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^﴾ ^Content: ^18+, ^age ^difference, ^asphyxiation, ^big ^breasts, ^big ^dick, ^breathplay, ^coercion, ^choking, ^cum ^in ^hair, ^cum ^in ^mouth, ^cum ^swallow, ^dubious ^consent ^[dubcon], ^excessive ^cum, ^fantasy ^setting, ^magic, ^multiple ^orgasms, ^oral ^sex ^[fellatio], ^﴿
***
Fire leapt from the sorceress’ eyes, igniting the bulky cloak that obscured her curvaceous form. Sparks sizzled down the strands of her fiery hair, which burned away the knotted ribbon, and unleashed a cascade of crimson tresses down her bare back. The blaze licked at her flesh as the robes burned to ash, but scarred neither her body nor the dark, form-fitting garb underneath.
Though her entrance was quite the display, it paled in comparison to whatever arcane secrets held the pale-skinned sorceress’ voluminous curves within the confines of her overburdened corset. She called her magic staff—a bright ash-wood claw clutching a glimmering gem—to her hand with a thought, wiping a lingering bit of smoldering cloth from her dark skirt.
“Comforting that even in these tumultuous times, the ego of the Gidal nobility remains intact,” The figure seated before her shook his tired head, his face and body concealed within his weather-beaten robes, “Your flair for the dramatic is noted, child. Now, what do you want?”
The sorceress’ cheeks tightened, as did her grip on the wooden staff. She otherwise ignored the snide remark, bowing her head with a polite curtsy—the nicety extended out of obligation rather than genuine warmth or respect.
“I am Azara. Of the Ashen Snow,” As the fire within them burned away, her piercing eyes returned to their natural color—a silver so luminous as to be seen in the blackest night, “I’ve come to speak with Iskander Bloodmoon on behalf of Queen Cyneburga XVIII.”
“Look no further, little one…” The old man lifted his head, exposing his sun-beaten skin and the salt and pepper stubble that decorated his squared jaw. Dark eyes peered into hers, almost imperceptible beneath his hood, “…I am he.”
“The Queen sends her regards, sir. She desires your presence,” Azara’s words had the suggestion of a recitation rather than an attempt at conversation. Even her brief pause seemed practiced, “I have been sent to escort you, and ensure safe passage back to the castle.”
“The duty of messenger falls on the court magician these days?” Iskander grumbled as he laughed in his throat, “Perhaps I am getting out of touch in my twilight years… but I suspect your queen’s desire means more to us ‘savage folk’ than a simple request. I would wager a refusal will not be accepted.”
“I’m sure the queen would honor your wishes, sir,” Azara began, shifting her staff to her left hand, “However, I _will not_ be returning to the castle without you in tow.”
“Then you may wish to get comfortable outside its walls, Lady Azara. For I have no intention of leaving this path.”
“Pity,” Azara’s facade of politeness evaporated the instant Iskander’s refusal reached her ears, “I had hoped you beasts could be reasoned with.”
His gravelly laugh echoed through the rocky canyon, sunlight glistening off of his pointed teeth.
“You are not the first, sorceress. Nor will you be the last. I know what your ilk desire. You wish to plunder the secrets that protect this sacred forest… to protect instead your inbred monarch, and the waste of stone in which she resides.”
“At her majesty’s request, I will forgive your transgressive remarks, savage…” Azara pointed her staff towards the seated old man, along with an icy stare, “…but speak such disrespectful vitriol again, and I swear that I’ll tear your tongue from your unwashed head.”
“If you wish me to leave this place, you will need higher authority than a false crown, sorceress—something I suspect you deduced long before you arrived.”
“I don’t expect to parley with heathens, hedge wizard. I am more than willing to accept a pleasant surprise, but it has become clear that we have nothing to discuss…”
“On that, we agree, O’ blusterous witch,” An empty laugh passed Iskander’s lips as he shook his head.
“I would prefer you stand, Elder Bloodmoon. It is rather uncouth to crush an unready opponent,” Azara readied her staff and disinterestedly beckoned the old one to rise.
“You may live to regret that request…” The slouched figure obscured in the mossy robes rises, revealing the feral mountain of a man below. Stripes of grey scar his dark mane. Had he the physique of a lesser man, the dark hair on his body may have obscured it. The rippling muscle under his sun-tanned skin is rather impossible to miss, “…but not for very long.”
Undeterred, Azara hurled a flurry of fireballs towards the bestial guardian. Debris and dust blotted the path as her attack appeared to strike true, but she barely had time to smirk before the earth beneath her feet delivered the old druid’s retaliation. The compacted rock and soil erupted, sending bludgeoning stones and clumps of dirt into the air.
With quick reflexes and practiced form, the fiery witch detonated another ball of fire at her feet. The impact launched her into the air and deflected the lion’s share of the shrapnel away from her. Another second, and she would’ve been pummeled into unconsciousness.
Her escape was short-lived, however. A massive, bestial claw swatted her out of the air and sent her crashing into the dirt—the erupting earth a mere distraction to cover his approach from behind.
As the beast approached her, Azara thrust her staff forward in a desperate final attack. The old wolf snapped it between his clawed forefinger and thumb with little effort and closed his other claw around her frail neck. Iskander lifted her into the air, and she soon felt his rumbling growl in her bones and his heavy breath on her face.
The sorceress had prepared a final trap, but barely uttered the first syllable of the incantation before Iskander’s mighty grip strangled both the words from her throat and the fire from her eyes. Azara choked, scratching and prying at the beast’s iron fist to no avail. A moment later, she gasped for air when Iskander allowed her airway to open once more. She met the old wolf’s eye. His point was clear. Rage boiling her blood, she drops her hands to her sides.
“Y-you—…” Azara fumed, utterly trembling with rage.
“Tricked you? Indeed. Your spellcraft is matched only by your arrogance, little one. Any one of those spells would have meant my end. Better to have you throw them at a ghost,” Iskander smirked, gesturing to the illusory puppet, now blown apart.
“Finish it, coward,” Azara gasped, the fear of death long since banished from her heart.
Iskander lunged forward… and planted a kiss on her soft lips. Briefly stunned, the sorceress pounded her fists against his neck and shoulders. Her arms may as well have been striking against iron, but her resistance did not cease until the kiss was broken.
“Disgusting barbarian… how dare you spoil my lips!?”
Iskander bodily tossed the young sorceress down the path from whence she came. Azara rolled to find her footing with impressive quickness, seemingly bothered more by the unwanted smooch than anything else.
“Be thankful that’s all I spoil today, witch. Your people wore out their welcome in this land long ago,” The old wolf growled as he turned to leave.
“Wait…”
“Begone,” Iskander responded, ignoring her request.
“I said wait!” Azara yelled, peeling herself from the ground, “_Please_ wait!”
The old wolf finally stopped and looked over his shoulder. Azara, still alight with fury, knocked her forehead to the ground in a low bow. Iskander raised an eyebrow, perplexed by her seemingly uncharacteristic gesture.
“I need your help…”
“You have a rather strange way of requesting it, witch…”
“You made it clear that my request was in vain, beast! I told you that I could not honor a refusal…”
Iskander said nothing, internally conceding her point. Azara raised her head to meet his eye once more.
“The queen lays dying. Many will accompany her to the other side if nothing is done,” Azara lowered her head to the ground again, “I… _I beg your aid_.”
“Your lies have no power here, sorceress.”
“I’m not lying, you bastard!” Azara rose to her knees as the old wolf’s remark struck a particular nerve, “Were my circumstances less dire, do you think I’d lower myself to pleading with a savage?”
“Your people will stoop as low as necessary. You have no honor,” His voice grew cold and distant.
“You speak a partial truth, beast, though you may yet be oblivious to it…” Azara’s expression hardened with her resolve, “I _will_ stoop as low as is necessary. Name your price, and you shall have it. Whatever will buy your aid, I will pay.”
Intrigued, the old wolf approached. His steps rumbled the earth as he grew close, sinking to one knee to address the bowing sorceress.
“I wonder, dear Azara… does your passion burn as hot as your rage?”
The sorceress grimaced at the mere implication but did not yet rise from her performatively humble bow.
“**Nothing** burns as hot as my rage. Especially in regards to you.”
“And if I wish to find out for myself, O’ Maiden of the Ashen Snow?”
“If Lord Bloodmoon wishes a mewling virgin, I fear he may find himself inadequate in my embrace,” A smile of utter contempt spread across her enraged visage.
“You may set your fears aside, witch– to hear that you have experience is a pleasant surprise,” Iskander chuckled as he stood.
“I’ve always known the scent of blood to excite stupid beasts, so consider me surprised in kind,” Azara spat back, rising from a bow to a kneel.
“Coddling the deflowered is the task of younger men, and my patience faded alongside the color in my hair. I’m far too old for such pursuits,”
“True. I would suspect you too old for many pursuits. I understand the bones become quite spongey in the twilight years…”
The old druid wordlessly unhooked his belt and fished his eager wood from his trousers. The sorceress stared; both disgusted and cowed by the cock before her. Surely this was fit more for a beast than a man.
“You… wretched… you truly are a god-damned animal!” Azara seethed, shuddering with utter repugnance.
“A fact I will not contest, Lady Azara. Yet the matter of my terms remains…”
“Bastard…” The sorceress’ face twisted with a deep-seated contempt as she attempted to coax the word from her mouth, “F-fine…”
At her acceptance, Iskander pressed his clawed thumb to her soft lips and gently stroked them from side to side. When he tired of them, he slipped the thumb beyond and softly stroked her tongue until he tired of it as well. Azara grimaced at the earthy taste of his vile digit, growing further enraged by the second. For the queen, she would endure.
“Your lips are like silk…” Azara recoiled as the twitching glans of his beastly dick pressed against her lips, “Put them to work.”
“It… stinks…” Azara’s nose wrinkled, and she shielded it behind her hand–her senses briefly overwhelmed by the musky scent.
“It’s merely sweat, dear,” A baritone chuckle rolls from Iskander’s chest, “Besides, if you’ve any idea how to please a man? Your spit will wash it away in short order…”
The old wolf put a hand on her head and guided her toward his cock with some insistence. Azara’s pride could be subdued no longer, and her temper boiled over. She rose to her feet, took a fist full of his wiry beard, and pulled his eyes level with hers. Iskander seemed quite surprised but did not struggle against her grasp.
“You expect me to suck your filthy unwashed cock? I am no greasy tavern slag, you vile subhuman parasite! I am the Queen’s left hand! I will not be dishonored and humiliated for your amusement!” The sorceress released him, and continued in a more considerate indoor voice, “Have your wretched fun… but do not try my patience with such disrespect.”
“Suit yourself, child…”
Iskander took her head in one massive claw and pried her jaw open with the other, wedging his large thumb between her molars to prevent her from biting down. A scream of rage died in her throat as the wild man shoved his cock well past her tonsils. He held her there for a moment, letting her gag as he secured her wrists behind her with his other hand. With his grip tightened, he began to use her arms like a handle to control her motion while he fucked her throat.
Azara screeched in disgust, kicking her feet helplessly as Iskander stuffed his fat cockhead deeper into her throat. His wiry pubic hair prickled her face and lips every time he forced her down, the debaucherous swine reveling in the reflexive contractions of her neck as she gagged and choked.
His pattern seemed to revel in her discomfort and humiliation–push in, hold down, pull out, repeat. The beast held her down longer each time he forced her to bottom out on his fat dick, grunting and howling in rapture like the utter animal he was. Without warning, he pulled her into his musky crotch and slammed himself deep inside her gullet. With a savage, rumbling growl, Iskander’s seed erupted into the magician’s gagging throat.
Azara twisted in the old wolf’s grasp, but once again found her efforts futile. Her stomach churned and gurgled, overburdened by the beast’s prodigious release. Mercifully, he soon descended from his peak and pulled his cock from her mouth.
“In the future, simply remember you have the choice: suck like a good little whore… or I’ll use your throat like a disobedient one. My seed will wash your mouth one way or another…” Iskander chuckled, watching with some amusement as the sorceress collapsed to her knees.
“I’ll… I’ll have your putrid head on a pike! You’ll curse my name as you boil, you disgusting animal!” Azara roared, though the mild coughing fit that followed did little to help her wounded pride.
“See? I’d wager the taste of sweat didn’t weigh heavy among your concerns.”
Iskander’s vile cum sat heavily on her stomach, as did the humiliating method through which it was introduced. Her face was awash with a mixture of tears and her own saliva, both forced from her face with every gagging plunge. With a whisper and a quick swipe of her hand, all were cleared. She stood once more with a politely restrained malice, her ashen irises smoldering like a bed of coals.
“Pity… I quite liked that look…” Iskander chuckled.
“Are we to continue?” Azara inquired, glancing down at the old beast’s turgid manhood, “Keeping it up at your age must be quite the task.”
“Oh, growing old is quite the chore, dear… but with a fiery young thing like you?” Iskander puts a finger under her chin, and strokes her cheek with a clawed thumb, “I might not soften ‘til the Harvestman sweeps through…”
“Then make haste and let us be done with this,” Azara snapped, shedding her undergarments with some impatience.
“I would suggest you shed more than that, dear,” Iskander smiled, watching her with unmistakably lustful intent.
“I will not bare myself on an open path, you savage,” Azara stood firmly, tossing her unmentionables behind her, which set alight and burned to nothing before they touched the ground, “Besides, you saw no issue gagging me on your putrid cock without stripping me.”
“Well, my dear… that is because I intend to withdraw from your cunt…” Iskander sneered, “I had no such intention with your mouth.”
Azara considered his implication for a moment before begrudgingly conceding the point. She began to undress, no inch of her body left unmolested by Iskander’s piercing stare. Before long, the sorceress stood before him with her smooth, milky skin completely bared.
“May we hurry?” Azara growled, her veil of pleasantry almost completely transparent at this point.
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll take me long, dear. It’s been some time… and you are quite my type…” Iskander twirls her gently around and places her hands on the rocky wall of the canyon.
Her well-groomed pussy, now exposed, starkly contrasted Iskander’s wild and unkempt bush of pubic hair, as did her tiny form to his bestial appendage. Azara steeled herself as he rubbed his glans up and down her opening. For the queen.
“Women a quarter your age, savage? That is not a ‘type’, merely a symptom of aging male insecurity.”
“On the contrary, dear… your age is of no concern to me. The fire in your heart… it puts a fire in me as well… admittedly, one a little further south…”
“How noble…” Azara’s remark was interrupted by her surprised gasp as the beast’s claws groped her voluminous breasts. His cock slid between her thighs as he leaned over her back.
“…and it seems such heat has spurred the growth of these… magnificent specimens…”
“You’re… _aaahn_… pig…”
“Indeed?” The beast remarked, “Shall we see who squeals first, then?”
Iskander pushes his cock inside her, his entry slow but unyielding. Azara braces herself against the rocky wall, pinching her lips shut as a moan threatens to escape her lips. The two are still for just a moment, Iskander’s throbbing prick enveloped completely in Azara’s silken walls. Soon, however, the tiny canyon path echoes with the wet claps of their frantic sex.
Their pace only quickened as the sun sunk below the horizon, and the old wolf’s heavy nuts drew to his shaft in preparation for his second release. Azara’s wetness glistened in the evening twilight as it dripped from her thighs and the Iskander’s taut sack. His cock throbbed with finality as it was pistoned in and out of her pussy, and his deep, lustful growling was sprinkled with the steady panting of continual exertion.
“I pray you have the decency to keep your word?” Azara growl
“Hmm… I am but a beast… perhaps the thought of your belly swelling with my young sets my nuts to boiling…”
Azara’s perpetually annoyed expression yields to worry for the first time as Iskander’s words draw a soft gasp from her lips. Iskander’s eyes had already drifted closed, lost in sensual bliss.
“Y—you wouldn’t…”
Iskander slammed inside her roughly, and for the briefest of moments, Azara believed her insemination by his bestial seed imminent. A single moan escaped her lips just before the beast withdrew, slapping his savage appendage along the valley of her rounded backside. He shivered with a guttural sigh as the first of his thick ejaculate arced across Azara’s back.
The sorceress’ breath was no lighter, bracing herself against the wall, huffing and puffing with restrained and conflicted pleasure as the savage’s thick cum painted her. Her fiery locks, ample backside, slender shoulders, the hands she braced with, and even the wall she braced against all accepted a thick rope of his viscous release. It strung from her sides. It clung to her hair. It pooled in the center of her arched back. No square inch of her was spared by the time the beast’s rod finally grew soft.
“You’re right…” Iskander confirmed, wiping the sweat from his brow, “I would never force a child on another… nor would I break my word.”
A plethora of scathing remarks scrolled through Azara’s head, but she could not find the breath on which to deliver them. As she slumped against the rocky wall, she again felt the old wolf’s imposing shadow over her body, and his whisper found her ear.
“…but if I didn’t know better? I’d say you tightened up quite a bit… almost as if you didn’t _want_ me to take it out.”
“Your imagination is quite active,” Azara huffed, grimacing at the cum dripping from her as she stood, “It is a blessing for both of us that you _do_ know better then… isn’t it?”
Iskander laughed in his throat, stuffing his cock back into his trousers.
“Perhaps…”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/pq1ys8/iskander_azara_mfcoercionfantasyage