Content Note:
Contains non-consensual sex.
On the second day of our journey north from Benatek, we awoke late after a long night of mutual passion, and only a rather urgent need to clean ourselves (as well as the usual) prevented our staying wrapped in each other's arms. As joyful as it was to bring Hanwe to climax, her orgasms were wet and messy, and her chastity belt had quickly become a slimy mess of cum that had inevitably smeared all over us both.
"Ugh," I said, cleaning myself in the cold water of the river we had slept by. We'd made it out of the marshes and into the hills before making camp. If we'd started earlier in the day, we might have made it to Fandralko, the first proper staging post on the road to Alba. We could have stayed in an inn and eaten hot food and bathed in warm water. "We really need to get you out of that belt."
Of course, the only key was back in Benatek, clenched firmly in Lady Minarwe's hand. Hanwe was adept at making me come with her mouth and fingers, but I yearned to feel her cock inside me again. I wanted to feel her cum bursting out into me as I screamed in ecstasy. Watching her beside me in the river, her fingers massaging the moonsilver belt in a very suggestive manner, did nothing to cool my unsatisfied lust for her.
"It's a beautiful day," she said, her one blue eye playful, the black too intimidating to look at for more than an instant. "Let's begin your training."
I had, after all, asked for it. Lady Veshla had given me Ulaxr's silver sword, and I knew nothing about swordplay. I did, fortunately, have the muscles for it. In becoming Lia, I had inherited the body of a warrior queen. As long as I wore the Ring of Perliss, that body had been maintained in that superb form too, but the ring had been taken from me. I needed to start earning that incredible gift.
"Just follow my moves," Hanwe said, once she had adjusted my grip on the hilt. She took up her own sword, the Dawn Blade given to her by Zar, and swept it slowly about her in an elegant and perfectly controlled display. I tried my best to duplicate her moves, and not to be distracted by the deadly magic infusing the naked weapons.
After this exercise, we ate and packed and set off again, Fandralko our likely next stopping point - only for a man on horseback, heading south, to halt beside us briefly. While the horse drank from the river, its rider dismounted and spoke with us. "Terrible news from Fandralko," he said. "Terrible."
"What has happened?" I asked.
"An affliction," he said. "I hesitate to describe it to young women such as yourselves, but it is better you are warned. Many of the men there are maddened with a strange lust. One look at a woman and they will pursue her and abuse her most vigorously, while crying out for forgiveness. They shed tears of wretched misery, but they do not cease their ravishment of the unfortunate women they have captured. You would be wise to turn back to Benatek."
"What of the children?" Hanwe asked.
"They have been brought safely away, thank the gods, but the men have barricaded themselves in the village hall with their captives, and they are armed too. They are quite mad, though, and will charge out at the sight of a woman, and even in the midst of brawling their exposed cocks are constantly hard."
He mounted his horse and turned south again. "I go to fetch aid from the city. Take my advice, and follow me there."
We watched him ride off in fresh haste. "Witches," I said.
The witch's spell book that I was slowly getting to grips with started out lightly with healing magic and enchantments and spells of perception and even divination. There was a method to boost a man's virility using his own semen and a moonlit incantation, although the mystical symbols that accompanied this spell in the book had an instability.
I had seen this spell's effect on Fenizir. Three times the witches had worked their evil on him, etching this symbol of sexual potency into his flesh. With each repetition, the symbol had knotted about itself, making him both more virile and less in control of his own desires. Had I not interrupted them, had they continued to burn that increasingly cruel magic into him, he might have ended up much as Fandralko's men had become. Crazed with the need for sexual relief and unable to find it.
"See this symbol," I explained to Hanwe, scribing it in the muddy bank of the river. "See how if I use the end of this first as the start of a second -"
Hanwe recoiled away from me, her hand seeking out the hilt of her sword. "A serpent!" she cried, and indeed the doubled symbol seemed to writhe in the mud. I added a third and a fourth, chaining them together, as Hanwe stared in horror. She moved her patch to the other eye, so that only her black Unsleeping Eye could see, and slowly she calmed down. "This is unnatural stuff," she declared.
"Yes," I agreed. "This is what the witches are drawing, not in the mud but in the flesh."
"But why?" she demanded. "What purpose is there in it?"
I shrugged. "There are many spells in this book that make use of a man's cum. Make him virile, and you can collect far more of the stuff in a short time. The cum of a virile man has greater magical strength too. Remember how Abab-Baria turned the prince into a minotaur?" I laughed at the thought of my old teacher transforming a man into a bull. There was a cruelty to it, but a magnificence too. "But also," I added, "I think they enjoy the chaos it brings."
I studied the coiling, knotting symbol for a few breaths longer, until even my head was hurting from it, then washed it away with water from the river. "If only it could be so easily washed from flesh," I muttered.
Hanwe sighed with relief, and switched the patch back. It was a relief for me to see her blue, human eye again, and this time not filled with horror. "Is there nothing we can do for them?" she asked. "Or must they be killed? Or suffer torment in prison for the rest of their lives?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Unpicking a spell is not something I've ever tried to do." Although Old Mother Baria had used to do it often, muttering to herself like other grannies might do when unpicking a line of knitting that went wrong. "Let me think on it."
*
It was dusk when we came in sight of Fandralko. Two old men stood guard on the road. "Best you don't go any nearer, ladies," said one. "It's not safe for women."
"How many men are afflicted?" I asked.
