Garrick Strongbow wearily climbed the muddy rise, his last reserves of energy being sapped in the process. The rain pelted down mercilessly, and the low roll of thunder rang in his ears.
He collapsed onto the wet earth, panting with exhaustion. He was badly wounded; his left leg lacerated from the fight he'd had with two trolls a few days earlier. He'd managed to escape them finally, but not before they'd seriously wounded him. He'd bandaged it as best he could, but the wound was clearly infected and needed medical attention. In addition to this, he was out of rations, and slowly starving in this accursed swampy country.
Not for the first time, he asked himself why he'd left his safe village seeking a life of fame and adventure. He'd been a simple fisherman before all this, living a tranquil if boring life. And then, his best friend Carl - another fisherman - had come to him that day with a map that he had and a man named Leroy had found some weeks earlier. They'd been fishing near Friar's Cove one evening and were about to come back home when Leroy had spotted something floating in a small rockpool and retrieved it. It had turned out to be a map of a long lost pirate treasure.
And so, starry eyed, they'd set off for the North country, after spending their last pennies on swords from the blacksmith's shop and basic armour. Everyone had pleaded with them not to go, for the journey was dangerous. But they had stuck to their resolve and before long they found themselves on their way, three novice fighters beginning an exciting life of high adventure.
At first things had gone well. The weather had been fine, and they'd had few encounters or troubles. On one occasion they met a small band of hobgoblin mercenaries, who, being ill armed and ill organised, had fallen to their swords. They'd celebrated their first victorious battle that evening, drinking from their wineskins and telling tall stories about the exploits of various adventurers of legend.
And then, they had come to the Tortured Lands. Here the air became thick and oppressive, and from afar they heard ominous calls and even the odd scream. Their morale fell, and they became lost. Then, one evening as they prepared to make camp, out of nowhere came two horrible creatures, with long terrible claws and sharp teeth . In the gloom, Leroy had recognised them for Trolls, for as a young boy his fathers farm had once been attacked by one.
The trolls swept through them like a storm. Leroy had been the first to fall. A blow from the trolls right fist knocked him out cold, whereupon the demonic creature had bent down and torn his head from his shoulders. Garrick would never forget the sickening sound, and the streams of dark blood, and the cries of agony from the unfortunate young farmers son.
Carl and he had tried to withdraw, but they came after them fiercely. It was then he had taken a blow to the right leg that had knocked him off his feet. Carl had come up behind the troll and saved his life by hacking off its head with a single well placed blow. But no sooner had he done this when the other troll grabbed hold of him and dragged him away into the gloom, screaming piteously. 
He had got to his feet after a few moments. There was now no further sign of Carl. In the foggy gloom, he had no hope of finding him. And as he watched, the troll whose head Carl had removed began to regenerate before his very eyes. He had fled, screaming, into the darkness, and ran and ran until he could run no more.
And so he found himself here. He had gone as far as he could, and now he would lie down here and die. And then, he had fallen into a deep, nightmarish slumber...

Far away, there was the sound of laughter. It was the laughter of a young girl ... carefree, yet disturbing. There was something unholy about it. He saw a bright light, and the laughter seemed to come from there. He felt strangely drawn to it. He was walking toward the light. He came to a steep set of marble steps. As he gazed down at himself, he saw he was naked.
"Come to me, my warrior." Whispered the voice. "Come..."
He gazed up at the light. He smelled roses, and something else he could not identify, a musky, sweet scent. He began to climb. He climbed for what seemed like hours. But he was so intrigued by the laughter, and that scent...
And then, finally, he reached a flat area, like a dais, at the top. For a brief moment, he saw what appeared to be a black robed figure walking out of the light toward him. The scent grew stronger, and he felt himself growing weaker. The laughter swept over him, mocking him it seemed. He fell to his knees and then everything went black.

When he came to, he was in a large bedchamber, lying in a comfortable bed laden with silk sheets. There was a large window looking out onto a desolate moorland to his right. A faint light from an overcast, gloomy day filtered into the room.
For a while he just lay there, unable to figure out where he was or how he'd gotten there. Then, he reached down and lifted the covers to examine his wounded leg. It had been properly bandaged, and some sort of herbal medication had been applied to it. It imparted a slight burning sensation to his leg, but the could feel it doing its healing work.
Perhaps, he mused, he might be able to walk on it. No sooner had he begun to lift himself up, however, than he felt an incredible, invisible force pushing him back onto the bed. To his alarm, a melodic, musical voice rang out in his mind :
"No my sweet warrior [laughter - that same laughter he'd heard before!]... Rest ... You are mine now. You must rest, or else you will be useless to me."
Once again he feel into a deep sleep. When he next awoke, it was dark outside, and a young woman, plain of features, her simple white gown and distant, industrious manner suggesting he to be some sort of servant, was helping him out of bed. He was too dazed to resist, and he found he could now stand without much discomfort.
"Who are you ? Where am I ?", he heard himself ask.
The woman busied herself with unwinding his bandages and checking his wound. As the bandages came off, the pungent smell of strange herbs filled the air.
"My name is Luna, and I am a priestess in the service of Lady Fanja and Danjela Midthorne. You are at Castle Midthorne. One of Lady Fanja's diving spells detected your presence as you passed near our stronghold. Some men at arms were sent forth to bring you back here. I have used what skills I have to tend to your wound, and along with Lady Fanja's enchantments we seem to have brought you back to nearly full health again." 
"Well, I guess I owe you my deepest gratitude."
She stood up and glanced at him, a strange expression on her face. It almost looked like pity he thought.
"I'm only doing my duties, you owe me little gratitude sir. Now that you are well, Lady Fanja and Lady Danjela wish you to dine with them this evening. I have some clothes you may wear, and arrangements will be made for you to bathe and refresh yourself."
He saw a pile of impressive looking clothing sitting atop a small table just by the window. Next to the table, a pair of polished black leather boots.
"Who are these ladies of whom you speak ?"
"Come, sir, follow me to the bathrooms. I will answer your questions, those I can answer, along the way."

She led him down a long flight of stairs, and down a long corridor lit by dim lanterns.
"Lady Fanja is an extremely powerful sorceress and major landowner in these parts. She was recently made a Duchess by Queen Esther. Queen Esther rules these lands, the lands of Mauristatia."
He had vaguely heard of the realm of Mauristatia. But he knew nothing of it.
"She is well over a hundred years old, but as an Enchantress she remains relatively young in appearance. Her daughter is Danjela. She is only sixteen."
"Lady Fanja has only one daughter ?"
"Only one."
They walked in silence for a while, before finally they came through a set of double doors into a large steamy chamber, tiled. In the centre of the room, steps led down into a large square pool of steaming water. He could see no sign of what heated it. The bath - or rather pool - was at least fifty feet to a side.
"They must be gracious ladies to take mercy on a poor man such as myself, and nurse me back to health. I owe them - and you - my life."
Again, Luna regarded him with a peculiar, guarded look.
"Their ladyships have their reasons for saving you sir. But I'm sure they will enlighten you about those this evening. And now I must excuse myself. You will find everything you need here. I will return with your clothes in an hour."
And with that enigmatic remark she turned and left him alone to contemplate his thoughts.

Garrick sat at the magnificent long table in the Great Hall of the strange stronghold. He had been told by Luna to await the arrival of the two ladies of the household. From time to time, blank faced, industrious servants entered from the adjoining kitchens to check that his glass was full. When he'd been asked by the butler, a bald headed, sinewy old man with the typical dignified air of one of his profession, what he wished to drink, he'd inquired what was on offer ? The reply had been - what would you wish, sir ? And so he'd elected red wine, to which the butler had inquired - which red wine sir ? 
It was then that he began to realise the sort of place he'd stumbled upon. Obviously the owners were well prepared to live in this desolate part of the world, away from even the rudiments of civilisation. Still, they were sorceresses, and men and women of magic were not known for their sociability.
He sat now sipping the fine Corbyyr1 wine that he'd requested; bizarrely, he'd only ever tasted it once before, it being far too expensive for the likes of a peasant farmer to afford. That had been on a rare visit to the city, and his Uncle Rupert - a reasonably well to do trader who lived there - had taken the family out to celebrate Garrick's 18th birthday. He was on his third glass, the women taking their time in arriving. Many possibilities presented themselves to his speculative mind. For all he knew, they could be evil women and meant him harm. But then, why would they have sent out their guards to rescue him from certain death in the blizzard ? Perhaps to use him in grotesque magical experiments. He did not trust magic. More often than not, it was used for evil purposes.
But surely he must give them the benefit of the doubt. They had saved him after all. And in any case, he had no choice but to accept whatever they had in mind for him. He could not go forth into the wilderness again; his death would be certain. At the very least he needed their help to get back home.
As he took another sip of his wine, the double doors behind him and to the left suddenly swung open. These were not the doors leading to the kitchens, for they were across from him. He did not know whence they led. But as they swung open, a tall, elegant looking woman entered.
She wore a long, flowing dress of heavy, plaited deep blue, the hem trailing a little along the floor after her. Her feet were not visible, but she wore sharp heels, for her steps clicked against the gleaming grey white marble of the floor. She walked steadily toward him, looking at him with a half smile. He judged her to be maybe forty years old, and still very beautiful. Deep brown eyes, a mane of silky blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and full, expressive lips.
Then a younger lady entered. She was tall like her mother, her equal in height, though with the more slender build of a teenage girl. Her robe was of identical design, but of deepest violet. Whereas her mother was beautiful, she was, at least in his view, stunning. Her hair, a long, waist length river of chestnut brown, fell in an uninterrupted swathe behind her. Her eyes, wide, expressive and emerald green, glittered with hidden mischief, and yet there was a seriousness there not common to someone so young. Her mouth was just like her mother's but her lipstick was a more vivid red in hue, giving her a more vixen-like appearance. She glanced at him but once, and, ignoring him now, made her way to her seat at the end of the table to his right, while Lady Fanya seated herself at the end to his left. Servants seemed to materialise out of nowhere and pull back their chairs. He glanced first at one, then the other, it being impossible on account of their respective positions for him to watch both them at once.
As servants filled their tall glasses with white wine, apparently already aware of their wishes and tastes, Lady Fanya was first to address him.
"Well then !", she said brightly, quietly, in a hushed, chesty sort of voice, "We are most pleased to have you accept our hospitality, Master - ? Gilbert ?"
"Garrick, madam." He corrected awkwardly. He was thankful for the soothing effects of the wine. These women were not of his class, and he knew not the faintest thing about how to behave in their presence. "Garrick Strongbow. And I be no master, ma'am. I'm only a simple farmer's son."
"That is clear enough from your speech." Said the young Lady Danjela suddenly, and he turned to look at her. She was looking at him with a faintly mocking smile. Her eyes glittered mischievously.
He did not know how to reply and so he said nothing.
Lady Danjela took a sip of her wine, eyeing him steadily as she did so.
"What then were you doing alone on these dangerous lands, young man ?", asked Lady Fanya, her tone more mocking than judgemental.
"I was on a quest ma'am." And he went on to describe as best as he could, under their intent stares (and the odd snort of - was it disdain or disbelief, or both ? - from Lady Danjela), the circumstances that had led him there. When he had finished his tale, Lady Fanya threw her daughter a meaningful glance across the table.
"You're an adventurer then ?", Danjela asked. Her eyes continued to flash flirtatiously at him.
"Yes ma'am."
She narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her a little to one side, as though slightly cynical of his story. 
"You haven't done very well so far have you ?". She smirked as she brought her glass up to her cute, small red mouth
His face grew flushed, and he felt ashamed of himself. He nodded, and looked down at his plate. "Nay ma'am."
"Still," Lady Fanya pointed out, "these are dangerous lands." He looked up at her. "You are very lucky to have survived", she continued, as a number of servants entered and began piling pots and plates laden with mouth watering food upon the table. "Very lucky indeed."
"Ma'am, I am mighty thankful toward you for saving my skin. If there's anything I can do to repay you - I've no money or possessions, but -"
He did not know how to conclude. The silence that followed was most awkward. Suddenly, Lady Danjela giggled.
He turned to look at her. She sat back, arms draped over the rests of her chair, looking at him with that same disconcerting expression. 
He looked at her with blank incomprehension.
Lady Fanya said, in a plesant voice, "Come, brave warrior - you must eat now and regain your strength after such a harrowing experience." 
Garrick concentrated on the task of filling his empty belly. It was easily the best food he'd ever tasted, and this coupled with his ravenous appetite ensured that for a time he was happy enough to forget his concerns. Knowing that he was in the presence of ladies, he made a more conscious effort than usual to eat in a dignified fashion.
At one point he caught Danjela eyeing him speculatively again, and he blushed uncontrollably.
At length dinner was finished.
"Well." Said Fanya with a sigh, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "You are welcome to stay as long as you wish, young man. I should point out that we rarely leave this place, and that if you wish to leave you will need to make your own arrangements. Although, until the unfavourable weather improves, you would be most unwise to journey forth again."
He listened to her in amazement. Then he forced himself to say, "My heartfelt thanks to you ma'am, for your hospitality." 
He couldn't believe his fortune!
Lady Fanya arose, a servant rushing forth to attend her. "I will retire for this evening and leave you two alone."
She gave her daughter a meaningful smirk.
He wondered where his quarters would be. No doubt, he thought, they would be arranged.
They bade Lady Fanya goodnight.
When she had gone, he looked over again at the pretty young sorceress. She drained her glass and ordered a servant nearby to retrieve her another.
	"It was I who ordered the guards out to save you, you know."
	"Oh! Well then. Thank you ma'am!"
	She smiled again, and he felt his heart melt. She was so very beautiful.
	"And I did it for a reason."
	"Ma'am ?"

As she spoke, her eyes bore into him, and her voice seemed to take on a far off, ethereal quality. In an instant, he knew it had been her voice he'd dreamed of before, her shadowy silhouette he'd seen in his dream. He felt a peculiar feeling of calm and contentment come over him. She seemed to grow even more lovely to him as she spoke. He felt her every word must be of the purest truth, and that to satisfy her every wish must be the highest task he could ever hope to aspire to.
"Yes. I thought it would be fun.", she said strangely.
Before he could ask her what she meant by this, she suddenly asked, "Tell me -would you like to play a game ?".
"A game ma'am ?"
"Yes - a game."
He found himself returning her coy smile.
"Come here." She said, lifting her hand and gesturing toward him with a crooked index finger.
He felt utterly mesmerised by her. Something in the back of his mind told him he was not in complete control of himself. 
He arose, walked over to stand beside her chair. Danjela drank wine and watched him with a wry smile.
She finished her glass, and threw it over her head. It landed with a crash against the wall.
"My game is very simple." She explained. "I make the rules, and you follow them. Understand ?".
"Yes ma'am." He heard himself say.
"Rule One. All of Lady Danjela's orders must be followed unquestioningly."
She giggled again and her hand cupped his crotch, gently but firmly.
"Yes ma'am."
He could not believe this was happening. Never in his entire life had he felt so embarrassed, and yet the idea of disobeying her in any way seemed to present itself toward him as ridiculous. He was aware of the fact she had magically charmed him. And yet it was not how he had imagined such an enchantment. He had imagined his brain would simply turn off for the duration of such a spell, and that he would come to at some point and be hard pressed to remember the events that had transpired. But clearly, this would not be the case.
"Lady Danjela's first order to her new slave toyboy is this : get undressed." She spoke quietly, that same innocent smile playing across her red lips.
Against his own will, he found himself slowly removing his shirt, then his trousers, and finally his boots, as the beautiful young girl watched him.
Before long, he stood naked. He felt utterly humiliated, and yet utterly unable to disobey this young girl.
Danjela finished her wine, pushed back her seat, and stood up. He saw her slender hands, lined with rings, hanging at her sides as she turned to face him.
"And now," she said sweetly, "it's sleepy time."
She giggled and raised her hand toward him, speaking strange words.
A strong lethargy overcame him, and he felt himself losing consciousness. Within moments, he was asleep at her feet.

He awoke in a huge dark chamber lit by torches in sconces on the walls, lying on his stomach on a smooth, cool floor.
He was groggy, he was cold, and he was afraid. 
He found that he was entirely naked, and that around his wrists and ankles were metal bracelets, about two inches thick. Affixed to the ends of these bracelets were taut metal chains that were hooked into metal rungs on the cold black marble floor. 
He could sit up on his hands and knees, but if he tried to move any further than that, he ran out of chain length. He tried futilely to break free, but it was quite clear to him he had no chance, despite his considerable strength.
He decided to sit on his hands and knees, it being more comfortable than lying flat on his stomach.
He reflected on his ridiculous situation. Why had he left his old idyllic life behind ? His foray into adventuring had proven to be an utter disaster. He thought of what his friends would say if they could see him here in this humiliating predicament. They would surely laugh and shake their heads and say, "I always knew that boy was strange. The Gods only know where he got such strange notions in his head."
His situation here was beginning to make sense to him now, and he did not like the picture that was forming in his mind. He had been saved because these strange, beautiful women felt he might be an amusement for them. He didn't like to consider what would happen if he ceased being so.
He was 20 years old. And although he hated them for doing this to him, he could not help but reflect on the incredible loveliness of the young Lady Danjela. He had been raised to respect those above him in station, especially the landowning classes. These women were clearly of that class in addition to being powerful and accomplished sorceresses. He had been taught that their position was ordained by the Gods themselves.
And yet he had his pride. To do this to him was surely an abuse of privilege. He was angry at them for doing this to him, and he began to think of what he would say when Lady Danjela arrived. He would demand to be released. If she refused, he would refuse to do her bidding, whatever it might be. But then, he thought, do I have the power to resist her ? He remembered the strange spell that had overcome him earlier when, mesmerised by her words, he had undressed and exposed himself to her despite his sense of shame at doing so and his most ardent attempts to resist.
He recalled how she had inspected him, her emerald eyes wandering over his body, lingering on his manhood which, to his immense humiliation, was fully erect with an arousal he did not understand. Her gaze had been admiring, for he had a strong, lean body hardened by years of hard physical work. And yet, it had been mocking and disdainful at the same time, as though she regarded him as nothing more than a beautiful slave.
His thoughts were interrupted when a heavy door at the far end of the chamber opened. In the darkness, a solitary rectangle of bright light streamed into the room from beyond the threshold of the open door. 
He saw nobody standing there. His heart began to beat rapidly in his chest.
And then, a tall, slender figure stepped through the open doorway and came to stand casually, leaning a slender arm against the frame. He knew it was Lady Danjela, although he could not make out her face from his present position.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw that she wore a long, shimmering robe of deepest black. He briefly saw the outline of her body beneath the semi transparent material.
She started walking towards him.
He heard her soft, musical laughter as she came. It seemed to echo lightly around the room with a peculiar cadence and resonance.
She walked slowly, with small measured, careful steps. Suddenly, the open door eased itself shut, blocking out the bright light that had briefly streamed into the dim chamber.
She continued to approach. Her small hips swayed sensuously. He was mesmerised. As she neared him, he saw her oval white, finely featured face. Her hair was drawn up into a tight ponytail with a black leather braid. A single, deep red rose decorated her hair just above her right ear. Her eyes glittered as though with excitement. As she came within a few yards of him, she pouted her lips together and seemed to blow him a kiss.
Instead of walking straight up to him, she now negotiated a circular path around him. A wonderful scent swept over him. It was roses, scented oil, and herbs. There was a quality to it he could not identify, but which seemed to drive him insane with desire for this mysterious girl.
He heard her slow steps behind him. She continued to laugh quietly to herself now and then.
She came back into his field of vision, standing about an arms length away from him. He watched as she placed her feet about a foot apart, reached out, and caressed his forehead as he gazed up at her. Her hands were clad in gloves of smooth black leather. He could smell leather everywhere now, mixed with the other wondrous scents. Adorning her fingers were an assortment of rings. Her left hand hung loosely at her side as she toyed dreamily with his hair with her right. He studied the rings on her left-hand fingers. One was a diamond that glittered softly in the dim light. Another was a small, deep red stone.
"Poor little peasant boy," she said, in a little girl voice. "You really have no idea what's going on here do you ?"
He tried to look up into her face, but she pushed down gently but firmly with her hand on top of his head, and giggled again.
He studied the fabric of her robe. In the bright light before, it had been semi transparent, but now it was inky black, made of a peculiar, shimmering silk.
Her hands went up to her bodice now, intricately laced. The soft swell of her hidden breasts.
He had never looked upon the naked body of a woman save his mother. He was a shy person, and girls had always frightened him somewhat. But, being handsome, he had known that girls watched him from afar, their red giggling faces behind their hands as they whispered about him. And besides, he had rarely seen them, for he had no sisters, and only rarely had he and his father ventured into the village on farm business. Despite his shyness however, he imagined and fantasised like any other young man.
At any rate, this young sorceress was like no other girl he'd ever seen before. She was of the upper class, the type of girl the likes of him very rarely, if ever, chanced to meet. And there was something about her beauty that was almost unbelievable.2
She allowed him now of course to look up. He watched as her fingers converged upon a point just below her throat. Something glittered there - a silver chain perhaps ? - and as her fingers began moving he realised she was undoing a button.
"I am a Houri Sorceress."
Another button.
"We are sorceresses who dedicate ourselves and our Art to the pursuit of beauty."
Another button. A glimpse of white skin against the deep blackness of her robe.
"Most of us seek only our own pleasure."
Another button.
	"I am one of those. Nothing must interfere with my pleasure."
	She unfastened what appeared to be the last button at her navel.
	"What else is there but pleasure ?"
	Her hands swept up to her shoulders, and gently slid the robe back from them. With the front buttons unfastened, it fell smoothly to her feet, where it lay in a small, inky black pool.
	Garrick Strongbow gazed upon the most incredible vision of beauty he had ever seen, or would probably ever see, in his life.
	For a moment, his brain could not register the sight, and he gaped in incredulity at it. He was a virgin, and knew nothing of women. To see an ordinary woman's naked form would have been enough to fill him with wonder, the wonder that any man experiences when he first looks upon such a sight. But this was no ordinary young woman, and the attire she wore was both bizarre and intensely erotic.
	 She stood there in black leather riding boots that went up to her slender calves. Elbow length black leather gloves encased her arms. Her sweet body was thrust into some sort of exotic leather corset. About the breasts it was worked into a swirling pattern, with a pair of small metal studs that seemed designed to hide the ladies' nipples. From between the breasts down to the crotch there were tight laces holding it together. At the abdomen, there were three small metal clasps that appeared to hold the thin triangular strip of leather between the legs to the upper half of the garment. 
	Just above the top of the right boot was a broad strap of leather wound about her leg. Fixed to this strap was a small loop, and a long, slender riding crop was thrust into this. 
	She giggled again. "Ohhhh ... poor baby."
	She ran her hands lightly over her breasts, half hidden from view beneath those intricately patterned breast-cups.
	"You want to touch me don't you ?"
	He looked up at her. Now at least he understood his situation.
	She smiled coyly at him as she reached down with one hand and unclasped the three metal clasps at her groin. The triangular flap fell away, exposing her perfectly trimmed sex - deep brown in hue.
	He felt as though he was going to pass out. He stared wide eyed at this heavenly vision before him.
	Her finger inserted itself between the lips of her sex and began stimulating something there. A musky scent surrounded him. He had an urge to put his face there and inhale that incredible scent deeply, and to drink of the flowing essence that was seeping forth.
	She sighed and, putting a hand firmly atop his head, swung a leg over his shoulder expertly. Then the other. Her small firm buttocks now just above the bridge of his nose. 
	"This," she stated breathily, her splayed fingers wandering over her moist sex, "is my pussy."
	She continued to stimulate the small button between the lips of her "pussy". He'd heard such references to a woman's sex before, but only vaguely. He'd heard men talking about a woman's "love button" as well, presumably the object of her fingers attentions.
	In any case, he wasn't thinking very coherently.
	"Tell me what you think of my pussy", she said quietly. He noticed her legs and buttocks quivering a little.
	"... well ma'am ... it sure is beautiful."
	Her breathing was getting very laboured, and the trembling in her legs was becoming more pronounced. Her scent was all around him.
	She reached down, and caressed his hair; he felt the smooth leather of her glove against his forehead.
	"Mother says a man will do anything to get to a beautiful ladies' pussy. Would you do anything to get to my pussy ?"
	He nodded. Once again, he tested his chains, but they were far too secure and he could do nothing but watch this teasing spectacle.
	"Ahhh!", she cried suddenly, reaching out to put both hands on his head to steady herself. Suddenly, a spurt of fluid gushed from her sex and struck him in the face, just below his nose.
	Laughing to herself, she lowered herself down to present her dripping sex to his mouth. "Clean my cunt out now hunky warrior boy!", she breathed happily.
	Yes, he had heard that word too. But it considered far too rude to speak out loud, only in hushed curses and whispers. He found the foulness of such a seemingly refined ladies language to be a big shock.
Her sex was already against his lips. He could feel her silken hairs tickling his nose. Her scent, coupled with the sight of her lovely body in such erotic attire, had driven him so wild with desire that he wasted not time doing her bidding.
As he thrust his tongue out, she suddenly, roughly, grasped him by the hair, and yanked his head upward so that he found himself staring into her pretty, sweat lined face. She was smiling happily, almost innocently.
"Beg me first." She said, flashing her eyes at him like a little girl being deliberately naughty.


1 Named after the Corbyrr region in the Land of Mauristatia, famous for its winemaking qualities and producing a sweet, mellow tasting grape.
2 Danjela, like her mother a Houri sorceress, possessed a beauty that was attainable only through the use of magical enchantments. The Houri specialise in the spheres of Enchantment and Charm, and are always female humans. The basis of their profession is the use of female beauty, augmented by magic highly specialised and refined for that purpose. Certainly there is more to beauty than mere physical characteristics, but the Houri have a highly detailed set of theories regarding the nature of physical beauty and tend to mold their bodies to reflect those theories.
