---

Story Codes: Female/Female, Fantasy, Magic, Domination/submission, Monster Sex

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.

---

---

Click here for The Rogue’s Harem Book 1, Chapter 48.

---

---

Note: Thanks to B0b and WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Zizthithana – Kozzithni, the Shahdom of Shizhuth

The rasp of my scales made a sibilant hiss through my throne room as I tribbed my sex slave. Shilia, my lamia, whimpered and moaned, her big breasts rubbing against the serpentine coil of my lower body. Her nipples were two points of hardness on my flesh, her tits so soft. And her pussy… Her pussy was so wet.

I savored the feel of her pussy on mine. I rubbed our cunts together, my clit nudging hers. She gasped and whimpered, her purrs mixing with the rasp of my scales. Her triangular, cat-like ears twitched and her cat-like tail swished. Her mane of black hair fell down her back as her youthful face twisted with pleasure. The feel of her sent such pleasure through my naga body. My hands rubbed from the transition of my scales to the human-like skin of my belly. I drew my hands up my dusky flesh to my heaving breasts. They were large and pillowy, the nipples pierced by gold rings.

I pulled on them.

My serpentine lower half tightened about Shilia’s torso. She yowled as I felt how fragile she was. I could crush her body. I undulated faster, harder. Such delight surged through my pussy as our flesh caressed each other. I seized my nipples rings, tugging hard.

“Gods, yes,” I moaned in delight. “Las’s thick cum!” I moaned, crying out to the God of Lust, the progenitor of both our races. Nagas and lamia were birthed from his indiscriminate masturbation, his cum sprayed across the world.

But where lamia came out weak and fragile, with almost no wills and easily dominated, nagas were birthed strong. We conquered. We seized power. And I wanted more. I wasn’t content to be an istandar, an equivalent rank to a human duke, of a single province. I wanted to rule the entire shahdom, to be what humans to the west called a queen. I would rule all of Shizhuth and then conquer the naga countries to the east. And flood across the Despeir mountains to the west and conquer the human nations.

“Mistress!” whimpered my slave, her limbs wrapped about my body. Her tongue licked at my scales between her whimpers, rough and hot. She twitched and groaned, smearing that hot cunt against mine.

Our clits kissed. Sparks of rapture shot through my body.

“Mistress!” yowled Shilia again. Yes, yes, yes,” I groaned, smearing our cunts so hard together. The pleasure built in me. I pulled on my nipple rings. “Let me feel that little cunt cumming on my snatch. Bathe my pussy in your juices, slave.”

“Yes, Mistress!” she moaned, squirming.

I tightened my coils again. Her body spasmed. She yowled, her voice thick in pleasure and pain. I felt her ribs on the verge of cracking. Hot cream flooded out of her cunt and spilled over my pussy lips. Her ecstasy and agony echoed through the room.

I felt her heart flutter beneath those big breasts.

I held her life in my coiled embrace. I twisted my nipples piercings. Pain and pleasure shot through from my fat nubs down to my pussy. I smeared my cunt against her cumming flesh. My clit dragged through her hot twat and nudged her hard clit.

Sparks exploded.

My pussy convulsed.

My head threw back, my bright-violet hair swept about my shoulders as I moaned out in rapture. Wave after wave of delight washed out of my cunt. I squirmed on my throne, holding my slave so tight in my embrace, drinking in the rapture.

“Las’s delicious cum!” I hissed, stars dancing before my eyes.

For one moment, all my worries, all my problems, vanished. The Paragon, the missing artifact, the death of two of my prized servants, and my alliance with Prince Meinard did not weigh on me. Only the bliss of my orgasm. That wonderful heights of rapture.

And then my euphoria died.

My orgasm ended.

Pleasure withdrew from me while Shilia kept yowling and squirming. She rubbed those soft tits on my scaly lower half. She licked my bronze belly scales, her hands rubbing on the smaller scales of the back of my tail, touching the vibrant purple mixed with chevrons of bronze. I sucked in breaths, listening to the joy of her orgasm.

And contemplated crushing her. Killing her. I had other lamia. I could buy more from the breeders. It would feel so good to squeeze harder, to feel her body pop and creak and—

The shadows swirled in the center of my throne room. I froze, releasing my nipple piercings and watching the shape emerge. Through the art of shadowmancing, my race had learned how to manipulate the substance created in the absence of light, to seize that ephemeral aether and manipulate it. We’d taught it to our most loyal servants, the human males who carried out our will and fertilized our eggs.

Like all races born of Las, mine was a single gender: all female. We needed human males to reproduce, just like the weak, purring creature in the embrace of my scales.

The shape of Keythivak rose out of the gathering shadows, a whip-thin man. I could recognize that silhouette anywhere. He stood with the languorous grace of a deadly fighter, ready to spring in any direction and deliver death.

My assassin.

I dispatched him after those humans who dared attack my servants. They cost me men, slaves, the death of my warlord, and the loss of an artifact I made promises to deliver. Promises that would give me the power to seize the shahdom.

“Dread Istandar,” Keythivak said as he knelt before me.

My serpentine body uncoiled. Shilia slipped to the floor, purring in delight as she curled up at the foot of my throne. I ignored her, the last of the bliss fading from my body as I focused my full attention on my assassin.

“You have it?” I demanded. I needed it. The Paragon was growing…impatient.

“I found the trail,” Keythivak answered, “from where Gorth’in was killed.”

I hissed a that. Warleader Gorth’in was one of my best. He had found the thief’s trail early on, following it only to die. Killed by these humans who had what I needed. It troubled me that they possessed power that could defeat a shadowmancer. “And?”

“Their trail lead to a faerie ring,” Keythivak replied. “I could follow no farther.”

My scales rasped together as I absorbed this information. The thieves had fled to Faerie? Why? Did this have anything to do with my agreement with Prince Meinard? This all started when the thieves raided a slaving party I sent into the Princedoms as cover for their true mission: finding the artifact. Normally, I sent half the slaves I took from Prince Meinard’s lands back to him via Faerie, handing them over to the prince’s ally, Duke Gallchobhar.

“They will have to emerge again,” I hissed. “Watch the ring! Kill them! I want all their heads and what they stole!”

I would have my empire!

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

Sven Falk – Faerie

“Rithi, bless my natural paints with your divine love,” my sister, Kora, chanted, her blonde hair, gathered in twin braids, swayed behind her shoulders. Her hands slid down her lush body covered in tattoos flowering vines adorned with pink petals. She shoved her hands down past her shaved pudenda, brushing the lips of her pussy. Through the pain, I couldn’t help but admire her beauty, the art of her Goddess, Rithi, formed into the shape a human. “Let your vision flow through me and restore the art ruined by the cruel acts of the world.”

She shoved her fingers into her pussy. Her back arched, her round breasts jiggling before her, the left encircled by her flowering vine. Between her tits swayed the bright ruby on a necklace, the gift I gave her not knowing the danger it held. She let out an orgasmic moan as her prayer was answered by her Goddess.

She fell to her knees beside me, ripping out her fingers from her pussy. I groaned as she smeared her juices on my flesh. The soothing energy rippled through my body, banishing the pain. My wounds sustained fighting first the treeman and then Duke Gallchobhar healed, Rithi restoring my flesh. I smiled at my sister, victory surging through me.

She smiled back as she caressed my body, smearing her incestuous fluids on me. Though our relationship was forbidden, I loved her greatly. And she loved me. I had known her body so many times since this chaos started when we raided those Shizhuthian slavers and found the amulet.

“Try not to hurt yourself so badly, brother mine,” she said, a smile playing on her lips. “Especially the way you boast about your…prowess.”

I caught her hand, holding it in my tight grip. “I think you know all about my prowess, sister dear.”

A smile crossed her fair face. Her blue eyes twinkled. Then she glanced at the smoldering ruins of the Lodestone, one of her twin braids of blonde hair spilling over her right shoulder. The rubble once provided the focus for the spell which enslaved all the humans around us in the stocks, using their souls to power an army of stone soldiers. “Well, you did demonstrate it here.”

Before I could answer my sister, a whimper of pain came from Aingeal, my faerie-wife. She lay nearby, her back badly burned, her butterfly wings… Las’s putrid cum, but her butterfly wings were gone, destroyed by Duke Gallchobhar’s magic when they dueled in the air.

Kora gasped, here eyes widening in shock. We both forgot about the faerie as we flirted. My sister darted to Aingeal to heal her, Kora’s fingers already plunging into her pussy. I groaned as my two sex slaves fell on their knees beside me, hugging me hard.

“Master!” they both gasped together, their hot lips kissing my cheeks.

I shuddered in delight, holding them both. They were naked, which was normal for Zanyia, a lamia slave I liberated in the same raid where I found that cursed amulet about my sister’s neck. The other was Nathalie, a blonde, human girl of fourteen who found rapture as my submissive lover.

Zanyia’s doing. The tawny-haired and petite lamia wanted to see my lusts were met, gratitude for killing her abusive master and “liberating” her. I didn’t claim her as a sex slave; she insisted on being mine, giving me no choice in the matter. Then she recruited Nathalie.

She purred as she licked my cheek with her rough tongue, her triangular, cat-like ears twitching as they thrust out of her bushy hair. Her tail swished behind her. Nathalie trembled, her body also petite and girlish. The blonde, braided pigtails swaying about her shoulders added to her cuteness.

Aingeal let out a soft whimper, drawing my attention.

“You can heal her, right?” I asked my sister, my stomach tensing.

“I don’t know,” Kora answered. “I’ve never healed such grievous wounds.” She smeared her pussy juices on Aingeal’s body.

The busty faerie whimpered. Her pink hair curtained her face, hiding her lush features. Her large breasts pillowed beneath her. She groaned as the flesh on her back knitted up, the burns fading until she had smooth, pale skin.

But no wings. They didn’t regrow.

Kora’s face grew grave. Her blue eyes trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Aingeal sat up, her large breasts swaying, pink hair tumbling about her normally playful face. Like Zanyia, she didn’t wear clothing. Gold rings pierced her nipples, reflecting the strange moonlight of the perpetual night of Faerie. She sat beside Kora, her hands feeling her back, her face falling.

“I… I see…” Aingeal said. Then she looked to the smoldering corpse of the duke. My throwing knife had taken him in the throat. Iron was poison to faerie. His blood smoked and smoldered on contact with my weapon. “You killed him, my husband.”

“I killed him.”

Aingeal took a deep breath, pain crossing her face. “Good.”

I understood that pain. I felt it myself every day, the hole the fire left in my life. And in the life of my sister. Our parents and our younger sister both perished in those flames, killed by Prince Meinard because his daughter loved me. Kora and I were meant to die with them.

We didn’t.

We were fugitives now, plotting to destroy him. And we struck a mighty blow. We destroyed his Lodestone. Around us, the humans he’d enslaved and brought to Faerie were awake, no longer chained to his army of stone statues. They called out to us, trapped in stocks in the field around the smoldering remains of the Lodestone.

“Come on,” I groaned, standing up from the embrace of my sex slaves. “Let’s start freeing them.”

“Yes, Master,” they both said with the same submissive tone as they looked up at me.

I glanced at the newcomer, dressed all in silvery armor. She had slung her ax and warhammer in loops on the wide, leather belt she wore about her waist. She wasn’t human. Not with those bright, yellow eyes, like a pair of helidors, staring at me. She had an exotic cast to her face, the lines just different enough to be alien to any human features, delicate yet strong. She had a curvy body, her armor fitted to her bountiful flesh. Pure-white hair, not faded by age, framed her youthful face, cut short to sweep about her pauldrons covering her shoulders. The snowy locks contrasted with the midnight-black of her skin, such a deep, dark color that only made her eyes shine like twin suns, her hair to glow.

“Will you help… Eh…?”

“Ealaín,” she answered. “And, of course, I shall help free these poor souls trapped in these horrid contraptions.

“Good,” I nodded, frowning. She had accompanied my sister and Nathalie when they returned from the distraction. Where had this warrior come from? How did she know so much about the amulet about my sister’s neck? “Me and you’ll head this way. Zanyia, take Nathalie and head the other way. Kora…”

My sister caught my eyes, giving me a sad smile as she hugged Aingeal. The faerie’s purple eyes brimmed with tears. She looked so…normal now without her wings. Those graceful, sweeping butterfly wings that thrust from her back.

I wanted to kill Duke Gallchobhar all over again.

Gripping my fists, I marched past the smoldering remains of the treeman, a hulking giant that looked like a walking oak tree, I’d tricked into punching the Lodestone and destroying the magical artifact. Ealaín fell in at my side, her armor clinking.

“You are concerned about your sister’s safety,” Ealaín said, her voice melodious and concise at the same time.

“You’re a direct one,” I said, flashing her a smile. I couldn’t help grinning at a beautiful woman no matter her species. I reached the first stock, pulling the bronze pin that held the top of the restraining device to the bottom.

“Praise the Gods,” a sobbing, naked Zeutchian woman gasped. Like me, she had fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes that characterized our race of humans. She sprang at me, throwing her arms around my neck and smothering me in kisses.

She felt nice in my arms. Youthful. In another time, I would have kissed her back. Seen how far her friendly thankfulness would get me. But now wasn’t that time. There were thousands of humans imprisoned here. An entire army enslaved by that bastard Prince Meinard.

“You are welcome, goodwoman,” I said, pushing her back, her round breasts jiggling, her nipples fat, pink, and begging to be played with. “But there are so many others in need. You have to help us.”

“Of course,” she said, her head snapping around. She spotted someone and shouted. “Karl!”

She sprang to a man in the next stock, prying at the bronze pin. He had the look of her husband, his hair a sandier blonde, his body ropy with muscles from working the fields. What a shame. To enjoy her thankfulness while her husband watched would have been exquisite.

“You are staring at her like a dog at a bone,” Ealaín said. “You hunger for her that much?”

“I do,” I said, moving onto the next stock, this one holding a young girl budding on the verge of womanhood. “And, yes, I am concerned about my sister. You just… appear, claiming that the amulet about her neck is the phylactery”—that was a word I’d never heard of—“holding the soul of the Biomancer Vebrin. The Vebrin?”

“I fear so. My mother felt the turbulence of its passage around the brightness of Radiant Kora.”

I blinked at that. Well, not at my sister being called radiant. That was her title in the priesthood of Rithi, Goddess of Art. Radiant just meant she had finished her novitiate and was a full member of the clergy, mastering three of the art forms. The tattoos on my sisters body identified the three. Not the design, but the placement on her flesh. No, what shocked me was who Ealaín’s mother was.

“You’re the daughter of the Goddess of Art?”

“One of them,” she answered. “I am aoi si, birthed by my mother’s congress with the Goddess Henta.”

“The hermaphroditic Goddess of the Hunt?” I asked, making sure I remembered that correctly. “I didn’t know Rithi was her lover.”

“Rithi has enjoyed many lovers and created many wondrous children,” the Aoi Si answered. “My divine race being but one of them. Motherhood is an art form my Goddess has not neglected. All forms of creation enrich the world with beauty. Even your birth, Sven.”

I gave her a cocky grin. “I know. Masculine perfection distilled into my perfect chin and rugged looks.”

Ealaín arched an eyebrow. “Arrogance… Does that get you into women’s pussies?”

“Often. Women enjoy bold men who seize what they want and can boast of great exploits.” I pulled at another bronze pin, working as we talked. “I get to add dueling a treeman and a faerie lord. Unlike other men, my exploits aren’t false lies.

“I’ve done them.”

“Yes, you have. I saw the remains of your fight with the warleader.”

“Which one?” I asked. I’d fought two. One when I freed Zanyia and other slaves, and found that amulet. The second ambushed us the night before we entered Faerie. He controlled shadows and almost made me kill my sister with his trickery.

“Both,” she answered, freeing an older man.

“Thank you,” the man wheezed to her. “Thank you so much, blessed angel.”

The aoi si nodded to him and moved on with me. We left a wake of freed men and women, old and young. They spread out, freeing more and more of their captured kin and family. Entire villages appeared to be here, vanishing from the shadows of the Despeir Mountains. These were Prince Meinard’s own people. He should protect them.

Instead he brutalized them.

“You have passion,” the aoi si said. “It burns in you behind that playful and roguish exterior you like to project.”

“Of course I have passion.” I threw my arms out, anger swelling in me. “Look around at this monstrosity. I despise the man responsible. I’m going to kill him.”

“A worthy goal,” Ealaín agreed.

“And now complicated. This amulet is why that shadowmancer attacked us yesterday?”

Ealaín nodded. “It appears a naga has made a deal with the Paragon to find the phylactery. It has been lost for centuries. The world all hoped it would never resurface. With it, the Paragon can restore the vile mage to life.”

My skin crawled. “And what is this… Paragon?” I knew that word from my studies at the University of Az back in another life when I truly was a carefree carouse and roguish seducer of women. “What is he the epitome of?”

“She is Biomancer’s ultimate creation,” Ealaín said. “She possess all the things the warlock prized: strength, speed, intelligence, abilities. He created her right before his death. By the time she reached maturity, he was slain and his phylactery was long stolen. She’s searched for it for centuries and, thanks to her deal with the naga, it was uncovered.

“The Biomancer makes a mockery of art. He takes something already beautiful and ruins it in his mad plan of perfection. It is like he found a master painting, one of Goth’s or Kessavarie’s works, and in his arrogance thought he could improve it. He would take it with something else, perhaps a statue carved by Istalia, and try to merge them. In his effort to stamp his own uniqueness upon them, he would ruin two already perfect works and produce something less, something that was missing that vital spark of natural inspiration.”

I shuddered. “You’re talking about the monsters he made.”

Many of them plagued the world, strange abominations that were fusions of different creatures. Panthopuses roamed the woods and chimeras haunted the mountains. Things that didn’t even have names, foul merging of animals and plants, living and nonliving. With his magic, he twisted and perverted.

“And the amulet around my sister’s neck contains his soul?”

Ealaín nodded.

“Okay, what do we do with it? Destroy it, right?” I shivered. Another task we’d have to complete. And one at odds with vengeance.

“How?” asked Ealaín. “It is a powerful object. My mother knows not. It is a powerful artifact. The elf who slew him had tried many ways before she vanished. Nothing worked. For now, it must be denied to the Paragon.”

“Then let’s drop it into the sea and…” My words trailed off. “She can swim, right.”

“And fly, survive extremes of temperature, toxic gases. The Paragon can thrive in any environment from brackish swamps to arid desert. She could dive to the deepest reach of the ocean and soar to the extent of the firmament above.”

“Las’s putrid cum,” I growled. “Can she die?”

“All things can die.”

“That’s something.” I yanked another bronze pin, freeing another person. I ignored their thanks, continuing on as I mulled this over. “That’s why you’re here?”

“Though Radiant Kora is beloved by my mother, She would not interfere in mortal affairs. But now things have changed. The phylactery is a threat beyond the scope of your petty feud with Prince—”

“Petty!” The word exploded from my mouth. “He burned our parents, our sister, alive!” Katriana’s innocent face, a younger version of Kora’s sensual features, blazed in my mind. Katriana laughing, smiling, her blonde hair flying behind her as she ran through the halls of our home, her skirts flaring about her coltish legs as she leaped from the tree in our garden and land on the soft loam.

All that joy extinguished in those flames. Reduced to ash and blown away.

Ealaín cocked her head. “I apologize. It was an ill-chosen word. I only meant in the grander purpose of the world, the dispute between a pair of humans matters little when compared to the rebirth of a monster who plagued our world for centuries and unleashed his mad monstrosities from Castle Drakin.”

“Petty,” I muttered and ripped out a bronze pin, freeing a grandmotherly woman.

“Thank you!” she sobbed.

I nodded, brushing past her. “Stopping Prince Meinard sounds more important to me than Vebrin returning to life.”

“Perspective is a unique thing, is it not?” she said. “From where I stand Prince Meinard seems of little consequence. But not to you. His shadow casts far across the world you see, swallowing it.”

I shrugged. “You’re a weird one, Ealaín.”

She blinked her owlish eyes. “Am I?”

“Yeah.

“So,” I said, something tickling my head, “you said an elf killed Vebrin and was looking—”

“Master!” screeched. Zanyia.

Bounding across the stocks we opened, leaping over the freed men and women moving to help others, came my naked lamia. She moved like a cat, her pale skin almost glowing in the multi-hued moonlight. Her small breasts jiggled while her tail twitched back and forth, almost steering for her as she leaped.

“Master! Look up!”

I did, staring up at the brilliant stars shining down on us. Three moons hung in the sky, each a different hue. Though it was night, I could see like it was day and… I spotted them. Figures flying fast towards us. A hundred or more.

Faeries.

“Las’s putrid cum!” I snarled.

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 2.

Support me on Patreon!

I have released a part 43 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!