swaying, breasts bouncing, heels clacking against the marble floor. All at once I saw her naked on the bed, beckoning me to her, her legs spread and the beautiful pink flesh between them moist and inviting.

Suddenly my head swam, my whole body seemed to clamp down. All my energy rushed to my crotch, concentrated in my member, which grew even more sensitive, until it was a searing beacon of ecstasy, showering me in holy light. I cried out again, feeling muscles I never knew I had contracting violently and with such immense satisfaction that it seemed my whole life had been nothing but a precursor to this moment. I felt the rushing in my member, another powerful contraction that erased all thought and consciousness from my mind. I managed to keep my eyes open, and still stroking madly, greedily demanding more and more of this unbearable release, I saw the first great shot of semen fly at me, splatter on my face, fall neatly across my breasts and stomach. Another contraction, and another great shot of that fiery white liquid falling across my prone body. Again and again, each one better than the last, until finally it only seeped out, and the contractions died away. Rather than despair at the loss of my ecstasy, I felt satisfaction. I had never known true satisfaction, not until this very moment. All things seemed truly all right. All thought was gone, everything was empty, nothing mattered but the glow of my body, the release I had felt, the sticky cum cooling against my skin. Within minutes I was asleep.

I awoke feeling utter contentment, but desire. As my mind came into focus, I immediately thought of the pleasure I had given myself. Images flashed through my mind, my hand stroking, the great shot of cum hitting my face, the naked body of the whore spread out on the bed. My hand went to my member without my thinking about it, and I felt it already hard, demanding attention. But I got out of bed instead. I washed myself in the basin, finding the dried cum crusted onto my skin. In time the erection retreated, and my member became a loose thing hanging between my legs. I gathered it up, tucked it between my legs, and dressed normally, finding a garment that could accommodate my new bust, a white buttoned dress shirt very much in the style of a man that didn't make them seem so large. Still, the top buttons wouldn't hold and I stared at my deep cleavage in the mirror, strangely mesmerized by it, as if I had never seen them before.

It was a new woman who attended her duties that day. I wondered a few times why I even bothered, since my husband no longer cared what I did, but I did it anyway for I had nothing else to do. I was patient and forgiving with the servants, never raising my voice. I did some chores myself and helped a little to prepare meals. In my utter contentment, I found that I had patience enough to do anything in the world. But all day my thoughts turned to the pleasure of the night before, tantalizing images flashing in my mind. In a few moments of panic I found my new organ responding to these thoughts, threatening to grow into a telltale bulge in my tight mini skirt.

As patient and pleasant as I was that day, I was glad to escape to my room that evening. I was drawn to the full-length mirror immediately by some force I couldn't identify. I wanted to see myself. I stared intently at my breasts, followed the sensual curve of my waist down to my hips, where the satin mini skirt clung to me like my own skin half way down my thighs. I felt myself growing breathless and excited at this. Such vanity! But I watched the bulge in my skirt grow until it looked like a cucumber covered with stain cloth. I stripped off my clothes and returned to my bed, losing myself again in the pleasure.

The weeks went on and it became more incessant. I had to escape to my chambers two or three times a day to gain my release, and my thoughts never turned away from that act, or the dream that had foreseen so much of my new life. I added continually to that dream in my fantasies. I would pull my aching member from her throat that cover her face in my sticky seed, or force her to swallow it. I would pull back and put my member between her giant breasts and rub them against it. I would hold her down and penetrate her, her pretty face contorting in pain and passion as I drove into her with maniac abandon. But all I had was my hands, in the end. Even four times a day, I could never be fully satisfied. What must men do when they feel this way, I wonder? I had no wife or slave to spend my passion on.

Of course the answer came to me weeks later. I sat bolt upright in bed as I thought longingly of my dream for that pretty little prostitute. Of course! They buy their release when they had no other choice. Unlike some petty soldier saving his allowances, I was a noblewoman with a nearly limitless fortune to spend on all the carnal delights I could want. If my husband could have his whores, why couldn't I have mine?

Lilly And The Raven - Part 2

Here's part 2 of part 1 of Lilly and the Raven. 


In this post: Elves, amazoness, futanari, futa-on-girl, oral

Chapter 2

The raven-haired one

When I came to I was changed. I was in my bed, and it was night time. I was alone in the room. I closed my eyes again, and I saw the image of the blue eyes of that prostitute staring at me from beneath endless tumbles of fine black hair, her giant breasts swayed as she rocked herself back and forth on my husband's member, and she laughed as I watched in horror. I knew that this was a dream, that I was half asleep and dreaming again, but it seemed so vivid. It was like I was looking through a scryer's crystal to the image of something happening far away. The whore laughed at me, and my husband's face contorted in something like pain, but he let out a long sigh of contentment, then fell backwards on the bed, dead and colorless. The whore only smiled now, her plump lips making that evil smile consume her whole face. She released herself from my husband's corpse, and I saw little droplets of his seed escape her as she shuffled off the bed, her stiletto heels clacking loudly on the marble floor. Again I told myself to open my eyes, dispel this dream and rise from the bed to seek out my husband and find out what happened, but I couldn't do it. Briefly I considered that I might actually be dead, and that this was my punishment, to live out the moment of my greatest humiliation over and over, but the feeling passed as my mind melted again into the dream. I, my dream self, could not move as she turned and came towards me. Now I could see the front of her, the gentle taper of her hip muscles into her crotch, the muscles of her abdomen chiseled, clearly visible under her skin tight dress, though it was crumpled up around her. In this fully frontal view, her breasts were even more enormous, each one larger than my head, they swayed and jiggled as she walked towards me. Her hips swung from side to side as she walked, one foot in front of the other, graceful as a dancer in her impossible shoes. Her eyes were half closed, her mouth seductive, lips sticking out ever so slightly, begging to be touched and kissed. I wanted to move away as she came towards me, but I was rooted in place by the glinting sapphire color of her eyes, the sway of her breasts, the bulging muscles of her thighs. I realized then that I was powerfully attracted to her, that I didn't move because I wanted her to come closer. My mouth watered and I shuddered as I thought of those breasts crushing themselves against me, of bending down to plant my mouth on her lips and feel the play of her tongue against mine...

She came to a stop inches away from me, looking up into my face. Even in her impossibly high heels, she only rose high enough that her forehead met with my chin. She licked her lips as she looked at me, and I found the gesture so alluring that I scarcely knew whether to say something or simply throw her, pin her against the wall and brutally ravage her. She was so close I could feel the heat of her body, when she shifted the tips of her nipples just barely brushed the fabric of my dress. At last she spoke, and her voice was startlingly rich and deep for someone who looked so young.

“Your husband...he was not enough for me. He died as all men who spend their passion in me die.”

Strange words, the words of dreams, but they made perfect sense. I found I could make no answer. I wanted to ask her why she would go to bed with a married man, but I realized that I didn't care, and what I really wanted to know was whether my husband had paid her enough for two.

She seemed to sense my thoughts as any dream could, and smiled slyly at me. Slowly she raised her arms and put her hands on my shoulders. Soft as fur they felt, so warm as to be intoxicating. She pulled me forward, and I watched in mute exhilaration as her face drew ever closer, her eyes closing, her lips puffing out, parting just slightly as her hands slid to the back of my neck and drew me in...an explosion of heat on my face. Her lips burned like the vial I had thought was poison burned, if all the pain of that elixir had turned to pure, earth-rending pleasure. I closed my eyes and the feeling became more intense. I kissed her back, experimenting with the pressure against our lips, opening my mouth a little wider and kissing a little deeper until finally I felt her tongue probing the roof of my mouth tentatively, and the excitement rushed through me again like a drought of strong wine straight to my head. I responded immediately, feeling her tongue with mine, wrapping it around hers, slipping it off again, chasing it into her own mouth where I probed her cheeks and her teeth and the fascinating contours along the roof of her mouth. I heard a sound of pleasure escape me as I held her in the kiss and she yielded me, responding to my sigh with a moan. We gasped air through our noses and held the kiss longer and longer, until our two mouths had nearly become one. Of their own violation, my arms wrapped around her delicate shoulders, my hands stroking the solid contours of her shoulder blades, and I crushed her against me. Her breasts were like two great pillows of heat against me. I pulled her up, until she was nearly off her feet, our breasts pressed together, squirming against each other in the passionate sways of our interminable kiss. It seemed to go on forever, and though I dreaded it ever ending, I found that I was still filled with utter elation when it ended, I basked in an afterglow as luminous as the sun. The raven haired beauty in my arms looked up at me through half closed lids, I could see her swooning as I now swooned, disoriented by passion, her lips twitching, crying out for the ecstasy they had known. She was breathing heavily, and this made me realize that I was as well. I looked down, seeing the deep rapid breaths making her breasts, still pressed hard against me, swell and contract. The movement was hypnotic, the skin looked so supple, it was like nothing I had ever seen. I untangled one hand from her hair, and ran my hand over them gently. They were so smooth, so immaculate and perfect that it was indescribable, they felt even more supple than they looked. I looked at her face again and she was smiling at me, knowingly, cunningly. She pushed herself away from me, and I felt a spasm of terror, wanting to snatch her back and hold her against me again. But she took hold of one of my hands and turned towards the bed, pulling me after her. As we moved across the chamber I became absorbed in the view from behind her, I drank in the feast of carnal delight that was her nubile, immaculate flesh. I lusted so heavily after the taut, high buttocks, the smooth arms, the breasts so large that even turned away from me I could see their profile outlined above her tiny waist.

When we reached the bed I barely noticed that the corpse of my husband had vanished. She turned to me and stopped me a few inches from her. She fluffed her raven hair behind her, wiped a few errant strands from her face, and then lowered her arms to the thin fabric of her dress crumpled around her waist, pulled it down over her hips, then let it fall over her legs onto the floor. She stood before me completely naked, the dim candle light giving her delicate white flesh an unearthly sheen. She slowly lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed, running her hands down my sides as she did so, pulling me a little closer, pulling down the sleeves of my dress so that my breasts nearly spilled out. She released me and scooted back along the covers, her eyes fixed on mine, her face inviting. She licked her lips again as she sat with her legs stretched out in front of her. I looked at her feet, seeing she still wore her impossible shoes, her feet trapped in a tip-toe shape. Without a word she laid back, her breasts growing even wider and fuller as they settled against her, and then she spread her legs as she had undoubtedly done for a thousand men. But had she ever done it for a woman?

“Go on,” she said, her succulent voice broke the utter silence, dripping with lust. “Put it in. I want you inside me.”

What a strange thing to say! But I didn't care. At last everything I had wanted was coming true, everything and more, for this prostitute, this filthy, immoral, downcast, lowly, home wrecking little whore was much more beautiful than any stable boy who ever lived. I pulled off my dress and let it crumple on the ground before hers. I took off my constricting lace bra, loving the freedom and release I felt as my breasts spilled free of their prison like never before. I undid my corset and threw it over my shoulder, feeling the freedom even more strongly. The feel of the cool air on my bare skin, feeling those sapphire eyes drinking in the essence of my body felt almost as good as the kissing. I hurried along, pulling off my garter belt, my shoes stockings, and finally the last of my undergarments. My penis fell out of the panties, throbbing almost painfully, aching for stimulation. I began to move towards the bed when I looked down in horror at the thing between my legs. I was absolutely stunned, but there it was. A penis hung between my legs, stiff as a ramrod, the testicles beneath it hanging free. But it was a dream, after all. My moment of confusion passed. I didn't care. I was so turned on, I didn't care that I had suddenly sprouted one of those ugly little tools of men, the thing I had only seen twice in my life, once to suck on it, and once to look at it buried inside some gorgeous tramp.

I threw aside my thoughts as my quivering lover sat up on her elbows and pleaded with me to come to her, so I did. I crawled onto the bed, immediately feeling the heat radiating from her naked flesh. The sight of the throbbing member between my legs had made me think of the other her, the home wrecker in my home, fucking my husband, mocking me with her ecstasy.

 I suddenly felt a great measure of hostility towards her, even as my lust for her flamed ever higher. But bolstering both of these feelings, deep beneath them, living them up on massive, infinitely powerful arms was an overwhelming feeling of power. Power over this delicate, supple, gorgeous, treacherous thing squirming beneath me as I sucked on her pretty pink nipples. I was the man, now, wasn't I? I had the tool of men, the thing they lord over their women, brandish at them like a club, the one thing that they can never fully possess. This immaculate little whore was all mine, and I could do whatever I wanted to her because I had that power now. It was not simply enough to ravage her and feel the ecstasy I had longed after for so many years. I wanted to punish her now, to expend my rage on her as only a man could.

She was smiling at me, urging me on, telling me how good she felt. She was thrusting her hips at my member as I groped her breasts, trying desperately to get me to give her what she wanted. I stopped rolling those giant pillows around in my hand and grinned at her, a wicked grin. I felt a righteous satisfaction growing in me as I stared at her perfect mouth, her quivering, ample lips. I shifted, I crawled over her. She asked what I was doing, suddenly on guard. But she was a meek little Human, a little girl bred for dainty features and small stature, and I was an Elf, a foot taller than her, almost twice her weight, but possessing her same feminine beauty, excepting just one part of me now. She was powerless to stop me as I pinned her shoulders beneath my legs, felt her breasts give under me like cushions as I sat back.

I let my cock fall across her face, and looked down at her, swaying a bit to feel it rub against her soft skin. It was twice as big as my husband's, I could see it throbbing with desire, veins like ropes coiled around the bulging shaft. The whore opened her mouth and licked it, moving her head only as she could move nothing else with me pinning her down. Moans and low sounds of pleasure emanated from her as she ran her tongue all along the shaft, and up around the head. I was nearly stricken blind by the pleasure of it. I gripped my knees and tried not to cry out. Each stroke of her tongue shot through me like lightning, her hot breath felt like a cloud of satisfaction wrapping itself around my member, her moans sounded like the sweetest music in my ears. At last I could stand it no more, I shifted, drew myself up a bit. She sensed what I meant to do, and I stared down at her for a moment as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth in utter submission. Her glistening tongue waited like a grand carpet to receive me. My mouth watering, heart racing, my whole body feeling the excitement and anticipation, I took hold of my new organ and guided it to her mouth. Immediately her lips, wet and softer than anything I had ever felt in my life, closed tight around the head of my cock, and I nearly cried out again. Without any prompting from me, my hips were pushing forward, sliding it in deeper, the suppleness of her tongue, the tight grip of her lips as they enveloped my head and slipped along the shaft was almost too much. I felt like my member would explode at any moment. She tilted her head, urged me on, and I continued to push forward, my body trembling with pure sublime pleasure, my eyes closing out of sheer necessity. I felt the passage of her mouth narrow, grow tighter as I pushed now into her throat, but she did not gag or cry out. Of course not, why would a whore be revolted by her life's work? I felt my member bend sharply, but the slight pain was even more exhilarating. I opened my eyes and looked down at her, her sapphire jewels staring back at me as she strained to look up at me. Her mouth was as wide as it could be, her cheeks were puckered in as she sucked as had as she could, transforming her face into something long and strange but oddly beautiful. I pushed until her nose rested against my pelvis, my testicles resting on her chin. She looked up at me still for a few moments, then began to squirm just slightly, a small panic entering her gorgeous eyes. I only watched. Her face turned red and she began to struggle uselessly against my superior weight, my strength. I saw her eyes begin to roll up into the back of her head, and I pulled out quickly. A guttural cry came out of her as I pulled free, as if pulled up from deep inside of her by my deep probing. She gasped for air and made another noise. Before she had even fully recovered I shoved my member back into her mouth, looking down at her panicked eyes. This time I held it for only a moment, then began to pump in and out of her throat. Oh, this was pure ecstasy. My mind was utterly blank, only the wet, hot, slippery feeling of ravaging this poor girl beneath me existed. I paid no attention to the squishing noise of my thoroughly slobbered cock ravaging her tiny throat, I just rocked back and forth, feeling the change of pressure, the textures and contours of her mouth trapped helplessly around my member.

Finally, I looked down at her again, pulling my aching cock from her mouth and looking at her face, now covered with her slick saliva thickened into a white, bubbling paste from my thrusting. Her makeup was smeared about her eyes and lips, I watched the paste sliding slowly to her ears as she stared up at me panting heavily, her mouth still open as if frozen. She look at me with submission and naked want, and then the dream ended.

Lilly And The Raven - Part 1

Here is part 1 of a story I wrote back in about 2008, an autobiograpby of sorts, written by an Elven noblewoman living in a strange fantasy world of magic, perpetual war, and constant danger. She lives in a patriarchal society that despises powerful women like her. The story is very long and will be posted over time in dozens of parts and covers a huge range of fetishes and situations. This first post is longer than what will be posted in the future since it introduces the world and the character of Lilly, setting up everything that happens after.


This post contains: Straight sex, amazoness, elves, prostitution, death?

Lilly And the Raven

By Writefag34

Part 1: The Powerful

Chapter 1

The Change

If you were to look at me now, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe I used to be a noblewoman of Al Zitti, one of those exotic wives of severe military diplomats, eating daintily from delicate china in the Empresses' grand dining hall so that my corset wouldn't feel tighter from the food. Rarely seen in public, for they are rarely let out of the house, and always to be revered and respected and admired from afar. Every little girl should have dreamed of being me. I was born of nobility in Eel'Dora, married off to an even more noble figure in the military off across the ocean in the east, a hapless sacrifice on the altar of international commerce. But that was my life. I was bred to be the head of the household, but always subservient to men. I hated the life, but knowing there was no escape, turned that hatred into productivity in my wifely duties. I really was the model noblewoman, proud, aloof, beautiful, and submissive. All of this made my downfall all the more spectacular, the humiliation and disgrace on my husband and my family all the more complete.

My husband was a powerful sorcerer in the employ of the Empress herself. Though the generals had higher rank, my husband's work was more important than theirs. It consumed his life, and always threatened to encroach on mine. When I was married off to him, the papers that made me his legal property arriving the day before my ship, I had never seen him before. He was not an ugly man, but he was thirty-five years older than me, myself being seventeen at the time. I was a rebellious and hateful girl, always shunning my domestic education, but learning it nonetheless at the threat of the whip. My friends and my cousins, all of them completely without my rebellious air, perfect subservient whores as they were meant to be, were all horribly envious of my marriage. My cousin had been married the year before to some awful landowner, so I was not the first, but mine was the most lucrative and potentially profitable marriage in Eel'Dora in decades. My mother, father, brothers, and aunts spend months pounding it into my skull that I must be absolutely the best wife to ever grace the upper crust of imperial nobility. I knew nothing of culture in the east, and nor did anyone else I knew. I was going blind and unwillingly into a new life thousands of miles from anything I knew, but I was resigned to it. What choice did I have? What choice, indeed...

When I arrived in Al Zitti, my husband was still an apprentice of the head sorcerer, but still had vast wealth and connections that my family sold me off to attain. “Ah, my beautiful daughter knows the Serpent Generals personally, has dined with them, surely you can accept these terms...” The people I loved had sold me off for bragging rights. Bitterness cannot describe what I felt. For the time being, my husband lived in a huge, opulent estate deep within the imperial city, miles upon miles of elite guards armed to the teeth with swords, bows, pikes, and powerful magic of my husband's design between us and the encroaching beastmen hordes. I threw myself into my new duties with zeal as I had nothing else to do in this beautiful, empty, boring place. My first duty, of course, was to consummate my marriage the very night I arrived, blinking wide-eyed under the harsh sun of an alien world. Ah, what a vision I was that night! Among my belongings that I carried with me was the traditional evening garb that a woman was to wear to consummate her marriage and again on each anniversary. Mine my mother had made herself from delicate pink silk so soft it made my skin coarse as stone. It wrapped around my chest—I was very buxom for a girl my age and the bubble-thin fabric clung so tight my nipples could be easily seen pushing against it in protest, the fabric of the insubstantial garb slipping lower and lower, exposing more of the soft flesh of my breasts as I walked-- and clung to my narrow waist, my wide hips, and hung loose just below my high buttocks. What little of the fabric existed was held on by two straps so thin they were almost impossible to see against my creamy white skin. My lips were full and looked moist with the delicate red paint I had put over them, the pink of my tight, tiny robe made my green eyes light like emerald fire as I stared at myself in the mirror. My long, pointed ears were adorned with jewels and the rest of me was completely naked. I had never been so under dressed in my life, even when sleeping. I was nervous beyond measure, mostly because I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I could only get subtle, embarrassed hints in incomprehensible language from my prudish mother, and of course my cousins and friends would never admit to premarital sex if they had it, even to me, the rebellious girl who would more likely encourage them than oust them. It seems so silly now, looking back on it.

My anxiety was heightened by the fact that my husband was a Human, and I was an Elf. What disturbed me more than being forced to break the strongest of taboos in Elf culture, interracial sex, was the pure mechanics of it. I was taller than my husband by a head, even though at seventeen I hadn't finished my growth spurt. Among his people, he was considered moderately tall and in excellent shape, but my limbs were larger than his, though soft, smooth, and supple things in contrast to his chiseled, bulging muscles.

His body fascinated me, even long before we retired to our shared bedroom that night. I had always been a very horny girl, from the very moment something in my mind clicked into place and I became interested in boys and learned the words that described what I could do with them in private. I had wanted to do it, had longed for it. But immured in a mansion prison, the chance never came. Despite considering myself such a rebel, I still found I was too arrogant and full of high status to lower myself enough to have sex with a servant or the stable boy. But I certainly thought of it. On those interminable, boring days where I sat in my beautiful room and stared out of my window at the city below I would think about going down to the stables, laying naked in the hay, the beautiful young stable boy (though he was at least ten years my senior my pomp still demanded I refer to him as boy) climbing on top of me and showing me all the ways in which I could be a good wife. Once or twice I found myself walking shakily down the stairs in the direction of the stables, my whole body quivering with excitement, guilt, horror, and lust, but would always turn and run back up the stairs, and my fantasies would become darker each time. Eventually, I no longer seduced the stable boy but he seduced me, coming to my chambers with some false excuse and wooing me into my bed in such a way that I didn't even realize I was giving in to him. Eventually, he dispensed with the excuses and came barging into my room as I slept. As the years wore on, I would find myself staring at soldiers in the streets and wondering if all the tales of them raping noblewomen for sport were true, and hoping that they were. But I only pined, and hoped, and lusted uselessly. I had to wait until I was married to finally get what I wanted. I had to wait until...today.

It was rather disappointing, all in all. Nervous and embarrassed, I blundered from one thing to the next, totally unable to negotiate the size difference between us. He kissed me and I didn't know how to react, he groped my breasts roughly and massaged my behind, and I felt only mild curiosity and wonder. I tried to do what he directed me to, wondering when I would feel something other than nerves and stupidity. Of course, I had only a faint idea of the pleasure contained between my legs, and that night I only sucked dumbly on his member, waiting for something to happen. Within minutes I tasted the salty, acidic paste of his seed in my mouth and summoning all my strength, will, and training I swallowed it as he told me to. He seemed pleased, and that, my mother's voice told me, was all that should matter to me. I lay beside him awake for hours in my gorgeous pink slip with my face painted (but no doubt smeared around my lips) and my ears bejeweled and tried to suppress the overwhelming hatred I felt for him. All the hopes I had for all the tantalizing rumors, all the naughty, forbidden words so full of promise were lost to me forever because of him.

For a long time, I hated all men, and I made no effort to hide it. But Al Zitti is a city of men, by men, and for men. The only women ever seen in public for more than a glimpse were prostitutes, who were barely tolerated only because the soldiers required their services and soldiers outnumbered the nobility who despised the whores one thousand to one. A rebellious noble wife simply didn't exist. Those who appeared from time to time promptly disappeared as mysteriously as they came, and if they ever reappeared again they hid their face and spoke not a word, terrified eyes peering sharply out from under black veils they never removed. I scowled at my husband's friends, his colleagues, the other noblemen we entertained. I resented the way they fondled their wives, dressed them up like the whores they purported to despise, with such zeal that I frightened myself. But I did not feel pity for these frail figures, grafted to the sides of their husbands. I did not wish to see them released, or to even have their conditions improved. I hated them, too, because I saw myself in them. For all the resentment I poured out with my face, the acid on my tongue and the haughtiness in my gestures, I was one of them. I trailed behind my husband like a dog on a leash to the houses of other lords. Gone were the elegant taffetas, corsets and gloves of lace, full, flowing skirts and elegant slippers of Eel'Dora. What few I had brought with me sat unused in my armoire, my husband insisting that I looked like a matron in them, that I must wear the latest fashions of his people, now that I was one of them. These fashions resembled what I had worn for him that first night and felt naked in quite closely. Close fitting tubes of fabric that hung loose about the chest, always threatening to slip off as they had no straps. I wore the skirts as long as my husband would allow, down to my knees, as long as they were skin tight. On my feet were shoes made of wood and wrapped in leather with heels that rose five inches and hurt my feet terribly. I wore as much jewelery as I could to cover up, but I still felt exposed. I could only take comfort in the fact that the wives of the other lords wore even less than I did.

I knew from my training that being a wife was essentially being a showpiece, but I had never been prepared for this. My hate burned in me, the flames fanned every day as some new annoyance or some new indignity was visited upon me. I took to seeing to it that the house was absolutely immaculate all of the time. I drove the servants like cattle. All of them were women, and older than me, but I didn't let that stop me. I shouted at them, and occasionally slapped or whipped them, releasing all my pent up rage but finding that there was more rage than I could ever slough off. Anything could set me off, from a misplaced vase to a spot of dust on a counter top. I would rage and rage, and the servants would complain to my husband that I was a mad woman, but my husband didn't care. He was too busy. His superior had been killed six months ago, we had been married for a year by this time, and his life had been utterly consumed by performing both his own duties and those vacated by his master. He worked all hours of the day, sleeping as little as possible and paying as little attention to me as he did to the pleas of the servants. He had not so much as run a hand over my breast since that first night. He began to bring his projects home with him, working on them in the cellars or spare rooms. As time went on his work spread to more and more of the house. Potions, alchemical devices, scrolls written in a language I couldn't even begin to comprehend, artifacts, weapons glowing faintly green or red, as if the metal was alive. These things terrified me, but more than that, they were an absolute mess. In my madness I desired complete order, complete control of my environment, and he was destroying it. Destroying it as he had destroyed my previous life, destroying it as he had destroyed my hopes and dreams of carnal pleasure, destroying it like my dignity, my upbringing, my shame. He expected of me what every man of the Empire expects of his wife, what any Elf man would have expected of me if I had married one of my own people instead—to yield to him. To allow him to do as he would, do be another beautiful thing in his house full of beauties. Well, I was the rebellious one! I would not yield, not this time. I had always raged, but in the end done as was expected of me, but no more!

I should say that up to this point he had not yet destroyed marriage for me completely. Part of me still believed that it could all change, once he wasn't so busy. I still entertained my fantasies of the stable boy, and occasionally I would look up into that face from my youth in my imaginary moment of climax and it would be the face of my husband. But of course, a man who descended from an entire race of destroyers could do nothing but destroy. I came home one night from the home of one of the few noblewomen in this city whose presence I could endure, her name was Estelle and she was an Elf like me, though not transplanted. Her mother was from Eel'Dora but Estelle was born and raised in Al Zitti. So I was feeling somewhat amiable, warmed by wine and decent company, and ready to go to bed. As I approached my bedchamber I heard voices, one of them was my husband's and another one was a woman. I knew the voices of the servants and it was not one of them, and they were speaking in low, sensual tones to each other. The man's questioning, the woman's meek and supplicating. I was filled with terror and fear as my hand closed on the door latch and I slowly opened the wooden door, still half expecting to see my husband engaged in polite conversation with a colleague. But of course he wasn't. It took me a moment to grasp what I was seeing, for I was at once struck by the absolute beauty of the woman sitting in my husband's lap. She had turned her body to look over her shoulder at me as the door opened, and her blue eyes looked like huge sapphires set in her face. Her huge lips were painted a deep purple that made her face utterly irresistible. Gigantic, perfectly formed, flawless breasts hung heavy from her chest, themselves looking like exquisite jewelery as they glistened with moisture in the low lamplight. Her waist was so narrow she looked like she wore a corset, even though she did not, her hips were even wider than mine, her bare buttocks so ample they looked stuffed like a feather pillow. As my eyes drifted this low I saw that they had already begun their passion, even though the girl still wore her skin tight black dress, now crumpled around her waist, and the heeled shoes so steep I couldn't fathom how she walked in them. My husband's throbbing member pulsated inside of this girl, looking so perfectly formed in that orifice it was as if the girl was just another piece of jewelery, designed to fit him perfectly and be yet another beautiful thing adorning his luxurious lifestyle. All of this I saw in an instant, the image of that absolutely flawless girl, barely older than me, sitting in my husband's lap, being pierced by his manhood. As my husband fumbled for words and tried to push the girl off of him I saw the money on the night stand, next to the girl's handbag. So—his exotic bride was so undesirable that he put aside his principles as a nobleman and went about when she wasn't home, fucking whores in the bed they shared. I was shocked to find that I was utterly wounded by this, even though if you had asked me an hour before I said I would not care. I merely closed the door on his excuses and left to lay on the couch in the drawing room. Not long after, I heard the girl moaning louder and louder, until she was shouting obscenity in her ecstasy. She was mocking me. She hadn't cared that her client's wife had come home, she had stared at me defiantly and kept herself rooted in place as my husband pushed at her. Now he had destroyed everything. Marriage was in utter tatters, and the ecstasy I knew must exist in sex was confirmed, and closed off to me forever.

But what could I do? Despite all my rage, I could not bring myself to scream at him, smash his instruments, rip his parchments—besides, that was just yet more chaos, and I feared the repercussions. I remembered the half-whispered rumors of the noblewomen explaining another woman's utterly cowed behavior after such recent wild behavior, remembered the low threats of the men to their wives, which the trembling women seemed to have no doubt would come true. I did not want to risk the barbaric sort of justice that could exist in a place ruled by its military and men. In less than a week, my anger had been completely replaced by an absolutely hopeless despair. I longed for death, for release. The world held absolutely nothing for me now. I would never go home, marriage was a sham, and I had nothing to do all day but write longing letters to my cousins, shout uselessly at the servants, and be paraded before strange men in states of dress that ever approached nudity, to have them gawk at the rare sight of an Elf woman's body, but would never touch it or violate it the way I wanted them to.

The day at last came when I would do it. I would kill myself, and I would give it as poetic an end as I could. I went into the cellar, where my husband worked his alchemical experiments, hunched over manuals beside beakers and tubes of glass for hours, mixing this and that. I had no doubt that his work was for the military. I knew that he worked on poisons, and on potions to make soldiers even more fearsome. I had no way of knowing which was which, so I told myself I would merely pick the most vile looking one and if I did not die I would choose another until I guessed correctly.

The cellar was a ghastly place now. Before it had been a damp, cool place that smelled strongly of the cedar barrels of liquor stored here, and the torchlight reflected off the endless rows of vintage wines in the walls was beautiful. Now it was a swirling chaos of glass, books, strange liquids, glowing stones, and puddles of wax that had once been candles. The air was rank, putrid, difficult to breathe, and I could see by the light of my torch on the ceiling that the whole space was being filled with a faintly green fog that clung to the rafters. I walked to the table arrayed with potions and looked down at it, reading the labels but finding them unintelligible, written in technical language I could never have understood with my lady's education. I turned the pages of the single book that lay on the table next to the rows of vials, only a few of which contained liquids. I recognized my husband's handwriting in this volume, and though the language was again incomprehensible to me I could see that they were notes, probably about the things arrayed on this table. One page caught my eye because the language seemed plain, rather than mired in symbols and diagrams.

- The female soldiers are capable, but not enough...there simply are not enough men in Al Zitti to keep back the hordes. Gen. R. wants some way to make the females stronger. Magnus was working on this.

- Found Magnus' notes. The elixir was nearly complete, but there are side effects. Attempting my own concoction.

- Didn't work. Perhaps the essence of Dvergr's blood was too much for her? Try remixing.

- Better. The side effects are still unacceptable. What could cause a growth like that? Must abandon this for now to make a batch of salve to aid the soldiers wounded in the most recent attack.

I was mystified and highly intrigued by these notes, but I looked away after reading this. What did it matter now, anyway? I had come here to die.

And so, my hands trembling, I reached out and picked up one of the vials that contained a ghastly looking green liquid. It had the consistency of oil and smelled, I can put it no other way, like death. This had to be it, the poison I had heard him talk about, strong enough to fell a full grown troll with one arrow dipped in his miraculous water of death. I was about to drink a hundred arrows worth. I licked my lips and briefly wondered how he would react when he found me dead on the floor in his lair. I imagined him stripping the clothes off of my limp body and sliding his member into my mouth and down my cold throat...I shook my head to throw off the image and with one burst of willpower, before I had a chance to reconsider, I put the vial to my lips and threw my head back. I cried out with my mouth closed, trying desperately not to spit the evil concoction out. It burned my mouth just as surely as if I had put my tongue to the torch, and as the liquid raced down my throat that heat spread to my whole body. I clutched my throat and coughed, stumbling backwards into a table of glass, knocking over empty beakers. The sound brought racing steps on the stairs behind me, and my husband appeared, his sword naked in his hand. I was shocked, for I thought he was not at home. His face changed from rage to bewilderment when he saw me, bent over double, coughing so violently I though I should soon see blood on the ground before me.

“Stupid girl, what have you done?” He cried, rushing over to me and snatching the vial from my hand. A faint green residue clung to the sides of the vial still, and he made some sound of surprise and rage as he looked at it, to the table where I had taken it from, and at the vial again. He wanted to say something more, to curse me again I could tell, but he raced to some other random table and began to blunder through its contents. Meanwhile, my whole body was on fire, pain like I had never experienced before coursed through my veins with every ragged, thunderous beat of my heart. The heat began to gather in my crotch, leaving the rest of me tingling. When feeling returned to my face I could feel that tears were pouring out of me in rivers, fire clung to my lips where I had gripped the vial, my arms trembled uncontrollably, my stomach and my breasts ached like I had been mercilessly beaten, but always the heat continued to intensify between my legs until I realized the deafening sound in my ears were my own ragged, desperate screams.

Just when I thought I would pass out from pain, my husband reappeared at my side and held a cup to my mouth. I was grateful, thinking it would be water to extinguish the flames inside of me, but as the liquid flowed in and I began to swallow it, I saw that it was orange and seemed to glow as if he held a light beneath the cup. I felt a brief spasm of terror to be drinking another potion from his tables, but then I realized that it must be the poison. He was killing me, putting me out of my misery, or punishing me for transgression. I didn't care. I drank deep, and the pain didn't seem to matter any more. Soon I would be dead, and my husband was good for something after all.

But I didn't die. I sunk to the floor and cried, feeling suddenly cold after the fire that had raged through me. My husband was shouting at me, cursing me, condemning me, but I could barely hear him. I fell into darkness, and had unsettling dreams.