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Piece of Ass

Chapter 7

Artesda was lost.

It was hard for him to admit it, but he didn't have a clue where they were. He hadn't been in that part of Oltru in more than fifty years and could not remember which direction to take or even the name of the forest they were lost in. Not quite ready to admit defeat, he nonetheless realized Daphne was exhausted and looking faint, and so they stopped amidst the sea of green underbrush to rest beneath the trees. Artesda set the prisoner on the ground, allowing him to lean his back against a tree, and then he paced restlessly as Daphne sat on a stump to catch her breath.

It was afternoon, bright and blue, and quite hot. The glistening streams and ponds they often came across seemed to tease Artesda with their gleaming waters. The white-gold armor of Araton's sons was without plated sleeves, consisting of only a breastplate and skirt, and yet it was stifling regardless. Artesda had the fierce urge to take his armor off. Back home in Heaven, he and his brothers would undress as they pleased and lounge about, bathing in the little streams and beneath Heaven's waterfalls. None of them thought anything of it, seeing each other's muscular bodies bare and glistening-wet in the light of Araton. But stripping himself before Daphne and the prisoner somehow seemed unbearable.

Much to Artesda's irritation, the prisoner watched him from the thick wreath of his woolly mane with laughing black eyes, as if he could sense Artesda's discomfort and what he wished to do. Artesda wanted to wipe the smirk from the ram's face by striking him, but he knew Daphne wouldn't approve, so he contented himself with glaring at the ram and continued pacing.

Either way, the situation was simply too dangerous for Artesda to strip. The children of Araini had sworn to pursue, were likely following even now, and would be waiting for the opportunity to strike. Artesda bare-naked and wading waist-deep in the river would have given them the perfect opportunity, and he would have been a fool to give it to them.

Turning his mind from thoughts of the heat, Artesda glanced around, wondering if there wasn't a tree he might climb. Normally, he would have flown above the forest to see where they were. Without his wing, however, his only option was to climb the trees like a child. It was best if he did so before they lost daylight, which was happening fast. He went to a tree and braced his hoof against it, preparing to climb.

"I could climb instead," Daphne said, and Artesda paused to look over his shoulder at her. She was still sitting on the tree stump, looking wilted and wet from the heat. Her pale mane was hanging in strings in her face, and her white robe - filthy and torn from their travels - was hanging off her naked shoulder. Artesda could see the barest hint of cleavage and swallowed hard, struggling to look at her face. "Purest One?" he said, pulling his hoof from the tree again.

"Would be safer, don't you think?" Daphne went on. "You could stay here and guard the prisoner, watch for bandits --" She wearily fell silent when Artesda's brows creased in a disapproving frown.

"Should you climb in my stead, you would be vulnerable to attack from the sky," Artesda said. "I can not allow you to endanger yourself."

"And if you leave me alone down here, I'll be vulnerable to attack from the ground," Daphne pointed out.

"At least I can protect you on the ground," Artesda reminded her, and the stump on his back - twisted and swathed in new feathers - moved to draw her eye.

"I can climb faster than you," Daphne insisted.

Artesda frowned and his golden eyes gleamed with suspicion. "How do I know you won't allow the demons to take you? You have proven yourself susceptible to their filthy temptations." He glanced darkly at the ram, who scowled. "Perhaps you wish to climb the tree," he went on, looking again at Daphne, "so that you may let the creatures take you away!"

"I wouldn't leave Izra behind," Daphne said at once, and both Artesda and the ram looked at her in surprise.

Artesda thought the ram's black eyes softened with admiration while looking at Daphne. Without really understanding why, the ram's affections for her incensed him, and he took an angry, shuddering breath. "No!" he nearly bellowed at Daphne. "You will stay here on the ground, or I will tie you up like your friend!"

Daphne defiantly lifted her chin but made no protest. Artesda could see the disgust and anger in her eyes: she hated him. He was a tyrant, bullying them both, threatening them, and telling them what to do. In that moment, he felt ashamed, and he hated that he must play the part of jailer with them. But what was he to do? He wasn't sure he had the courage to simply walk away from it all. If he let the ram go, the creature would run back to his friends and tell them where they were, while letting Daphne go free meant facing the terrible wrath of his father and brothers. How could he hope to survive as a fugitive from his own father, whose eyes were all-seeing, all-knowing? He could barely remember the mortal realm enough not to get dismally lost in it. . . . probably the reason he'd been chosen for the Summoning, he realized.

"Perhaps I will not climb the tree at all," Artesda said tiredly after a pause. "We will rest here while I try to remember the way --"

"Or," said the ram, and Artesda and Daphne looked at him, "you could just ask me."

Daphne opened her mouth eagerly, but Artesda snapped before she could speak, "We will not trust the guidance of a demon!"

The ram looked at Artesda with something between pity and disgust. "Even now, lost as you are, you cling to your foolish beliefs instead of taking help when it is offered? Well, no one ever said the sons of Araton were smart."

Artesda scowled. "Why should we trust you? Why would you help us reach the Tower of Calantha? You do not wish for the Purest One to reach Heaven. You would snatch her away to your Hell."

"Except my father's realm is no hell," the ram returned irritably. "And what have I to lose if I help you? You have already decided to kill me before this is through," he said sullenly.

"Let him help us, Artesda," Daphne insisted.

Artesda wasn't convinced. He waved a paw at the ram. "He probably seeks to lead us into a trap." He shook his head. "No, Purest One. Never trust a demon."

The ram rolled his eyes.

Daphne stuck her paws on her hips. "Then what do you propose we do?" Behind her, the sun was lowering, drifting down between the trees. It would be dark soon, and Artesda realized they had been resting for hours.

"Just let him help us, Artesda! We're lost, hungry, and tired. And if we don't figure out where we are before nightfall," Daphne went on in a gentler tone, "we'll be vulnerable to bandits and --"

Artesda's ear twitched when he heard a leaf crunch. Daphne was still talking when he covered her mouth, and in one fluid motion, had locked her against his chest and drawn his sword. In the sudden silence, he listened with bated breath. They were being watched. He could hear six unseen beings breathing nearby, perhaps seven. One was female and - by the scent of her -- she was a mule.

"Come out!" Artesda called. "By my father's mercy, I will end your lives quickly!"

The leaves crunched again, bushes rustled, and five donkeys peeled out of the foliage, accompanied by one female mule. Though peaceful donkeys did indeed inhabit the forest, the creatures who approached were all dressed as bandits, wearing the mismatched pieces of armor they'd taken from enslaved, murdered, and robbed horses: leather gauntlets, worn boots, frayed scabbards, torn shirts. All of them were small and gray, but the female was even smaller and was a muddy brown. They wielded chipped swords and daggers, but the mule pointed a crossbow at Artesda's face, grinning as she aimed right between his eyes.

Artesda's heart skipped a painful beat when he noticed the donkey in the lead: he was wielding a golden sword that caught the sunlight like water. Artesda slowly scowled: his sword_._

"Well, well, well," sang the donkey with the golden sword. He sauntered up with a swishing tail and halted, regarding Artesda with wicked blue eyes. "Looky what we got here: _another_angel."

Artesda's nostrils flared. "Another?"

The mule let out a maniacal stream of laughter. "Found one the other day," she said, eying Artesda up and down. "Was all handsome and serious jus' like you. Liked it when I sat on his dick. Never had pussy before." She fluttered her lashes. "I might just be carryin' an angel foal!"

The others laughed.

"With your dried up pussy?" chuckled the leader, and as the others laughed even louder, the mule stuck out her tongue.

"What did you do with him?" Artesda demanded angrily.

The leader regarded Artesda in amusement. "Same thing you did to your demon friend there," he said, nodding his head at the ram, who had gone very still against his tree. The leader eyed Artesda curiously. "Aren't you angel-boys supposed to be innocent and pure and all that? Yet you tie up the demons and fuck 'em. Heh."

Artesda's face darkened.

"Nah, Griff," said one the bandits, and the leader turned his head to look at him. The bandit had roughly pulled the ram to his hooves and was standing behind him. He reached under the ram's skirt, and Artesda's saw the ram's eyes widen in shock and indignation as something was done to him. "This one's still a virgin!" guffawed the bandit, and the others laughed darkly.

"So you're righteous after all," said Griff, looking at Artesda with the curious blue eyes. "Or maybe you just hadn't fucked the sheep-demon yet." He laughed. "We may have just saved him from you!"

Artesda was coldly silent. His arm was tight around Daphne as he glanced, slowly and icily, left and right. There were only six of them and they were sloppy enough to leave one side of the perimeter wide open. He could perhaps fight his way out and flee with Daphne, but for some reason he did not want to leave the ram behind. He glanced over at Izra, who was stiff and trembling as the donkey bandit reached from behind and slid a paw down the front of his red panties. The ram bit his lip and held back a cry as he was groped behind the fabric. The other donkeys watched the molestation with dark-eyed lust - all of them except the leader Griff, who was looking intently at Artesda.

Griff's eyes were glazed with lust as they passed over Artesda, and Artesda stiffened. "Tell you what," the bandit leader said, "you give yourself to us, and we'll let the Purest Pussy there go."

Daphne stiffened with fear in Artesda's arm. Did she really believe he would hand her over?

"No, you won't," Artesda said at once.

The donkeys laughed. "This one is clever!" shouted one.

Griff sighed in mock disappointment. "Then we do this the hard way." He jerked his head at the mule, and Artesda didn't understand why until he felt the bolt that shot from her crossbow. Pain twisted through his neck, and he could feel the drug burning through him. He let go of Daphne to clutch in a sudden panic at his throat, and the last thing he heard as he fell to the ground was her scream.

When Artesda awoke again, his paws were bound in front of him with rope, and he was sitting on the ground . . . completely naked. He immediately tried to get up and felt his penis flapping when he slumped to his knees again, head spinning. Everything was a blur, and as spots danced before his eyes, he could hear Daphne somewhere, shouting threats in a rage. He followed the sound of her voice and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her: she was on her knees, her wrists were bound, and the mule was holding her by the mane. Blood was running from Daphne's nose, as if she had fought, but at least she was still wearing her robe. None of the donkeys were bothering her, but when Daphne continued shouting, the female mule laughingly took a rag and crammed it in her mouth.

Two of the males had wrestled the ram to submission and were toying with him. Even with his paws bound behind his back, even as small as he was, Izra was still a son of Araini, still strong and quite powerful in build. It had taken two of them to bring him to his knees, and given how tired and panting they all were, it had been quite a struggle. They had stripped him of all garments except his red panties and had pulled his fat brown penis out of them. The sight of his muscular black body, tense with rage between them, was enough to almost make Artesda hard himself. One bandit had grabbed Izra by the horns and was forcing him to miserably suck, while the other knelt behind Izra and slowly, carefully fondled him to dripping. Izra's black eyes were suffering, and though he was indeed erect, it was clear he wanted none of it. He trembled all over with barely suppressed fury as the donkeys had their way with him, and watching in horror as it happened, Artesda's heart quickened as he realized they were about to do the same thing to him.

The two remaining males, however, were too busy at the moment to think of Artesda. They were looking over Artesda's armor, which they'd stripped from his body as he was comatose. One was admiring the sword the blacksmith had given Artesda back in Haymar, while the other smoothed reverent paws over his white armor.

Griff - still wielding his golden sword, Artesda noticed with fury - was standing over Artesda, smiling down at his anger and confusion. "You angels," said the bandit leader and shook his head. "You all come down here and think you're invincible because you survived a few demon battles." He snorted. "My people were fighting the demons of Araini long before Araton got off his ass to protect Olyndor."

". . . Oltru," Artesda corrected with a taunting smile. He grunted when Griff gave him the back of his fist. Artesda bowed his head from the blow and tasted blood, but he smiled to himself: the strike was like the bite of a flea. He tensed when the bandit leader grabbed him by the face and made him look at him. The raging lust in the male's eyes startled him.

"Araton was a fool to send his innocent, arrogant sons here," Griff whispered. Clutching Artesda's face hard, he started unbuttoning his pants. "I bet you never had a dick in your ass. Do you even know what a hard cock looks like? Has yours ever been hard? Probably not. Araton would've kept all that from you."

Artesda stared at the male bitterly and couldn't help glancing once at Daphne, who was watching helplessly, her head pulled back by the mane, a dagger at her throat. The mule who held her hostage laughed shrilly. "He ain't never seen no dick, Griff! Make no mistake!" she shouted to the bandit leader.

Griff followed Artesda's gaze, and when he realized he was looking at Daphne, he smiled. "Ah . . ." he said, and Artesda glared at him. "You and the Purest One?" He gasped in mock horror. "What would your Heavenly Daddy think!"

The male donkeys appraising Artesda armor laughed as they set it aside. They stood up, drawing near, smiling darkly, as Griff pulled his erection out of his pants. It stood upright in Artesda's face, surprisingly large for such a small donkey, and Artesda knelt there naked, paws bound, looking at the rigid penis in disgust. It smelled salty and it was pulsing with veins, and the sack hanging behind it was covered in mottled gray and white fur. Griff grabbed Artesda by the mane and whispered, "Suck my dick."

"Hell yeah!" shouted the mule, who watched what was happening with eager black eyes.

"Get it nice and wet," Griff said in a raspy voice. "Because I'm gonna put it in your ass - and trust me, you'll want my dick wet for that."

As Artesda knelt there, the erection standing in his face and waiting to choke him, it finally sank in exactly how horrible his actions against Izra had been. Now he knew how Izra had felt. He glanced over at the ram, completely expecting satisfaction on Izra's face. One of the donkeys had climaxed in Izra's mouth and he was hunched over, spitting the white seed on the dirt. He looked up, white fluids dripping from his lips, and when his eyes met Artesda's, they were only . . . pitying. In that moment, Artesda realized that Izra - the one he believed to be a demon - was a better person than he. Izra was capable of forgiveness and empathy, of everything Artesda had claimed to stand for even while _raping his mouth._With a sudden thrill of self-loathing, Artesda realized he deserved what was about to happen to him. He swallowed hard and supposed he could only be grateful he didn't have horns for the donkeys to pull.

Having used Izra to their pleasing, the other donkeys came over to Artesda, and now all the males were crowding in, fondling their erections as they looked with anticipation at Artesda. They stroked themselves slowly, looking with hungry eyes at his hunched and muscular body, at the large phallus that lay soft against his thigh. One of them said they wanted to see Artesda get hard, and Artesda was horrified when they snatched a feather from his wing, then knelt beside him and stroked his penis with it.

Artesda blushed furiously and tried to hold back, his rippling belly trembling as the careful feather was tickled up and down his shaft, slowly, gently coaxing him to arousal, until his penis started to stiffen little by little. It was the nuns at Brayven all over again. As he strained with a contorted face to ignore the coaxing feather, Griff grabbed a fistful of Artesda's golden mane and crammed himself in the angel's mouth.

Artesda choked as the throbbing erection forced its way in, pulling his lips almost taunt with its width, gliding hot against his gurgling tongue. He grunted miserably and tried to pull free, but Griff only held on tighter, and a burn tingled across his scalp when his mane was pulled. He kept resisting anyway, only to feel another donkey grab him by the shoulders and hold him in place. An erection brushed his back as Griff pulled on his hair, forcing him to suck, until his mouth was going back and forth on the hot shaft, leaving it glossy with his saliva.

The feather was stroking over Artesda's sack now, and it suddenly became too intense. He pulled away from Griff and sputtered as his penis finally stood, resentfully hard and firm. He was shocked when two of the delighted donkeys got down and started licking him, and as his penis throbbed, heaved, and flinched to avoid their eager tongues, Griff pulled on his mane again, forcing him to suck.

Artesda's own helpless, muffled cries angered him. His own erect penis angered him. He wanted it to go down, to obey him, to not give the fiends what they wanted! But his penis, with a mind of its own, stood rigid and vulnerable to their licking and fondling, until it was dripping, as if begging for more.

A third donkey was squeezing Artesda's backside, massaging it, prying his buttocks apart to look at his anus, and he shivered, surrounded by them all, powerless, and unable to escape. That one little mule with a poisoned bolt had done this to him would haunt him the rest of his days.

"Mmpfh," Griff grunted as his penis twitched inside Artesda's mouth, and panicking lest he be forced to swallow, Artesda tried to pull away. "Oh, no, you don't!" Griff snarled and held on, cramming himself deeper as he flinched to release. "A-Ahhh!" The hot fluid rushed to fill Artesda's mouth, until it was overflowing and dripping down his chin. Artesda gurgled helplessly, struggling with all his might not to swallow. His throat flexed, stubbornly resisting as the large erection heaved. He was relieved when Griff pulled himself free, and he sagged forward, immediately spitting his seed on the grass. He could feel Daphne's sympathetic eyes watching him, could feel Izra watching with sadness, and his defeat further filled him with shame.

"Let him get down like the dog he is," said Griff, backing away.

Artesda was shoved down on paws and knees by the other donkeys, who fondled him, caressed him, and stared at his tense, muscular body in wonder. He opened his wing as if to hide from their staring, but two of them wrestled his wing back down, and then he felt Griff's paws holding his backside. His thighs trembled when they were kicked roughly part, his golden tail shivered when it was smacked aside.

"Mm," Griff muttered, "look at this tight piece of ass. I'm gonna ride the shit outta you, stallion." His admiring paw smoothed over Artesda's backside, and Artesda shivered angrily. "Oren . . ." Griff called, "bring me the bridle."

Artesda looked around in a silent panic, wondering dismally what a bridle was.

The one called Oren drew near, smiling nastily. He was carrying a tangle of leather straps, which were connected to reins. Artesda gasped when the bridle was fitted roughly in his mouth and fastened around his head. Griff then took the reins, and he pulled on them viciously, snapping Artesda's head back as his thick erection sank hard and sudden between Artesda's muscular buttocks.

Artesda's eyes widened as he was filled right to the base, and he whinnied loudly, bucking and twisting, trying to escape, his hard penis wobbling in his sudden panic. He could hear the donkeys hooting and laughing as he struggled and bucked, his muscular body flexing to escape, his eyes desperate. But bucking was only allowing Griff's hard penis to sink deeper through the squirming walls of his tight anus, and he could feel the blood seeping down his thighs. Without thinking, blind in his desperation to escape, he struggled even harder. Griff held on, riding defiantly against his bucking.

"If you were smart, you'd gentle down, angel-boy," Griff panted, smoothing an admiring paw over Artesda's tight back. "You're only making this worse for yourself and better for me. Mm, every time you wiggle, I get so deep." He gave Artesda's hard backside a firm slap, and Artesda gasped as he felt the red blush creep over his buttocks. But he kept bucking, thinking surely he could break the bridle. It was only thin leather strips! And yet, somehow, the bridle never broke, and Griff moaned and sighed as Artesda's bucking allowed him to sink deeper and harder.

Eventually, Griff pulled so hard on the reins that Artesda was forced to lean back against him, his golden eyes helpless and pained, his mouth foaming against the bit, his pink erection wobbling against the air. Griff reached around to fondle Artesda as he continued the brutal ride, and Artesda blushed angrily as the other donkeys touched themselves, watching the struggle with narrow-eyed satisfaction.

Griff's eyes glinted as he slammed himself in, faster, harder. He suddenly yanked viciously on the reins, snapping Artesda's head back as he pressed himself in to the base and released with a stifled cry. Artesda shivered as the hot fluids filled him, until they were dribbling between his buttocks and down his trembling thighs. His humiliation complete, he sagged against his captor.

Griff snatched himself out of Artesda, forcing a shocked cry from him. He shoved Artesda down on his face and rose, looking down at the angel with twisted hatred and disgust. "Fucking . . . horses," he said breathlessly. "You're just . . . you're just ass."

"I wanna ride 'im next," said one of the donkeys at once.

"I got his mouth," said another.

Artesda lay there in defeat, his cheek against the earth as one of the donkeys lifted his hips and started licking ravenously on his sore anus. He tensed, closing his eyes against the sudden pleasant intrusion of a tongue. The tongue withdrew after only a few licks, and Artesda angrily set his teeth, preparing for the moment when another erection would force its way under his tail. The moment never came. There was a zip, followed by a scream of pain, and then the donkey had fallen in the grass beside Artesda, dark blood pooling near his horrified face.

Confused, Artesda lifted his head and blinked to see the donkeys falling one after another, arrows zipping through chests and faces in splashes of blood as they screamed for mercy and fled.

Daphne was sitting rigid with shock and was sprinkled with blood, as bedside her on the ground, the dead mule stared blankly at the sky, her body riddled with arrows. Wrists still bound, Izra knelt in the dirt with his panties around his thighs, watching the sudden bloodshed in surprise. Artesda slowly dragged himself up, hope filling him. Perhaps some of his brothers had come to rescue him!

Griff was quite quickly the last donkey alive, and in a sudden panic, he snatched Artesda's golden sword from the grass and pointed it, spinning around and around. "Show yourself, you cowards!" he shrieked.

Artesda went still: a white mare stepped from the trees, tall and slender, her slanted eyes fierce, her white mane lifting in the breeze. She wore tight leather pants and a loose shirt, feathers were woven in her mane, and she was wielding a short bow that was nocked with an arrow. She lifted it slowly and drew the string back, her eyes glinting coldly.

Griff scowled, and in a last moment of defiance, he lifted Artesda's golden sword and charged at the mare. He only took one step before an arrow was sprouting from his face. The mare didn't even blink as he fell to the grass. She calmly turned away and approached Daphne, who was kneeling in the grass with large, horrified eyes, her paws still bound and the rag still in her mouth.

Daphne and the white mare stared at each other a long time, until eventually, the white mare whispered, ". . . Sun Tail?"