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  • A Fantasy Picaresque Ch. 04

A Fantasy Picaresque Ch. 04

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(All imaginary people in this fantasy world are 18, the age you legally have to be in order to have sex in magical worlds. –Theworldspins)

Chapter Four: the Red Flower

Faithful readers, I've received wonderful news: my execution is to take place by the executioner's axe, and not, as I'd expected, by being burned at the stake. This stroke of luck has left me in such good spirits that I've been moved to write once more.

Where did I leave you, dear readers? Ah yes, I believe I was still in the clutches of the bandits, fearful after hearing Kali's pledge to destroy me, yet hopeful that a blowjob from the bandit wench Lina might take the edge off my certain death.

In truth, the feeling of her moist, magnificent mouth around my massive member made me forget my fears and foul temper. As a captive/bandit-in-training, I, of course, had to wait my turn; watching her service the bandits with her talented mouth, however, was in a way its own reward.

That night, the nameless bandit, whom I had taken to calling the "fourth man," if you recall, came to me alone. I assumed it was his intention to do me in, perhaps, or to initiate me into the gang—it was not clear yet what was intended. All I knew at that point was that he possessed some form of magic, powerful enough to form the indelible bandit's mark that now adorned the creamy skin of Lina, Kali, and some other countless number of bandit's wenches. These unfortunate women had been reduced through the perfidy of bandits to simply a set of holes for their deviant gratification (gratification which, to be fair, I myself enjoyed thoroughly, though with a somewhat guilty conscience). Now, Kali had sworn to become a witch to avenge her stolen honor, her fiery eyes making it painfully clear she intended to tear me apart at the first chance she got.

"You want in?" he queried quietly.

Before I could answer, he fished out his cock—no small thing, though also no competition to my own—and began to piss a stream as wide as it was foul-smelling. Though he pointed his cock to the left of my face, pissing a good two feet from me, his affect was menacing. Perhaps the only thing worse than being simply run through with a dagger is to bleed out while soaked in your killer's urine—in any event, I didn't want either to occur and was, as always, compliant.

"I...I...I would," I stuttered, certainly not putting on a display of composure in front of the mystically-empowered, vicious, menacingly-urinating brigand before me. "What would you have me do?"

"Good boy," he said patronizingly. "We've got a score, set us up before we have to strike camp and make trails. Think you could handle a simple smash-and-grab?"

Fortunately, bandits' lingo is often quite literal, and I could figure the meaning of the expression with ease.

"Yes, sir, you just send me, and I'll bring you back whatever you want."

I didn't mention the part about escaping at the first chance I had; after the catastrophe with Kali, my strategic acumen was steadily improving.

"Well, you're not going alone. You and Mr. Pitts are heading to pick up something for me. He's in charge, so you don't even imagine back-talking, or gods forbid, trying to run away. Pitts'd love a chance to wet his dagger in you—metaphorically and otherwise."

I had no clue at that juncture what a metaphor was; suffice it to say, I didn't want anything to do with a disappointed Mr. Pitts. My plans would have to be shelved until better opportunities presented themselves. I probably should have simply shut my mouth, but at that moment, my curiosity got the best of me.

"What was that you said over Kali's body?" I asked impudently. "The words, I mean. Magic?"

"I can't cast spells, boy," the fourth man said ominously. "The magic comes from Him."

Again with my big mouth: "Him who?"

"The one who speaks when He should be silent, who laughs while others weep. He limps, yet dances, never sows, yet reaps a hundredfold. He is but a Man, yet makes love to a goddess. It is His magic you saw, boy."

"The Left-Handed One?"

"Aye."

I know what you're thinking, dear reader: that certainly didn't suffice to ease my curiosity. In any event, I still slept under the stars by that tree, and the next morning, my bonds were cut, to set off with Mr. Pitts.

There are few things that inspire a simultaneous feeling of intense fear and utter boredom than riding for miles with a man who doesn't want you to know whether he plans to kill you or not. Pitts, far from the jovial sadism of his compatriots, was almost utterly silent on our journey. At least now I was fed, though all my actions came at the prompting of monosyllabic orders from Pitts: "Eat." "Shit." "Wait." "Sleep."

We were deep in the forest, and as far as I could tell, we were headed away from anything remotely approaching civilization. It was difficult for me to imagine what thing of value might be found so deep in the woods. Despite my trepidation, I finally appealed to Pitts to inform me as to our quarry.

"What's that?" he said, a picture of ignorance.

"Just asking, sir, what're we looking for? What're we gonna steal?"

"We ain't thieves," he replied. "We don't sneak around and nick things. We...capture."

"Well, sir, what are trying to capture?"

"Trying?"

I could feel my collar tightening.

"What're we taking back?"

"He wants the Red Flower."

"Red Flower?" I asked, intrigued but trying to hide it.

"Very rare. Very valuable. Not to keep, too precious. Fetch a tidy sum, I imagine."

I could only imagine the "Red Flower" was perhaps a ruby, or an object of great magical enchantment. Perhaps it summoned a powerful creature to the assistance of its possessor, or sparkled like a thousand suns, even within the dark recesses of the earth. My mind was enraptured with what the "Red Flower" might be.

"And it's out here in the woods?" I continued, a little unwisely given the way Mr. Pitts was rubbing one finger across the pommel of his blade.

"It's up your mother's ass," he countered, "we're just out 'ere for the scenery."

I took that as my cue to be silent. We traveled for four days—far and away the furthest I'd ever been from home, and all of it in dense forest that slowed our passage at times to a crawl. I felt remorse for ever having struck the Baron's son, plunging my life, as it did, into one unremitting train of horrors (with the occasional blowjob sprinkled in to make things bearable).

Finally, when I'd begun to lose faith we'd ever reach any sort of destination, Pitts simply pulled up, a finger to his lips, and stuck his hand into my chest. I halted, waiting for some word, anything, to tell me what was going on.

In the faintest whisper, Pitts spoke: "He's up ahead. We'll approach together, then you go through the front, and I step around the backways. Open the door and distract 'im, and I'll put 'im down."

Suddenly I realized that the "smash" part of a "smash-and-grab" might involve a poor, innocent old hermit in the forest. I'd often hear tales of how such hermits would care for poor travelers lost in the woods—it's funny to recall how trusting of the good intentions of strange men living alone in the forest I was back then. In any event, it appeared I would soon be an accomplice to murder, and I had to choose whether to go along to save my own skin, or hope that by changing my allegiances, I might, together with whomever I encountered at the cottage, turn the tables on Mr. Pitts.

We crept forward, as silently as possible, until I finally saw the cottage up ahead. It was twilight by the time we approached, and though no smoke escaped from the cottage, it appeared to be lit from within, as though a hearthfire burned without smoldering. As I continued a direct path towards the door, Pitts broke off to circle around back. I asked whatever gods I could think of for guidance, and, once I'd made my approach, knocked on the door of the hut.

"Kind sir," I called out, "I beg you of aid. I'm lost and—"

At that moment, the hovel door swung open, and a wizened old man with a patchy white beard and bald head opened.

"If you think for one second that—"

"Sir," I interrupted, "in one moment a man is going to come through your back door—"

"And get a nasty shock," he laughed.

At that moment, Pitts burst through the back door, and my vision went white. When my eyes focused again, Pitts was flat on his back, and the old man had a gnarled staff crowned with a rusty iron spike in his hand.

"You boys must not know who I am," he said, wheezing a little and backing me away from his cottage.

"Sir, I do not," I said, praying the man took my warning as a sign of good faith. "Though I promise you I—"

"Not interested in bandits' words," he said, backing me away with the pointed end of his makeshift spear until my back struck a tree.

"I'm no bandit," I swore, "only a captive looking for a chance to escape."

"That so?" he asked, still not lowering his blade. "Seems a risky move for a bandit to try one job while holding the spoils of another."

"Spoils?"

"You got a cock, boy?"

If he only knew...

"Yes, sir. Last I checked."

"Well that means they'd've killed you, unless you were worth some gold. They only keep women—whores, really."

"Sir," I said, at little more at ease now, "do I look I'm worth some gold?"

The old man laughed, a dry, wheezing laugh.

"You like day-old shit," he said.

"But not a bandit?"

"Not a bandit," he relented, finally dropping his spear. "Come inside and help me drag his carcass out."

I agreed, and we walked back the short distance to his hut.

"What brought 'em?" he asked. "Troll's wart?"

"Huh?" I asked, as yet unfamiliar with the art and science of alchemy.

"Well what, then?" he asked impatiently.

In the moment, I had to rack my brain a little. Finally, it came to me.

"Red flowers, sir. They want your red flowers."

His face grew angry, and when we entered his hut—I flinched fearing another magical shock—he kicked Mr. Pitts.

"Think you can come in here and—"

At that moment, Mr. Pitts' seemingly lifeless body twitched, a prelude to grabbing the old man by the ankle and bringing him to the floor. He hit the earthen floor with what had to be a painful thud, and Mr. Pitts rolled himself on top of the man, punching him once squarely in the jaw.

"I'm only going to ask you once, old man, where is—"

Dear reader, I'll spare your tender sensibilities and eschew describing the horrible scene that unfolded before my eyes. Suffice it to say that the old man was craftier than expected, and Pitts ruthless enough to take an old man to the great beyond with him, even with a dagger stuck in his gut.

It all happened too fast for me to intervene. In a flash, both men were dead, and I was alone in the hut. Just then, I heard the sound of dead leaves trampled underfoot. I was gripped with fear—what if the bandits had followed, watching me on this trial mission? I went to grab the knife from the old man's grasp, but soon the sound was racing towards the hut, and it was all I could do to turn and prepare myself for the charging brute out for my blood. I could barely see the shadowy form before it struck; my hands flailed out, striking one of the glass jars on the ramshackle shelves, and the last thing I saw before collapsing to the floor unconscious was a cloud of glittering dust and a long, thick mane of red hair.

Patient readers, if you ever happen to find yourself knocked out and in mortal danger, might I suggest the best imaginable way to wake up?

My heavy eyelids opened to the sight of a mop of long, luminous red hair draped across my belly. Despite the darkness outside, the room was lit with an unnatural light. Once my senses returned, a most exquisite feeling of pleasure suffused my body. It began, as the best feelings of pleasure usually do, from my affliction, the massive tool between my legs that has caused me both indescribable pleasure and unspeakable pain.

My eyes focused again, and knelt before me, with my phallus between her lips and her hair covering her eyes, was a girl. Her skin was pale, with a faint shade of pink and dusted with light brown freckles. She looked small, slender, but with the graceful curves of a woman and not a girl. Propped up on her hands and knees, she was utterly worshiping my now rigid cock in a way no village wife could hope to match.

I could see her back ripple slightly, her shoulder blades moved as she stroked my cock. Only very little of my cock was actually in her mouth, a feeling I'd grown accustomed to, though I quickly realized that only one hand was pumping my shaft. The other, as it turned out, was just about to bring the girl to climax, as I watched her frantically diddling herself and whimpering. Her dress was tossed in a heap by the door frame.

Perhaps she'd been sucking my member for a long time—all I know was that it wasn't long after I came to that I came, too. After a four day journey in the company of Mr. Pitts, I hadn't ejaculated in quite some time, and the combination of my bucking hips and the surging blast of semen striking her in the back of her little throat caused her to sputter and pull off of my dick. The obvious effect of such a novice maneuver, of course, was to cause me to absolutely coat the girl's face, which I saw for the first time beneath the sticky film of a four-day load.

She was exquisite: big, green eyes that sparkled (at least the left one did; the right one was spackled shut by jizz), an upturned, thin little nose, with the nub of her nose just slightly rosier than the rest of her face, dimpled cheeks dripping with sperm, and a pair of little strawberry lips that I couldn't believe had just been wrapped around my girthy meat. Put simply, the girl was adorable, even when absolutely sloppy with cum.

Her first words to me spoiled the moment, however.

"As soon as I finish you off, I'm gonna kill you!"

The girl had a murderous look in her eyes as she used her fingers to spoon my cum into her mouth and swallow it all down. I tried to move, but found myself too weak. The unnatural feeling made me suspicious, and my struggles caught the beautiful red-head fellatrix's attention.

"Don't even think about it," she said venomously. "That stuff'll keep you in place for six hours at least."

Magic! I glanced around the hut clearly for the first time to see how many jars of strange and fantastical substances filled the shelves lining the walls. The hermit's magical door protector was only the beginning. I could only imagine what magical enchantment this "Red Flower" held.

"I'm not one of them," I pleaded.

"Save it," she said, finally having finished swallowing most of the cum. "You've got, say, five more hours to live. You'll even enjoy one of them."

Without another word, she leaned down to clean my cock of what was left of my cum. Her tongue lapped at the head in broad strokes, before she engulfed it whole with her greedy mouth. For someone who'd pledged to kill me, she seemed awfully busy sucking me off.

I watched intently as she not only began to pleasure me once more with her mouth, but also commenced her own self-stimulation once more. Yet all I could sense from her efforts appeared to be frustration.

"What's your name?" I asked, figuring it was gentlemanly to inquire as to who had my penis in her mouth.

She only responded with glugging sounds—she seemed transfixed by my member. Suddenly it struck me—this was no ordinary fascination of women with large cocks, but rather the product of some sorcery.

"Is this magic?" I asked her. "Is that why you're...you know?"

She lifted her head up, a look of desperation and pain on her face. Her hands stroked my cock furiously, as if she couldn't stop.

"You can call it what you like," she said acidly, "but when Granddaddy's rutting powder wears off, you won't like the things I do to your third leg."

Mortal terror is the great enemy of erections. I knew the heavenly creature on her hands and knees pleasuring me at this moment would soon enough turn towards torture and murder. I had to convince her I had come under duress, had attempted to save and assist her grandfather. It was difficult to carry on a conversation with her, however, since her mouth was alternately full of threats and my dick.

"Can't you just fucking come already?" she asked, enraged. "My jaw aches."

"Why don't you just ride me?" I asked, trying to be helpful.

"Don't say that," she said, more in fright than anger.

"What?" I asked in genuine confusion. "I'm just saying, that if my cock was in your pussy, I'd probably come faster and—"

"I wasn't gonna hurt you," she said, tears in her eyes. "I was gonna make it quick."

"I mean you no harm," I assured her, "only that fucking might be simpler and more fun for the both—"

She seemed to move as if against her own will, her face a mask of hatred. She stood up for a moment, straddling me, and slowly lowered herself down.

"Why would you—"

Just then, her pussy, wetter than any pussy I'd ever felt, lowered onto my dick. The head split her open and the weight of her body did the rest of the work, until she'd taken every inch of me that a small girl like her was meant to take. I leaned forward to kiss and suckle her strawberry red nipples, hardened like little jewels already. She threw her head back, baring her graceful, slender neck, and I could tell that my tool was much more satisfying than her little fingers.

Slowly, she lifted herself up and allowed herself to sink down again, trying, I suppose, to allow herself to get used to something so massive inside her tender flower. I looked down at her pussy, and the hair around it was fiery red.

Like a red flower.

"They wanted you!" I exclaimed.

"You wanted me," she spit back. "Now you took it."

"It?"

"Like you don't know," she said between moans. "I was supposed to stay a virgin until—oh no!"

I could feel from the way her tight cunt squeezed my shaft that she was coming—what I hadn't known until that moment was that my cock was her first.

"What is it?"

"I...I don't understand," she cried out, before leaning into kiss me, softly and with love. "I know I should want to kill you, but..."

"You know I didn't kill your granddaddy?"

"Of course not, baby," she cooed, "you could never do something like that. You love me too much."

My head was spinning, partly from confusion, and partly from the fact that now she was riding my cock and flexing that delicious cunt of hers with greater urgency.

"I want you to fill me up, honey," she said, all traces of her hateful tone gone, "and put your baby in me."

The thought of being a father wasn't too appealing, the thought of releasing once again, and this time inside of the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, was irresistible, and I flooded her womb with my seed, bellowing incoherently the whole time. The girl demurely stood up, a trail of semen running down her leg, and bent at the waist downwards to kiss my slickened prick.

"You're so good to me, sweetie," she said in a little girl's voice. "I just hope my little pussy makes you happy. If you need to put it in my other holes, you just let me know."

I was wary—she was, after all, under some kind of spell. Maybe it had gotten temporarily stronger before wearing off. Maybe I'd be a dead man before sunrise. Maybe I could get some answers now.

"Sugar plum," I called out, committing to the farce, "remind me your name."

She scrunched her cute face up.

"What do you want to call me?"

"What's your name?"

"I...I'm sorry, honey," she apologized, "I seem to have forgot it. Can't you remember?"

I wanted to stay on her good side, seeing as how unpredictable this magic might be. Since all I knew about her (besides how good a cocksucker she was) was that the bandits had called her the "Red Flower," I went with my first instinct.

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