Samira’s eyes opened slowly in the darkness of the chieftain’s bedchamber, though she was careful to keep her breathing slow and steady. Her ears twitched again, having awakened her moments before. Something subtle but distinct in the distance, echoing through the caverns. Shouting, the clash of steel on steel.
So, it had begun.
Still bound with the ropes after the orc chieftain had used her until he had worn out his stamina, she flexed her fingers to bring back feeling to them, and quickly worked her claws through the ropes. Her flesh felt sticky from sweat and orc cum, and she ignored the strong, sweaty scent of body odor as she worked. The first of the ropes gave, then another, loosening around her arms.
A gong sounded somewhere in the caverns, loud and reverberating, mixed with shouts in orcish, warning of an attack.
The chieftain stirred, grunting as he pulled himself upright, cocking his head as he tried to fight the wine and his own fatigue. It didn’t take him long, just a few seconds, before he staggered to his feet and rushed from the chamber, shouting orders as he went, however unsteady he moved.
Samira, ignored and forgotten in the heat of the moment, quickly worked her way through the remaining ropes, wiggled her wrists and shoulders, and shrugged out of the sliced hemp fibers. She threw the damp, sweat-soured furs off of her and untied the ropes the chieftain had bound her legs with before he’d passed out, clumsy compared to his earlier work, and took a few extra moments to work loose the painfully snug leather thongs around her breasts. As blood rushed back into her breasts, she hissed and gritted her teeth, her tail thrashing.
There would be a reckoning this night.
“Great mother Bastet, grant your child thy healing breath, that she may have the strength to finish the hunt,” Samira whispered, golden light appearing in her hands as she finished the short prayer. She pressed her glowing hands to her throbbing, tingling breasts and sighed as Bastet’s power washed through her, the worst of the pain vanishing in moments, along with the other pains her body had been left with after the idiot shaman had conducted his sadistic pleasures in the guise of a ritual.
Thusly healed, Samira rose silently and padded toward the chamber entrance, leaned outward carefully to look for any bandits that may be near. Seeing none, she went swiftly into the darkness, barely making a sound as she swept down the tunnel, following the orcish chieftain’s scent. It didn’t take her long to determine that he was headed toward the battle in the direction of the entrance they had been brought through the previous day, following the path they’d been brought along.
Several orcs staggered out from the direction of the ritual chamber, most completely naked as they tried to fight off the wine they’d overindulged upon. Samira pressed herself into a depression in the cavern walls, let them pass.
Following behind, she kept her eyes out for one of the weapon caches. The first three had been emptied, but coming to the fourth along the route, she found everything she needed: a bow and a quiver of arrows, and a long dagger, the blade curving back and forth along its length. She eased the sheathed dagger into the quiver and slung it over her shoulder, hefting the bow, then tested the draw. It was stiff, but she could handle the draw, long enough to finish this hunt.
“Guide thy huntress towards thy prey, mighty Mafdet,” Samira said, knocking an arrow as she went into the darkness toward the sound of battle.
[POV – Bekksie]
Groaning, Bekksie wiggled and squirmed, groping at the cum-slick ropes ineffectually as she fought to escape. She was tired, and more than a little drunk, but she hadn’t been out too long. She’d been awake when the orcs had been stirred by the ringing gong, shouting about a sudden attack from strange, horned warriors.
“Gee, who could that be, I wonder?” Bekksie thought, rolling her eyes.
Biting down on the bit they’d stuck between her teeth again, Bekksie shot dirty looks at the elf and human. They were still passed out, sticky cum dripping from their mouths and pussies, the human still tied to the frame, and the elf still hanging from the suspended wine jug.
“Lightweights!” Bekksie thought, huffing angrily as she failed to find purchase on the ropes. The orcs, even the half-bloods, had plenty of stamina, even after drinking down so much of the wine, and she must have had all of them inside of her or in her hands or feet at some point during the wild night, after Galvaera and Astrid had had as much as they could handle. Which hadn’t been that many honestly; they just didn’t have what it took to please a bunch of hot and horny orcs, no experience either. Bekksie was going to be sore in the morning, and with a wicked hangover, but from the sound of things, she had to get out of the caves, and quick!
Of course, even in their sex- and booze-filled orgy, the orcs hadn’t forgotten to secure her before they’d dropped and fallen asleep around the chamber. No, that sadistic shaman had made sure of that, apparently having not drank any of the wine himself; he’d been stalking around the orgy looking as if he disapproved of the whole thing. As she’d laid there covered with and filled by orc cum, her stomach actually bloated from just how much she’d swallowed, he’d ordered a couple of the more coherent orcs to bind her again. He’d had them put her boots back on, very aware of just how well she could use her toes, and didn’t want to risk her untying any ropes with them.
They’d tied her much like she’d been before, ankles to thighs, arms behind her back, with wrists crossed and secured to the spiked collar, some of the leather thongs tied around her fingers, forcing them together, then into fists, making sure her hands were useless. Then they’d fitted the bit back between her teeth and squeezed her inside one of the empty wine jugs, made easier by the then-slick cum that covered her, and tied more rope around her neck, then to the lip of the jug, effectively keeping her quite secure and at no risk of causing trouble.
Now, with her knees barely touching the bottom of the jug, Bekksie choked on the ropes as she tried to wiggle free. Inside her boots, her toes wiggled, feeling orc cum between them and inside her boots. “It’ll take me forever to get the smell out. Again…” she thought sourly. She shook back and forth, but the heavy jug wouldn’t tip over. “Damn it all! And damn that old sadistic bastard double!”
The battle grew closer, the mazoku making quick progress through the caverns. Hearing groans from Astrid, then Galvaera a few moments later, Bekksie wiggled herself around to look at them, saw that they were starting to stir.
She caught a flash of movement in the gloom beyond the ring of columns, a darkly cloaked figure. In the darkness, she saw the figure turn towards the sound of battle, then recognized him as the shaman. The bastard flashed a vile smirk her way, and continued on to the far side of the chamber, vanishing into another tunnel.
He was fleeing! The asshole was running away!
Bekksie let out an exasperated sigh as she gave one more fierce struggle, earned nothing more than choking herself again, and leaving herself more sweaty than she already had been.
“Hmm, mmnhm np mnn phmmn, mmm nmmn phn gmph nnph nf hmrm! (Hey, wake up you two, we need to get out of here!)” she shouted, trying to get the other two moving. Astrid raised her head slowly, looked around tiredly, then slumped forward again. Galvaera groaned, at least gave a wiggle as she felt her bonds, but was out again shortly thereafter.
Resigning herself to whatever fate lay ahead, Bekksie concentrated on keeping her balance on her knees and not tightening the ropes around her neck. “How pathetic would that be? Sucking down dozens of thick orc cocks only to choke myself on something like this?”
The clash of swords drew closer, the shouting more desperate. As Bekksie watched, toward the tunnel that had led them here, she saw a trio of orcs, bloody and mostly naked, stagger through, making for the rear tunnel, fear clear on their porcine faces.
A few moments later, the chieftain staggered into the chamber, scimitar clutched in his left hand, blood pouring down from his right shoulder where an arrow had stuck, smaller slashing wounds over his naked body. He ran forward another dozen steps, then yelled in pain as a second arrow sunk into his left knee, followed by a third one to his left shoulder, the shock of the impact making him drop his sword as she stumbled forward and landed hard on the ground, roaring defiantly as he tried to reach for the arrow shafts.
“Do not run, chieftain! Face your judgement before Anubis!” Samira shouted as she came out of the tunnel, bow in hand, another arrow knocked. Her eyes glowed with a yellow-gold light, her voice louder and more commanding than it should have been, even in the chamber. Some kind of magic!
Bekksie, eyes wide, jaw slack around the bit gag, watched as the chieftain pulled himself over the floor, bleeding out over the sand-covered stone. He jerked, crying out in fresh pain as a fourth arrow landed in his other knee.
The cat-priestess was playing with him!
Samira strode forward boldly even in her nakedness, tossed the bow aside. She drew a long, snake-like kris dagger from within the quiver, then tossed the half-empty quiver to the floor. Reaching the orc, she reached down and grabbed his grimy, sweat-soaked hair firmly in her offhand and pulled, making him roar in fresh pain as she dragged him toward the jackal-headed statue.
“Oh no…she’s going to do it again!” Bekksie thought, suddenly realizing what Samira had in mind. She shivered inside the wine jug as the brazier in the center of the chamber flared to life on its own, the orange flames rising a good three feet high. She let out a little scared squeak, noticing that Astrid and Galvaera were finally awake, if not fully aware, again, their dull eyes finding Samira.
They hadn’t witnessed this yet. How lucky they were!
“Oh, great Anubis!” Samira chanted as she released the orc before the jackal-headed statue, Anubis, apparently. She kicked the orc tot silence his blubbered protest and raised her arms wide, dagger in hand. “Your humble servant stands before you! In the name of Mafdet the Huntress, I present one to be judged! Weigh his heart, great Anubis, and pronounce sentence upon him!”
Bekksie wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t as she watched Samira crouch atop the orc chieftain and drive the dagger into his chest. The orc screamed and thrashed, but Samira handled his struggles far too well, like she was extremely well-practiced in the act. She worked the dagger, blood sprayed, and Bekksie heard bone cracking, making her cum-filled stomach quiver.
All too soon Samira reached into the orc’s chest and withdrew his still-beating heart. She rose, turning toward the brazier, chanting something in that strange, ancient tongue again. The worst part was that the chieftain was still alive, pushing himself weakly upright on his elbows, then reached toward the fresh hole in his chest with wide, horrified eyes. She circled the brazier and faced the statue of Anubis as her chanting grew stronger, again opening her arms wide and raising them, heart in one, downward-pointing dagger in the other.
As her chanting reached fevered pitch, the flames in the brazier turned black. Shouting the name of Anubis once more, Samira cast the heart into the black flames.
For a moment, silence filled he cavern, the chieftain suddenly frozen, his body contorted in silent agony. Then his body erupted in black fire, his scream of utter horror and agony echoing throughout the cavern, then vanishing, seemingly pulled downward, as the flames vanished and his body crumbled into dust.
Silence filled the chamber as the light of the brazier faded. Bekksie saw Galvaera and Astrid staring with wide eyes at Samira; their mouths likely would have stood agape even without help from the ring gags.
As the flames in the brazier died, Samira lowered her arms and went to her knees, laying the dagger on the ground before her as she continued her chanting in that strange language, muted now.
“Well…that was certainly dramatic,” said a sultry, deeper, yet distinctly feminine voice from the cavern entrance, sounding surprised, maybe even a little horrified herself.
Bekksie blinked, turned her eyes in that direction at the familiar voice. She recognized the wild, flame-like hair and fair-skinned elven features of the lightly armored figure, twin swords sheathed at her hips. Her pale blue eyes were slowly turning from surprise to amusement, her lips turning up in her usual smug, smirking smile.
It was Ryouka! One of the Imperator’s slave mistresses! What was she doing here?!
* * * * *
This story features the following themes from this year’s Kinktober list.
Tangle/Trap
Stretch/Grope
Sadistic/Imaginary
Strip/Encase
Squeeze/Secret
Quicksand/Harem
Clean/Dirty
Dramatic/Punish
Balance/Hood
Wax/Mummification
Magic/Fantasy
Natural/Camouflage
Hostage/Doll
Vintage/Ancient
Revenge/Mischief
Candy/Potion
This story contains the adventuring party experiencing: Multiple males dominating multiple females, bondage, capture, ropes, leather, heavy BDSM, suspension, being bound together, bit gags, ring gags, stuff gags, whipping, nipple rings, nose rings, clit rings, slave collars, orcs, kerryns (catgirls), goblins, humans, elves, mazoku (tieflings), swords & sorcery, pulp adventure, blood, sacrifice, bound sex, orgy, group sex, footjobs, handjobs, blowjobs, vaginal sex, anal sex and maybe more I’ve forgotten to include here.
This is a story written as a call back to the old pulp style sword & sorcery adventurers, so some themes are dark and a bit graphic, but that’s kind of the name of the game with this setting. If Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was too much for you, this might not be the story for you (but that’s not until Chapter 6)!
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