Thrall of the Warrior Witch

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Thrall of the Warrior Witch

by Lance Edwards

ISBN: 978-1-945648-78-6

A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook

Copyright ©2018 Lance Edwards

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

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Prologue

Feeding Jia

Smoldering incense sent up ribbons of smoke. Curling and unfurling, these undulated elegantly, creating shapes as suggestive as they were evanescent before unraveling in random eddies of air. Deep in one of the innermost chambers of the command tent, the only breeze came from screams and the relentless whipping eliciting them.

It was enough to disperse the aphrodisiacal smoke about the chamber, bathing the victim in its aromatic influence. Unfortunately after only two drainings this one was so sapped of vitality that even the strongest potions had little effect. The subtler incense was wasted. And pain could only squeeze so much energy from a subject compared to (or without) passion. Already the delicious exudations had lessened.

Ruler of Shatra and all lands within the encircling seas, First Practitioner of the ancient mystic Sisterhood of the Oculus, the Empress Jia reclined on sumptuously stuffed cushions. Concentrating with all her prodigious will, she threw back her head and drew breath deep. Along with incense and the sweat and musk of her attendants, and the stronger reek of the captive suspended spread-eagled above her, Jia absorbed-imbibed-inhaled what she could.

Angrily dissatisfied, she strained for every elusive wisp of the sustenance leaking (along with so much else) from the victim’s pores. Yet even with studded whips tearing his hide to shreds and his chain-stretched suspension savaging his skeleton this latest slave was now producing almost nothing beyond stink.

Even the last weak screams had ceased. Seeing the second attendant moving forward with a glowing brand (the occult symbol shining in nearly white-hot iron the one for enhancing the subject’s sensitivity), Jia waved her back.

Further torture was pointless. It was time to finish with this one.

Slipping off her light lounging robe, Jia rose upright. Agile despite being the largest warrior in her army, her lines were an almost idealized mix of brawn and beauty.

Lush curves were married to firm sinew in perfect synergy. Heavy gold armlets circled each bicep, emphasizing and ever-increasing that intimidating physique. Far more slender, the imperial fillet about that haughty brow gleamed like the raven waves it contained. Always unruly, these mantled the broad back and cascaded past a tapered waist to drape hugely protuberant haunches.

Similarly projecting breasts seemed too big to be anything but detrimental in battle. Yet scars from sword cuts marred only those powerful arms – and the long yet similarly sculpted legs. Nude but for that wealth of precious metal, the statuesque Empress presented such a stunning figure that surely no male could fail to be aroused.

This one was depleted to a husk however. Certain it would be useless but angrily determined that discipline be served, Jia waved the two attendants forward again. Perhaps their skills could stimulate some last residue of eros that her imminent eminence no longer could.

As adept at inflicting pleasure as pain, the two young women had set aside their implements upon seeing the mistress rise. With the Sisterhood’s most sacred rite about to begin they knew what to do. Honored by their service, neither betrayed any hesitance to sully themselves with unclean touches.

Considerably smaller in stature, both were also lush yet muscular thanks to the demands of their calling. Heads shaved after the Cadre of the Afflicters, each was breathtakingly lovely.

The simplicity of baldness emphasized the perfect symmetry of their incongruously cherubic features. Clad in but simple leather body harnesses, the sweat of their long exertion in proximity to the room’s braziers gleamed on tattooed skin. With the practiced efficiency of twins they worked urgently trying to coax an erection from the almost insensate remnant dangling swaybacked in his shrinkage-slackened shackles.

Humming in a harmony known to rouse on a subliminal level, one Afflicter worked on the p***s, the other the testes. Expert concurrent caresses in the chain-spread hollows to either side, along the inner thigh and especially the sensitive stretch behind the balls vastly enhanced the straightforward squeezing, rubbing, fondling and pumping. Still the victim hung drooling and glassy-eyed – and stubbornly flaccid.

At a peremptory signal a crank was turned, lowering that splayed form into easier reach.

Mouths replaced fingers. Plump lips, nimble tongues and voracious suction were employed with simultaneous virtuosity. Despite her expectations of failure, unappeased greed incensed Jia increasingly. Still the moments passed with no reaction.

She would feed on seed regardless. But with no emotional component (much less orgasm), the product would be robbed of its almost limitless potential. Absorbing such piddling energy would be like sipping thinned grape squeezings rather than guzzling strong wine, brandy or undiluted alcohol. The men of her realm grew more unsatisfying by the season. As Jia ground her teeth and waited she determined to summon Mina as soon as she finished.

Enough was enough. They needed more of the others.

It had been two turns of the moon or more since they’d succeeded in accessing one of the infinite overlapping other worlds to claim more vital vessels. That had to change. Suddenly more impatient for that confrontation than even the draining at hand, Jia spoke up at last. From a purr to a growl to a battlefield roar, her contralto could wield the highly nuanced language of Shatra with the subtlety of a lore-master or the force of a cudgel according to the occasion. Her worshipful attendants obeyed with alacrity.

“Enough, sisters. You demean yourselves to no purpose.”

“Forgive us, mistress.”

Kala, the senior of the two Afflicters, gave a bow that smacked of a shrug. She knew they were not at fault. Younger Pell had paused to wipe her mouth however; this unseemly lapse earning her belated bow a reprimand.

“Forgive me, great mistress. My sloppiness shames us all.”

“Then put it to use, sloven.” Piercing blue eyes betrayed dangerous impatience. “Wet the thrall’s entrance. It seems I must empty this one manually.”

“Immediately, mistress!”

Pell ducked around to the split in the victim’s scrawny haunches. Her pre-lathered tongue stretched out and slathered, pushed in deep and lavishly slickened the usual exit for entry. Though she performed her chore with gusto, this time she withdrew with more decorum.

Already the chains were retracting, raising the splayed slave well into the air. The moment she had clearance, giant Jia stepped underneath. Despite enduring two drainings already, the male still didn’t react. With angry contempt Jia used far more force than was strictly necessary ramming her first two fingers in deep.

More adept than the most accomplished Afflicter, she found the small bulb immediately. Mentally reciting a complex incantation for augmenting the potency of the untapped life-energy still remaining in this vessel, she began rubbing methodically. Emotionally and cognitively empty as this disappointment might be, on a reflexive level certain physical tissues were forever responsive.

If a subject lacked the capacity to ejaculate, the Sisterhood had learned thousands of sun-cycles previously that there were other ways to drain off that concentrated vitality. And while it might be thinned juice rather than vintage brandy, Jia would have every drop regardless.

Still delay continued to vex her. It took longer than it should have to see the first evidence that her manipulations were having an effect. Finally however a clear sticky seepage began to ooze from the opening dangling just above her upturned face.

Pre-ejaculatory seminal fluid, this was nevertheless both sweet in taste and rich with energy: a lovely appetizer for the feast about to follow. Before enough could gather to drip, Jia altered her mental mantra as the spell required. Then she opened up and accepted that uselessly drooping organ into her mouth.

Taste buds rejoicing and greedy need screaming at that first delicious sip, Jia redoubled her rubbing even as she began sucking. More of that thin sweet ooze rewarded her efforts, and now there was seed in the seepage, a tiny amount but enough to send a thrill of power and anticipation through her. Still Jia was careful not to skip a syllable of her incantation, getting every inflection of the ancients’ abstruse tongue just right. And when the medium turned to semen and the load of seed it carried exploded, the conjuring worked to perfection. She made the absolute most of everything available. It wasn’t her failure that the satisfaction was so lacking.

Rather than a powerfully jetting injection shooting all that concentrated vitality into her at once (enormously augmented by passion and orgasm), she had to work to imbibe what she could in a gradual drizzle. Her frustration building, Jia sucked harder and harder. Already the fresh energy of new life was lessening. What she was drawing out now was mostly anima, the dregs of being still left in this spent vessel.

The splayed slave sank toward her incrementally as the shackles suspending it slackened further. Still Jia drew on that conduit, draining the victim ruthlessly. The replenishment of her own potency was barely a stirring inside – nothing like the delirious, addictive, supra-orgasmic rush of sustenance she craved. And too soon (always too soon) the sap ceased to flow, the well ran dry and the shriveled testes were permanently emptied.

Jia let her mantra lapse and quit sucking. She pulled her defiled fingers free and held them out for the waiting attendant to clean. She barely spared a glance at the remnant left. Jia had seen it a thousand times.

Intricately decorated with damage, the flesh left on that emaciated frame would be alternately shrunken or slackened. Eyes vacant, mouth agape, the male might be feebly stirring yet but it would never work, erect or respond coherently again. Jia waved with her free hand.

“Remove that. I’ll want a fresh specimen tomorrow after I bathe. For now, send Mina here.”

“Second Practitioner Mina meets with War Master Boran, mistress. Her sight has revealed a band of death-seekers along our route. Perhaps she arranges to secure them as captives. Such radicals are often more robust.”

“And just as often they are witless with despair. Send my runner for Mina now.”

“It is done, Empress.”

Jia pulled her robe back on. She sashed it with extra vehemence. Rather than return to her cushions she paced the thick furs underfoot while she waited for her protégé.

Gifted as she was, Mina would need no mystic sight to know why she’d been summoned. As expected she confronted the issue forthrightly as soon as she swept into the disporting chamber.

“Another vessel emptied already?”

“And without ejaculation again. I am told fanatics may attack us?”

“They are massing in the forest to the east. Boran would put them all to the sword. I will send Elia or some other promising Acolyte to render them senseless instead. Perhaps these captives will prove more potent…”

Mina trailed off at her mistress’ look and shrugged.

“The Sisterhood has ruled for many thousand sun-cycles. The arts we use to influence our armies have unavoidably affected the population generally. The men of this world are too cowed by us, even those that become maddened enough to rebel.”

“Then we must reach beyond this world, Sister. What of those who call themselves Americans? The ones from the realm of mind-boggling weapons, flying machines and constant gluttonous feeding? Why have I received none of these recently?”

Mina bowed in apology, and a lock of hair slipped over the shoulder of her formal Second Practitioner’s robes. Thin and straight rather than lushly unruly, dark brown instead of raven, Jia’s sometime lover’s tresses were even longer than those of her Empress. With olive skin and large dark eyes, tall too but slender, Mina was less of a warrior in build than a scholar and assassin. Nevertheless her ascendancy was earned. Second only to Jia in mystic ability, she was actually more naturally gifted if less knowledgeable and adept. She could see where her superior often could not, if only due to the manifest other demands on a ruler’s occult resources.

Jia spent much of her anima as Mina had said, controlling the men who formed the bulk of the Sisterhood’s armies, managing, suppressing or redirecting their innate aggression. Such responsibility and sustained personal expense justified the draining of slaves for replenishment. Still this rite was the exclusive province of the Empress. Though she was learning the proper mantras in the event of an unexpected succession, the Second Practitioner had yet to taste any vitality, much less the extraordinary potency of energy she was charged with procuring.

“You have not sought out that reality recently, Empress. It is becoming increasingly difficult to discern, and even more so to access. The combined efforts of the entire Conclave are often necessary to bring even a single subject through.”

“What has caused this change?”

“Perhaps that very quality which makes males from this world so vital. Lately they have begun to turn on one another, expending their energies in bitter contention.

“Rivals for leadership fan tribal hatreds with illusory fears. Law enforcers prey on their charges, who respond with random assassinations. Civility has been abandoned and the entire society is in turmoil. This makes penetrating such turbidity enough to isolate and claim a subject extremely difficult. Even then, those susceptible to our touch are usually placid types, priests or ascetics – far from ideal for the provoking and sustaining of passion. Such a reward seems minimal for the level of effort expended.”

Jia frowned, accepting the explanation but not the excuse.

“Mina my love and confidant, when you wear this fillet you will feel differently. I guarantee it. Even if one out of ten Americans feeds me like I need, the effort is worth it. How many of the Conclave of Seers travel with us?”

“Fourteen, mistress. Though young Elia counts for as many as five by herself. She is a true prodigy, unlike any I have seen. If only we could spawn more of her rare breed.”

Jia nodded decisively.

“Gather the Seers to try again. And use the girl as the primary eye this time. Promise Elia immediate advancement to full Sister if you should succeed. She has amazing gifts indeed for a mere Acolyte. We should begin grooming her for our inner circle.”

“It will be done, Empress.”

“I want results before we reach the next garrison. And tell Boran to slay the death-seekers when they attack. Every one. Hang the bodies to rot along our route.”

Jia nodded dismissal. As Mina hurried off she opened her robe again and at last returned to her drift of cushions.

Irritable and unsatisfied still, driven to redress the denial of one ecstasy with a surfeit of a similar sort, she waved for her attendants to join her. Gleaming at the honor, Kala and Pell hurried forward.

This time their practiced skills at pleasuring would be appropriately appreciated!

Part One

Thralldom