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The Beastmaker's Victory

Thick, black smoke covered the skies. What little light penetrated them showed a scenery out of an apocalyptic vision - a field covered in corpses both human and not, broken weapons and arrows sticking out of the ground. In the nearby bay, blood-red waves lapped quietly against the shore, carrying fragments of driftwood... and fragments of sailors. Lorrack looked upon it all from his strategy-room at the top of the tower, and felt a creeping horror at the sight. This, after all, was his victory. He'd led the most powerful army in the history of the continent into battle, and won - at enormous, almost incalculable cost.

Someone with a poor understanding at language might have claimed that his forces had been decimated. That, however, would suggest that only one tenth of his total manpower had been lost - something that would've been considered serious, demoralizing casualties in any ordinary war. This battle, however, had been anything BUT ordinary - and the real numbers were dreadfully close to being the other way around. He had maybe a tenth of his original forces LEFT. Not all of the other ninety percent were dead, of course. A huge number were simply wounded. Some of them would be back on their feet within days or weeks, thanks to the tireless labors of his severely overworked healers. Less fortunate ones might return to their homes permanently crippled. And many would simply join the ranks of the fallen, lagging slightly behind the comrades they had stood shoulder to shoulder with on the battlefield, as they all marched towards the Land of the Dead together.

And yet, he had won. The tactician in him refused to acknowledge that. Certainly, his losses were far, far greater than what he had managed to inflict on the opposition. His ENTIRE FLEET had been slaughtered to a man, leaving not a single survivor, barely even managing to fire a shot at anything, and causing no damage when they did. The Leviathan had seen to that - he still remembered the ice-cold terror that had paralyzed him as he watched it from his towering vantage-point, rising from the icy depths of the bay like the living manifestation of a tidal-wave. It had devoured one of his trump-cards whole, and then some. He'd expected mermen, and dispatched soldiers to the ships to counter them. All he'd managed to do, however, was to give the dread beast a few extra iron-rations with its supper.

But, ah, the strategist in him knew - however horrid his losses, however many missteps he'd made, he'd done ONE thing right, and that had been enough. Never before in warfare had the symbolism of chess been more real - the vast army that had faced him had a King... and once he took it, the whole army fell apart. So it did not matter that the archers and crossbowmen he had placed on high vantage-points had been torn apart by several wings of Griffons sweeping down on them like lightning from clear skies. It was irrelevant that the 'false' army of Centaurs he's studiously ignored had turned out to be real, and carved enormous holes in his infantry.

He'd done one thing right: The fire-archers he'd scattered throughout the theater of war had shot down several odd birds made from wood and sailcloth, and in doing so had robbed The Beastmaker of her grand, aerial view of the battlefield. She'd been forced to move closer to the front lines to watch the battle directly from a hilltop vantage - and because she had been thus blinded, she hadn't seen the squadron of elite scouts, stranded behind enemy lines by sheer mischance, creeping up on her. The handful of bodyguard-beasts she'd had with her had been destroyed in a daring surprise attack, admittedly driven more by desperation than heroism - the lieutenant of the scout-group had realized that the only way they'd make it back to safety alive was with a supremely valuable hostage.

The Beastmaker. A witch, a monster, a demi-goddess - she'd been called many things. But whatever she was, there was little she could do when bound in chains with a blade against her throat. With the threat of immediate death should any of her beasts of animated wood or stone even get close, she had been forced to clear a path for them through the lines of battle - right back to his fortress, where she now languished in his dungeon. The King had fallen. And with it, the army. The animated beasts that made up the bulk of the enemy forces had fallen back in disarray, forcing their allies to follow suit or be destroyed in isolation. Victory was his. Horrible, horrible victory.

His dark eyes drilled into the black clouds above. Pillars of smoke always marked the sites of great battles - even if neither side deliberately employed fire as a weapon, something would inevitably catch flame at some point, while everybody were too busy killing each other to play firefighters. Of course, when one of the participating forces happened to be made up partially of highly flammable wooden beasts, there was bound to be a LOT of smoke. By now, though, most of the smoke rising towards the darkened skies came from the pyres. His soldiers, mainly, mixed with the occasional griffon or centaur. The ratio was depressing. Most of those soldiers weren't really 'his', of course - they were a borrowed army, the combined forces of an alliance of northern lords who had feared the advance of The Beastmaker enough to put aside their habitual squabbling and backstabbing for long enough to band together... and hire him to direct their makeshift army.

But some of the corpses on those pyres... just a handful, really... were HIS men. Members of his mercenary battalion, with whom he had traveled across the known world and fought in numerous battles. Most of them had participated in the battle as frontline commanders, and several had paid the price. Considering that, it was really a miracle that so few of them had died... or maybe just a tribute to the great physical condition he expected them to keep. Enough said, several of them had returned alive... alone... and at a dead run. Not Markaith, though. His personal aide. Too eager to prove himself worthy of his shiny new Captain's bars, perhaps. Too eager to prove himself to Lorrack the Black. He'd fought to the death, and now his corpse was just one more bit of fuel for the pyres. He'd considered pulling the youth aside, giving him a proper burial or something. Maybe just a personal pyre. A little ceremony. But he'd decided not to. Markaith had died a worthy death, but so had thousands of other soldiers on that battlefield. It wouldn't do to single out just one for honors.

Shuffling footsteps on the winding stairs interrupted Lorrack's dark thoughts. Someone was coming to visit, at a rather sedate pace. As he tended to, he tried to predict the nature of the visitor before the mousy fellow showed up in the doorway - an easy task this time. A messenger bearing important news would've dashed up the stairs, puffing and wheezing. A messenger bearing bad news would've walked up haltingly and hesitantly. Urgency and despair were two emotions that could be said to encompass virtually everyone still alive in the camp. Except one man. His name was Rhadamar Vincento Madribar Van Urmekzeen... or something like that. Lorrack hadn't bothered learning his name properly, partially because it didn't strike him as being a worthwhile use of his time, and partially because he got some petty amusement from seeing the guy grimace in annoyance whenever he mispronounced it. In his own head, he just called him The Rat.

The Rat was not a soldier, nor even an officer. He was a bureaucrat, sent by the 'Great Allied Council of Northern City-States', a governing body far less coherent and stable than their name made them out to be. He was the watchdog, employed to keep an eye on their 'investment', and advice Lorrack himself of their orders. Not a position designed to endear him to Lorrack... or to anyone else, for that matter. And now, his mousy face, crowned by a thin halo of graying hair and a pair of thick, heavy glasses, rose into view from the staircase. Why? He already knew the answer to that. A message. Heck, he could even guess the contents of it with a high degree of accuracy.

Nodding at the rat-faced intruder, Lorrack turned his back on the soul-wrenching scenery outside his windows, sat down at the worn, old hardwood table that dominated the center of the room, and planted a pair of brass goblets on top of the strategic map that covered it. He grabbed a crystal carafe from a nearby serving-table and poured himself a cup of wine. It was a fine vintage, deep red... and reminded him uncomfortably of the bloodied tides lapping against the shores not far from the walls of his castle. He held the carafe over the other cup and silently raised an eyebrow at The Rat. The man nodded quickly, and took a seat across the table from him as Lorrack poured him a drink.

They both enjoyed a quick mouthful of wine in silence. However much he might dislike the man, Lorrack had to grant him this much - there really wasn't anyone in the castle, or the surrounding camp, who DIDN'T need a drink. Not even the mousy little bureaucrat before him. "So, Rhamadar..." he finally said, once again grinning inwardly as the man's face twitched. "I take it you've got a message for me, what with coming all the way up here?" The Rat nodded, fingers nervously drumming on the table as he grasped the goblet of wine with his other hand. "Yes. The sending from the Council just arrived. They have... specific orders for you."

Lorrack nodded, then held up a hand for silence as The Rat began to open his mouth again. "I understand. However, before you tell me that message, allow me to state a few things for the record. Make sure it goes into all the paperwork, and gets passed back to the Council. They are in charge, since they pay my wages - but before I carry out their will, it is my right to state my own advice on matters of strategy." The Rat nodded, and parchment seemed to materialize out of thin air between his fingers, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. Trust a bureaucrat to always be prepared. "Certainly, General Lorrack. If you want to go on record with something, I am always happy to... well, record it." He smiled wanly. Lorrack returned it in kind.

"Very well, then. With regards to the prisoner, Sayn, also known as 'Running-Through-Grass', also known as 'The Beastmaker'... my recommendation is that we use her imprisonment to negotiate from a position of power. In return for some territorial concessions and a long-term promise of non-interference with regard to the Alliance of Northern City-States, she should then be set free." He was deliberately looking at the ceiling as he talked, but he could hear the quill scratch across the parchment as The Rat briefly lost control of it. Ignoring it, he continued. "While this might seem a less-than-ideal solution, especially in view of the fact that any such treaty can be broken, and that the losses we've suffered will leave us all extremely vulnerable for the foreseeable future, it is - in my judgment - the ONLY conclusion to this campaign that will not lead to the destruction of the Northern City-States within a ten-year period."

He lowered his gaze to bore his eyes into The Rat's incredulous face. "Many believe she is a goddess, or at least a half-god - remember that. Some of those people live in the Northern City-States. Soon, there will be many more who believe this. Not only did she secure the cooperation of the Griffons, and bring the barbarian Centaurs to heel, she commanded the Leviathan. You noticed that, yes? Gargantuan, ship-devouring beast? Said to be the favored pet of the Sea-God Cerulec, abandoned when he disappeared along with all the other gods? Yeah, that one. Many would say that that alone proves her divinity. And many more are desperate enough for the return of the gods to cling to any hope, any sign, any possibility."

Tenting his fingers before him, he stared down the rat-faced bureaucrat, who had stopped writing entirely. "If we do the obvious, foolish thing and execute her... she will not just become a martyr. She will become a goddess in truth. The multitudes who wish to worship her will be able to do so without the bothersome details of her physical existence getting in the way. Furthermore, the Southern City-States who supported her remain - their armies undiminished, since they did not participate in the battle. If the alliance that The Beastmaker apparently forged with the Centaurs holds even beyond her death, that would give them the ability to pull vast numbers of troops away from their eastern frontiers, too. They'd be in a perfect position to launch a 'holy war' against those who slew their goddess - a popular war, backed by an outraged populace. Considering our losses here, we would not be able to stop them. We would barely be able to slow them down. If the Griffons and the Centaurs support them, we will not even be able to do that."

With a sigh, he gave up the staring-contest and leaned back in the chair again, hefting his half-full goblet of wine in one hand. "And as if all that wasn't enough, we have no guarantee that the Beasts will simply keel over and die if we slay their maker. Recent intelligence seems to suggest that her consort, the Kirin known as Korlin, is able to command the beasts to some degree as well. Said Kirin will likely also be extremely angry at us if we slew her lover. Even if she cannot maintain the force of Beasts, she could do a great deal of damage just by backing the Southern City-States with her counsel and supportive magical abilities. Taking all of those factors together, I'm sure you can see how it adds up - executing The Beastmaker would be foolish bordering on suicidal." He smiled sardonically at the look on The Rat's face - an odd mix of terror, shock and disbelief. "Now, then, I've said my piece. I believe you had a message for me, hmm? Best say it before you forget."

The Rat's voice was shaky as he spoke up. "Yes... ahem. Orders from The Great Allied Council of the Northern City-States. Concerning the captured enemy leader known as 'The Beastmaker', you are to arrange for her execution within a fortnight, and have her end magically recorded in crystallic imprints, to be sent to the Northern City-States so that all of the people can see that she was no goddess, but merely a mortal woman." He was slightly breathless as he finished that mouthful, and was pushing himself as far back in his seat as he could get - as if he was afraid that the man sitting across from him would suddenly and violently explode.

Instead, however, Lorrack laughed. "Yes... that's what I thought. And I'm glad to hear it." The Rat blinked in confusion, and with a lopsided grin, Lorrack explained himself. "I am a strategist, Rhidimar, but I am also a man. I know what the strategically correct move is in this situation, but that doesn't mean it's one I WANT to make. That bitch hurt me - hurt me bad. Killed my men. Destroyed my army. She made me look like a fool, outwitting me on nearly every front. I want to watch her swing from the gallows just as badly as your paymasters do. And unlike them, I'll be gone before the consequences come home to roost. So, you just make sure my official recommendations are duly recorded... and I'll make sure she dies painfully. And we all go home happy. Well, I do, anyway." The Rat seemed so taken aback by this frank statement that he didn't even react to his butchered name. He just nodded several times in rapid succession, gathered up his ink-stained parchment, and shuffled towards the stairs at what was, for him, a breakneck pace.

Lorrack peered through the small, square window in the stout, iron-bound prison-door. She didn't look like much now, this supposed goddess who had thrown most of the continent into terror, religious elation, or both. She was kneeling on the cold stone floor... not that she had any choice. Her wrists were bound by steel manacles, connected by a thick chain going through a metal loop set into the floor itself. A precaution, to ensure that she didn't start crafting new beasts out of her straw mattress, or maybe the rodent bones piled in the corner. That it also left her in a rather uncomfortable position, sleeping on the floor instead of said mattress, was a minor concern at best.

Her face was currently concealed behind a curtain of unkempt hair, her head held low - but he'd seen it, when she was first brought in. No divine beauty, nor a terrible witch - just an ordinary girl, by all appearances. Shapely, though, underneath the simple prison tunic. Curvy in all the right places. His smile grew frosty. He'd sampled the skills of some of the finest courtesans of the continent during his travels - often celebrating his victories by spending a fair portion of his bounty in some upscale brothel or the like. Normally, a girl like her wouldn't even be worth a second glance. But that wasn't really what it was about. The curvature of her hips and the swelling of her chest wasn't what was making his dick hard, straining against the fabric of his tailor-made black silk trousers.

It was about power. Revenge. She'd hurt him, humiliated him... but now she was in his power, and she was about to die. He'd already made the arrangements. The mages needed three days to set up the crystals that would record the moment of her death, so that it could be replayed in the Northern City-States as proof of their victory. So that was how long she had left. Three days. And there was no reason to waste that time. No reason to let her go to the gallows untouched. He turned his head to glance at the guard assigned to watch the door - a young, jumpy-looking fellow. "Hey, you... go grab yourself a bite to eat or something. Give me a little privacy. And while you're at it, spread the word - once I'm done with her, she's open season 'till the execution. No point letting good meat go to waste, right?"

The young soldier blinked and saluted, while the nervous look on his face took on a hungrier cast. He left without another word, dashing to bring the news to his comrades. Lorrack turned to look through the window again, toying with the key in his hand. Whatever he might do to her would be a vacation compared to what was to come. There were rules, after all, when it came to prisoners... particularly female prisoners. For high-ranking, political ones, the rule was 'hands off'. For others, it was 'no visible marks'. In either case, though, if a high-ranking officer declared 'open season' - a completely unofficial term with no backing in any rule-book in the military, but nonetheless universally recognized - the gloves came off. The soldiers got free reign to have their fun, unleashing their frustrations, their hatred and sorrow about the friends they had lost on the battlefield, on the defenseless women. About the only rules that remained in effect at that point was "keep her alive" and "save the nasty stuff 'till everyone else has had their turn".

The lock clanked noisily as he turned the key in it, and the door creaked as it swung open. His nostrils twitched as he stepped inside, protesting the offensive stench of the cell. Moving rather delicately, he pushed the reeking bucket standing next to her a bit further away, underneath the unused bed, with one foot. It helped a bit, he thought as he closed the door behind him. She hadn't looked up when he entered - rather, she just seemed to be pulling in her shoulders and arching her back more, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Maybe she thought he was her executioner? No such luck for her. Three days of torment and humiliation stood between her and that blessed release, and he would be the one to get that ball rolling.

She flinched when he pulled his dagger from its sheath, recognizing the sharp, whistling sound of that act. His target, however, was not her flesh - at least not directly. The sharp steel cut through the fragile shoulder-straps of her prison tunic with ease, barely marking the skin beneath with thin, red lines. Then he cut the simple garment open along the curvature of her spine, from neck to leg, and let it flutter to the ground beneath her as she trembled at the touch of his steel. It was a rough-spun, dirty piece of cloth, but it was all she'd had to protect her from both the chill and the hard stone floor. Well, he rather doubted that the cold would bother her from now on - the men would be lining up to help keep her warm, after all.

He walked around to her front again, casually unbuttoning the crotch of his pants before reaching down and casually grabbing a handful of her stringy, dark-brown hair. Pulling on it, he forced her head up, and met her eyes with a cold smile on his lips. Dark-purple bruises were visible on her face - artifacts of her original capture, rather than any rough treatment while under his care. That would change, soon. Her eyes were filled with hopelessness and despair. He grinned down at her as he let his thick hard-on escape from the tight constraints of his pants, poking out from the luxurious, black fabric like a flagpole. "I think we both know what's about to happen, my dear... you're no fool, after all. I know that. The only question at this point is exactly how painful the experience is going to be. And believe me, it COULD become... VERY painful for you." He underlined the last part of the statement by resting the blade of his knife against her cheekbone, right beneath her left eye. It was a hollow threat, in a sense - he wasn't going to cut her eyes out. She needed to still be reasonably recognizable when she walked to the gibbet, after all. But she didn't know that, and he'd found that there was no more effective area to threaten than the eyes... well, not on women, anyway.

Sure enough, it had the desired impact. She flinched away from the razor-sharp blade, a sob making its way up her throat as she stared at the reflective steel with terror in her eyes. When he pulled it away and instead pushed his throbbing erection at her face, she barely hesitated - her mouth opened, and her dry, cracked lips covered the teeth as she invited him in. With a grin, he sheathed the dagger and grabbed the back of her head, holding her still as he thrust his cock into the soft, moist embrace of her mouth. Most men would've been cagey about taking up that option as a first - if she wasn't suitably broken, she could cause a lot of damage with her teeth alone. At the very least, most others would've considered it a gamble. But he was a strategist - he didn't make bets, he calculated odds and took the surest path he could find. He was confident that she wouldn't dare bite him - and in testing that confidence, he proved his power over her, to himself as well as her, more surely than any other act could have.

He was holding onto her head with both hands now, his fingers tangled in her hair as he thrust his member repeatedly into her mouth. She was surprisingly skilled, he thought - her tongue dancing around his sensitive cockhead with practiced ease, and caressing the length of the shaft whenever the head wasn't in reach. There was no sign of a gag-reflex or any other difficulties when he pushed past her palate and into her throat - her breathing simply settled into the rhythm of his thrusts, avoiding the kind of coughing and choking an amateur would have been left struggling with under these circumstances. After a couple of minutes, she even started to apply some suction, hollowing her cheeks and sending little shivers of pleasure coursing up his spine. Either he had her well and truly cowed, he thought, or she was so experienced at cock-sucking that the response had become borderline instinctive.

The same question could be applied to her response when he came, filling her mouth with his bitter seed. She swallowed it without hesitation, her throat bulging slightly as it slid down her gullet. Well, there was a third possible explanation for THAT, he gathered - she hadn't been fed very well since getting there. She was probably quite hungry by now. The thought made him chuckle - if cum could sate her hunger, she'd soon be well-fed indeed. Stepping back, he pulled his cock out of her mouth, gleaming wetly in the faint torchlight filtering in from outside the cell, and slapped her a couple of times across the face with it just for good measure.

Then he walked around her, the wet tool still glistening between his legs. "Stick out your ass and spread your legs!" He hissed angrily at her, giving her a swift kick in the ribs just to get her moving faster. She obeyed, of course - leaning forwards to put her weight on her hands as she skidded her knees backwards and lifted her rear into the air, her thighs spreading as she did so. He stood behind her for a few seconds, just admiring the view. The wrinkled tissue of her labia hung dryly between her legs, demonstrating her complete lack of sexual arousal. Her asshole showed clear signs of significant past stretching to his experienced eyes - the wrinkled-looking skin around it and the puffy, swollen texture of the sphincter itself was the main tip-off. It was also encrusted with filth - her bound hands had not afforded her the opportunity to wipe her own ass since she was thrown into this cell, after all.

Kneeling behind her, he leaned over her back while guiding his wet cock with one hand - towards the aforementioned, filth-encrusted orifice. He'd intended to fuck her ass from the beginning, hoping to inflict some pain on her while enjoying himself in the process, and a bit of dried crap wasn't about to scare him off - however, he already felt fairly certain that he wouldn't be causing her any trouble with his girth alone. Sure enough, her sphincter parted easily before his saliva-covered cockhead, swallowing it up with no difficulty whatsoever. He pumped his hip and felt his shaft slide home, deep into the dark tunnel of her rectum, until his balls laid against her pussy. She didn't even flinch at any point.

Resting his chest on her back, he reached underneath her and started playing with her heavy, dangling breasts - squeezing the soft tissue by the handful, or pinching and pulling at the sensitive nipples. This left his head right beside hers, his mouth close by her ear - and as he began to pump his hips in short, violent jerks, pounding her ass as roughly as he could manage, he started whispering in her ear. "You know, I never believed the rumors about you being a tremendous slut... I mean, I HEARD about them - tales of you spreading your legs to griffons and dragons and the barbarian subhumans from the western jungles, seducing their diplomats and winning strong alliances on your back. It's the kind of baseless rumors that tend to spring up whenever a woman obtains any amount of power, yes? But now... seeing how loose and slack your ass is, I've been forced to change my mind. You obviously ARE a huge, insatiable slut after all. I bet that army of Centaurs you called up managed to travel all the way through the southern city-states without their habitual raping and pillaging because you personally satisfied every last one of them. This sad old hole certainly seems to have taken its share of horsecocks..."

She turned her head to glare up at him, gritting her teeth as red-hot anger briefly burned through the hopelessness in her eyes. "Or maybe you just have a tiny dick." The words were whistled through her clenched teeth, and surprised him enough to make him laugh. "Oh, maybe I do, compared to the monsters you usually prefer to mate with, dear Beastmaker... still, a lady shouldn't speak that way. Ever." His laugh grew cold, and he released his hold on her right breast to reach back to his belt and pull his dagger from its sheath with a chilling, metallic noise. Without slowing his thrusts, he guided the sharp steel down and around her thigh, poking at her labia with the sharp point. It was barely enough to draw blood, but each poke nonetheless sent a short, brief shock through her body, while her ass tensed up delightfully around his cock.

His other hand stopped its tit-squeezing too, and reached down to her dry pussy to follow the creases of the outer labia and locate his exact target: The clitoral hood, thick and wrinkled, right at the point where the two fleshy folds met. Nimbly pulling it back, he rested the tip of the knife against the tiny, unprotected nub within, the cold metal sending shocks through her body just by being there, nevermind the implications. "No... please... I didn't mean it... I'm sorry..." the anger had vanished from her voice, and been replaced by desperate pleading as he slowly, deliberately pressed the needle-sharp point of his dagger against her clit.

"Turn your head towards me again." He commanded. She immediately obeyed, showing him eyes large with terror and tear-lines marking her cheeks. "Now, open your mouth wide." As she did it, he deliberately and noisily worked his throat, and then spat a thick wad of saliva directly into her waiting mouth. "Swallow it." His command had a note of finality to it, and was underlined by the point of his dagger pushing ever-so-slightly harder against her clit. Her throat was swelling as if she was resisting the urge to throw up, but somehow she managed to force it down and obey. He watched the bulge on her throat move downwards as she followed his command, once again reminded of who was in charge, and he grinned broadly."Swallowing your own words is a bit easier when you've got something to lubricate your throat, eh?" She didn't answer - just lowered her head again, letting her hair once again cover it like a curtain.

Smoothly sliding his dagger back in its sheath on his hip, he returned his hands to her dangling breasts and resumed pinching and pulling on them - with somewhat more roughness now, squeezing down hard on the flexible tissue and tearing at the nipples as he dug his nails into them. Meanwhile, he accelerated his thrusting, pouring swift strokes into her ass. Even if it wasn't exactly TIGHT, that didn't mean it wasn't a thoroughly enjoyable fuck-hole for him to use - with only the slimy coating of her inner walls and a layer of spit for lubrication, there was a pleasant amount of friction, and his rough handling of her tits frequently made her ass contract around him, squeezing his cock tightly.

Clenched fingers digging deep into her soft breast-tissue, he moaned through his teeth as he reached his climax. Deliberately, he suppressed his immediate instinct to bury his jerking, sperm-spurting cock fully in her ass and leave it there 'till he was done - instead, he continued thrusting with undiminished ferocity. Only when his orgasm ended, and the last few drops of cum dripped from the tip of his cock did he stop, push himself upright again, and pull out - gripping her hips for stability. His tool, predictably, was a mess. Vigorously pounding her dirty ass would've been bad enough by itself, but his choice to keep thrusting while he came had made bad worse - by spurting his sperm all over the inside of her rectum instead of into its depths, he'd stirred it together with the slime clinging to her inner walls, and pulled a fair amount of it back out along with it. Even from the present distance, it smelled rank and nauseating.

Pushing himself to his feet, he walked around her again, smile broadening. As soon as he'd seen the state of her ass, he'd known that he wouldn't be causing her any real, physical pain unless he wanted to start just plain torturing her. Heck, looking at the kind of stretching she'd apparently done, he'd probably just be getting her off if he started fisting her. However, the way she'd risen to his bait when he started whispering sweet nothings into her ear had also told him where to hit her so it'd hurt - the spirit. A cock up the ass might not hurt her, but the humiliation of it did. And this would be so much worse...

Grabbing her by the hair, he once again forced her head up, this time bringing her face-to-face with his scuzzy, rank-smelling, brown-speckled cock as he waved it under her nose. "Look at the mess you caused..." he practically purred, his voice soft. "This won't do at all. You're going to have to clean it... thoroughly." She flinched away, as far as his grip on her hair would allow, and the muscles in her neck stood out as she clamped her teeth tightly together. He placed his free hand on the hilt of his dagger in a blatant threat, making it completely clear with a whispered sentence. "If you don't... you might lose something important. Understand?" Apparently, she did. Slowly, reluctantly, her jaws opened and her lips parted, tears running down her face again as she opened her mouth for the nauseating task ahead.

Keeping a firm hold of her head with both hands, he thrust his dirty cock into her waiting mouth, making sure to push it all the way inside to start with - scraping off some of the mess covering his cockhead on the back of her throat, where she'd be hard-pressed to get rid of it. Then he pulled back a bit, so that she'd be able to reach most of his shaft... but the tongue that had danced so swiftly around his dick last time he visited was notable in its absence. Her lips were also curled back, trying to avoid touching his shaft. Clicking his tongue, he layered his voice with false concern and spoke up again. "Come, now, the sooner you finish cleaning it, the sooner it'll leave your mouth. I don't mind standing here for a while, but if you leave me waiting for too long, I might decide to take a piss."

That threat got her moving. The dry lips closed around his shaft, and the soft, wet tongue started to bathe his messy shaft, licking away the layer of grime he'd picked up in her ass. He could hear her throat working, creating gurgling coughs as she struggled against her desire to throw up. She was succeeding, though, and her tongue was gradually working its way through the dirty job. Despite having already cum twice, he felt his gradually-softening cock begin to firm up again under the delicate touch, responding to both the physical stimulation and his delight at watching her humiliation. Feeling the tip of her tongue follow the ridge that marked the base of his cockhead, scooping up the crud that had gotten caught there, made both aspects peak - and he found himself beginning to approach yet another orgasm.

He was nearly there when she finally finished, her dry lips cleaning the last of the stains from the base of his cock. Though briefly tempted to just maintain his grip on her head and face-fuck her to completion, he instead elected to pull out - her lips parting instantly, eager to no longer be in contact with his shaft - and held her head still with just one hand while jacking himself off with the other. It only took a few strokes before, with a slight groan, he was able to release his last load of the day (he knew his own limits, after all) on her face. He was careful enough with his aim to splatter most of the hot spunk across her left eye, and the pained expression on her cum-stained face indicated that she hadn't managed to close it quite fast enough. Chuckling at the sight, he pushed his rapidly-softening cockhead back into her still-open mouth, placing it against her tongue and waiting for her to dutifully clean off the fresh traces of sperm.

Finally satisfied, he stuffed his wet, shrinking cock back in his pants and let go of her head. She immediately sank into the same head-down, hair-concealing pose she'd had when he came in, pulling her knees back underneath her body. Snorting dismissively, he unlocked the cell-door and walked out, twirling the key between his fingers. More than just being sexually satisfied, he felt that he'd finally gotten his revenge for the humiliations she'd handed him on the battlefield... although, perhaps not quite for what he'd lost to her. Well, the men would see to THAT, over the next three days. The guard he'd sent off to spread the word hadn't returned yet - presumably, he didn't want to give offense by coming back too quickly and thus give the impression that he assumed the General lacked staying-power.

However, just as he was about to lock the door behind him, a presence on his left made him jump. Looking up, however, he relaxed - it was just The Rat, standing there in his usual, slightly hunched-over stance, with an odd expression on his face. "Ah, Rhamalar! Didn't expect to see YOU here. I figured word would get around that she's available, but I hadn't thought you'd be first in line to take advantage. Guess even bureaucrats have needs, eh?" He flashed the mousy little man a broad smile, amused by the flash of anger that ran over the bespectacled face. Yep, the old 'mispronounced name' bit still got a rise out of him - after the way he'd ignored it during their last conversation, he'd started to worry that the impact was wearing off from sheer repetition.

He turned his attention back on the door and stuck the key in the lock. A split second later, out of nowhere, pain exploded across the entire left side of his body, starting somewhere in his ribs and radiating out from there. His jaws snapped shut and his legs gave out under him as he fell to the ground, gibbering through clenched teeth. Looking down over his body, he could see little bright sparks of blue leaping across the various metallic objects he was carrying on his person. Then he looked up to see The Rat standing over him, lightning wreathed around his diminutive fist, and an expression of utter rage on his face. "Wh... wh..." He tried to ask the man a question, but his throat and jaws weren't cooperating.

The Rat pushed open the still unlocked door, and flinched at the sight within. Then he shook his head rapidly as if to clear it, grabbed Lorrack by the collar, and dragged him inside with surprising ease. The Beastmaker, who had at first just flinched from the sound of the opening door, looked up with vague curiosity when she heard the sound of his back skidding across the flagstones. With a final heave, The Rat sent the still-paralyzed Lorrack rolling to the back of the cell, and pulled the door closed behind him. Then he looked down at The Beastmaker with a pained expression of pity and horror on his face, and began to... shift.

The outline of the hunched-over, mousy little many shimmered and shifted, growing and morphing as features changed, disappeared, or emerged. Seconds later, standing where Rhadamar Van Urmekzeen had been only moments before, was a tall, startlingly beautiful woman with a handsome, androgynous face. The Beastmaker gasped in recognition, even as the women fell to her knees and hugged her. "I'm so sorry, Sayn... I should've gotten here sooner... I'm sorry I didn't save you before... I'm sorry..." Tears were rolling down the woman's face, while The Beastmaker looked at her in stunned disbelief. "Korlin... you came for me..." her voice sounded choked with tears.

Korlin pushed herself out of the embrace, looking at her lover's bruised, dirty, freshly-stained face with a loving smile. "Of course I came for you. I'll always come for you. But we need to move fast. Soldiers will be coming soon." She turned her attention down at the chain binding Sayn's hands to the floor, and ran a finger across each of the thick, metallic manacles. They clanked open, unlocked, and fell to the ground. Sayn absently rubbed the areas where they had held her, patches of clean skin amidst the grime that covered the rest of her body, and looked up at the light streaming through the cell-door's window with longing.

Lorrack, meanwhile, was slowly regaining his ability to think straight, if not his ability to move. The Kirin. That's who it was, obviously. He hadn't expected her to do something so direct. Kirin weren't warriors, they didn't sneak into fortresses filled with blood-drenched soldiers... they were manipulators, politicians and strategists. He'd considered her enormous, magical power as a purely strategic threat, not as a tactical one. One more mistake. But she'd never get out... the guard would be back soon. He'd raise an alarm as soon as he saw that The Beastmaker was missing. There'd be soldiers running all over the place, searching everywhere. No amount of shape-shifting would see a Kirin out through that.

He felt her impossibly-strong fingers close around his collar again, and was dragged groaning across the floor to the spot The Beastmaker had just vacated. She was standing up now, rubbing her legs as she looked out the cell-door's small window, watching for the returning guard. The manacles clicked shut around his wrist, chaining him down like she had been. He sneered up at the Kirin, whose face remained stormy with rage. She could chain him up, sure, but she couldn't kill him. He knew enough about Kirin to realize that. It wasn't just the matter of spilling blood - there were ways to kill a man without making him bleed, after all, as she'd demonstrated when she knocked him out. The act of directly killing another living thing simply wasn't something the Kirin, beings dedicated to the principles of Life, were capable of.

She put a hand on the back of his neck. He could feel magic thrumming through it, like a vague, static charge. The sensation shook his absolute certitude that she couldn't kill him, not really. Maybe she was just going to torture him in revenge, or something? He wasn't really sure if she was capable of THAT. Then he noticed that she'd gestured for The Beastmaker to kneel next to her, and put a hand on her neck, too. Magic glowed around both of the Kirin's hands. Then, before his eyes, The Beastmaker began to shimmer and shift, changing into something else... and he started to feel cold and weak. When the light faded, he was looking at... himself. A handsome, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, wearing black doublet and hose - in expensive, tailored silk. Looking down, he saw that his own arms were naked... and way thinner and bonier and grimier than they should be. His long, stringy hair also fell down to cover most of his vision.

He shook it away and looked further down, spotting two dangling orbs attached to his chest. They were... sore. The cogs in his brain skipped a few teeth as they sought to catch up to reality, and a scream made its way up his throat, escaping as a hiss through his tightly-clenched teeth. The paralyzing impact of the Kirin's opening blow still hadn't worn off. He could only watch in horror as the Kirin shifted back into the mousy, harmless, yet eminently authoritarian form of The Rat, opened the cell door, and calmly walked out along with his double. The heavy door clanged shut behind them, and he heard the lock turn. The key, he knew, would be left hanging from a nearby nail, to be collected by the guard upon his return.

Even once he regained his capacity for speech, nobody would believe him. Meanwhile, the Kirin and the prisoner would be able to walk out unchallenged - who would dare question the General AND the Council's chief representative walking together? In fact, most of the soldiers would avoid them like the plague, afraid to get caught up in something way above their pay-grade. He whimpered, tugging futilely at the chain binding his hands to the ground. He kept trying to think of a way out of this mess, some way to turn it all around... but his mind kept coming back to the immediate future. The soldiers would show up soon, hundreds of them, all with frustrations to work out and desires to satisfy, and none of them interested in listening to the ravings of a prisoner. The fate he had arranged for his foe would be his instead...

The soldiers came, all right. Word had spread like wildfire through the castle. Over a thousand soldiers and officers were deployed there at the moment, and most of them were desperate for release. The 'camp followers' that usually tended to congregate around major military formations had fled in the first seconds of the battle, and had not returned yet - even experienced whores tended to find it hard to get in the proper mood when surrounded by burning corpses and the stench of death. Meanwhile, the survivors of the battle were filled, in equal parts, with the energetic elation of still being alive - and sorrow at the comrades they'd lost, soon turning to anger at the enemy who had slain them. All of these emotions could be neatly combined, boiled down, and unleashed at The Beastmaker, whom their benevolent commander had declared 'Open Season'.

The passage outside her cell was filled with men, chatting amiably as they waited their turn. Enterprising types had dragged several barrels of wine and beer down there from main storage, and gotten away with it by virtue of offering the Quartermaster a chance to jump ahead in the line. The cook soon got in on it too, swinging by the area with sweetrolls, dough-wrapped sausages and other snacks a couple of times a day, in return for skipping the line and grabbing a quickie from the woman in the cell. Those amongst the officers who weren't joining in on the fun looked at it tolerantly - after all, the permission HAD come directly from the General - and mostly just made it clear to the men that there WOULD be consequences if they skipped out on their guard-shifts to go there.

There were never less than three or four men in the cell at any one time. At first, the prisoner had been uncooperative, spewing insane claims and trying to fight back, but a few well-aimed fists and stout soldier-boots changed her tune soon enough. This left the full three orifices available for the men's use, though many of them decried the lacking skill with which she used her mouth. That meant that those who sought oral pleasures from her usually spent more time on it, which was unfortunate considering the long line of soldiers waiting outside - but the creative soldiers soon found ways to compensate for that, when they realized just how loose her ass (and, to a lesser degree, pussy) was.

For two guys to use her ass simultaneously, while a third was busy with her pussy, required a certain amount of acrobatics and coordination... but they were, after all, soldiers; trained with an eye towards teamwork. They also appreciated the added tightness this approach brought to the otherwise flexible orifice... and considered the fact that this led to the prisoner being forced to tongue-clean twice as many reeking, shit-stained cocks as would otherwise have been the case, to be a suitable punishment for her terrible oral skills. Those on the receiving end of said skills were thus always happy to stand aside for a moment to let the ass-fuckers have brief use of her mouth for cleaning-purposes - it was just a matter of solidarity, after all!

She was given little to no rest. The soldiers were, after all, on duty in shifts, which meant that those too busy to come 'round during the day did so at night instead. They'd stopped feeding her altogether, reasoning that she wouldn't have enough time to starve to death before her execution anyway, and hey, all those protein-rations they kept pouring down her gullet should keep her stomach filled just fine. A few times per day, they grudgingly gave her a few minutes to ease her sore and parched throat with a drink of water, and evacuate her aching bowels - that was the extent of her 'break-time'. Halfway through the second day, she passed out from sheer exhaustion, which merely slowed things down a bit - the men just wrote her mouth (which was unskilled anyway, after all) off as a temporary loss, and continued to pound her sore, worn-out pussy and ass as she slept for a few fitful hours.

Around noon on the third day, with the execution looming at first light the following morning, the stream of soldiers began to dry out. By then, most of the men in the castle - and a few from the surrounding camps who'd manage to find the time to swing by - had been around at least once or twice, with the exception of a few hardy souls who clung stubbornly to hometown sweethearts or high moral fiber. Had anyone bothered to count the number of unique individuals visiting her cell, they would've reached a number somewhere north of a thousand - and if they'd counted the total number of visitors, period (thus including repeat customers), they would've doubled that easily.

The girl hadn't been terribly pretty to begin with, but at this stage, she was an utter mess - her whole body was caked with dried cum and the grime that had stuck to it while it was wet, with particular concentrations around her face and groin. The floor of the cell was splattered with sexual juices and sweat, despite the occasional attempt of some charitable soul to wipe some of it up with handfuls of straw, just to prevent it from becoming a slipping-hazard. The stench of sweat and cum was thick in the air, and it got worse if one got too close to her face, where the caked-on cum was liberally mixed with reeking ass-slime and worse.

These conditions were, of course, part of the reason why the customers were drying out. But soldiers, at a whole, had strong stomachs - so ordinarily, a fair number would've continued to swing by whenever they had the time. The main reason, thus, was the unwritten rule of 'open-season' female prisoners... those with particularly nasty tastes waited 'till last, but on the flipside, nobody else interfered at that point. Thus, with less than a day to go before the execution, the real perverts drifted in - those not just looking for a chance to bust a nut and ease some pressure, but driven by the desire to satisfy some weird kink they couldn't easily try on any woman capable of saying 'no'.

Of course, part of the reason they jointly agreed to wait 'till last was that, by that point, the women tended to be so battered and worn-out that they had no will to resist. This one was no exception. She complied wordlessly as a succession of men pushed their semi-hard cocks into her mouth and began to piss, ordering her to swallow. She also mutely obeyed whenever a sweaty, unwashed ass-crack was thrust in her face, along with a command to lick the hairy asshole in the middle. Compared to those, it was almost a release when it was, instead, a smelly, calloused foot being pushed at her mouth with orders to lick it clean. At least her lack of oral skills didn't matter one whit to these particular men...

Her rear holes weren't getting any rest in the meantime, either. Several soldiers amused themselves by pushing their rough-skinned fists - and the burly, muscular arms they were attached to - into her already-sore, but undeniably well-lubricated holes. With little in the way of a line pushing them to finish quickly, and no physical limitations on staying-power, they could just keep going and going, staring at the way her labia and sphincter bulged out around their wrists as they pulled back while slowly jacking off with a free hand. A couple used different extremities - pushing a bare foot up one of the available holes instead of a hand, and usually shoving it deep enough to stretch the orifice painfully with the heel. A particularly unpleasant fellow rummaged painfully about in her ass with his bare foot for a while, before pulling it out and jumping one-legged around her to offer the nasty, goo-covered limb to her mouth.

As painful and sickening as those visitors were, however, they paled next to the truly sadistic ones. They came armed with instruments of torture, and the intent of using them for their own amusement. Needles were jammed into her breasts and genitals. Numerous thumb-tacks were pushed directly into her fleshy buttocks, leaving them peppered with flat brass heads. Large safety-pins were forced through both of her nipples and closed, leaving them there with nobody interested in removing them again. One was also forced through her clitoral hood, and though it blessedly missed the ultra-sensitive nub itself, the combined pain of the three piercings was still enough to make her scream in agony despite having long-since cried herself hoarse.

Others applied belts, whips and canes to her body, covering her back and thighs in red lines. Blows rained down on her already agonized breasts and buttocks too, sometimes ripping out poorly-seated needles. At the worst point, a burly man armed with a broad leather belt managed to convince two of his compatriots to grab one of her legs each, pulling them up and apart so that her groin was completely exposed to him. He swung without restraint, sending shocking bursts of pain through her exhausted body as the belt whipped across her labia and clit, tugging at the safety-pin and tearing out several needles - while pushing several others all the way inside. Her pussy was still hanging wide-open, too, from the last few days - and particularly from the rough fistings - letting the blows impact directly on the sensitive, pink tissue within.

Eventually, in the late hours of the night, even the torturers finished getting their jollies and walked out, leaving her alone for the first time in days. Her entire body was still in agony, however - in no small part because they hadn't bothered to retrieve any of the various sharp bits of metal they had poked into her tender flesh. Her groin, ass and breasts were masses of sheer, burning pain. Her mouth was filled with the taste of piss, unwashed assholes and sour feet. But even so, thinking that the men had simply decided to be merciful in leaving her alone for a few hours, to compose herself before she faced the hangman, would be unduly optimistic.

Not ten minutes after the last of the soldiers had left, the door swung open again, and a tall man dressed in an immaculate officer's uniform stepped inside, carrying a thick roll of black fabric. He grinned unpleasantly at her, dropping down to a squat to take a better look at the sad condition of her body. "You know, I generally prefer women of a... finer quality. Proper courtesans. Certainly not some whore who has already been passed through the hands of half an army." His tone was smooth and conversational, but carried a note of terrible eagerness. The fabric-roll made a jangling, metallic sound as he dropped it on the floor. "But, you know... there are some things no woman would consent to, no matter WHAT you pay her. Understandable, really, considering the... permanence of some of the things I enjoy doing. So I turn to someone like you, to satisfy the needs I can't satisfy anywhere else. It doesn't matter what I do to YOU, after all. You'll be dead by morning anyway."

The battered woman on the floor was struggling to push herself up, her badly-worn throat working as if she was trying to speak - one final plea for mercy, perhaps. The officer just shook his head with a smile, and kicked the door shut behind him. It closed with a booming sound of finality. No-one else would come see her after he was done. No-one cared to pick up HIS leftovers. But she'd look presentable enough to stand before the noose - the simple dress she'd be wearing for the performance would cover everything he did, so the audience would be none the wiser. His grin grew broader as he opened the cloth-roll and revealed the gleaming steel of his lovingly-maintained 'toys...

Many miles away from that dirty little cell, in an even smaller tent, Sayn was busy caring for Korlin. After they had made good their escape from Lorrack's fortress, the Kirin had transformed into her true, beautiful form (and, incidentally, turned Sayn back into Sayn - walking around looking like the man who'd just raped her had been a very strange, very unpleasant feeling, however necessary.) It was the first time Korlin let her ride on her back - something she'd never dared ask for. Griffons and Centaurs alike had a strong cultural reluctance to being treated as steeds, but it was nothing compared to the Kirin, who generally would only let the 'pure' and 'virtuous' even TOUCH them. (Of course, as Korlin had explained to her once, 'pure and virtuous' didn't mean quite the same thing to Kirin as it did to most humans.)

It had been a breathtaking experience - galloping across the starlit skies at breakneck speed, feeling the silk-smooth mane of her lover between her hands and the cool wind against her face. It had almost been enough to brush away the horror of what she'd just been through. Better yet, when Korlin eventually touched down, it was next to a small, sparkling-pure lake. The rest of the location's features, she roundly ignored - next to the opportunity for a desperately-needed bath, it was all irrelevant. She could already feel the water washing over her skin, cleaning away the grime, the stench, the pain...

However, as soon as they'd touched down, a new priority asserted itself. No sooner had the elegant Kirin landed and Sayn jumped off her back, before she blurred back into her human shape and collapsed. Jumping to her side, Sayn realized that her lover was burning up with fever, breathing in short, desperate bursts, and shaking all over. It was no great stretch to figure out why - Kirin were not, after all, susceptible to ordinary diseases. Their only weakness, however, was well-known - blood. Normally, they refused to even be in the same room as someone who had shed blood recently, and merely touching fresh blood could severely weaken - and maybe even kill - them.

Despite this, Korlin had somehow gotten past a fresh battlefield, past the corpse-fires, and then made her way into a castle filled with wounded men and soldiers fresh from battle - all while maintaining a flawless disguise. She'd then pulled off an impressive magical feat in 'switching' Sayn's appearance with Lorrack's, something she'd never even heard of anyone doing before, walked back out through the same blood-drenched castle, and flown gods-knew how far with Sayn weighing her down.

Pushing her own trauma and fatigue aside, she focused on her beloved Korlin with all her being. She ignored the beckoning lake and the cleansing bath it promised, and instead looked around to find out why Korlin would have landed in this exact place - soon discovering a well-hidden campsite concealed beneath some nearby trees. She dragged the unconscious Korlin to the small tent, got her propped up on the bedroll, and went through the nearby packs for supplies. Fortunately, said packs proved heavy with medical miscellany - indicating that Korlin had either foreseen that she'd return in a severely weakened state, or prepared them for Sayn herself. Either way, they'd serve the former purpose.

She spent the next three days nursing her beloved, only taking brief breaks to eat and rest (and, eventually, blessedly, bathe) when the Kirin was sleeping soundly. Most of the time, however, Sayn was busy applying cold towels to her forehead, or pouring water or energizing tonic into her mouth through a straw. Gradually, bit by bit, Korlin began to recover - the fever dropped off, and the violent shakes diminished. By the third night, the Kirin was mostly sleeping soundly, and had occasional moments of seeming lucidity where she's usually grab one of Sayn's hands and cling to it desperately, while staring up at her with feverish eyes.

The next day, around noon, Cybra arrived. The usually cynical little creature seemed to have lost some of his verbal edge from seeing her again after their separation, and she felt fairly certain that it would have shed a tear or two - had she supplied it with tear-ducts when she built it. "Well, it's not like I was REALLY worried, of course - I mean, if you got yourself killed, I'd definitely notice, so I knew you were alive." The insistent words, however, couldn't entirely conceal the fact that he stuck very close to her side.

He was able to provide her with some information - starting with the fact that their campsite was quite, quite secure. It was a long way from just about everything, and positioned on a fertile plateau partway up a mountain, reachable only by flight... or someone with the agility of a mountain-goat. It had been Cybra's idea to bring Sayn there instead of taking her back to the Main Camp - partially because her various allies were waiting there, and she likely wouldn't want them to see her in her post-captivity state without a chance to freshen up, and partially because this gave her the ability to choose for herself how she'd approach her secret survival.

"Take a look at this... just, y'know, try not to let it get to you." With those words, Cybra unveiled something he'd picked up during his scouting-trip in the surrounding lands. A small, cracked, low-quality crystal, nonetheless humming with magic. "The Northern Alliance forces are mass-producing these things. Cheapo materials, only good for two or three displays, but it does the job. They're spreading them around not just back home, but down here too. Eager to show off, I guess." With some apprehension, she picked up the crystal and enfolded it in a tight fist, activating the dormant magic within.

An image appeared in the air above her hand - not terribly sharp, with little flickers of blur rushing through it every few seconds, but recognizable enough. It was a gibbet, erected in the courtyard of a castle she recognized. Soldiers were lined up in front of it, and a black-hooded man stood atop it with his hand on a lever. A dirty, stringy-haired woman was being led up the stair to the platform, her hands chained behind her back, being shoved forwards by the two heavily-armed guards escorting her. She stumbled up the steps, walking poorly from exhaustion... or something else, but soon she was standing before the noose. The image wasn't great, but she knew the proportions - the swell of the breasts, the curve of the hips, the set of the shoulders. She didn't need to see the grimy face underneath the dirty, stringy hair to recognize herself.

The noose was pulled over her head and tightened around her neck. She screamed - the final, desperate protest unheard through the soundless projection of the crystal. Then the guards backed away and the executioner pulled the lever. A short drop. A sudden stop. The body dangled from the rope, head twisted at an unnatural angle. The cheap, rough-spun dress she wore fluttered in the breeze. Something was dripping from between her legs. Then the image cut out.

Sayn shivered, rubbing her neck. "Nasty sight, isn't it?" Cybra commented, leaning over her shoulder. "But you'n me both know who that REALLY was... and that he deserved it entirely. 'Course... we're the ONLY ones who know that." She blinked, looking up as she pushed away the dark fascination of watching her own execution. "That's true..." she mumbled. "Everybody thinks I'm dead. What if... what if I just STAY dead?" Cybra nodded and started pacing in a circle around her. "Yeah - that's what I was thinking, too. You never wanted any of this mess to begin with, did ya? And look where it got you... eesh. Now, though? You've got another chance. You can leave it all behind, let people think The Beastmaker's dead and buried. Live a quiet life, away from all the fighting and intrigue."

A quiet life. The thought was intriguing. It had been years since she'd truly known peace. Having the world watch your every move, whether with religious awe or superstitious terror, grew tiresome fast. To just... slip away. Settle down somewhere, maybe sustain herself hunting. She'd always been a decent shot with a bow. Never build another beast... just keep her head down and blend in. Nobody would be beating down her door to seek her favor or her life. It had... a lot of appeal. But... "What about you and Korlin?" It was the obvious question, but Cybra just shrugged. "Me? Eh, with a bit of work, you could probably make me look like an ordinary, workaday sheep. I won't talk in mixed company, promise. As for Korlin... well, way I see it, if she walks out on you because you aren't a candidate for 'Empress of Everything' anymore, then she didn't really care about YOU in the first place, right?"

Sayn glanced into the tent, where Korlin was still slumbering peacefully - with far more color in her cheeks than she'd had in the past few days. Then she squinted suspiciously down at Cybra. "You already know how it'd turn out, don't you? That wasn't a what-if. If I take that route, she'll leave me, and you know it. Why?" The odd, goat-like creature ground its granite teeth together and looked away. "It's not fair. Yeah, so maybe the WORLD isn't fair either, but I don't give two goat-shits about the world. It's not fair to YOU. That's what matters." Feeling increasingly vexed, she reached down and grabbed Cybra's oddly elongated head between her hands, pulling it around and forcing the painted-pebble eyes to meet her own. "What. Are. You. Talking. About."

It sighed, then shook itself loose. "There'll be a war if you leave, that's all. Big one. Nasty one. 'Holy' wars tend to be that way. The southern city-states will pounce on the weakened northerners. Maybe the Centaurs and the Griffons will join in too. It'll be a bloodbath either way. And it is NOT your responsibility!" He glared angrily into the tent, as if trying to stare down Korlin - a rather futile endeavor, considering that her eyes were closed. "You didn't ask people to worship you. They made you out to be a goddess all on their own. So if they decide to turn you into a martyr too, and go to war against the people who killed you, that's on THEIR heads. You can't hold the world on your shoulders. It'll break you."

Its eyes looked at her, almost pleading. "Yeah, Korlin will leave if you turn your back on the world. She's a Kirin, after all. She cannot go against her nature. She'll throw herself into that mess, trying to capitalize on her position as your 'chief consort' to moderate the violence. But... if you decide to disappear... she'll keep your secret. It's not something we discussed, or anything. It's just something we both know. Something we all know. If you stop being The Beastmaker, if you leave it all behind, she won't be able to stay with you anymore, but she'll still protect you. Probably still love you, even, for whatever THAT'S worth in this world. Love won't stop an arrow, y'know. Nor will it keep some bastard from locking you up in a dungeon and raping you just 'cuz he doesn't like what you stand for. If you gotta choose between love and a safe, comfortable existence... the answer should be clear."

Sayn rubbed her knuckles against her closed eyes, hard enough for it to hurt a bit. Then she opened her eyes and looked down at Cybra again. "I think I'm starting to remember... how I made you. WHY I made you. You're a part of me, yeah, I've always known that... but now I think I understand why I pushed that part of me outside. Why I gave it a body of its own, rather than let it bounce around inside my own skull. You're the same part of me who felt like those boys who bullied me and broke my artwork deserved to die for it. You're the one who started all this." Cybra just snorted, averting his eyes. "What, so now I'm your 'dark side'? Your inner evilness? Sheesh. Talk about corny. If that's what you think, why don't you just be rid of me? I'd make a festive bonfire, I'm sure."

She shook her head, then reached out and picked him up, pulling him into a tight embrace. The wool tickled her chin. "No... you aren't evil, or even dark. You're just the part of me that cares mainly about... me. You're... you WERE selfishness. You were the eye that judged the world on the merit of what it was worth to ME. That's why I made you, why I gave you a body of your own. You may be part of me, but you're also yourself... and you still care about me more than anything. So it's not selfishness anymore, then, is it? It's love. And I could never rid myself of love."

His head was resting on her shoulder, so she could not see his face, but she could feel something wet hitting her skin. Maybe she'd built tear-ducts into him after all, she reflected, as she listened to his somewhat choked voice. "So... you're going back in there? Back to the battles and the backstabbing and the intrigue and the chaos?" She sighed. "Yes, I'm going back there. Back to K'teshi the Griffon and Achidias the Centaur, and to Korlin the Kirin... and Cybra, the weird little creature that I couldn't manage without. It might not be where I want to be, but it's where all the people I want to be WITH are."

"Thank... you..." The voice was weak, but the direction was unmistakable. Turning on her heels, she looked at the tent and saw that Korlin was fully-awake at last, halfway propped-up on one elbow and smiling wanly, unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. Dropping Cybra, she dashed inside to help hold her up, smiling through tears herself. For such a normally mighty creature, Korlin still looked terrifyingly weak, but she was awake and alert - a tremendous step forwards. Sayn quickly helped her to eat a bowl of hot porridge - the first (semi)solid food she'd had for days - with a big bottle of fruit-juice (chilled in the nearby lake) on the side. It was only after such basic needs had been seen to that Sayn found herself with the presence of mind to blush at the way Korlin was smiling up at her.

"So... when did you wake up, really?" She asked lamely. Korlin giggled, the sound reminiscent of silvery bells, forcing the corners of Sayn's mouth to rise as well. "Oh, don't worry - I only caught the tail-end of your speech. But it was enough. The important thing is the choice you made." The androgynously beautiful Kirin put down her spoon with a somber look, glancing up at her with haunted eyes. "Cybra wasn't wrong, you know. It ISN'T fair that you have to make such a choice. You have had greatness thrust upon you, as the old saying goes - the fact that in spite of that, you're still willing to take the hard path and put the betterment of the world ahead of your personal happiness, makes me love you more than ever."

Korlin's soft, gentle fingers rose to caress her neck and cheek in a loving gesture... and immediately, instinctively, she jerked her head away. Korlin froze, her hand hanging forlornly in midair. Sayn shivered, a sudden memory of a dank and dirty cell overwhelming her - the sensation of a hand sliding across her face to grab her by the hair, pulling her around by it, taking away her will. Blinking rapidly, she tried to clear her thoughts, feeling a wince of guilt at Korlin's pained expression. "Uhh... you'll probably be wanting a bath, after lying around sweating for so long, right? If you feel up for it, that is. I'll go grab a towel for you, alright?" With that rather lame, made-up-on-the-spot excuse, she quickly left the tent to go rummage through the packs for a bit, trying to get her suddenly-accelerated breathing under control. She could feel Cybra's eyes drilling into her back all the way, but studiously ignored it.

She did a lot of avoiding and ignoring over the next couple of days, as Korlin recovered fully. She avoided getting so close to the beautiful Kirin that she'd be likely to be touched. She ignored the hurt looks she was getting for it. And she avoided being close enough to the lake to watch when Korlin bathed, which was frequently. She just needed some time, she reasoned. The events during her captivity had been... terrible, and they were still fresh in her memory. She'd been too busy caring for Korlin immediately after the escape to work through them, just pushing them into the back of her head instead. So now that she had the leisure, she could work through them. She... just didn't know exactly how she was supposed to DO that.

Avoidance, however, is a poor strategy when you're stuck on a mesa surrounded by sheer rock walls. Other than the small lake, the thin trees and the breathtaking view, there wasn't much there - and as such, there was no real place to hide. So the moment Korlin decided to push the issue, Sayn found herself with nowhere to run. The fleet-footed Kirin literally cornered her against the wall of rock rising behind their camp, her face showing a mixture of pain and determination. "You can't keep running away from me." The statement was as true in metaphor as in fact, and Sayn nodded her agreement as she sank down with her back to the wall, her rear cushioned by a thick layer of moss covering the rocks. She really couldn't... but she also didn't know what else to do. Or what to say.

Sighing, Korlin kneeled down in front of her, and ever-so-slowly reached out a hand to brush over her hair. She could feel the muscles in her neck tense, and the urge to flinch away was overwhelming - but she resisted it, and felt the gentle fingers rest against her head. Her breathing and heartbeat were accelerating - she couldn't keep it down. She wanted to jump up and run away - an immediate, instinctive action with no thought for how it might solve anything. For a few minutes, she just sat there as Korlin stroked her hair, forcing her muscles to relax, but not quite managing to keep her legs from twitching or her hands from gripping her knees hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

"I... think I understand why you shy away from me..." Korlin finally said, having concluded that Sayn wasn't about to start talking on her own. She was inching closer at a glacial pace, the way one would approach a particularly jumpy and easily-startled animal. "I know what he did to you in that cell... how much pain and suffering it must have caused you. I can understand how it might cast a shadow over your past. The things you enjoy... not just your sex-life, but the pleasure you take from submission, from being dominated. It's like he's tainted it, by showing you what it's really like to not have a choice. But you can't let him steal the pleasure from your past AND your future, too! You can't give him that kind of power over you. There's nothing wrong with enjoying the things you enjoy."

Sayn just flinched slightly, and with a wince, Korlin lowered her hand. "If... you don't want to be intimate with me again, I understand. It would sadden me to see you leave behind something that's always brought you such happiness, but it is your soul that I love, not simply your body. I would never push you to do anything you were uncomfortable with. Nor would I let anyone else do so. I only cornered you like this because I could tell how much you were hurting, and I can't stand seeing you in such pain... but if... if you don't want me to touch you again... I swear I won't. It won't change my love for you."

Finally, Sayn burst into tears, the dam breaking at last. Since that day in the cell, she had shed no tears - but now, they seemed to be racing each other down her cheeks. "N...no... that's not it... that's not it at all..." it took her several minutes to gather the air to string a full sentence together, but when she did, she was looking at Korlin with tear-filled yet clear eyes. Hearing her beloved put words to the most obvious explanation for the feelings of panic that filled her whenever she came near, had given her clarity - in the realization that it was completely wrong. And now she finally understood what she was REALLY feeling.

"I want you... I want to touch you so bad it hurts... I want to hold you and never let go! But... I'm not good enough for you anymore. You're a Kirin, first and foremost. A being of ultimate purity and virtue. I've... been sullied. It won't wash off no matter how many times I bathe in the lake. The things he did to me... they still cling to my skin. Makes me feel... dirty. Unclean. And I don't want it rubbing off on you. You nearly killed yourself rescuing me... went through so much for me. If I taint you like this too... I couldn't forgive myself." Korlin listened to her in stunned silence, her face a mask of pain and shock. "You... think you're too 'impure' for me? Because you were raped - something you by definition had no control over?"

Sayn shook her head violently, her hair flying around. "It's not just that! It's... part of it, I guess. But he also said things, about what a slut I am. How loose my ass was from fucking griffons and centaurs... hell, he didn't even guess I'd fucked the goddamn Leviathan, too! All for political gain... forging alliances and all that. Which makes me a whore more than a slut, I suppose. And then I... he threatened me into using my mouth... how could I think of kissing you after that?" Her tear-choked voice was growing stronger, directionless anger exploding through the sadness and fear.

Korlin sat back on her haunches, and shook her head. The shock had left her face, and been replaced with a smile. "Oh... Sayn, Sayn, Sayn... I should've explained it better, I suppose. I thought you'd figure it out just from... implication, I suppose." Sayn paused her rant and looked at her suspiciously, angry tears still burning in her eyes. "What are you talking about?" Korlin sighed again. "You think the things you've done - before and during your imprisonment - makes you too 'impure' to touch a Kirin? It is true, certainly, that concepts such as purity and virtue are central to our culture and our nature. I would certainly not wish to share my life with someone impure and bereft of virtue, though many a Kirin has done that and more... in the hopes of showing such people a better, kinder road."

This sent fresh shudders through Sayn, and she pulled herself into a ball again. Somehow, the idea of Korlin staying with her purely out of duty was even worse than the thought of losing her as a partner altogether. It was a perspective she'd considered with sadness when they had first met, but her fears had been silenced at that time - and at this point, the very concept filled her with despair. But Korlin just shook her head quickly. "Look... what you need to understand is that when Kirin speak of 'purity' and 'virtue', we don't necessarily mean what humans mean when they talk of those things. We look at the big picture, at the things that truly matter. Life. Love. Prosperity. Safety. Happiness. Those are the true ideals, and all we do is seek to give the world towards more of that, and less of the opposite. If someone embraces those concepts, we call him virtuous. If someone is free of their opposites, we call him pure."

In a sudden pounce, she was on top of Sayn, embracing her in her strong, muscular arms and pressing their lips together. It took her by surprise, and she had no time to close her mouth before she felt a smooth, agile tongue push past her lips to explore her mouth. It wasn't a tender, relaxing kiss so much as a fiery one, filled with desire - and backed up by the way Korlin's body was pushing against her own. It took her breath away, and forced her tensed limbs to relax, as the familiar pleasure of being overpowered and manhandled began to flare in her mind again. When the kiss was finally broken, she found herself looking straight into a broad - and noticeably naughty - smile.

"Humans can be terribly narrow-minded. They call a woman who's never had sex 'pure'. They call a man who abstains from sex 'virtuous'. But as for us Kirin? We consider sex to be an important source of happiness... and life. Not to mention being a frequent component in love. Where do you think new Kirin come from, anyway? We may not age, but we're not immortal - as I was recently reminded. We have to replenish out numbers somehow, and despite what some of the myths say, we are NOT born out of rainbows or sunshowers. We produce foals the same way every other living thing does... by fucking a lot. More than most beings, even. Our fertility-rates are terrible, since there'd be way too many of us otherwise... but it means that keeping up our numbers take a lot of work. Those Kirin not out and about in the world tend to mate several times per day. We have no taboo about it, and consider sex for procreation or entertainment to be a separate matter from emotionally-charged relationships. So why let the later restrict the former?"

Korlin leaned down and started kissing and biting lightly at her neck, moving up from there to nipple at her earlobe in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. Then she continued, whispering directly into her ear. "If you walk down an average street, on an average day, in our famously-inaccessible homeland, you will see dozens of Kirin mounting each other - usually taking turns to be the female. It's considered polite. And, of course, you keep it to the roadside, so you don't get in the way of others. Now, consider the fact that I'm over 700 years old, and spent most of it living in said homeland. I've had far more sex, with far more different partners, than you. Granted, you ARE keeping a much better pace than me, so if you turn out to have a superhuman lifespan, you MAY be able to catch up with me... eventually. And you think you're too 'impure' for me?"

She wasn't actually thinking much of anything at the moment - her mind was aflame with desire, making everything else seem vaguely out-of-focus. She'd been entirely celibate for the past five days, which was probably longer than she'd ever gone without companionship since she lost her virginity. Now that Korlin's forwardness had broken through the boundaries she'd erected around herself, the resulting, pent-up lust was coming home to roost. There were barely enough conscious thoughts left in her mind to vaguely mumble "But... the other stuff... dirty stuff..."

Korlin just laughed... and then grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her away from the wall and spinning her around so that she wound up on her knees with her hands and face resting against the cold stone. The Kirin leaned over her, and she could feel something thick and hard wedging itself between her buttocks, throbbing lustily through the three layers of fabric that separated them. Korlin's voice was throaty and filled with depraved promises as it whispered in her ear again. "Dirty stuff, is it? Do you suppose being who can live for millenia, surrounded by shape-shifting peers who have no taboo about casual sex, might EVENTUALLY get somewhat creative? As far as we are concerned, if something brings pleasure to all the involved participants - thus generating more happiness - then it is anything but dirty."

Sayn gasped as she felt Korlin's fingers curl around the waistband of her pants, pulling them back and down to leave them pooled around her knees. The light, cotton underwear she'd put on underneath followed along, leaving her naked from the waist down. She'd expected to feel... vulnerable, exposed, being in front of someone while naked and on her knees... but the expected flashback to the dark cell didn't come. However much the physical situation might resemble it, nothing else did. She was aroused and eager, not afraid and disgusted. She was free, not imprisoned. And her partner was the wonderful, beautiful Korlin, who apparently still had hidden depths to show her, rather than... him. She knew that whatever Korlin intended to do, however she was planning to take advantage of her exposed body, she'd enjoy it.

That, however, didn't stop her body from jumping in surprise when she felt it. Something wet and smooth, caressing her sphincter, making it twitch. Looking instinctively over her shoulder, she saw Korlin's gorgeous face - with the bronze skin and the light-blue hair - nestled between her buttocks. The elegant Kirin fixed her with a sparkling gaze as she very deliberately continued to lick her ass, her tongue dancing every bit as skilfully across the sphincter and the sensitive skin that surrounded it, as it ever had around her pussy or her mouth. She made a long, wet stroke with her tongue, tracing the entire line of Sayn's ass-crack, then briefly pulled it back in her mouth to smile broadly. "You think I will be too 'dirty' to kiss after I'm done eating out your ass, hmm?" Then she dove back in.

The uncharacteristically crude language Korlin was using made Sayn shiver almost as much as the tongue did. She couldn't answer the question, though - she was too busy moaning at the delightful sensations radiating out from her ass. It only got better, though, as Korlin stepped up her game. The sphincter, relaxed by the repeated licks, offered little resistance as two soft, warm lips wrapped around its edges, and the slippery tongue pushed through its center. The tight little ring of nerves was being stimulated from multiple directions at once, and in a completely different fashion from what she was use to (that is, being pounded hard by a well-hung lover.) She felt an orgasm fast approaching even before a pair of long, slender fingers were thrust into her sopping-wet pussy, caressing and tickling all the right spots.

She screamed orgasmically as the climax rocked through her, hoping - in that tiny part of her brain still concerned with such irrelevancies - that anyone hearing it would mistake it for the cry of some mountain bird. The tongue and lips stimulating her ass were at the epicenter of the pleasure, with the fingers in her pussy merely providing an odd bit of lift, a bit of spin, an emphasis of a sort. A new and unfamiliar pleasure that made her knees turn gooey. It took several minutes for the flow of the orgasm to wear off into the ebb of the afterglow, and through it all, the tongue in her ass never stopped moving. It just kept dancing, pushing, thrusting deeper, drilling into her like a tiny tentacle.

It was only when the afterglow began to surge back into renewed pleasure that Korlin relented, pulling her face out from between Sayn's buttocks with a sharp intake of breath. She caught Sayn's eyes as she looked back over her shoulder again, and very deliberately licked her already-moist lips. Hesitating for a split second, Sayn looked at those soft, inviting lips - and then pushed herself away from the rock wall, turning around as she threw herself into a tight embrace with Korlin. Their lips met, and she wrestled with the Kirin's tongue without reservation. There wasn't really any flavor there to remind her of what had happened in the cell... she'd been scrupulous and then some in her personal hygiene since the escape. But just the knowledge of it made her feel perverted, and dirty and... good. Happy. It was a new intimacy she was sharing with the love of her life, one she'd never have thought of before. And as Korlin hungrily returned the kiss, pushing back against her lips, it made her realize that there was still so much more to learn. So many more things to try. And as long as she was enjoying herself, Korlin would never think less of her for trying those things.

Their lips finally parted, but their eyes remained fixed on one another, smoldering with lust. They weren't done, not by a long shot. Sayn quickly pulled off her shirt, letting her rock-hard nipples out into the air, before pushing away her already-discarded pants and underwear. Korlin was quick to follow suit, pulling off the simple robe she wore and throwing it on the pile of discarded clothes. Then she ran her hand lightly up Sayn's ribs, tickling her as her smile broadened. "Now, then... I picked that one. It's your turn now. What do you want to do? Anything... you... want..." The last words were punctuated by the hand moving on to cup and squeeze one of her full breasts, lightly pinching the nipple at the end.

Sayn licked her lips nervously, a dozen different scenarios of ascending obscenity running through her head. She knew which one she wanted to go with, though. The one she NEEDED to go with, more than anything. "I... want you in your TRUE form... on top of me. Banging my ass good and hard. My sphincter's still tingling after your tongue... I need it big and rough and now!" Korlin grinned in reply, jumped to her feet and took a couple of steps back. Then her form blurred, glowed, and shifted - and once again, Sayn was faced with the awe-inspiring, achingly beautiful from of the Kirin. Long, elegant limbs, gleaming scales of gold, a streaming mane of mixed blue and white - and the arching, branch-like horn emerging from the center of the skull.

And emerging from between the beast's legs, already out of its sheath, was a long, thick cock - inhuman in shape, noticeably tapered with a delightfully thick base and a sleek, pointy head perfect for easing open labia and sphincters alike. "If it's big and rough that you want, then I can certainly provide that. Now, turn around and show me that sweet ass of yours..." Sayn grinned as she heard the familiar tone of command. Korlin's voice was always musical, but when she was in her true, quadruped form, it became even more so... and also deeper and more commanding. In their general lovemaking, they were sometimes as equals, and sometimes Korlin took charge... heck, Sayn had even tried to play the dominant party once or twice. But when the TRUE form appeared, there were no questions - Sayn submitted automatically and eagerly.

This time was no exception, and she shivered in eager expectation as she turned around and got back on her hands and knees, thrusting her ass invitingly into the air. The sensation of Korlin's large shadow covering her body completely had her pussy dripping with excitement even before the pointy cockhead first made contact with her saliva-coated sphincter. The freshly-massaged orifice offered little resistance, and she groaned with desire as the long, hard shaft slid deeper inside her, radiating an intense warmth. She could feel her lover's pulse pounding through the thick organ, rapid and excited.

The thrust didn't end until the hard scales of Korlin's loins met the soft, subtle flesh of her buttocks, flattening them slightly. The inhumanly-sized cock was filling her right to the root, going deep enough for the rough edges of the sheath itself to rub against the sphincter. This was a relatively new development - before, when Korlin had taken her true form, she'd had to hold back at least a little bit - leaving an inch or two of shaft out in the cold. But when Sayn had returned from her 'recruitment-trip', the brief but intense welcome-home lovemaking they had engaged in before going off to battle had showed a change. Presumably due to the abundance of deep anal she'd enjoyed amongst the centaur, or perhaps the rough treatment her colon had gotten at the hands - or rather, tendrils - of the Leviathan, her ass had gotten just a little bit deeper... not much, but just enough to cover the difference.

Not only did this let Sayn enjoy another couple of inches worth of her lover's thick cock, it also meant that Korlin could fuck her more wildly than before, with no need to worry about restraining herself a bit to prevent injury. And that was exactly what she did, now, at Sayn's specific request. Her hips bucked wildly, elegant tail fluttering behind her as she rode her kneeling lover with wild abandon, pounding the well-stretched asshole with all the strength of her heavy, quadruped frame. The breath gusted explosively from the flared nostrils at the tip of her long, slender muzzle as she poured all of her energy into the act, abundantly proving that she was, indeed, fully recovered.

Sayn, for her part, had started cumming as soon as the long, slick shaft hit the bottom of her ass, stretching her sphincter around the wide base - and she hadn't stopped since. The powerful, bone-shaking pounding, combined with the feeling of closeness as Korlin's body covered her own, and the release of indulging herself and confirming that she was still herself, still found the same unbridled joy in wild, violently passionate sex... it all came together to ensure that before the afterglow of one orgasm had faded away, the next climax would rise to interrupt. A steady stream of moans and screams came from her mouth, and her fingers were digging into the moss covering the stone shelf underneath her, clawing long furrows in it.

Korlin, meanwhile, had an admirable ability to hold back, restraining her own climax so that she could continue the anal assault uninterrupted. It was a skill she regularly put to use, but it still somehow never failed to impress Sayn. Well, when she had enough of a mind left in her head from the inevitably long, drawn-out poundings to feel impressed, anyway. In this case, she most certainly didn't - she was entirely hypnotized by the pleasure radiating out from her well-filled ass, garnished by slowly-rising amounts of pain as the violent fucking began to wear out her ass.

In the end, though, Korlin's endurance had its limits - and with a melodic roar, she thrust her hips all the way forwards and began to climax. The sensation of the thick, hard rod twitching inside her, spurting its load into the deepest, darkest recesses of her asshole, pushed her pleasure to new heights even as her sphincter clamped down forcefully on the shaft, as if trying to prevent it from leaving. She had a last, bone-shaking orgasm despite the thick rod no longer moving, and then simply faded into an intense afterglow as she felt the warmth spreading inside her, panting for breath.

Her muscles, however, began to tense up again as soon as Korlin started to walk backwards, pulling her still-hard cock out of the tight embrace Sayn's ass was lavishing on it. "Well, that was fun... what do you want to do next?" Korlin's voice was as musical as ever, if slightly breathy, but Sayn didn't immediately answer. Instead she just waited for the sleek, pointy cockhead to finally pop out of her sphincter, then pushed herself up, turning around so that she was kneeling under Korlin's scaly bulk. The reddish shaft bopping in front of her eyes was still turgid, though it had lost some of its rigidity in the immediate aftermath of the orgasm. Globs of sticky cum were clinging to the cockhead, but other than that, there were no visible stains on the shaft - though the smell left little question of where it had just emerged from.

In spite of that, she leaned forwards and carefully wrapped her lips around the head, sucking on it gently as she cleaned the cum-stains off with her tongue. Above her, she felt Korlin jump and flinch slightly, but the Kirin didn't say anything. She just stood still, letting Sayn do as she pleased. Once she was done with the head, she moved down the shaft, licking along the length of it, feeling the hot, velvet-soft skin under her tongue. This wasn't like the post ass-licking kiss before... there was a definite flavor, not to mention the smell - and the knowledge that the long shaft had pushed far deeper into her ass than her daily hygiene could hope to reach.

Nonetheless, she carried on, licking along the sides, bottom and top of the shaft, carefully cleaning every square inch of it. The taste was foul, and though not as bad as she'd feared, it certainly wasn't something she was planning to make a habit of. It was simply something she needed to do, to take that specific, particular act BACK from him... Lorrack the Black. By doing it of her own free will, to the woman she loved, she took the sting out of what he'd forced on her. It wasn't 'his' thing anymore - it was just another kinky little thing she'd tried with Korlin, and then moved on from. And perhaps more importantly, she'd proven to herself that nothing he did in that cell held any power over her.

She finished the task by running her tongue around the thick base of Korlin's cock, tickling the scaly edges of the sheath in the process. Already, the softening she'd seen before had been reversed, as her tongue's caress pushed the long tool back into full hardness and readiness. She felt her pussy throb hungrily as she eyed the formidable instrument of pleasure, and planted a couple of parting kisses on the heavy balls dangling beneath it before pushing herself out from under the golden mass and got to her feet. Stepping quickly around Korlin's bulk, she bent down slightly to deliver a kiss to the elongated muzzle, ignoring the unreadable expression on the Kirin's inhuman face in favor of pushing her tongue into the waiting mouth. Korlin's tongue - long, slick and extremely dexterous when she was in this form - quickly returned the favor, dancing around the inside of Sayn's mouth and once again proving that things mortals would call 'dirty' meant nothing to the Kirin.

It was only the insistent, empty throbbing of her pussy that made her break the kiss, and with panting breath, she took a step back and turned around to get on her hands and knees again. "You wanna know what I want to do next, love?" She asked teasingly over her shoulder, wriggling her ass in the air. "I want you to fuck me 'till my knees give out from under me. Switch holes now and then if you get bored, but start with my pussy, okay?" Korlin grinned, licking her lips with her long, agile tongue. "Oh, I think I can do that..." Then she pounced forwards, saliva-covered cock aimed carefully at Sayn's dripping-wet pussy even as the legs it hid between spread eagerly in welcome.

Korlin was as good as her word, as she always was. Limits such as stamina or virility did not apply to beings such as the Kirin, after all - the limiting factor on their lovemaking was, and always had been, Sayn's mostly-human body. In this case, that limit was deliberately pushed, as orgasms of varying intensity exploded across her mind, driving away all other thought, leaving her floating in a sea of sensation - far from worries about the future or trauma from the past. Long, forceful thrusts poured into her pussy and ass at alternating intervals, followed by hot loads of thick cum. By the time her arms and legs finally gave out under her and her belly hit the ground she was barely conscious, and two well-worn orifices gaped broadly between her legs, leaking frothy cum.

Taking her human shape again, Korlin carried Sayn back to their tent and tucked her in under the carpets before joining her, snuggling up together in a tight embrace, their relationship fully restored and revived. They stayed at the hidden mountain camp for two more days, however - treating it like a much-needed vacation. Unsurprisingly, they spent most of the time making love - catching up on what they'd missed during Sayn's travels and subsequent imprisonment. With Korlin in her Kirin form or as a human, as a male or as a female, there were many familiar variations to revisit and a few new ones to sample. They did it amongst the slender trees, draped across boulders, against the sheer wall at the back, on the shores of the sparkling lake, and even while bathing in it together. Cybra largely stayed out of their way, when he wasn't making trips down into the country below to pick up rumors about ongoing events.

It was these rumors that eventually forced an end to their holiday, unsurprisingly. Word was spreading like a wildfire that the southern city-states were massing their troops for a Holy War against the north, their numbers surging with volunteers. The Centaurs and Griffons had supposedly declared their support for the crusade as well, and there were even hushed whispers of dragons offering their help... at a discounted rate. Meanwhile, word from the north spoke of lords desperately conscripting anyone who could see lightning and hear thunder, to send reinforcements to the army encamped at the northern tip of the Great Bay - while simultaneously dealing with localized riots, underground resistance-movements cropping up everywhere, and the apparent desertion of their main General, the infamous Lorrack The Black. Making everything worse was the slowly-leaking story that Lorrack had protested the execution of The Beastmaker, predicting the downfall of the northern alliance if they went through with it - and had simply been the first rat to leave the sinking ship when they ignored him.

Enough said, the northern lords couldn't round up new levies fast enough to even replace the number of deserters from their standing armies, let alone push their numbers back up to their old numbers. The merchants of Lucravia and Mosvaruch were already speculating that the number of young men they had ALREADY lost would prompt famine and economic collapse in the north within the year, since there was hardly anyone left to till the fields or watch the cattle. The obvious weakness of the north only increased the influx of volunteers - adding eager opportunists looking for an easy win and some quick rape-and-plundering to the ranks of the true believers.

Hearing those stories, the broad grins that had been glued to Sayn and Korlin's faces since the reaffirmation of their love were replaced with somber expressions. The vacation was over. If they were to prevent a war that would leave the northern territories a smoldering, depopulated wasteland, they had to saddle up and get back in the game. And so, with a look of regret, Sayn pulled on the most imperious dress she could find in the packs Korlin had brought, her normal enjoyment of nice clothes somewhat ruined by their implications in this case. Then she climbed on Korlin's back, and they took off into the clear, blue sky - to halt a war in its tracks, whatever the cost.

________________________________________________________________________

And so it came to pass, on the seventh day after Her execution, that The Beastmaker returned to us. She appeared above the camp of those who had gathered to wage war for her vengeance, as a beautiful angel astride a noble Kirin, and told them to stay their hands. Her words brought enlightenment and calm to men whose minds had been clouded by anger and sorrow at her loss, reminding them that the people of the North were not their enemies, but simply more victims of the greedy, heretical lords who had so foolishly sought to destroy Her.

Thus the armies of the South, aided by the fearless Centaur and the noble Griffin, marched North - not as conquerors, but as liberators. Wherever they went, the people rose up and cast off the yoke of their oppressors, joining their voices to those revering The Beastmaker - for Her mercy and wisdom as well as Her divine power. Those of the Northern Lords who were not simply dragged from their castles and mansions by crowds filled with anger and religious zeal, were soon captured and brought before Her to be given a swift and just judgment - the clean and painless death that they had denied to so many of the victims who had languished in their own dungeons.

By the eyes of Korlin the Kirin, First Consort of The Beastmaker, new Lords were chosen - men and women of purity and mercy, who swore allegiance to The Beastmaker as the Lords of the South already had. In joining together under the auspices of The Beastmaker, the North and the South thus became brothers again, as all men had once been brothers. The lands of the North, devastated by the selfish warfare of the fallen Lords, were sent aid by the prosperous South, saving countless lives that would have otherwise been lost to famine, plague and the crimes of the desperate.

This, however, was merely the beginning of the joy that The Beastmaker's enlightened rule spread across the world, for her eyes saw what many others were blind to - that all beings who know, who speak, who think, who sense, are brothers. The Beastkin of the Western Territories, previously enslaved and persecuted, were granted their freedom and became valuable trading-partners and trusted friends. The marauding Centaur of the Great Plains, released from the curse of their forgotten gods, no longer raided or attacked human settlements, instead opting to put their legendary martial skills to benevolent use, assisting the beleaguered colonies of the Southern Continent. Territorial spats with the Griffons, meanwhile, became mutually profitable trading-relationships, now that those who mined and logged upon their mountains shared with them a fair share of the profits.

The return of The Beastmaker heralded a new Era of peace and prosperity for our world, and under her gentle hand, we may all sleep soundly. The hole in our hearts that the Gods left there when they abandoned us has at last been filled, with the knowledge that She watches over us, with infinite Love and Mercy. Some - driven by the foolish and narrow-minded ideals of the very Gods who abandoned us - would cast aspersions on her for being a creature of flesh and blood, and for refusing to deny the pleasures of the flesh that comes with that. To them, I only say: There is no shame, no sin, in Loving all creatures equally. To see beauty in the flight of the Griffon, in the streaming mane of the Centaur, or in the subtle fur of the Beastkin. Hers is an ideal we should all strive to follow, to release our Love from foolish restraints and give it to the world. Thus, we may move closer to Her, and share in the glory of Her Love.

• From The Book of The Beastmaker, the holy script of the First Church of The Beastmaker, author unknown.

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