Damn good ideas...
Already your mind is filled with images of mad copulation: Ceinwyn screaming in pain and ecstasy as your mighty cock splits her open and robs her of her virginity, Dasille moaning like a whore as you ravish her from behind like a dog, Tri'lanna insensible with pleasure as her tight little ass slides down your length, even Lady Moirianara panting with desire, her beautiful, mature body soaked with sweat as you strip away her arrogant, stuck up mask and expose the hussy within.
Half-maddened with desire, you begin to stagger out of the room, barely able to walk straight for the needy, burning feeling in you flesh. Kiraea smiles triumphantly behind you, reclining on your bed, your seed dribbling from inside her. Absently, her hands go to her crotch and collect a little, which she puts in her mouth.
However, as you go, your hand rests on the bedside table upon which your sword, your axe, and the Shining Stone. By luck or by fate, your palm falls atop the gemstone.
As your hand touches the sacred relic, something surges up inside you. Through the haze of raw lust that clouds your mind, you feel the tatters of reason surging through you. Clenching the gem in your fist so hard that you feel the skin break with the pressure of the stone, you turn your head, your body shaking with the effort, to glare into Kiraea's astonished eyes.
"Wh-what are you--"
With all the strength in you, half drawn from your mighty will, half from the Shining Stone, you advance on the elf woman.
"Impossible! I put enough magic into that drink to drive ''ten'' men mad with lust! Who are you? ''What'' are you?!"
You answer with a mighty punch to her face, breaking her haughty nose and knocking the elven noble out.
The suggestions she planted into your mind are fading, but, as you stagger out into the hallway, your hand still painfully clenched around the comforting weight of the Stone, you realize that the lust is not.
'Ceinwyn,' you think, as you stumble down the hallway in the direction you vaguely remember she went. 'She might know, she might help, she...'
Oh, Akasha. Thinking about her was a mistake. Your cock is hard as a rock now, and so sensitive you feel as though you might cum simply from the cool air of the hallway as you stagger along. But, to your horror, you quickly realize that the spell has other, stranger effects. Trying to stimulate yourself is useless.
The strain of the lust in your mind makes walking, and even thinking, harder, and harder, and harder...
Suddenly, you spot someone walking out of the door in front of you. With a shock, you see it is Tri'lanna, who looks left and right in the hallway, before spotting you. A look of great distress comes over her beautiful face, as she sees your obvious discomfort.
"Tri'lanna," you gasp, one of your eyes going red as the blood vessels inside burst from the strain of holding back. Everything in you screams with need as the elvish maiden walks toward you, her more-modest nightgown swirling around her in the wind blowing in from an opened window.
Unbidden, a thousand torturous images flash in your mind: her screwing the camp of monsters, her beautiful body flashing you whether intentionally or not, her soft, kind smiles and her smoldering, flirtatious looks. Oh Akasha, your self control is at the breaking point... "Help," you whisper, barely able to stand up or see straight.
In an instant, with more relief than you can imagine, you feel a soft, gentle hand stroking your sensitive, swollen member. Instantly, you gasp in orgasm, seed spraying from your overstimulated member to splash onto Tri'lanna and the wall around her.
The pressure in your head has abated somewhat. Your vision clears, and you can see Tri'lanna, gazing at you with a look full of compassion and lust both, as she licks your seed from her hand.
"My sister?" she asks, gently. You can only nod, as you can already feel the burning need rising in you again.
Tri'lanna sighs, then smiles. "Just as well," she whispers, reaching up to wrap her arms around your neck and kiss you gently on the lips.
"Let me help you tonight," she whispers, her body sliding against yours right through her modest nightdress. |