I've been browsing whump shit idly for years now and i finally have the guts to jump in and do actually post some writing! This is: A whump sideblog with literary aspirations.
I write oc fiction, and I'm also committed to writing diversely so. POC whump, lady whump, trans whump, they are all on the table here. If i write anything that only has cis white men in it, shoot me, I'm possessed.
This blog will primarily be posting noncon, nsfwhump, SA, whatever you want to call it. Please don't interact if you are under 18, or if you are upset by such topics.
Tropes you will probably see on this blog:
kidnapping
slavery whump
fantasy whump
torture
bondage
defiant whumpee
Tropes that I will not touch
pet whump
Current Stories:
Torn Red Abyss: Masterpost
F/NB,
noncon, knifeplay, torture, bondage and kidnapping, frank discussions of SA and trauma
updates on fridays
Kiran Adhikari just wanted a smoke and a hook up, but now they're trapped in their apartment with an insane person with a knife, the remains of their broken life slipping through their fingers. But not without a fight.
--
Star Cracked
M/M, NB/M
Tw: Rape/Noncon/Dubcon, rough sex, injuries from rough sex, mentions of sex slavery, transphobia, misgendering, homophobia, use of slurs, sadism, age gap, wing kink
Current pirate and former sex slave Cirubi makes a deal with their captor to save his captain's life.
Oathbreaker
Multiple/F, F/F
noncon, gangbang, fantasy whump, transgender
Lerina's Oathtakers have breached the border, and they're intent on reclaiming magic for their god. Amina, a mage and the local protector of a small village, gets on their bad side.
Now Reworked
Tags: Explicit Rape/Noncon, gangbang, bondage, blindfold, fantasy whump, lady whump, poc whump, Reader Discretion Advised
The army of Lerina has captured Amina, head mage of her tiny village and they will bring her to heel.
Reworking this story from last year! I suspect this is not going to be the only revision, and there will be more.
Also on Literotica
----
Smoke on the horizon.
She stood on the small hill that hid her small village from view, a fire in the shape of a woman, her magic boiling inside her as she watched the army approach. The armies of the Witch King had fallen, and the enemy were inside the borders. She ran a brown thumb up the polished wood of her gnarled staff, saturated with the magic she had bathed it in since she had made it as a young girl.
"Headwoman Amina?" Small hands clutched her skirt as the child Garmin looked anxiously up at her.. "Do we have to run?" The witch-woman smiled back at the child.
"No," Amina said. "Go back to your mother now. I have a spell to work." The child ran back towards the village, chubby little legs going as fast as they could carry him.
It was a spell she had worked many times before, to hide the village from incoming bandits. She was young, for headwoman, only in her third decade but she was the last mage among their number, and her elder, Master Marawan, had become too old to sustain her duties. She lifted her staff now, and began to chant. In her mind's eye she fastened her words to the rope buried around the entire village, awakening the enchantment woven into the twisted fibers.
Mists rose to hide the village from view, lifted by the power in her veins, thrumming through her staff. It made all those who looked upon it simply forget what was cloaked within it. This spell had protected the village for years from banditry; there was no reason it shouldn't work on an army. The Knights Templar of Lerin did not have mages amongst their number- they were notorious for despising the practice, though Amina couldn't imagine why.
She stepped back, satisfied. Still, it would be prudent to put a watch up. No fires would be set in the village until the army passed. If the animals could not be kept quiet, they would have to either be set free or slaughtered. There was still much work to do.
With one lingering backwards glance towards the smudge on the horizon, Amina turned and descended the hill.
----
The army approached.
Steadily, in their direction. If they continued this way, then spell or no, in a day's march they would run straight into the village. Amina stood again, on top of the hill, watching from within the mist shroud. She would evacuate her people, hurry them out behind the hills, with as many of their things they could carry. Perhaps she had waited too long, too comfortable with the spell's protection.
This close she could see the glint of armor in the sun, flags flying the blue and gold Lerin colors, streaming in the sun. There were horses, tents, a long caravan trail behind them of their support. And then, like a miracle, the head of the army gestured to the west, turning away from its path towards the village.
Amina sighed with considerable relief. Perhaps they could simply sit and wait them out. It would take several more days for the trailing caravan to pass by completely, but then they'd be in the clear.
---
That night, Amina woke up from a dead sleep as the warning gong exploded into noise. "ATTACK!" screamed the watchman. "ATTACK!"
The headwoman did not bother to dress, rising in her nightgown to seize her staff and ran barefooted into the village. Behind her, Master Marawan stumbled out of bed, her own staff in hand, the old woman hobbling behind her. A knight on a horse charged down their single street through the midnight dark, to cut down the watchman. Ersten was on watch. Ersten, the widower with three children he doted on, who needed him.
Amina shrieked with rage, raising her staff to fling fireballs into the knight. Screams went up in the night, as a knight flung off his heated helmet, his horse panicking at the sudden magic.
"Witch!" they shouted. "The witch is here!"
"Master!" she exclaimed. "I'll hold them off, you go heal Ersten!"
It was chaos. She grabbed her Marawan's hand to tow her towards the injured man, as arrows whistled through the air. She sent out a burst of magic to burn their fletchings, so they no longer flew true, thudding behind her. Amina spotted the knight in the distance drawing their warbow again. She raised her staff and burned through the cow gut string, then built a wall of flame to block the knight's path. She burned with her creation as she turned her attention to other avenues, racing to keep her people from being killed.
"Stop!" she heard a young voice cry. "Stop, please!"
She burst into the house of nineteen year old Lena and her new husband, to find him dead on the floor and two men wrestling down the girl, her skirts already hiked up to her waist.
"Get off of her!" Amina demanded, pointing her staff at men. Magic pulsed from its end to blast away the knights, but to her surprise, the one closest to her whirled and sliced through it, leaving them unharmed.
"What?" she gasped.
The knight laughed from under their helmet and lunged towards her, the magic slicing sword pointed at her throat. She blocked the heavy blow with her staff, the blade chipping into the wood. She could see the man grinning at her through the grill of his helm. "Not used to being seen through, eh?" he laughed as he bore down on her. "You little thief!"
What in the world was he talking about?
Desperate, she kicked him away, scrambling backwards, out of Lena's house, when a hand caught her wrist. She whirled around, ready to blast the person who dared touch her but instead a gauntlet closed cruelly around her throat.
Suddenly she was surrounded by templars. The knight who held her was perhaps a decade or two her senior, tall and broad, his dark hair peppered with grey and trimmed carefully short. Amina couldn't tell what the colored lines on his gambeson meant, but his armor was well fitted and intricately made. She could only assume this was a nobleman. She gasped for breath in his hold, as she tried to kick, but she only hurt her bare feet against his armor. Another pair of hands wrestled her staff away from her.
"Don't play with your food, Harvenson," he scolded. "When you have a witch on hand, you must deal with it quickly." These weren't just knights and soldiers- they were mage hunters. No wonder the Witch King had fallen to them.
"Yes, Captain Warren," said the knight, notably more respectable.
Beyond the talk, Amina could hear Lena's cries, then sobs, as the remaining man took her without further obstacle. She had been rendered helpless so quickly. The knight with her staff slammed it against the ground, fully intent on breaking it.
"No!" The word came out strangled, raspy, as she renewed her struggles, reaching over to try and claw out the eyes of the captain. She was thrown on the ground, hard enough to wind her. Captain Warren stepped on her throat and pressed down as she struggled, as the knight with her staff slammed it against the ground again and again, until it splintered and snapped. He might as well have stabbed her in the gut.
"Bind and gag her," Warren ordered. "We already killed the old witch by accident, we cannot let this one go."
"No," she choked out. "No!"
Someone stuffed a knotted handkerchief into her mouth, yanking her head up by her hair to knot it behind her neck. Amina groaned with pain, struggling to fight those hands but the captain took her foot off her throat to casually kick her in the stomach.
"Someone tell Sir Patois that we found her," Warren said gesturing. "Prepare the sacrifice for dawn tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Captain," one of the foot soldiers said, and ran off.
Every time she struggled too hard, the only thing Amina found was a blow. That in and of itself was almost a relief-- every moment of pain was a relief from the fear, from grief, as she was wrestled down, and her hands tied behind her back.
"By the oath, she's a fighter," said a new knight hovering right above her, sounding nervous. "You don't think she'll escape, do you?"
"It's fine," said another, sounding equally unnerved. "We tied her so tightly, it's impossible for her to escape."
She bit down into the gag, deep, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. There was nothing she could do. She would be another victim in this invasion. They said they were going to sacrifice her, that they had killed Marawan- grief caught in her throat again. What did they mean by that? What kind of sacrifice are they talking about?
She could still here Lena's cries from inside her house. It all rose up inside her, trembling with the helplessness and rage until she couldn't take it anymore. She screamed wordlessly through the gag, pulling at the ropes around her wrists until they protested with pain, thrashing to escape her bonds.
The knights above her flinched and she wanted to laugh at them. The fire inside her begged to escape her, to pour into their armor and cook them alive like crayfish in their shells as she lunged at them.
"Fuck!" one of the templars exclaimed, leaping back. "Fucking hell, what if she has curses hidden on her somewhere?
Warren sighed. “Without her tongue,” he said, and kicked her again, in the stomach. Amina fell into the road, curling up as best as she could with her hands behind her back. “Without her hands. She’s just a woman.”
“But-”
Warren scoffed. “Do you need more proof? She can do nothing like this.” The captain pressed his foot between Amina’s knees and up her dress, pushing his boot against her cunt. She made a wounded noise as he ground his toe into her crotch. Tears sprung to the corners of Amina’s eyes, as Warren exposed her in the streets, her skirts bunching around her waist.
Panic started to worm through her then, as she fought her bonds, to no avail. Warren was right. She was helpless, or she’d have killed Warren right here.
“By the oath,” one of the guards whispered, and began to laugh. “She can do nothing.”
Adrenaline rushed through Amina’s veins as Warren stepped away from her, as she pressed her knees back together, trying to shift her clothes back over her thighs. One of the knights took his helmet off, a young man with a flop of blond hair and a hungry look in his eye. She tried to swallow around the knot in the gag but her throat only worked uselessly.
“Captain, can we have a turn?” the knight asked. "She's quite pretty, when you look at her."
Warren rolled his eyes. “Don’t untie her and don't neglect your duties. I don’t care what you do with her. We sacrifice her to Lerina tomorrow.”
Warren walked away as the knights began to discuss. “Let's take her inside,” suggests the young man. “The village is basically done for, she was the last real problem."
"Someone should still stand guard," said another. "How embarrassing would it be to get knifed in the back because we were balls deep in the witch?”
Amina made a small noise, a squeak of fear, and the young man laughed. She burned with shame as she felt slick begin to gather between her thighs.
“Look, this doesn’t feel right to me.” A low voice from one of the knights. “She’s Lerina’s sacrifice, we shouldn’t- shouldn’t- you know.”
“C’mon Dante,” the young man laughed. “Lerina doesn’t care about whether or not she’s been fucked, only that she has magic. Don’t you want to get your dick wet?” He was already beginning to unbuckle his belt.
“No,” Dante said, briefly, and walked away.
“His loss,” another knight said with a shrug, his armor clanking as he leans down to take a fist full of her curls to drag her back into Lena's house.
She cried out in protest, trying to struggle to her feet so her hair didn't all get ripped out by the roots, but it was a struggle in futility. The knight didn't let her stand up straight, forcing her head down low enough that one stumble was enough to fall to the ground again.
Inside, Lena was still getting raped, though she had stopped crying. She stared up, glassy eyed, at the ceiling as the man inside her grunted rhythmically over her. Amina wanted to reach out to her, to hold her hand and tell her she would save her, but all she could do was stumble by as she was manhandled into the bedroom, to be debased herself.
She couldn't help but whine in fear as they shoved her onto the bed, her shoulder drawn and trembling, looking back at the group of knights, anonymous with their helmets on, except the one man who took it off. There was a hunger in his eyes as he began to unbuckle his belt.
“Blindfold her,” said one of the anonymous knights. “I don’t want her recognizing our faces later, to curse us.”
“She’s not going to curse us, she’s getting sacrificed," he scoffed.
“I still don’t want her to see my face!”
“You big fucking baby,” he scoffed, and took his belt off. He walked over to grab Amina by her hair, pulling her forward. She made a protesting noise, but the belt wrapped around her eyes, leaving her blind and utterly vulnerable.
“There,” said the man. “Now you can take your helmets off, you ridiculous doffers.”
There was the sound of armor clinking, of fresh gasps as Amina strained against the rope until the skin on her wrists tore, wetting her fingers with blood. This couldn’t be happening. Her disbelief was the thickest shield she could conjure for herself. This couldn’t be happening.
Hands wrapped around her ankles, pulling her down the bed onto her back so she had to lay on her bound hands. They forced her legs apart, her nightgown hiked up to her hips. Too many hands explored the soft skin of her inner thighs. She hiccuped with fear as she felt a knife slide under the string of her loin cloth, snapping it so that she was naked from the waist down.
“Aw she sounds so scared!” someone cooed. Did she? She could hear small, frightened noises, but- but- no, she guesses it was coming from her, not Lena. Blindfolded, she couldn't keep track of who was touching her, or even how many there were. She jolted as fingers pressed against her cunt, taken by surprise. A long whine escaped her, as she tried to worm away from the intrusion. But she was well tied and her struggles were no obstacle for the rough, leather-gloved fingers pressing inside her.
“She’s already wet!” More laughter. “I bet she’s hungry for it. I bet she enchants all the men in this village to come fill her every night.”
“I wish we could get her mouth.”
“Don’t be stupid, you heard what the Captain said.”
“I know, I know, I’m just saying. I think I’ll just use her tits.”
Amina turned her head to the side, the only escape available to her as hands grabbed the collar of her nightgown and ripped it open, leaving her breasts naked and exposed to the room. She whimpered helplessly, her fingers clutching the sheets behind her.
A heavy weight settled on the bed, next to her, then straddled her, a thick cock landing between her breasts. Two hands grabbed her breasts, kneading and massaging them against his length as he groaned above her. Amina wheezed, straining through the gag as she arched, struggling. Someone grabbed her knee and pushed it aside, thrusting another gloved finger inside her. The stretch hurt and she sobbed into her gag.
"Her breasts aren't big enough for this," the man above her grunts, rutting into her chest, his hands running over her nipples, leaving electric tingles behind. "Fuck, I want her mouth.”
Please, she wanted to beg. Stop. I’m still human, I still feel, I still suffer. But the gag stifled her voice. She could only flinch and moan when the head of a cock nudged up against her entrance. Her hands tore at the sheets, fisting in them as she tried to writhe away from the intrusion.
“C’mon, play nice, bitch.” Hands grabbed her hips and pulled her right onto the cock threatening her. Amina cried out from behind her gag as it stretched her brutally open.
“Fuck she has a pretty little cunt.”
“I bet she has a pretty little asshole.”
“Ha, you want it?”
“Yes, better than her tits.”
The weight on her chest lifted. Her breath heaved in her chest as she tried to follow what's happening. Hands shoved her shoulders up, pressing her against a hard chest plate. Amina gasped again, moaning, as the movement forced the cock deeper into her, filling her up so much deeper than she'd ever been before. A second body slid in behind her. Gauntlets grabbed her under her knees knees and pulled her back against an armored chest, sandwiching her thoroughly between two templars. She was panting now, thoroughly aroused by her own assault. She leaned her head back against the knight’s chest, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm down. Her people died at the hands of these murderers, and here she was getting off with them.
“Hold on, hold on, prep her ass for me, will you? It’s going to be too dry, I’ll hold her open.”
“With what?”
“Use her slick, or spit, or anything I don’t really care.”
“I have sword oil, we can use that.”
“Oh, good idea.”
The cock inside her retreated and it left her empty and shivering as the knight behind her settled against the headboard of the bed. She could feel their cock, alert and pressed up underneath her ass, thrusting slowly against her cheeks. Her hands, bound behind her, slid against the gambeson underneath the chest plate, armor, trying to find enough give in the quilted fabric for a hand hold.
She flinched, as suddenly, slicked up fingers press against her ass. She cursed the blindfold through the gag, unable to see when someone was about to touch her. The knight behind her was much stronger than her, able to hoist her legs apart even through her hopeless struggling. Amina keened as they entered her anyway, breaching the hard ring of muscle that was supposed to keep them out. She shuddered, hard, moaning, as fingers began to explore the inside of her ass.
“She makes pretty sounds, doesn’t she.”
“You think the captain would let us do this with the other witches?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, fuck the witch you’ve got.”
Laughter. “Yeah, yeah, fair enough.”
Tears leaked down from under the belt as Amina tried to breathe with the intrusion. If Captain Warren had wanted her to know how pitifully helpless she was before her execution, she couldn’t have picked a better way to do it. There was nothing she could do, except suffer, except try to ignore the pleasure the anonymous fingers and cocks worked into her body.
“She’s just sucking me up-- oh look, she’s crying!”
Laughter.
“Maybe she thinks this will make her take pity on her.”
Monsters. These templars were all monsters. If she escaped from this alive, she’d kill them all on sight.
The fingers retreated from her ass but it was only a brief relief as the knight behind her wrapped their hands around her thighs and positioned her just right to push their cock into her ass. She screamed into the gag. It hurt in a strange way that Amina can’t quite grasp her head around, in a way she can’t bear to think about for too long. Amina sobbed as she desperately tried to find something to cling to.
“Fuck, this is so hot," said a voice from the side with a long moan. The sounds of wet slapping told her exactly what the other knights were up to while she was being attacked. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." He groaned, loudly, as he orgasmed.
It distracted her enough that it took her by surprise when a cock nudged back up against her cunt again.
“I’m going in.”
"Hold on, let me do something."
Fingers pressed past the gag to push cum inside her mouth. The bitter salt taste made her gag around his fingers, a disgusted noise escaping her as she tried to tear her face away, the rest of it drooling out of her mouth. The templars laughed.
"Okay that was pretty hot," said the man in front of her, and without further preamble, thrust inside.
Amina screamed, as she clenched against the intrusion. The cock inside her thrust in anyway, forcing her walls to accommodate the sheer girth of his thick cock. She was so, so full, pressed between two people much larger than her. Stop. Stop!
“Fuuuuck, god, I can feel you through her ass.”
She twitched as the person behind her wriggled their cock. Laughter. “That’s fucked up, I can feel you too.”
Stop stop stopstopstop-
But instead, they began to fuck her in earnest, drawing a moan out of her. Amina pressed her forehead against the chest of the knight in front of her, the twin frictions pumping in and out of her drawing a long, frission of pleasure through her spine.
Panting filled the room as the two people fucking her set a fast rhythm. She lost her grip on her resistance, on doing anything but existing in the pain and the pleasure the templars fucked into her. She had been caught and degraded in a way that made her stomach twist with nausea, but she was so much fuller than she had ever been before.
It set every nerve ending on fire, as they stoked her body's hunger, as her body slickened under the assault. An animal hunger inside her bade her to roll her hips, ever so slightly, barely aware of her own movement.
“I think she’s starting to enjoy this.”
No, no, she couldn't be. But she couldn't help but lean into what pleasure of the moment she could, moaning louder and louder as her lust rose within her.
“Fuck!”
Amina felt the hot gush inside her, dripping form her cunt and she moaned, shivering with horror and lust as the person behind her pushed her forward, toppling her into the lap of the knight in front of her, their cock sliding out, wet against her cheek. The knight behind her put a hand on the back of her neck as they fucked her ass, each thrust pushing her face against wet, quickly softening dick.
“Fuck this is quite a show, this is so hot. I think I’m about to cum.”
More moans filled the air.
"Come on girl, clean him off." A hand her neck pushed her face forward to wipe against the soft wet cock on her cheeks but she was too focused on the cock still pumping furiously in and out of her ass, to either obey or resist. Instead, the long drawn out cry of someone being taken to the brink came out of her.
She buried her face into their thigh as her cries took on the keen of an orgasm, pleasure building and swamping her as she hung helplessly limp in their grasp.
“Oh, oaths, she’s cumming, I knew the witch was a slut!”
“Fuck, fuck, she’s clenching down on me I think I-” There was a second hot spurt of seed inside her and Amina hiccuped a half sob as the person behind her moaned, their hands clenching down on the back of her neck.
“Wow that was fun.”
The cock withdrew from her ass as the knights dropped her unceremoniously, curled up and shell shocked. Armor clanked as they buckled themselves back together. But the belt doesn’t get reclaimed.
Her breath sounded irregular and stuttered in her own ears. She wouldn’t even get to know who raped her.
"My turn," said another templar, pushing her onto her back again. "I want some of that pussy." And with that, he pushed into her abused cunt.
She lost track of how many cocks she took, one after another. She lost track of how many orgasms they drew out of her, how many times she passed out and how many times she was forced back awake by another cock inside her.
It had to be more people than her original group of rapists-- more visitors coming in to gawk or to help themselves to her body, more cocks to invade her, more cum to smear on her helpless body.
She didn't know how long it took for them all to be done with her, but finally, she was left alone, cold and pained, and curled up in Lena's marriage bed. And then, she got her final visitor.
Amina lay quietly as she heard footsteps approach. To her surprise, whoever it was removed the belt from around her eyes. It was the captain. He had removed his plate armor but his gambeson still hung from his shoulders. In the dim light of the coming dawn, Amina could see the cold look on his face as he dispassionately surveyed the damage his soldiers had done to her.
“Your people are dead,” he said, clinically wiping the cum from Amina’s cheek and examining the residue on his fingers. “A few have escaped, yes, but none will return to save you.”
Then, Warren does something unexpected. He reached around Amina’s head and untied the gag, pulling the rough knot from his mouth. Amina coughed, working her aching jaw in response to the smallest bit of freedom. It was, of course, not enough to break free. Warren was able to take her down at full strength. Like this? He’d have no problems.
“Animals,” Amina hissed, her throat rough and sore from screaming into the gag. “Monsters. You kill innocents and hand me to your soldiers to fuck as they please.”
“Your people protected a thief and a liar,” Warren said, very calmly as he pulls his cock out of his pants. “You and your wretched king have stolen your gift from Lerina’s hearth and we will be reclaiming it. But first it hurts no one to satisfy a few urges.”
"What?" she said, startled at the idea. "I- we don't-"
"Silence," he ordered. The captain grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up to his still soft cock. The other hand hooked around her teeth and pulled open her jaw, making the rubbed raw corners of her mouth ache. Warren groaned softly as he eased his cock into Amina’s mouth. Amina made a desperate little noise as she felt it grow harder against her tongue, lengthening as Warren sank further into her, until his cock is fully buried in Amina’s throat.
Warren moaned, quiet, as he began to fuck her face slowly, his thumb still wrapped around her jaw to keep it open.
“It’s nice that I don’t need sloppy seconds fucking you like this,” he said softly, though his hands are iron on Amina’s head. “All those fools terrified you’re going to explode into flame when we both know you are only human.”
After such a day, the sound of her gagging on the tip of Warren’s cock somehow still struck her as particularly obscene, the wet slap of cock against the back of her throat. Warren was quiet, fucked her with a precision that Amina had no strength to resist, only enough to close her eyes and pray that she had enough to endure.
“I wonder if you’re pregnant, after all that,” Warren gasped as he ground himself against Amina’s face. “I suppose we won’t find out. You’ll be dead soon, and Lerina will have her gift returned.”
So that was what the sacrifice they kept talking about was supposed to be.
Amina made a muffled protest, but quickly, she was silenced again as Warren shoved his cock back all the way down her throat. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again as she tried to breathe through her nose. Warren was panting harder as he slid Amina’s head up and down his cock.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. “You have a good throat for this. If it wasn’t for the ritual, and how stupidly dangerous it’d be, I’d almost be tempted to bring you around with me just for this. I’m sure my soldiers would get a kick out of it.”
Amina clenched her fists behind her back, her fingernails digging into her palms as she pressed her teeth against Warren’s thumb. In revenge, Warren’s boot finds her cunt, and presses in. She cried out into his cock as the hard leather of the boot makes contact with her bruised folds. She jerked back but the captain grabbed her head and forced her choke on his cock again.
There, with her nose pressed hard against Warren’s crotch, she could feel the tell tale jerk of Warren’s orgasm, a trickle of cum leaking down her throat. He even came quietly, nothing more than a soft sigh as he emptied himself onto Amina’s tongue. He pulled out with a satisfied sound as Amina coughed, trying to spit as much of Warren out as possible. Warren let her collapse to the ground as he cleaned himself off with a handkerchief and tucked himself back in, a satisfied smirk on his mouth.
Amina gasped for breath, shaking, as Warren squatted, grabbed her head and yanked her head up again. She only had time for a quick, “W-wait no, please-” before Warren pressed the cold, wet gag back into her mouth, the gag pressing back against the chafed corners of her mouth.
“You did a good job,” he said coolly, patting Amina on the head before letting her drop again. "Don't worry, your suffering will be over with soon."
Amina did not even have the energy to glare at his back as he swept out of the room.
---
She didn't know how long they left her in that cumsoaked bed. She was in too much pain, too wet, too cold, to sleep at all, but at least she was being left alone, even by the sole knight left to guard her. Slowly the sun rose, light leaking through her prison window. Presumably, the templars were having a nice breakfast around a campfire after enjoying their spoils.
She flinched bodily, when she heard footsteps again, her heart beating faster as she tensed. She couldn't see who it was.
"Hey, I'm relieving your watch," said a new voice. "You go get something to eat alright?"
"Oaths, thank you," her guard groaned. "I'm starving."
"Any trouble?"
"She's barely twitched," he said. "You could probably have a go yourself. You didn't earlier, right?"
"No thank you," the newcomer said hastily. "I'm- I'm just going to stand guard."
"Suit yourself, Dante."
Another set of footsteps, leading away. A door opening. A door closing.
Then, the sound of footsteps coming towards her room.
Amina was already scrambling away from the door when this Dante fellow walked in. Immediately, he flinched when he saw her naked body, clapping a hand across his eyes.
"Oh, oaths," he muttered. "They didn't even give you a cover? Um. Hold on."
He turned around, unfastened the cloak from around his shoulders and felt his way around the bed to put the cloak over her body. He was younger, certainly, his cheeks still carrying a youthful glow, gangly in the way young men sometimes were. He couldn't be much older than twenty. His own dark hair was pulled into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wasn't really wearing armor either, dressed in a well made tunic and a sturdy belt.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, to see Amina's own dark, suspicious ones glaring back at him.
"Man you've still got spunk," he muttered, and drew a dagger. When she flinched, he held up his hands. "I'm- I'm going to cut your bonds, okay? I- I'm going to get you out of here, alright? Witch or not, I- this wasn't right."
What? Amina couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. But gently, he pulled her so that he could more easily reach her hands. He sawed at the rope until it snapped, her hands springing apart. She groaned with the aches of being in one position for too long, her shoulders stiff and pained. But they were nothing in comparison to her hands. She had been tied so tightly that freedom was acutely painful as blood flowed back into her fingers. There was a tingling numbness in them that she hoped she could recover from.
"Please," Dante whispered, as he reached up to undo the gag. "Don't do any magic, alright? I- there are wards we use, to detect it. That's, um, how we saw through your spell. If you want to get away, you can't use it."
He pulled the gag out of her mouth and Amina found she had nothing to say to that. She gingerly rubbed her wrists with her injured hands, hunched in front of this young man. He nodded, then pulled out a handkerchief, and offered it to her. "To clean yourself up, a little," he said, then turned away to give her the privacy to do so.
It definitely was not enough to clean up the amount of cum she had been doused in. She shifted to the edge of the bed, slowly, painfully, as she shifted. Cum leaked out of her abused holes and she winced as it dribbled onto the sheets.
Dante, with his back turned, started digging in Lena's drawers.
"Hey," she rasped, indignant. "Don't do that."
"I'm looking for something for you to wear," Dante sighed. "In case you didn't want to only wear my cloak on the way out."
"What happened to her?"
"Who?"
"The girl who lives here," Amina growled. "The one who was raped. Lena."
"Um," Dante said, suddenly, his ears starting to glow a bit pink. "Um. Some of the other men took her. They, um, let her go, last night, when they were done with her. Worse for wear, but alive."
Not dead then. Not in need of immediate rescue.
He pulled out a linen shift for her and a maroon skirt that would be enough for a modest dress. She was as clean as she was going to be without a bath, before she dressed, as quickly as she could when every shift of her legs made her want to cringe.
Having clothes on again did make her feel a little better, but it was a thin covering over a raw and open wound. She had never been so humiliated before, and it made her want to burn everything down.
"Are you dressed?" Dante asked, still staring at the corner.
"Yes," she said.
"Okay," he said, turning back to look at her. She took his cloak and tucked it closer around herself, drawing up its hood so she could hide a little better as Dante nodded. "You- you just look like a regular woman," he said.
"Were you expecting something else?" she said, dry.
"Well," Dante said, fumbling over his words. "Um. It's- well, yeah, kind of. They talked a lot about, like, eyes that were entirely black, and claws and stuff before we came here."
Amina couldn't help but snort. It wasn't worth dignifying with a reply, so she walked off, past him.
"Hold on, wait," Dante said, slipping forward with half a skip. "Let me see if the coast is clear." Amina, folded his arms as he opened the door to cautiously look outside. "It's clear. I'm just going to take you to the edge of camp, and then you're on your own okay?"
"Got it," Amina said shortly.
Dante stepped out first, trying to hide her from clear lines of sight, but Amina's eyes fell on the shattered parts of her staff still scattered out front. She stepped past him and picked up the largest piece, the long handle and considered it. It was nowhere near as useful as before, but it would do for now.
"Hey," Dante hissed, hurrying over and grabbing her arm. "What are you doing?"
She ripped her hand out of his grasp, glaring at him. "Let's go," she said, stuffing the staff under his cloak.
The village itself was empty of the life she remembered it having. As they walked carefully by, she saw houses that had burned, ground black with blood. The bodies had already been removed, and she ached to know who was left. Where were the survivors?
But she had to ensure her own survival first. She could help no one, find no one, if she was dead. Every step ached, and her bare feet had no protection from the stones in the road.
Dante walked silently ahead of her, checking every corner to make sure they weren't about to walk into someone.
And then, she heard the call go up.
"The witch is gone!"
"Damn!" Dante swore, and grabbed her hand and started to run. Her hood fell off as she tried to keep up with him.
"Find her!"
Her body wasn't prepared for the pace. She stumbled after him, gasping, her heart burning with anticipation and fear as she ran.
"Dante!" someone shouted from behind. "You traitor!"
Fuck. Dante ran faster, pulling her stumbling along. Amina chanced a glance behind her. There were now men chasing after them as they fled up to the hills. There wasn't cover until the edge of the woods, where they would be able to lose pursuit in the swamps. But she simply couldn't keep up the pace.
She stumbled and fell, panting, her legs trembling with exhaustion, as the knights templar caught up, swords drawn. How many of these men had taken what they wanted from her last night? She had no way of knowing which of them had come between her legs. All except the blond man who had removed his helmet, the one who blindfolded her with his belt. He stood with the pack, staring her down at her as she glared venomously back. There was not even a trace of guilt in his eyes.
Dante put his hands up. "I- I was bewitched!" he exclaimed. "I- I don't know what happened!"
And then there was that coward. Amina grabbed the remains of the staff she had hidden, and with a word of power, a roaring wave of fire burst from her and rolled towards the crowd, much bigger than she had done earlier. She was done holding back, done with careful. She was going to do damage. Predictably enough, the knights scattered, slicing through the magic unharmed.
But it bought her time to jam the broken end of the staff into the ground. With a huge, uncontrolled surge of power, the ground beneath their feet rippled, then gave way. A pit opened up under the feet of the knights, sending them falling into the ground, with a clatter.
Some of them screamed. One hand caught the edge of the pit. Amina didn't care. She sent another wave of power into the ground, this time making the pit shake apart, collapsing onto the knights inside. They could cut through her magic all they wanted. They would not be able to cut through dirt in their lungs.
Wheezing with the effort, she staggered back to her feet to face the knight who got her there. Dante stood there, his hands up, his eyes wide.
"You-" he stammered. "You didn't have to kill them!"
Amina swung the end of her staff to point at him and he stumbled back a few steps.
"They didn't have to rape me," she said, her voice shaking but harsh. "Now decide. Are you going to be a fugitive or go back to be a traitor?"
Dante swallowed, glancing back at the camp. He shook his head, eyes wide. "I-" he stammers. "I guess I'm going to be a fugitive."
Amina nodded. "Good," she said. "Now we better go before they bring horses."
She lowered her broken staff, and turned to look at her village again. A village so small it didn't even have a name. Amina had never gone very far beyond it and the land around it, but it was no longer her home. Could no longer be her home.
She turned around, determined not to look back, and fled towards the woods, Dante close at her side.
Content warnings: Dubcon Sex, femdom, feminization, more plot than porn.
Dante flees with Amina into the swamp, and has to manage not only a traumatized witch, but his own treason, and a question of his own identity.
Part 1
Dante gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he stumbled after the witch, who seemed not to have been slowed by anything that happened to her. Her curls flew behind her as she walked with as much dignity as she could into the forest, with nothing more than borrowed clothes, a broken staff and no shoes at all.
Him, on the other hand, kept nervously glancing behind him, as though his squad would claw their way back out of the ground and come after them for revenge. This wasn't what he expected, any of it. The war itself, the way that they had destroyed a civilian village full of normal people who couldn't hope to fight back against horseback knights, the sheer glee in the way they raped the witch, the speed at which he saw his fellow knights devolve into feral savagery.
He couldn't understand it, but he couldn't just do nothing about it either, but that hadn't turned out how he expected either.
He felt like a lost fawn, stumbling after the witch in unknown territory, completely uncertain for what the future might hold except for the distinct dread sinking in his stomach that he had utterly fucked it all up.
He was never the most decisive man in the world. His tutors called him a dreamer, his mind distracted and his head always in the clouds. He had no ambition to work for more than mediocre grades, and he had been perfectly satisfied with sitting home in the family home being ignored. He only ended up enlisting because his parents had threatened to cut him off.
So how in the world had he ended up here? His one decision to free the witch had not been an antidote to his confusion as to what exactly he should be doing. Should he even be following her like this when she had killed so many of his countrymen so easily? Daven, Granson, Ulfric, he knew them, had trained with them, and while he didn't particularly like any of them, their deaths horrified him. Was she the sort of person to simply shrug that loss of life off so easily?
And the fact she was a witch at all wasn't-- well it had been explained to him that it was blasphemous, but, well. Sure he went to church services with the rest of the family but he was never really devoutly religious either. What had been done to her had been so plainly wrong on the face of it, that of course he had to do something about it.
And either way, he was concerned about the witch. What she had gone through wasn't something a person could simply shrug off. Her feet must hurt terribly on the uneven ground. If he had betrayed the templars, then he should probably stick with what allies he could, right?
"Um," he said, stumbling after her. "Hold on, ma'am, I- perhaps you should- I could carry you, if-"
The glare she sent his way was deadly poison.
"Don't touch me," she said, the end of her broken staff stabbing against the ground.
"You're not even wearing shoes!" he exclaimed. "I think we'll go faster-"
"We're almost at the edge of the swamp," she said, her voice curt and short. "You'll need to take your boots off if you don't want to lose them in the muck."
And that was it. She said nothing more. Only the slight awkwardness of her gait made it apparent that she was in any pain at all. Which she surely must.
Dante hurried after her, glancing backwards, worried that he might hear the other knights of Lerina in pursuit. The ground became mud, which became puddles, which then became water.
The witch stopped at its edge. "Take your boots off," she said, without looking at him. "Tie their laces together and put them around your neck so you don't lose them."
Dante bent to obey as she hiked her own skirts up, typing the heaps of fabric around her thighs so they wouldn't get in the way.
"So," he said, trying to take advantage of the small pause. "I'm Dante. What's your name?"
She shot him another cold look. "You can keep calling me ma'am," she said, and walked off again, splashing into the swamps.
The water rose to knee height as she used her broken staff to keep her footing through the muck. Dante picked up a branch himself to help him ford the swamp, mud sinking between his toes as his boots thumped against his chest with every step. He was beginning to get the feeling she didn't actually want to have him around.
"I just think," he tried to venture again. "That it might be best we be on friendly terms? I know you've been... hurt, but-"
The witch whirled around her eyes flashing, and pointed her staff at him again. Immediately he stopped, raising his hands.
"You don't know anything," she snapped. He could see her shoulders trembling though whether it was rage or fear he didn't know. "Do you think releasing me absolves you of your sins?"
"My sins?" Dante exclaimed, startled. "I didn't touch you!"
"You didn't stop them either!" she screamed. It was uncontrolled. It was unhinged, her eyes wild as she shook her staff at him, sudden rage and fury surging up like a geyser. "You invaded my village! You killed my people! You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand!"
He gaped at her, hands still up. He had fought, that night, cut down a farmer who tried to stab him with a pitchfork. It wasn't something he enjoyed, but he also didn't enjoy the prospect of losing an eye either. "I-" He stammered. "I- then- why... haven't you?" She could have killed him with the rest of his squadmates, but here he was.
She had to gather herself visibly, panting, her thick curls shaking over her face as she closed her eyes and brought herself back under that cold control he had glimpsed earlier.
"With the faint hope you might be useful," she said icily, spinning on her heel to move forward again. "Come on."
Stunned, Dante followed her. What was he doing? Following a witch who loathed him into an unknown swamp? Away from the only home he ever knew. If he went back to throw himself at the mercy of the knights, said that she bewitched him and only barely managed to escape. Her fate wasn't any skin off his nose.
The image of her, bound and gagged, blindfolded and sobbing, while the men of his squad surrounded her and stripped her down, flashed unwillingly in his head. The other naked woman who had been raped next to her dead husband. The corpse of the farmer, whose blood he cleaned off his sword. His first kill. The nauseous sense in his stomach that this wasn't right.
Then, in the distance, he heard the distant sound of shouting. It was pursuit. The witch heard it as well, spinning to look, her eyes wide and frightened. She lunged to run, panicking, but he immediately knew all that splashing would be much too loud. Dante grabbed her around the waist before she could take much more than a step, clutching her to his chest. She struggled, inhaled, and he had to cover her mouth before she screamed.
"Shhh, shh," he tried to calm her frantically as she savagely bit his hand. "Wait, you can't run, they'll hear you! We have to hide! I won't hurt you I promise, I promise."
She shuddered against him, still struggling, splashing. He couldn't be sure that she was even hearing him. Fuck. What was he going to do?
He wrestled her against a tree, making all too much noise, and pushed her back against it so she could see him. Her eyes were entirely wild, the whole of her iris visible, the whites of her eyes stark against her brown skin. Her pupils had shrunk to pinpoints in her dark eyes.
"It's me," he whispered at her. "It's me, it's me, okay? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I- we have to hide, alright? The water is murky enough. All we have to do is hold our breaths, and lie very still, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, I just couldn't let you make so much noise. I'm really sorry."
He rambled his apologies until he could feel her breathing slow down underneath him, and she recognized him again. Then, behind his hand, she nodded, her teeth releasing its grip. Thank Lerina. He let out a relieved sigh and let go of her.
Together they sank into the dark waters of the swamp, among the roots of the trees. He couldn't see what she was doing, but he did his best to grab handfuls of mud from the bottom of the swamp to smear on all his exposed skin, so he would be less visible from above the water. With her brown skin, he supposed she wouldn't have to worry about the same.
It was just in time. Sound traveled in the water just as it did through the air. He heard muffled voices shouting directions he couldn't understand, heard people splashing through the swamp. He felt a hand grab his, and squeeze it tightly. As scared as he was right now, the witch must be ten times as frightened, if she was willing to hold his hand like this.
His breath welled in his lungs as he bit his lips, straining to stay under the water for as long as possible. All it would take was one person to spot his nose and he would be killed. Something brushed his bare foot and he nearly lost it, his fingers digging into the witch's hand to keep from jerking. But fear was using his air as fuel and he was quickly running out.
The desperate urge to open his mouth was starting to become overwhelming. He put his other hand over his mouth so he could hold it shut. The witch clung to him, and he felt her press her forehead against his shoulder, before moving upwards. She returned, using him as an anchor to tow herself back down to the swamp. She must have braved exposure to take a breath. He would have to do so too.
He pushed up, tilting his head so only his mouth would be exposed, sucking in as much fresh, precious air he could in two breaths before sinking back down again into the swamp. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, taking turns to breathe and listening for any sign their pursuers had left the immediate area.
Even after he thought he couldn't hear them anymore, they stayed underwater for several more minutes, before Dante wanted air more than he was afraid of getting caught. He sat up, blinked the algae from his eyes. They were alone. He sighed with relief, then tugged on the witch's arm too, until she surfaced as well, little bits of floating plants stuck in her curls.
She gasped for air, panting, her eyes scanning the horizon. "They're gone?" she asked.
"I think so," he said, his own chest heaving. "I think we lost them."
The witch closed her eyes, putting a hand against her wet chest, as she murmured something under her breath, that must be a prayer of thanks. "Okay," she said. "I- I suppose we ought to go in a different direction from them for now."
Dante nodded, standing again, though the water in all his clothes weighed him down quite a lot. He extended a hand for the witch to take. She hesitated, but took it. Her clothes must be even heavier, with the amount of fabric in her skirt.
"Thank you," she muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. Embarrassed that he had saved her? He let himself feel pleased and smug about it for one moment before he remembered that she was only in this position because his fellow soldiers and him had destroyed her home. Did this absolve him of his sins?
If he was honest with himself, he definitely didn't think so.
"It's nothing," he said softly. "C'mon. You know where to go?"
Her fingers hesitated at the bite wound on his hand, where she had bit him. It was still dripping red, mixing into the swamp. "I'll heal this, when I can," she said, and it almost sounded like an apology.
"You can heal?" he said, a little surprised. "Like, magically?"
She sighed. "You really don't know anything," she said, drily. But she sounded less terrified now, so Dante would accept this assessment of his abilities.
"I didn't really pay a lot of attention during the briefings," he admitted.
She bent down to fish her staff out of the water, then started to wring water from her hair.
"I doubt your troops know the intricacies of magic anyway," she said. "Healing something like this is possible, but only with the control granted by a wand. I'll have to make one before I heal anything."
He blinked. "How do you make a wand?"
"I grow one," she replied simply. She leaned over to a small branch that sprouted from the roots of the tree they hid under and snapped it off into her hand. "By the time we find a place to make camp, I'll have a small wand."
Under his amazed eye, the branch began to sprout new budding leaves, that the witch pinched off.
"Wait," he said, blinking. "You just- you just took off the growth?"
"Too fast," she replied. "It needs to grow slower. Come on."
Dante sighed, rubbing his head ruefully. How many times in one day could his world be blown apart?
They were both soaking wet, but they didn't have much by way of other options so neither of them mentioned it. They would dry off as they walked. They still didn't speak as they walked deeper into the swamp, but the silence this time was less hostile, and Dante could put it down to exhaustion instead of hatred.
He hadn't slept particularly well either, after everything that had happened.
The swamp itself had a strange beauty to it too, the sun filtering through pale green leaves to cast shimmering light on the water. He'd never seen a place quite like this, far from the mountainous forests at home. The birds called cheerfully in the canopies, and he glimpsed a large lizard sunbathing on a root. He didn't really understand why they had even invaded, if this place was like this. It was certainly not as the captain had painted it, full of savages who sacrificed their children for power.
The only savages he saw were the ones in armor fighting next to him. It was a slow dawning realization that Dante hadn't really wanted to acknowledge, that he had thrown his lot in with something he didn't really understand. The army felt more like an enormous, armored monster rolling across the countryside than a band of brothers, fighting back the wicked. And he had been part of that monster.
In front of him, the witch began to sway, her steps slowing, then began to tilt altogether. Dante lunged to catch her, his arms circling around her waist as she fainted dead away in his arms, clutching the branch-wand-thing in her hand.
"Shit!" he swore, looking around wildly to see if there was anything that might tell him what to do. He couldn't just put her down, there was water everywhere. At the very least, he had to find a place to put her feet up. And if she couldn't walk on her own, he guessed he'd have to carry her.
It was what he had suggested in the first place anyway. He got his arm under her knees and swung her up. She was heavy with water and he was more aware than ever of the body underneath those borrowed garments. He gulped, and focused on taking one step after another instead. His arms ached under the weight as he forged through the swamp.
Eventually, the water level grew lower and lower, turned to mud, which became dry land again. Panting with the exertion, Dante nearly toppled over when he put the witch down on dry ground nestled in the roots of a large tree. She was still breathing evenly, almost peacefully. Two fingers pressed to her neck revealed a steady pulse. Perhaps it was just exhaustion then. Dante sighed, ignoring his own aching body as he began to gather the things he needed for a fire. It would still be a risk, but they had to get dry, or exposure would get them before the knights did.
Bushcraft was part of his training as a soldier, and he still had his sword and knife. He began by carving a hole in a chunk of wood and twisting some marsh grasses into twine, to make a fire starter. He made quick work of it, got a bit of tinder to smolder and it wasn't before long that he had a small fire going. The heat coming from it felt good on his mud caked feet. He stretched them out in front of the fire as he worked on building a simple frame to dry their clothes on from a few more branches he had cut from the trees around them.
He didn't dare undress the witch in her vulnerable state, so he settled for undressing himself only, hanging his shirt and trousers up to dry, before settling in to pick dried mud out from between his toes. When he glanced back up again, he startled. The witch was awake, just, watching him. Her dark eyes reflected the firelight back at him, Dante flushed and let go of his foot.
"I-" he stammered. "Um. I- uh- sorry?"
She simply looked back at him. Her face was calm, cool, as she took her time to say in return, "For what?"
He didn't really know what to say to that. He gestured around to the small fire. "For um," he said. "Not finding something better?"
"We're in the middle of a swamp."
"I risked lighting a fire?"
The witch tilted her head at him, squinting, like he was a puzzle box she was trying to decode. "Would you rather I be angry with you?" she asked.
"Well," Dante said, hesitant. "No?"
"I'm not mad," she said, her head still tilted. She turned it the other way, as though he might look different from another angle. "You're still protecting me?"
He nodded slowly. "I- I understand you have no reason to trust me, really," he said. "But I- I- don't know."
She didn't respond, simply looked at him, and he felt compelled to keep talking. "It's been... I- it's just been so confusing and difficult. I don't know really know what the right thing to do is, but- I- I've just been trying, it's hard, it's just hard."
"Yes, I'm sure it's been so difficult for you," the witch said, dry.
Dante flushed in return. "I'm not trying to compare myself to what you've been through!" he wailed, anguished. "I'm just trying-"
She laughed at him. It was a rough sound, and it shook her whole body. It was the first time he had heard any kind of humor from her, and even if it was coming at his expense, he couldn't help but feel like he deserved it.
"Come here," she said, gesturing for him to come forward. He obeyed, hesitating as he knelt next to her, one hand self-consciously covering his naked chest. Was she going to hit him or something?
Instead, she grabbed his hand, the one she bit, and prodded it with the wand in her hand. A soft light bathed the bite wound in his hand right before it began to sting like mad. He startled, tried to pull it away from her but she held on tightly.
"Hold on," she said, as he watched the wound begin to close with amazement. In seconds, there was only a faint scar left.
"You could have warned me about the pain," he said, ruefully, rubbing the scar. Her face broke into a terrible grin.
"What's the fun in that?" she said. "It wasn't so bad anyway."
But her color looked worse,after that exercise, sickly in the firelight, and she laid back again, panting.
"You used something up to do that for me," he guessed. "When you're this exhausted?"
That was confusing too. She didn't like him. The way she treated him had more in common with the bullies in the army barracks than with any genuine respect. But here she was, risking some part of her to help him.
"If you had let that go untreated for much longer," the witch said. "You'd lose the hand or be dead in a week. Wounds need to stay clean, and you submerged yourself in a swamp."
"I had to!" Dante protested. "I was trying to save both of our lives, if you remember-"
The witch pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh, letting go of his hand. "Yes," she said. "I remember. I'm not blaming you, Dante, I'm simply explaining what what needed to be done."
Dante hesitated, rubbing the side of his face. "Yes," he said. She wasn't acting like she was particularly angry with him right now. Just perhaps a little annoyed. "Um. Yeah. Right."
She bit her lip, her teeth working her brown mouth as though she was thinking over a particularly difficult decision. "Why did you free me?" she asked. "Don't you have family to return to? Why did you risk it all?"
Dante swallowed. To be honest, his family hadn't crossed his mind, really. "I-" he scratches the side of his face, sheepish. "I guess my family and I aren't very close. We, um. I don't know, I just couldn't really watch you go anymore, you know?"
"No," the witch said, and there, the frigid tone of her voice dripped back in. "I wouldn't know anything of the guilt I might feel after invading someone's home."
Dante took a deep breath, letting it go slowly. "I don't mean to offend," he said. "I'm afraid- I'm afraid I might not be able to give you the answers you're looking for. I participated in the sacking of your village, it's true. I- I don't know what I can do to make up for it. I-" he swallowed again. "It would be uncouth of me to ask for any kind of forgiveness."
His head kept circling the matter like a nervous pacer working its way through the floor. She was hurt badly and he bore some responsibility for that because he had been a part of the attack. But she was the enemy still, and that had been the purpose the entire time. He shouldn't have to care what she thought, because he was just doing as he was supposed to. But then the sickening feeling of sticking a sword through a living man, and the wretched sight of her naked body, and all the murder and rape that happened last night would flash through his head, and he couldn't ignore that she had been hurt badly. And that he had some responsibility in it.
"You're right," she said slowly, her voice ice cold. "You don't have the right. After what your people did."
"Please don't shout again," Dante whispered, a little frightened by the look in her eye. "We can't risk being caught."
The witch played with the wand in her hand, considering it, and Dante stiffened, watching it. She could probably kill him with that stick as easy as anything. He had put his sword next to the fire, to make sure it dried out of its sheath. Nervously, he scooted backwards in the dirt, to grab the hilt of it, though he wasn't quite brave to point the blade at her.
They stared at each other, as Dante bit his lip, his whole body taut, watching her hand carefully.
Then the witch sneezed, loudly, shuddering. Dante blinked. "Um," he said. "Perhaps you should um, let your clothes dry some? You'll catch your death of cold."
A chuckle escaped the witch. "Aren't you afraid of me?" she saiid, and let go of the wand. Dante relaxed minutely, though his hand still stayed near his sword.
"I-" he stammered. "I still have a duty of care."
"Do you?" she said, and began to undo her skirts. "You've already freed me, hid me from your fellows, and dragged me halfway across the swamp. And yet I cannot find it in me to forgive you even a little." She sat up, and stepped out of her skirts, leaving only the long linen shift underneath. Dante's mouth went very dry as she walked towards him.
"What are you doing?" he gasped, slapping a hand over his eyes.
"I don't think you really understand what you people did to me," she said, her voice vibrating with rage. "To my people." His eyes flew open as her hand grabbed his throat, pushed him to the ground and climbed onto him. She looked down at him, eyes wide and furious, and again, like she wasn't really seeing him. Her hand didn't squeeze, just held him down. And it shook though he could not tell whether or it was exhaustion or rage.
He gripped her wrist, shocked and bewildered.
"I don't think you really understand the kind of position you've put me in," the witch gritted out, and even more confusingly, with tears beading up in the corner of her eyes. And worst of all, she wasn't wearing wearing anything below the waist. The dampness between her thighs on his stomach could just be swamp water, but it made him terribly nervous. Heat traveled down his spine and he swallowed hard, trying to will his traitorous body not to react. "I- I can't even try to explain the violation, the humiliation," she snapped, her fingers clenching around his throat.
"And then I have to simply move on?" she choked out. "I have to travel with my enemy, and listen to him try to broach forgiveness?" The last word ripped out of her throat with a ragged shout.
"I didn't mean that!" Dante exclaimed, his heart leaping into his throat. "I really didn't- I was trying to explain that I wasn't expecting forgiveness!"
She did the last thing he expected. She reached back and grabbed his cock, tenting in his loincloth, and squeezed it far too tight to be comfortable. Dante made a strangled noise, his hands leaping to his mouth at the implicit threat.
"You have no idea what it was like," she said, her voice cold again. "I can only show you a fraction of the taste."
She twisted and pulled as though trying to yank his cock from his body and the delicate vulnerability and pain of his position had Dante muffled his cries between his fingers. No one besides him had actually touched him like this before and tears sprung to the corners of his eyes. That disgusting sense of humiliation that slunk into his chest-- that was violation.
"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have said anything."
"You shouldn't have," she replied, cold, grabbing him by the balls this time and tugging on them too. He arched with the sudden pain. "You think one change of heart will fix everything? You think you can play savior and be forgiven?"
"No, no," he whimpered, though, he had felt as though she had been ungrateful. "I don't think that at all. Please..."
"This is only a fraction of what I endured," she snapped. "A fraction of what you people dished out, and here you are, shaking and crying already. You'd make a good woman."
Her words hit him deep, making him shudder with- with something. It was so confusing. The pain and humiliation and violation were intense and still he couldn't bring himself to believe he deserved any better. And strangest of all, there was something seductive about the pain she was doling out onto him.
"How many women have you raped, huh?" she demanded, letting go of his balls to slap his cock. He cried out again, unable to help himself. "How many women have you unwillingly taken?"
"I-" he stammered, as tears really did start to flow. "A-actually I- I'm- I've never touched a woman before. I-I'm a v-virgin."
That was its own mark of shame, when boys five years his junior were already tumbling through the hay. But it made the witch pause, let him go. Some mix of emotion crossed her face, realization, disgust, anger, he couldn't quite follow. But she got off of him, subdued.
It took a little longer for Dante to gather himself together, sitting up next to her. His own shoulders were shaking and trembling, as he wiped away his tears.
"It's okay," he said. "I- I think I understand what- what you were trying to tell me. I- I think I understand more of- of what it felt like."
The witch pinched the bridge of her nose again, her face scrunched up in irritation.
"Why are you like this?" she exclaimed. "I- I- I hurt you, I scared you, and you're still here, making excuses for me? I- I haven't even told you my name!"
Dante didn't really have an answer for that either. "I- I don't know," he stammered. "I just- I don't know, you're- you're hurting." And now so was he.
The witch shook her head. "You are..." she said slowly. "Stupidly difficult to hate. My name is Amina."
Oh.
"Amina," he said, holding the name in his mouth as carefully as a retriever dog would hold an egg. "Um. Hello, Amina."
She shook her head again. "How old are you, Dante?" she asked.
What did that have to do with anything? "Twenty," he replied, a little hesitantly, and Amina shook her head again, but made no further comment.
"What," he said, a little defensively. "How old are you then?"
"Thirty two," she retorted, then rubbed her face. "I apologize, for my outburst."
Dante bit his lip. "Is it- is it strange to say I- I didn't really mind? I- it was- it was certainly a new way of looking at things. And I didn't think you would really kill me."
Another look he couldn't interpret crossed her face. Some kind of disgruntlement?
"Your standards are not very good," she said finally. "You should have something better for your first time, no?"
Dante just shrugged, shy. "I don't think I wouldn't mind being shown what it's like to be a woman," he said, embarrassed. He couldn't quite look her in the eye, but the proposition was more tempting than any other he's ever had. Amina took his chin in hand and made him look at her, tilting his head towards her. There was an intense, serious look on her face, and Dante had to appreciate that she was a beautiful woman, firelight flickering off the warm brown of her skin, on the delicate bones of her face.
"I-" he stammered. "If- if you're okay to? I mean- you just-"
"Shut up," she said, seriously. "I could use something like this right now."
And she kissed him. It was brief, demanding, and made his head spin. His first kiss. He couldn't help but kiss her back, leaning into the tenderness of her mouth. Her hand went back to his cock, but this time the pressure she chose was much nicer, just tight enough to feel good.
He moaned into her mouth as she laid him back down next to the fire, and separated again.
"You want to be a woman tonight?" she said, panting.
"I-" he stammered, blushing. Was that a thing he got to want? "I-"
"Make a decision," Amina demanded. "Yes or no."
Well, it sure seemed like a decision that she wanted him to make. "I- uh," he squeaked. She squeezed his dick unpleasantly. "Yes!" he exclaimed, in a hurry, suddenly able to find her words. "Yes! I-"
"Then be a good girl," Amina said. "And shut up."
His jaw clacked shut audibly, his cock throbbing in her hand. "O-o-okay," he stammered, then put a hand over his mouth again. Her mouth?
Amina ran her hand lazily up and down her cock, her dark eyes scanning hungrily up and down Dante's body. Her whole body felt like it was on fire under her attention. She made more noises into her hand as her cock slowly stood higher and higher at her attention. It was so wholly different than when she had her own hand on herself.
Precum leaked from her tip and Amina swiped it up with a finger. "Look at that," she said, soft, teasing. "You're wet."
Dante shivered, full body, as Amina pushed her legs apart. "And when a woman gets wet," she said, soft, "It makes it much easier to push inside her."
Dante licked her lips, her eyes wide, intense with anticipation as Amina prodded her back entrance with that slick finger. "A-ah," she stammered. "I- you can- there?" Just the tip of her finger prodding there felt insane, intense.
Amina nodded. "Yes," she said. "You can." And she pushed in, just the tip. A noise Dante had never made before escaped her throat. Slowly, she fucked that finger tip in and out of her. Never mind everything else that happened before, this was intense. She moaned wildly, stifling the noises she made back into her mouth as Amina's hungry mouth bent down to take a bare nipple into her mouth.
Dante didn't know what to do with her hands, clawing at the ground underneath her. "Fuck!" she cried. "I- holy shiiiit." She had never felt anything like this before, her cock aching with how hard it was.
"Good girls don't curse," Amina murmured, low against her chest. Dante swallowed around a heated lump in her throat.
"Sorry ma'am," she squeaked in return.
Amina kissed her way down Dante's stomach, as she bit her lip hard. "I- I-" she gasped. "I've never- not like this-"
Her mouth swallowed down her tip and Dante moaned loudly, shaking, trembling, as Amina worked her tongue over her cock. Slick pleasure sent electric bolts up her spine as she arched underneath her. She couldn't last much longer. Dante whimpered, loud, and came into Amina's mouth with a shuddering and blinding white orgasm, leaving her panting and spent.
Amina pulled out of her, and spat the mouthful of seed back onto the ground, wiping her mouth. "There," she said, sounding smug though her shoulders trembled too. She laid down next to Dante, not touching, except for a brush of the arm that she was hypersensitive of.
Dante closed her eyes. "Wow," she said quietly. "I didn't know my body could do that. I- Did you want me to- for you?"
"Don't touch me," Amina said comfortably. "Get some rest, we have further to go tomorrow. I'll keep first watch, since I had a bit of a rest."
Dante didn't need to be told again. She settled back into her own skin, curling up and uncaring of anything but getting a little bit of rest, and fell dead asleep.
Tags: Explicit Rape/Noncon, gangbang, bondage, blindfold, fantasy whump, lady whump, poc whump, Reader Discretion Advised
The army of Lerina has captured Amina, head mage of her tiny village and they will bring her to heel.
Reworking this story from last year! I suspect this is not going to be the only revision, and there will be more.
Also on Literotica
----
Smoke on the horizon.
She stood on the small hill that hid her small village from view, a fire in the shape of a woman, her magic boiling inside her as she watched the army approach. The armies of the Witch King had fallen, and the enemy were inside the borders. She ran a brown thumb up the polished wood of her gnarled staff, saturated with the magic she had bathed it in since she had made it as a young girl.
"Headwoman Amina?" Small hands clutched her skirt as the child Garmin looked anxiously up at her.. "Do we have to run?" The witch-woman smiled back at the child.
"No," Amina said. "Go back to your mother now. I have a spell to work." The child ran back towards the village, chubby little legs going as fast as they could carry him.
It was a spell she had worked many times before, to hide the village from incoming bandits. She was young, for headwoman, only in her third decade but she was the last mage among their number, and her elder, Master Marawan, had become too old to sustain her duties. She lifted her staff now, and began to chant. In her mind's eye she fastened her words to the rope buried around the entire village, awakening the enchantment woven into the twisted fibers.
Mists rose to hide the village from view, lifted by the power in her veins, thrumming through her staff. It made all those who looked upon it simply forget what was cloaked within it. This spell had protected the village for years from banditry; there was no reason it shouldn't work on an army. The Knights Templar of Lerin did not have mages amongst their number- they were notorious for despising the practice, though Amina couldn't imagine why.
She stepped back, satisfied. Still, it would be prudent to put a watch up. No fires would be set in the village until the army passed. If the animals could not be kept quiet, they would have to either be set free or slaughtered. There was still much work to do.
With one lingering backwards glance towards the smudge on the horizon, Amina turned and descended the hill.
----
The army approached.
Steadily, in their direction. If they continued this way, then spell or no, in a day's march they would run straight into the village. Amina stood again, on top of the hill, watching from within the mist shroud. She would evacuate her people, hurry them out behind the hills, with as many of their things they could carry. Perhaps she had waited too long, too comfortable with the spell's protection.
This close she could see the glint of armor in the sun, flags flying the blue and gold Lerin colors, streaming in the sun. There were horses, tents, a long caravan trail behind them of their support. And then, like a miracle, the head of the army gestured to the west, turning away from its path towards the village.
Amina sighed with considerable relief. Perhaps they could simply sit and wait them out. It would take several more days for the trailing caravan to pass by completely, but then they'd be in the clear.
---
That night, Amina woke up from a dead sleep as the warning gong exploded into noise. "ATTACK!" screamed the watchman. "ATTACK!"
The headwoman did not bother to dress, rising in her nightgown to seize her staff and ran barefooted into the village. Behind her, Master Marawan stumbled out of bed, her own staff in hand, the old woman hobbling behind her. A knight on a horse charged down their single street through the midnight dark, to cut down the watchman. Ersten was on watch. Ersten, the widower with three children he doted on, who needed him.
Amina shrieked with rage, raising her staff to fling fireballs into the knight. Screams went up in the night, as a knight flung off his heated helmet, his horse panicking at the sudden magic.
"Witch!" they shouted. "The witch is here!"
"Master!" she exclaimed. "I'll hold them off, you go heal Ersten!"
It was chaos. She grabbed her Marawan's hand to tow her towards the injured man, as arrows whistled through the air. She sent out a burst of magic to burn their fletchings, so they no longer flew true, thudding behind her. Amina spotted the knight in the distance drawing their warbow again. She raised her staff and burned through the cow gut string, then built a wall of flame to block the knight's path. She burned with her creation as she turned her attention to other avenues, racing to keep her people from being killed.
"Stop!" she heard a young voice cry. "Stop, please!"
She burst into the house of nineteen year old Lena and her new husband, to find him dead on the floor and two men wrestling down the girl, her skirts already hiked up to her waist.
"Get off of her!" Amina demanded, pointing her staff at men. Magic pulsed from its end to blast away the knights, but to her surprise, the one closest to her whirled and sliced through it, leaving them unharmed.
"What?" she gasped.
The knight laughed from under their helmet and lunged towards her, the magic slicing sword pointed at her throat. She blocked the heavy blow with her staff, the blade chipping into the wood. She could see the man grinning at her through the grill of his helm. "Not used to being seen through, eh?" he laughed as he bore down on her. "You little thief!"
What in the world was he talking about?
Desperate, she kicked him away, scrambling backwards, out of Lena's house, when a hand caught her wrist. She whirled around, ready to blast the person who dared touch her but instead a gauntlet closed cruelly around her throat.
Suddenly she was surrounded by templars. The knight who held her was perhaps a decade or two her senior, tall and broad, his dark hair peppered with grey and trimmed carefully short. Amina couldn't tell what the colored lines on his gambeson meant, but his armor was well fitted and intricately made. She could only assume this was a nobleman. She gasped for breath in his hold, as she tried to kick, but she only hurt her bare feet against his armor. Another pair of hands wrestled her staff away from her.
"Don't play with your food, Harvenson," he scolded. "When you have a witch on hand, you must deal with it quickly." These weren't just knights and soldiers- they were mage hunters. No wonder the Witch King had fallen to them.
"Yes, Captain Warren," said the knight, notably more respectable.
Beyond the talk, Amina could hear Lena's cries, then sobs, as the remaining man took her without further obstacle. She had been rendered helpless so quickly. The knight with her staff slammed it against the ground, fully intent on breaking it.
"No!" The word came out strangled, raspy, as she renewed her struggles, reaching over to try and claw out the eyes of the captain. She was thrown on the ground, hard enough to wind her. Captain Warren stepped on her throat and pressed down as she struggled, as the knight with her staff slammed it against the ground again and again, until it splintered and snapped. He might as well have stabbed her in the gut.
"Bind and gag her," Warren ordered. "We already killed the old witch by accident, we cannot let this one go."
"No," she choked out. "No!"
Someone stuffed a knotted handkerchief into her mouth, yanking her head up by her hair to knot it behind her neck. Amina groaned with pain, struggling to fight those hands but the captain took her foot off her throat to casually kick her in the stomach.
"Someone tell Sir Patois that we found her," Warren said gesturing. "Prepare the sacrifice for dawn tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Captain," one of the foot soldiers said, and ran off.
Every time she struggled too hard, the only thing Amina found was a blow. That in and of itself was almost a relief-- every moment of pain was a relief from the fear, from grief, as she was wrestled down, and her hands tied behind her back.
"By the oath, she's a fighter," said a new knight hovering right above her, sounding nervous. "You don't think she'll escape, do you?"
"It's fine," said another, sounding equally unnerved. "We tied her so tightly, it's impossible for her to escape."
She bit down into the gag, deep, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. There was nothing she could do. She would be another victim in this invasion. They said they were going to sacrifice her, that they had killed Marawan- grief caught in her throat again. What did they mean by that? What kind of sacrifice are they talking about?
She could still here Lena's cries from inside her house. It all rose up inside her, trembling with the helplessness and rage until she couldn't take it anymore. She screamed wordlessly through the gag, pulling at the ropes around her wrists until they protested with pain, thrashing to escape her bonds.
The knights above her flinched and she wanted to laugh at them. The fire inside her begged to escape her, to pour into their armor and cook them alive like crayfish in their shells as she lunged at them.
"Fuck!" one of the templars exclaimed, leaping back. "Fucking hell, what if she has curses hidden on her somewhere?
Warren sighed. “Without her tongue,” he said, and kicked her again, in the stomach. Amina fell into the road, curling up as best as she could with her hands behind her back. “Without her hands. She’s just a woman.”
“But-”
Warren scoffed. “Do you need more proof? She can do nothing like this.” The captain pressed his foot between Amina’s knees and up her dress, pushing his boot against her cunt. She made a wounded noise as he ground his toe into her crotch. Tears sprung to the corners of Amina’s eyes, as Warren exposed her in the streets, her skirts bunching around her waist.
Panic started to worm through her then, as she fought her bonds, to no avail. Warren was right. She was helpless, or she’d have killed Warren right here.
“By the oath,” one of the guards whispered, and began to laugh. “She can do nothing.”
Adrenaline rushed through Amina’s veins as Warren stepped away from her, as she pressed her knees back together, trying to shift her clothes back over her thighs. One of the knights took his helmet off, a young man with a flop of blond hair and a hungry look in his eye. She tried to swallow around the knot in the gag but her throat only worked uselessly.
“Captain, can we have a turn?” the knight asked. "She's quite pretty, when you look at her."
Warren rolled his eyes. “Don’t untie her and don't neglect your duties. I don’t care what you do with her. We sacrifice her to Lerina tomorrow.”
Warren walked away as the knights began to discuss. “Let's take her inside,” suggests the young man. “The village is basically done for, she was the last real problem."
"Someone should still stand guard," said another. "How embarrassing would it be to get knifed in the back because we were balls deep in the witch?”
Amina made a small noise, a squeak of fear, and the young man laughed. She burned with shame as she felt slick begin to gather between her thighs.
“Look, this doesn’t feel right to me.” A low voice from one of the knights. “She’s Lerina’s sacrifice, we shouldn’t- shouldn’t- you know.”
“C’mon Dante,” the young man laughed. “Lerina doesn’t care about whether or not she’s been fucked, only that she has magic. Don’t you want to get your dick wet?” He was already beginning to unbuckle his belt.
“No,” Dante said, briefly, and walked away.
“His loss,” another knight said with a shrug, his armor clanking as he leans down to take a fist full of her curls to drag her back into Lena's house.
She cried out in protest, trying to struggle to her feet so her hair didn't all get ripped out by the roots, but it was a struggle in futility. The knight didn't let her stand up straight, forcing her head down low enough that one stumble was enough to fall to the ground again.
Inside, Lena was still getting raped, though she had stopped crying. She stared up, glassy eyed, at the ceiling as the man inside her grunted rhythmically over her. Amina wanted to reach out to her, to hold her hand and tell her she would save her, but all she could do was stumble by as she was manhandled into the bedroom, to be debased herself.
She couldn't help but whine in fear as they shoved her onto the bed, her shoulder drawn and trembling, looking back at the group of knights, anonymous with their helmets on, except the one man who took it off. There was a hunger in his eyes as he began to unbuckle his belt.
“Blindfold her,” said one of the anonymous knights. “I don’t want her recognizing our faces later, to curse us.”
“She’s not going to curse us, she’s getting sacrificed," he scoffed.
“I still don’t want her to see my face!”
“You big fucking baby,” he scoffed, and took his belt off. He walked over to grab Amina by her hair, pulling her forward. She made a protesting noise, but the belt wrapped around her eyes, leaving her blind and utterly vulnerable.
“There,” said the man. “Now you can take your helmets off, you ridiculous doffers.”
There was the sound of armor clinking, of fresh gasps as Amina strained against the rope until the skin on her wrists tore, wetting her fingers with blood. This couldn’t be happening. Her disbelief was the thickest shield she could conjure for herself. This couldn’t be happening.
Hands wrapped around her ankles, pulling her down the bed onto her back so she had to lay on her bound hands. They forced her legs apart, her nightgown hiked up to her hips. Too many hands explored the soft skin of her inner thighs. She hiccuped with fear as she felt a knife slide under the string of her loin cloth, snapping it so that she was naked from the waist down.
“Aw she sounds so scared!” someone cooed. Did she? She could hear small, frightened noises, but- but- no, she guesses it was coming from her, not Lena. Blindfolded, she couldn't keep track of who was touching her, or even how many there were. She jolted as fingers pressed against her cunt, taken by surprise. A long whine escaped her, as she tried to worm away from the intrusion. But she was well tied and her struggles were no obstacle for the rough, leather-gloved fingers pressing inside her.
“She’s already wet!” More laughter. “I bet she’s hungry for it. I bet she enchants all the men in this village to come fill her every night.”
“I wish we could get her mouth.”
“Don’t be stupid, you heard what the Captain said.”
“I know, I know, I’m just saying. I think I’ll just use her tits.”
Amina turned her head to the side, the only escape available to her as hands grabbed the collar of her nightgown and ripped it open, leaving her breasts naked and exposed to the room. She whimpered helplessly, her fingers clutching the sheets behind her.
A heavy weight settled on the bed, next to her, then straddled her, a thick cock landing between her breasts. Two hands grabbed her breasts, kneading and massaging them against his length as he groaned above her. Amina wheezed, straining through the gag as she arched, struggling. Someone grabbed her knee and pushed it aside, thrusting another gloved finger inside her. The stretch hurt and she sobbed into her gag.
"Her breasts aren't big enough for this," the man above her grunts, rutting into her chest, his hands running over her nipples, leaving electric tingles behind. "Fuck, I want her mouth.”
Please, she wanted to beg. Stop. I’m still human, I still feel, I still suffer. But the gag stifled her voice. She could only flinch and moan when the head of a cock nudged up against her entrance. Her hands tore at the sheets, fisting in them as she tried to writhe away from the intrusion.
“C’mon, play nice, bitch.” Hands grabbed her hips and pulled her right onto the cock threatening her. Amina cried out from behind her gag as it stretched her brutally open.
“Fuck she has a pretty little cunt.”
“I bet she has a pretty little asshole.”
“Ha, you want it?”
“Yes, better than her tits.”
The weight on her chest lifted. Her breath heaved in her chest as she tried to follow what's happening. Hands shoved her shoulders up, pressing her against a hard chest plate. Amina gasped again, moaning, as the movement forced the cock deeper into her, filling her up so much deeper than she'd ever been before. A second body slid in behind her. Gauntlets grabbed her under her knees knees and pulled her back against an armored chest, sandwiching her thoroughly between two templars. She was panting now, thoroughly aroused by her own assault. She leaned her head back against the knight’s chest, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm down. Her people died at the hands of these murderers, and here she was getting off with them.
“Hold on, hold on, prep her ass for me, will you? It’s going to be too dry, I’ll hold her open.”
“With what?”
“Use her slick, or spit, or anything I don’t really care.”
“I have sword oil, we can use that.”
“Oh, good idea.”
The cock inside her retreated and it left her empty and shivering as the knight behind her settled against the headboard of the bed. She could feel their cock, alert and pressed up underneath her ass, thrusting slowly against her cheeks. Her hands, bound behind her, slid against the gambeson underneath the chest plate, armor, trying to find enough give in the quilted fabric for a hand hold.
She flinched, as suddenly, slicked up fingers press against her ass. She cursed the blindfold through the gag, unable to see when someone was about to touch her. The knight behind her was much stronger than her, able to hoist her legs apart even through her hopeless struggling. Amina keened as they entered her anyway, breaching the hard ring of muscle that was supposed to keep them out. She shuddered, hard, moaning, as fingers began to explore the inside of her ass.
“She makes pretty sounds, doesn’t she.”
“You think the captain would let us do this with the other witches?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, fuck the witch you’ve got.”
Laughter. “Yeah, yeah, fair enough.”
Tears leaked down from under the belt as Amina tried to breathe with the intrusion. If Captain Warren had wanted her to know how pitifully helpless she was before her execution, she couldn’t have picked a better way to do it. There was nothing she could do, except suffer, except try to ignore the pleasure the anonymous fingers and cocks worked into her body.
“She’s just sucking me up-- oh look, she’s crying!”
Laughter.
“Maybe she thinks this will make her take pity on her.”
Monsters. These templars were all monsters. If she escaped from this alive, she’d kill them all on sight.
The fingers retreated from her ass but it was only a brief relief as the knight behind her wrapped their hands around her thighs and positioned her just right to push their cock into her ass. She screamed into the gag. It hurt in a strange way that Amina can’t quite grasp her head around, in a way she can’t bear to think about for too long. Amina sobbed as she desperately tried to find something to cling to.
“Fuck, this is so hot," said a voice from the side with a long moan. The sounds of wet slapping told her exactly what the other knights were up to while she was being attacked. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." He groaned, loudly, as he orgasmed.
It distracted her enough that it took her by surprise when a cock nudged back up against her cunt again.
“I’m going in.”
"Hold on, let me do something."
Fingers pressed past the gag to push cum inside her mouth. The bitter salt taste made her gag around his fingers, a disgusted noise escaping her as she tried to tear her face away, the rest of it drooling out of her mouth. The templars laughed.
"Okay that was pretty hot," said the man in front of her, and without further preamble, thrust inside.
Amina screamed, as she clenched against the intrusion. The cock inside her thrust in anyway, forcing her walls to accommodate the sheer girth of his thick cock. She was so, so full, pressed between two people much larger than her. Stop. Stop!
“Fuuuuck, god, I can feel you through her ass.”
She twitched as the person behind her wriggled their cock. Laughter. “That’s fucked up, I can feel you too.”
Stop stop stopstopstop-
But instead, they began to fuck her in earnest, drawing a moan out of her. Amina pressed her forehead against the chest of the knight in front of her, the twin frictions pumping in and out of her drawing a long, frission of pleasure through her spine.
Panting filled the room as the two people fucking her set a fast rhythm. She lost her grip on her resistance, on doing anything but existing in the pain and the pleasure the templars fucked into her. She had been caught and degraded in a way that made her stomach twist with nausea, but she was so much fuller than she had ever been before.
It set every nerve ending on fire, as they stoked her body's hunger, as her body slickened under the assault. An animal hunger inside her bade her to roll her hips, ever so slightly, barely aware of her own movement.
“I think she’s starting to enjoy this.”
No, no, she couldn't be. But she couldn't help but lean into what pleasure of the moment she could, moaning louder and louder as her lust rose within her.
“Fuck!”
Amina felt the hot gush inside her, dripping form her cunt and she moaned, shivering with horror and lust as the person behind her pushed her forward, toppling her into the lap of the knight in front of her, their cock sliding out, wet against her cheek. The knight behind her put a hand on the back of her neck as they fucked her ass, each thrust pushing her face against wet, quickly softening dick.
“Fuck this is quite a show, this is so hot. I think I’m about to cum.”
More moans filled the air.
"Come on girl, clean him off." A hand her neck pushed her face forward to wipe against the soft wet cock on her cheeks but she was too focused on the cock still pumping furiously in and out of her ass, to either obey or resist. Instead, the long drawn out cry of someone being taken to the brink came out of her.
She buried her face into their thigh as her cries took on the keen of an orgasm, pleasure building and swamping her as she hung helplessly limp in their grasp.
“Oh, oaths, she’s cumming, I knew the witch was a slut!”
“Fuck, fuck, she’s clenching down on me I think I-” There was a second hot spurt of seed inside her and Amina hiccuped a half sob as the person behind her moaned, their hands clenching down on the back of her neck.
“Wow that was fun.”
The cock withdrew from her ass as the knights dropped her unceremoniously, curled up and shell shocked. Armor clanked as they buckled themselves back together. But the belt doesn’t get reclaimed.
Her breath sounded irregular and stuttered in her own ears. She wouldn’t even get to know who raped her.
"My turn," said another templar, pushing her onto her back again. "I want some of that pussy." And with that, he pushed into her abused cunt.
She lost track of how many cocks she took, one after another. She lost track of how many orgasms they drew out of her, how many times she passed out and how many times she was forced back awake by another cock inside her.
It had to be more people than her original group of rapists-- more visitors coming in to gawk or to help themselves to her body, more cocks to invade her, more cum to smear on her helpless body.
She didn't know how long it took for them all to be done with her, but finally, she was left alone, cold and pained, and curled up in Lena's marriage bed. And then, she got her final visitor.
Amina lay quietly as she heard footsteps approach. To her surprise, whoever it was removed the belt from around her eyes. It was the captain. He had removed his plate armor but his gambeson still hung from his shoulders. In the dim light of the coming dawn, Amina could see the cold look on his face as he dispassionately surveyed the damage his soldiers had done to her.
“Your people are dead,” he said, clinically wiping the cum from Amina’s cheek and examining the residue on his fingers. “A few have escaped, yes, but none will return to save you.”
Then, Warren does something unexpected. He reached around Amina’s head and untied the gag, pulling the rough knot from his mouth. Amina coughed, working her aching jaw in response to the smallest bit of freedom. It was, of course, not enough to break free. Warren was able to take her down at full strength. Like this? He’d have no problems.
“Animals,” Amina hissed, her throat rough and sore from screaming into the gag. “Monsters. You kill innocents and hand me to your soldiers to fuck as they please.”
“Your people protected a thief and a liar,” Warren said, very calmly as he pulls his cock out of his pants. “You and your wretched king have stolen your gift from Lerina’s hearth and we will be reclaiming it. But first it hurts no one to satisfy a few urges.”
"What?" she said, startled at the idea. "I- we don't-"
"Silence," he ordered. The captain grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up to his still soft cock. The other hand hooked around her teeth and pulled open her jaw, making the rubbed raw corners of her mouth ache. Warren groaned softly as he eased his cock into Amina’s mouth. Amina made a desperate little noise as she felt it grow harder against her tongue, lengthening as Warren sank further into her, until his cock is fully buried in Amina’s throat.
Warren moaned, quiet, as he began to fuck her face slowly, his thumb still wrapped around her jaw to keep it open.
“It’s nice that I don’t need sloppy seconds fucking you like this,” he said softly, though his hands are iron on Amina’s head. “All those fools terrified you’re going to explode into flame when we both know you are only human.”
After such a day, the sound of her gagging on the tip of Warren’s cock somehow still struck her as particularly obscene, the wet slap of cock against the back of her throat. Warren was quiet, fucked her with a precision that Amina had no strength to resist, only enough to close her eyes and pray that she had enough to endure.
“I wonder if you’re pregnant, after all that,” Warren gasped as he ground himself against Amina’s face. “I suppose we won’t find out. You’ll be dead soon, and Lerina will have her gift returned.”
So that was what the sacrifice they kept talking about was supposed to be.
Amina made a muffled protest, but quickly, she was silenced again as Warren shoved his cock back all the way down her throat. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again as she tried to breathe through her nose. Warren was panting harder as he slid Amina’s head up and down his cock.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. “You have a good throat for this. If it wasn’t for the ritual, and how stupidly dangerous it’d be, I’d almost be tempted to bring you around with me just for this. I’m sure my soldiers would get a kick out of it.”
Amina clenched her fists behind her back, her fingernails digging into her palms as she pressed her teeth against Warren’s thumb. In revenge, Warren’s boot finds her cunt, and presses in. She cried out into his cock as the hard leather of the boot makes contact with her bruised folds. She jerked back but the captain grabbed her head and forced her choke on his cock again.
There, with her nose pressed hard against Warren’s crotch, she could feel the tell tale jerk of Warren’s orgasm, a trickle of cum leaking down her throat. He even came quietly, nothing more than a soft sigh as he emptied himself onto Amina’s tongue. He pulled out with a satisfied sound as Amina coughed, trying to spit as much of Warren out as possible. Warren let her collapse to the ground as he cleaned himself off with a handkerchief and tucked himself back in, a satisfied smirk on his mouth.
Amina gasped for breath, shaking, as Warren squatted, grabbed her head and yanked her head up again. She only had time for a quick, “W-wait no, please-” before Warren pressed the cold, wet gag back into her mouth, the gag pressing back against the chafed corners of her mouth.
“You did a good job,” he said coolly, patting Amina on the head before letting her drop again. "Don't worry, your suffering will be over with soon."
Amina did not even have the energy to glare at his back as he swept out of the room.
---
She didn't know how long they left her in that cumsoaked bed. She was in too much pain, too wet, too cold, to sleep at all, but at least she was being left alone, even by the sole knight left to guard her. Slowly the sun rose, light leaking through her prison window. Presumably, the templars were having a nice breakfast around a campfire after enjoying their spoils.
She flinched bodily, when she heard footsteps again, her heart beating faster as she tensed. She couldn't see who it was.
"Hey, I'm relieving your watch," said a new voice. "You go get something to eat alright?"
"Oaths, thank you," her guard groaned. "I'm starving."
"Any trouble?"
"She's barely twitched," he said. "You could probably have a go yourself. You didn't earlier, right?"
"No thank you," the newcomer said hastily. "I'm- I'm just going to stand guard."
"Suit yourself, Dante."
Another set of footsteps, leading away. A door opening. A door closing.
Then, the sound of footsteps coming towards her room.
Amina was already scrambling away from the door when this Dante fellow walked in. Immediately, he flinched when he saw her naked body, clapping a hand across his eyes.
"Oh, oaths," he muttered. "They didn't even give you a cover? Um. Hold on."
He turned around, unfastened the cloak from around his shoulders and felt his way around the bed to put the cloak over her body. He was younger, certainly, his cheeks still carrying a youthful glow, gangly in the way young men sometimes were. He couldn't be much older than twenty. His own dark hair was pulled into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wasn't really wearing armor either, dressed in a well made tunic and a sturdy belt.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, to see Amina's own dark, suspicious ones glaring back at him.
"Man you've still got spunk," he muttered, and drew a dagger. When she flinched, he held up his hands. "I'm- I'm going to cut your bonds, okay? I- I'm going to get you out of here, alright? Witch or not, I- this wasn't right."
What? Amina couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. But gently, he pulled her so that he could more easily reach her hands. He sawed at the rope until it snapped, her hands springing apart. She groaned with the aches of being in one position for too long, her shoulders stiff and pained. But they were nothing in comparison to her hands. She had been tied so tightly that freedom was acutely painful as blood flowed back into her fingers. There was a tingling numbness in them that she hoped she could recover from.
"Please," Dante whispered, as he reached up to undo the gag. "Don't do any magic, alright? I- there are wards we use, to detect it. That's, um, how we saw through your spell. If you want to get away, you can't use it."
He pulled the gag out of her mouth and Amina found she had nothing to say to that. She gingerly rubbed her wrists with her injured hands, hunched in front of this young man. He nodded, then pulled out a handkerchief, and offered it to her. "To clean yourself up, a little," he said, then turned away to give her the privacy to do so.
It definitely was not enough to clean up the amount of cum she had been doused in. She shifted to the edge of the bed, slowly, painfully, as she shifted. Cum leaked out of her abused holes and she winced as it dribbled onto the sheets.
Dante, with his back turned, started digging in Lena's drawers.
"Hey," she rasped, indignant. "Don't do that."
"I'm looking for something for you to wear," Dante sighed. "In case you didn't want to only wear my cloak on the way out."
"What happened to her?"
"Who?"
"The girl who lives here," Amina growled. "The one who was raped. Lena."
"Um," Dante said, suddenly, his ears starting to glow a bit pink. "Um. Some of the other men took her. They, um, let her go, last night, when they were done with her. Worse for wear, but alive."
Not dead then. Not in need of immediate rescue.
He pulled out a linen shift for her and a maroon skirt that would be enough for a modest dress. She was as clean as she was going to be without a bath, before she dressed, as quickly as she could when every shift of her legs made her want to cringe.
Having clothes on again did make her feel a little better, but it was a thin covering over a raw and open wound. She had never been so humiliated before, and it made her want to burn everything down.
"Are you dressed?" Dante asked, still staring at the corner.
"Yes," she said.
"Okay," he said, turning back to look at her. She took his cloak and tucked it closer around herself, drawing up its hood so she could hide a little better as Dante nodded. "You- you just look like a regular woman," he said.
"Were you expecting something else?" she said, dry.
"Well," Dante said, fumbling over his words. "Um. It's- well, yeah, kind of. They talked a lot about, like, eyes that were entirely black, and claws and stuff before we came here."
Amina couldn't help but snort. It wasn't worth dignifying with a reply, so she walked off, past him.
"Hold on, wait," Dante said, slipping forward with half a skip. "Let me see if the coast is clear." Amina, folded his arms as he opened the door to cautiously look outside. "It's clear. I'm just going to take you to the edge of camp, and then you're on your own okay?"
"Got it," Amina said shortly.
Dante stepped out first, trying to hide her from clear lines of sight, but Amina's eyes fell on the shattered parts of her staff still scattered out front. She stepped past him and picked up the largest piece, the long handle and considered it. It was nowhere near as useful as before, but it would do for now.
"Hey," Dante hissed, hurrying over and grabbing her arm. "What are you doing?"
She ripped her hand out of his grasp, glaring at him. "Let's go," she said, stuffing the staff under his cloak.
The village itself was empty of the life she remembered it having. As they walked carefully by, she saw houses that had burned, ground black with blood. The bodies had already been removed, and she ached to know who was left. Where were the survivors?
But she had to ensure her own survival first. She could help no one, find no one, if she was dead. Every step ached, and her bare feet had no protection from the stones in the road.
Dante walked silently ahead of her, checking every corner to make sure they weren't about to walk into someone.
And then, she heard the call go up.
"The witch is gone!"
"Damn!" Dante swore, and grabbed her hand and started to run. Her hood fell off as she tried to keep up with him.
"Find her!"
Her body wasn't prepared for the pace. She stumbled after him, gasping, her heart burning with anticipation and fear as she ran.
"Dante!" someone shouted from behind. "You traitor!"
Fuck. Dante ran faster, pulling her stumbling along. Amina chanced a glance behind her. There were now men chasing after them as they fled up to the hills. There wasn't cover until the edge of the woods, where they would be able to lose pursuit in the swamps. But she simply couldn't keep up the pace.
She stumbled and fell, panting, her legs trembling with exhaustion, as the knights templar caught up, swords drawn. How many of these men had taken what they wanted from her last night? She had no way of knowing which of them had come between her legs. All except the blond man who had removed his helmet, the one who blindfolded her with his belt. He stood with the pack, staring her down at her as she glared venomously back. There was not even a trace of guilt in his eyes.
Dante put his hands up. "I- I was bewitched!" he exclaimed. "I- I don't know what happened!"
And then there was that coward. Amina grabbed the remains of the staff she had hidden, and with a word of power, a roaring wave of fire burst from her and rolled towards the crowd, much bigger than she had done earlier. She was done holding back, done with careful. She was going to do damage. Predictably enough, the knights scattered, slicing through the magic unharmed.
But it bought her time to jam the broken end of the staff into the ground. With a huge, uncontrolled surge of power, the ground beneath their feet rippled, then gave way. A pit opened up under the feet of the knights, sending them falling into the ground, with a clatter.
Some of them screamed. One hand caught the edge of the pit. Amina didn't care. She sent another wave of power into the ground, this time making the pit shake apart, collapsing onto the knights inside. They could cut through her magic all they wanted. They would not be able to cut through dirt in their lungs.
Wheezing with the effort, she staggered back to her feet to face the knight who got her there. Dante stood there, his hands up, his eyes wide.
"You-" he stammered. "You didn't have to kill them!"
Amina swung the end of her staff to point at him and he stumbled back a few steps.
"They didn't have to rape me," she said, her voice shaking but harsh. "Now decide. Are you going to be a fugitive or go back to be a traitor?"
Dante swallowed, glancing back at the camp. He shook his head, eyes wide. "I-" he stammers. "I guess I'm going to be a fugitive."
Amina nodded. "Good," she said. "Now we better go before they bring horses."
She lowered her broken staff, and turned to look at her village again. A village so small it didn't even have a name. Amina had never gone very far beyond it and the land around it, but it was no longer her home. Could no longer be her home.
She turned around, determined not to look back, and fled towards the woods, Dante close at her side.
also i think i might have to hold off on TRA updates. I need to do some developmental editing with the first half I already posted which just makes things complicated.
My spouse is only like an inch or two taller than me but today we stood next to each other and raised our hands and they literally have a hand more reach than I do.
I have fucking trex arms.
If Tales of Dominica is a Kiran song then I think I Can't Decide by the Scissor Sisters is like... Kind of a generic but on point song for Dominique. It really is a go to song for any smiling sadist
So for like the past year, I've been completely unable to write. Like, I simply couldn't access the part of my brain that did it, like the whole thing had just been cut off.
And now I'm on medication and the brainfog has been like. Miraculously lifted. Writing no longer feels like trying to smash my head against a concrete block. I think I might actually get more progress done on TRA, and other little bits and pieces.
On the other hand, I'm still very much disabled and the possibility of finding a job I can hold down isn't terribly good, so I might start looking into the possibility of writing erotica for sale, or putting up a Ko-fi.
I still fully intend on publishing stuff here for free, including TRA, but I might publish a more complete, edited version on Smashwords or itch.io.
Okay fanfic writers, your mission, should you chose to accept it, is a filthy 100 word drabble, for any pairing, to be posted on Thursday, in time for American Thanksgiving.
Fuck it, we got talking about this on Discord and I made an AO3 collection. Will keep it anonymous until after the weekend for anyone who wants to chuck in some random porn :)
it’s the idea that because rape as an act is misogyny, that talking about rape or including it in stories is also misogyny. as if acknowledging that women were denied agency and dignity somehow further denies us agency and dignity. when really, acknowledging the ways women were/are denied agency and dignity affirms that we are entitled to these things. a feminist story isn’t just a story in which no bad things happen to women. bad things do happen to women. pretending they don’t, and especially trying to superimpose that conviction onto the past, just because it isn’t as fun to dwell on, is not a feminist position.
Wings have so much whump potential and i need to see more of it…
Whumper binding Whumpee’s wings almost 24/7, only letting them unbind them for Whumper to admire (injury + Whumpee feeling like all they’re good for is to be looked at)
Whumper who is a collector and has wings pinned on a wall, showing it off to winged Whumpee who just feels sick
Whumper painfully clipping their feathers so they can’t fly away
Alternative, Whumper just straight up cutting one wing off so Whumpee can’t fly away. Leaving them with one leaves them off balanced
Dehumanizing nicknames that force Whumpee into a role of being a pet bird (Birdie, Dove, Parrot, Songbird, Tweety, etc.)
Caretaker teaching Whumpee how to fly after their rescue
Winged Caretaker flying to catch Whumpee when Whumpee used to be able to fly themselves but can’t anymore
Someone please share wing whump stories with me, i’m begging
More specifically, when trans mascs depict ourselves as hapless victims of our supposedly gentle and unthreatening “female socialization,” we cast trans women as stronger and more threatening and more aggressive than they really are — we masculinize them, in order to feminize ourselves, with the very clear implication being that we are women and they are men and they are therefore Doing Sexism. We do this even though, in the very next breath, we will go back to declaring ourselves Not Women and saying that negative stereotypes of masculinity are offensive and harmful to us. It’s having your cake and eating it too. It’s being oppressed only when it suits you, and only in the way that confers immediate advantage. It — quite rightfully — seems to drive a lot of trans women up the fucking wall, and it is probably why trans men talking about their experiences of misogyny or coercive femininity are treated with distrust.
(...)Treating women like shit is treating women like shit, no matter who you are. (...)
It’s misogynist, and the fact that you may experience misogyny yourself doesn’t change that. Cis women routinely do misogyny, not only to trans women, but to each other, as a way of blending in or enhancing their status within male-dominated systems. How could we possibly be immune?
It was a strange and tilted picture, a fractured reflection of Dominique, how seamlessly she seemed to slide from mundane friendliness to professionally, sadistically terrifying. It didn’t seem to them that someone capable of inflicting this sort of pain should be able to hold down a steady 9-5 job. It was difficult to wrap their mind around, and the punch card normality only seemed to sock them in the jaw. Was this what people meant, when they talked about the banality of evil?
