The Hero's Desires

The Harem of Maelys, Part 7

Content Warning: #erotica #smut #weird #monsters #demons #futanari #polyamory #magic #succubus #nonconsent #corruption

Characters: #Samael #Rayner

By the time that Carys had managed to free the Fruit of Dalmarna from its treacherous, venomous, spiny clutches, she was sure that she'd be late to the feast. Her sticky charge swaddled in a yard of silk, she wiped her brow, pulled her cloak free of the darkly glowing brier, and fetched her fallen hat from the ground. She coiled her thick, long tail and bade gravity slip away, so that her body floated upwards at an increasing rate. Once she was clear of the writhing bog, she turned to regard it. Dim bioluminescent sparks danced among black trees and razor-edged leaves. In the distance, a spine of shard-like mountains was silhouetted against roiling clouds that guttered and grumbled with purple lightning.

This might be Maelys's home after all, she thought. What a baleful, dark place.

She turned to open the gateway again, her hands swirling in complex arcs and tracing elaborate runes.

Origin, she mentally amended. Her home is the Ebon Tower now. With us.

Carys stepped through the portal and was immediately greeted with a surprisingly loud bustle of activity. Cooks were busy preparing dozens of separate dishes, Gaelle was feverishly giving out orders and plans from a dogeared black leather journal, and Priscillas were rushing everywhere in an attempt to get the feast underway. Gaelle glanced nervously at the golden pendulum clock on the black obsidian wall repeatedly, but she perked up as soon as Carys appeared.

"Oh thank the Mistress. I thought you were going to be late."

"No, but I was only able to find one Fruit of Dalarna before returning." Carys handed over the sticky silk eggshape to a waiting Priscilla, who shuttled it directly to another pair preparing a serving tray for it, complete with specialty knives, serving spoons, and a bath of blue ice to keep it fresh. She turned back to Gaelle.

"Did you... do something?" Carys asked, looking her up and down. Gaelle looked shorter, smoother, and somewhat more human than she had when Carys had left several days prior. Her horns were less ornate, slender and backswept, she was more petite, and she'd shed much of the scales and plates she'd been growing. Her tail remained, but it was thinner and more similar to Priscilla's now.

"I'm trying something out. Hopefully Mistress likes it."

Carys felt a skeptical look cross her face, but Gaelle responded before she could voice her worry.

"Aurelie taught me something. I don't need to look ornate to be special. I want my actions to speak for me, not my appearance. So I've been practicing transformations and training with Aurelie and Margot in combat."

Carys's eyes went wide. "You've been training with Margot?"

"I have," Gaelle replied, barely able to keep a smug smile off her lips. "From what Aurelie tells me, I should be able to take anything that Mistress Maelys chooses to give me.

"But first, let's get the table set."

While Gaelle, Priscilla, and Carys were busy with their at the Ebon Tower, half a world away, on the other side of the land of Celtica, a similar welcome was being thrown.

On the western shore, in The White City, a hero was returning from battle with the forces of darkness. A man that everyone knew, the pride and joy of the White Lands, the hero who saved dozens of villages, farms, and cities from the shadow of the Ebon Tower, Rayner Delecroix, entered The White City to fanfare and parade. So overjoyed were the common citizens that they lost all sense of propriety. They threw themselves at him as he walked the streets, making his way along the Via Sacra towards the Holy Keep at the pinnacle of town.

High up on a perch on that silvery facade, where no one could have seen her, even if they had been looking, a young angel kicked her legs back and forth as she watched the masses throng around their purported savior. Chin on hand, she rolled her eyes as women begged for kisses and men for handshakes. A thousand voices pleaded for his attention in ways that would have made any right-minded priest furious with righteous indignation. Worshipers of the White Gods were not so crude. They were not to throw themselves in supplication at the feet of a human. They were not to offer themselves to him despite their marital status. They were not to shower him with gifts of gold and jewels. They did not idolize.

"Is this what you want?" Samael wondered aloud, casting a glance back at the even higher spires of the Holy Keep, where The White Gods were enshrined.

She turned back to Rayner, her holy eyes picking him out of the masses easily even from miles away. A chuff of disgust rose in her throat. He doesn't even deserve it, she groused. I do all the work and he gets all the glory. He swings his little sword and I have to castigate his enemies for him.

As though they had heard her treacherous thoughts (and they likely had) The White Gods spoke to her at that moment.

GRANT THE HERO THE BOON OF YOUR BLOOD, OUR BLOOD, SAMAEL.

"Yes, my lords," she replied automatically. It seemed that every time she had such thoughts they invaded her mind to deliver more demeaning orders. It was as though they placed him and the other heroes above her and the other angels.

She took flight, shrouding herself in sky and light and cloud, angling through the pinnacled sky and back down towards the Keep. Once there, she stole into the lower segments of The Grand Church and hid among the golden ornamentation to wait for Rayner. When he failed to arrive, her mind slipped back into idle thoughts of indignation.

We are nothing more than tools to them, she thought. They care nothing for us, their firstborn, the holy ones, the ones who have served them longest and most graciously.

She wandered among the ostentation of the church apse, her small hands and slender fingers sliding along the cold, hard gold and marble. It was, of course, carved in the likeness of angels. She touched a marble face worked to look almost exactly like her own.

"We are ornaments."

A cough sounded from somewhere in the enormous cathedral, alerting her to the fact that she had spoken aloud. Lightning fast, she slipped back among the gold and marble, willing her form to disappear and silently cursing herself for the indiscretion. But even as she watched the priests and acolytes file in and prepare the church for the arrival of the hero, a plan formed in her mind.

Quietly and unseen she slipped from her hiding place and wendered to the back of the church pews. In the shadow of a baroque column, she transformed herself into a human woman. Using a reflecting pool as a mirror, she sculpted her form into that which she knew Rayner preferred. She clothed her nude form in rough, common linen and styled her hair inefficiently, having never had a reason to mimic human styles before.

Then it was only a matter of waiting. She found a seat in the pews and watched as the priests worked the many rituals required to cleanse him of the unclean outer world, to purify his soul, guide his spirit, bestow the blessing of The White Gods, and hold him in glory. She even prayed with the other supplicants when the prayers were called.

Samael waited for hours while they glorified Delecroix, lavishing him with endless praise. Praise that never once mentioned his angelic guidance. Nor did he ever show a bit of humility. As she followed him to his chambers in the Keep, quietly, but with mere human stealth, she wondered if he even knew of her involvement in his life. She had been made to watch over him since his very conception, and this was the thanks she got. She could count half a dozen times in an instant that he'd felt the blessing of her touch guiding him in battle, times he knew in his bones that he should have perished. And yet, he scarcely even thanked The Gods, let alone the angel that had protected him.

Let's see how many sins he can rack up.

When they reached his chambers, she had caught up with him, and he turned somewhat surprised to find a young common woman behind him.

"I have come to serve you, Lord Delacroix," she said, hiding her face with an obsequious bow. A thrill ran though her as the hero paused and she wondered whether her ruse had been found out, but he turned to look up and down the halls before pulling her inside his chambers roughly.

Inside, he looked her up and down, licking his lips. His pale, bloodless face was reddening at the sight of her as she did her best to make eyes at him. Seduction was unfamiliar territory to Samael, and she could almost feel the discontent of The White Gods.

Delacroix reached for her face and she nestled into his hand, but his desire quickly overpowered him and he began to plant scratchy, rough kisses on her mouth and cheek.

He said nothing as he pushed and pulled her deeper into his chambers, his hands grazing her breasts and ass. His patience broke somewhere in the hallway and he began pulling the ties and belt of her dress apart, exposing her brassier to his callused fingers. In their many travels together, she had learned that he preferred ample women, so that is what she had chosen to transform into. It felt strange for him to paw and squeeze her chest when it was so absurdly large, but she could tell that it was having the desired effect.

She helped him remove his belt as he smothered her in more sandstone kisses, finding his member hard and twitching. With her eyes she begged him to take her, while with her right hand she removed a golden band from a finger on her left. He plucked the wedding band from her finger and flung it over his shoulder, where it ricocheted around the back side of a table. She gasped under his rough, hard, prodding caresses and fumbled with her clothes.

"Milord, we mustn't..." she whimpered, secretly gleeful that he ignored her requests. The more passionate he became the more of his so-called holiness he threw away. She thought of all the times she'd been forced to interfere in his life, removed temptation, saved him from damaging his soul, forced him to keep his promises, and gently bent him to the laws of The White Gods. Meanwhile, Rayner was busily ripping his way through her clothes, his frustration having grown too much to bear. He exposed her breasts, kneading them and sucking on her nipples.

Samael was unprepared for the sensation. For every single moment of her hundreds of years of her life, she'd been taught that sexual urges were mortal, dirty, base things that angels (and indeed, holy mortals) are above. Sex was for procreation, and angels did not procreate. As the trembling electric vibrations of her nipples shook her mind, old questions again arose. Why were angels made with breasts and genitals if they were of no use?

She felt sick as she watched him suck and bite her, so she closed her eyes and tried to stop thinking. Though the sensations were intense, she found herself wanting something... better. Rayner's advances were clumsy at best, and he kept missing her guidance, as usual.

Eventually his knobbly hands were able to tear apart the belt that kept the remains of her dress tight to her body and she found herself almost bare. He looked her up and down with hungry eyes, his hand catching her face and turning it towards his member as the other continued to grope her awkwardly.

Abruptly, he levered himself up and off of her and stripped off his remaining underclothes. After casting them aside, he turned back to Samael, his thick, blunt member pointed straight at her face. Silently he willed her to service him, but she shook her head minutely, baiting him further down the hole. The more she resisted, the harder he would fight. The harder he fought, the more mired he would become in his own sin. She shook her head again and he grabbed her, slowly and wordlessly forcing his penis against her lips. When she failed to respond, he gripped her jaw and forced her mouth open. He pushed himself inside her mouth and she gagged, but he didn't care. He kept moving himself in and out of her mouth as tears welled up. As he assaulted her, she imagined him walking into a bog, perhaps one of the bogs to the east, deep in the lands of Celtica, where he would sink deeper and deeper into darkness. As subtle as she could manage, she tried to stimulate him with her tongue, coaxing him to seal the deed. Oral sex was forbidden by The White Gods, but it was a little sin. Rape, however, especially breaking wedlock, was a much more serious crime. Even as he forced himself on her, she had to keep a smile from her lips.

You will burn for this, Rayner Delacroix.

He lurched closer, forcing himself deep into her throat and suddenly started jerking her head against the wall. She felt him pulsing and twitching and grunting grotesquely as he ejaculated in her mouth.

As he collapsed forward, she let his seed dribble from her mouth, wiping her lips with what she hoped was an alluring mix of shame and lust. It didn't take long for him to become aroused again, and within minutes he was lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. He dropped her roughly on her back at the edge, and pushed himself between her knees, his hard, wet member thumping onto her unfamiliar mound. He didn't wait for any sort of permission this time and simply forced his blunt tip into her folds, drawing an honestly surprised cry from her. It took several short strokes for his penis to be sufficiently lubricated, by which time Samael had wrestled her emotions into place once more.

Nevertheless, the act was taking its toll. She felt dirty, soiled by his ungrateful, arrogant, self-important touch. It was almost too much to bear, but bear it she did. She focused solely on the sensation rather then the meaning, taking refuge in the vaguely pleasurable fullness and heat.

I will take from you what I want, and I will leave the rest to the crows.

As he continued his interminable onslaught on her body, an elaboration on her plan slowly formed in her mind. Many times she'd accompanied him to the devil-infested lands of Celtica, and on many of those misadventures she'd laid eyes on various forms of succubi, demons who steal the souls of men through sex. Her own powers of transformation were not dissimilar to theirs. She imagined one shaped like her current form, amending the details of a demon to it in her mind: a set of dark horns, batlike wings, a whip-like tail, dark scales, and blasphemous tattoos.

She affixed this image of herself in her mind so that she could transform into it when she chose, but the moment seemed to never come. Delacroix was still working himself in and out of her, groping her breasts and mound, but he had yet to climax again. He seemed to be having trouble, as though his doubts were finally catching up to him.

It looks like I'll have to help him along yet again, she thought. Slowly she tightened herself around his penis, squeezing him in time with each stroke. She watched as his expression went from frustrated and dark to passion-drunk and befuddled. At the same time, she relaxed the muscles of her anus in preparation for assisting Rayner with yet another sin. She sped up her clenching and bounced on his penis faster and harder until he was grunting and ramming her with his eyes squeezed shut.

At the moment he began to orgasm, she slammed up and down on him so that his penis momentarily slipped from her vagina and entered her anus instead. He groaned as he penetrated her blindly, pulsing and reaming in and out of her as he came. Even Samael enjoyed it to an extent, though again she lamented her partner. As he continue to spasm, she realized that it made perfect sense, in a perverse way, for The White Gods to deny their angels sex. We're only tools, after all.

A giggle rose in her throat, unbidden, almost ruining her plans. Since she didn't think she could suppress it, she had to go with it. She let the transformation roll up her body starting with her feet, which she locked behind Rayner's back. Black and red skin corrupted the smooth, pale flesh of her legs and arms, up and up, until it covered her waist and torso. Scales sprouted from the diseased-looking skin and she let her laugh come bubbling up. Twisted horns grew from her head and she reached out to Delacroix to draw him closer.

"You're mine now, Rayner Delacroix," she purred, only half acting.

Shock and horror and revulsion crossed his face unevenly and he tried to extricate himself from her clutches, but he could not. The strength of an angel, even a young one of only two-hundred years, is far beyond that of any mortal man. He struggled between her legs, but she only tightened her grip.

Desperately, Samael's mind raced ahead looking for the right words. She'd heard endless stories of the demons of the land of Celtica, but suddenly she wasn't sure how to articulate them convincingly. A thousand cliche lines ran through her mind.

"What are you? How did a demon get inside the church?" Rayner growled, his hands desperately trying to extract his member from her body.

"I'm no simple demon, Rayner Delacroix. I am a succubus. And you have done a very, very naughty thing, haven't you?"

"No, no! You seduced me! It's not my fault! Curse you, you foul fiend! I'll slay--"

"I'm pretty sure that you were the one who forced yourself on me," Samael purred. Now that he was feeding her prompts, it was much easier for her to get into character. "What will you do milord? Keep your mouth shut and take your dirty, sordid, hell-worthy secret to your grave? Or will you confess your sins to your priests? Ahahaha."

Rayner managed to free his penis, but remained trapped until she let her legs part again. He dove to his sword, and had it at her throat in a flash. Plays from a hundred, a thousand years, had shown this scene and it was almost too easy to play her role.

Samael slithered back up along the bed, leaving a trail of his semen behind her. "Killing me won't absolve you, you know." She glanced at the trail significantly. She rested her outstretched arms on the gilded headboard and crossed her legs at him. "But you're welcome to try if you want," she added putting on the most smug smile she could muster.

With an anguished cry, Rayner plunged his sword into the space she'd been occupying a moment prior, driving it deep into the bed. Invisible and floating in the corner of the room, Samael laughed the most melodramatic, haughty, victorious laugh she could conceive of. Fortunately, her transformed body was larger and thus had a deeper voice than normal, otherwise it might not have come out as well. As Delacroix cast about with his sword, trying to find the source of her voice, she quietly made for the exit.

She paused at the threshold for a parting shot she'd only just thought of. "I'll be taking the protection I've given you with me, Rayner. Good luck."

Valentina, the chief spy of the Ebon Tower and most wicked of the ancient vampire queens, watched as the hero hurriedly covered his shame, thought of several different alibis and only then roused the guards to find the succubus. Priests were called to purify his rooms and cleanse his spirit of her foul corruption.

The angel had done well, though. For all the rituals and pandering he sought out, his faith had been shattered. After a flurry of activity, he collapsed into a pew and clutched his trembling head.

I suppose I ought to head home finally and report this. she thought. I'm sure Maelys would enjoy this story. Maybe she'll offer the angel a job.

With a dark chuckle, Valentina swept from the Holy Keep and out across the land like the shadow of death.