Chapter 1: The Goddess's Daughter

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.