The Lure-Light

Cold, pallid hands brush her body, clumsily pawing at the outline of her round bottom, slipping under her skirts to squeeze her supple flesh with relish.

Morgause lets out a strangulated shriek of alarm, turning about - her hip bumping painfully against the altar - ready to fend off her attacker.

But in an instant, she finds her strength and indignation evaporating, her dark eyes growing wide and curious, as a baleful light hovers before her. She stares, transfixed, feeling only a distant stirring of horror.

The light is weak and pale, but utterly consuming. A shuffling from the dark brings its owner into clearer focus. The light, it seems, emanates from some strange bio-luminescent bulb, mounted atop a stalk which runs down to a flat, toad-like face, split with a toothy grin. Hairless and damp, with a sunken nose that snuffles unpleasantly and a squat, bulky body, the villager closes in on her, his flabby hands now fussing with Morgause’s skirts.

“Lotho finds a pretty pet.” The wretch giggles wetly, “They make Lotho work all day to keep the tributes quiet. But now they sent Lotho a little treat to eat and drink.”

Eat? Morgause feels a scream rising in her throat that she cannot release. She is paralysed, her body sluggish and compliant - just like the Orc, she realises - as Lotho presses in, backing her up against the altar.

Her horror returns to her, the hypnosis seemingly focused on her body rather than her mind, and grows as she feels the Lotho-creature working his hands under her skirts, up her pale thighs.

No! Don’t you dare you vile little -

She would yelp if she could, but her jaw hangs slack and open, as Lotho’s clammy digits prod and part the lips between her legs. His snuffling face presses eagerly between her ample cleavage, tongue already working its way between her neatly-packaged tits, as those awful fingers squeeze at her inner labia.

She can’t look away from the light bouncing on the end of Lotho’s head, but she can feel him getting to work, moving deeper, parting her folds. Her vagina yields to him easily enough, slickening at his touch - and the arousal that had vexed her on the hillside returns to bite her in the ass now, even as she mentally screams for this to stop.

The wretch is clumsy and cold, but with sheer persistence he penetrates Morgause’s folds with his stubby fingers, her tenderness shivering at his touch, tight but pliant. Lotho hums and babbles to himself about his “new toy”, and about how fortunate he is to have been gifted her, muffled as his tongue laps and slithers around her breasts.

Morgause finds herself being pushed back onto the altar, her hands slipping back to support her weight clumsily, one brushing the ritual dagger. But her limbs feel full of pins and needles, unable to grasp anything.

Lotho comes up for air, leaning in against her, panting, his fingers working inside her more determinedly now.

“Pretty little pet, get you nice and wet.” He coos in a sing-song voice. Despite her revulsion, Morgause feels her legs rising up, one knee hooking over his shoulder, her toes splayed in pleasure. Then Lotho is wriggling his way down her black-clad body, and she feels a mixture of desire and horror.

The natural lamp continues to dance, more vigorously now, as Lotho pushes his face between her legs. Flopping back against the altar, Morgause pants, drool running from the corner of her slack jaw as Lotho’s thick - surprisingly dexterous - tongue slurps and licks at her.

That’s what he meant by eat and drink.

Ugh.

He probes inside her, lips and tongue smacking noisily, one finger finding her clit as if by accident. The combination of his tongue and finger forces Morgause into a deeper well of pleasure, enough sensation returning to her legs to let her draw them tighter around his shoulders, ankles crossed tightly. It doesn’t occur to her for a moment to kick him away, her mind surrendering again to the lure-light and the inexpert pleasuring.

His tongue slithers deeper, threatening to fill her up, squirming and thrusting against her tight wet walls. She feels herself flex around him as he buries his greedy face in her sopping wet pussy, her clit alternating between pleasure and irritation at his fumbling.

But she can feel herself reaching a peak, her pale chest spotted with sweat and shuddering. Her hat falls back against the altar, her wavy raven locks tumbling around her shoulders as her head tops back, open lips parted in a wet moan that finally breaks free. Her stomach flips in excitement as she feels herself reach climax, spilling her juices over the vile little man between her legs.

He continues to slurp, drinking her up, and in the afterglow of her - admittedly wonderful - orgasm, she feels a fresh wave of revulsion. Whatever he has planned next, she wants not part of it.

The clarity following her climax sends renewed strength into her limbs, and she clumsily grasps at the knife.

Perhaps sensing something, Lotho emerges from her pussy, his already damp face slick with her juices. He grins wickedly, hands fumbling with his belt.

Then shrieks as she swings the knife at his hypnotic light, piercing the bulb and snuffing out the baleful glow.

Lotho shrieks, cursing her with a frankly impressive variety of names. With the light gone, Morgause finds herself in control of her body once more - even if her legs are a little shaky. She’s not going to kill this perverse little man, somehow that feels wrong. But she does aim a swift kick at him, her toes connecting with something lumpen and bulbous between his legs, giving her a shudder.

Lotho lets out something between a moan and a howl of pain, and drops to the floor, convulsing his way into unconsciousness.

Unsteady, Morgause leans against the altar, retrieving her hat as she catches her breath. After a moment’s hesitation, she slips the dagger into her belt.

In the gloom, her body still aflame from its recent release, she surveys her options. Heading back out of the cellar is likely to run her straight into more trouble, so that’s out.

She can hear more purposeful stirring coming from the cages to the left, the prisoners perhaps alerted by the sounds of struggle. Hopefully just the struggle.

To the right is the barred door, which if she’s not mistaken, should lead back towards the beach, and her original goal.