Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Dementa offered them the best in the Badlands.

Wine, that is. Not pussy. Not at first.

Israfel lowered himself to the spotted furniture of a couch in the tent's solemn interior. He smelled a bit of Munirah myrrh when he sat on it; there was no dust, contrary to the location of the Canyon. He was calling it Camp Deathlie.

The sandstorm was now upon Helladeep, and in the deep gorge where Dementa's minions nestled, all the marauders had run into their tents, some of which were halfway up the mountains side, like giant creeping yellow ants. The heavens went dark: a rustbrown shade that engulfed all of the camp. In Dementa's own head-tent, Rafel clutched to the cup the Dread-Red Skullrider offered.

"What's this?" He took a sip.

Dementa turned from offering other goblets—very possibly treasure they had thieved off caravans hitchhiking through the desert from Florentia north to Titans Landing—to the girls and assured Rafel she had no desire to hurt him.

"Don't you worry. It isn't poisoned." She said this to him but allowed her voice caress on to her other visitors. Ravenna, Corazón, and Aya flopped on the camelskin rug and gulped greedily. Dementa bit her bottom lip to hide a smile at this, talking as she watched her captives turn off nearly a bottle. "You know," she told them, "my NURs would just about build you statue and bow obeisance if they knew exactly whom you all are. We do not have many gods in the Badlands. And Visha, the Sandripper is no trustworthy idol."

Rafel lowered an empty gold goblet. "Whom we are?"

"Yes," Dementa said. "You're the Kingslayer of the Capital. Murderer of the Usurper. Bearer of the Demon's head. Nephew to the dark Dowager herself. The Lord of Rebels. When you murdered the King-for-a-Year, you sparked a rebellion so deep in the hearts of people it reached even onto these hot dunes of the Bonelands. A prince of bandits and highroad thieves. The question is, will you lead bands of robbers and pillagers to war?

"And you... you are the new queen." She pointed to Ravenna without hesitation. "I wonder just what it is about this young man that you'll run away with him to the desert, even after he killed your father." Dementa glanced Rafel's way on the couch. "You guys certainly make for an interesting group."

"It's not one thing," Ravenna said quietly, cross-legged on the fluffy rug, as if to herself alone.

The others heard. Rafel looked on her a bit before facing the curvaceous red-dreadlocked Skullrider. He told Dementa in the baritone he reserved for [Four-arm Maulers]: "I have no desire to be an idol. Or a fucking emblem for some revolution!

My only want is to protect me and mine. I am no hero. I killed the King because of entirely selfish reasons... not because I love peace and prosperity in the realm and all that fucking shit. So y'all better start praying to Visha cuz I ain't here to save you."

He heaved off the wildhide couch and pounced for Dementa. He grabbed the bottle off her hands and poured all left in it into his goblet. She stared, quiet, with a delicious smile playing on her full lips as he drained cup and bottle. He didn't burp. And Dementa's smile stretched. A man that had wasn't totally neanderthal. Fucking finally!

Rafel said in a dark timbre to her face. "What do you want with us, Junker queen, I ask you? It's pretty obvious we are not in any way captives of your gang. And as soon as that shit packs up," he pointed toward the tent flaps where the dusty gale outside threatened the beams and made the tent billow, "...we're outta here. So you better start talking, Red."

The tension inside the fine-spread room grew. It wasn't uncomfortable. But it was hella sexual. The shadows of antiques robbed off the furious lands by Dementa sparkled in the tent. Outside, the evening was thick brown as the sandstorm rolled in the Canyon. Dementa finally broke the silence.

She stepped in. Her hefty breasts balanced into his midriff, dropping as ample fruits.

Rafel wasn't sure, but was that her nipples he felt under all that white merchant silk?

"My NURs can want whatever. But I do not desire a fucking symbol. . ." She matched his golden tiger eyes. "I want a man that can match my authority. Overshadow the power I wield. And my body too. This might sound insane, Israfel, but I've been waiting my whole fifty one lives for you."

It was then Rafel recalled to mind what Peitho had said earlier—

This was Dementa's [Fifty first reincarnation].

This woman was stupefying gorgeous. Her locs wonderful and wild, reaching to the mounds of her divine behind. She would be such a great fuck. He knew this, right down to the blood pumping in his groin. Still he held back. Rafel said, "I have had propositions from goddesses and dragons, and Valkyries, Skullrider. What makes you special?"

Dementa wasn't turned off by his confident character. In fact, it was the opposite of that. It aroused her so much she just wanted him to use her however—and wherever at this point.

She replied in equal sense of egotism.

"I own a fucking desert."

Rafel laughed then. "Wow. That's a pretty good reason. But—"

Dementa caught his drift when his eyes slid to Cora and Ravenna sitting behind, and she interrupted it.

"I don't ask for a spot in your harem, Kingslayer. I ask for a hot night in a sandstorm. I ask for a demon's passion. Will you deny me?"

Her breasts rubbed against his chest, straining into her silk top. His cock surged like a motherfucker.

'Peitho, am I right in calculating that everyone in this tent right now is aroused? I wouldn't want to risk what I have with my harem by making them jealous?' he quickly sent this to his system.

[Ding!]

Peitho responded in a filthy sweet accent.

[Host is right. I sense a spike in hormone levels present in a ten feet radius. In crude dialect, all four females are Hot and Ready.]

Rafel couldn't even wait for her to finish. He picked up the soft and warm hand of the gorgeous Skullrider and lowered it to his chest. Dementa gave the most heavenly and sinful smile. She felt his rock hard abs under there, pinched with her fingers, and instantly began a path down. Beyond the scruff of his pants, she touched the push of his cock.

And all her five fingers couldn't sufficiently wrap the girth of it.

"By Visha!" Dementa stuttered.

Just the thought of handling all that man meat was leaving her thighs quaking. She wanted him... bad.

"I told you, love," Ravenna appeared at Dementa's side, "it's not one thing we love about him. It's many, MANY BEAUTIFUL THINGS." She stressed and licked her lips where the other woman rubbed Israfel through his fly. Adjacent in the tent, Cora and Aya nodded, smiling silently with heat mirrored in liquid eyes.

Ravenna urged the Junker queen with a hand to the top of her head, but she didn't need push. "Now on your knees, love. If you deny any longer, you'll only want it more. There's that golden cock, hard and fat, and all for you. There you go, darling. Suck dat dick."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Ravenna's rhobish accent entered the sultry mix, always, always when she was feeling bad things. Rafel almost didn't recognize this delicious side of her. Somewhere in the past winter, his Little Raven had gone and become wild, wild bad.

Under his great stature, on her knees, Dementa wrestled with his zipper, literally panting for his full dick to fill her mouth.

"Ohh goddd."

Uhmmm.

She hissed as his erect penis slid into her mouth. He was girthy and velvet.

Dementa wrapped him with her tongue and started slow. As much as she wanted all of him inside her mouth, he was too big. She let her pink and hot cave lubricate further his veined wonder until she could swallow. And she did. But then her gag reflex came hard, and she sprayed his balls in hot saliva, moaning on her knees as his cock bounced above her face.

"M–More," she gulped.

Cora stood that second and drew near. She kissed Rafel hungrily above Dementa before she pulled back, gazing down to take his shaft in her hand. She had such delicate fingers: a sea-blue manicure. Rafel held Cora close, his right hand on her ass as she jerked him a couple of times. Ravenna was at his left, watching, her jade eyes bright and lusty.

Dementa knelt at their feet.

"Open wide." Ravenna ordered.

The second Dementa's rose lips dropped open, Cora fed her Rafel's cock. All the girls in the tent moaned at the same time to see the thick length throbbing inside her mouth.

GLUG! GLUG!

Dementa sucked hard.

In her case, she had been waiting for fifty lifetimes for this man. One thousand years and forever. And this was no irony.

It was Ravenna and Cora who took off all of the Junker queen's clothes. Her white desert robes puddled the carpet of the tent. Rafel was eased down to the couch by two pairs of female hands.

Dementa, naked and transcendental-hot: her skin tan of the desert sun, angled him at her pulsing core, thrumming for his filling size, and she slid onto him.

"Fuck," Rafel groaned.

"Oh yeah. Taste that Badland pussy." Dementa began to ride, Reverse Cowgirl.

Everyone laughed, but chuckles were quick to fade when the air in the tent grew hoarse with the musk of sex and hardcore boning. Dementa came twice riding Rafel. Once again when he caged her arms and hit it from the back with her bent over her wild-hide rug. Rafel kept back his orgasm for as long as he could. And then with a final guzzling heave he nearly fainted from, he allowed Cora jerked his cock over their faces.

The four women rolled over and knelt before him. Cora pumped and pumped his dick with her saliva-wet fist, milking him in kegs.

SPLAT! SPLAT!

When it was over, a good splash of hot white measure coated the beautiful faces of his harem. And they took it in smiles.

Dementa fell heaving to Rafel's wolfish form some minutes later. His harem sat roundabout, and she calmly chuckled, "thank Visha for the sandstorm."

Rafel only said. "I'll need a map... of the Badlands."