The Red Crusade

I'm quite new to writing, so please do take the time to comment and vote! :)

This quick story takes place in the same universe as my mini-novella, The Thief of Virtue, which is also on Literotica.

The text below is original content which belongs to the author. This work must not be reproduced either in part or in full without the permission of the author.

*****

Captain Lorn Maarson of the Red Crusade cursed as he stumbled through the dark, spiny thickets of Daymone's Wood. He and his troops had been camping nearby last night, and had awoken to find an anonymous note. The paper smelled of smoke and was slightly charred, but the message was clear enough. There was an Alchemist living secretly in the nearby forest, spreading her filth amongst the people. Lorn had sent his troops onwards to the next patrol town. This shouldn't take long and he'd meet them there once he was done.

Lorn rubbed an irritation on his cheek, feeling a raised scratch over the old, familiar scar tissue, and looked around wearily for signs of habitation. He'd spent most of his life outside the borders of Radminia, fighting one country and another for the King's Red Crusade. Barely forty now, he was a decorated officer and a Captain. He was proud of his country, proud that his King took a stance against the Alchemists. The power they held in their potions - to kill, to alter the mind or the body, or even to detach the spirit - was too great. They were too dangerous.

He knew what the foreigners called the Radminian soldiers- the Red Slaughters, the Dragonhorde Massacrers, and other such names. Well, he'd followed orders, he'd taken knocks a plenty and he'd secured those territories against the scourge of the Alchemists, not that they were grateful. The army would look after him now. The Red Crusade had claimed many new lands for Radminia; the country was thrice the size it had been when the Crusade had begun, and there was new land for high-up soldiers who'd grown weary of fighting. He'd been promised a tidy plot close to the new border, near the foothills of the Needle Peaks. That had been the territory of the nomad tribes, but when they'd refused to eschew Alchemy and turn over their power-blooded, the Red Crusade had wiped them out. Lorn was counting off the days until he could begin his life there. Meanwhile he was restricted to 'house cleaning', as the Commander called it - the domestic duties of patrolling the Crusade within the borders of Old Radminia. He was rediscovering the country he had left to protect as a 12-year-old drummer boy.

Head spinning with past and future, Lorn pushed on through the dense vegetation of the wood. Finally, he fell out of a close-grown thicket almost on top of a little, wooden building. A large and neatly-tended herb garden round the back made Lorn instantly certain that this must be the right place. Alchemists and their bloody herbs - and that was the best of it; he'd heard of those who'd use human organs to make their foul potions more potent. He pulled some rope from his pack and moved carefully, looking for life.

After searching the sunny clearing and finding no one outside Lorn tried the door, which swung open soundlessly. The single room was sparse and tidy - a bed, a shelf of books, and a work table and chair. There was someone still asleep, a tuft of yellow hair visible from his vantage-point by the door. He walked over to the bed and yanked the blankets back, exposing the night-gowned figure of a girl. She was much younger than he had expected, barely in her 20s if he had to guess, and he couldn't help noticing that she had a rather voluptuous figure, just the kind he liked. She looked up at him, disoriented, and he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her onto the wooden chair, tying her there with deft, practised movements. The girl was alert and afraid now, and she screamed as she saw his face. His years of fighting had not been kind to him and he was heavily scarred - scary-looking, he supposed. He slapped her firmly, and she abruptly stopped screaming.

He had her secure now, and though she struggled against the bonds of the rope she couldn't get free. Her movement had pulled open the neck of her nightshirt and he could see her large breasts splaying to either side against her chest, shaking slightly with her rapid breathing. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. Normally they were older - throwbacks from the start of the Crusade - it looked like someone was training new Alchemists, keeping the tradition alive, and he would have to pass that intel on.

"Anyone else live here?" he growled. The girl looked up at him with large, frightened eyes. Her lips were red and very full, the lower trembling slightly as she stared at him. He wrapped his fingers into her golden hair and tugged, and she squealed.

"I said, does anyone else live here." His face was inches from hers. She shook her head slightly, her green eyes tearstained and mesmerised with fear. Lorn looked around the cottage. There was a single bed, a single chair - she was probably telling the truth.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked, softer.

"Xaedria, sir."

"You've been accused of Alchemy, Xaedria. Is that true?"

"No, sir, no! I never would do that," she started, the frightened words babbling out from her lips. He sighed, walked over to the bookcase and tugged a book from the shelf, opening a page a random. The girl fell silent, looking at him apprehensively.

"... and be ye certayn that the Root Wart be ever so fresh and fayr, not two or three days fromm the plant, or thee poition will fail and will ynstead becume right poision to ye bloode..." he read aloud. He closed the book sharply and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "I suppose that's what happened to the Queen, right? She was accidentally poisoned? Bad ingredients, perhaps?"

Xaedria remained silent, but looked down at her bare knees. Her cheeks were blushed red now. Lorn strolled over to the table, where various tools were laid out. Lorn had become quite knowledgeable about the various instruments of the alchemical craft. There was a pestle and mortar on the table, along with assorted knives laid neatly along the back, designed for skinning and dissecting.

"Are these your tools?" Lorn asked. Xaedria was still silent, and he noticed a tear rolling down her cheek.

Lorn felt rather uncomfortable. It was all very well fighting hill tribes, who fought back with poisoned arrows and toxin-laced swords, that at least was soldier's work. But this? Even if the girl was a filthy alchemist, she was still just a girl. The order was to kill any confirmed alchemist on sight, but he didn't really want to kill her. Maybe if he could get her to say that she was merely staying here - that the real alchemist had abandoned the place. As if reading his mind, the girl looked him straight in the eye and said, "Please, Sir, I am an alchemist. I know you have to kill me. But I'm a virgin - I don't want to die a virgin." Her tears were gone, and in their place was a strangely seductive glint in her eye.

"Who taught you? Someone must have taught you," he insisted, trying to ignore her strange behaviour. It must be some kind of trick to escape, he thought; I won't be so easy to fool.

"Please sir, won't you help me?" she looked up at him, her full lips parted with desire. He shook his head, as much to tell himself no, but she still persisted.

"Please sir, won't you take me? As a last act of kindness to me? Won't you strip me naked and have your way with me?" Lorn blinked. This was very odd. He couldn't do this, he had to deny her. Unfortunately, he was immensely turned on. The girl could have been made for him - her soft skin and blonde hair reminded him of the first girl he had kissed, whilst her large, pillowy breasts were something from a dream. Normally he had to pay for women, because they were afraid of his scars. Even the whores turned away from his face. And she was begging for him.

Somehow her bonds must have come undone, because she stood up from the chair and walked towards him. Her nightgown was loose around her figure, but as he ran his hands down her side he felt her voluptuous curves, drawing in to a neat, small waist and out over decadently full hips. His breath caught in his throat as she came so close that his swollen manhood pushed against her. He felt almost dizzy, like in a waking dream.

She walked into him and he backed away, until he felt the bed against the back of his knees. She pushed him and he sat down heavily. He could feel himself fully erect in his trousers, and when the girl straddled his lap the pressure became intense. It had been over a month since he'd had a woman, and that had been a tired-out whore, not a beautiful ,young angel like this. She was just giving herself to him, like this? Her golden curls hung around his face as she embraced him.

I smell irresistible...

She smelled amazing, homey, like rosemary and bread dough. He pressed his nose into her neck, enjoying her scent as his hands still explored her body. Her hair caught the sunlight and shone, and he smiled as he drew it back and found her pink, shell-like ear, kissing it gently. She shivered in pleasure, and her smile was almost childlike in anticipation. She seemed so young, too young...

I'm just old enough...

...or maybe she was just the right age for him. Her breasts were very full. He pulled at the nightgown, not caring that it ripped, revealing her naked form to him finally. Her nipples stood up eagerly, small and delicate pink on the heavy breasts, and in a moment he had his tongue over one, exploring her. They had a spicy taste...

sweet...

...a sweet taste, almost like vanilla. He slid his hand over her flesh, grabbing her lustily, and she moaned. Her own hands had become busy, stroking around his shoulders and neck.

"Please take me," she whispered into his ear, her voice high and hoarse. Her breath was very hot on his skin, and he relished the feeling. All scruples finally dissolved, he reached down to his trousers to find them already undone. He lifted the girl off his lap, rolling her over onto her back and beside him on the bed. Standing up, he dropped his trousers, tugging them off with his boots in a frenzy. The ripped nightshirt hung fully open around the girl now. Her round thighs were parted and he could see her blonde little triangle, the dew between her legs shining slightly in the sunlight. She held her own breasts in her hands, grasping and rubbing them. She looked so beautiful, so pure and lovely, aching with need for him. For him.

"Please..." she pleaded him. "Please take me..." He knelt down in front of her, and laid his head on her full thigh, enjoying her vanilla scent and the softness of her skin.

"Believe me," he said to her seriously, stroking her hips gently and bringing forth soft moans; "if this is your first time, you'll want me to do this properly." He licked his fingers, then slid them over the already-damp petals of her sex, gently spreading wetness over them. Slowly, he pushed one digit inside her, and she moaned lustily. Her muscles clung to his probing finger, tight and hot, and he wondered how he would ever get himself inside her. He moved back and forth a little, and she wiggled her hips searching for deeper penetration. After a moment he found what he was looking for - the little membranous barrier inside her. He was surprised she was still intact - women could tear their hymen easily enough without a man. He had taken true virgins only a few times - it had been rather traumatic for the girls in question, though they had been willing, more or less, and he hoped that Xaedria would not lose her nerve and scream. Maybe he shouldn't be doing this after all, he thought, guiltily.

"Please, I want this," said the girl, again answering his unvoiced thoughts. She looked down at him between her legs, her wide eyes so innocent and her full, parted lips so sinful, and he couldn't refuse her. He kissed her thighs and pressed hard, piercing the membrane, feeling it tear beneath his fingers. She cried out a little, but pressed him deeper inside her. He had expected to see blood, at least a little, but nothing came. Instead, she rocked her hips back and forth on his finger, wet and ready, clearly enjoying the penetration.

"Please take me," she said again. "Please!" she begged. Her voice was husky with need, and Lorn pulled his finger out from her, preparing to take her. He spat into his hand, and rubbed his saliva along his length for extra lubrication. Straddling her, his knees either side of her hips, he looked down at the sweet, blonde girl, her face flushed and eager. Yes, this was strange, but finally he didn't care. He slowly sank his full length into her hot, wet centre.

There was a loud noise, like a clap of thunder, and suddenly everything was different. The neat, sun-drenched cottage was gone. Through the dim twilight he could see an over-grown ruin around him, vines reclaiming the rune-covered, broken stones. The bed he kneeled upon was no longer soft, but hard, cold stone. He realised that it was an altar, set up in a clearing, the crumbling limestone walls of a temple still just about visible in the shadows. And the girl beneath him was no girl.

The sweet, blonde-haired angel was gone. In place of those wide, innocent green eyes were burning, orange orbs, with long slit-shaped pupils. The pale skin was now dark, reddish black, and hot to the touch. It had a sultry glow even in the near-darkness. His length, inside her, was burning, painful, erotic. He felt something gripping his waist and looking around, realised that a spiked tail had bitten into his flesh, holding him firmly to her. There was no escape now.

She sat up and grinned at him, her still-full lips drawing back to reveal sharp incisors. She blinked, internal eyelids sliding horizontally over those orange eyes for a moment as she enjoyed his confusion and disorientation. Humans were such a treat, and so adorably indignant. Other races took their fate with some grace, but humans always somehow believed that they were owed something better, as if their own actions had not drawn them into the situation. As if there were any other way.

"Take me, please," she mocked, still using the high, husky voice of her blonde persona. He still straddled her, and she rubbed her hot hands down his chest as he stared at her, enjoying his confusion. "Well, don't you want me anymore?" she taunted, using her normal voice, which buzzed two-toned with strange vibrations from her other-worldly anatomy.

"But... but..." stammered Lorn, trying to wrap his head around what was going on.

"You gave yourself to me willingly," Xaedria said, still smiling. "The contract is binding, and Arnan's stipulations upheld - I told you my true name, and I never forced you. Now don't look so sad," she continued. "I thought you'd be more of the 'rape-and-interrogate' type, but you're really quite a softy. And you put up a good fight, even against your heart's desire. Now it's time for your reward."

Lorn panicked, and tried to draw himself out of this strange creature. His member was going limp with fear, but she held on around his waist with her spiny tail. The barbs dug into his flesh, making it impossible to move. Then she kissed him; her lips burned, salty and with a familiar spicy fragrance. It was the flavour he had tasted just for a moment when he had put his lips to her breasts, back in the sun-drenched cottage minutes before. She was in every way different to the blonde vision she had been, but so erotic, exotic, as if created for sex and sex alone. Her hair was cropped and black, sleekly shining on her head and accentuating the angles of her cheekbones, the upturned nose, the full, full, lips. There must have been something in her kiss, in her saliva, something. He felt his manhood rise again, and the smile returned to her face. She moved his struggling body backwards now, so that she straddled him, and began to ride.

Lorn gasped - her insides were like a hot, wet vice, burning and gripping him. Strange muscles undulated along his length, urging him on. Her body, as it moved above him, was much altered now. Her large breasts were smaller, firmer and higher up on her chest. They still bounced hypnotically as she swayed above him, tipped with jet-black points which contrasted to the glowing red hue of her dark skin. Her waist was still slim, but her hips and thighs were sleek and muscular as they pistoned over him, going faster and faster as she sensed his oncoming climax. He would not last long, he knew. Amongst the heat and strange sensations, he already felt the familiar tension inside as his body as it prepared for orgasm. He was rutting into her now, a willing victim of her lust. She rode him still, furiously, a seductive smile just visible on her face as her head was thrown back, enjoying herself. Finally, with a low grunt, he pushed into her as far as he could go and spurted his seed deeply inside her.

Lorn was panting with exertion, lights flashing in front of his eyes. He had never come so intensely in his life. He loved the feeling which came with spilling his seed inside women, the power and virility of it, but they were always afraid of getting pregnant and never allowed him. Xaedria had slowed her pace, watching him with a smile of amusement.

"Nothing grows within a daemon," she said in her bizarre, two-toned voice, clearly reading his thoughts. Lorn gaped at her, astonished. "What? Haven't guessed what I am?" she teased. She leant down and ran her tongue over his lips, lapped at his cheek, finally bringing her lips to his ear.

"Don't tell anyone," she whispered, her breath erotically hot against his earlobe, "but I'm a Succubus." Lorn stared at her in horror. He'd heard the stories, but he'd always assumed they were just that - stories. Maybe fantasies of horny soldiers. Not... this.

Xaedria giggled, finding amusement in his horror.

"Arnan protect me," he stammered.

"Oh, Arnan tried," she said, grinning. "I told you - I have to tell you my true name - who's ever heard of a peasant girl named Xaedria? And I can't force you. I didn't force you. You took me. You offered yourself to me." Her bi-tonal voice was unnerving and her smile, with her pointed incisors revealed, made it worse. "You made the sacrifice."

He began to struggle again, and she tightened her grip on him with her tail. Even though he was terrified, even though he had already come moments ago, he was still hard and aching to be ridden by her, impatient to push himself into her darkness again and again, and to spill inside her.

She moved now with fierce intention, writhing and dancing on him, moaning now as she became more aroused. Her hands grasped his and pulled them to her breasts. He couldn't help but obey, teasing and clutching at her hot skin and firm flesh, pulling at her nipples which were slightly cooler and hard, smooth, almost glassy. The Succubus rocked back and forth and their skin slapped together, her strange muscles rippling along his length ever tighter. He could barely focus his eyes now with the intensity of the feelings, as she stimulated and worked his member deeper and deeper inside her. Xaedria's sharp teeth found a sensitive place on his neck and she bit down as she moved above him, his moans a strange blend of pleasure and pain, her keening becoming louder and more insistent. He felt himself almost reaching orgasm, his body flexing in anticipation, and then his shaft was squeezed hard, painfully, almost twisted. Above him Xaedria howled with pleasure, her skin burning even hotter. Her muscles pulsed relentlessly around his member, tearing at the flesh, and she oozed a burning liquid around his shaft. Finally, the mixed stimulus of pleasure and pain sent him over the edge, and he came once more inside her, a mess of pulsation, ecstasy and agony.