Kingdom Come

By Kingmaker

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A great banner fluttered in the smoky battlefield, a black crescent moon with a rich violet backdrop marking its heraldry. Accompanying the sound of billowing cloth, was also the crackle of fire and the cries of the dying. War had come to Camelot.

Morgana strut among the dead, back to her command tent as her warriors went about burning the dead and dying. The very image of feminine perfection, the lush, pale slopes of her breasts jiggled within her sorceress regalia, two ebony skulls barely holding back her bulging cleavage. She moved gracefully among the battlefield, like liquid death, her creamy thighs bared for all to see while her silken cloth could not conceal her bouncing bottom, quivering and flexing with each step.She paused, to peer through the smoke and regard the corroding countryside. Beautiful trees had become mangled and twisted, gaping tortured faces showing through their wooden trunks, as meadows boiled with infectious, black tar. Most delightful to her of all, was watching her fallen maidens ransack the neighboring farms. Once pure, now tainted with her evil, they took the women and devoured the men, proudly wearing dirtied and torn gowns as a reflection of their souls.

She watched with pride as she saw three of her maiden’s hold down a buxom farmer’s wife. The stout woman wriggled and screamed helplessly, as her voluptuous violators ripped away her clothes, letting her abundant, jiggling breasts sway free. The maidens then went about corrupting her, one pulling her panties down, letting her ripe, glistening pussy rub and latch onto the wife’s sex, while another grabbed the wife’s face, crushing her lips against her as her dark essence poured down her victim’s throat.

The maiden’s throat undulated, making gulping motions as foul black veins rippled along her neck. She moaned as she pumped pleasure and pure evil into the twitching wife, while the maiden grinding her pussy against the wife did much the same, her voluptuous ass cheeks clenching together as she streamed her corrupting nectar into the poor woman’s womb.

The wife jerked and bucked in ecstasy until her convulsions ceased and her body went slack, surrendering to the maiden’s attentions as her body was overcome with lust and desire. Her screams of defiance had transformed into moans of intimate need, her greedy hands grasping her ample bosom and those of her assailants, who moaned in turn, relishing the euphoria of converting another to their cause.

Vile horns sprouted out of the woman’s forehead as black fluids bubbled out of her mouth, her body having completely succumbed to the invading evil, as all semblances of homeliness were burnt away, her body reforming itself for seduction and primal temptation.

Morgana turned away from the sinful sight, pleased with yet another added to her ranks. She was not here to win hearts and minds, she was here to tear them out. Her demonic soldiers had swept away all resistance in a storm of fire and blades, her maidens having hollowed the souls of all they conquered. None could resist her rule.

A blast of jasmine and other incense wafted over her as she stepped into her black tent, her command center filled with crimson cushions and ornate carpeting, the nubile shadows of her handmaidens silhouetted in purple smoke. At her table awaited her greatest servants, Ingrid the Deceiver and the Black Knight.

“M’lady…” they said in unison, bowing their heads.

“The battle is won, the day is yours…” continued the Black Knight. Morgana tensed, there was something at the edge of his words, hinting at something he did not want to say.


His finger gestured toward the map, tracing around supply lines and provincial borders.”I can storm the capital by week’s end. It will cost us thousands of heads but it can be done. Losses on both sides will be maximum.”

Morgana sighed, and caressed the mighty warrior’s shoulders with her delicate hands. She loved brute force as much as the next overlord but even those predictions made her wince. “My love…there are other ways to lay the crown on my head than through the sword. The world will not pause for my greatness, the kingdom must be seized, and suddenly.” She motioned Ingrid over to her side, her voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. “This is what we shall do…”


The Royal Palace, City of Camlann

King Karnor took another swig of wine from his jewel encrusted goblet, letting the ruddy liquid dribble onto his graying beard in a rather unkingly manner. He didn’t give a damn about nobility, for he was not born high, but low, out of the frigid barbarian wastes. His crowning ceremony was the very opposite of serene, involving much bloodshed and fornication, the previous king’s head used as a ball for many of their beer games.

“Bah! The gallivanting whore thinks herself a general!?” his guttural laughter resounded through the chamber, his advisor putting on a forced smile. “That simpering runt had half her men slaughtered by Florian van Vinkle, and if that white-livered boy fondler gave her trouble, I’ll be damned if I roll over for a pair of tits with pipe dreams!”

His advisor, Marlowe Dreville, was a royal holdover, his duties comprised of matters of state, war, party planning and anything else the King could think of, none of his bloodthirsty warlords clamoring for a position of menial administration. “Yes of course my lord…but uh…”

“Spit it out boy!”

“Well King Florian is dead, his men scattered to the wind. Empress Valera of the Amazons has passed on from plague and Lord Faenarion of the Elves seems…” he took a closer look at the parchment in his hands, “Seems to have suffered some misfortune involving horses and honey.”

The King’s eyebrows arched incredulously, wondering if the last bit came out right. “What!?”

Marlowe’s hands shook nervously, barely able to stifle a stammer. “I-I’m sorry sir but it isn’t more specific other than that he bled out sometime in the night.” He looked back to the King, relieved that he was still calm, before steeling himself and continuing. “Our rivals and allies both, are torn asunder, and while the sorceress has suffered much, she is implacable and still has her eyes set on your crown.” He trembled, his breath at an end, hoping and praying his King did not decapitate him right then and there.

The King stroked his beard, his face caught in a rare moment of internal contemplation. “Hah! She can admire it for all time when I stick her insolent head on my pike!” He poured himself another goblet. “The Tickler dead, the Empress of Nothing dust in a jar and that pointy eared maggot one with his limp wristed tree people…” He took a deep gulp of wine, his face crinkling into a smile. “I fail to see the bad news! The realm is ours for the taking, ’bout time too, the lads were getting testy with nothing to kill or fuck!”

Marlowe sighed, his ears awash in his King’s laughter. “Yes my lord.”

“Bring me my Queen, this talk of war has got my blood boiling!”

“Of course sir.”

King Karnor sank back into his lion pelt laden throne, his bulging muscles and savage hair looking comical in his royal environs. He wondered…did King Arthur ever have these problems? While he put on a good show for his aide, in truth, he was troubled. Not by Morgana, but by the responsibility of ruling. He longed for the simpler times, when it was just his sword, horse and a random tavern whore. Those were the good days. He looked up when he heard the creaking of his chamber doors, and smiled when he saw his pride and joy, his wife, his Queen.

Queen Adrasteia, or Adras for those with practical inclinations, was the stuff barbarian dreams were made of. She was the fairest of all the previous king’s concubines, her elegant face and bronzed skin betraying her exotic lineage, but what won the King’s heart (or rather his lusts), was her outstanding, voluptuous body that could set a whole kingdom aflame, for whom thousands of lives would be shed just for a chance to spend one moment in her arms. Her shimmering blue dress clung tight to her curves, teal lace tracing around the large, firm peaks of her breasts as she sauntered in, her wide hips rolling sensually, as she pulled her King to her chest.

King Karnor sighed as he gripped her abundant ass, her beauty never failing to enthrall him. Her eyes stood out like gems, outlined in violet kohl, entrancing him the longer he gazed in. He moved down, kissing her neck, his roaming hands feeling up her tight belly, until they came upon her succulent breasts, cupping and squeezing her mounds to her elated moans.

“My love…you will be so proud, I let in a caravan of King Florian’s refugees and warriors, eager to swear fealty and serve loyally…they will do us proud in our war against the witch.”

Karnor tore himself away from her juicy cleavage. “You what!?”

“I had to…it was my royal duty.”

The King looked at her as if he was questioning reality itself, as if she really did just say what he thought she said. It was his royal duty to slap her, a blow to remedy her stupidity, he thought. A glottal, choking sound burst from his throat as he was overcome with warring emotions. “GRAH! Goddammit woman you will be the end of me! They could just be sneaking in, I know, because I did it myself when I sacked Bretanreich!”

She flinched at his outburst, and then gave him a look as only a woman could give, one that soothed his raging heart, made him feel guilty, and absolved her of all accountability. Her misty eyes compelled him to comfort her. “Well…if they cause any trouble…we outnumber them so it should be no problem…” His grumbles tapered off as he looked into her brightening face, her smile instantly raising his spirits.

Her expression made him feel young again, so kind, he could not stay mad at her for long and felt the urge to kiss her, their lips melding together as if they were made for each other. She moaned into his mouth, stroking his cock as his invading tongue swapped more saliva with hers, his pleasure filled grunts now a mirror to her mewlings, as his rough hands grabbed and groped every part of her luscious form. Until he tasted something on her lips, something that should not have been, but was. It was sorcery. No barbarian reached adulthood without some lustful sorceress trying to suck his soul away, and he was well acquainted with the taste of dark magic.

He gripped his sword, pushing her back as he bellowed. “Sorcery most foul! What have you done to my wife, witch!?”

The mellow, earthy qualities of her voice had melted away into the smooth, dulcet tones that could only have come from Morgana, setting Karnor on edge as goosebumps spread down his arms. “Well done, your majesty! None of the royal crowd could have spotted such a…” her dress and appearance shifted into the curvaceous, full chested, gothic beauty Morgana was known for, “Change…but then again, you’re not exactly royal, are you?”

Karnor gritted his teeth, pressing his sword closer. “More so than you, vile harridan…speak quickly, where is my wife?”

“Being seduced by my second, Ingrid. But don’t worry, she’ll be here soon enough, she shall bear witness to her King’s fall and then her precious kingdom…” She lunged forward, faster than the King could swing, wrapping her powerful thighs around him, filling his vision with the two leering skulls that held back her massive breasts. He could see her pale cleavage, moist and shining, a demonic pendant plunging down into the cleft between her glistening globes. He tried to push her off, refusing to breath in anymore of her intoxicating perfume as his head swam with desire.

The skulls fell away while Karnor’s eyes widened at the gorgeous display. Her huge breasts leapt forward, slapping and pressing into his face, taking all his willpower not to suck them right there. He felt her thighs squeeze around his rib cage, robbing him of precious air. Then he had no choice but to gulp for more.

“Yesss! Touch them, squeeze them…suck them!” she cried, grabbing his head and smothering it further into her jiggling flesh. He felt her suffocating breast push into his mouth, but before any corrupting nectar could leak forth he brought a savage fist down on her chest, pushing her off as he gasped for air.

Morgana fell onto the ground but quickly sprung up, giggling in pleasure from the momentary pain. Even in his old age, the King was a force to be reckoned with, swinging his blade with skills honed over a lifetime of eternal war. Morgana snarled in surprise, her body having forgotten the thrills of mortal danger, dodging his swings and stabs with sorcerous agility, tiring him out with playful ease.

She ducked underneath his guard, laughing as with viper like speed she swept out the barbarian king’s legs before summoning magical restraints around his wrists. The cuffs ignited into reddish violet light as they melted up through the bubbling marble, leaving burn marks on his skin.

She fell upon him like a jungle predator, trapping his head in between her luxuriant thighs as her sweet, corrupting juices trailed down onto his face. Karnor muffled panic in her leggy hold, his body jerking and struggling while his head tossed and turned, unable to break free of her smothering flesh. Her hands gripped his head, forcing his face right upon her hot, flowing slit. Karnor panted for breath, a fatal error as one single drop of her nectar dribbled between his lips, his body relaxing instantly as intolerable desire surged to his groin, his manhood stiffening with need.

Morgana arched her back, moaning as she ground her pussy against his lips, the robust king now addicted to her juices as he angled to lap more of her sweet nectar. She thrust her full breasts forward, gripping them as she let her dark sexual aura inundate her victim, gasping in pleasure as she felt her invading evil batter away the defenses of the supine king.

Her preternatural senses let her hear delicate footsteps behind her, and she smiled, groaning as she thrust against her lover’s mouth once more. “How nice of you to join us good Queen…” She looked coyly over her shoulder, running her salacious tongue between her teeth as she taunted the dazed Queen, her lieutenant, Ingrid having her restrained by the neck. “Watch me Adras. Watch me as I take your husband. Watch him rut into my beauteous form and lose himself forever!”


Tower of the Crimson Dawn, City of Camlann

Vincent manipulated a purple flame, letting it flow in between his fingers and flicker in his palm as his sycophantic imp let out a shrill giggle on his shoulder. Amethyst light reflected on his stern features, catching a glint from the crescent moon pendant that hung from his neck. He was a warlock of the Black Moon, behind him huddled a coterie of witches and warlocks, eager to spill blood and spread their lady’s will, only waiting for the signal to cry havoc.

Across his seat he gazed upon his fellow witch and lady love, Zhara. Her raven hair fell in black pools around her bare shoulders, her refined face regarding him with shameless adoration as his eyes fell upon her heaving breasts, twin pale moons dipped in lilac silk. Her attire did nothing to hold them back, indeed it seemed to only emphasize her burgeoning mounds all the more, just on the cusp of spilling out.

Vincent looked forward to ravishing her by night’s end, drinking in of her sinfully sweet body and their victory. Still, her ambition troubled him. True, no witch or warlock got anywhere in the coven without killing another, but even so, there seemed to be an inescapable pattern with masters and apprentices.

Merlin and Nimue, that redhead and that one old guy…was he too destined to die by her hand? Perhaps if he had a witch lover more equal in knowledge to him, she wouldn’t be tempted to betray him, which outside of Morgana, seemed impossible…he sighed. Being a servant of darkness could be so tiring.

Across the city a violet flare reached high into the sky, followed by a loud war horn. It was time. Morgana had seized the king and now the culling was to begin. For Vincent and his companions, they were dealt the task of destroying the city’s local magic order, something the barbarian king saw fit to keep intact in case of magical attack. Wise king thought Vincent, but not wise enough.

With a sharp whistle, he and the rest of the Black Moon coven piled out of their draped carriage, charging for the mystical tower that glowed even under the cloak of night. His imp hyperventilated at the thought of murder and at the sight of the rival sorceresses straight ahead, his mouth drooling as he took in their smooth curves and low cut regalia, their deep cleavage shining like soft pearls as the starlight illuminated their ivory-white skin.

“Master, master! You forgot your hat!” screamed the imp as he pulled on his master’s coat, causing Vincent to backhand the creature and send him tumbling into the cobblestone street.

“Damn the hat!” snapped the warlock, as he threw bolts of shadowy magic at the sorceresses, the air quickly lighting up in a wash of colors under their magical volleys. “Stay my hand again and I’ll have you flogged for the next century!” The imp only cowered in submission as the warlock charged into the tower, a grin spreading on the creature’s face as he noticed the now unconscious sorceresses, their buxom bodies ripe for his evil intentions.


Vincent barged through the tower doors, leaping to the side as Zhara screamed and fell in front of him, crumpling in a ball of flame. A momentary sadness tugged at him before he shooed it away. She was going to stab me in the back anyway, he thought, as he searched for his mark. The High Witch. The cacophony of the dying and arcane combat filled his ears as his eyes fell upon his foe. She was at the top of the tower, channeling a mighty spell, causing blinding light to issue from the top. He bounded up the stairs with supernatural speed as his comrades fought and died below.


Lady Eglantine, High Witch of the Order of the Crimson Dawn, sat in her study as she applied beautifying spells to herself, keeping track of her enhancements in her crystal mirror. In her youth, she had been what men had described as ‘village beautiful’. Beautiful in the presence of an average peasant, but quite average in the capital, where those possessed of taste and options required more than a willing slit before heaping upon their gold and affections.

That was the past. Now none could tar her with such a brush as ‘village beautiful’, indeed beautiful would suffice, as would any number of pleasant sounding superlatives. Only the faint line in her nose, or angle in her shoulder, hinted at the homeliness her magic had covered up. She had to strike a balance when it came to her enhancements.

She could neither be too busty nor too modest, achieving and maintaining a bust line that marked her as a leader, but never going overboard, being well aware that the most voluptuous witches tended to be the most wicked. She eyed herself in the mirror and smiled. She looked the part.

Her cheeks had a rosy glow, complemented by the clean and sleek lines of her face. She looked like a mature woman, unlike so many young adepts, who, drunk with power and narcissism, made themselves into little more than dolls, with inappropriately doe-like faces atop gigantic breasts.

Her sparkling blue eyes took in her reflection, drifting down to the milky-white swells of her breasts, abundant yet not excessive. She thrust her bosom forward, admiring how light and shadow fell over her globes, and how her magical pendant dangled enticingly in her cleavage, the beaded line of her necklace intended to draw the attention of many a watchful wizard into the tantalizing valley of her burgeoning and plentiful femininity.

The witch’s reverie of herself was broken when her crystal ball illuminated to life, sending rays of light across the ornate carvings of her mahogany desk. She blanched when she saw Morgana’s Black Moon crazies carving up the tower lobby. Chunks of marble exploded into the air, while much to her horror, expensive desks were overturned and charred, used as make shift pieces of cover as scepters, wands and bare hands were used to hurtle all manner of deadly spells.

She stifled a gasp when she saw her mentor, Archibald the Tall, walk over to one of the Black Moon witches in a stupor, his eyes glazed over and his hands outstretched, grabbing onto the evil woman’s proud and upturned, bosomy chest. His old hands tore away her skimpy bra, letting her outrageous mountains of sensual flesh burst free.

The wicked witch arched her back, laughing as she thrust her magnificent tits out and stuffed the wizard’s bald head into her luscious cleavage. She squealed in joy as the old man tackled her down, ripping away the rest of her gown as he unfurled his turgid cock, ready to couple and damn himself in the arms of the she-devil.

Tears streamed down Lady Eglantine’s face as she saw her old friend and wise teacher willingly betray the Order they strove so hard to re-build in the aftermath of the barbarian invasion. Her heart jumped as she saw the combat wind down, with similar scenes of treachery unfolding before her eyes.

The surviving wizards were beginning to surrender to the transcendent beauty of their evil temptresses, dropping their scepters and drowning in their seductive, warm lips, their tight, full chested bodies revealed at the shedding of their robes. Meanwhile, vile warlocks grabbed virtuous witches by the hair, ripping away their tight corsets and gripping their pouting, overflowing breasts, ready to corrupt their souls with their dark seed.

It was too much to bear.

Grabbing her ensorcelled wand, Lady Eglantine knew what she must do. She would pool all her magical might into a single spell, the last spell that Archibald taught her. It would turn the tide but leave her powerless, but for the pendant around her neck, imbuing her with reserved arcane energy. But no one else would know that.

Before she left for the ritual chamber, she took one last look at the crystal ball, holding back a sob as she saw Archibald pounding his seducer furiously, the woman’s love juices spraying all over his cock as she held his head to her lavish breasts. The old man was spasming and twitching, gurgling in pleasure as her broiling nectar steamed from his throat, his skin paling into slate gray as the witch’s corruption took hold, the silky soft feel of her huge, engorged tits and the sinful sweet drink keeping him addicted well until it was too late to turn back from damnation.

She took a deep breath, blocking such images from her mind.

With a flick of her fingers Lady Eglantine’s see-through chemise was transformed into a scarlet dress, tight and figure clinging, highlighting her hips and pushing the pleasant teardrop shape of her mesmerizing breasts into a valley of deep cleavage. Her toned legs peeked out from the high reaching cuts on either side of her dress, while her midriff was left exposed, intended to impress as much as it was to distract, her smooth belly marked with the sigils of her order.

She was ready. As she rushed out the door to meet her fate, she hoped and prayed that Archibald wasn’t exaggerating when he said the spell would “…bring wings of flame, sons of the sun, adjudicators of pain and fiery justice…”

At least it sounded imposing.


Once in the sanctum, Lady Eglantine waved her hands as though she were conducting an orchestra, weaving her spell with as much intricacy as time would allow. Her lustrous, auburn tresses defied gravity, floating in the air, their tremendous length hearkening back to the legendary maidens of old. The overpowering illumination of her incantation cast stark light across her nubile body, letting tantalizing shadows settle over the vast swells of her cleavage.

A tingle of fear ran up her spine as she saw a dark shadow in the corner of her eye. She brought an end to her rushed spell, finally casting it at her umbral assailant. A ball of light shot towards him before splitting into three winged warriors, glowing with magical fire. The attacker in turn gestured to the floor, and panic shot through her veins as a score of demonic warriors burst through the floor in a wall of red flame.

Vincent knew time was of the essence, hoping he could bring her into his dark lady’s embrace before his summoned beasts were sent back home. He sailed through the melee like the wind, and grinned as he got a better view of his prey. Blood rushed to his groin as he took in her exposed thighs and shapely legs, while the rounded contours of her deep cleavage peeked through the crimson straps holding her dress together, exposing her shoulders and revealing her plunging neckline. As she poised for combat, he took note of the carmine gemmed amulet hanging between her full breasts.

He teleported just as she fired a beam of pure light from her wand, the misfired spell blowing through the back of one of her warriors. He rematerialized out of a black mist right in front of her, grabbing her by the neck as he plundered her lips, jamming his questing tongue down her throat as his greedy hands felt up her lush ass, eliciting enraged groans from the noble witch.

He moved down to her neck, licking and savoring the sharp, aromatic powders that coated her smooth skin. He moved one of his hands to her chest, his fingers pulling down the thin silk that veiled the sweeping, curved slopes of her breasts, bouncing wildly to their struggle. She gathered molten heat in her palm before striking Vincent in the throat, her searing touch making his skin sizzle, but to no avail, as the warlock’s calloused hands groped and squeezed onto her pouting breasts, channeling his dark aura straight into her heart.

The warlock nuzzled into her neck once more, gritting his teeth and bearing the scalding pain of her magic as he felt her heart stammer and her body shudder underneath his assault, relishing the sumptuous feel of her voluptuous flesh, pumping and squeezing her soft bosom as he made humping motions against her thigh. He spared one hand to rip away her necklace, and as he did so, the pain from her magic dropped away, her spells now impotent. A mix of pleasure and terror filled her eyes as she saw her lifeline torn away, while soul rending desire poured into her heart, driving her pussy to throb and tingle with an unnatural sexual charge.

Vincent smiled as he felt his member swell and harden, rising through his loose robes and gliding along her trembling leg as he gripped her closer for violation. Lady Eglantine could only spasm and twitch in his embrace, her head head lolled to the side as she felt sinful pleasure course through her veins, completely helpless so long as the vile warlock kept his hand over her heart. She knew what would befall her if he impaled her sex and sowed his darkness within her womb, and screamed with all her might to deny her own arousal, to deny the intense longing to be conquered by his evil. Her numb hands tried pushing him off, but could only flail wildly, her struggles trivial before his power.

She came as she felt his cock push against her panties, rubbing along her sensitive lips as the very core of her being pulsed with obscene pleasure. He nudged her panties to the side, allowing him entrance to her sacred womanhood. She felt as if she was drowning in pleasure, scarcely able to speak as her erogenous zones grew more sensitive by the second.

“S-stop…evil…I wwwill…ssstop you!” Vincent looked into her lost eyes and only smirked, holding her head close as he breathed in of her fear, savoring the tinges of defiance that colored her voice. He teased her swollen, juicy slit, sliding his shaft along her womanhood but never quite entering it. This was it. His last, final joy in life. Not the burning of villages, nor the rush of sorcerous combat, but the defiling of innocence, and he relished it as he would a fine wine.

It was one thing to bring a murderous whore like Zhara into Morgana’s circle, but it was another pleasure entirely to strip the virtuous of all that made them so, making them into little more than slaves for his mistress’s will.

“None can stop my lady Morgana’s reign…” he said at last, as his head nudged threateningly into her labia lips. “None can resist her rule…now join us and rejoice as you feel her touch upon your soul!” He plunged through her sex, her folds parting like a stormy sea before his raging lusts, his shaft aided by her slick and frothy inner walls, flowing with her unnatural arousal.

She came at his impalement, her traitorous body aiding in her own delicious corruption as ecstasy sparked through her veins. “NOOO!” she screamed, her legs involuntarily wrapping around him as the two went careening into a nearby table, sending bowls and cups flying as he steadied her on a stone wall, thrusting against her as she moaned to her ravishment. Her lacy top had completely come undone, giving leave for her glorious, silken globes to burst free, her creamy, round tits squeezed against her violator’s chest as he devoured her lips.

He lingered on her lips, drinking in their sweet taste and soft feel before biting gently upon her ear. “Yesss! Embrace your destiny wench!” He delighted in tormenting his foes, and felt like a conqueror when she could only whimper in response, her body having succumbed to his incredible stimulation. He immersed himself in pleasure, luxuriating in the feeling of her moist, hefty breasts sliding over his chest, her nipples like hard diamonds, contrasted by the abundant softness of her mounds, blossoming outwards the closer he pressed himself against her.

He groaned in pleasure as the hot, wet glove of her inner sex gripped his manhood, contracting and squeezing around him without shame, her primal instincts eagerly delivering her into damnation for supreme ecstasy.

She gasped as his hips slammed against hers, her carnal mountains bouncing and slapping together to the rhythm of their coupling. Her pale breasts shook and swayed, her smooth flesh shuddering like waves on the sea as her heart shaped bottom bounced on his cock, her moist skin creating wet smacks each time their rutting bodies collided.

Vincent pumped into her with powerful thrusts, the wet, squelching sounds of her desire as present in his ears as the demonic melee behind him, his heart beating with excitement and fear, knowing his death was close if he could not darken her spirit in time. The thought of ripping out all traces of good from her soul aroused him, and his cock swelled even more within her silken sheathe as he came ever closer to his climax.

Lady Eglantine moaned in insane joy as she felt waves of pleasure crash down through her body, now fully entangled with the warlock, unable to hold back her wails of pleasure as his brutal thrusting brought her another unwanted orgasm. Her drooling pussy contracted around his cock, squeezing around his shaft with manic intensity. Vincent groaned in release, the tactile pleasure of her inner walls driving him past the brink as he slammed himself as deep as possible within her hot depths, his stiffening body pinning her to the wall as his manhood jerked and shuddered his insidious essence deep inside her.

He gripped her ripe bosom, squeezing her puffy, aroused tits in time to the spewing throbs of his cock, letting out a deep sigh of relief, both at his sexual release and the sheer pleasure of corrupting an innocent. Her struggling and straining leveled off until she laid slack in his arms, gasping as she felt each blast of his dark seed bloom within her love canal, his manhood not letting a single drop free.

Her vision became cloudy as his evil flooded through her veins, turning her body against her soul, her will crumbling like straw before his seductive power. She saw her winged warriors, glowing with light in the encroaching darkness, still fighting a pitched battle against his demons. They turned their head immediately as they sensed their master was about to fall into damnation. She prayed, prayed that she would be saved in time…but deep down, knew she would not.

A new destiny called to her, one that she was helpless to resist as she convulsed in the warlock’s grip. A part of her craved his dark promises and his desire to break her with his merciless will. She sobbed in unnatural bliss, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she felt his unholy seed continue to pump into her being, while she pushed her large, swollen breasts in his face, reciprocating his thrusts.

She howled in lust and surrender as she heard his seductive whispers, her mind and soul embracing what her body already had: inevitable defeat. Runnels of sweat streamed in between the soft, upturned mountains of her breasts, her rosy nipples engorged with arousal, her skin having grown hotter and hotter since her violator jetted his vile essence into her receiving womb. With a lustful exhalation, she let go of the last holdouts of her mental blocks, giving herself up and letting his dark soul finally mingle with hers, tainting her forever.

The pent-up heat in her body exploded across her nerves, a wave of hot, sexual energy nearly driving her insane as her body quaked to her chain of orgasms. Corrupting euphoria washed over her soul as she felt her purity devoured, becoming an empty vessel for his evil in an instant. She moaned in delight as fresh power funneled into her being, visions of a burning paradise filling her mind as Morgana’s dark will became her own. Her guardians screamed in despair as they watched her fiery, radiant soul turn to shadowed ice, absorbing all light. In that moment, she had become well and truly lost to the darkness.

Vincent bellowed in victory as her two remaining guardians vaporized out of existence, their tenuous thread to her soul cut away the moment she fell from the light. His greedy hands cupped around her wobbling, soft mounds, which rolled and leapt in time to her orgasmic shivers, as perverse sensations and sinister changes worked themselves within her body.

He cackled evilly as her auburn curls shifted into flowing pools of varnished black, gleaming radiantly in the torch light while her pale skin darkened into the hue of golden dusk, like that of the exotic beauties of the Southlands. He delighted in feeling her already generous breasts swell and shudder in his palms, expanding into spectacular, colossal mounds, sitting impossibly high on her chest, perfect orbs for a perfect body, remade for ultimate temptation.

The lascivious warlock buried his head in her beautiful, golden-brown breasts, ready to taste her scalding ambrosia. He groaned in delight, feeling her tits sandwich his face, overwhelmed by their incredible size and smoothness, relishing their soft, warm feel. His questing tongue moved to her aroused nipple, causing her to gasp in delight. Spurts of her hot elixir burned his tongue but he kept on drinking, the caustic yet delicious concoction one of many evidences that she had fallen into sin.

“Ohhh…so good, drink more of me…I can feel the change, deep down…need more!” moaned the newly minted harlot, her delicate hands mashing his face further into her plentiful cleavage, as he took another slurp of her addictive nectar. Her change was the most wild he had seen yet, having been used to the pale, raven haired beauty of most Black Moon witches, she would be in good company with the coven’s other odd witch, Ingrid.

He pulled away from her, letting his satiated cock slide out of her well used sex as he fastened his robes. She slumped down the stony wall, her huge, saliva streaked tits, still steaming and moist with her ambrosia, while her supple thighs, glistening with his seed, gave her the countenance of a rowdy whore rather than a woman of high station. He watched her as she twitched every now and then, while heat waves rose off her shining skin, the evil witch relishing the new changes that flowed through her body and soul.

He extended her a hand up. “I am Vincent.” He smiled as he watched her eyes snap open, her irises flaming into deep violet, as was customary for most witches of the Black Moon, a consequence of Morgana’s essence asserting itself. “We met two centuries ago, at the Council of Nacala, all of us squabbling over the lawful use of magic in warfare.”

Lady Eglantine rose up, caressing his face before giving him a kiss laced with primal need. She pulled back, fondling her newly ripened endowments, her black nails sinking into the bronzed slopes of her lush bosom before giving him a twisted smile. “Ahh yes, I remember…I do believe this bit of business was against the rules…not that I mind.”

“Of course…well you did mind, about two minutes ago, but let’s not harp on the past.” He walked behind her, exhaling as his hands ran down her rounded hips, onto the soft, beige globes of her bottom before reaching back up to the heaving orbs of her chest, her gleaming, olive complexion making her massive breasts look like two honeyed dew drops of caramel. “Instead…let’s replenish the ranks.”

She leaned her head back into his neck, loving the feel of his fingers squeezing into the ripe swells of her yielding flesh. “With pleasure my lord…”


Vincent strolled out of the burning tower with his newest recruit in tow, Lady Eglantine, followed by a cadre of the surviving Black Moon cultists and a gaggle of witches and wizards freshly converted to Morgana’s cause, their glowing eyes and twisted grins evidences of their downfall.

He regarded his imp warmly as the creature finished sliding a smooth, oval shaped stone, glowing with violet light, into the waiting pussy of an unconscious witch. The erotic energies of the stone caused her pussy lips to engorge and glisten, eagerly drawing the evil object into her warm, silken slit. She sighed in delight as the stone was pushed in, before letting out a sharp moan from the electric ecstasy that shot through her sex to the most intimate parts of her soul. Her body stiffened and her back arched as the pulsating darkness seduced her from within, before she collapsed back onto the ground, gasping for air as she gave herself up to sin.

“Well done Xarznip, you have evaded your daily maiming with your usefulness.” He eyed the other witches the imp had spent the battle violating, some of whom were already glowing from the inside as the stones spread their taint through their convulsively orgasmic bodies. His imp bowed excessively, before scrambling up his shoulder, taking his perch like a parrot would to a pirate.

Lady Eglantine looked down on the young sorceress before them, her past remembrances telling her the woman was only an apprentice, having only been with the Order for a year. Brianne was her name, and Eglantine’s wicked face crinkled into a grin as she beheld the witch reach for her moist flower, helpless and unable to resist the evil blooming inside her.

She had been a peasant girl, just like Lady Eglantine, inducted into the Order on a scholarship, on account of great magical talent. Such a sweet girl, known for her way with fireballs as much as she was for baking pies for the Order, wanting to be seen as one of the family. In another life, she might have followed in Lady Eglantine’s footsteps, serving with distinction as she was promoted into the august ranks of nobility, soaring higher than her birth would allow.

Now there would be nothing noble about her.

Eglantine cackled as the poor girl’s breasts rose through her dress, invigorated mounds of lush femininity thrusting into existence. As her chest ripened into a soft, buxom bounty, a new glow flushed through her skin, imbuing her with inhuman vitality. Her eyes fluttered and her hips jerked along the stony street, while a loud moan of orgasmic pleasure seeped from her pouting lips, heralding the end of her innocent soul.

Vincent put his hand around Eglantine’s shoulder, his eyes roving over her transformed scarlet dress. The magical threads reflected the nature of its wearer’s spirit. In this case, rips and tears had rearranged themselves into elegant red ribbons, made into the formation of jagged claws, guarding her delectable curves covetously. The heavy globes of her breasts were pushed up, the bands of cloth falling around her honey gold slopes like a red, silken ribcage, protecting her full, ripe tits from the prying eyes of her coven.

“The universe is not without irony, to have us of all people, bring order to this land.” he whispered, eliciting a snicker from the fallen witch, her laugh making her tight, swelling cleavage shake in a way that instilled intolerable lust within the victorious warlock.

He gritted his teeth when he heard the guttural voice of what could only be Brutus. “What was that my lord?” He was a tall, bald and overly muscled warlock, little more than a cloaked barbarian with mistaken notions of gentlemanly refinement, often chided for his critiques on tea and wine while sacrificing goats.

Such transgressions were often met with whips and clubs to the head, and even in combat he had paid for his bold commentaries, being so distracted that he often caught swords and spells with his face. Despite being rendered a walking, talking mass of scar tissue, the well-mannered man simply…would…not…die, to the chagrin of many and to the relief of few.

“Oh yes…I was telling our fairest Lady Eglantine…” she giggled and curtsied at his compliment, “that I was thinking of you, to replace my dear departed second in command, Zhara.” The man’s eyes widened, looking at his comrades in disbelief as they gave him high fives.

“Her death…touched me…deeper than you can imagine…” his voice trailed off, staring into the night sky as he feigned his sorrow, his troops mistaking his distant look for fond reminiscences of his old love, instead of the fantasies for his newest.

He turned away from the increasingly voluptuous form of Brianne, her sighs and moans a subtle accompaniment to his words. “Alas, she would not wish us to wail over her waning star. Brutus! I promote you to Magister. My imp will educate you in how best to fulfill Zhara’s duties.” Xarznip hopped up and down on his shoulder, an evil grin dawning on his face. “But that can wait until tomorrow.”

Brutus was happy, pleased that he did not have to betray one of his order to advance, not having the heart to commit such treachery. And yet, people always assumed he did. Before he could celebrate, one disconcerting possibility lingered in his mind. “My lord! One more thing…”

“Yes…” said Vincent, his voice simmering with agitation.

Brutus gulped, his face as pallid as a corpse. “Will you be…requiring that I fulfill all of Zhara’s duties?”

Vincent sighed. “No you brutish little fop, of course not! Lady Eglantine shall suffice. Now begone!” Brutus slunk down in relief while his fellow warlocks cheered and gave him playful slaps on the back, while a throng of witches suddenly became very interested in the Black Moon’s most scarred and most cultured warlock.

Vincent looked into the devilish eyes of Lady Eglantine, the two communicating wordlessly as they joined hands, as if they had been a couple all along. Her adoring smile made him envision a future with her, where they could settle down as equals, no backstabbing, just…love. Sick love but love nonetheless. For the first time in a century, the warlock felt the beginnings of happiness.


The Royal Palace, City of Camlann

Tears streamed from the Queen’s eyes, her vision cloudy from Ingrid’s enchantments, but still clear enough to see the witch’s perfectly sculpted bottom bounce and flex to her pleasurable contractions. She sobbed even as Ingrid palmed her ample chest, her greedy fingers squeezing around her firm orbs as her soft lips came up to her ear. “There is nothing you can do for him…it is inevitable. He will fall into her dark embrace without question, but fret not…you will not be left behind.” She kissed her neck, running a finger down the Queen’s tensing, tanned belly. “Before the night is done, you too will feel her heresy stain your heart, taint your soul…and you will love every delicious moment of your defilement.” The Queen broke down even more, averting her gaze as the vile sorceress mounted her husband.

Morgana gasped in pleasure as she sank down on the king’s throbbing cock, before pressing her warm body against his chest, the entranced king letting out a croak of pleasure. Her inner vaginal walls massaged and throbbed around his manhood as she arched her back, offering her opulent, ivory breasts to her groping lover, a wicked smile on her face as she eyed the Queen, relishing the look of pain on her face as the King reveled in his betrayal, deliriously kneading the witch’s ripe mounds.

Her sorcerous aura seeped into and seduced his flesh, the King no longer caring about his soul, aware of the consequences should he give into the witch’s corrupting pleasure, none of which mattered anymore, all he could do was surrender to unspeakable passion. His fierce code of honor, forged in the heat of a thousand battles, had abandoned him, leaving him to his fate with gyrating witch. Her hips and belly writhed and twisted, like a snake, the gorgeous orbs of her breasts swaying gently to her erotic dance, the oils on her skin lending an exquisite gleam to her luscious body.

Karnor’s hands had drifted down her hips, onto her round bottom, squeezing her plush flesh as he slammed into her, his nerves ablaze in soul melting pleasure. Her musical moans rung out in the chamber while she raked her claws down his muscular chest, the King ignoring the sting of pain as he approached his carnal peak. Morgana looked down to him as delicate beads of sweat fell from her elegant brow, streaming in between the pale peaks of her swelling chest. Her eyes were consumed with violet fire as she channeled her inner darkness while her pussy throbbed and spasmed from the sheer power coursing through her body.

Her clenching sex milked his manhood, her velvety inner walls smothering and choking his entire length to spew his precious seed into her dark depths. The King jerked up and tensed, jetting his spend and life force straight into her moaning body. She pushed herself as deep as possible down onto his shaft, biting her lips as the searing heat of his life essence splashed and flooded inside her, his skin growing colder by the second. Time was of the essence, if she did not act quickly he would die an empty, drained husk.

She grabbed the formerly good king by the head, holding him to her jostling breast as he eagerly kissed and suckled upon her hard nipple. Her body convulsed with her own orgasm, her back arching in ecstasy as he never stopped coming, sucking his soul away while quickly replacing the void with the corrupting nectar from her breast, filling him with her evil essence. She held him close, the two now painfully intimate for the watching Queen as the witch’s screams of lust had mellowed into whispers of desire, gasping and sighing in pleasure into her new slave’s ear.

Morgana kissed his cheek as she felt another pulse of his seed flood into her treacherous womb. She ran a finger across his steaming and rapidly graying skin. “Feel me come into your soul…yesss…give yourself to me.” Both moaned in pure sexual bliss, Morgana watching intently as her heaving bosom pumped another gout of her taint in the fallen king, her entire body tingling from her foul deed as the King finished his last jerking motions, the last of his nobility finally sucked away into her greedy depths.

Morgana closed her eyes and moved her hands to her belly while her fingers glowed a sickly purple, working her magic on the King’s seed as her thoughts moved to enslaving the Queen. She smiled as she thought of the new devilry she had worked up for her. She returned to reality, pulling her leaking breast from his mouth and then kissing her new slave deeply, moaning loudly as the two tangled the tongues, making sure the Queen knew exactly how much pleasure she was taking from her ordeal.

She pulled back from the King, licking her lips and giving him one final peck on his, staring into his now fiery eyes, filled with new lusts and desires that her evil had instilled in him. He looked at her wantonly, wanting nothing more than to ravish her, but bowed his head as Morgana mentally commanded him.

Morgana rose off of his cock, letting out a quiet moan as his organ left the comfort of her warm sheathe. She spun around, leering at Adras with a deranged smile. “And now for your turn, noble Queen!”


Priory of Light, City of Camlann

Joran Baird, Paladin and Protector of His Holiness, reinforced the straining oak doors of the monastery with another battle ax. He was the eldest of his order, the sole remaining member after the old barbarian invasion. However, being godless heathens, they quickly took a liking to the idea of His Holiness, and so the church was spared the torch and sword, and the more spiritual members of their ranks had decided to follow Joran’s noble tutelage. Barbarian Paladins. Rippling muscles and a love for violence combined with religious zeal. He thanked His Holiness for his blessings.

He had seen the creatures attacking them before and he steeled himself, as even now they haunted his memories. Maidens, beautiful maidens, turned into servants of darkness. Their glistening bodies invited more than pleasure, they invited sin and damnation. He tried to shake the image of their torn dresses out of his mind but to no avail. The large, sweeping mounds of their breasts peeked through their sullied cloth, full and upturned, begging for the attentions of a lustful lover, the gleaming hills of their supple bottoms yearning for a groping hand. But most tempting off all, was their engorged pussies, inflamed with desire and ready to consume all but the most noble, but even they, were not above such carnal traps.

Tower maidens they were called, women of such unparalleled beauty and purity that they were not actually born of mortals, but rather accumulations of holy energy, which once reaching critical mass, attained consciousness and were born into mortal form, protected from the horrors of the world in great towers across the realm. And now, they were the most depraved of Morgana’s instruments, their great righteousness reformed for great evil, their wombs the givers of unholy life which now spread through the city.

He pepped up his men. “We are Paladins of His Holy Order, let not the dark temptations of shameless harlots sway us from our holy path, smite them with the light of the righteous!” They looked at him uncomprehendingly, stroking their cropped beards. Joran sighed. “Don’t look at their tits and swing for their heads!” They cheered in unison, brandishing their swords and warhammers, shouting their holy oaths in defiance of the unholy howls at their doorstep.

With a loud splintering of the wood the monastery doors finally caved in and Joran saw it was worse than he thought. At the head of a horde of fallen maidens, witches and demonic soldiers strode a massive knight, clad in midnight armor, twirling a mace in one hand and swinging a sword in the other. Demons and ghosts he could handle, and though the beasts around the knight bore an infernal countenance, they were not demonspawn.

Demons could be banished, sent away with holy symbols. These soldiers bled black blood, and felled ten men for every one of their own, and despite their casualties, kept on coming. They were not just evil, they were primal evil, as essential to the balance of the universe as life and death, and this is what Joran feared most. He could no more stop the howling tides than he could the flooding rains. But he could try.

All around he could see some of the peasant militia had already buried their faces into the bouncing, bountiful breasts of the maidens, the horned vixens giggling with murderous delight as they wrapped their lush, nubile bodies around their victims while the witches seduced cowering nuns with sex magic, some penetrating them with magical phalluses, others stuffing their huge breasts into the aged women of faith, cradling their heads as they forced their corrupting ambrosia down their throats.

Joran was heartened, seeing that his brother Paladins had not given in to their lusts, and were repelling the unholy masses yet. He whispered a brief prayer, kissing his pendant before crashing down upon the dark knight, hammering down a rain of blows that would have broken a normal man, but that the knight only staggered from. The Paladin cursed. It was going to be a long night.


Sister Einaudi fled down into the lower parts of the monastery, still able to hear the clamor of violence from above. Within the catacombs she heard the quiet gasps and sobs of her fellow Sisters, hiding in the ample shadows the sparse light provided. But her heart quickened as she heard another sound, the hungry, lustful growl of the Dark Maidens.

She heard scampering feet on cracked tile, the rapping of long nails on stone and tormenting laughter bounce all around her. She froze up as she heard a piercing scream echo in the darkness and then more muffled giggling. All around her, the same sounds played again and again. The nuns were being picked off, culled from the herd.

The middle aged woman crept forward, sweat beading down her hands as she kept her sounds to a minimum. She leapt behind a pillar as she heard the pounding of feet behind her, and kept her hand to her mouth as she stifled a whimper, watching the decrepit form of Sister Darrow tackled onto the dusty floor as a curvaceous maiden straddled her.

She could see the shadow play of the twisted scene, how the maiden laughed hysterically as the buoyant globes of her chest bobbed and quaked to her ravings while she performed the Maiden’s Kiss. She kissed deeply of the struggling nun while her lower pussy lips sealed onto the nun’s womanhood, her sinful body pumping pure evil into the woman of faith.

Sister Darrow moaned as she felt the maiden attach herself to her pussy, her frail hands vainly pushing back on the maiden’s rounded hips, her nerves overcome by the strange and pleasant tingling sensations that throbbed from sex, slowly moving up the rest of her body.

She fought the erotic tongue play of her violator, feeling something was coming, something she would be helpless to resist if she did not get her off in time. Her muffled groans were drowned out by the maiden’s pleasure, her long fingers sailing through the nun’s hair as she poured the black honey of her corruption down her throat.

Sister Darrow screamed in soundless ecstasy, feeling the hot torrent of her juices, from both her mouth and sex, flood into her being. Her body jerked underneath the maiden as she felt a tendril push past the maiden’s pussy lips, entering and fully penetrating her, serving as a ‘link’ to keep the two closer than ever.

Darrow sobbed in joy and sorrow, her legs shaking in irrepressible delight as the tendril made incredible throbbing and wriggling motions, making her vaginal walls clamp around its length in desperation, in turn sending waves of agonizing pleasure to the maiden, their feelings now intertwined.

The maiden moaned as she felt the coils of her darkness ensnare and penetrate her victim, and pulled away from her lips to admire the youthening woman’s hazy eyes as runnels of black fluid streamed out the sides of her mouth.

Sister Darrow gasped in sinful delight, feeling a new sensation of heavy softness develop on her chest. “I will not be tempted to the shadowed path….unngh…you have no power here!” Her cracking voice was beginning to youthen, becoming mixed with fright and arousal as she felt the black, syrupy fluid ooze down her firming up neck at a languorous pace.

“No Ssssister…give yourself to a new divinity…” hissed the maiden, her voice sibilant and eerily nurturing. Her smile widened as the infected nun continued convulsing in her grasp, failing to fight off the pleasure and grasping evil that slowly made its way to her innocent soul. She grasped the nun’s flailing hands, steadying them on her own jiggling breasts, letting her formerly gnarled fingers grasp and knead the pliable softness of her titflesh. “Yesss…feel them…know that you will share in my blessing!”

The maiden moaned in pleasure, thrusting her chest forward and pushing her soft mounds against the nun’s hands. She leaked more of her arousal over her thighs, pleased to see to the nun’s bosom rise to prominence under her habit, like round, swaying mountains, eager to be groped but for the black cloth that concealed them.

“Begone…merchant of sin…mmmh…you have no power here! His Hol…Holiness guides and pro…tectssss…” coughed Darrow, her moral fortitude all but exhausted and eager to bend before the invading evil, its seductive claws well buried in her noble heart, waiting for the inevitable moment for when she gave into its promise.

The maiden grabbed her by the chin, cupping one of her enormous tits in her free hand, rubbing a thick nipple as her glare burned into the eyes of the lost nun. “His Holiness abandoned you! Surrender and let the darkness take you, change you…save you from this torment!”

She leaned down to the nun once more, kissing her passionately, drowning her protests in her lips, pressing her soft globes into the nun’s equally ponderous bosom, their smooth flesh joining to create erotic peaks of wanton femininity, round and upturned but as soft as pillows.

She moaned as she poured more of her black nectar down the holy woman’s throat, her body shuddering from the pure pleasure and evil contained in her elixir. She knew the nun had little hope before, but now there was no doubt her fate was sealed, which sent an orgasmic shock through the maiden, her treacherous thoughts as arousing as any act of debauchery.

Sister Darrow’s complaints and groans had disappeared under gurgled moans of bliss, her eyes fluttering as her hips rubbed up and down on the maiden’s sex, her body completely resigned and surrendered to her pleasurable torment.

The maiden pulled away from her lips, ushering one of her tits into the woman’s mouth, her slick, engorged mound flowing in like a waterfall of sensuous flesh, all the while she stayed attached to her pussy, humping against her to feel more of her shadowy essence injected into the twitching nun. She moaned softly as she felt her breast spasm internally, before flowing more sinful pleasure into her prey’s mouth, her frantic struggle to mount the woman at an end.

She smiled as her victim relaxed, the nun’s widening hips falling into reciprocating her vigorous grinding. She made a delicate cut down the middle of her habit and laid her palms on the nun’s breasts, reveling in the sensation of their flowing expansion, growing into upturned, vanilla hued mountains of tremulous breastflesh. Her pink nipples darkened into black points as her midsection writhed and gyrated, slimming and carving itself into perfection in a matter of moments.

The maiden knew the nun had fully embraced her seductive damnation when she stiffened, her body seizing up as she let out a series of irregular, breathy gasps, overcome by the sheer pleasure of surrendering to evil. This was how it was when I fell, the maiden thought, though those memories seemed so distant now, even her name…Ce…Cel…it did not matter anymore, this was all she lived for. Throughout her seduction, the nun’s body had been changing itself for temptation, but now the invading evil had finally poisoned her soul, bonding with it and cursing her for all time.

The maiden steadied her shaking body, supporting the voluptuous nun as she arched her back to her powerful orgasms. Her chest pushed forward from her contortion, the ripe, feminine swells of her breasts bouncing and careening against each other as she shuddered from each climax. A loud moan slipped from the nun’s lips as horns rose out of her forehead while her face tilted towards the ceiling, a look of ultimate pleasure on her face as her eyes began to glow in a yellow light.

When the maiden pulled her back up, she delighted in how much she looked like her fellow maidens, with her blackened lips and prominent horns, such traits marked her and her kind as unique among Morgana’s servants. The nun had joined a new sisterhood.

Sister Einaudi insulated herself as much in the shadow as possible, and had restrained with all her might to sob at the new Sister Darrow. The old one was so kind and generous, ran charities for orphans and gave aid to the weak and helpless, of which there were plenty after the barbarian invasion in years past. This one…was so indecent! As she rose up, she left her habit ripped open, scarcely covering her massive, pouting breasts, but just enough to tempt her future conquests to part the black cotton folds and be overcome by the succulent feminine splendor that was just aching to spill out. She had also torn away the patch of cloth covering her bottom, leaving her round, full cheeks to bounce in the open air.

She stilled herself as much as she could as the two began to walk away, before they stopped, looking at each other with knowing grins. Then Sister Darrow turned around, leaning her ear in Einaudi’s direction, as if hearing the woman’s thundering heartbeat. “She is there sister! Grab her and give her a taste of liberation!” she pointed directly at Einaudi, her face alight with wanton lust. “Give her the gift of sin!”

Sister Einaudi leapt off the ground with agility that surprised even herself, fear lending wind to her feet. She heard the snarling of her bounding attacker and grunted in pain when she felt herself slammed into the stone floor. The maiden turned her over, pulling away Einaudi’s undergarments and bringing her own engorged womanhood to bear, her lips slavering like some hungry beast.

Einaudi screamed in protest as Sister Darrow came up behind the fallen woman, leaning forward and allowing her perfectly shaped breasts to graze and slide against the insatiable maiden’s face. Darrow’s face broke into a smile, relishing her lover’s gentle touch as her tongue flicked upon her soft flesh, leaving a trail of her saliva along the halos that were her areolas. All the while, the maiden had thrust closer and closer to Einaudi’s pussy, before their labia lips connected and suctioned against each other.

Einaudi’s limbs tensed for a second as she felt her assailant secure on to her, while Darrow kept the maiden’s face pressed into the sensual expanse of her pale cleavage. She ran her fingers through her hair as she looked down on her older, more aged Sister. “You are about to experience the Maiden’s Kiss, Sister. It will be the most beautiful-” Einaudi cried out as a new, perverse sensation assaulted her pussy. “Ah yes, that’s to keep you from running…” A small, motile tendril extended from the maiden’s pussy and fastened itself to her womanhood, pinning her down with pleasure as it solidified its connection.

As Einaudi writhed and twitched on the floor, Darrow let go of the maiden’s face and strummed her leaking pussy, sinking her fingers into the welcoming softness of her pillowy chest as she tweaked her nipples. “You will love this feeling, of having a mistress…to hear her voice in your head, knowing she grows more powerful by the moment…soon we will be sisters again…”

“It is glorious!” agreed the maiden, running her clammy hands around Einaudi’s face. “So old, so tired and so barren…you will be like us, young and beautiful forever!” Sister Einaudi had nearly lost her mind with fear, little more than a babbling mass of crying, fearful flesh, each taunting word from the temptresses bringing out a new sob.

The maiden’s skin began to perspire as a slight heat wave rose off her back. Little bubbles of moisture began to collect around her round tits. Engorged with unholy vitality, her heavy mounds were eager to be felt or sucked upon, ready to pour their sinful cargo down the throats of the innocent.

Sister Darrow ran her fingers through the maiden’s sleek hair. “It begins Einaudi…become one with her…cherish her sacred touch…” Other corrupted nuns began to huddle in the shadows, their evil eyes glowing in the darkness as they chanted the downfall of the righteous woman.

Einaudi wept at the inevitability of her defilement, while the maiden kept her head in the air, taking in a deep breath as she felt a torrent of her hot, dark essence rush down her body, about to be flooded into the nun’s vulnerable womb. The maiden twitched with the excitement of enslaving another, as a string of drool dangled between her hanging melons, her mouth filling up with the erotic venom that would spew down Einaudi’s throat.

Just then, as the maiden hovered right above the nun’s struggling face, a patch of the granite ceiling crumbled down in a shower of stone, a finger of light pouring through the darkness as two Paladins tumbled into the rubble. With a book in one broken arm, and a sword in another, limped the proud form of Joran Baird. Seeing the pinned body of Sister Einaudi, Joran made a swinging motion at frightening speed, decapitating the writhing maiden in one motion.

Sister Einaudi sobbed in joy, she was saved! She pushed the twitching form of her attacker off as she checked her sacred spot, making sure not a drop of the maiden’s foul fluid had touched her, and sighed with relief, all while Joran boomed his litany into the catacombs. “Suffer not the witch to live! Come ye heretics, face the light of the righteous!”

Roggor, his fellow Paladin, bumped him on the soldier. “Aye, I’ll drink to that laddy!”

Joran looked at him askance, not changing the baritone pitch of his voice. “WE DO NOT DRINK BROTHER!”

“Right!” affirmed Roggor, as he clobbered down on the demonic soldiers that had accompanied their fall. Joran limped over to Sister Einaudi, lending her a hand up, grateful that not all of the nuns had been corrupted. He afforded her the rarity of a comforting smile, before immediately hardening into stoic resolve.

“Are you well, Sister?”

She was dazed, and caught a glimpse of a snarling Sister Darrow melting into the shadows, along with her other turned Sisters. A moment too late and she would have been running with them. “Yes…I thin-”

“Good.” he interrupted, beckoning Roggor over as he finished off the stragglers. “We must get to the royal family and ensure the continuance of their line. The Black Knight walks among our enemy, and will surely be on their trail.”

“Who’s that?”

“Big huge fucker.” said Roggor, finally caught up with the two.

Joran looked at him like a stern parent. “Brother, language.”


Joran whispered a benediction to his sword, letting it glow with piercing, holy light. “Our light grants us to tread on the unrighteous and impious alike.” Shadows melted before his illumination, followed by the sibilant hisses of the corrupted Sisters. “Come, there is an old path, an ancient path, that will take us to the palace.”

The three made their way through the catacombs, the shadows of their stalkers swirling among them like a mist, watching and waiting, for within Sister Einaudi…something foul bided its time…preparing for the right moment to reveal itself…


Sister Einaudi, with Joran and Roggor, greeted the fresh air of the Royal Palace with smiles and good cheer. They had picked up a group of hastily assembled palace servants, now armed with pitchforks and daggers, ready to beat down any who stood in their way.

As Joran and Roggor forged on, they left Sister Einaudi and the group of refugees with her in an abandoned dining room, thinking her best suited for tending to the needy while they tended to the violence. Sister Einaudi was grateful for her reprieve, having not the heart for bloodshed, but something did not sit well with her.

She staggered and nearly fell down, catching herself on the edge of an oak table, nearly knocking over some candles as a rescued chamber maid, Evelyn, came to her aid. “Sister Einaudi! Are you ill!?”

Einaudi offered a weak smile, as perspiration began to form on her forehead. “No, no, I’m quite alright, but thank you dear.” Evelyn helped her up, just as the rest of the crowd spared her a brief look before returning to their conversations. “I just feel a little…hot. Perhaps too much excitement for one night…”

Evelyn held her hand as the two walked away from the crowd, supporting her fragile body as she regained her strength. “I can imagine, miss. I think there is a washroom down the hall, I’ll keep watch until you feel better.” The chamber maid placed her hand on her shoulder. “I think some cold, fresh water would do you a world of good.”

Sister Einaudi gave her a smile, unused to others caring for her. “Thank you dear, I won’t impose too much on your time.” She turned away, thinking that in another lifetime, Evelyn would have made a good nun.

She limped into the washroom, feeling more strange…and yet more pleasant than ever before. Plentiful torchlight gave her a clear view of herself in the nearby mirror. Nothing too amiss…there was a certain gleam to her skin, probably just the sweat from her adventures but oddly…the tingling pleasures in her body had magnified since she had come into the washroom, as if she was meant to be alone…

When she turned away and thought of leaving, the pleasure lessened, so she stayed where she was, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. Short breaths rasped out of her mouth as she realized she was paralyzed by the foreign sensations and the forbidden feelings they created. A new terror bloomed in her soul as she found her body moving on its own, slowly turning back to the mirror. She gasped as she realized her wrinkles and crows feet were smoothing away, her skin tightening and becoming more supple as a youthful glow began to spark into her cheeks.

She knew what this was and what it meant for her. Somehow, she had been ‘touched’. “No…no…my lord…save me…” she cried as she slumped down onto the smooth floor, feeling a warm, thrilling sensation around her breasts as her chest slowly expanded and blossomed under her habit. She moaned in forbidden pleasure, and it was not in the hoarse tones of middle age but the honeyed notes of exquisite youth, feeling her breasts grow heavy and full, perking up into full arousal as her nipples pointed through her habit.

She writhed in ecstasy, feeling her back muscles strengthen and develop, ready to carry her new, luscious endowments as the beginnings of evil began to twist its way through her. How could this be, she thought, as an orgasm sent her back arching and her toes curling. She was saved! Not a drop in her…then it came to her. The maiden’s tendril. Somehow it had burrowed inside her when the evil harlot was torn off, slowly subverting her body and soul to Morgana’s cause as the hours passed, coalescing together to form a seed of evil.

“I-I can’t…our lord and father…may you always…unnngh…grant me strengthhh…” Her voice trailed off after a dark weight smothered her thoughts, a shadow of a whisper at the fringes of her mind. She prayed that it wasn’t too late, that she could somehow turn the clock back and be rid of indecent, sinful youth and corrupting beauty, before her spirit followed in turn.

But it was too late, the seed had awakened, spreading its foul roots through her as it reached out to her mind. She felt arousal burn through her blood, hearing a seductive, feminine voice whisper thoughts and prophecies of betrayal, urging her to join a higher cause…a more noble cause. She ripped open her habit, letting her bulging tits spring free, leaping forward into the warm air as she gyrated along the tile, her ripe melons swaying to her orgasmic contractions. “Oh…no…can’t take it…yes..yesss…I need it!” She felt overpowering evil slam into her helpless mind, birthing insatiable lusts and unspeakable evils into her battered soul, filling every fiber of her being with mind melting ecstasy.

Her fingernails scrambled for purchase on the tile floor as they curled to her euphoria, her expanding breasts wobbling and swaying to her cries of bliss as sleek, glistening thighs peeked from under her habit, sliding against the damp floor. The darkness was too eager to penetrate her, and she was too eager for pleasure she had never felt before, the fatal combination sealing her fate and ensuring her fall.

“Make me yours mistress! I forsake His Holiness and embrace only you!” at her renouncing of her faith she felt a dam of sexual pleasure burst, washing entwined feelings of carnal bliss and subservience to Morgana through her soul, her deep and powerful orgasm a reward for her obedience.

She bit her lips, stifling her screams of pleasure as the last of her mental defenses were swept away, letting her surrender to the darkness that had come for her soul. Her fingers sank into and kneaded the soft swells of her giant breasts, as her voluptuous buttocks bounced and squeezed against the floor with each bucking, lustful thrust, all the while one climax after another wracked her body, shattering her will and enslaving her forever. Her taut belly strained and tensed to her chain of orgasms, undulating like an erotic dancer as waves of bliss washed through her, her formerly pure self unused to the broiling fount of lust that bubbled within her blackened soul.

The pleasure was too much, for after her final release, she blacked out, her convulsing body relaxing into serene stillness. A pleasure filled gasp escaped her lips as she resigned to the evil within, letting it exert its dominance as it reformed her, making her will its own while her body finished remolding itself. Her breasts were free to ripen more without her struggling, the pronounced swells of her bosom shifting into pouting, milky white mounds, her moist and firm skin giving them a golden hue in the firelight.

A gurgled moan tumbled from her mouth as a crown of horns rose from her head, her tossing and turning at an end as the darkness had finally finished burning her virtuous spirit away in the consuming fires of pleasure. A soft sigh of ecstasy peeped from her lips as her mouth curled into an evil smile. Sister Einaudi was no more.


Joran and Roggor brought their weapons down on more violet eyed converts, unfortunate members of the Royal Palace who did not have the good fortune to make an escape, little more than zombies under Morgana’s thrall. Although, zombies would be better, Joran thought, being much easier to kill when you didn’t think of them as people, these poor devils screamed and bled just like anyone else.

The Paladins kicked down the doors to the royal quarters, pleased to find at least some of the royal family intact. Prince Veros had his sword drawn, his sister, Princess Eva behind him while a squirrel of a man huddled behind a chair, Marlowe Dreville, Karnor’s advisor.

“Where is Prince Hektos?” said Joran, his commanding gaze pointed straight at Veros.

Prince Veros regarded the two men wearily, checking for any signs of corruption before he spoke up. “He’s…he’s fighting the Black Knight.”

Joran shared a glance with Roggor before stepping forward. “Then let’s go.”

“What…why? He’ll be here!”

Joran shook his head. “No my gracious lord, he is either dead or soon to be. Come, it is our duty to ensure your survival. You too Princess Eva.”

Roggor regarded the Princess hungrily, the sole daughter of the royal family having inherited her mother’s coppery skin and exotic good looks. Her hair was a smooth, polished black, complimenting the vivid orange, figure clinging gown that graced her body. Her breasts flowed and shook like mahogany orbs within her low cut dress, it’s plunging v-shape cut offering only a glimpse at the rounded, upper mounds of her shapely bosom.

Joran grabbed him by the chin. “Eyes on the mission, brother.”

Roggor smiled back, slinging his blade over his shoulder. “Oh they’re definitely on the mission…”

Joran’s face grew more stern, were it even possible, and moved in front of the Paladin, blocking his view. “This is no time for jests. We are strong precisely because we do not indulge in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“That is why you are weak!” boomed a deep voice across the room. Joran shuddered. He had become well acquainted with that voice over the course of the night. The Black Knight filled the doorway, with a cadre of corrupted palace servants, demonic warriors, witches and nuns at his heel.

Joran turned around, bringing his weapon to bear. He gulped when he saw Sister Einaudi among their ranks, looking decades younger, resembling a lewd maiden more than a woman of faith. Her burgeoning mounds pointed threateningly, as the round mountains of her breasts kept a tenuous hold on her shredded habit, more than a breeze would leave the temptress’s succulent curves exposed.

He thought she was saved…how could she? He was broken out of his thoughts as a bounding shadow leapt from the corner of his vision, taking him down with surprising strength.

Marlowe Dreville quaked in his boots as he saw the noble Paladin taken down. These creatures were always so good at that. He took a double-take when he realized it was Evelyn! She was such a normal, plain girl and now…totally unrecognizable as she smothered his angry face into her plump breasts, the smooth skin of her tits glistening in a burnished, sweaty sheen, her own internal lusts threatening to incinerate her if she did not vent her corruption into another.

Even as the rest of the unholy horde slowly walked in, a sea of shaking breasts, sculpted thighs and swaying hips, Marlowe realized he had always been a traitor. From when he told his abusive father that his brother was stealing cookies, or to when he let the barbarians enter the city during the reign of the last king and even now, calling in favors for Morgana’s invasion. He survived by being indispensably useful. But now, with the fruits of his deceits fresh before him, something switched. He was going to be a hero, even if it meant dying for it. In fact most became heroes precisely because they died for ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ was.

He was ready.

He pulled Roggor and Princess Eva closer. “Come, I can get us out of here!” Prince Veros looked upon the cowardly aide taking action, and felt a need to outdo his bravado. He was the son of King Karnor, greatest warrior in the land! A prince never followed, and he would be damned if he was remembered for running while his brother became immortalized in legend. He would out glory him in death. Even though he didn’t think he would last more than five seconds, they wouldn’t know that. Glory before reason, so emblematic of his bloodline it could have been the family motto.

“Good idea!” said the prince, before steadying his blade. “I’ll hold them off, save her!” Marlowe was grateful for the prince’s flagrant lack of self-preservation, and led the Paladin and the Princess towards a secret bookcase passage, quickly pulling on the blue spine of an ancient tome before shutting the door behind him. “Remember me, Eva!” were the last words the good Princess heard of her beloved brother before her rescuers sheltered her under the cloak of darkness.

Joran still lay struggling against his assailant, his body long having retreated into its primal instincts and sucking upon the chamber maid’s swollen, silky smooth tits. Her loud moans drowned out his muffled rage, as she slowly began to grind her leaking sex against his hardening cock.

“Join us noble warrior…feel our dark truths surround you, penetrate you…drink from me and know peace!” moaned the deranged woman as she mashed his face even further into her full, bulging bosom, drinking in of his fear as he drank in of her corruption. Joran desperately fought off the feeling he had gone to heaven, almost overcome by the exquisite pleasure of having her velvet smooth flesh writhe against him. His hopes were raised when he saw the valiant Prince Veros deflecting blows from his enemies, said hopes were just as quickly dashed when a corrupted nun simply knocked him out from behind.

He tensed up as he felt the corrupted woman had somehow removed the armor surrounding his groin, leaving his cock exposed to her hungering pussy. He nearly pushed her off but the woman was possessed of supernatural strength, and snarled when she impaled herself on his rod, sinking her searing claws through his shoulder plates, as his hardness filled up the silken cavern of her sex.

Joran almost came right there, after years of celibacy, the warmth of a woman was almost too much to bear, his instincts screaming for him to spurt strands of his life essence into her hot, pulsating depths. Surrender seemed so right, to give in to her warm, tender flesh, to embrace and fall into the soft valley of her cleavage while squeezing her lush curves for hours on end…for eternity.

He snapped out of it once he heard her keening scream of pleasure and felt her talons melting through his steel plates, her eyes rolling back into her head as she squeezed her womanhood ever tighter, smothering his cock in her warmth. “Come for me! Give in to Morgana’s touch!” Joran summoned his willpower, he would not give in. Memories of his departed wife came to the fore, giving him the push he needed. He pulled away from the deliciously plump globes of her trembling bosom, his lips jealously parting from her erect nipples as his will battled his instincts for supremacy.

Holy energy flared through his being as he marshaled his willpower and determination, his inner righteousness burning away the sweet, corrupting ambrosia that swam through his system in a wave of heavenly flame. Evelyn gasped in surprise as she felt this reversal, leaping off his cock in terror as the light of champions poured through his eyes. All in the room took a step back, even the Black Knight, at the display angelic power.

Time had slowed down for Joran, his explosion of purity having bought him just enough time to take stock of things. Veros, down. Roggor, Eva and Marlowe, gone. Windows, three. Drop height? Unknown.

Moonlight shone through the windows of the royal quarters, throwing the full figured form of Sister Einaudi in silhouette, her fine fingers gripping the spectacular, ivory-white slopes of her breasts as she sashayed over to the Paladin, eager to placate his holy fury.

Joran rushed passed her, knocking over her sumptuous body with the combined weight of his armor plates and muscle. The purity pumping through his veins lent him unnatural haste as all of reality bent to accommodate his speed, the grabbing hordes just barely missing his flying boots as he leapt for the window. A loud crash filled the room as large shards of glass shattered and splintered into the air, showering into reflective slivers over the howling crowd.

And then the holy warrior was no more, silence filling the room as the assemblage bowed their heads in shame, deferring to their towering leader.

The Black Knight looked out the broken window, before turning to Sisters Einaudi and Darrow, the slick valleys of their cleavage widening as they slowly pulled their habits from the sides, the black cloth parting like theater curtains to reveal tantalizing glimpses of ripe, feminine opulence, riding high on their chests. Their curvaceous bounty stoked fires within his cold heart, fires that he longed to stoke and release, but then he shook his head of their temptation, his loyalty to Morgana as absolute as his focus to the mission.

Stepping from the window, he pushed his way through the crowd as his fiery eyes widened in visible agitation. “No man could have survived that.” Unsheathing his cruel, jagged blade, he headed for the secret bookcase. The Black Knight’s veins burned with rage, rage that could only be quenched in the blood of a traitor. Marlowe would pay for his treachery.


The Royal Palace, City of Camlann

Morgana sauntered over to her hostage, letting her breasts sway and shake, rolling her hips with well practiced eroticism, reveling in the equal parts fear and awe she inspired in Karnor and Ingrid. She paused for a moment, breathing in deeply as she took in the sensation of her and the King’s mingled fluids running down her lush thighs. She put a finger underneath the Queen’s chin, admiring her alluring, dusky features and bright green eyes.

“Your King has sown his seed in me…” The Queen sobbed even more, not having the heart to look in the witch’s face. “But worry not you silly little whore, for I am not with child. Indeed I have the Black Knight for that.” Morgana embraced the Queen, her snowy white globes squeezing against the Queen’s beautifully bronzed breasts, both of the lady’s assets pillowing outwards from the soft pressure exerted on each other.

She turned her face away, unable to bear Morgana’s intense gaze, as the witch’s moist, pouting lips hovered close to her own, before she brought herself to her ear and pressed her sleek belly against her. “Can you feel it…?” Adras could not speak, only giving a faint nod as she felt an odd wriggling, bulging sensation along the skin of the witch’s stomach. “That is your destiny…”

Morgana pulled away, motioning Ingrid to bring her forward as King Karnor put his clothes back on. Adras watched with mixed emotions as the witch walked in front of her, jealous and enraged that she had not only stolen her husband’s soul but that she was so treacherously beautiful. Morgana exhibited the kind of muscular control that the hot blooded dancers of her homeland could only dream of, her sculpted, bubble shaped ass cheeks flexing to the rhythm of her step.

The four walked behind the throne and out onto the ornate balcony, overseeing the night life of the capital city. Morgana stretched her arms out on the balcony railing, breathing deeply of the night air and relishing the moonlight that graced her flawless skin. “A kingdom cannot have two queens, no more than a ship two captains. So tonight, I shall throw you from the very pinnacle of power to the precipice of paucity.” She turned around, regaling Adras with the soft opulence of her pouting breasts, pointing at the Queen in a challenging manner. “And then you will truly know, all that separates you from that fate are my good graces, which I have so generously extended to your paltry little life!”

Queen Adras was on her knees, seething with resentment. No one insulted her, and even if they did her husband would have beheaded them himself. She so desperately wanted to strangle the vile woman, slap her, anything to humble her, but then she cooled herself…if she took and bore the indignities…her children might live. Above Morgana’s cackling she thought she could hear shouts and explosions in the distance. Hope fluttered in her heart once more, an emotion that aroused Morgana as she yearned to strangle it.

“Don’t look so eager young Queen, that is merely the sound of my soldiers uncloaking themselves and slaughtering your precious people and their leaders in one fell swoop…” More tears ran down the Queen’s healthy cheeks, dancing and streaming around her high cheek bones before tracing down her neck and joining together, her river of sorrow painting a glistening sheen over the exposed, upper swells of her ample, copper toned bosom. She could take no more.

“WHY!? Why do you do this? What moves you to such cruelty!?”

Morgana looked down on her as if she just asked why the sky is blue. “Some might say it’s because I’m evil and that’s what evil people do…” She took a deep breath, pressing her tits close to her face. “The truth is rather unsuitable for a bard’s tale. I do it…because I can.” The wicked sorceress loved the look of defeat that played out in the Queen’s eyes.

“You’ll lose!” Adras spat, her defiance getting the better of her forced demureness. “You just can’t go around setting the people’s homes on fire, making monsters of their women and corpses of their men, they will fight, and they will hate you! They always will!” She silenced herself, remembering that too much spirit would be the end of her children.

Morgana only stroked her churning stomach, a confident smirk on her face as she moved her hand up to taste some of the leaking ambrosia from her sculpted breasts, the woman’s insults nothing to her position of power. “Mmmmh….you are mistaken…” she licked her fingers of her sweet, burning juices, the same scalding nectar that had damned the souls of countless men and women. “What? You think I’ll make a throne of skulls, murder in the morning, eviscerations in the evening with nothing but sex and salaciousness in the streets?”

Morgana pressed the Queen’s head to her belly as she ran her gentle fingers through her luxuriant, raven tresses. “No no no…unlike my predecessors, I see no point in bathing the world in blood and flame. Don’t get me wrong, if you think I’d do something horrifying and bloodthirsty just for the sake of being evil…you’d be right, but what would be the point of ruling of the world with no one to rule?” Adras shivered as Morgana kept a firm grip on her head, still subject to the strange roiling and writhing sensations that moved through the witch’s skin. “So why the slaughter you ask?”

“Discipline. Commoners are like children. And like all good children, a judicious hand is needed, to keep them from harming themselves.” Adras stifled a scoff of derision, thinking of what a nightmarish mother Morgana would make. “Thus I curb the roots of rebellion tonight, preventing our mutual harm in the future, my swords and spears, witches and warlocks, being the needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds.”

Morgana backed away from her, as an unsettling smile dawned on her face. “But enough of that! Now is your time Adrasteia!” She slid her hands down her stomach, gasping as the creature in her belly stirred to life, eager to be free. Her glistening pussy lips spread outwards like a flower, moaning in delight as a black, snake like creature slithered out. Its head was phallic in shape, having no eyes but a visible mouth.

Queen Adras screamed as the beast wriggled out, its motions intensifying as it sensed a nearby host. Adras knew very well what the creature was from her homeland. A tenebril, creatures engineered by the darkest of sorcerers to foster corruption among their enemy’s ranks. Pure fear cleaved through her despair, pulling the Queen out of her dazed funk. Living among barbarians had given her a cursory understanding of combat, enabling her to break out of Ingrid’s hold, headbutting the blonde enchantress as adrenaline raced through her veins. She could not let that beast near her.

All that mattered was the escape. Her heart thundered in her ears as she took a sharp intake of breath, feeling the cold marble of the throne room underneath the soles of her feet, each stride taking her further away from her doom. Ingrid’s enraged groans and Morgana’s pleasurable moans mingled in the air, growing more distant as freedom called. She had to save her children, her babies.

And then she felt him. So close yet so far away. She screamed as she felt herself pulled to the ground. Her mind had not fully accepted defeat, as her limbs thrashed and fought against her captor, his hefty, muscled arms holding down her own.

King Karnor looked down on her, a treacherous smile on his face as his eyes burned red with malice. “You shouldn’t reject our new Queen’s blessing…or hit her friends.” Sparing one hand, he stripped away her tear stained dress and panties, splaying her flailing legs apart, leaving her wide open for Morgana’s pet.

“Listen to your husband Adras…unngh…here it comes!” moaned Morgana as her sorcerous snake finally left her body, hitting the ground with a wet plop as it slithered towards the Queen’s vulnerable slit at an unhurried pace.

Adras strained her head, seeing its bobbing head hiss in the air, its sleek muscles moving in such a way that inspired terror and wonder. She screamed even harder, bucking her hips, pushing against the man she loved, doing anything to keep her pussy out of its reach. Karnor grabbed her head, forcing her to look at him as the creature made its progress to her inviting warmth.

“Relax…stop struggling, it is easier this way…”

Her misty eyes projected fear and anger, and she quickly became lost in her husband’s entrancing gaze. His eyes held nothing but pure, burning evil, and yet, there was something relaxing about them. The longer she looked, the more calm she became. Her thrashing at an end, the beginnings of a smirk formed on her face, until a surprised exhalation left her mouth.

“That’s it…drop your pointless struggle and surrender to me…” said Morgana, her voice husky with arousal as she kept her eyes on the slithering tenebril, shuddering with desire as she strummed herself. “It desires to be in you as much you desire it to claim you…it is…destiny.” Her pussy tingled as weak moans came from Adras, her voluptuous form twisting and turning to Morgana’s seductive voice, in turn arousing Morgana further. The sheer inevitability of her enslavement gave her a powerful yet quiet climax, her breath fast and shallow as pure satisfaction washed through her body.

The writhing creature was drawn to the Queen’s inner goodness, her noble nature and untainted spirit standing out like a star in an ocean of black to its senses. The beast nudged its head against her lips, hissing in gratification as it sampled its prey, its inner instincts urging it on to spread darkness into her soul.

Adras gasped in shock at the foreign sensations, her traitorous body instinctively parting her thighs wide for the creature as her mind screamed in terror. A quiet whimper parted her lips as it began sliding its head in, creating unimaginable stimulation while it writhed and struggled to pull itself into her body, now spasming to unnatural pleasure.

Morgana looked on with pride as her creature took the plunge, squirming its midsection through her pink folds before twisting the rest of its length up into her body, the Queen squealing in shock and delight at her violation. Ingrid lifted herself up, drifting over to her mistress. “My Queen…what is this?” she said, admiring the perverse spectacle as the former queen jerked and twitched along the balcony floor.

“Corruption.” Both looked on as the last of the creature finished invading Adras, her strong vaginal muscles sucking and grasping the beast up into her depths as it would the King’s manhood. “On a primal level, she wants this…to be conquered from within. The body does not lie.”

The tenebril burrowed slowly, drawing out the pleasure as long as possible, squeezing through her tight and wet inner walls as it followed its animalistic desires to nest itself within her womb. Helpless mewling sprung from the woman’s lips as the creature made her body its plaything, tormenting her with a kind of internal stimulation she had never felt before.

Adras’ eyes glazed over, her face going slack in surrender as her body rejoiced in its perverse invasion. A tingly fullness washed through her clenching vaginal muscles, her moist arousal aiding the creature’s passage. She struggled for breath when she felt the penetration stop, grateful for the respite, before she went rigid with pleasure, holding her breath with excitement as the creature snaked through the inner ring of her sex and implanted itself within her womb.

She arched her back to the sudden stimulation, rolling on her side as her breasts followed suit, resting on top of each other like caramel hued pillows. Inaudible whimpers seeped from her lips as the beast’s evil spread outwards, infesting her body as it began to bond with her soul, its dark presence searing into her mind.

Her soft mounds squeezed together the more she pressed herself into the floor, her entire body going through clenching and releasing motions as waves of pleasure washed through her in rhythmic pulses. Karnor leaned down, pushing his wife back on her back, holding her by the shoulders to keep her steady, his twisted eyes admiring the lost and dazed stare that played across her beautiful eyes.

“Oh gods…its…its in me…so good, I can feel her…” she moaned, the last holdouts of her mind crumbling underneath the tenebril’s erotic assault. “I can’t…can’t…”

“Yes! Give in, give in to darkness as I did, as we all have!” hissed Morgana, shoving Ingrid’s face into her pussy, her love juices speckling onto the blonde and her soft thighs, her lips sopping wet as Adras came closer and closer to ultimate submission and damnation.

“I can’t fight it…I don’t want to fight it…I…” panted Adras, her hips beginning to buck up as she pinched the budding nipples that crowned her soft, massive tits, while her arousal streamed onto the marble floor, “SURRENDER! Take me mistress, forever!”

“At last!” Morgana clamped down on Ingrid’s head as she came, exhaling into the night air as she felt herself gush into her slave’s mouth, her vast breasts shuddering to her ecstasy while Ingrid’s whines of delight became muffled in her pussy lips.

A piercing moan filled the air as Adras did much the same, her body shaking in orgasm, the creature having finally united with her soul, sending her into greater spasms of pleasure. Her eyes fluttered as flecks of drool dribbled from the sides of her lips, while a litany of incoherent phrases, grunts and moans escaped her throat, her mind smothered by Morgana’s dark will.

As the former queen’s body partook in its own damnation, Morgana pushed away Ingrid and summoned her staff, materializing it in her hands as she cast glowing runes in a circle around Adras. Ingrid looked down, unfamiliar with this kind of magic. “My Queen?”

Morgana smiled, enjoying how quickly Ingrid had started calling her by her proper title. “It is not enough, dear Ingrid, to make a slave. Sometimes a monster is needed…an ode to my power and majesty that will color my rule for all time.”

“True.” agreed Ingrid, ever the sycophant for even her Queen’s most impractical ideas. Her eyes refocused on Adras’ convulsing body, smiling as luscious moans were ripped from the woman’s throat as her eyes rolled back into her head, her gorgeous teardrop breasts bouncing in time to her chain of climaxes.

Morgana had a deeper look into what was happening, seeing her creature expand and grow through her womb with its vile tendrils, spreading like cancerous roots and inundating her with its corrupting flesh. Her back arched as she lifted herself off the ground, shuddering with pleasure as the creature brought her under her control.

She writhed wantonly on the floor, her moans now accompanied with coos of orgasmic delight, her voice having lost the sharp edge of terror from before. As a former concubine she had thrown off her inhibitions long ago, but never her moral fortitude, her honest self ever trying to make a brighter future out of a darker past. Her crumbling spiritual goodness stood out to the darkness inside her, impelling the evil to make one last final conquest in a blast of insane pleasure.

A sob of ecstasy came from her mouth as another climax rocked her to her core, and with it came her lustful surrender to treachery. She shuddered to the soul melting bliss of multiple orgasms, her eyes fluttering as a demented smirk dawned on her face, her mind rendered blank from sexual bliss. Motherly kindness and right character were swept away in the waves of her passion, replaced with a burning core of sin and sadism, her soul now taking pleasure in only the most foul and debauched of acts.

Morgana flicked her fingers upon seeing most of the woman infested and without hope, now wicked enough to withstand the power of her magic. The runes around the writhing vixen flared and exploded in brilliant violet light, sending streams of pure evil rushing into her as she boiled over into her final orgasm, screaming into the sky with such lust that all the capital could hear her cry, were they not busy being slaughtered.

The light grew so blinding that even Morgana was forced to look away. The former queen became so saturated with magic her body began to levitate, her glowing form spinning within the ritual circle as her body and soul was rent apart and remade in Morgana’s insidious spell.

When the dust cleared and the light dimmed, a creature that could only exist through sorcery stood before her. Her glossy black hair fell over her heavy breasts like the nymphs of old, her caramel-brown complexion gleaming in the moonlight as runnels of sweat trailed down her toned belly. But everything below the waist…was that of a spider. Adras flexed each of her new legs, running her hand along back, down the voluptuous spheres of her ass which rested atop her arachnid abdomen, smiling as she saw her stinger, dripping with aphrodisiac venom. A fanged smile revealed itself as she hissed in pleasure, reveling in the new changes and treachery that snaked through her formerly noble heart.

Morgana walked up to the imposing creature with not a tinge of fear in her soul, reaching for its head. Adras bowed in supplication, allowing Morgana to remove her gleaming crown. As the witch placed it on her head, the blue and white jewels turned blood red, while the splendor of the golden filigree glowed with unholy light, screaming faces manifesting among its ornate designs.

“Thank you my Queen…for everything.” said Adras, still bowing and getting used to the intertwined feelings of lust and murder than inundated her body. Morgana kissed her on the forehead, sparing a delightful squeeze of her pet’s bountiful breasts.

“It was my pleasure.” she said, one of the few times the witch had spoken the truth since her turn to evil. She gestured for her supporters to stand up, walking past their kneeling forms and paying not a single glance to the screams and fires that spread through the city below. “Come, come! I do believe it is right about…” she paused, staring at the towering, bronze chamber doors, and then as if on cue, they barged open, “now!”.

She clapped with excitement, leaving the balcony and approaching the king’s throne. Through the doors had entered the Black Knight, accompanied by a cohort of his demonic sons, all of them bruised and bloodied, the knight himself, bloodiest of all. His traditionally black armor was no longer, being vivid red, covered in the blood of innocents and warriors alike.

Morgana slinked into her new throne, relaxing like a lioness while making a mental note to make it more posh by night’s end, the barbarian’s tastes in comfort not mirroring her own. “Report my champion! What news?” Her naked form lay splayed across the chair, making no effort to conceal herself.

The Black Knight’s flaming eyes darted to her soft, abundant breasts, just waiting to be grabbed and squeezed, but he held back, not wanting to sully her ivory globes with the blood the unworthy. He coughed before meeting her eyes. “My lady, the kingdom is yours. All of Karnor’s commanders have been assassinated, the spines of their sons torn out, the dignity of their daughters hollowed out, now faithfully aligned to our cause.”

Morgana rested her chin on her hand, pleased with the outcome of events, making another mental note to put the Black Knight deeper under her spell, his florid speech from his past life peeking out once again. She sensed the former king and queen come up to her side, Adras speaking up first. “But what of our children!?” she said, less out of motherly concern and more out of predatory curiosity.

“Ill news. Prince Hektos was too spirited, there was no other recourse but death an-”

“Good!” interrupted Karnor, “I never liked him anyway.” He looked to the scowling Morgana. “Apologies your Majesty.”

The Black Knight continued, trying not to notice Adras strum herself off as he reported more fatalities. “…while Prince Veros was captured.” The handsome prince was ushered forward, the demonic soldiers snickering as the man was punched and kicked from their ranks.

He looked around the throne room, confusion and terror marking his face. He eyed his soulless father, and his heart sank when he received no comfort from his mother. His gaze moved up from her heaving melons and into her hungry stare, drool leaking from mouth as her breasts grew more swollen at the sight of him.

“Mother…father! What have they done to you!?” he screamed, before with a flick of her fingers Morgana sent him sprawling across the floor, materializing a magical gag in his mouth.

“Silence! They have seen the light…as will you soon enough.” She regarded the helpless prince with lascivious eyes, before returning her gaze to the knight. “Continue, noble lord.”

The Black Knight fished something out of the bag draped around his back, pulling out the head of Marlowe Dreville. “This one aided in the only royal escape, that of Princess Eva and her brutish companion.” Morgana eyed the head, before shrugging her shoulders. “You are not…angry, my Queen?”

“Of course not. Someone always escapes, to rail against it is to rail against the laws of nature. The more royal they are, the better their chances. Let us be thankful it was a tender princess rather than a vengeful prince!” She sat up from the throne as her eyes sparked with magic, letting black mist snake around her sculpted body and soft skin before solidifying into a silken black bra and g-string panties, her attire just barely covering her generous assets. “Let the girl plant her head in the sand, for we plant the flag of our victory!” The room cheered as her warriors raised their weapons in the air, her Black Knight giving a courteous bow, a hold over from his noble past.

She looked at the struggling Prince Veros, muffling in fear, before sharing a smile with his mother.


The final hours of dawn were giving way to morning as all manner of foul creature crowded on the roof of the castle. The sky was chock full of black smoke, the smell of flesh and death on the wind, while moans of the dying echoed in the breeze. Morgana’s heraldic banners billowed in the howling altitude, while Prince Veros sat in a pentagram, his lusting mother by Morgana’s side.

Morgana whispered into her servant’s ear, the spider-woman’s eyes widening as her lips crinkled into a wicked smile. “…serve your Queen well my pet, and I will love thee for it.” She moved away from her slave, moving to a make shift altar before shooting her hands into the air and mouthing her incantations.

Adras, for her part, sighed in pleasure, finally able to indulge in the infernal desires that had been simmering in her veins since her spiritual desecration. Her delicate spider legs skittered over to her defeated son, his eyes a mix of lust and disgust as he eyed the beast that used to be his mother.

Errant wind blew the silky black ribbons of her hair away from her buxom chest, the chill temperature setting her nipples at points, her huge, tanned breasts now resembling soft mountains more than ever. She stretched herself, turning around and breathing into the shallow air, giving Veros a view of her slender yet muscled back, his eyes wrestling with the strangeness of seeing a fully formed set of ripe ass cheeks resting upon a spider’s body.

But no longer than he had considered it, she had turned back around, her tits bouncing from side to side as she tread with a spring in her step. Her toned belly glistened with a shining emerald, an emerald Veros recalled his father telling him about as a boy. He had been a youth when he plundered it from the corpse of a demonic elephant in a tower, gifting it years later to his beautiful wife. To think, they had been a romantic, loving couple, just a day before, made the Prince long for happier days.

His fond reminiscences were broken when she lunged down, licking along his neck as her full and hefty melons skimmed and pressed against his naked chest, her flesh soft yet cool. He looked into her glowing eyes, imploring her to remember who she once was.

“Mother please, you don’t have to do this!”

She paused in her ministrations, and for a moment, Veros thought the sight of her naked, shivering son might have moved her to sympathy. “Oh my dear child…you don’t understand…I want to do this!” A sharp grin parted her lips as she wrapped all her legs around him, her velvet pussy rubbing along his groin as she did so.

She jetted globs of silk out of her spinneret, moaning as she wrapped her prey in a light cocoon. She fell over him, letting her dark, bobbing breasts glide against his face as she held him in a lover’s kiss. Her moist lips devoured his, making sounds of arousal into his mouth as her stinger came up from behind and plunged into his back.

Veros broke away from her kiss, shouting in pain before immediately calming down, as an all new pleasure rushed through his veins. Adras let loose a sensual moan as her intoxicants poured into her son, delighting in feeling his hardening manhood slide against her. She shot her tongue down his throat once more, pleased in seeing the sharp fear in his eyes mellow into glazed acceptance while her arachnid abdomen shuddered as it pumped more of her essence into his twitching body.

Morgana looked at the unholy incest before her as she increased the intensity and speed of her words, while dark clouds and thunder boomed ever closer in the sky. Her eyes flamed over, pouring out bright light as she channeled her sorcerous might into the pentagram.

Adras had glided her infernal pussy over her son’s erect cock, moaning as his shaft impaled the luscious, pink slit on her ebony abdomen. She rested the heavy mounds of her amber tits upon his face as she held his head close, gasping quietly as her inner walls sucked and squelched around his manhood, her dark essence silently seeping through his skin and spreading through his body.

She mesmerized her son, his unknowing eyes enthralled by her fiery gaze as she began to slowly thrust back and forth on his cock, pumping him into her depths as he jerked and shuddered in her webbing, groans of pleasure escaping his lips as she freed his arms. Instinctively, his hands went straight to her chest, grasping the cool flesh of her ample globes, grasping and squeezing in maniacal joy, his previous fears gone in a storm of pleasure.

Adras arched her back, offering her giant, gorgeous breasts evermore to his fondling palms, letting out a hiss of pleasure as she felt more of her evil spread its roots through her noble son, his skin turning turning pallid and his veins corroding black under her lustful embrace.

Both gasped for breath as her thrusting quickened into a rough, animalistic pace, while Morgana’s storm became more threatening by the second. The spider-woman’s skin glistened under a sheen of perspiration, aided more by the droplets of rain that had begun to fall on the sinful ceremony, while her deranged moans rung out across the sky. Her sopping pussy squeezed every inch of his member as she gripped him by the head, kissing him deeply as her invading evil drove her son to new heights of ecstasy.

She became more aroused as she felt his soul driven out, just barely holding onto its mortal coil. She knew it was time and drew him close, humping down on him violently as she sucked his neck, her clenching pussy eager for his seed and soul, tugging on his manhood with deep, drawn out undulations.

“Give in my son! Give into your passions and let go…give me your hopes, your dreams, your desires…give yourself to ME!” Her whispers set him off as his stomach tensed repeatedly, his mind ripped away in ultimate ecstasy as he spurt deeply into the creature’s dark womb, his climax without end as he pumped thick ropes of seed into his howling mother, both lost in the incredible sensations of giving into their release.

Morgana cried with joy as she looked upon the incestuous couple, eager to see Veros’ spirit float above his body, his mother’s venom having forced its retreat and his release having finally severed the bonds between body and soul. It looked like a ghostly version of himself, except radiating the golden light of his inherent nobility. She closed her fist and before punching in the air, as the pentagram surrounding the rutting couple exploded into a rich flourish of colors, beams of light all streaming to the last son of King Karnor.

With the light suffusing the glowing form of his soul, the ritual commenced. From Veros’ corrupted body sprouted a spiked, ebony tower, his torso exploding into a red mist the second the monolithic structure emerged. From his sacrifice of royal blood, Morgana’s Tower of Darkness was born. Shattering through the original royal palace itself, stretching from below the earth and far into the lofty heavens, its pinnacle curved into a black crescent moon.

Morgana outstretched her arms as violet lightning streaked the sky, rejoicing in her ultimate victory as her cackles filled the air, her tower a beacon for all that was evil in the land. A deep scream of pain floated across the sky as a horned skull formed in the thunder clouds. The very earth despaired at her triumph.

She brought her arms down, thoroughly exhausted by her conquest. Rain drops drizzled down between her pouting breasts, tracing along the sleek interplays of muscle on her back and down her sculpted thighs, and dribbling around the thick curvature of the firm globes of her ass.

Her glistening perfection and display of power put a deathly silence among her followers, the water streaming off her feminine form like rivers off a polished marble statue. She swung back to the crowd, her movement causing a spray of water to spin from her wet, raven hair as her massive, alabaster breasts bounced seductively to the commotion.

“Kneel before your Queen!”

Without a word they followed her command. Ranks of nuns and witches alike, Karnor and Adras, the Black Knight and his sons, all on their knees, their heads bowed in honor of their new Queen.

“We have succeeded, where so many have failed. Ours will be a kingdom of darkness, strength, beauty, and CHAOS!” Morgana raised her hands up to the sky once more, emphasizing her point to her roaring hordes. Truly she meant ‘chaos within the bounds of good taste’, and could already foresee the days when she would have to exert her sorcerous control to rein in her forces from their natural instincts to burn and pillage. But this was not the time for technicalities.

“We will curry the apprehension of Kings, and the admiration of Gods! A Kingdom of the Night, and soon, an Empire of the Black Moon! Be merry, my most loyal subjects, for our time has come!” The crowd jumped at her exclamation, hooting and hollering, some of the soldiers tackling the eternally lustful maidens and having their way with them as the witches and warlocks exchanged quiet words of thanks.

Among the ruckus of the cheering crowd she heard the devilish laughs of her sons, Melehan and Morvith, no more than 8 and 10 respectively, non-demonic children borne out of her unions with the Black Knight, but still just as evil as his more infernal progeny.

They hugged their mother, as her other servants in the crowd hid their shock, surprised their evil overlord even had children, much less any sort of maternal qualities, twisted though they likely were. And in this triumph of evil over good, stood the Black Knight, away from the crowd, letting the pitter patter of rain drops slowly wash the blood of conquest off his scarred armor.

He looked at his bloodied hands, and then to Morgana and their children, turning his head as he surveyed the surrounding city, left in flames. A sense of familiarity pierced through his damned soul, remembering these visions on the fateful day he fell into darkness…when he was once the proud and noble Prince Elric von Krieger. A small, vengeful flame ignited in his soul at these remembrances. He could never take redemption…but revenge? Oh he was well acquainted with that, but he stifled such feelings. He had a master now.

Morgana called out to her knight and lover. “Come my champion, celebrate with your Queen!” She laughed as she put her arms around Ingrid and Adras, the three moving in to the newly spawned tower. The Black Knight followed suit, his black heart at her beck and call…for now.


At the bottom of the Tower of Darkness gathered the city of Camlann’s newly forged underclass, refugees from burned homes and slaughtered families, their bedraggled hands cupped for alms and pittances. Widowed women wept as children cried, while men who still had intact families made a desperate journey to greener pastures.

But there would be no greener pastures. No place where Morgana’s wicked legions could not tread, no heart she could not could not corrupt, no soul beyond her dark touch. The kingdom that King Arthur built, strengthened by the Knights of the Round Table, guided by the wisdom of Merlin, survived by the leadership of Lancelot, that had endured wars with traitorous knights, renegade sorceresses, and barbarian invasions, was at last…no more.

The Dark Age of Camelot had begun.

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