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Story Codes: Teen female Masturbation, Male/Female, Female/Female, Fantasy, Magic, Voyeurism, Violence, Oral Sex, Incest, Creampie, Domination/submission

For a list of all The Rogue’s Harem, other World of Erasthay stories, maps, and glossaryclick here

Comments are very welcome. I would like all criticism, positive and negative, so long as it’s
constructive, and feedback is very appreciated.

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Note: Thanks to b0b for beta reading this!

Sven Falk – Despeir Foothills, Kivoneth Princedom, The Strifelands of Zeutch

I crawled forward on my belly, the firelight reaching up from the depression below, a bright glow at odds with its dark creators: Shizhuthian slavers. They served the foul nagas of the fractured lands across the Despeir Mountains to the east. My heart thudded in my chest, hands eager for tonight’s business. Even in the dark night, I could feel the knife-like mountains looming over us; the barrier between civilization and the tyranny of the foul nagas.

My sister crept up against me, a year younger, her lithe, pink robes dull in the darkness. A heat rose in me, her breasts pressing against the thin fabric, swaying with her every movement. Flickers of campfire highlighted the edges of her body, outlining her curves. A sweet scent filled the air. Her eyes reflected back at me, big and questioning.

“It’s them,” I whispered, turning my attention down to the camp, ignoring the rise of my cock. She was my sister. Not a doxy slattern dancing in a tavern.

Slovenly disorder ruled the camp. To the north, a large tent was pitched, the cloth dark even with the light glowing from its interior. On the south side were the wagons of slaves, their Zeutchian prisoners still inside, huddled in the mass. A forest of limbs, so dirty they appeared to be gray or brown, stuck through the bars. Most were women, pleasure slaves for humans favored by their naga rules. The rest were to be worked to death in the iron mines of Hizzithya. Three soldiers lounged by the fire, laughing as they ate the stew. Two more were on the edges, wearing their black armor, swarthy faces alert.

“Contact her,” my sister, Kora, said, her voice fair and refined, with a melodic music that came from her training as a priestess of Rithi, Goddess of Art.

My sister shouldn’t be skulking through the foothills of the Despeir Mountains attacking raiders. Neither of us should. We should be back in Az, her serving in the temple, acting as a muse to artists from around the world who attended the University. While I should be lounging in taverns, carousing with my friends, drinking on my parents’ largess, whoring with the companionable women, and enjoying the delights of Ava.

Damn that bastard for stealing it all away! I could still see the fires burning, consuming our home, our parents and Katriana still inside.

I thrust my hand into my pouch, seizing the alabaster statue. I pulled it out, setting it on my palm and holding it before my face. It stood the length of my hand from wrist to fingertip, carved in the shape of a young woman, her body slender and fair, the detail so exquisite it captured the nipples topping her small breasts and the down of her pubic hair between her thighs.

My heart lurched. How long had it been? Months? Nearly a year.

“Ava,” I whispered, my thick finger sliding down the cold stone statue from her neck, between her breasts, and down to her pussy. “Ava, it’s Sven.”

Life breathed into the statue. Tiny eyes blinked, lips smiling. Hips undulated, grinding a cold heat against my thighs. “Sven,” the statue spoke in the light and airy voice of the princess. “Did you find them?”

“They raided the village just like you claimed,” I answered, keeping my finger rubbing her pussy, wondering if Ava felt it in distant Echur. “How did you know?”

The statue’s face twisted. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Your father?” Anger burned in my voice.

My sister gave the statue a sharp look, saying, “Your father is involved with these slavers, Ava?”

“Maybe.” Ava’s statue trembled. I pictured the red-gold hair of the princess quivering about her face as she sat in her bed, controlling the statue across the intervening miles. “I learned about it from him. I fear…I fear his agents want those slaves.”

“Then he’s going to be sorely disappointed,” I grinned, my hand slipping down to grasp my dagger’s hilt. “We’ll free them.”

“Just you and Kora?” Ava gasped. “Against a Shizhuthian raiding party?”

“Trust me.” I winked at the little statue. “Don’t I always get away? How many times did I steal into your bower beneath your father’s nose?”

My sister stared hard at me, disapproval on her lips.

“Many times,” Ava sighed, a fond look spilling across the statue’s face. “But be careful, Sven. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I told the statue, bringing my finger to her mouth, pressing on the hard, yet somehow soft lips.

Ava kissed my finger. Then the statue went still, the magic animating it gone.

“Do you really love her, brother?” Kora asked, her voice tight.

“I love all the women I bed, sister dear.” I scooped up the statue and, with care, wrapped her up in oilcloth and slipped her into my belt pouch. “They all hold a place in my heart.”

“Even that Thlinian hussy you fucked in Cheyvn last week. The one you bent over the table and buggered while drunk.”

“I loved every moment being in her ass. And she certainly loved my cock, sister dear.” I grinned at Kora again, my hands so sweaty. Gods, she was beautiful, golden-blonde hair glinting in the enemy firelight, falling in two braids down her back.

“You are as disgusting as Las,” she said. “Ava deserves better.”

I fought down the heartache. It has been a year since I saw the princess in the flesh. Since the fire. Anger clenched my jaw. “Let’s liberate the slaves and ruin her father’s evening.”

“That, brother mine, is something I would relish.” Kora shivered. “I’ll provide the distraction?”

“You do it so well,” I said, slithering back from the edge of the cliff and out of sight of the sentries.

My sister disrobed with such casual ease, exposing her body to me. Even in the darkness, with only a half-moon shining down on us, I groaned at the sight of her round breasts with upswept nipples. They stood hard before her as she slid her hands down her tattooed flesh, marking her as a Radiant of Rithi, a full priestess. It was too dark to make them out, but ink adorning her flesh, showing her skill and talents.

Her body moved with such grace, shifting and dancing as she evoked beauty to draw upon her goddess’s magic. Her hands slid down her flat stomach to her groin, dipping across shaved flesh and rubbing on that quivering treasure.

How many women had I bed with the same golden-blonde hair? Eyes closed, pumping inside them, imagining they were my younger sister.

Too many.

It was torture watching her perform her magic. She let out a wanton sigh, her fingers sliding through the folds of her pussy and then penetrating her hot depths. I envied every man she took as a lover, as infrequent as that was these days. My leather pants were so tight. I rubbed sweaty palms on my thighs, watching her dance.

Burning with incestuous passion for her.

I could hear her fingers sliding in and out of her flesh, that wet plunge into hot flesh. My dick twitched with each one. My sister’s breasts jiggled as her head threw back, her twin braids swaying behind her. She turned as she masturbated, her curving ass facing me, painted by pale moonlight, her crack an inviting shadow.

When I buggered that Thlinian slattern, I felt my sister’s eyes on me. I wanted her to see my cock, to see my prowess, to hear how the slut moaned and gasped, her bowels clenching on my dick. I wanted my sister to know the passion I could give her.

If I wasn’t her brother.

Pater’s cock, she was radiant.

Moonlight shimmered around her body as she swayed and pumped her fingers. Sparkles, tinged with auroric rainbows, glinted across her pale skin as she gathered more and more of her Goddess’s magic, swirling the light around her as her fingers plunged faster and faster into her flesh.

“Oh, Gods,” she whimpered, her voice so throaty. Her eyes looked at me over a shoulder, burning with her pleasure. “You shouldn’t watch me.”

“You’re so beautiful,” I groaned, wanting to jerk my own cock.

Her hips swayed, her ass wiggling at me as she plunged fingers into her pussy. She must be so hot, her flesh boiling around those lucky digits. Her moans grew louder and louder. Her body quivered, the light swirling about her body, silvery, woven with shadows.

And then her back arched. Her ass clenched. Rivulets of her cream ran down her thighs, squirting from her pussy as her orgasm crashed through her. My heart beat so fast. My body on fire. I wanted to seize her, to fuck her. Let vengeance be damned and the slaves suffer while I enjoyed my sister.

I beat down such selfishness. She’d hate me if I tried. Those slaves needed freedom. Deserved it.

And Prince Meinard had to pay.

“Rithi, bless my sexual juices and let them paint with your concealing radiance,” she moaned.
The lights and shadows swirling about her body surged down her back and sides, crossing her curving ass, and diving into her cumming pussy. Her juices glowed as they dripped from her pussy and ran down her thighs.

She whirled, her tits heaving, and ripped her fingers from her pussy. My entire body tensed as she knelt before me, staring into my eyes. In the light of her glowing juices adorning her digits, I saw the deep blue of her irises and the pink plumpness of her lips. I wanted to kiss her.

She painted lines of pussy juices on my face. “Conceal him, my goddess. Hide him from sight until he is ready to unveil his perfection.”

The light rippled across my skin from the heat of her juices adorning my cheeks. She painted three on each one. I smelled her tangy musk, the delicious aroma of her forbidden pussy. I hungered for her. Those lips were so close. Her breasts, her body.

My right hand reached out, the light rippling down my skin. In its wake, I was translucent, faded, blending in with the night. I could hardly see my own digits moving before her. I froze before grabbing her breast, remembering my purpose. Her eyes flicked down to my hand. She seized it, lifting it to her lips.

Kissing the back of it.

“Be safe, brother mine.”

“I will, sister dear,” I said, my blood boiling, my cock so hard.

And then she let go. I drew my daggers. Frustration throbbed through me as I turned and stalked on my boots, moving with all the skill I’d learned sneaking into Ava and other rich maid’s bedrooms. I moved through the pine trees, stepping lightly on the needle-strewn ground. I skirted around feathery ferns as I moved lower and lower, descending from the hill and wrapping around its base to the dell where the slavers made their camp.

I went slow, careful. Whether sneaking into a mansion to claim a maiden’s virtue beneath her noble father’s nose or approaching a camp of armed and dangerous scum, you couldn’t rush. You had to make sure every step was placed just so. No breaking twigs, no rustling of brush.

My heart pounded hard, my body cold with tension. I reached the base of the hill, moving towards the path the slavers followed. My body ghosted through the trees. In the darkness of the canopy, I couldn’t even see myself. My sister’s magic concealed me as I moved.

Her lines of pussy juices remained hot on my cheeks.

I approached the slaver wagons. Two of them, crammed with the victims of their raids. They slept huddled together, piled on each other in the cramped confines, those on the edges pressed against the bars. All were naked, mistreated.

Laughter came from the fire. The sentry by the slavers wagon turned his head to look back at his companions. He shifted in his black, boiled-leather armor. The man’s head was shaved, his skin dusky-brown. His hand gripped the spear. He leaned on it for support and yawned again.

I circled the man, coming so close to him. But he didn’t see me. He didn’t hear me. Every step with care, my breathing slow, controlled. The dagger gripped in my right hand. I moved behind him. A slave whimpered from the wagon.

Anger burned. How could Prince Meinard stoop so low to let his own people be taken by slavers? All his proclamations issued to have slavers hunted down, the patrols of soldiers sent to stop the naga from conducting their raids, were a lie. It shouldn’t shock me. The bastard had destroyed my family. But it did. The man’s evils had no limits.

I sprang. My knife hissed.

And took the sentry in the throat, stabbing in from the side, severing arteries and the windpipe. He tried to scream out, but only a wet wheeze issued from his slit throat. I caught his body, blood spilling down the front of his armor, and set him down in the brush at my feet.

I peered through the prickling leaves at the campfire, the three men still laughing, passing a wineskin among them. No one noticed death’s arrival.

“Got my eye on that little ‘un,” grunted one. “I bet she’d wiggle nicely on my cock.”

“And scream her head off,” his friend said. “But you like it when they scream.”
“’Please stop,’” the third said, forcing his voice high pitched. “’You’re hurting me. Please, take it out.’”

“Squealing just make a pussy tighter,” the first laughed.

My face hardened. These were the degenerates with whom Meinard consorted? I glanced at my dagger. The wrong man’s blood adorned it.

Then I moved on. I had another sentry to kill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kora Falk

I trembled as I watched from the hillside. I couldn’t see my brother at all. My heart beat so hard. I clutched my pink robes about my naked breasts. He was all I had left. The rest of our family stolen by that tyrant. Part of me wanted to tell Sven his plans of revenge would only see him dead. Prince Meinard ruled half of Zeutch. His forces would crush the rest within a year. He might be High King in a decade. The first man even to have a chance of restoring High King Peter’s dominion. Two hundred years of fighting and war, and Prince Meinard could come out the strongest.

He stood poised to dominate all.

I wanted to run away with my brother, to find some place safe, and live together. Just the two of us. Fantasies of pretending to be his wife, not his sister, danced through my thoughts. I dreamed of founding a home, raising a family, with him. I knew it was wrong, he was my brother. But I burned for him. I knew I shouldn’t expose myself to his gaze, masturbating before him under the guise of casting spells, but I couldn’t help my wanton desires.

I wished he’d showed me the attention he dribbled on those whores he bedded. Or on Princess Ava.

The second sentry suddenly collapsed, vanishing into the brush. My brother’s skills, honed by the Fencing College of Az and his own rapacious appetites for new conquests, were impressive. Maybe he could kill Meinard.

Maybe he could avenge Mama, Papa, and little Katriana.

So I never objected to his plans. I followed him into exile, abandoning my home in Az at the temple of Rithi to wander as a fugitive with him. I believed in my brother. If any could do it, he could. And I’d help him.

I shoved my fingers between my thighs, rubbing on my juicy snatch. Pleasure rippled through me as I drew upon my goddess’s powers. “Rithi, bless my sexual juices and let them paint new beauty in the world.”

I shuddered, my pussy clenching on my digits, my pussy juices flowing, gathering on my fingers like oil paints. I pulled them out of my pussy, concentrating upon the world, my canvas. All radiants of Rithi, her priests and priestesses, were required to master three of the arts. I had learned all the techniques of the brush and pencil; trained to sketch, draw, and paint; evoking my imagination to life on paper, canvas, and reality.

My fingers painted, my pussy juices smearing color near the campfire, sketching the lithe and naked woman. She had pale skin, her hips curving, her breasts large and full, nipples pink and hard. Blonde hair fell in a curtain about a lush and hungry face, blue eyes sparkling. She stood up in the brush, gasping in alarm.

Ran.

“Naga scales!” swore one of the guards, leaping to his feet. “One of the slaves got out.”

“She ain’t no girl we captured,” the second said, gaining his feet, such hunger in his voice. “Look at that ass.”

“Get her!”

The two of the three at the fire raced after my illusion. Their rapacious hunger for the busty, curvy woman I created sent them pounding through the dark brush. I guided her down the trail, crouched above on the hilltop, my fingers constantly sketching her. My imagination focused on moving her, on her blonde hair streaming behind her, her breasts heaving.

“No!” she screamed, her voice throaty and intoxicating. “Oh, Gods, no! Help! Help!”

“No one’s gonna help you, girly,” leered one of the guards, racing farther from the camp. From my brother.

They were heedless of where she led them. I climbed the illusion up the far hill, keeping her running ahead of the guards slowed by their stiff, leather armor. They scrambled up the slope after, maddened by her beauty.

I had no pity for them as I painted a new illusion when the woman reached the top. She ran out onto the ledge of the far hill, tripping, falling. She landed near the edge, crying out in pain. She rolled over onto her back, clutching a twisted ankle.

The guards were too far away for me to hear their voices as they slowed, staring at the illusion. They knew she had nowhere to go. That she was helpless, at their mercy. I focused on them, little more than shadows standing on a hill.

I kept my fingers dancing.

They lunged forward.

Illusions were not real. They looked it. I could manipulate sound and color, shape and texture, but I couldn’t put any substance into them. There was nothing to touch. Both guards found that out when their feet stepped on what they thought was solid ground. But was really beyond the cliff’s edge, my illusionary woman ten feet from the real hill.

Their screams were faint as they fell to their deaths.

I let my illusion fade, smiling viciously.

To be continued…

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