Grimora the Sorceress chapter 1 first draft

Beyond the Swamps of Ruin, in the heart of the Forest of Forgotten Souls, rose up a sharp black mountain that made the last two places look pretty nice in comparison. No one dared climb it, or walk near it, or even look at it too long. Because inside that mountain, carved by devils into that evil and desolate rock, lay Grimora the Sorceress' Mountain Fortress of Power.

Or as she shortened it for people she was about to kill, the Sorceress Fortress.

Her magic ravaged the land and terrorized the peasants, sometimes to get something, sometimes for laughs. If the crops failed, you can be sure it was because Grimora made it rain frogs. If a town burned down, it might have been that Grimora commanded her minions to steal something and they got bored doing it. If the cattle bore mutant calves in springtime, it was probably because Grimora summoned a hell bull to go on a mating rampage with them in the night while she watched (because she thought that was kinda hot). Whatever horrible misfortune or unnatural tragedy befell, Grimora was likely behind it. She was as wicked as they come, and she wanted to rule the world. Because what else was magic for?

But Grimora had a problem. You see, to take over the world, even with magic, a girl needs people she can count on. And her legion of impish minions, on the whole, were useless. Loyal, yes. Evil and mischievious, absolutely. But they were also small, weak, and dumb. They could break things, as long as nobody bigger and braver than them showed up to kick them away. The could steal things, just not usually the thing that they were asked to. And for any plan that needed stealth, subterfuge, coordination? They would screw it up in seconds. In any mission they were sent on, the body count would be in the double digits even if it was "successful". Not that Grimora actually counted. But she knew it was high.

She could also summon demons and devils from the lower planes, which were much stronger and cleverer, but they always wanted contracts, and pacts, and your soul or something in exchange. And they would turn on you in a heartbeat.

Hiring mercenaries? Too expensive, and not much more competent than her minions, which she could make in a pit for free. And it was against her principles to pay money for things.

No, she needed a real henchman. A warrior. A strong right hand. A champion of evil. Someone mighty, cunning, loyal, immune to fear, impervious to pain, invincible in battle. With someone like that by her side, all would fall before her!

Grimora gazed into her crystal ball, and sent her minions far and wide to search for such champion, or if none could be found, the means to make or summon one. So far, the search remained fruitless. Such a warrior didn't come around every day.

After yet another disastrous mission where her idiotic minions failed her yet again, she grew tired of throwing them into a pit of starving wolverines and retired to her boudoir. It was full of magical artifacts, evil tomes, staffs with skulls on them, and lots of other things with skulls on them. It was also full of stuffed animals and plushies, and many of them had skulls on them too. Pillows, silks, chandaliers with black iron and blue candles, a vanity mirror the size of a barn, a roaring fireplace that could fit 4 men skewered end to end. Though if she let their legs down, she bet she could fit 5 next time.

It also had a handy pentagram carved into the stone floor. She needed some tension relief, and the wolverine pit didn't do it today. She needed to summon up someone to help her out.

Grimora prepared for the ritual. Normally she would have started at the vanity mirror so she fix her hair could touch up her makeup, which she liked dark around the eyes and lips. Her whole presentation was decidedly gothic, with black hair and nails, pale complexion, and long dark dresses or robes being her style of choice. She liked looking good. But she was too frustrated to freshen up today, and she knew that who she was summoning wouldn't say no anyway. She decided to cut right to the chase, and pulled off her dress over her head and tossed it in a corner.

Naked, and voluptuous as a dark queen ought to be, she began the ritual. A dance, a chant, a dusting of sulfur, and the pentagram began to glow red. From its center, ring of whistling hot flames erupted. And up through it, accompanied by the distant screams of the damned, rose a beautiful and muscular young devil. His skin was red, his eyes a gleaming amber. A set of small horns and a roped tail gave away his origin, in case anyone was confused.

The incubus, who was clothed in a fine shirt and trousers, bemusedly eyed the already naked Grimora.

"It seems we are anxious today," teased the devil in a smoky voice.

"Spare me, Barnabus. I've had a hard day and I need some stress relieving. Kindly get on with it."

"Very well," he smiled, and bowed. "You have summoned me, your humble servant, Barnabus. What does the mistress desire?"

"Start with the usual."

Moments later on her giant circular bed, the incubus was making her body stir. He knew all the places she liked: that spot on the back of her right knee, the feeling of fingers running between her shoulder blades, a light nibble on the earlobe. She was beginning to relax a little. Not bad, she thought, for the cheapest incubus in hell.

It was taking a while to get her going, much to Grimora's annoyance, but the incubus was patient and persistent as a coiled snake. He moved on to the breast sucking and the light caress of her labia. As she began to sigh and her body began to heat up, his caress focused to her clitoris, circling it with his expert touch, which made it "pitch a tent" under her hood. With his target now coming out of hiding, he took his mouth off her breast, and, kissing her body all the way down to it, gently put his mouth over that tent.

She lay there, deep in thought, while her pussy was being eaten out by a devil. She just couldn't get her mind off this special henchman business. Was she looking in the right places? There had been so many dead ends. So many foolhardy men who turned out to be all boasting. So many recipes that turned out to make simple golems, or suits of talking armor to entertain tourists. So many snake oil salesmen that ripped her off, who she then fed to the wolverines. What was left to try? Could sell her soul to a devil, not like the pretty boy with his tongue in her snatch down there, but a real one, with power to grant. Tempting...but she did want to keep her soul. She was a strong believer in sole soul ownership, no strings attached. It was the principle of the thing. Maybe collaborate with another magic user? No way, then they would want to control whatever they make. Then there would have to be double-crossing involved, and who knows what a jealous partner could do in the time between--

"Mistress Grimora? Do I give you no pleasure? What troubles you?"

She looked down in annoyance at the handsome face between her legs. It was nothing mindblowing, but it was a warm, comfortable tongue-fucking that was good for thinking. She wanted bark at Barnabus that she didn't tell him to stop. But she was just thinking in circles, and that wasn't making her feel any better. She didn't summon him to help her think, she summoned him to get her off. And this wasn't doing it.

"What troubles me doesn't concern you, Barnabus, except that I am still quite unsatisfied. I think this is going to be a "bull" kind of session."

Barnabus licked his lips and grinned. "Indeed, it does look like some more...exciting measures are needed today. What you ask for, I will serve."

He produced a pot full of gel, who knows from where, and with his fingers applied it to Grimora's vagina, inside and out. It had a cooling sensation that made her break out into goosebumps and shiver. Her heart began to beat faster in anticipation, and she began to heat up again.

The incubus smiled and offered his hand, which she took. He led her to a short wooden structure in the corner, a crossbeam held up by two sturdy supports, like a set of stocks without the holes. A set of cushions were attached to the top. Grimora bent over at the waist and rested her head and arms on those cushions, presenting her rear end to the room. She felt the incubus lean over her, hugging his body to her's, and cup her breasts in both hands. He kissed her on the ear and gave her breasts a gentle squeeze. Then he whispered in that ear:

"I'm going to make you my cow."

"Oh, Barnabus...that was a very unsexy thing to say. Try again."

"I'm going to breed you like a steer."

"Better. But no more talking." Neither of them knew that a steer was a castrated bull.

He released her breasts and backed off. She saw the wall in front of her light up from a flash of hellfire behind. She heard a set of heavy hooves land on the stone floor. She heard a loud snort, and a hot blast of air hit her ass cheeks. She flinched, and something in her belly quivered.

Grimora turned her head to look. Behind her was a magnificent red bull. His horns were wide and curved, his muscles were enormous. He snorted again, and pawed his hoof on the floor.

"Ah...that is a better look for you," remarked Grimora with a smirk. She widened her stance.

The bull put his nose between her cheeks, and she felt a strong, thick tongue lap at her vagina. She hissed, and she felt her knees start to go weak. Now that was not a tongue you could ignore!

"Ah--OK--Ah OK, that's MM! Good Barnabus! Enough of that. I'm ready for you. Come on!" She rocked her hips invitingly.

A vast shadow fell over her, and two huge hooves landed on the crossbeam on both sides of her with a CLOMP. The bull was right over her now, and something long, hard, and hot came to a rest on her back. She swallowed, and her heart pounded. This was it!

She leaned herself forward, feeling the bull's penis slide down her spine, until its tip was burning hot between her bottom cheeks. She wriggled her hips until its fleshy head was partly nestled in her labial folds. She took a breath. Then, pushing off the beam and grunting, she slid that magnificent powerful penis into herself as far as it would go.

"HAAAAAHhhhhh..." she sighed, knees trembling. It was so hot, so filling! Her legs were having trouble holding her up. She began to drool.

If he were a real bull, she would have died very quickly. But Barnabus, even in the form of a hulking animal, was perfectly controlled. He snorted and grunted as he pumped the small woman under him, slowly, gently.

"Hah...hah...faster, beast! I thought you wanted to NNN! breed me!"

On her command, Barnabus picked up the pace. She got on her tiptoes and stuck her rear in the air, and got that ramming bull cock hitting just the right spot. She gasped, and moaned, and her legs shook under her. She dripped moisture from many places: her skin; her mouth; her pounded, squelching crotch. She reached out and gripped the bull's front legs, hanging on for dear life.

"Aaaah, YES! More! More! AAAA--"

Her breasts shook, and she yelped and cried out with pleasure, and reached down to her crotch to feel the furiously pistoning penis slide in and out of her. She caressed her own clitoris while she was there, and her eyes crossed, her legs buckled, and she groaned. All over her body, the waves of mind-melting sensation began to peak. Here it comes--!

"AANG--Barnabus! I'm not, NNNN! your fucking cow! You're my bull! You NNNNGAAAhear me!? You (gasp) are (gasp) MY (gasp) BULLLLLLLL!!!"

Her insides slammed shut, her legs tucked in, her back arched to match the curve of the bull's belly, and despite her words, she lowed very much like a cow. When the orgasm released it's grip, she sagged, hanging off the bull's penis like an oven mitt on a peg. Her toes dragged on the floor.

The erection died down and lost its pressure, and she slid off and fell on her hands and knees on the floor. She keeled over and lay on her side, quivering and panting. She felt the points of a pair of horns prod at her back, then slide under her and lift her off the floor. Barnabus the bull carried Grimora's limp body on top of his horns, then, gently as he could, tossed her back onto her bed.

"OOF! Haaaaahhhh ha ha ha...delicious. Oh my. That put me right...as...rain."

Still breathing heavily, she lazily put her hand between her legs, swished it around a time or two, then bought it back up to look. She only saw her own clear juices on her fingers.

"Looks like you chose not to breed me today after all," she wryly remarked.

"No, I thought that it would make easier cleanup," replied a now humanoid Barnabus, wiping his penis off with a rag. "The first time we did that, you complained about how all the bull cum ruined your rugs."

"I see...well, being pumped full of bull semen does add a more...visceral touch at the end. Depends on my mood, I suppose."

"I suppose. Now, whenever you are composed, Mistress Grimora..."

"Yes yes, your payment. A moment."

She made a somatic pattern with her hand, and pointed a medium sized box with a tarp over it. She bid it come, and, lifting off the ground and floating through the air, it did. The box landed on the edge of the bed. Somewhere inside, a muffled and pitiful whimpering.

Barnabus took off the tarp, and smirked. "Excellent. You remembered the air holes this time."

"A fine litter of puppies, freshly kidnapped. I hope they will make excellent hellhounds."

Barnabus cracked open the lid, and his smile dropped right off. He reached in and pulled out a puppy, squealing and wriggling in his grip, and peered at it closely.

"Are these...dachshunds?"

"Is that what they are? Well, you can make hellhounds out of anything, I suppose."

"No, not really Grimora! You need, you know, tough dogs! Pit dogs! Guard dogs! Not some tiny family pets! What am I going to do with these?"

Grimora gave a wicked grin. She loved it when she could make Barnabus drop the classy "service top" act.

"Pish posh, dear Barnabus, give them a chance. You never know what they'll grow up into. Why, with your expert training and tender care, I'm sure they'll grow up to be the most feared ankle biters in hell!" She cackled.

"Not funny!" Barnabus fumed. "The other incubi are going to laugh at me! Some payment! I want real dogs!"

"Come now, Barnabus, let's be reasonable. You never asked for specific breeds, and even if you did, my minions would never be able to tell the difference. You get what you get. Now kindly leave my chambers before I send you back the hard way."

"Hmph!" Barnabus pouted, which looked hilarious to Grimora on that usually unflappable chisled face. He snatched up the box in a huff. "It not that hard. Just tell them to look for big dogs. Big, scary dogs. Not flipping...wiener dogs! GAH!"

Ass out and carrying a box of kidnapped puppies, the incubus stomped back to the hell portal and fizzled back from whence he came.

Grimora, still glowing from post-coital bliss, and having successfully topped it off with a good old act of meanness, sighed with contentment. Yes. That did put her right as rain.