Fallen: A Hasting Joining (Succubus/Vampire) (Futa/Fem) (Mind Control) (Curse)

Story by stgmilleralive

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Hello, I just joined today and decided to impart my mark on the forum with a recent story I wrote on commission. It's set in a established fantasy world, "Fallen", and it's a 'porn with story' entry and I'm sure it'll have an audience here.

I see no reason to give any more big introductions or anything else, this is the third forum I've wrote stories on and so I want to try something new here. Basically a cold dip into the world to see how people respond. If that makes you uneasy then just know I acknowledge the fact my readers love: violence, sex, and mystery.

I've divided it in two parts. Both parts are about five pages long in MSWord.

Part one: Mostly introduction, no sex, blood and violence with a pinch of mystery and bleakness.

A Hasting Joining

Part One

“Arrga! Fuck that burns,” the soldier growled lowly as the Lightbearer poured a pouch of alcohol over the gash on his hand. “Can’t you just use some of that flashy-healy-light?” he asked, fixing the soiled bandages around his pencil-thin neck.

The Lightbearer grinned, her bloody, gloved hands still comforting the wounded man. “Not every cut can be healed by Melittale’s Light. Now Guardian, act like a man and I might just give you a parting kiss…”

The soldier’s smiling teeth were dried black with his blood. “Surviving a halberd to the throat is one thing; being kissed by such a lovely lady would make my day.”

Zaeilla of the Heart Mire sighed deeply as she lifted herself off the wet floor of the tent. She wiped the dirt from her chainmail pants, satin-gloved hands jiggling chainmail around her wide hips. “I’ve had my nap amongst the wounded,” she said with a yawn, arching her curved back, stretching her shadowy wings. “The Heart Mire calls me,” she said to the Lightbearer.

The girl turned from her Guardian patient, “You’ve done too much for me to repay, Zae.” Her glowing eyes, radiating with Melittale’s Light, warmed the Succubus's heart.

Zae ran a hand through her chest-length auburn hair, curling the end around her bulging breasts suspended in chainmail. “We Succubi don’t believe in debts,” she said with thin lips painted dark crimson. “It’s all about exchanges,” she continued with a wave of her short, thin fingers, “and consequences.”

“And hot arses,” a wounded soldier in his bed mumbled as he stared at the flawless cheeks pointed directly at his face.

Zae admired the attention, faking coyness; she popped her hips with each step towards the Lightbearer. She held out a hand to the girl, “Gelden will do for this.” A disarming smile formed on Zae’s evenly-spaced face. Her ember eyes, the same color as her hearty hair, reflected the candlelight, the Twin Suns were setting behind her wings. Their spears of light slowly retreating from the tent.

The Lightbearer placed a bag of coins in Zae’s wanting hand. “A Mercenary deserves her wage. Walk in the path of Melittale, warrior.”

Zae tried the pouch to her belt, after feeling the weight, she stepped outside. She gave a few nods to the passing Wache soldiers carrying their dead and wounded. The tired eyes of some relaxing men playing cards swayed to her chainmail bodysuit as she passed. A whistle sounded from one of them, and Zae let the soldier have a full-view of her bending over to retrieve her warhammer. Zae flicked the mud off the polished metal, the large head a comfortable weight on her shoulder as she left the war-camp.

‘Now if only they got the bridge fixed,’ she thought. Her wings twitched with apprehension as the wind carried the smell of decay to her small, upturned nose. ‘I’m not looking forward to traveling through this battlefield,’ she pondered with the same grief.

Hasting was once a meadow, then a field, then village, and finally a battlefield: she’d had seen it evolve. As a succubus, she’d lived four centuries serving the Empire of the Binding Light and the Heart Mire in the eternal war against the Demonicka. Hasting was special to her, it wasn’t another contract. She’d lost her virginity here, picked her first apple from a nearby orchard, and had a slice of the best strawberry pie a mortal could make in the burnt-out house ahead.

It was just tear-jerking ashes now; war had come to Hasting, upon the winds of the Second Sanguine Crusade. The town, most of it was gone, plowed over to make room and wood for the E

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