The paladin stands before the gnarled black gates, sword in hand. He surveys the ruined keep with a feeling of resolve. What must come must come. He stands tall in his shining gold armor, clasped over the soft temple robes of his holy order. He clasps the golden coin strapped on a leather thong about his neck, touching the symbol of his god to ask the deity for strength. Then, with a deep breath, he raps on the gate.
It swings open at his touch, under no power that the paladin can see. Immediately dozens of dark creatures are before him, appearing suddenly into existence, strange deformed creatures like distortions of human beings. They are ready to fight, claws forward, bristling with angry, blood-stained weaponry. Some lick their lips with forked tongues, others grin darkly with sharp fangs. They are a mal-formed, messy mob, and appear perfectly capable of killing the paladin instantly.
The paladin holds up his hand. “I come to negotiate!” he calls. “Your master has kidnapped the son of the High Priest. He has given me authority to negotiate on his behalf for his son’s return. I bring gold to bargain.”
The creatures hesitate and one, an imp-like creature, obsidian black, disappears suddenly in a breath of air. The other beings do not even seem to register the imp’s disappearance, but neither to they attack. They stand gazing at the paladin in tense silence for several long minutes, and he can feel the gleeful hatred palpably oozing from them, hungering for his pain.
The imp returns as suddenly as it disappeared, and chatters loudly in a foul tongue. The creatures surge forward as a single living mass, but though the paladin prepares to defend himself, they do not attack. Instead the surround him, grab at his arms and legs, and propel him forward like a wave towards the keep proper.
They bring him finally to an ante-chamber, the crumbling stonework hidden by lush furnishings, the light dim and ominous. The paladin stands in the center of the room, his face creased by a scowl, and confronts the monsters.
“Where is your master?” he demands. “I have come to speak with him!”
A dark chuckle echoes through the assembled mass of creatures, clashing back and forth between ghostly, high-pitched voices and deeper, rumbling tones. The sounds splits into a thousand shards, reflecting upon him like pieces of a broken mirror.
A tall, willowy creature appears in front of him, dark gray and sharply edged at its joints, as though someone had stretched each of its limbs by pinching them at the ends and pulling. Even its head is elongated, its chin and ears pointed, its eyes narrow and greedy. Its clothing hangs in tattered rags on its body.
“You may not see the masster ass you are now,” it hisses in a low voice. Its tongue is long and pointed as well. “You musst firsst be ssearched, relieved of your weaponss.”
The paladin’s scowl deepens, but he unbuckles his sword and holds it before him. “Here is my weapon,” he declares, staring with confidence into the eyes of the long creature. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Mm hm hm!” The creature laughs strangely with a closed mouth. “We shall see about that!”
Hundreds of hands are on him suddenly, grasping at his armor and pulling his clothing. He hears the snapping of buckles as the plates of gold are quickly unfastened and removed from him, leaving him only the pale holy robes beneath. To his consternation, even those are removed; hands, some of them clawed, slip beneath his robe like snakes, sliding over his skin and lifting the soft cloth up, up, around his arms and over his head. The hands brush up his body as they search it, leaving a warning tingle in their wake as the sharp claws do no more than trail lightly over him.
The paladin stands stiffly in the center of the room, not moving. He knows that these creatures mean to intimidate him, unnerve him, and he does not allow himself to succumb to the shudders that threaten his body as limbs, some less than human, trail across his flesh.
The long creature appears before him once again, raising a hand to his face. Fingers so elongated they end in sharp points cup his cheek gently, and the creature lowers its face to the paladin’s. It smiles with a hiss and the pointed tongue slides from between its teeth, licking at the side of the paladin’s face. The tongue feels rough, like sandpaper, as it laps at the paladin’s cheek, sliding across his face as though searching for something. The paladin hears the echoing chuckle move through the ranks of the surrounding creatures as the being tastes him.
One of the long hands reaches behind his head and delves a sharp finger into the hair tied at the nape of his neck. The finger slides down through the golden strands until it comes to the tie, where a rough movement causes the sharp digit to slice through the band, severing it. Waves of pale blond hair fall about the paladin’s shoulders, dripping down his back, framing his face like a halo.
The creature continues to explore the paladin’s face with its tongue, to the amusement of the crowd, as other hands continue to ghost across his naked flesh. Finally the raspy tongue reaches his lips and the paladin clenches his teeth shut tightly. The sharp point delves under his lips, swiping across the surface of the closed teeth with exploratory slowness.
Just then one of the ghosting hands trails across the paladin’s buttocks and a single sharp digit presses suddenly without warning into his anus. The paladin is unable to hold back a gasp, allowing the pointed tongue to slip between his teeth. He tries to bite down, but the tongue is strangely firm, and his bite seems not to affect it. Instead the tongue plunges ruthlessly inside him, the pointed tip sweeping all about his mouth before the elongated muscle slips deep into his throat.
The paladin clenches his eyes shut, but wills himself not to react. He barely even flinches as he feels one of the many hands cups his balls and plays with them, teasing them gently and rolling them about like marbles. He breathes deeply as the finger in his anus is briefly joined by a second one that stretches the muscle open before withdrawing.
The long creature withdraws from his mouth and smiles again, laughing its strange close-mouthed laugh. It circles the paladin idly, its gaze roving hungrily over the well-muscled flesh. The other hands have withdrawn now, the creatures backed away and forming a ring around him. He sees them grin suddenly, flashing fangs suddenly appearing all about the ring of viewers, as the long creature comes to a halt behind him. He does not look over his shoulder, but feels the pointed digits pulling his buttocks apart.
His teeth clench as the long, rasping tongue enters him. The appendage feels thicker than it should as a considerable length of it slides into his anus. The sand-paper feel of it grinds against his anus, irritates the flesh inside him. The feeling is grossly unpleasant, although not quite painful, as the long squirming tongue writhes inside him. He stands perfectly still, teeth gritted against the sensation, as the tongue delves further inside of him.
Another creature suddenly bursts from the crowd, one of the small, imp-like beings. It leaps onto his chest, hanging on him by supporting itself with one hand that grasps his shoulder, its feet braced against the muscles of his stomach. With its free hand, the creature reaches up and grasps the paladin’s nipple, pinching it harshly and twisting it. The paladin grunts but makes no movement. At the same time the tongue has begun to slide in and out of him, the rasp against his insides becoming quickly painful.
The circle of creatures has closed in again, and the hands once more descend on his flesh. Any semblance of privacy or personal space is stripped away as the hands plunder his body, groping each inch of his flesh, new limbs scrabbling for purchase as old ones melt back into the encircling sea of demonic flesh.
The sudden brassy resonance of a gong fills the air, and the demons withdraw instantly. The paladin winces as the rough tongue is abruptly yanked from his anus and the imp uses clawed feet to push off of his chest and spring away. When the paladin glances down, he sees eight small pin-pricks of blood where the imp’s claws rested against his stomach.
The demons have disappeared completely, leaving only the pale temple robe lying at the paladin’s feet. The paladin quickly snatches it up and pulls it on, feeling relief as the soft fabric slides comfortingly over his limbs, the familiar feeling of it replacing the crawling memory of clawed hands and other, less-defined appendages.
As he finishes dressing, the door in front of him slides open, revealing a vast throne room. A long red carpet leads to a stone dais and the large granite throne, its back towering into the eaves. The paladin strides through the door, his eyes fixed on the figure seated on the throne.
The man’s dark robes spill silkenly over the throne like water, the deep black fabric dripping down the arms of the stone chair. From the sleeves emerge pale white hands, fingers long and elegant with pointed nails, but human still. The pale face is equally framed by straight, raven hair that cascades down the man’s shoulders and chest. So framed, the face seems even lighter by comparison, a pale chunk of marble carved into sharp, elegant features. A single dark eyebrow raises contemptuously as the paladin approaches, before equally dark eyes narrow with pleasure and a cruel smile graces the thin lips.
“Welcome,” comes the sorcerer’s deep, silken voice. “I understand you have come to bargain for my new slave’s freedom.” His voice echoes in the enormous, empty room.
“He is not your slave!” The paladin protests angrily as he comes to a halt in front of the dais. “He is the son of the High Priest, and we will have him back!”
The sorcerer smiles and shakes his head, making a rueful “tch” noise. He snaps his fingers. From the shadows next to the throne a creature solidifies, drawing up the essence of the darkness into itself. At a flick of the sorcerer’s wrist it speeds off, passing straight through the left wall of the chamber. Within moments, a door opens in that same wall and the creature returns, pushing before him the priest’s son.
The young man, seventeen years old, is almost naked, his only clothing a small loin cloth covering his genitalia. He stumbles forward ahead of the shadow being as though sleepwalking, his eyes half-lidded, his face passive. When he reaches the dais, the shadow being places black fingers in the boy’s short, red-blond hair and shoves him roughly to his knees. The young man collapses next to the throne, and lists to the side until his head comes to rest against the sorcerer’s knee. The sorcerer reaches down with a smile and pets the soft hair of the boy.
“You see,” he says to the paladin, “he is mine indeed. He is now only for my own pleasure.”
The paladin grits his teeth in rage as the pale fingers comb through the boy’s hair, but he forces himself to remain calm. “I have come to bargain,” he says. “The High Priest offers you gold in return for his son.”
“Tch,” says the sorcerer again, “you mean this?” He holds up the bag of gold coins that his demons removed from the paladin’s armor. “Do you really think that you can appease me with this mere offering? I will not give up my slave so easily.”
The paladin closes his eyes. “This is all he has to give. He offers you everything.”
“Not everything, I think,” says the sorcerer. The paladin opens his eyes to the sorcerer’s cruel smile. “Did you really think you could fool me into accepting this? I know how rich your church is. This amount is paltry.” He throws the bag carelessly to the ground next to him and produces another object: the golden seal of the paladin’s god. The paladin’s eyes widen as the sinful fingers caress the holy medallion. “Perhaps you have something of more worth, hm? Perhaps the High Priest thought he might get his son back if he sent you as a replacement?”
Unable to bear the sight of the sacrilege any longer, the paladin takes a step forward, mouth open to call a challenge, intending to stride onto the dais and retrieve the holy symbol. But as soon as he takes the first step, his body halts of its own accord, frozen, paralyzed. The sorcerer shakes his head.
“You were foolish to come here,” he says. As he speaks, the air in the room suddenly thickens. Throughout the chamber, figures begin to appear, passing through the walls and the floor or coalescing from the very air itself. An army, enormous, far larger than the hoard that held him captive earlier. The immense room is quickly filled with an unholy variety of beasts and monsters, some humanoid, many less so. Dark beings of myth and legend surround them, and all eagerly watch the sorcerer for direction.
The sorcerer stands, and approaches the frozen figure of the paladin, the cruel smirk still playing across his lips. “You never had any hope of defeating me,” he says, “and it was foolish of your High Priest to think that I could be bargained with. Perhaps your fate will teach him a lesson.” He reaches the paladin finally and stands in front of him.
The sorcerer raises one hand in front of the paladin’s face so that the paralyzed man can witness his actions. With the sharp nail on his index finger, he presses down on his thumb until a drop of blood wells from the pale skin. With a smirk, he presses the bleeding digit to the paladin’s forehead, leaving a red mark in the center. Then he removes the digit and places it in the paladin’s open mouth, pressing it onto the man’s tongue. The taste of copper blossoms in the paladin’s mouth, spreading through his body and filling his skin with a strange, tingling sensation. The paladin can sense a growing anticipation from the dark hoard about him, and the room seems to shrink.
The sorcerer removes his thumb from the paladin’s mouth and turns, striding back to the dais and seating himself in the throne. His movements are liquidly graceful. He leans the High Priest’s son’s head against his knees once more and resumes stroking the boy’s hair. With his free hand he snaps his fingers.
The paralysis immediately leaves the paladin’s body, and he slumps to the ground, collapsed. His body feels weak, lethargic, and his mind is beginning to cloud.
“I have placed you under the same spell as my dear slave,” the sorcerer tells him. “The lethargy you feel will unfortunately remain with you constantly while I am alive. I’m afraid I must keep you docile; you would not properly serve otherwise.”
“Serve…?” the paladin manages; the act of speech is already becoming difficult. His tongue feels thick in his mouth.
“Of course,” says the sorcerer. “I am not the only one on these premises in need of pleasure.” He waves a hand about the room. “Have at him,” he says simply.
The paladin feels a wave of panic wash over his brain as the crowd of demons closes in on him eagerly. The hands return, as before, and his robe is ripped from him, hundreds of clawed hands grasping it and pulling it in all directions. He hears the rending of the cloth as the hands once again descend on his body, touching him, caressing the naked flesh so no inch is spared.
He catches a glimpse of the sorcerer on his throne, watching him through glittering eyes, before a large body moves in front of him, eclipsing his vision. He looks up, although even that movement is an effort, to see that the body belongs to a minotaur. The creature has the head of an ox, and when he rips aside his loin cloth, the paladin sees that he is endowed to match. The paladin is unable to fight as the minotaur lifts the paladin’s head, pressing open his mouth, and pushes the head of his enormous penis past the paladin’s lips.
The echoing chuckle bursts throughout the room again, multiplied a thousand-fold from before. The paladin wonders how many demons there are within this army, and if each of them will have their pleasure with his body. His true mind panics at this thought, but newer, hazy thoughts welcome the prospect, insisting that he desires this very thing.
The myriad hands prop him onto all fours, and he vaguely realizes that the minotaur has sunk to his knees to allow the paladin to better pleasure him. Eagerly, not believing himself, the paladin sucks on the head of the creature’s member, plunging his face downward, trying to fit as much of the giant cock into his mouth as he can. His mouth is full very quickly; even relaxing his throat and choking down the head, he cannot fit even half of the bull penis inside. He swallows around the thick flesh and feels the large hands of the minotaur fist in his hair.
As they do so, something probes at his anus. He cannot turn his head to look around, but it feels like a slimy tendril of some sort. It wastes no time before delving inside him, and the paladin feels that it gets thicker and thicker as more and more pushes in. The tentacle is buried about a foot inside him when a second one teases his entrance, slipping in beside the first. The paladin groans in pleasure and appreciation and lifts his hands to cup the large balls of the minotaur.
As the third tentacle begins to push into him, the minotaur finally comes into his mouth. The first few pulses of seed are poured directly down his throat, but as the beast continues to come he draws back, and the paladin is treated to several splatters of cum that coat his face before the ox-man’s orgasm finally ceases.
When the minotaur draws back and before the next strange beast comes to pleasure himself at the man’s mouth, the paladin catches another glimpse of the sorcerer through the wall of demonic bodies. The sorcerer smiles darkly at him before his attention turns down to the boy at his feet. Then the paladin is distracted as another cock is forced into his mouth and four large tentacles begin to thrust roughly in and out of his anus.
The sorcerer looks away from the demonic orgy for a moment to gaze down at his pet. He places a hand on the boy’s chin and tilts his head up so that he meets the sorcerer’s eyes.
“Pleasure me,” he commands the boy. “Use your mouth.”
The boy nods, a look of hazy pleasure on his face, and quickly unties the fastening of the sorcerer’s robes, pulling them aside and allowing the sorcerer’s erection to bob free. He eagerly lowers his face over the sorcerer’s lap, taking the man’s cock deep into his throat, so deep that his lips brush against dark pubic hair. He feels his master’s hands pull his hair roughly as he pleasures the man, and the pain feels good to him. He moans in pleasure, stimulating his master’s cock.
The sorcerer returns his attention to the orgy as his talented slave begins to move his head up and down. The demons are still eagerly penetrating the paladin, and the sorcerer notes that the man is now on his back, with two demons inside his anus at once, his hands and mouth pleasuring further members of the hoard. The sorcerer sighs contentedly, bucking his hips a bit to further push his member down the boy’s throat.
On the throne room floor, the two demons penetrating the paladin come simultaneously, filling the holy man with their seed.