Empire Of The Black Moon

It had been 50 years since the vile witch Morgana usurped the throne and the kingdom from the rightful king, masterminding a reign of terror and madness that had not been equaled since King Arthur waged war with his own mad son. As her power and treachery poisoned the land, so too did hope and defiance bloom in equal measure. Like all blooms, however bright, there came a time to wilt. This is such a tale, of black roses and their thorns...

Parisa's sore feet walked along crumbled stone. Every day she woke it was if the previous day of torment had been forgotten, making each pain as fresh and strange as the first. She limped with her chained procession and looked around. Nothing but a sea of humanity before and behind her.

Beside her strode knights clad in massive suits of black armor, adorned with spikes, metal thorns and shrunken heads. Sometimes it would be a witch, their intoxicating perfume a prelude to the wondrous image of twisted femininity that would canter into sight.

Tall, pointy hats would sit atop heads of midnight black tresses or locks as bright as the night stars. Some were clad in luxurious robes that only hinted at the outrageous curves that lay beneath, others embraced their fallen nature. Those that did were often clad in form fitting silks that left their lush and defined thighs exposed, while their massive breasts remained constrained by smooth black leather straps. Being creatures of lust and treachery, it was not uncommon for the witches to arch their backs, making the soft flesh of their plump melons spill free.

The male slaves that looked upon their spectacular breasts were often beaten and whipped to their delighted cackles, while others were broken out of their chains and taken for the witch's pleasure... never to be seen again. Parisa had noticed that things had gotten so desperate of late that many men were deliberately looking at the exposed witches, wanting to take a chance with them rather than endure one more step.

Parisa broke out in goosebumps as the slave line came under the cool shadow of Queen Morgana's Tower of Darkness. The tower rose high above the twisted city of Camlann, putting its tall, black and barbed walls to shame. Even now, Parisa could hear the cries and screams of anguish and pleasure waft up over the sky and into the cold air.

As they came closer to the main gates, she noticed giant columns coming into view on both sides of the road. The columns were slate gray and the tips terminated into the head of a phallus. Moaning women were strapped to all of them. Parisa shivered as she walked by. Their cries of sexual euphoria touched her soul deeply. And then the olive skinned slave from the Southlands felt the blood drain from her face when she saw what was at the base of the phallic columns.

Stones. Just a little over two feet tall, they shined like polished black eggs. Strangely too, they pulsated as if they were living.

Shouts of fright and despair rose from the slave crowd seeing the foul things crack open. As tired as she was, Parisa had already connected the dots. The women tied to the phallic pillars had their legs splayed wide by chains, their dripping pussies left exposed to the enlivened stones below. Before she could contemplate further, a witch's voice broke her out of her musing.

"Behold slaves! Those who run away are denied the pleasure of becoming one with our Queen within her grand chambers... but they will join us all the same, whether it be in warmth or cold, your soul is ours!" The maniacal witch at the head of the procession drew out her scepter and fired in the air to punctuate her point. Her hair flowed over her shoulders like rivers of swirled honey gold, and her ponderous, caramel bronzed breasts verged on spilling over her dark red corset.

Parisa thought it curious that the witch was so bronzed, knowing that everyone she had seen thus far had been endowed with an immaculate, pale marble complexion. She must have been a seasoned witch. Parisa squinted her eyes, and on second glance thought the woman's skin almost looked golden. "I am Ingrid, Mistress of Flesh, and I decree that you watch!" The procession stopped, and on both sides the slaves were confronted with the sight of writhing sacrifices and the strange beasts that were bursting from their shells.

Like oversized black snakes the creatures leapt free from their cracked stones and wrapped around the pillars. They slowly slithered up and made inevitable progress to the pinned women. The closer they got, the more the women moaned. Parisa couldn't tell if they were anticipating or fearing their inexorable crawl to destiny.

Some jutted their hips out, willingly offering their gushing womanhood's to the dark creatures. "Ohhhh..." moaned one as the head of the creature poked at her slit, licking and testing the aura of an untainted morsel. Pure and ripe for the taking. Others said nothing but a gentle sigh, resigned to their fates as the evil beasts laid claim to their luscious bodies, their high and soft breasts heaving and their toned backs arching in climax as the erotic terrors pushed in.

Parisa averted her gaze from the horrible sight and looked instead to the girl closest to her. She seemed but a simple peasant girl, fireheaded and freckled, all that would win a man's praise was that her breasts were supple and perky. Unlike the other chained women, the phallic snake beneath her moved with terrifying eagerness.

It wound up the various contours of the stone column before it wrapped around the woman's pale, trembling leg. Parisa watched with perverse anticipation as the creature left a wet trail along her creamy skin, moving up along her upper inner thigh, poised to invade her tight and glistening pink flower.

"No... no!" whimpered the redhead, her wide eyes bright with fear as she bucked against her chains. The creature prolonged her torment and swept up her back before crossing between the shuddering swells of her breasts. Other women on the pillars, now sweaty and steaming with malevolent energy, cackled at her misfortune.

"Enjoy it sweetheart! You'll regret putting it off as long as you did!"

"Let the change take you! It feels so... divine!"

The village girl shivered and whimpered while the phallic head of the beast hovered above her pubic mound, savoring each delicious note of emotion from her quivering soul. So ready to rip away her innocence, ready to plant the essence of darkness into her unknowing spirit... ready to make a slave.

At once the beast shot forward.

Parisa was startled at how fast it slithered up inside the vibrant redhead. The infested woman took a series of deep and breathy gasps, her eyes wide open in fearful anticipation, unwilling to consider what would happen next now that it was inside her. Her sighs and breaths punctuated the silence, which soon shifted from reluctant and fearful gasps to something... more pleasurable.

Parisa tensed as the girl stiffened, her arms still, her face caught in a mask of torture and ecstasy. And then with a long and husky moan, the girl relaxed her muscles. She quivered and her eyes rolled back in her head while whimpers of pleasure tumbled from her lips. Soon her quivers turned to twitches, then violent spasms, until in less than a minute, she was screaming her ecstasy to the sky as she convulsed to a savage cascade of orgasms.

"Yesss!" she hissed, still shaking as she arched her back, "Take me my Queen! I repent before your touch!" It amazed Parisa how fast her attitude changed, faster still was how quickly her body changed to the forbidden sex magic. Perky, athletic breasts doubled in size, her flesh rippling and expanding as her melons retained their delectable shape. Her carnal gasps streaked the air as her bosom bounced and blossomed with a luscious fullness. Her indistinct waist thinned into proportion and became emphasized all the more when her hips widened, becoming rounded and swooped.

Parisa felt a little bit of envy, though the poor girl's soul had been devoured. The way her enormous, round breasts bobbed to her heaving gasps was almost hypnotizing. The redhead's characteristic hair was no longer so, now inky black like her new sisters in arms. But the light freckles over her chest did remain, accenting the proud and upturned milky white swells of her large breasts.

Her dark nipples bore into Parisa's eyes, growing sharp and perky, almost like a challenge to the young slave. She quickly averted her gaze to the woman's face and felt her breath catch in her throat. The woman's dark eyes held Parisa's gaze with a certain look. A look of invitation.

"Join me..." she whispered.

Parisa turned away and shivered, just in time for Ingrid to shout once more to a now thoroughly demoralized crowd. "This is but a taste of your future. Rejoice that the good Queen has deigned to rescue your poor souls from the dreary existence of only trying to survive. Here, you will flourish... in the Empire of the Black Moon!"

***

Parisa had been pampered and decorated with various powders and scents to accentuate her beauty. All the slaves had been given relief from their hard travels in luxuriant baths. It was a welcome comfort, but Parisa knew at the back of her mind what was to come.

Sacrifice.

Men, older women, prostitutes and criminals from her homeland had been diverted onto other city duties, whittling the crowd down to the young and nubile, their spirits not yet tarred by the travails of the world.

As the newly resplendent women were lead down an arched marble hallway, she realized there were no guards strolling along with them. Only Ingrid led from the head of the line, spewing her vile ideas about power like a serpent spat poison.

Parisa saw where the line headed. The women ahead filed into a circular pit, much like the gladiator rings of old. Except the floor was not padded with crusty brown dust, but with every sort of cushion known to the imagination.

Crimson pillows, embroidered with gold tassels were laid out in between silver bowls of grapes and peaches. Fluffy, feathered headrests, sealed over in dead soft black silks stood out on the the dark violet satin blankets that covered the hard marble floor.

Ostentatious statues depicting ancient witches and warlocks hung from the walls surrounding the circle, carved in the very same black stone that the egg-like stones from the city entrance were made from. Below them, stony phalluses and vaginal arches alternated between each stone figure.

The place was set out like some darkly erotic picnic, one that Parisa was eager to fall away from. She looked to the girl next to her. Maria was her name, a local girl from Parisa's village. "Maria," she said, nudging on the brunette's arm, "There's no one else around, we can go!"

Maria stared ahead with pained eyes. "B-but... the fruit looks so good... and the cushions... so soft and comfy." Parisa frowned and wondered what was wrong with her. The girl almost seemed to moan at the end of her sentence.

Parisa didn't have time for idiocy. "Yeah, ok. You're comin' with me." She yanked Maria by the arm and the two peeled off from the line. Their space was quickly filled by the next two girls behind them. Parisa got behind a large violet banner that extended from a ceiling arch down to the floor with Sam in tow.

Hidden in the shadows, she felt uneasy, watching the women in the line become progressively more empty eyed with a more staggered gait. She looked to the sensual circle once more and regretted it once she did. Everything called to her.

The erect members of the statues, the glittering red and white wines laid out in crystal goblets and the sumptuous honeyed hams, all within reaching distance of each pile of cushions. She felt her breath grow heavy and her nipples turn to rising buds as a familiar heat laced up her thighs.

She looked away from the tempting sight with a soft sigh, and stared at the ground. Her soul screamed for her to look back, but her will was strong, and her eyes made do with observing the slave procession instead. She watched as every last couple stepped through the arch leading to the circle in lockstep, like lambs to the slaughter.

And then as the last foot stepped inside the circle, great and grand black iron doors slammed shut. Parisa sighed with relief. She was free. For now. She looked back to Maria. She sat on the floor with her legs splayed out as her fingers rubbed against her pussy furiously.

"What are you doing!?" Parisa hissed. Of course she knew perfectly well what the farm girl was doing, being a lonely farm girl herself, she was well familiar what boredom could do to a young woman. But this was no place for such a display.

The cushions would have been welcome after such a long journey, the glistening ham and assorted fruits sweet and succulent. But as Parisa stared down at Maria's soaked crotch, she figured they didn't look

that

succulent. An uncanny magic was at play.

Before she could contemplate any further, she felt a steel gauntlet enclose around her throat. "You scream you die." She looked at the armored arm, wondering what new torment awaited her.

But then a golden glow shimmered around the plates and radiated into her chest. The memories of how delectable the food looked dimmed, until they were remembered as any other meal in her life: typical. "I am Joran Baird, Protector of His Holiness and Blessed Subjects." said the man, his voice gruff and rugged.

He let Parisa go and yanked Maria off the floor. Parisa watched him and observed other movements in the shadows. Joran looked younger than his voice suggested. Only the barest streaks of white ran against his blond hair. He looked to Parisa as he slung Maria over his shoulder.

"Whether you wanted to or not, you're in the war now. Welcome to the resistance."

***

Joran had cured Maria of her erotic malaise and handed her off to his men, but insisted Parisa stay with him. The two were now perched on a ledge that overlooked the circle of temptation that she had narrowly avoided. The holy necklace Joran had placed around her neck prevented her from regarding the assorted temptations in the same manner as before.

Outside the circle, on the audience platform was an empty throne, chased with silver and filled with bright red cushions to contrast against its black frame. She thought it curious that it was not filled. When her gaze drifted to the inside of the circle itself, it was as she feared.

The women lazed about, feeding each other grapes and moaning as they splashed wine over their faces. Their gaudy makeup turned runny and drizzled down in between their round breasts in rivers of lurid color. They had long given up resisting the dreadful aura that seduced their souls and tantalized their bodies.

Parisa felt the dark presence in the room coil and swirl around her limbs, like a kiss of cold air, held back by her pendant. "I want to leave."

Joran shook his head. "No, you must see what we are fighting against. This is more than just sword against sword, this is a war for our souls."

Parisa's eyes became misty. "I know what they are capable of. I saw it on my way here."

Joran locked eyes with her. "That is nothing. Now you want to escape, don't you?" She nodded. "After this, you will want to kill her. I promise."

"Her?"

He gestured back to the circle, and she looked in turn. She gasped when the curtains behind the throne overlooking the circle parted. The most beautiful woman she had ever seen passed through the violet silks, trailed by a retinue as fearsome as she was alluring.

The Queen.

Her skin was smooth alabaster and seemed to glow like the moon. Midnight black locks flowed down her slim shoulders and over her toned back. She did not float, and yet did not seem to walk. Her hips swished from side to side, accentuating their wide form. Every subtle muscle moved in rhythm to her gait, like a snake slithering to its prey.

Silver serpents wrapped along her arms and clasped her long embroidered loincloth to her waist. With each step, shapely legs peeked out from under the rich black fabrics, liquid smooth yet strong and powerful. The bountiful flesh of her huge ivory breasts pressed against the silver scaled serpents that held them back. Gleaming violet gems, adorned to her stylized bra, rose and fell to the heaving rhythm of her ponderous globes.

When she took the throne, a giant snake slithered from behind and draped itself over her shoulders and lithe arms. Behind her to the right stood a giant of a man, easily over six feet tall and bedecked in nightmarish black armor, ornamented with kill tallies and inscriptions of the profane. To the voluptuous Queen's left was the strange blonde from earlier, her tresses gleamed like molten gold and her ample tanned cleavage swelled below her neck, her heaving globes a radiant golden brown. Behind her was a line of followers, all shrouded in darkness.

Parisa thought it absurd that the retinue should have a retinue.

Joran spoke up. "That's the Black Knight on the right. A terrible foe and betrayer of the realm. I take it you've already met Ingrid, the Queen's second in command and favorite sycophant. Behind her is Vincent, Ingrid's second in command, and behind Vincent is... I quite forgot her name, but she's his second in command."

Queen Morgana raised a languid hand, signaling to some unseen follower.

"It begins." said the Paladin.

Torchlight dimmed and the cacophony of grinding stone roared into the air. Parisa saw the stone gargoyle heads within the 'arena', placed at head level, their jaws opened. At first nothing happened. The women's lust and terror filled moans filled the darkness and the Queen remained perfectly still but for the rising swells of her chest.

She broke the silence with an aroused cry. "FEAAAAST!"

The torchlight blazed back to full luminosity, just in time for Parisa to witness countless streams of blackish purple smoke disgorge from the gargoyle's mouths. The sight was just enough for some of the dazed women to be shocked back into reality. She picked out two brunettes, perhaps mother and daughter, bolt off the ground and knock over goblets and fruit baskets, but there was nowhere to go.

Every angle was covered and every door was locked. One woman grabbed a silk blanket and covered up her face and mouth, only to be undone as a wispy coil of darkness snaked up into her pussy. The effect was immediate. She shuddered in pleasure and kept the cloth to her face, even as the endless fount of darkness burrowed deep inside her. Parisa paled when the woman's eyes rolled back into her head and gave in to the unimaginable pleasure, dropping the blanket. She fell back onto her back and surrendered just as an additional tendril shot down her mouth.

Other women caught on quickly and tried to block every opening, only to be surprised by a slithering trail of smoke in between their ass cheeks. Their backs arched and their toes curled as the infectious and insidious ecstasy worked its touch over their bodies.

Much to Parisa's horror, many women remained calm and lay on their backs with their legs spread wide in acceptance. They yielded willingly to the invasion in their bodies, moaning softly as Morgana's darkness changed them from the inside. Complexions lightened into the hue of winter clouds while small and typical breasts underwent sorcerous growth spurts. They bounced and throbbed as they grew swollen in size and more spectacular in shape, their luscious and plump globes having pushed aside the modest mounds of the past.

Whether taken willingly or unwillingly, eyes burned in lurid violet and crooked, dangerous smiles broke out from the reborn harlots. Parisa felt a gnawing urge to just look away as many of the turned women held down those who were untouched. Most tragically, the mother from before had her daughter pinned, cackling as she stuffed the poor girl's face with her massive melons. She poured the evil that had corrupted her soul straight out of her soaked pussy and into her daughter's own.