Tuesday, 20 May 2014

Just Rewards

With one last swing, Dukat’s blade cleaved through the Wyrm’s neck. Pale flesh and white bone were parted, and the beast’s head came free, tumbling through the air to land at Dukat’s feet. It’s corpse toppled, then lay still.

Victory! Dukat let out a triumphant roar that echoed throughout the surrounding caverns.

The Wyrm of Amasia – fabled guardian of the ancient Amasian ruins – had fallen. Now, nothing stood between Dukat and his just rewards.

Stepping over the beast’s wilted corpse, Dukat was somewhat surprised. He had expected a tougher fight from the Wyrm, considering the treasures it supposedly guarded, but the beast had been slow and rickety, an easy kill.

Perhaps, Dukat thought, I’m a better fighter than I realize. Just shows how much I deserve the reward.

Oh, the reward. How did the legends word it? The warrior who slays the Wyrm and reaches the Heart of Amasia shall be rewarded with an eternity of wealth and sensual pleasures. Those words had burned into Dukat’s soul, driven him to spend months a quest many considered foolish. He had chased up rumours, questioned scholars and seers, scoured the lands for any hints of leads, and finally – months into his quest – tracked down these very caverns.

Now it was time to seek out the Heart.

He strode deeper underground. Gradually, the rocky walls began to show signs of ancient engineering – split columns, cracked arches, millennia-old brickwork. His chest swelled – he was getting closer to the Heart of Amasia, the centre of this long-dead civilization.

Finally, passing beneath an archway, he entered a chamber and fell into an awed silence.

Unlike the mouldering ruins and grubby caves behind him, this room was polished and bright, with white marble walls and plush furniture. A fountain bubbled crystal-clear water, and a dining table held wine jugs and bowls of ripe-looking fruit. The floor was a gorgeous tiled mosaic, depicting an armour-plated warrior battling some fell beast. The chamber was scented of bergamot. Shelves lined the walls of the room, on which were stacked gleaming treasures: urns overflowing with precious stones, silver plates of exquisite craftsmanship, goblets encrusted with rubies, rings and necklaces and bracelets.

This room held an emperor’s ransom, everything Dukat knew he deserved.

A soft voice cooed, “Who’s there?”

Dukat felt a sensual tremor run through him.

In the far corner of the chamber was a wide, four-posted bed. Splayed out over its lustrous silken sheets was a woman of unparalleled beauty. She was naked, save for a shiny necklace of pearls dangling between ample breasts. Her flesh was smooth and clear, and her eyes glinted like dark jewels.

He approached her, the sight of her curving thighs and thick nipples making his cock stir.

“You must be the Wyrmslayer,” she said silkily, “The one the legends said would come.”

Dukat gulped. “I am.”

Her eyes looked up at him, burning with admiration. “I am Illyria. I’ve been waiting for you.”

She rolled over onto her back, parted her thighs. The pink lips of her cunt were glistening.

Dukat’s jaw dropped.

This was, without a doubt, the sensual pleasures from the legends – a woman of staggering beauty, spread for his pleasure.

Illyria’s hands went down between her legs.

“My Lord,” she whispered, fondling herself, “My Wyrmslayer. I’ve waited so long.”

Dukat didn’t hesitate. He began to peel off his armour, watching excitedly as Illyria’s self-explorations caused her breathing to quicken and her skin to flush red. The whole time, her eyes gazed into his. Her desire was palpable, even in the space between them.

Discarding belt, boots and pants, Dukat climbed on to the bed. He grabbed Illyria’s hands, and pulled them away from pleasuring herself, before leaning his head forward.

“My Lord...” she whispered, running fingers through his hair.

Dukat thurst his tongue between her folds, pushing in deep. He pressed against the interior, savouring the salty taste of her cunt. The sweet odor of sex and excited flesh quickly replaced the grime and sweat from his underground trek.

As his tongue stroked inside her, his hands went upwards, caressing her thighs and soft belly. Her hands clasped his, guided him up further, to the bulges of her breasts, which he clamped and massaged. Her movements were welcoming, almost submissive. Touch me, she seemed to say; claim every inch of your prize

And he would. Without a doubt, Dukat would ravish Illyria over and over before leaving this place.

He lifted up his head, cheeks slick from her moistness, surveyed her like a conquered landscape. He then seized her thighs, pulling her close.

“Oooh!” she squealed, “My Lord!”

“Indeed,” he said, lifting her legs up to his shoulders, “I am your Lord. And I will have you.”

She quivered. “Oh, Lord... you can have me until the end of time."

Dukat placed his cockhead against the edge of her slit, and lingered there for a moment, savouring the sensation. He could see how his life had led to this moment – the myths he’d chased, the mockery he’d endured, the battles he’d fought, the lives he’d taken.

And now, he had won.

He ruthlessly plunged forward. Illyria moaned.

She was silky and tight, a snug fit for his cock. He took her in long strokes, rocking forward gently inside her, loving the way her flesh rippled with each thrust. She let him fuck her, arms thrown back and lush body displayed, taking his inches more eagerly than any blushing maiden or tavern whore ever had. Her acquiescence spurred him on; he fucked deeper, harder.

Through it all, her eyes looked up at him with that worshipful gaze.

He gripped her waist and pulled her into him, taking her harder. His orgasm brewed within, built up explosively, and he could contain himself no longer.

He roared, as triumphantly as he had after slaying the Wyrm, then emptied himself into her. Illyria’s body shuddered with her own climax. Together, they thrashed against the silky bed, sharing the moment of pleasure.

Exhausted, Dukat pulled out and lay beside her, while she curled against his chest.

“Food, my Lord?” Illyria said, “Wine? The table in this chamber replenishes itself. You can have any meal you desire.” She grinned. “Or just feast on me again.”

Dukat squeezed her breast. “Soon enough, my love. I’m... actually feeling tired.”

Illyria kissed his nipples, making him shiver.

“Then rest,” she cooed, “I will be here when you wake, my Lord.”

Limitless food and drink? The gleaming beauty of these treasures? A consort to pleasure him whenever he desired? The Heart of Amasia was a glorious place, indeed.

The more he contemplated it, the more Dukat wondered if he should ever bother to leave. What was out in the world? Critics and naysayers, cut-throats and politicians. Weak men leading weak lives, jealous people who called Dukat a brute, a reaver, a mercenary. Why return to such a world, when this chamber could satisfy his desires so completely?
Why indeed.

With that thought, Dukat fell asleep.

*   *   * 

Illyria looked over the snoring man beside her.

His body was strong, his attitude boisterous, and he wasn’t too bright – just the type to chase a thousand-year-old legend and wind up in her bed.

She rested a hand on his chest, felt the power in his muscles. His cock wasn’t bad, either, nice and big. Yes, she’d be content with this Dukat fool. And he’d be content, too – the magic of the Heart of Amasia would suppress his desire to leave, and Dukat would pleasure her as long as his body was able. And while he satisfied her, the Heart would gorge itself on his life force, keeping the Amasian magic alive and  leaving Dukat a withered husk in less than a year. And then, too old and weak to satisfy Illyria, he would die and fade into dust.

And the enchantments and magicks bound to the Heart of Amasia would call out across the land, a psychic beacon that would snag another mighty simpleton like Dukat, and they would begin their own foolish pursuit of the ancient myths. And the bones of the Wyrm would be re-animated just long enough to make the brave fool think they were the warrior of legend, and their pride and arrogance would carry them all the way to the Heart, and to Illyria’s bed, to be her consort for their lifetime. And Illyria – made eternally youthful by those Amasian enchantments – would ravish them until their own broken end. 

The warrior who slays the Wyrm and reaches the Heart of Amasia shall be rewarded with an eternity of wealth and sensual pleasures.

And for slaying the Wyrm and reaching the Heart, all those millennia ago, Illyria indeed relished her just rewards.

Copyright Elliot DeLocke 2014. All rights reserved. Do not reprint in part or in whole without the author’s permission.

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