A Sticky Situation
Chapter 6

Copyright© 2011 by Webkeeper

Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 6 - This is a story based on Glen Cook's creations. I've used the city of Tunfaire and some of his characters from the the Garrett, P.I. books to give background to the story. I've also used the character of Phaia from the manga comic "Spunky Knight" as the main basis of my heroine. The entire flashback story in Chapter 2 comes straight out of Issue #1. Anything else is by me.

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult   Consensual   Coercion   Fiction   Fan Fiction   Furry   Zombies   Gang Bang   Orgy   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Fisting   Sex Toys   Bestiality   Squirting   Lactation   Water Sports   Scatology   Pregnancy   Cream Pie   Necrophilia   Exhibitionism   Voyeurism  

The food that looked like glop actually tasted pretty good, but I wasn't a happy girl after hearing what Ratso had to tell me.

Now I knew what I was up against. What a mess. Politics. Fucking politics. Why the gods decided to crap on me before dropping me down the shit hole I'll never know. Maybe they had a grudge against my ancestors and finally decided to take it out on me.

Politics.

Fuck.

If there's anything that will kill you quicker than dropping naked into the middle of a conclave of Venageti wizards or Karentine sorcerors with a fortune in silver strapped round your waist it'll be politics.

I sighed. I had no choice. I'd have to go and see the Dead Man.

The Dead Man is a freak of nature. It wasn't a cute nickname you gave to one of Kolchak's thugs, like 'Tiny' for a huge mountain of a bonebreaker. He really was dead. As in not alive. Kicked the bucket. Bit the big one.

But the problem was the Dead Man was neither dead nor a man. He's a Loghyr. One of the mystical beings from way back when who now only exist in fairy tales and Mommy Tales, when some kind hearted mom tells her kids, "Eat your veggies or the big bad Loghyr's gonna come and get you." Probably gave nightmares to entire generations of Tunfairean children.

Loghyr also don't die just because somebody sticks a bunch of knives into them. Oh, sure their bodies go through the motions -- cooling out, rigor mortis, lividity -- but they don't corrupt. Not at any rate us mere humans can detect.

Sometime about four hundred years before I became a respected (hah!), tax-paying (double hah!) citizen of Tunfaire, this particular Loghyr was stuck with a knife and killed. But being the stubborn fucker that he is, he refused to go to wherever it is that dead Loghyr are supposed to go.

Getting from Morley's Joy House to the Dead Man's place involved hiking across town and down Macunado Way before entering Wizard's Reach ... that part of town where Nice Girls don't go.

It's a good thing I'm not a nice girl.

I walked there with what might charitably be called heavy feet. As in, I was dragging my feet to get there. I wasn't looking forward to the payment the Dead Man would extract from me for his 'consultation'.

You might be asking "What the fuck does a dead man or dead Loghyr need with money?"

Well, for me, the Dead Man doesn't charge me any money, although he does need the silver to pay for the rent of his roach-infested tenement. That's why he does some "consulting" on the side for those who need his special talents ... Which basically consisted of you telling him everything you knew about your problem. Then he would put his minds -- yeah, you heard that right -- to work and come up with a solution you would never have thought up in a million years.

I've used him a couple of times in the past to help me out in some of my problems. But ... I never did really like it and only go to him if I have no other choice.

Walking down the stairs to the Dead Man's basement was a problem since it was pitch black down there. What use does a dead Loghyr have for lights, right? I damn near tripped on that last step again because I was just too fucking nervous and fucked up my count of the stairs.

I managed to find the black candles he keeps in there for precisely this purpose after some groping about in the dark. He makes his other supplicants do this whole mystic ritual thing to impress them with his magnificence. But they -- whoever they were -- were easily impressed. Of all of us who go to him, I was the one that probably knew the Dead Man the best of all. And I wasn't impressed.

Although he hadn't made his presence known in my mind, I could just sense his amusement as I fumbled around. It suited his fucked up sense of humour.

I lit the candles without any fussing about.

I was sorry when there was enough light for me to see properly. That's because the Dead Man is one ugly motherfucker. And that's not just a simple swear word either.

He was a mountain of rigid yellow flesh sprawled on a massive wooden chair. The works had been moved several times but the flesh hadn't twitched since that knife got stuck in him ages ago. He was getting a little ragged since the last time I saw him. Mice and whole species of insects consider Loghyr flesh a delicacy. He also stank. While Loghyr flesh doesn't corrupt quickly, it does happen.

"You stink. Literally."

Ah ... Miss Steele ... How lovely to see you again. I trust you are well?

"Can it, fuck face. Stop trying to be nice. We both know I'm here because I have no choice ... Not because I want to be here."

You might think I'd have to be crazy to insult a Loghyr. You might also be right. Loghyr can be very very nasty if they have a mind to. The Dead Man might be dead ... But that won't stop him if he decides you've outlived your usefulness to him. Word to the wise.

I get away with it because ... Well ... I pay him in coin no one else is willing to. But that doesn't mean I like it.

Very well, then. In that case I assume you are ready to give the customary offering?

A big black spider crawled out of one pig-like nostril on the end of his ten-inch trunk, took one look at my face and ducked back inside.

"Yeah, dammit. Let's get this over with." It wouldn't have escaped your notice that I wasn't my customary chirpy self.

Very well.

I couldn't actually feel him doing anything, but then again, he's very subtle when he wants to be. I knew he was casting his mind out, looking for...

Perhaps you would like to prepare yourself?

Gods, his exquisite politeness really drives me bug-fuck crazy. I wish he'd just drop the crap and talk like a normal john, four letters words, leer and all. It would, after all, fit the occasion.

What? You think that just because he's kicked the bucket the Dead Man has no more interest in sex? Ha! Apparently live Loghyr are randier than 17-year-old teenagers. All I can say is: so are dead ones.

I got out of my outfit, feeling as embarrassed as a virgin on her wedding night. If that wasn't the biggest joke the giant gods played on me, I don't know what is. After all, working in the Pink Pussy, I didn't have anything left to be embarrassed about, right? I'd fucked enough males in the last one year to last the lifetime of any five normal whores. More, maybe. Everybody's seen my naked body and I let anybody and anyone peer into what most women would consider their most intimate of body parts. Both of them. Every single inch of my body has been used and abused, both inside and out, for the sexual pleasure and gratification of countless males and females. In other words, I was the biggest whore slut in a city full of whore sluts. I fucked and sucked and licked anyone I wanted and who wanted me. I didn't care who I fucked or who fucked me.

But this one was different. As I stripped, I could feel him insinuating himself in my mind. As far as modesty went, I wasn't supposed to have any. Besides letting anyone fuck me ... And I've already fucked ratmen which was as low as any slut could go -- I also wasn't shy about pissing and shitting for an audience. I wasn't even shy about letting everyone know when I was getting the shit fucked out of me by cumming my brains out. But that was all by my choice. I let them see what I chose to let them see. I do what I do more or less by choice, given my circumstances.

But this ... This reading not only of my mind but also my feelings ... Emotions ... What I really, truly felt and thought and experienced while I was fucking and cumming ... Was worse than rape. Rape only gets to you if you allow it to. If you block it all away ... If you disassociate yourself from your body ... You can pretend it's happening to someone else as you watch. But this ... What the Dead Man was doing to me was worse than rape. It really stripped me down to the naked core of my being and by all the gods, I truly fucking HATED it!

But I also had no choice.

When I was as naked as the day I was born, my hands moved all over my juicy, curvy body ... squeezing my bouncy tits ... caressing my tight, round ass ... my right hand flicked and teased my nipples and I moaned, half in despair, half in passion as I felt my crotch go all warm and gooey and wet. Cunt juice oozed down my thighs. My left hand slipped in between my plump, slimy cunt mound and played around my drooling fuck hole. I could feel my cunt flexing open in anticipation as my finger circled the slimy opening.

Oh gods ... Play with my clit ... Stick it in my fucking cunt ... I wanted it all ... I hated wanting it ... And he knew that I wanted him to do it to me ... He knew I hated wanting him to do it to me...

Is it any wonder the previous times I consulted the dead fucker left me all fucked up for days? Now you know why I fucking hated 'consulting' the Dead Man.

My legs trembled. I was dying to have my own finger touch my swollen clitty but the fucking dead bastard wanted to toy with me.

I glared at him. Then...

Were my eyes playing tricks on me or was I so totally fucked out of my mind with lust I couldn't see straight? I could have sworn that mountain of dead flesh just moved!

The Dead Man's nostrils flared as he took a shuddering breath.

"Ahhhhhh ... I've forgotten how good fresh air can smell."

Could it be-?

My lust forgotten, I took a trembling step forward. I raised a wondering hand to caress his trunk. It didn't feel like a lump of inanimate meat. It was warm. Blood flowed through his veins.

Wondering, I looked into his eyes. They were no longer closed but were the deepest, darkest pools of molten gold ... Alive, like the way gold moves and shifts in the crucible of a hot flame. I cupped his cheeks. How could I even have harboured the thought that Loghyr looked like the ugly offspring of a warthog and a groll? He was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen!

 
There is more of this chapter...

When this story gets more text, you will need to Log In to read it

Close
 

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT...

Storiesonline is for adult entertainment only. By accessing this site you declare that you are of legal age and that you agree with our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.