Milked by the Thirsty Demoness Read online

  Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicle

  Book Fourteen

  Milked by the Thirsty Demoness

  By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury

  @amandasmut

  Cover artwork by Deilan12

  This book and all its contents are copyright 2019 by Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  Map of the Empire of Istanov

  The Chronicle

  The time of monsters was said to be at an end.

  The rise of the great human empires of Istanov, Heimsvak, and the desert kingdom of Shaddobar brought the elves to heel and drove the tribes of orcs, goblins, and stranger monsters to the margins.

  The last great monster uprising occurred more than 50 years ago, when a brave huntress named Penelope Helsdottir prevented the ascension of a new monster god and formed the Huntresses of Ctharne. These unique warrior women were dispatched throughout the known world wherever trouble arose to tame what monsters they could and destroy those that could not be made into allies.

  But within the borders of Istanov, trouble brews. Long years of peace and prosperity have blinded the Istanov dynasty and the people of this nation to a new danger. As monsters gather, seemingly heeding the call of a powerful human leader, will the nobles of Istanov react in time? Or will overconfidence prove the undoing of an empire?

  These are the Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles.

  The Slaver

  The ruins of Tatarod were a foul place. The burned-out corpse of the city rose in behind the ports, buildings hollow shells. Streets painted with ash and blood, so ground into every brick not even the rain could wash it out. Far away, the broken palace rose like a ragged mound against the horizon.

  And yet, ships plied the bay. The fluttering triangular sails of traders from Shaddobar hewed through the waters, aiming for the docks, where life, of a sort, still thrived. Markets had grown along the stone wharves, trader ships docking and their masters descending surrounded by guards. For it was dangerous to visit what was once Istanov. A threat to play the game of trade with the creatures of nightmares. The monsters who thronged the docks among the cages and crates. For what need have monsters and beasts for gold and jewels? For the coins which men laboured and killed and warred over? The glittering fortunes of a fallen empire meant nothing to the brutes. Nothing, save a means of getting what they truly wished.

  Gor stood outside his tent, watching the robed merchants of the eastern realm wander about the docks, carting behind them the chained figures of women and men. Slaves. Ah, slaves. Even if an economy was in ruins, slaves were always for sale. Often the only thing, in fact.

  The minotaur chewed some of the spicy gum he had bought off one of the traders. His hulking frame filled the entrance of the tent, clad in a simple embroidered robe. A gift from a merchant for the excellent price he’d offered. The gold ring in his nose marked him as a former slave. A bodyguard once for the merchants who had run Tatarod. Ah, how the tables had turned. Who could have imagined the intimidating brute would learn so much from guarding some fat, well to do trader.

  But times changed. Gor turned and walked back into the rear of his warehouse. Light peeked in through breaks in the old slats, cutting bars of gold into the dark. Women filled the cells. Supple, beautiful, many had the olive-skinned colour from Shaddobar and its deserts. Others still held the pale hue of Istanovians captured. All of those sported a rune upon their mons. Slaves claimed, their masters slain, then sold to Gor for wine, fine foods, or other luxuries the bestial monsters couldn’t make themselves. As the minotaur moved through the dark he flicked the golden ring in his nose, relishing the chime. Though the monsters were flush with triumph now, trade would be needed. Would flourish. And he intended to be on the forefront of it. Gor smirked, snorted. Ah the wonders of trade.

  “You are Gor?”

  Gor turned back towards the entrance, raising his brows. A woman stood in the entrance. Ravishingly beautiful, with an arrogant air and firm, high breasts. She wore a clinging gown that showed off her voluptuous hips and teats, a slit in the side showing off long legs. Her hair was a rich crimson and gathered around her head in long strands. One hand was on a cocked hip, her eyes bright and green despite the darkness, her skin Istanovian pale.

  Gor smiled and faced the woman. She was uncommon, but perhaps had come from Heimsvak. Some among their traders snuck to the coast and around their king’s decree. There were always demands for slaves, even in the so-called civilized kingdom. “Greetings,” he said, his voice rolling forth in a rumble. “How might I assist you, valued customer?”

  “I require a woman.”

  “Of course. Of course,” the minotaur said, clasping his hands before him happily. “We have many available here. Those whose masters have fallen and now seek a new one.”

  The woman’s eyes slid over the cages, noting the slaves within, their expressions slack, torpid like cattle, the mark of the eye burned above their mons. She lifted a lip in contempt. “I have requirements.” She raised her hand. “One. Unseeded. Two, beautiful. And finally, I require her ample in breast.”

  She hefted her own plump orbs in example. The minotaur pursed his lips in thought, rubbing the ring in his nose. “Hrmmm… A tall order to be sure.”

  “And?” the woman said, crossing her arms.

  Gor flicked his ring with a chime and shook his horned head. “Hrmnnn. No. No. None like that. I have many with large breasts and beautiful to see. Some even nobles of Istanov before monsters conquered them. Might I show?”

  “But none unseeded?” she demanded.

  “No. No. Had some, but bought already.”

  “You sold them? To who?”

  The minotaur smiled and shook his head. “Forgive. To gertling chief. Gift from his tribe to their master. He wanted unsoiled slut for him to breed. Desired very much. Good price. I have other women you might want. Maybe we make deal. Very good bargain.”

  “Where are these gertling?”

  Gor huffed, crossing his arms before his barreled chest. He rose slowly to his full height, his horns nearly scraping the ceiling he was so tall. “Hmm. Believe they were in Sommin Swamps. Not far. But dark place. Heimsvak woman alone might be taken. Many monsters there. Here, let me fetch some others who might like.”

  Gor went to one of the nearest cages. He didn’t bother with keys. Grasping the bars he pulled with a grunt, the metal squealing as they bent before the minotaur’s terrible strength. He reached in and grasped two. One, a shapely former baker’s daughter and still sporting the curves of that life, and the other a slender brunette who had already birthed her master’s young, leaving her breasts ripe and still milky.

  “Here,” the minotaur said, leading the two back. “Fine slaves. Very good quality. No doubt good for you…”

  Gor trailed off. The woman was gone. The minotaur looked about in vague surprise. Where… He frowned, scratching his chin. His nostrils flared as he scented something lingering in the air. A curious, spicy perfume. One which reminded him of something… something he couldn’t quite place…

  He felt something touch her leg. He glanced down to see the two slaves he’d brought from the cages were pawing at his robe. Shapely, naked but for a tattered loincloth before their flushing pussies, the pair were gazing up at him in the wanton neediness of the cursed.

  “Master,” they moaned almost in unison, already lost to their lust, drunk on the heavy, raw scent of the minotaur’s masculinity.

&n
bsp; Gor hummed, then shrugged. Well, if the woman was gone, she was gone. Nothing for that. And he supposed he may as well get some entertainment while he waited for the next customer. He undid his belt and shrugged open his robe, baring his leathery chest, sculpted with wild, savage muscle. His flared cock stiffened in the open air, rising to its full girth in moments. The two women moaned in delight, their hands stroking his cock, their tongues already lapping at his shaft, tasting the thick musk that fairly oozed from the minotaur like a miasma.

  Gor groaned, grasping the pair’s head, pushing them against his inhuman shaft. Oh yes. Being a merchant was a wonderful thing indeed…

  The Gertlings’ Camp

  It was not an easy life, being a woman in Shaddobar. Especially if one was beautiful. Sooner or later, in the ever-shifting alliances, battles, assassinations and favoritisms which defined the desert kingdom and its decadent courts, you found yourself on the losing end. Perhaps one made an enemy of a harem mistress or caught the eye of a satrap. Maybe some bandits raided your village or slavers.

  Still, in all those shifting fates which befell her people, Asiana Tissan never thought it could get this fucking awful.

  She was forced to march through the fetid swamp and into the cave. Gertlings crowded around her, the ones who had bought her fending back the leering, hooting wretches, even as their own hands caressed her olive curves with hungry touches and teasing strokes. Their yellow eyes took in her buxom frame. Nothing but a loincloth hid her velvety cunt, her waist and legs toned by her years as a dancer in the satrap of Oom’s court. Her dark hair long and rippling with her movements, and her heavy, curving breasts firm and bouncing softly with every step.

  She cursed her fate again, shuddering at the raucous voices of the goblin tribe as they herded her down the raw tunnel. Gods of the sands but she loathed them all. Merchants had brought tales of Istanov’s fall and the curse which had gripped its women, turning them into breeding sluts for the hungry lusts of its monstrous conquerors. She had never imagined such a fate as being hers. Even being fondled by that withered husk of a satrap would have been preferable.

  That said, she still didn’t regret breaking that pot over his head.

  The tunnel widened suddenly. She winced at the torchlight and squinted, then recoiled. The fattest gertling she had ever seen reclined in a pool of water, fed by a burbling spring leaking from the wall. His roundness swelled above the warm waters, his gut bulging, his back resting against the lip of the pool. He opened his eyes, fairly lost amid his puffy cheeks. His ragged ears twitched with attention and his lipless mouth widened in a hungry grin.

  “What this?” the corpulent gertling mewled as he pushed himself up further, the waters lapping from the movement.

  The leader of her captors strutted forward. Unlike the rest of the gertlings, he wore some semblance of armour. Even if that semblance was some crude leather straps with what looked like old pots and pans tied to it. He thumped a fist against his chest, making the skillet he wore bang. “Great chief Greeda! Me bring gift for mighty chieftain of Stoneflint tribe. Me go get for gold slave girl. Not marked by monster yet!”

  Greeda sat up straighter, his interest piqued. Asiana grimaced at the foul creature’s hungry gaze. Not that she could blame him. She knew she was beautiful. It was what had gained her fame as a dancer, enticing the lusts of men across Shaddobar. At least until that incident with the satrap.

  “Ooooh,” Greeda moaned. “She good. You do good.”

  The gertling captain grinned eagerly. “Me thank great chief!”

  “Yes. You thank. Now go,” Greeda said, flopping the sausages of his fingers towards the door. “Me enjoy slut now.”

  The gertling nodded and barked at his fellow guards. The other wretched monsters hustled out, though more than a few hungry glances were aimed at the exotic beauty. As the captain clanked out, he delivered a hungry smack to her plump bottom, making Asiana squeak and jump forward.

  Greeda laughed like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen, shifting his bulk in the waters. He raised his hand again, gesturing towards her. “Mnnn. You come closer. Me want see better new prize.”

  Asiana pursed her lips. Her eyes flicked about for some means of escape, but the cavern was bare. Only the door behind her offered a way out. And that way was through a warren filled with the foul gertling tribe. If she ran, she had no illusions about how far she’d get.

  Not to say she was prudish. She hadn’t gotten where she’d been in the courts of Shaddobar merely through her dancing skills. None had faulted her for that. But still. To serve such a disgusting, wretched creature as the gertling chief…

  Well, perhaps she could, and in doing so, wait for her chance to flee. She knew something of the curse which afflicted the land of Istanov. That a monster needed to seed a woman before she would be enthralled by the creature. So long as she protected her pussy, she still had a chance for escape.

  She smirked, swaying towards the fat gertling. The monster raised a brow in interest as her hands slid down her body, cupping her firm breasts, sliding down her toned stomach and to her rocking hips. Her foot rose, touching the warm waters of the pool. Her fingers teased the knot that held her chaste, undoing it, tossing away her loincloth and revealing the pink gash of her pussy.

  “Oh chief Greeda,” she husked, going to her knees in the warm water, crawling towards the gertling’s bulk, his chest rising and falling faster with his deepening breath and warming desire. “Thank you for buying this slave. She is so pleased to have been taken by such a powerful… masculine creature. A creature who deserves this slave’s pleasures…”

  Greeda moaned as she pressed her plump breasts against his chest. Her hand slid between his legs, and her lips trembled to withhold her laughter as her fingers found the stunted, warty length of his cock. Gods of the sands he was so small!

  “Oh mighty chieftain,” she purred, stroking his cock, already stiff, hardening further to its full, if feeble length. “How wise of you to purchase me. Let your slave service you. For I bring many skills from my homeland, and it would be my honour to show you them.”

  Greeda’s breath whistled as he quivered beneath her stroking fingers. “Mmm. Yesss. Me see… what slave… can do.”

  “Oh thank you kind, wise, mighty master,” Asiana moaned, sliding her breasts up the slope of his rolls of fat. Lifting them before his face. “Oh master, taste your slave. Lick her lovely breasts. I have seen how you admire them. And I am more than happy to feel your hunger.”

  Greeda grinned and grasped one of her dangling teats. He lifted it, his tongue slithering around a puffy nipple. Asiana moaned as his lipless mouth latched on to her dark peak and began to suck and tease her nipple, his hands massaging her plump orb.

  Meanwhile, her hand continued its work. She was no stranger to men, and knew that despite this fat creature’s strangeness, he was like any man in one respect. Her thumb teased the underside of his warty shaft, the rest of her fingers sliding up and down it, stroking his stunted cock, sliding over the bumps and protrusions which characterized it. Gods he was disgusting. She couldn’t believe she was pleasuring this pathetic creature. Her breathing was deepening, for despite her disgust, his hunger for her breast was coiling warmth within her core. Her breasts had always been so sweetly sensitive, and the gertling’s eagerness was making her pant despite herself.

  “Oh master. Mighty master Greeda. Yes. Let your slave stroke your mighty cock. Mmm. Taste her breast. All for you, oh master. All for mighty Greeda. All for her master.”

  Greeda broke the kiss with her teat, moaning. “Oooh. Me feel good. Hand so good. But…” he murmured, his eyes bright as he looked at her. “Me think mouth… even better…”

  Repulsion made her flinch. And yet, odd to say, she found that coiling warmth within her spread. Her pussy slickening in the water. “Of course, master Greeda. This slave will gladly pleasure her master’s mighty cock with her lips.”

  She slid back down his front, her breasts still achin
g from their handling. The gertling lifted his hips, his gut cresting the waters until, at last, his stunted cock was visible. Asiana’s stomach turned at the sight of the gertling’s warty shaft, but she leaned forward, inhaling its pungent sweetness. Her tongue slipped from between her soft lips and tenderly stroked the underside of his warty cock.

  “Mnnn,” Greeda moaned, his head falling back, his gut twitching with his panting breaths. “Yessss. Good slave. You good gertling slave.”

  “Oh master. I can’t help it,” she breathed, her tongue lapping at his cock, her fingers slipping beneath, fondling his surprisingly thick balls. They reminded her of a pig’s. Fat and heavy, even if his cock was short and withered. “Master’s cock is just so powerful. So mighty. Mnnn. Slave is so happy to serve this cock… Oh master…”

  She opened her mouth and took his shaft to the root. Hardly difficult, but the taste of him burned on her tongue. And yet, she swirled her tongue around his warty shaft, licking it, stroking it, teasing it further to hardness. Her hands massaged his heavy balls, feeling the foul seed which churned within him. Oh he was getting close. She could feel it in the twitch of his cock and hear it in the staccato of his heavy breathing. The fat gertling was so near. She prayed he would tell her to take her lips from his cock, and yet knew he wouldn’t. And deep within her, she found that idea not so terrible.

  “Mnnn! Ahn. Hah! Gyaaaaaa!”

  Greeda cried out, his body shuddering, his balls tightening as he came. Fountaining into her mouth. The sudden burst of his foul, oily seed almost caused Asiana to yank back her head, but she didn’t dare. Instead she sucked down his cum, drinking his oily essence despite her disgust, moaning in expressive delight. Waves lapped at the edges of the pool as Greeda quivered and flailed with the ecstasy of his orgasm, the shapely dancer drinking down his seed with all the slavish devotion he expected.