("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Dragon Sweat: Scroll V By David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com) *** Lightning can strike twice -- even in an orgy. (F+/M, insect, fantasy) *** "Master." Hal didn't want to hear the voice. He didn't want anything to intrude on whatever level of life he was now floating on. Eyes closed, a bed of unbelievable softness underneath him, the distant but comforting sounds of Josephine's claws scratching on the dirt floor -- and, best of all, the utterly satisfying feeling of having had his seed thoroughly drained out of his balls by the expert mouth of a beautiful woman. "Master." He was experiencing a feeling he'd never known before -- complete and total happiness wrapped up in warm shroud of satisfaction. Or perhaps it was a feeling of complete and total satisfaction wrapped up in a warm shroud of happiness. Whichever it was, and wherever Hal was between waking and sleeping, the one thing he was sure of was that he didn't want to be disturbed. "Master!" There was a tone of sharpness in the witch's voice at the third word which Hal's sense of self preservation could no longer ignore. His eyelids parted to see the bright bars of light poking down through the dusty rafters from chinks in the roof of the dragon shed. The sun was no longer new born; now it was a full of shining vigor. Unlike Hal, who was fully aware that the one certain thing the coming day did not hold for him was any further peace and quiet. And even in his previous state of content distant voices had been calling out to him in anguish. "Morgana, there are things we must do." "Of course there are, master. I let you rest so you would be ready for the ceremony in your body, but calm in mind. Now you must collect some of your dragon's sweat to take with you." "It's not that simple. We must talk about something." "What is this 'something'?" Hal stared at the smooth lines of the witch's body under her tight fitting leather clothes. The notion of any woman venturing out of doors wearing such immodest attire was still incredible to him. But perhaps no more than the idea of any woman at all calling him her master. Even one who said the word as if she was spitting out a piece of rotten meat. "The prison tower. The prisoners that Agrud keeps in it. I mean, the prisoners he used to keep in it. No, I mean the prisoners that are there because Agrud put them there when he was king." Morgana's finely drawn features crinkled in vague amusement at the boy's tongue tied awkwardness: the kind of amusement a cat enjoys with a mouse trapped underneath its paw. "What of them?" "They must be released and cared for." "Why, master?" "Because . . ." Hal found it difficult to find words for something which was so obvious it shouldn't require any explanation. "Because Agrud no longer rules here and there is no need to continue his cruelty. Let them out and let them be comforted." Morgana shrugged her shoulders -- broad shoulders, for all the suppleness of her body: "If you wish, master, but not today. The ceremony must needs be held today." Hal gritted his teeth, remembering the stench that hung around the prison keep and trying to imagine what it must be like to exist in such a place. "You say you promised to obey me, you call me master. Then do as I bid you." The witch shook her head: "No, you do not remember all that was said. In matters of sorcery you are my apprentice and do as I say. The ceremony to strip Gaunt Gregory of his powers must be held today and all other matters are subordinate to that great matter. The prisoners will stay where they are for the present. Come, arise and to your task." Hal lifted his upper body to obey -- then stopped in mid movement as another thought came into his mind. Part and parcel of his first words, two impulses somehow linked together in his mind while he was half asleep, and only now had the second one been snagged and dragged out as the first was unfolded in his speech. "No, wait, the two things are connected." "What do you mean?" "The ceremony with the women. Where have you planned to hold it?" "Inside the castle tower which was Gregory's quarters," she answered. "Why?" Hal sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. "Witch, think about what you want me to do. To gather together the dozen most desirable women in the castle and treat them like camp following whores. Can you imagine what their fathers, brothers and husbands will do once they have any inkling about the sort of magic you want me to help you perform? You may think yourself in no danger of being harmed because of who and what you are, but I'm still only Hal the shit bucket boy to these people. Turn your back on me for a minute and without your protection I'll be at the bottom of the moat with more knifes in me than the castle armory. If we must have this ceremony there needs to be some discretion in the arranging of it." The witch folded her arms with the air of a tavern mistress ready to deal with a brain befuddled drunk: "And you have found such a pathway to discretion, Duke Merlin?" The tone was tinged with unconcealed sarcasm but Hal cared not, for everything had suddenly fallen into place in his mind like the pieces in a winning chess game. "Yes. Or at least the path to the Devil's Arsehole." He saw Morgana's brows furrow in puzzlement. "It's a cave, in the forest, about a league and a half from the castle. If you go deep into it, without getting lost in the different turns underground, there's a place where hot mud and water come bubbling up. From somewhere deep in the ground. And the water and the mud are supposed to be good cures for all ills. The mud to lie in and the waters to drink. But it's a difficult place to get into and only the rich and the brave dare go inside." "Why so?" "Because there are many false turns and because, as you go further in and the air grows warmer, the mould on the sides of the caves gets thicker and many poisonous spiders live in it. But the real problem is the darkness. Or perhaps I should say the real problem is the damp air inside the cave which puts out torches made of wood. The only way to light your way inside the Devil's Arsehole is with a wax candle inside a glass lantern. Things that only the rich can afford to use. And, sometimes, even such lanterns will go out and not relight in the dampness. Which leaves any travellers lost in the dark with only the red eyes of thousands of spiders to show the way." "So nobody goes there, then?" the witch asked, apparently interested. "A few only, seeking whatever good the mud and water within might do them, though only if they be desperate, or perhaps so ill they no longer value their lives much anyway. Years ago three brothers began a business by bringing out the mud in wicker back packs to sell to the sick and elderly. The Gulburton brothers they were called and they thought to make themselves so familiar with the all the turns and trails of the cave that they could never get lost, even without any torches and candles." "And did they?" Hal shrugged: "I think not. At any rate they all went into the Devil's Arsehole one day and never came out again. Nobody knows what happened to them." Morgana chuckled: "I daresay the castle ladies would need to be driven with whips to persuade them to venture inside such a place." Hal tugged nervously at his fingers. He was unused to playing the advocate, especially for his own ideas. Until yesterday he'd never been important enough to have ideas. "That depends on your powers, Morgana. If you could provide them with light enough for the journey and led the women in yourself, promising to protect them from all harm or any danger of getting lost . . . well then, they might come along peacefully enough. But no mention of any ceremony, not to them or to any of their menfolk. Give the women buckets and shoulder yokes and tell them you want mud brought from inside the cave to help ease the pains of the released prisoners. Tell them it is my command." He was surprised to hear Morgana chuckle; even more surprised to see what looked like a flicker of respect on her face. "Well, who could believe that a lowly castle valet could be so tricky? But why should women be used for such a job when surely the men of the castle could carry heavier loads?" "By Odin's sword, are you not a witch, a sorceress, a magician powerful enough to make all tremble? Tell the silly bitches you're going to use spells that no man must witness, tell them you don't want their delicate eyes offended by the sight of dirty and naked inmates being carried from the Prison Tower. Tell them whatever fancy comes to your mind, it matters naught. You'll be believed instantly and obeyed without question. Provided only you can find a way to light up the caves." The witch smiled: "That is an easy enough task I warrant, Master. Can this cave be reached by a cart?" "The high born ladies of the kingdom can't be seen riding in a cart," Hal protested. "It would humiliate them beyond all measure before the surfs." "The cart is only for the mud to come back in. And to carry those buckets you speak of. The women may ride their palfries if they wish. But is there track enough for oxen and a cart?" "Yes, there's a good enough track. An hour's journey from the castle should suffice." "Then all that needs to be done is for you to travel to the cave and wait for us to arrive. I shall summon Ymir to guide you to a place inside the cave where I shall bring the women to you." "Ymir? I'm to go into the Devil's Arsehole with your familiar to protect me from the dangers within? Perhaps the Gulburtons will soon have some company wherever they are because I'm sure Ymir hates me." Morgana's eyes were as distant and cold as the stars on midwinter night. "So do I, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, never doubt it. Calling a half grown boy my master sticks in my throat like a bundle of dry fish bones. But we all serve the Great Ones and none of us dare disobey their commands. Ymir will keep you safe. And forget not your vial of dragon sweat, no matter what. That is my order to you as my apprentice in sorcery." "Yes, witch." "And best leave your warlock's gown here. It would be lacking in respect to your craft to wear formal dress in such a place as you describe to me." "Yes, witch." With his heart filled with apprehension Hal began his duties for this strangest of days by laying out the dragon riding nets ready for his journey to the cave entrance. If there had been any clouds in the sky at dawn Hal could not remember seeing them. And if there had been any since, they were gone now. The sky arching over the tops of the trees was a unmarked mantle of blue. There were traces of white visible though, along the upper flanks of the mountains where patches of snow struggled for existence under the sun's noonday power. From Josephine's belly net the views across the forest and out to the mountains had been more beautiful than Hal could ever remember. Probably because he'd never looked at the scenery of Giant's Pass before with any notion of one day perhaps being free to roam wherever he wanted over it. Yesterday he had been a slave who carried shit buckets, today he was in thrall to a witch, but perhaps soon he would be free to soar with Josephine up to the tops of those mountains, to breathe the crisp high air and walk with Chelinde and Caelia amongst the glittering white patches of the fading snowline. Or better still . . . Hal had a inspiring vision of reaching out a hand to drop a snowball down Mary Gorlas's ample cleavage and suddenly felt better. Until his eyes turned again to the reeking entrance of the Devil's Arsehole. Oh, wonderful! The grass was green, the air was sparkling, his stomach was full of good food, he was clean and Josephine frolicsome. What a day to fly to the very peaks. And where was he to go instead? Into that foul dungeon of a cavern where so many who went in never came out. On the other hand -- on the other hand he knew very well what would happen to him if the men of the nobility ever suspected him of tupping their fine ladies, even if only by sorcery. Having his balls cut of and fried in front of his eyes would be the least of their revenge. Josephine flung up her head, the flashing red stripes along her neck sounding a warning. Hal squinted up at the two black dots circling overhead which had suddenly spoilt the sky's pristine perfection. Then the high flying objects plunged together, dropping towards the clearing beside the pile of boulders which marked the entrance to the cave. It seemed as if they were racing towards the ground, seeing which one of them could reach it first, Ymir the shape changer in his guise as a hawk, his wings half folded, and Morgana astride her broom, handle up and twigs down, her knees bent as if jumping down from a hayrick instead of dropping from half a league aloft like a plunging arrow. Josephine's colors turned to an optimistic shade of green and Hal knew exactly what was going on in the dragon's mind: a keen hope that both witch and familiar would slam themselves into the grass -- or better yet, the boulders -- with killing speed. It didn't happen. Ymir used the falcon's shape as skillfully as any true hatched member of the wild's most gifted fliers. Wings flung open, the speed of the fall somehow converted into a short, steep climb, a second where the falcon hung in the air level with the bottom branches of the nearest tree, a flutter of wing tips and the familiar passed out of sight by diving straight into the cave's dark entrance. It was an impressive performance but not nearly as impressive as the witch's fall to earth. She was just low enough for Hal to begin taking a interested look at her leather bound legs when a sound like a chorus of fast beaten war drums sounded, blasts of hot air slapped against Hal's face and a circle of grass three paces across directly below the falling witch turned red, flared up, then blew outwards in an expanding ring of fine ash. Hal coughed, shut his eyes against the particles of fine dust and wiped his eyelids with his hands. When he opened them again Morgana was standing in the burnt circle, those lust creating legs opened wide enough for the broom to fly out from between them and then hang level like a patient horse waiting to be mounted again. Hal grunted in surprise and rubbed fragments of ash between his fingertips. He remembered how carts being eased downhill with their brakes jammed on became hot at the wooden brake blocks and along the edges of the restrained wheels. Had something like that happened here, with the falling weight of Morgana's body somehow being turned into noise and heat so she could land safely? Oh, the idea of his ever becoming a magician was ridiculous. Every time he saw magic performed he gained no insight into how it was done, only a childish desire to ask endless questions. "So, master, you have the dragon sweat ready?" Hal held up the glass vial she had given him, handling it with the care such a rare piece of craftsmanship deserved, showing the clear fluid inside to Morgana. Then he wrapped the vial up again inside a piece of sheepskin and stowed it away in the drawbag slung around his neck. "Your dragon had best depart now. Has she enough sense to return here when the evening shadows are long, if you so bid her?" "She is no dog, to be needs taught tricks," Hal answered sullenly. "She lives and thinks as do you or I. Speaking to her with my hands is as easy as speaking to anybody else with my tongue." He passed on Morgana's instructions to Josephine, to be answered with green and yellow patches of understanding, mixed with purple patches showing indignation and unhappiness. The dragon was in just as surly a mood as the boy at having to take orders from the witch. Hal nodded in agreement, then shrugged his shoulders. Josephine took one final baleful look at Morgana before she leapt into the air as spritely as a frog off a lily pad, flapped her wings twice thrice, and then wheeled away on their outstretched length. "Something amiss with your girlfriend, boy?" the witch asked, a sneer in her tone. Hal realized that there were some movements in his dragon body language which were no secret to any human onlooker. "Only that she regrets not having burnt your tits off while she had a chance." Morgana smiled more openly: "Don't be stupid, Master. You can't kill witches that way." "You can't?" "Of course not. When did you ever hear anybody say the weather was as hot as a witch's tits. Ha, ha!" Hal looked at her slantwise: "Come to think of it, I've never heard anybody say that a joke was as good as a witch's jokes. Now I know why." Morgana's very appealing lips snapped shut as tightly and quickly as a sprung bear trap. "Into the cave, please. As quickly as you like, Ymir is waiting." "How am I supposed to see where I'm going?" "Look into the hole and see the shadows being cast inside. Ymir has taken the shape of a giant glow worm. All you have to do is to follow him." "A giant glow worm . . . right. You couldn't just give me a magic lantern or something?" "There is no need, my familiar will see you safe. Now leave, quickly, before the women get here." Hal took a final breath of crisp fresh air and walked boldly into the cave. At least he hoped he looked bold: going underground with no companion save an oversized worm was an event he hadn't anticipated and didn't relish at all. Five heart beats later he leapt out of the cave, skipping over the litter of fallen rocks as if the Christian Devil himself had been waiting in the gloom to drive a red hot spear into his backside. "Morgana! Inside . . ." He struggled for breath. "Legs! Claws! Fria und Odin!" "Legs, master?" "A dozen of them! There's a cockroach as big as a hound in there!" Morgana shook her head in open despair at her pupil's stupidity: "Master, didn't you know that glow worms are really beetles with shiny patches on their backs?" "What?" "Glow worms are not really worms -- they are not worms." The witch seemed to be trying to speak through clenched but perfectly white teeth. "Glow worms are beetles. Luminous beetles. So Ymir has taken the shape of a beetle; not a worm, nor yet a cockroach, but a beetle. A perfectly harmless beetle. Now will you please follow him and stop wasting our time?" Hal swallowed a mouthful of the mountain air as if it were a lump of stone and gripped his hands together to stop them trembling. "Oh, sure, I'd love to. There's nothing I'd rather do than crawl into the Devil's Arsehole with a bloody big beetle for company." "This was all your idea, remember? And if you think to see nothing worse than Ymir as an apprentice magician, you have much to learn, young Hal." The boy struggled to make light if his panic. If the witch could joke, then so could he. "Call me master when you're calling me an idiot." "Yes, master." She bit the words off as if they were rats and she was a terrier breaking their backs. Hal had a sudden flash of memory, of the streaks of shit on King Agrud's royal rump as he staggered away from his castle with smoldering stumps where his hands had been. By Loki's drawers, he must be mad to be playing the fool with this woman! "I'm sorry, Morgana, I was just startled, that's all. Now I know what to expect I'll get on with it." He crept cautiously back into the cavern entrance, back into the gloom and towards the glowing patch where a green glow threw a ring around the cave's interior, casting strange shadows amongst the overhead rocks, the almost circular walls and the sandy floor. Though none of the shadows were anywhere near as strange as the humped and glowing wing case standing nearly as high as Hal's knees and supported on several pairs of hairy, many jointed legs. Legs that were moving up and down the gigantic beetle's body in a sort of ripple effect, as if they were all taking turns to stamp down on the sand with impatience. Hal cleared his throat and spoke: "Uh, sorry, Ymir, you took me by surprise. I'm ready now, though." The words came bouncing back at his ears from different directions, somehow louder and much distorted in the humid air. Much more disturbingly, tiny red eyes were beginning to appear in the surrounding darkness like embers carried out of a bonfire on a strong wind. Ymir scuttled forward, Hal said a rude word and had to rush forward to keep up with the familiar. "Slower, slower, or I'll fall over on these rocks." If the beetle slowed, it wasn't by much. Which wasn't surprising. Ymir was probably still bearing a grudge for being blown out of the sky and into the turd filled moat. "Hey, Ymir, if I break a leg I won't be able to perform at this ceremony the way that Morgana wants me to." That line of argument seemed more successful. The beetle's pace dropped, although the sarcasm evident in the deliberate movement of each pair of legs was obvious. Of all the humiliating things that Hal thought might happen to him in his life, it had never occurred to him that one of them might be having the piss taken out of him by an insect. Still, there were worse fates than that around: just ask the Gulburton brothers. Hal only hoped he wouldn't have any such chance. He kept glancing over his shoulder, afraid that three skeletons with backpacks of rotting wickerwork might be tiptoeing up behind him. But there was nothing except the dwindling circle of sunlight at the cave's entrance, quickly lost from sight as Ymir came to a junction in the passageway and turned left. Now there was only the light cast by the beetle on the surrounding walls and a roof which came lower and lower as they moved onwards. Underfoot, more and bigger rocks appeared and the sand became wetter, oozing out from underneath Hal's sandals. Another turn, and then another, the cave growing ever smaller, the air becoming as hot as the castle kitchen with every spit roasting, as damp as rising fog, and smelling of exactly the kind of smell your nose would expect to find in a place called the Devil's Arsehole. "Oh, yes, very romantic," Hal muttered in self scorn under his breath. "What a wonderful place this is for a lovers' rendezvous. I chose really well here, didn't I?" The beetle suddenly stopped, its stag like antenna poking out over the edge of a pool of pitch black water. It was as if a puppy had pushed its nose into a bed of stinging nettles and didn't know which way to turn next. Some measure of pleasure came back to the boy. "Go on then, you clever little bastard, show me how well a beetle can swim." Ymir turned left, walked up the wall with a clatter of claws, hung upside from the top of the cavern and walked forward again as easily as he had done down on the ground. "Fuck me," Hal said in disgust and waded into the water. It was like stepping into a slab of polished black marble: at least, until the ripples from his movements began to disturb the absolutely smooth surface of the pool. He was wet to the top of his thighs when he came out the other side. Ymir continued to show his contempt for the human's clumsy steps by keeping to the cave's roof as he moved on. At least it was easier to see the way with the light above Hal's head; what he didn't enjoy was noting how many more of those glittering red eyes were lurking in the patches of moss growing on either side of the cave. Fria und Odin, there were more spiders here than ants in a nest! If walking along this pathway without a light was what the Gulburton brothers had been willing to do to make some quick florins, they deserved every penny of whatever they'd earned before fate foreclosed on their borrowed luck. Hal wouldn't have come back into this cave a second time for a backpack of gold coins, let alone one filled only with medicinal mud. More turns, more pools, two of them, the second up to his waist again, another turn . . . Hodur, god of darkness, he'd never be able to find his way out of here on his own now. Then ahead, two or three steps further on, there was a pile of boulders, with a trickle of water running over the top and down the front of the lowest of them. The rocks made a barrier right across the width of the cave and came up to Hal's chest. The thing which immediately caught his eye was the grove worn into the top of the rock by the gentle runnel of water -- this wasn't the wear of years, this was a mark left by passing centuries. Ymir passed over the barrier of the rocks, dipping up and down as his beetle shape crossed the gap in the roof the boulders must have dropped out of, so long ago that perhaps giants had still walked in these mountains when the fall had happened. Then the familiar stopped, illuminating a rough dome shaped section of cavern overhead. A myriad of other lights sprang up around the glowing wing case, but not spider's eyes, not these. Blue, green, yellow, from the size of a fist down to a tiny speckling, all different kinds of minerals or precious stones which caught the faintest of light and returned each ray brightly burnished in a shiny new color. It was like looking up into a cloudless night sky filled with a mass of many hued stars. And it was a beautiful sight. Hal could have stood and stared with his mouth hanging open a lot longer than he did. He would have done so except that the beetle's legs began dancing with impatience again. "All right, all right, I'm coming." He splashed into the puddle at the bottom of the rocky barrier and found several projecting ledges where he could place his hands and feet. One step up and Hal was looking out over a circular pool trapped between the barrier of fallen rocks and the wall which marked the end of the tunnel. Perhaps ten paces across and as dark as the other pools he'd crossed, but not as smooth, because there seemed to be some kind of disturbance in the middle of this one, where every few seconds a bubble or two would emerge and break, sending out a hatching of ruffled water. That must be were the spring water came up, still hot, for wisps of vapor hung above the pool. And all around the water's edges was a ring of mud, as black as the water itself and only distinguishable by the lack of tiny ripples which the breaking bubbles threw out. Obviously, the trickle of rising water had been bringing up silt since time out of mind, silt which had settled down as the mud deposits while the water itself had continually escaped over and down the rocks he was standing on. Hal leaned forward and cautiously put the tip of his finger into the mud pressed up against the barrier. It was not cold, not hot. He reached out further and dabbed just as cautiously at the edge of the pool: the water was warmer, as warm as milk straight out of a cow's teats. Overhead, the glowing beetle was hanging like a crescent moon, a moon which was still quivering with impatience. "All right, I'm coming. Watch me!" Hal undid his jerkin, his shirt, and took them off. Then his sandals and breeks. Wrapping all together, he added the drawbag from around his neck and used the cord to secure the bundle. Then he carefully eased his naked body over the rocks and into the mud. An exploring foot found a shallow rocky bottom on which he easily stood, his knees about on a level with the top of the mud. Which was fine, though taking a step forward set Hal waving his arms to keep his balance. "Fria!" he grunted, in fear of falling over. The beetle walked down the wall, stopping just above the mudbank on the far side of the pool. It was clear that Ymir was showing the boy where he was to wait for the women. A goal easier indicated than reached, at least for somebody handicapped by a human body. Hal struggled to keep steady on his feet as he moved forward. He felt happier as he reached the water and the top of the pool rose up above his waist to his chest. Now he had something to help him keep upright. Which was fine until the water was almost level with his shoulders while his legs were still half buried in the mud. It was impossible to make progress through such a morass by walking. Fortunately, he could swim, after a fashion, a few desperate strokes with his arms as he dragged his legs free and let them trail behind him, until he was across the pool and sprawled out on his stomach on the mudbank at the end of the cave. Hal felt like a spawning eel trying to crawl along a riverbank past a blocking weir. And even land bound eels didn't have the problem of dragging a bundle with them. His scraps of clothing were now no more than a tangle of mud plastered rags, dirtier even than when he'd worn them whilst emptying the castle shit pots. Grunting with the effort Hal crawled forward on his hands and knees, his fingers spread out wide to keep them as much as possible from sinking into the mud under his weight. Luckily, the rocky edge at the back of the cave was only a pace or two away and he was soon able to haul himself onto it, though his arm and leg muscles had to work hard to break free of the mud. In fact a lot of it came with him, stuck to his body, and with no clean water within reach to wash it off with. Furthermore, it wasn't the kind of mud he was used to, the usual clumpy admixture of water and earth. This cave mud had no lumps in it at all, it was as smooth and consistent as a bowl of rich man's porridge, only black instead of white. And, like the pool water, it smelt of sulphur but not strongly enough to be an irritant. Yet, with his bare buttocks trying to find somewhere comfortable on the stone ledge, and almost all of the rest of his body plastered with the gooey mud, Hal was having trouble in believing that this place was at all healthy -- except perhaps for a boy who needed a totally secure tupping place. And even that idea dwindled as rapidly as the overhead light when Ymir suddenly spun around and scampered back up the tunnel roof in a rustle of legs, leaving the pool and the surrounding walls in the dark. Dark! What was left behind wasn't any kind of normal darkness, it was as black as the bottom of a filled grave, a suffocating blackness so complete it filled Hal's eyes, his ears, even his mouth as he bellowed out in shock. "What the fuck! Come back here, Ymir, you little bastard!" Nothing, no answer, no response, only the memory of a last quenched out flicker of light as the beetle shot around a far bend of the tunnel like a hunted hare dodging a close running hound. "Oh shit! Oh, Fria!" Hal wailed. It had never crossed his mind that Ymir would leave him down here in the bottom of the Devil's Arsehole. But within a quarter of the time it took for a snowflake to melt in a fire it occurred to him that the witch had found an excellent way of ridding herself of an unwanted Master. And he'd been the fool who had made it so easy for her. A mouse who had walked up to a cat and bitten its nose would have been smarter than Hal had been. "Oh, fuck!" Oh, fuck indeed. Here was a tale indeed to take to the halls of the dead. Hal imagined himself standing on a high stage, looking out over an audience of faces extending to the very edge of infinity, the face of every person who had ever lived and died, and having to explain to them the details of his own demise. 'Well, there was this witch who had to do everything I told her to. And she wanted me to fuck a whole lot of the best looking women in a castle to cast some spells, and we were going to do it inside a magician's tower where their menfolk wouldn't dare enter. But I had a better plan, and it worked out so well I ended up dying of starvation in the bottom of a cave without even being able to see a single ray of light, let alone a woman.' Odin himself would fall off his throne laughing at such a tale -- nobody had ever been such an idiot before, not even Hagar the Hungless, who'd drunk so much ale one night he'd gone to sleep in the pig pen and woke up at daybreak to find himself lying in a pool of bloody ice. Aye, and with his cock at the other end of the pen being chewed between the teeth of his biggest sow. But on a measure of stupidity Hagar's mishap didn't even weigh in as a grain of wheat compared to the orders that Hal had given out. From now on, whenever the name of Merlin was mentioned amongst wizards and warlocks they would all piss themselves laughing at the memory of the stupidest apprentice ever to don a magician's gown. There was no way, no way at all that things could be worse than they were. And just as he thought so, Hal's cock hardened, stiffened and reared up like a knight's lance being raised aloft at a joust. "Fria, please, no. Not that, not now." Hal's fingers tore open the top of his bag and felt inside. They found the vial, but not the cork which should have been stoppering the end of it. Somehow it had come loose as he'd been fighting his way across the pool and all the dragon sweat had leaked out. Leaked out into the sheepskin wrapping, through the sheepskin and the bag and into the pool. Where his body had touched it as he'd floundered through the water. Which was why he was now entering a state of raging arousal with no means of satisfying it except the one means at hand -- his own hand. A relief he would have to use over and over again every time he attempted to cross the pool. So now he couldn't even die peacefully of starvation. He couldn't even talk in the afterlife of being tricked into death by a witch. No, what Hal was going to have to confess to the assembled multitudes in eternity that he was the first male ever to masturbate himself off the mortal coil. The first case ever of a boy who beat himself to death with his own club. He, Duke Merlin, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, was going to be entered into Heaven's Roll as the biggest wanker of all time. In a Valhalla full of heroes who had fallen on their own swords, he was going to be renowned as the numb nut who committed suicide by falling on his own prick. Great! Hal stared into the complete curtain of surrounding blackness, sighed, and spoke to himself: "Well, if I do go blind, at least it won't matter now." But what he was really pissed off about was that he hadn't given Mary Gorlas a good seeing to when he'd had the chance. Oh Odin, the sight of her huge tits falling out of her torn dress and the feel of them in his hands. If only he'd known he was going to die next day he'd have had her there and then. . . Hal's fingers worked against his tightly drawn shaft as he dreamed about what might have been. If only he could be there in the hall again, he'd sit down on the King's own high chair with Mary impaled on his lap, shaking her fat bum at all the assembled aristocrats and her gigantic teats bouncing in his face . . . Or if he'd known how to work that levitation spell properly, like Morgana could, he'd have arranged Mary floating at waist height, face down and hanging onto the edge of the table as he took her from behind with her udders swinging around underneath every which way . . . Oh Gods! What a chance he'd missed! Somewhere in the back of Hal's mind a voice spoke, small but clear. Hadn't Morgana said something about him being responsible for lifting Mary off the floor? That somehow he'd been able to expand and use the levitation spell that Morgana had created? And hadn't she insisted that he had the makings of being a great magician -- could there be any truth at all in that? Or had she just been totally bullshitting him? And what about all her words about sex and magic being connected? Certainly, he was in no position to do any fucking right now but if just thinking about sex was any help the dragon sweat certainly had him in the right frame of mind. Was there any chance of maybe using magic to help himself in this situation. And, if there was, what did he want? That was easy, what he really wanted a female to fuck. But creating a girl out of thin air was probably not the sort of thing he should try for his first attempt at magic. Even if he could do it, you wouldn't want to stick your cock into the first result, not in the dark without any idea of what you'd actually made. Even Hagar the Hungless's sow might be a sexy good looker in comparison. No, light of some kind. That was what he most needed, here and now. Wasn't what that one of the things the Christian monks used to read from their book? Yes, that was it, that was one of their sayings, 'let there be light'. And their god was called Jesus Christ, so maybe Hal should pray to him as he tried to make light. But how to do that? Especially as he couldn't stop wanking himself off and his mind was full of pictures of a gasping, shrieking Mary Gorlas. All right, he was tupping Mary, and she was on her back on the dining hall in the great hall and a brilliantly strong light was shining down into the hall -- the roof had disappeared, a summer sun was directly overhead, not a cloud in the sky, the sun was getting bigger, getting closer, the rays were pouring down, filling the room with a light that was so bright, brighter than anybody had ever seen, as bright as the rainbow bridge that led to the home of the Gods . . . There was a kind of a popping noise and a big fat spark shot out from the slit of Hal's straining prick, hit the tunnel roof, bounced off it, hit the cavern wall, shot away like a falling star, hit the opposite wall, flew off again at a crazy angle, slammed down into the pool and disappeared in a puff of steam. "Jesus Christ!" Hal gasped. The shock had been so complete that for that second he'd even forgotten about Mary Gorlas's body. He realized immediately that it was a turning point in his life. For the first time ever, Hal had totally impressed himself by his own abilities. After all, there he was, only an ordinary shit pot cleaner, and it turned out that all the time he'd had some kind of a raging thunderstorm swinging around between his legs. What about those nights at the tavern when Karl the Head House Carl had filled himself up with ale and proved it by bending over in front of a candle and letting loose a fart which burst into a jet of flame? Hadn't he impressed the shit out of everybody? By Odin, the next time he tried it Hal would laugh, pull out his cock and jerk off a shower of sparks to go flying around the taproom. That would leave high and mighty Karl with his breeks and his jaw hanging down. Fucking right, Hal might only be a poor surf but what was being poor when you had more lightning in your donger than Thor had in his hammer? If that wasn't a trick that got you invited to parties, what would? And wait until he showed Josephine, she'd go white and orange spots with laughing at a human coming it the flame throwing dragon! But, impressive as it was, a single spark wasn't going to get him out of the Devil's Arsehole. He needed something different. So what by Fria's skirts could he do now to create a sustained light. Think of a girl, think of fucking her, think of light. But maybe a different girl -- or girls. Maybe two cunts were better than one . . . the riding net, with Chelinde and Caelia. Which one had he had first -- Caelia, that was right, jammed in between him and the dragon's belly, with Chelinde scratching his balls as he rammed her sister. Oh, Fria, it had been so good, as good as being a god himself. The sky, the sun, the suns, all around the dragon, all beaming so brightly as he fucked Caelia, all lighting up every strand of her hair, every freckle, reflecting back from her eyes. . . A pearl of glittering light popped out of his cock this time, an tiny incandescent pearl which floated upwards as lightly and erratically as a butterfly. But as small as it was, it lit up the mud ring and the nearer part of the pool water. Overhead, the blackness became speckled again from the minerals reflecting in the rising light. "That must be what they call ball lightning," Hal giggled, as near his wit's ends as any village idiot. And then the drifting bead of light winked out like a closing eye. "Oh, shit!" This was no good. He needed something which would glow like a candle long enough to crawl out of this stinking cave -- and if ever he did, he'd be into Josephine's riding nets and away over the mountains quicker than a fiddler's elbow playing at a wedding. But not until he'd fucked Dairy Mary Gorlas first. Hal seized his cock even more firmly and then found himself distracted even from the pressing need for self release by something impossible. For he could hear voices singing -- female voices! By the Gods, the Valkyries themselves were coming to bear him up to Valhalla and singing a chorus of heavenly music as they arrived. "We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig in a mine the whole day through To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig is what we like to do." Huh! This was the sort of song the Gods sang? No, of course not. There was one dominating voice pitched pure and clear above the others and Hal was certain it was Morgana's. She was leading the women into the cave and encouraging them to sing to keep up their spirits. But where she'd learnt the song, the Gods alone knew -- certainly Hal had never heard anything like it sung in these parts. But it had a nice tune to it. And Hal had spent enough time working around high born females' apartments to know that many of them, surprisingly, had a rather wry sense of humor. Probably a necessary survival trait because even the worst of the aristocratic dames and damsels didn't seem to deserve the sort of so called noblemen they had to live with. Whatever, the approaching voices were singing along with Morgana as lustily as the crowd following the ale cart back from the fields on the last day of harvest gathering. "It ain't no trick To get mud quick If you dig dig dig With a shovel or a pick In a mine (In a mine) In a mine (In a mine). Where a million diamonds Shine." Light was suddenly flooding the far bend of the cave and figures came around it. Female figures, each carrying a yoke pole with wooden buckets hanging from them. Each pole was also carrying something else as well, halfway between each bucket rope and the shoulder yoke, and that something was a glass lantern with a burning candle inside it. For fuck's sake, all the effort he'd put into getting Morgana to give him some magical means of lighting the cave and he'd never even thought to just ask for a couple of top quality lanterns. And what would Morgana do to him when she discovered he'd already spilt the entire vial of dragon sweat? Even Hal's raging lust couldn't entirely douse his fear about the answer to that question. Morgana was likely to leave him underground and bound like Loki the fallen god, with serpent's poison dripping into his face forever more. And then Hal forget everything else as he saw how clear was each curved silhouette between each pair of lanterns -- silhouettes with nothing on to protect their naked charms from his gloating eyes. By the Gods, the witch must have warned the gentlewomen against spoiling their fine clothes in the mud and told them to them to strip off at the cave entrance. And they'd done it! "Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho It's off to work we go." Overhead, the colored stones above the pool began glittering again in the approaching lights. There were so many women, so many lanterns, the cave was filling up with light. And there, leading them, as completely naked as her companions, was Morgana. But as desirable as her body usually was, there was something disconcerting about it this time. Perhaps because of the tiny bubble of pure light which hung above her head and stayed in that position, moving as she did. Even in his dragon sweat induced passion Hal wondered if the witch had created the light in any way akin to his own unexpected experiments. "We dig up mudpies By the score A thousand shovel fulls, Sometimes more We don't know what we dig them for We dig dig . . ." The voices trailed as Morgana stopped leading the song. The witch had halted at the barrier of rock holding back the pool. "Take the buckets off the yokes, ladies. Just reach out and take the handles in your hands. And don't hesitate, no matter what happens around you." The woman standing behind Morgana was a sulky faced young wife called Sirit Plunketburg. Her dark hair was piled high on top of her head and hung down her back like a horse's tail, her tits were as perky and pointed as brass candle snuffers, the black bush between her legs matched her hair coloring and every hair was damp curled from the pools she'd already waded through. But the most arousing thing about Mistress Plunketburg was the way she screeched in alarm as she lifted the buckets off her yoke and the ropes which had been supporting them wrapped themselves around her wrists. Around and around, in a tangled mass, as if each rope was trying to strangle itself , the buckets falling discarded to the cave floor, then lying there. And when the bucket ropes finally finished moving as well, both of Sirit's wrists were securely tied up against the ends of the yoke pole still resting on her shoulders. In which matter, she had been served out exactly as all her companions had been. The whole row of them were now lashed to their shoulder poles -- in fact, they were all yoked like oxen to their yokes. "Grrrr . . . " Hal's eyes were bulging almost as much as his cock at the sight and sound of the women calling out for explanations. Morgana's response was a snarl of anger. "Be quiet, you bitches. You'll find out what's happening bye and bye." She pointed to Plunketburg. "Step forward to these rocks, climb up them and into the pool. Don't worry about your weight, just grab the ends of your yoke and it will help lift you up." By all the Gods, but the witch was right. Indeed, it was much as Hal had already seen before, when Morgana had used her broken broomstick to keep from drowning in the moat. Now the pole across Sirit's shoulders seemed possessed of the same uplifting power, for as she held onto the wooden ends the woman seemed able to step up over the pile of rocks as if they scarcely more obstacle than a stairway. Hal noted with great joy that the sneering expression on the young wife's face had turned to one of astonishment and fear. But not as astonished and afraid as she was going to be within seconds. And she had no idea of all how much pleasure a certain hidden watcher gained from watching Sirit being forced down by Morgana's remorseless hands pressing on the wife's shoulder pole, which suddenly seemed to have become as heavy as lead instead of lighter than air. "Bend forward, your face in the mud and your knees on either side of the stream." Mistress Plunketburg had no choice but to comply. She sprawled forward, one cheek resting on the mire as she struggled to keep her nose and mouth clear, the thin trickle of water which ran over the rocky barrier directly beneath her body, her knees deep in the mud on either side of the tiny stream. Hal's lungs felt as if they'd stopped breathing and would never start again as Morgana also knelt down, onto one knee, directly behind Sirit Plunketburg. The witch dabbled her fingers in the clear water of the stream. Then lifted them up into the light of the lanterns still burning on the yoke. "By the power invested in me by the Great Ones, I Morgana le Faye, declare you a sister in this coven assembled under the auspices of Actaeon, the horned one." Morgana's damp fingers were up between Sirit's opened thighs, stroking the lips of the noble born female's sex as she cast her spell. There was a faint spurt of mud from underneath Mistress Plunketburg's fallen tresses as the woman made an involuntary shout out of her half buried mouth. "Until this coven dissolves, your duty as a sister is to think only of men, of being pleasured by them and of pleasuring them in any way they desire. You will think of nothing else, you will care for nothing else. Walk into the pool and wait." Hal felt like screeching himself as he fought like a demon to take his hand off his cock until there should be female flesh ready to appease it. But never in his life had he needed to struggle so hard, especially when Sirit was more or less lifted up by her yoke pole and then waded out into the water until she was up to her waist in it, her eyes shining wide in the lamps hanging from the pole she was carrying. Whether by the power of Morgana's incantations or by that of the dragon sweat spilt in the pool, some kind of a strong mood had certainly been aroused in Sirit's breast. In fact, in both her breasts, if the state of her nipples were anything to judge by. Probably it was fear of Morgana's likely reaction to anything which would spoil the ceremony which enabled Hal to take his fingers away from his shaft. Fear, and the fact that his body was no longer wet from the pool water. And, perhaps above all, that he had to sense to close his eyes as the rest of the women were each dealt with in the same way by Morgana, as briskly and impersonally as a shepherd dosing a flock of sheep. Time after time it happened, usually accompanied by feminine cries of outrage, and Hal knew he could not have watched even one more woman being inducted into the coven without sending a jet of spunk shooting through the damp air. Instead, he tried to find something else to think about and lit on the inspired choice of the question of who was going to have to empty out the castle shit pots now that the previous pot emptier had been elevated to the rank of a resident magician. And since he was that magician Hal could select anybody he liked to haul the turd receptacles around, even one of the high class sons and squires who had made his own life such a misery when he was the resident shit boy. The only problem was in deciding which of the young arseholes most merited the humiliation, and it was such an almost impossible yet pleasing puzzle to solve that it nearly took Hal's mind off the squeals and cries coming from the other side of the pool. But no mortal male could hope to avert his eyes from such scenes for long. And when Hal looked again the array of lanterns stretched across the far side of the pool revealed a scene stranger than his eyes could readily accept. A mass of naked women, standing waist deep in the black depths of the pool, all with their bodies streaked with mud and with their mouths hanging open as they bellowed like cows with full udders waiting to be milked: an idea compounded by the sight of a rank, no by the Gods, two ranks of quivering tits. Small ones, pointy ones, just right for a handful ones, tits that hung down like overfilled saddlebags, tits high borne and perky, big tits and a pair of monster sized tits with Mary Gorlas standing behind them. And just like the other women, her eyes were wide open, and she was wailing in despair, tugging in vain at the ropes at her wrist. Actions which were perfectly understandable to Hal, knowing what mind tearing frustration the females must be suffering because they couldn't use their fingers to relieve the all enveloping lust whipped up by the dragon sweat in the pool. If the witch's intention was to raise as much excitement and frustrated desire in the coven as possible, she was certainly going the right way about it. Come to think of it, where was Morgana? And, as an aside, since the only light inside the cave was coming from the lamps the women had brought in, where was Ymir? There was no sign of the shining beetle now, so where . . . Hal heard a strange chittering sound, echoed by another bouncing off the cave walls, as if animals were calling to each other by gnashing small sets of teeth. Two otters appeared on top of the fallen rocks, both pure white, and both far bigger than any otters Hal had ever seen before. They slithered down the rocks and across the mud without a speck of it marring their pristine furs, then vanished into the dark water. There was no doubt at all the creatures were Morgana and Ymir in yet other transformations. For about a second Hal was completely puzzled, before he remembered what Ymir had done to Morgana in Josephine's drinking trough. Could it be . . . Maid Kendra Hundt, seventeen or so, betrothed to a knight from Lyonesse, wide open blue eyes, a mass of blonde curls on her head, and suddenly shrieking as if the pool water around her body had somehow come to the boil. Arms dipping madly from side to side, head thrown back, her body shuddering so violently that Kendra's neat little plumpers were slapping against each other like applauding hands. Hal might have been the first to realize what was happening, because he'd seen it done before, but the white backs of the otters broke the surface often enough for the other women to quickly realize that the otters were positioned in front and behind Kendra. And if at first they believed the animals were attacking the girl, they soon realized from her rising cries of ecstasy that she was being tongued, not bitten. Tongued very expertly in the warm water from both directions. Being tongued and lifted to a state of passion Maid Kendra's Lyonesse lover had never come with a giant's step of achieving for her. As the watchers' understanding of the situation developed a chorus of feminine excitement and wails of envy echoed over the pool. Two of the oldest, Rowena Aelfgar and Felice Oxhead, stepped back onto the mud bank. Hal watched in a state of near disbelief as fat Felice dropped on her back and spread her legs wide. Tall, slender Rowena knelt down, bent forward from her waist, took her weight on her elbows and forearms and crawled awkwardly over the prostrate body of Mistress Oxhead. Within seconds Mistress Aelfgar's bottom was twitching frantically as Felice licked her cunt and Rowena returned the favor between Felice's thick thighs. "Odin!" Hal couldn't, just couldn't stop himself from putting his fingers on his prick. His fingertips at least. Because as soon as they touched the hot flesh sparks flew up and down the entire length from balls to head. "Bloody hell . . . " His fingers were tingling as if he'd caught a hard flung stone in them. "What the fuck?" On the other side of the pool the otters had emerged to nip at Felice and Rowena's toes, biting hard enough to draw blood and to force the women to stand up and apart again. Both of them wailed with frustration like starving wolves. Another pearl of light sprang out from the tip of Hal's shaft. Bigger and even more brilliant than the first one. But this time it didn't rise. It hung over the top of his cock in exactly the same way as the light above Morgana's head stayed in the same place. Hal stared at his most intimate piece of anatomy in total bewilderment, wondering whether he still had any control over it at all. Then he lifted up his eyes in response to a squeal which somehow sounded familiar. Morgana and Ymir were both nuzzled up to Mary Gorlas, behind and in front, and both licking her where the sensation was most felt. Mary was jumping around as if she was a puppet with a dozen lunatics all pulling on her strings at once. As for her outsized udders, it seemed impossible that so much flesh could swing around so much without something tearing loose. What the girl desperately needed was a pair of steadying hands. It was an idea which had an impact on Hal's mind like poking an hedgehog with a stick. His thoughts seemed to curl up into a tiny ball and the brilliant bead hovering above his lap spread out into a bright white hollow ring which completely encircled the head of his cock. "Fur Fria's sake . . ." Hal mumbled, again completely astonished at what was happening, let alone what was causing it The boy was suddenly aware of how the grunting and cries inside the smelly interior of the Devil's Arsehole had died away. It was like the audience of a mummer's play suddenly becoming lost in a dreamworld as the gaudily dressed actors stepped out onto the stage. Only this time the audience was all looking at him. Twelve women and two otters. All staring at the straining cock with the halo of shining light around it which had suddenly appeared in the dark shadows on the other side of the pool. And the first thing Hal noted about this audience was that the eyes of the women staring at his prick were much beadier and more animal like than those belonging to the otters. "Huh... hello, ladies. Huh... this week hasn't turned out at all like I expected it too. Have you noticed that as well?" THE END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 37