House of Laenas: Blood and Water
Copyright© 2025 by Edward Strike
Chapter 13
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 13 - The Continuation of the House of Laenas. With the darkness now becoming stronger than ever, the Laenas siblings discover a means of silencing it for good. Within the Golden Mountains lie waters that can silence their family curse. Richard and Mabel are given the quest to find the water and bring the water back to their family. But can they achieve such a feat when their darkness hunger fights them on every turn?
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult Consensual Reluctant BiSexual Heterosexual High Fantasy Incest Brother Sister Rough Orgy Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy
Faerson Manor, the Kingdom of Wuthia, 1126
Bridget Laenas (Sesa Faerson)
The fire in the hall crackled, but I hardly felt its warmth. My fingers had strayed, absent-minded, to the plate of venison left from the noon meal. I tore a piece free, pink at the center, juices glistening—and instead of repulsing me, as undercooked meat always had before, the taste set my mouth watering.
I chewed slowly, staring into the flames, uneasy at the hunger curling low in my belly. It wasn’t just today. For the past days, I had wanted my meat rare, nearly bleeding. I had woken at night, craving it, my stomach twisting until I rose to the kitchens in search of scraps.
And then there was the other thing.
I shifted in my chair, tugging the sleeve of my tunic, trying to calm the pulse in my throat. I had not bled this past moon. Nor the one before. The thought tightened my chest. A missed monthly was not just a woman’s secret. For me, it was only the first sign that mating with the Mansse has borne fruit.
I was definitely pregnant with the beast’s offspring.
I knew it would be a matter of time before signs started to appear, I just didn’t know that they would appear such early than anticipated. The fortune teller’s words had seemed a comfort this morning, but now they echoed differently: Together, you hold firm.
Eudora came passing through the hall. She didn’t notice me at first, as she focused on one of her many daily tasks at hand. The hearth fire painted her face in warm tones, softening the silver in her hair. She quickly shifted her head, and her eyes, ever watchful, narrowed in that way of hers that saw through more than I ever said aloud. She changed her direction towards me.
“Lady Bridget,” she murmured, pulling a seat next to me, “you’ve a look about you. What’s the matter, child?”
For a moment, I said nothing, tracing a knot in the wood with my fingertip, until the words pushed themselves free.
“It’s begun,” I said quietly. “The cravings ... the missed bleeding. I feel it in my bones, Eudora. The Manssee litter is brewing within me.”
Her gaze softened, though not with surprise. “We knew this tide would rise, sooner or later.” She reached out to me, her hand warm on my shoulder, steady as an anchor. “The signs coming fast only mean your body is strong enough to carry it. But strength needs tending. You’ll eat well, rest when I tell you, and ease your daily travels.”
Despite myself, a laugh slipped from me. “You’d sooner bind me to this bench than see me walk Olnfield’s market again.”
“If that’s what it takes,” she said, though her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. Then her expression grew grave again. “Pregnancy is never simple, but with your situation...” She shook her head, voice lowering. “The darkness runs in your blood, child. You must keep close to your brothers and sisters. Their bond will steady you, keep the cravings from dragging you under.”
I thought of Richard’s quiet strength, Solomon’s restless search for truth, and Mabel’s fierce loyalty. The four of us, as the fortune teller had shown, were standing like roots beneath a great tree.
“I will,” I promised.
Eudora brushed a lock of hair from my face, the gesture so motherly it pricked my throat with heat. “Then you’ll survive it. More than that, you’ll bring life where once there was only hunger. That is no small gift.”
I let the words settle into me like warm bread, filling the hollow of my fears. Rare meat still whispered at the edges of my mind, but for the first time since the cravings began, I believed I might weather it.
I hope I can say the same for Richard and Mabel.
Crestlight Cove, the Kingdom of Wuthia, 1126
Mabel Laenas (Rila Faerson)
The world had shrunk to the pressure of ropes and the bite of the gag against my lips. I could smell sweat and leather and the iron tang of blood. The horse beneath me stumbled, but a rough hand pushed it forward, and the sound of pounding hooves carried me through the woods. I could hear Richard somewhere beside me, struggling, but I couldn’t see him—my gag muffled any call I might make.
I dare not struggle, unknowing whether our captors would care if we were brought back dead or alive.
We reached the cave mouth at last. Darkness stretched like a hungry maw, but flickering torches revealed rough-hewn walls inside. The air was warm, musty, and thick with smoke and the scent of bodies. My eyes widened as the gag kept my mouth silent—I could only stare, taking in every detail.
The lair was larger than I had imagined. Fires burned low in braziers, warming the stone floor. Makeshift beds of fur and straw were scattered along the walls, and weapons leaned against rocks as if part of the cave itself. And then I saw them: the bandits.
All men, yes, but not hardened warriors in the way one expects from bandits. They were young, perhaps only a few years older—or younger—than Richard and me. Faces sharp, bodies strong, each one strikingly, unnervingly handsome. There was a sin in their beauty, something reckless and wild that made my stomach tighten. And my pussy to ache. I pressed my hands to my knees, clenching my thighs together, willing myself to stay calm, forcing my gaze away from their leering grins as they tossed jokes and challenges to one another.
However, I did notice a few familiar things about them – their leather armor, which barely concealed their muscular chests, dyed red, and their tattoos on their arms – but the tattoo rang loudly in my head.
I know that tattoo. But where?
I pondered that thought while my eyes searched desperately for Richard, but I could see only shadows and flames. One of the bandits gestured, and a couple of them grabbed me roughly, dragging me toward a small holding cell carved from the rock. My legs kicked, but the ropes cut deep, and the gag silenced every protest.
As we neared the cell, I glimpsed another figure being led away—Richard. My heart clenched, knowing immediately he could not see anything, his eyes bound with the same cruel cloth that silenced me. The thought of him blind and helpless made a shiver run down my spine, even as I tried to hold my own fear in check.
The cell door slammed behind me, the torchlight flickering across the walls. I sank to the floor on the straw, my hands bound tight, the gag biting against my lips. I could hear voices through the cave—the laughter of the bandits, their footsteps echoing in the stone corridors.
And I realized, with a twist in my gut, that these were not merely men who had chosen the life of highway robbers. They were almost children, almost peers—handsome, dangerous, and reckless, much like the ruin we had escaped, except this danger had teeth and eyes.
I sat back on my heels, staring at the stone wall, my heart pounding. My thoughts went to Richard, to the mountains, to the waters. We would endure this. We had survived worse than these boys, had survived the darkness within ourselves.
I would not falter—not yet.
I sank lower onto the straw, gag pressing into my lips, my wrists and ankles bound so tightly that my hands ached. The torchlight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced like specters, and I let my eyes wander over the bandits pacing in the corridor outside my cell.
Then it hit me. The glint of ink on a bicep, the curve of a line just visible above a rolled sleeve—a tattoo of a spider. My stomach knotted, and I froze, staring at it as if the symbol itself could explain everything.
I had seen that tattoo before.
The memory struck suddenly, unbidden and sharp: Old Man Abraham’s farm, Anton, the screams of the old man’s cries and his family as Anton dove them away. Yet, those were men, older men, not like these young men before me. But each bore the same mark, inked boldly on their arms: a spider with a dagger running through it.
It wasn’t just any bandits. These were the ones who had come to Freymount, the day that our family’s lives changed forever.
A cold weight settled over me. What were they doing all the way out here? And where are the older men whom I fought with Anton? These were only young men – boys at best. But more importantly, what are they going to do to us now?
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe, to think. Panic clawed at me, but I clenched my jaw. We had survived worse than this—ruins, storms, the darkness within us. We would survive this, too.
And when the moment came, when we found our chance ... we would make them regret the day they set their eyes on Richard and me.
I closed my eyes briefly, listening to the distant laughter outside my cell, and let the memory of Abraham’s farm sharpen my resolve. We would endure. We would overcome. And we would not fall here, not to them, not to the darkness that had followed us so far.
The scrape of footsteps echoed through the corridor, sharp against the stone floor, and my pulse jumped. One of the bandits appeared in my cell, tall, lithe, with that same reckless, sinfully handsome look that made my stomach twist and pussy wet. By the gods, I felt such a longing as he walked closer up to me.
Before I could react, he reached out and brushed a piece of my wavy hair from my face. My eyes widened, and I struggled against him, tugging at the ropes that bound me, my gag muffling the frantic protests rising in my chest.
“You’re feisty,” he said, his voice low and amused. “I like that. Makes things ... interesting.”
I pressed myself back, forcing my gaze away, clenching my jaw to keep my voice silent. His grin widened, sharp and knowing, but he did not strike. Instead, he crouched slightly, as if letting me think I had some small advantage.
“Our leader wants to see you,” he said, finally, straightening. “You’ll come. No tricks. Or maybe you’ll enjoy yourself less.”
I swallowed hard, the ropes cutting into my wrists, but forced myself to rise. My heart thumped in my chest as he led me out of the cell, the corridor revealing more of the lair.
Fires burned in braziers along the walls, casting light over stone floors polished smooth by the passage of so many feet. More bandits lounged nearby, young men, all roughly our age, all impossibly handsome, lean and lithe, muscles rippling under sinewed arms. Some were sharpening blades, some tossing knives back and forth, others laughing or speaking in low, intimate tones that made me shiver.
Their eyes followed me, lingering too long on my form, leers hidden behind charming grins. I kept my head high, even as the knot of fear twisted tighter in my stomach. That didn’t mean that my unrelenting hunger was stirring more as I passed them by.
I counted carefully as we passed: nearly twenty, maybe more, scattered through the lair. Each one moved with ease, their confidence in themselves almost hypnotic, their playful, seductive postures belying the danger they represented.
And then we reached a larger chamber, a space set apart from the common area. The walls were rough-hewn, but the center held a dais of stone, raised slightly, where a lone figure sat. The leader.
Even from here, I could feel his presence: commanding, sharp, magnetic. My stomach coiled with unease, and I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to betray the fear that rippled through me. Nor the lust that I craved.
The bandit who led me paused at the edge of the dais, gesturing toward the leader. “Here she is,” he said with a sly grin. “As requested.”
I forced my shoulders back, chin high. I did not know what awaited me, but I would meet it with fire in my veins. Whatever danger, whatever seduction, whatever cruelty these boys and their leader carried—I would not bow.
Not yet.
The leader rose slowly as he approached me, and even from a few paces away, I could feel his weight. He was young—probably the same age as Richard, maybe a year or so older—but every movement radiated a control and strength that belied his years. His wet, jagged black hair clung to his broad shoulders, dark and wild, yet it only framed the face beneath, handsome, sharp, and just marred enough by dirt and faint scars to hint at a hard-lived life.
He smiled, a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that made my stomach twist. There was charm in it, undeniable and dangerous, but there was also authority, a command in his stance that made even the other bandits still and watchful.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.