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Disclaimer: Not for children under 18. Stardust is property of Paramount
Pictures and Neil Gaiman. This story is not plagiarized, and should not be
used elsewhere on the internet or in print without the expressed permission
of the author.

Codes: MF, MFF, inc, mc, magic, tent, nc-cons

Personal comment: This is a alternate, and albeit MUCH darker, ending to
the surprisingly fun fantasy film, Stardust. I completely recommend this
film. But if you haven't seen it, consider waiting to read this until after,
as it has spoilers and is a bit confusing unless you know the plot.



Stardust: The Alternate Ending (Or The Dark Witch's Victory)
by SpaceSamurai

Tristan was walking purposefully towards the staircase when he saw her, a
great lumbering mass of ancient flesh wheezing angrily as she ran at him.
The dark witch Lamia's fat sister looked furious, her other sister killed
only moments before by the now also deceased Prince Septimus. Tristan was
scrambling in his mind for a way to stop her. But as she ambled closer, he
got his answer; a great chorus of hissing and growling to his right revealed
that the cages upon cages of wild animals were, in fact, being held captive
against their will by this evil woman.

Thinking quickly, Tristan slashed his sword across a lock on one of the
cages, and out sprang a dozen wild ferrets, who lunged forth at their former
captor. Another slash, and a pack of wild dogs rushed to attack. The results
were quick and gruesome. The witch Mormo was no more.

Tristan glanced up to the platform where his dear love, Yvane the star, lay
strapped to a large metal table. Even in her dire predicament, with witches
and princes alike trying to eat her heart for eternal youth and power, the
sight of her one true love defeating such an old and frightening witch with
such ease brought a smile to her face. Such a beautiful smile she had. In
fact, almost in spite of her fear, her face began to glow, brighter and
brighter until finally-

*SLASH*

Tristan froze in his tracks. "N-no!" he whispered in horror.

For a moment, Yvane looked confused. Then her eyes fluttered, and with a
shuddering final breath, they closed.

A weathered hand rose from the table up on high and held aloft in its grip
the still beating heart of the fallen star, Yvane. It glowed with the same
brilliance that her face had just held and, now, never would again. With a
great cackle that shook the very soul out of Tristan, the dark witch Lamia
admired her prize. She had been patient, careful, waiting until the exact
moment that the star was glowing most brightly before taking her heart. Now,
after all her years, she finally had a glowing, pristine heart from a fallen
star, and, with her sisters dead, no one with which to share it. The youth,
beauty, and power were hers alone.

Forever.

Tristan couldn't believe it. He'd finally found his true love, and he tasked
himself with her rescue, and now she was dead. And worse, her life force
would now go to the darkest, most evil woman he had ever set eyes on. Hope
was lost.

The decrepit old hag held the heart to her lips and devoured it, little by
little, until all was gone. There was no need to ration it; the full power
of a star, shared only by one person, would last forever, and needn't be
renewed with age. There was a great burst of light, and suddenly, she was
transformed. Her balding scalp became a flowing mane of golden hair; her
skin, spotted and wrinkled with age, became smooth, pristine; her breasts,
which had sagged infuriatingly, were full and round and perfectly pert.
Every piece of her, inside and out, became youthful, vibrant, beautiful. By
the end, she was stunning.

But her beauty was outshone only by the incredible power she felt flowing
through her. Magic beyond her wildest imagination came rushing into her, and
she was stronger than she ever had or ever would have been otherwise.

Awash in her reverie, she looked down and saw Tristan, his mouth agape, his
eyes swollen and soaked with tears, and she laughed internally. But
externally, she gave a troubled, sorry look and slowly began to descend the
staircase.

"Oh, you poor boy," she whispered softly, "you're all alone. There's no one
left for you to love or to love you."

As she reached the base of the stairs, he seemed to back away a few inches,
but he kept his gaze firmly set on her.

"Let me help you, poor child," she continued, "let me, Lamia, ease your
troubled heart."

As she reached him, Tristan gave a mighty cry and swung his sword over his
head as if to strike, but she grabbed his wrist with strength that surprised
even her, and she leaned in close to him.

She whispered deeply into his ear. "I can give you everything you ever want,
my love. I can let you live forever by my side. Just you and I."

He swung with his free hand to smack her away, but she grabbed that wrist
and forced it down.

"All you have to do, Tristan, is let go."

Before he could even react, Lamia reached into his coat, removed the
protective flower from his pocket, and threw it away. As he moved to stop
her, she pointed her finger and a beam of green light shot into his face.

"*Stop*" she commanded.

Tristan froze where he was, arms raised, an angry snarl on his face.

"*You will relax and stand still as I command you.*"

His arms dropped and his face became blank. A smirk crossed her perfect
lips.'Stupid boy,' she thought, 'thought he could defeat ME? Lemia, the
most powerful dark witch that ever there was? Such a foolish, stupid boy.'

She put a finger to his chest and began tracing patterns over it lazily
while she considered her plans. She could have killed him many times over by
now, but he was strong, resilient, and young, and that was such a terrible
sort of man to waste.

"I want to know a few things about you, my new little slave. *Answer all my
questions honestly.*

How old are you?"

"18."

"Excellent," she grinned, "do you have any family?"

"Yes," Tristan replied, despite himself, "I was raised by my father, and I
just met my mother."

"Just met her? Here in Stormhold?"

He nodded.

"Hmm. Interesting. Okay: Who, Tristan, is your one true love?"

A tear streamed down his cheek and he struggled with a response.

"*Answer me!*"

"Yvane," he sobbed, "Yvane was my one true love!"

His body heaved and he began to weep. Lamia put her hands on her shapely
new hips.

"*Stop your crying, sobbing, all of it. RELAX.*"

He stopped and relaxed again. She considered him a moment. He was mightily
handsome, she had to admit; his dashing white suit accentuated his strong
shoulders, not to mention the rather tight bulge in his pants. He was strong,
that was sure, but his eyes danced with youth and sweetness. His lips were
tender and pure. He was a perfect subject to her will.

"Alright, little Tristan, prepare for your new life."

She shot a jet of light into Tristan's eyes.

"*From now on, I, Lamia, am your one true love. I am the most beautiful
woman you've ever seen. My power thrills you. Everything I do or say is, to
you, perfect. I am perfect. You will never question or second-guess me. You
will always do what I say when I say to do it. You will have no memory of
Yvane. As far as you remember, you've always loved me, the only thing you
really care about is to worship and serve me in every way you can. I am your
goddess, your mistress, and your true love all in one, and you are mine,
mind, body, and soul, forever.*

*When I am finished with you, you will not remember the true events that
transpired in this room before this moment. You came here because I told
you, and you killed my sisters and the prince because I told you to, and
doing what I say thrills you and excites you. The most important thing in
your life is what I want.*"

She lowered her hand and awaited his worship. Tristan blinked rapidly, and
his eyes struggled to focus. Everything was a little mixed up, as if he'd
been lost and suddenly regained himself. But then everything was clear, and
as he looked down, he saw the eyes of his one true love: Lamia. He dropped
to his knees and gazed up at her beauty, enraptured by the smile on her
perfect face. He couldn't get enough of her; her lips were full like
honeydew, her eyes were ablaze with fiery intensity, her figure was
perfectly shaped and toned, with a full, pert bosom and a round, tight
bottom.

He nearly choked as he whispered, "What do you desire, my love?"

Suddenly, there was a distant wail of pain that caused them both to stir,
and they looked in the direction from whence it came. There, through the
window, was the woman Lamia had taken when she had captured the star. The
slave girl. Her face was streaked with tears. It appeared she had been
watching the entire time.

"Ah yes," she mumbled thoughtfully, "that girl I took from that other witch.
What's she so upset about? Do you know her?"

Tristan nodded quickly and said, "Yes. She is my mother."

Lamia's eyes lit up with possibilities and she chuckled. "Really? Well,
let's meet her together!"

With a wag of her finger, Tristan's mother was pulled inside the door and
it slammed tightly behind her. Lamia was about to pull her all the way over
with her magic, when she had a thought.

"Tristan, my love," she said, grinning wickedly, "YOU bring her to me."

He nodded. "Yes, my love."

Tristan advanced on his frightened, sobbing mother. She couldn't believe
this was happening, couldn't believe that she had finally found her son, and
now he was being used against her by an evil witch. She was so afraid that
she froze where she stood. She knew she should have run, should have tried
to spare herself the torment, but it was her son, and she could only hope in
vain for him to become himself again.

"Tristan, please," she whispered, "please, don't do this."

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "It's what my beautiful commands."
And he dragged her across the marble floor to where his lover stood,
smirking. The sight of her smile gave him a shiver. He had done well, and
would surely be rewarded.

When they reached Lamia, Tristan's mother couldn't bear to even look at her,
the evil wench who'd enslaved her dearest son. Lamia, by contrast, stared
cruelly at the woman's quaking frame. She appeared not much older than Lamia
herself now looked, and she was definitely beautiful. She saw where Tristan
had gotten his wondering eyes and his fresh, young facial structure. His
mother's lips were full and pouty, and her deep cleavage was well displayed
by the hanging blue dress she wore. Lamia grabbed the woman's chin gently
and raised her head.

"Look into my eyes," she said, "and don't fight. Oh, I'm going to have fun
with you, slave, but first I think you need to learn who you're dealing
with. I don't take kindly to peeping toms, even ones as beautiful as you."

A great wooden post appeared next to them from thin air, and, with a powerful
force that knocked the air from her lungs, Lamia slammed Tristan's mother to
it. A rope burst from nothingness and tied the woman up so she could not move
more than a little. Tristan's mother felt the rope and noticed that something
was odd. It seemed less rough than twine, more soft than chains. It seemed
almost-

"Flesh," said Lamia, interrupting her thoughts, "the rope is flesh." She
pointed a finger at the woman's face and let out a command. "*You will not
be able to look away. You will watch, completely helpless, as I make your
precious son mine, and you will not be able to say or do anything to stop
it.*"

The fear in the woman's eyes excited Lamia more than anything else. She
looked back to her young thrall before remembering.

"Oh yes," she said as she snapped her fingers, "one more thing: This rope
is special not just because it's flesh. Hope you enjoy!"

With that, she turned her back on the scared woman and walked to her
patiently waiting love slave.

"Tristan, my love," she cooed, "make love to me. As you do, you will feel
strong emotions in your heart. Every inward thrust will emphasize my
dominance over you and your will to please me, and every outward thrust will
represent your growing need for me and the emptiness of your life without
me. By the end, you will be not only my lover, but my complete and utter
slave."

He took in every word and nodded understandingly. With that she threw the
dress from her shoulders, revealing her full beauty to him. She pulled his
head down gently and drew him into a deep, strong kiss. As they explored
each other's mouths, Tristan removed his coat and vest, then undid the
buttons on his shirt one by one until he flung in off in a mad rush. She
stood back and admired his body, his lean, muscular chest and abs, built by
years of manual labor in his village at home. She traced a pattern on his
chest muscles with a finger, then pulled up his hand to feel her left
breast. As he lovingly kneaded her heaving bosom, his other hand found her
bottom and massaged the soft flesh. She let out a soft moan of enjoyment as
he treated her.

She reached out and found the crotch of his pants, straining more than she
thought possible with his massive erection. She gently cupped it and smiled,
glancing at the boy's mother writhing on the post. Slowly but purposefully,
she undid the tie on his waist and, bending low, slid his pants to his
ankles, at which point he quickly stepped out of them and kicked them away.
All that was left between them was the thin fabric of his skivvies, which
seemed begging to release their great, throbbing contents.

"Lie down, Tristan."

As he did, she positioned them both so that Tristan's mother had a clear,
perpendicular view. Lamia got to her knees, leaned close, and pulled his
underpants down past his feet, then threw them away, letting Tristan's
throbbing cock breathe freely. Lamia had to admire it, standing so proudly,
at least 8 1/2 inches in length and thick. Its sheer wonder gave her pause,
and she smiled approvingly.

She looked over at Tristan's mother and, with a flick of her wrist, all of
the woman's clothes ripped away into the ether. The raven-haired woman could
only cry and squirm as she felt the rope begin to move over her body. 'My
god,' she thought, 'what's happening?'

"Oh, and mother," Lamia murmured, pointing a finger to her prisoner, "*the
sensations from this rope will be double the strongest you're ever felt,
whether it's pleasure…or pain.*

Suddenly, a segment of rope curled down from above the woman's head and
snaked over her bosom. The unusual tingling feeling sent her nipples to
erection in spite of her will. The rope began pinching her nipples, softly,
smoothly, and the woman had to fight to keep the pleasure away. The rope
pulled back, and she hoped it wouldn't try it again. Suddenly, the rope
slapped across her large breasts, causing her to scream in pain. *SLAP* The
rope began whipping her breasts repeatedly, the heightened sensations
agonizing her body. *SLAP* The rope kept up its whipping, punishing her
brutally. The pain was almost unbearable.

Lamia watched, bemused, and grasped Tristan's cock in her hand. Suddenly, a
segment of rope jumped into the other woman's hand as well. Lamia began
stroking, very slowly, long, slow strokes to entice her lover. Sure enough,
the rope began to move back and forth slowly in the other woman's hand.
Lamia chuckled. "Let's have some fun."

Leaning low, Lamia looked sultrily into Tristan's eyes, which responded in
earnest. She crawled forward, stuck out her tongue and longingly licked his
cock, tasting it, savoring it. Cupping his member with one hand, she licked
up the shaft and swirled her tongue around the tip, all the while glancing
up to see Tristan's loving responses. Her treatments were soft but
deliberate, and the feeling he got was incredible.

Finally, even she couldn't wait any longer, and she took him into her mouth,
slowly, bit by bit, working the head, then the shaft. She was almost lost in
her ministrations when she heard a muffled cry to her right. She glanced
sideways and, to her delight, the rope was shoving itself into Tristan's
mother's mouth. But it wasn't being gentle like Lamia was; no, it was
violently face-fucking her, the thick rope ramming itself in and out of her
and shaking around, as her mouth was forced open by two other rope segments.
The woman gagged, and drool dripped down to her breasts freely, stinging the
now red mounds that continued to be tortured by the cruel rope, which was
now both whipping and fondling her, giving her a complex and confusing
sensation that she was too deeply in shock to grasp.

Lamia sucked for another minute, enjoying the game of it, then pulled off
with a popping sound. As she wiped her mouth and stared at her lover's face,
they both knew.

"Tristan," she whispered, "it's time."

She looked at Tristan's mother, who could only stare back, unblinking, in
fear and helplessness. Lamia looked back to her lover, crawled forward, and
positioned herself over his erection. She cooed, "Who is your one true
love?"

He said definitely, "You are, Lamia."

With that, she took him inside her. The rush was incredible; she hadn't
felt such pleasure in hundreds of years. She tried to take him all the way
at first, but decided it best to ease into it. She slid, up and down,
slowly, carefully, until she worked up a steady rhythm on his shaft. The
walls of her sex squeezed his cock tightly. On a stroke, the tip brushed her
clitoris, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through her.

A scream off to her right let her know that Tristan's mother was receiving a
less thoughtful treatment, and a glance confirmed; the flesh rope was
violently ripping into her vagina, first one segment, then two. They worked
fast and hard, but, as painful as it seemed to be, Lamia thought she heard
the slightest bit of pleasure in the woman's screams. The whips on her
breasts got even harsher, as they worked in exact rhythm with the thrusts in
her vagina. Another segment, thicker than the rest, snaked its way up the
post, and a shriek of surprise told Lamia that the woman's ass had been
violated. All the while, she could not take her eyes from the witch,
deflowering the body of her beloved son, as her mind was raided with thoughts
of pleasure and pain so immense yet simultaneous that she could not
completely discern which was which.

Lamia quickened her pace and groaned in blissful pleasure as her lover began
massaging her breasts without any guidance from her to do so. In Tristan's
mind, her commands were working; as she went up, he longed for her, needed
her, and as she took him in, he knew that he belonged to her, that he would
do whatever it took to please her. His worshipping of her breasts grew more
tender, more ravishing, until Lamia could hardly stand it.

"Tristan," she moaned, "I'm going to cum. And when I do, you will also,
simultaneously, and once you do, the transformation of your mind will be
complete and you'll be mine forever. And mother," she said mischievously,
"you're going to cum, too; all of us, at once."

Lamia quickened her pace, groaning and gasping with each swift thrust.
Meanwhile, the two segments of flesh rope in Tristan's mother's vagina sped
up to an unbelievable speed, working off each other in tandem, as two ropes
spanked her breasts at a matching speed and the rope in her ass worked as
furiously as it could. The sounds coming out of her mouth were no longer
screams of agony; all she could feel was the sensations of the rope, that
powerful blend of pleasure and pain breaking her mind in two and sending her
into a dizzying state. As she stared at her son and his false love, she
could not think of anything else but the sensations. There was nothing she
could do. Her will had broken, and now she was being reformed as something
else entirely.

"This is it!" Lamia screamed.

With a forceful downward thrust, Lamia screamed in ecstasy from a powerful
orgasm, such as she'd never felt before, and her screams were met by the
wailing shrieks from Tristan's mother and the pleasured groans of her new,
subservient love slave. She lay on his chest, his cock still throbbing
inside her as his cum and her juices dripped from her sex, and breathed a
happy sigh. And Tristan felt good, knowing that he'd pleased his mistress.

Lamia looked across the room at Tristan's mother, still tied to the post,
naked, with ropes no longer penetrating or torturing her. Her thighs were
drenched in juices, her beat red breasts were soaked with sweat, and her
mouth and chin were covered in her drool and spit. The woman could still not
look away from the others. Lamia slowly stood and walked over to her.

"Did you enjoy that?"

A distant part of her conscience told her to say no, but she merely nodded,
lips parted.

"Would you like to feel it again?"

She was hesitant to respond, but her body betrayed her, her nipples standing
erect once more, so she gave a muffled "Yes."

Lamia smiled. "All you have to do, is give yourself to me. Serve me, please
me, and you can feel such pleasure again, as much as you want. Just let go."

In her mind, the woman gave in for a moment; the pleasure was everything,
she needed to have it again. But something in what Lamia said brought her
back, defiant, and she shook her head, though her eyes were still unable to
leave the witch and her lover.

Surprisingly, Lamia laughed, a sound which sent chills through the woman on
the post, who could only wonder what she would do to her next. "Very well,"
she muttered eerily, "then I have no choice. Tristan!"

He jumped to his feet and ran, naked, to her side. "Yes, mistress?"

The word sent tingles through Lamia and shivers through his mother.

"What do you think of this woman?"

He gazed up at his naked and defiled mother. "Well, she's very beautiful.
Striking, really. But she's my mother."

She looked at him sternly. "Tristan, you always do exactly as I say, without
question, because my judgment is always correct, right?"

He nodded vigorously.

She looked back at the woman. Suddenly, her bonds were lifted and she glided
gently to the floor. She tried to run but realized with disappointment that
she was locked firmly in place. Her teary eyes were wracked with fear as she
awaited whatever torment the witch intended to bring down upon her.

Lamia reached out and touched the woman's arm, sending a shock through her
body. Smiling, Lamia leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "I'm not going
to transform you the same way I did your son. I won't use magic to make you
a slave. I'm going to break you until you have no choice but to serve me,
love me, please me. You will fall to my will. Give in now, or face the
consequences."

Tristan's mother shuddered, her breath quaking, as she whispered back,
"No."

Lamia nodded understandingly. Suddenly, the witch lashed out and, nails
sharpened in youth, scratched the other woman across the face.

"You little slut," she screamed venomously, "you won't say no to me when
I'm finished with you! You will be my slave, whether you like it or not, and
believe me, say no again and you will NOT!

"I'm going to break you. And your precious son is going to help me."

"Tristan," Lamia called, "come here!"

The boy rushed to his mistress's side. "Throw this whore to the ground,"
she muttered cruelly, "where she belongs."

Tristan grabbed his mother harshly by the shoulders. For a moment, they just
stared at each other. She silently wished for mercy, wished to just have her
son back. But as he flung her viciously to the floor, she knew there was no
chance. In truth, she wasn't as brave or defiant as she'd seemed. She was
more fearful than anything, fearful of a life of cruelty under the witch's
service. In truth, she would have given anything to get back the feelings
she'd gotten up there on that post. But now, because of her fear, she would
be subjected to the witch's torture at the hands of her own son.

The witch stood over her naked, quivering frame. She then roughly shoved
her foot in the woman's face. "Kiss it!" she demanded.

When the woman shook her head 'no', Lamia kicked her in her side, brought
her foot up and demanded again, "Kiss it!"

The woman didn't respond this time. She just stared, waiting for Lamia to
kick her again. Lamia stamped her foot in disgust. "Fine," she screamed,
"then it's time to break you in! Tristan!"

The boy started, "Yes, mistress?"

Lamia looked down at the woman with a fiery gaze and snarled, "Take this
bitch, rape her, violate her, and make her beg for her son's cock! When
you've finished making this slut your personal fucktoy, bring her to me,
and I will make her my slave!"

And to the woman she sneered, pointing a finger at her face, "*Your son's
cock will give you more pleasure and pain than you've ever felt. It is more
powerful to you than the rope or any other man. When he is taking you,
everything else will melt away in your sight you will only be able to see
two things; your son and me. You will be blind to all else.*"

Suddenly, the woman's vision and surroundings went dark. For a moment, there
was nothingness. Then, suddenly, Tristan loomed into her view, his once
innocent eyes now holding a fearsome glare, as he reached forward and grabbed
her face.

"I'm gonna make you scream," he whispered harshly, "and you're gonna beg for
it."

Tristan grabbed his mother's supersensitive breasts, still red and terribly
sore from the whipping she'd received, and he began to ravage them, grinding
them in his hands. He slapped her left breast, then her right, making her
cry in pain.

A voice behind him cooed, "Oh, Tristan?"

The woman looked from Tristan to the only other thing she could see in the
dark, the beautiful, nude body of the dark witch who had forced this
treatment on her. She pointed a finger at Tristan and shot a beam of light.
"*You will now have stamina to last as long as you desire. You can hold out
finishing until you choose, and when you finish, you will shoot a great load
of cum so large that no orifice in her body could possibly contain it. You
will also get increased pleasure from every touch of your body on hers. You
will feel her, with every part of you that you can. The more you touch, the
greater your pleasure. And, Tristan, you will be rough about it.*"

He looked back at his frightened mother with a grin. Already, sensations
were popping in his fingertips on the jiggling mounds of flesh that were her
beautiful breasts. His stomach slid over hers and jolts of electricity
rushed to his pleasure center. His cock stood, almost fuller than it had
ever been, and lust filled his every thought.

He grabbed her left breast with one hand and squeezed her mouth open with
the other. "You're pretty good lucking for a slut," he sneered, "this might
be worth my while."

He shifted forward and wagged his cock before her eyes. "Now," he said, "I
want you to say, 'I want my son's big, hot cock.'"

She sputtered and stammered. He slapped her hard across the face. "Say it,
bitch! 'I want my son's big, hot cock!'"

She began muttering, "I...I..."

He slapped her with his other hand, leaving a great mark on her face. "I
can't fucking hear you! SAY IT!"

"I..." she muttered, "I want...I want your cock."

He slid forward and slapped her with his dick. "What did you say?! That
didn't sound right! WHAT do you want?!"

Tears ran endlessly down her face. "I want...I want my son's...my son's big,
hot cock."

He put his face up to hers. Grasping her right nipple, he twisted it and
snarled, "LOUDER, BITCH!"

Involuntarily, she screamed, "I WANT MY SON'S BIG, HOT COCK!"

He let go and chuckled. "Well, why didn't you say so? If nothing else, I've
been staring at those fine fucking tits of yours, and I think it's time I
gave them the proper treatment!"

He straddled her body and ran his hands over her tits. His cock grazed one
of her nipples, and, to her shock, a powerful bolt of pleasure ran through
it.

He stared into his mother's swollen eyes. "You want me to fuck your tits,
don't you?"

She shook her head no, and was immediately struck for it. Tristan screamed,
"WRONG ANSWER! Do you want me to fuck your tits?!"

With a sob, she whispered, "Yes."

He smacked her again. "Come on, you can do better than that!"

She couldn't take it anymore. Her face stung horribly as she cried out,
"Yes! I want you to fuck my tits! Do it!"

He leaned in close and growled, "Beg for it!"

"Please," she yelled, "please fuck your mother's fat tits! I want to feel
your cock on my swollen mams! Just DO IT!"

He grinned cruelly. "As you wish, mommy."

Tristan grabbed her tits roughly and squeezed them together. The move sent
pleasure coursing through his veins and he couldn't wait any longer. With a
sharp thrust, he jammed his cock between her battered and beaten breasts and
began to fuck them with all he had. Back and forth, his thrusts became
faster and faster. He pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Tristan's mother couldn't believe it, but the sensation of her son's big
cock on her painfully beleaguered tits sent waves of pain and pleasure
through her heart stronger than anything she'd ever felt. She knew it was
horrible and wrong, but she almost began to enjoy the fucking her bust
received. With this realization, she sobbed in anguish at what was happening
to her.

Suddenly, he grabbed her left hand and brought it up to where he was still
violating her chest. "When I say so," he said, "you will jerk me off until I
cum all over your slutty face and tits."

Her eyes grew wide. This was her son, her boy whom she had created from
herself and another man. How could this possibly be happening?

He pulled up from her tits and sat up. "Do it!" he commanded.

She looked at his erect cock, pointing directly at her face, and hesitated.
Too long, unfortunately, as a swift strike to her face snapped her head back
against the floor.

"Are you deaf?" he yelled. "I said, DO IT, WHORE!"

She closed her eyes fearfully, and began stroking his cock tentatively.

He forced her eyes open with his fingers. "No, no. You're going to watch
every second!"

She complied out of fear of another blow and watched herself slowly and
awkwardly pump her hand on his cock. It was agonizing to think that she was
about to bring off her own flesh and blood against her will, and that she
would have to watch the whole thing.

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist. "Hold out your hand."

She opened her palm to him. With a disgusting sound, he spat in her hand.
"Now," he said forcefully, "do it faster, and do it well, or I'll piss on
it, too."

The very thought that her own son threatened to pee on her made Tristan's
mother want to vomit. With a greater sort of conviction, she wrapped her
hand around his cock and began pumping her fist up and down the shaft,
somewhat slowly at first, then with growing speed.

Tristan groaned in pleasure and threw back his head. Without warning, he
spasmed and jets of sticky white cum shot straight at his mother's
tear-soaked and bruised face. "Keep pumping!" he yelled, and she was forced
to squeeze out more and more of his fluid as it splattered over her.

She was both shocked and dismayed at how much poured out of him. It just
kept flowing, until her face, her tits, even her hair were soaked with his
cum. Worse yet, when she finally let go of him, his cock sprang back to
life, and he was ready for more.

Tristan gazed down at his mother's battered face covered in his semen, and
he smiled. He had to admit, he wasn't too excited about raping his own mother
at first, but now it wasn't just what his mistress wanted; now, it was what
he wanted, too. He decided to humiliate her further for his own amusement.

Leaning low to her ear, he whispered, "Look over to your left."

Despite herself, she looked, and saw Lamia smiling, enjoying the horrifying
agony being forced upon her.

"That," Tristan said, "is Lamia, your mistress. Gaze upon her beauty. Admire
her power as I do. Worship her. I want you to use your fingers to gather up
every last drop of my cum and swallow it, little by little. While you do,
you will stare at your mistress and dream of the delicious taste of her sex.
If you so much as look away from her for a second while you do this, I'll
cuff you. Now go."

She wanted anything but this. She wished that something would stop this
torment, end this trouble. But as she stared at Lamia's waiting eyes, she
knew there was no way out. No hope. With tears in her eyes and Lamia's nude
body filling her vision, she began to gather up Tristan's sticky goo with
her fingers. She scraped fingerfulls from her breasts, shaking with sobs,
brought her hands to her mouth, and sucked them dry. The taste was awful,
salty and bitter, but she wouldn't stop. She continued until she could feel
no more there, then continued upward.

The process was horrifyingly slow. Lamia's magic had allowed Tristan to shoot
what seemed like a gallon of cum all over her. The whole time, she dared no
to take her eyes from Lamia for fear of punishment. She stared at her,
fearfully, as the witch just watched with an expanding look of amusement on
her face. It was strange, but, after some time, Tristan's mother was almost
entranced staring at her. She didn't enjoy her treatment, but somehow the
thought of looking at the witch was preferable to looking at her tainted son.

Just as she finished with the cum that had been on her face, she felt
Tristan's hands on the sides of her head, and he forced her to look at him.

"Spread your legs for me, slut."

The command was not shouted, but there was a force behind it, such that if
she didn't react quickly enough, she knew what terrible trouble would await
her. With a defeated sob, she spread her legs for her son.

"Now," he said sharply, shoving his face close to hers, "you know as well as
I do how good my cock feels. I want you to beg me, plead for your son to fuck
your sorry pussy, beg me and make it good!"

She looked into his face and saw his stern glare, and she was wracked with
agonizing grief she couldn't contain. She began to weep, and she shook her
head no despite all the pain she knew she would receive.

Sure enough, a striking blow hit her squarely in the face. She could taste
blood in her mouth and knew that she had a split on her lip.

"Did I ask you if you wanted to, bitch?!" he shouted. "You will do what I
say or I swear to God I'll do worse than fuck you, I'll cut that pathetic
little pussy right out of you! Now BEG!"

She didn't respond at all. She just continued to weep, the terrible torture
taking its toll on her mind and body. He struck her again, and this time she
got the faint sensation of blood dripping from her nose.

He scrambled forward and put his cock in her face again. "This," he spat,
"is your only salvation now. Either you take my cock, and beg for it, or
you'll never, ever get out of here alive. Do you understand?! Now, for the
last time, BEG FOR YOUR SON'S COCK!"

She screamed in agony before she began, "Oh, Tristan! P-please fuck your
mother with your huge, throbbing cock! Please, I need it so bad, I need it,
please! I need my son's massive prick inside my pathetic cunt and I need it
NOW!"

She felt a rush of immense pressure as Tristan shoved his huge cock all the
way inside of her, spearing her with his magically charged rod. The witch's
magic worked its power; she felt pleasure run through her such as she'd
never before experienced, not even from the magic rope. As Tristan violated
his sorry mother's vagina, he leaned forward and rubbed himself on her body,
feeling the pleasurable sensations building. He buried his head in her tits
and, with tongue and teeth, began to ravage them.

His mother burst into a fresh wave of tears as she stared, helplessly, at
her son while he raped her, his thrusts pistoning in and out of her tired
sex at a blistering pace. She could see nothing else; if she looked away,
she was all but blind, and her other senses were only amplified further.

But the worst part was, with the magical power Lamia granted and the sheer
size of her son's member, Tristan's mother was losing control of herself.
The pleasure was incredible, even if she was experiencing the worst torture
of her life she couldn't stop her juices from flowing. Her body was on fire,
and everything she knew was there in her sex, the blessed womb that had
spawned the very person now entering it. Her mind became clouded and soon
all there was was pleasure, blinding pleasure that blocked out her emotions
and took hold of her. In her mind, she was rapidly losing what little sanity
had held her together; her son was now pleasure, her torment was pleasure,
her very existence was pleasure.

Suddenly, it stopped, and what little of her old self that remained was
dismayed to find that she felt disappointment in her heart.

Tristan whispered again in her ear, "Look again at your mistress. Stare into
her eyes."

And, her mind unable to properly fight, she looked again at the witch Lamia,
and stared directly into her deep eyes.

"While I fuck you, you will stare into those eyes. Those eyes will be
everything to you, everything you see or think about. You will not, under
any circumstances, look away."

Once he said he would fuck her again, Tristan's mother immediately knew she
would comply; anything to feel it again. Tristan returned to his thrusts,
these even more powerful than the ones before. Once again, she was worked
into a frenzied state of non-thought, as she moaned and screamed in her
rapture. All the while she stared into Lamia's eyes, noting their power,
their approval

Tristan began speaking to her commandingly. "Stare into those eyes, whore,
and realize that those eyes are everything to you now. All the pleasure you
feel is because of those eyes. Those eyes control you. Those eyes command
you. Those eyes are the eyes of your goddess, your mistress, your love."

The thrusts were rapid now, and Tristan's mother was helpless, forced to
absorb everything he said without question or thought of her own. Everything
she thought was lost to the pleasure, and everything he said became truth in
her mind.

"And just as she grants you this pleasure," Tristan continued, "she can take
it away at her will."

Tristan then stopped his thrusts and pulled out of her, and suddenly,
Tristan's mother was filled with an aching, empty feeling, as if a part of
her soul was missing. She stared into the eyes of the witch Lamia, and felt
a burning need.

"Now," Tristan spat, "you've felt the pleasure of worship. Now it's time to
feel the pain of disobedience."

He then grabbed her and turned her over onto her stomach. He shifted her
body so she could face Lamia, and, without further warning, forced his hard
member into her tight, still-sore asshole.

The pain that was sent through her was unbelievable. Tristan's mother could
only scream and cry as her sensitive butthole, never touched so before
today, was violently violated by her son. As he plunged himself deeper and
deeper into the depths of her ass, she got a feeling like she was being torn
apart. She couldn't bear it for much longer. She begged for mercy, for him
to release her, but he just continued to command her.

"This is the pain you will feel if you are disloyal to your mistress," he
hissed, "and the only way to make it stop is to please her, to serve and
worship her as she demands."

Her mind wasn't clouded as it was with the pleasure, but was scrambling,
racing with a thousand indistinguishable thoughts at once, rearranging as
her mind was again plied by the words of her son. She wanted the pain to
stop, she would give anything, anything to make the pain go away. Tristan
worked her over for several minutes, slowing only enough to speak, then
thrusting hard to emphasize his point.Slowly, his mother began to lose her
will, her sense of self, becoming completely subject to the will of her
torturer.

Sensing this, Tristan slowed again. Grabbing her by the hair and pulling up
her face, he said, "The pain and the pleasure are one in the same for you.
When punished, you will feel a thrill of excitement fill you, regardless of
how terrible it may be."

"Now," he told her, "look. Look upon your true mistress, your goddess. See
every bit of her beauty, the perfection, the elegance. You will do as she
commands always, and you will be grateful to her for her treatments, be they
pain or pleasure, because she has chosen to allow you to be her loyal slave.
Your body, your mind, and your will all belong to, and are subject to the
power of, Lamia, your mistress."

He put all of his force into one final thrust and came, filling her ass with
his cum so much that it overflowed, running out of her hole. She felt the
juice splashing inside of her bowels, felt it trickling out of her and onto
the marble floor. But she did not think about the pain in her ass, or that
her son had just used her as a receptacle for his semen. Instead, she could
only think of her mistress, standing before her, filling her vision. Her
eyes stared reverently upon the witch's flesh, her taut bottom, her full
bosom, her piercing, powerful eyes. All was clear to her. She belonged to
Lamia. She would do anything for her, anything to serve and please her.
Anything to bring the pleasure, and keep away the pain.

Tristan stood and loomed over his broken mother. Her mouth was open, and the
light in her eyes told him that she had finally realized and accepted her
role in life. But there was one thing left for him to do.

He bent low and lifted her by the chin. "There is one more thing that you
must realize:" he said, "Your body is now privy to the wishes of your
mistress. You are a living doll made for whatever mistress commands. You are
built for pleasure; you live to pleasure others in the name of your mistress.
Every hole is no longer privately yours, but now belongs to her. If she so
wishes, you will fuck the entire world with every orifice, people and
animals alike, and you will love every moment, because you will be following
the wishes of your mistress. Do you understand?"

It took Tristan's mother some moments for the truth to sink in. When it did,
she nodded. Tristan smiled. "Good." he said. "Our mistress has told me to
make you my personal fucktoy before making you her slave. She has said that
you must beg for my cock before we're through. All this fucking has left my
cock very dirty with your mess, slut. You know what you must do. Now beg for
it."

She gazed up at his cock, erect again, and saw that it was covered in her
own slick juices, mixed among his cum and her own shit. There was even a
drop or two of blood, and she guessed that her ass must have bled from his
treatment. It looked disgusting. Yet, she knew what she had to do.

"Oh please, son," she started desperately, "please let me clean your cock of
my own disgusting mess! Please, let me wash it in my tongue, cleanse it with
my mouth. Let your mommy suck you until your beautiful cock is clean and
dry!"

He chuckled and slapped her lightly in the face with his prick. "Go to it,
slut."

Despite the deep-seeded part of her old self, now locked away forever, she
smiled. Leaning forward, she began running her tongue up and down his shaft,
tasting the awful blend of shit, cum, and her own sexual lubricant and
cleaning it from her son's erection. So many times she could have stopped,
could have gagged at the very thought, but she continued licking up and down
his penis, collecting every bit of the waste on it with her loving tongue,
until it was all gone.

But she was hardly finished there. Looking up into her son's bemused eyes,
she took the head of his penis into her mouth and sucked lightly, gaining a
smirk of approval from her spawn. Emboldened, she began to slide her lips
down, down the shaft, breathing through her nose, sucking all the way. It
was as if she were merely inhaling her son's cock, swallowing it down. She
closed her eyes and concentrated. It was thick, barely able to fit all the
way inside her mouth, and she had never sucked a cock this long to the base
before. But now she concerned herself only with taking it all the way in,
feeling her son's perfect cock in her throat.

Suddenly, her nose met with a light mound of pubic hair, then hit a wall of
skin. She breathed deep through her nose, smelling the thick musk of her
son's sweat and sexual energy. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.
This time he did not smile. He merely nodded. And then she got to work. She
began carefully working his cock, up and down, in her mouth, the enhanced
sensations of it magically tickling her throat in unexpected ways. Gradually,
she got into a rhythm and got used to controlling the feelings of it going in
and out of her throat. Her strokes got broader; soon, she was pulling all the
way out to the ring of the head and shoving all the way back in, down her
throat. She moaned. The sound waves sent a tingle up her son's spine and he
groaned a pleasant response.

She was really getting into it when Tristan suddenly grabbed her roughly by
the hair, pulling her off and staring into her eyes.

He grunted and said, "I'm gonna face-fuck you until I come down your slick
little throat. When I do, you will swallow all that you can, and your
transformation from worthless slut to obedient love slave will be complete,
and only then will you be fit for your mistress. Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly, the voice in her head that once would have told her this
was wrong now silent, replaced by the wishes of her mistress and the commands
of her son.

Tristan grabbed his mother's head with both hands as she opened her mouth
wide. With a grunt, he slammed her face down on his cock, feeling it slide
into her waiting throat. He quickly began fucking her face, the slow, careful
ministrations of her blowjob now replaced by the violent, frenzied desires of
her son. Each series of thrusts grew faster and faster, and just when her
throat began to burn with pain, Tristan came furiously, spewing load after
hot, thick load into her mouth. She swallowed eagerly, chugging his spend as
quickly as she could, but there was so much that it spilled out over the
sides of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto her breasts. As he'd
said, her mind solidified, forming the perfect slave who would use her body
to serve her mistress in any way she desired. When he'd spent his last drop,
he pulled out of her face and stepped back.

"Now," Tristan said, stepping gracefully to one side, "greet your mistress."

Tristan's mother gazed worshipfully upon her new owner and goddess, Lamia,
before bowing her head to emphasize her own lowliness.

Lamia laughed grandly and stepped forward at last. She looked down at the
woman who'd so defiantly refused her power, who'd so bravely fought her
control. 'Now look at her,' she thought, 'her will and her very mind
destroyed by her own loving son.' She had to admit, Tristan had surprised
her with his prowess in breaking the slave woman. Looking at him she
grinned, her smile causing him to become erect yet again.

With a laugh she spoke. "Tristan, you have served your mistress well, and
you will be rewarded in time. For now, go to the desk in the far corner and
fetch me what's in the small top drawer."

He grinned and nodded with vigor. "Yes, Lamia!"

And so, Lamia was alone with Tristan's mother for the first time. She looked
down at the pitiful creature, head bowed in humility for the witch standing
before her.

She stuck her foot out before the woman's face. "Kiss it," she taunted, "and
realize how pathetic it is to resist my power."

Tristan's mother didn't hesitate, and began kissing Lamia's foot with great
enthusiasm, each kiss given as proof of her loyalty and her humility.

Throwing her head back, Lamia could only cackle at the pathetic display.
Pulling her foot away, she decided to ask some questions.

"How old are you, slave?"

"I'm 40, mistress."

Lamia was impressed. For a 40-year-old mother, she was still very beautiful.

"How is it that your boy just met you?"

"He was conceived of myself and a man from over the wall, in England. When
he was born, I gave him to his father to be raised there."

"England?" she gasped. "You mean he's not from Stormhold?"

Tristan's mother nodded. 'Interesting,' Lamia thought, 'maybe that could be
useful to me.'

She examined the slave's naked form. She was, in her full flesh, more
beautiful than Lamia had even realized. She could be more than a simple
servant, if she were made younger.

'That's it,' Lamia realized, 'with my full power, I can perform the necessary
spell to make her younger, as young as her son, perhaps!'

"Alright," she said, pointing a finger commandingly at her slave, "let's give
this a try."

A burst of light shot from her fingertip, and green flames enveloped the
kneeling woman. Before their eyes, Tristan's mother was transformed, her hair
darker and fuller, her skin more smooth and soft, her breasts rounder, more
pronounced. Feeling confident, Lamia even enacted a few changes. All of the
pubic hair fell off of the slaves body, never to grow again. Her muscles
became stronger and tighter, better for labor. Her breasts suddenly swelled
several sizes, just short of being far too large for her frame. She lost
height so that she was now inches shorter than Lamia. Every change was
exactly as Lamia wanted, and she marveled at her own handiwork.

When all was finished, she put her arm down. "There," she remarked with a
smirk, "all better now."

Tristan's newly improved mother looked at her body, amazed by the changes.
She was nearly in tears when she looked back and bowed low. "Oh thank you,"
she cried, "thank you, my mistress!"

Lamia smiled. "Be glad, slave," she said, "for I have chosen you to-ah,
Tristan!"

The boy trotted back to Lamia, his cock bouncing with every step. "Here it
is, my love," he said, "I hope this is what you wanted."

He held out, in his hand, exactly what Lamia had asked for; a thin, leather
dog's collar with a blank silver tag. Taking it from him, Lamia nodded and
waved him back.

Lamia bent low and lifted her slave girl to her knees. "Look into my eyes,
slave," she said, "for I have something for you."

As they stared into each other's eyes, Lamia spoke. "As I was saying, be
glad, for I have chosen you to be my sex pet, a slave whom I will call on to
use and ravage for my pleasures whenever I need until, when the time comes,
I throw them away. You will be as a dog, doing my bidding and showing your
loyalty and devotion to me until I need your special services. You will
experiment and enjoy all forms of sex, using every part of your body to the
best of your ability. The taste of cum will be like the best wine, and cock
and pussy will be your only real desires. You will give yourself when I wish
to whomever I wish you to, and you will be overjoyed by every sexual deed
done. With this collar, I adorn you to be my slave pet for the rest of your
life or until I say otherwise."

With that, Lamia placed the collar around her slave's neck and closed the
lock. The collar magically shifted to fit her perfectly, and it set into her
neck as if it were a part of her. A flick of the witch's finger and a name
appeared on the tag: 'SLUT'

As she stood, a leash appeared in Lamia's hand and attached itself to the
collar. Tristan's mother appeared overjoyed, and her voice caught in her
throat as she whispered, "Oh thank you mis-"

But suddenly, Lamia slapped her across the face. "Ah-ah," she chided, "no
speaking! From now on, you cannot speak unless I directly say so. The only
sounds you can make are the sounds of sex. That is how you will communicate
everything."

The woman nodded. Lamia began to walk away, and Tristan's mother stood to
go with her, but the witch stopped and pushed her back down. "No," she said
sternly, "you can no longer walk on your feet like a person when we are in
private. You are a dog, a pet, and when following me you may only crawl! In
public, I may allow you to walk, or I may not. It's my decision, and my will
is everything, correct?"

Tristan's mother moaned in response. Satisfied, Lamia walked to the staircase
and ascended to the grand platform, her new sex pet crawling gratefully
behind, and Tristan following. They got to the platform, where Lamia saw the
body of the fallen star whose heart had granted her this power. Waved her
free hand. "Oh yes, I forgot. Tristan, can you throw this body in the
fountain?"

"Yes mistress" he said as he rushed to the table. He looked down at the
blonde girl, her chest split and her mouth fallen permanently open. The
strangest tingling washed over him, and for a moment he wondered who this
girl might be. Still, it was his mistress's wish, and he didn't ask
questions, so he roughly shoved her corpse off the table, over the railing,
and down into the fountain below, where she floated peacefully.

Her way now cleared, Lamia rose herself up and lay gingerly on the table. She
glanced between her two subjects.

"Both of you, slaves," she snarled wickedly, "lavish my body with your
worship until I climax."

She laughed wildly as mother and son began to massage her flesh, tenderly
running their hands across her bare skin, placing soft, loving kisses on her
as they went. Tristan's hands found her breasts and he to fondle them gently,
her responsive nipples receiving treatment from his tongue. Meanwhile,
Tristan's mother was taking to her new lot in life extraordinarily well,
throwing her whole body into her work as she massaged her mistress's smooth
legs, slowly making her way up to her thighs.

Lamia closed her eyes and relished their worship. She had lived for hundreds
of years, alone spare for her needy and heartless sisters, who insisted on
sharing every fallen star amongst them and wasting its true power. Such fools
they were, and, now that she was rid of them, she was glad to finally hold
all the power for herself. These slaves would be just the first; with her
endless youth and magic, she could enslave all of Stormhold, even cross the
accursed wall and enter that mysterious place England. The world was hers,
and no one was powerful enough to stop her.

"Slaves," she mumbled lazily, "you may work together. Play with each other
if you like while you service me."

Tristan responded with a curt "Yes mistress," while her pet gave a deep,
enraptured groan. The boy moved down to where his mother was soothingly
working Lamia's inner thighs with her hands and her tongue, and joined her,
his fingers dancing over the softness of her thighs, then around her pelvis,
drawing ever nearer her blessed womb, while his tongue painted her nether
regions with his saliva. At once, the two moved inward, their tongues
entwining as they reached the moistened lips of her sex. Together, they
parted the folds of her labia, and began to encircle her vagina with their
tongues, circles drawing ever nearer to the prize. Their tongues dove deeper
and deeper, and Lamia cooed her appreciation.

It was Tristan who found her clitoris, making his mistress jump in ecstasy
and hiss a profound sigh. Looking at his mother, he motioned her to turn
around, which she did. Tristan took two fingers and shoved them deep, deep
into his mother's pussy, making her shudder in pleasure. When he removed
them, they dripped with his mother's nearly endless juices. He continued to
lick Lamia up and down, slowly and deliberately, while he slipped first one
wet finger, then the other, into her. Seeing her son taking charge, Tristan's
mother decided to move higher, licking Lamia across her stomach and up to her
beautiful bosom, where she treated her breasts in much the same fashion as
Tristan had done earlier.

Lamia began to squirm happily, her eyes still closed, her body heating up
with need until it was almost on fire. "Oooh," she moaned as Tristan found
her sweet spot, "that feels so good!"

Tristan was happy to oblige his mistress, and he kept working away at that
spot, tracing it with his fingers with he flicked it with his tongue.
Meanwhile, the boy's mother sucked tenderly on Lamia's engorged nipples, the
sensations sending pulses of pleasure through her mistress's whole body. The
tandem work was wonderful, and only grew more so as time moved on. The
slaves were as one, moving all over Lamia's body, giving her pleasures she'd
never known. Finally, she knew exactly what she needed.

"Tristan," Lamia sighed through ragged breaths, "I need you inside of me!
Take me now. Make me cum."

Tristan didn't need to say anything. His cock was already at full attention
from his lover's responses, and he didn't hesitate to place it near her
entrance. First he teased her, using the head he had his fingers and tracing
a pattern around her mound. But he realized something was wrong.

"Mother," he whispered, "I need some lubrication."

The pet slave quickly got to her feet and bent before her boy, toying with
her own clit to get her juices dripping. Wordlessly, he plunged his cock
into her depths. Her eyes fluttered from the feeling, his cock still
containing the magic Lamia had placed on it, but just as quickly as he'd
entered, he pulled out, the head of his member making a squishing sound as
it slid from her.

All prepared, Tristan pulled Lamia's legs apart enough for him to squeeze
in and sank himself into her, just a few inches at first, then more and more
until he was all the way inside of her. He began gyrating back and forth,
his motions calculated to give complete satisfaction to his lover, until he
worked up a good rhythm and let his body do the rest. His eyes closed,
Tristan didn't see his mother climb atop the table and lay her breasts on
Lamia's abdomen. The now shortened and large-chested slave positioned her
face and hands on Lamia's breasts, continuing the loving ministrations she'd
given earlier. What surprised them both, however, was what she did with her
other parts.

Tristan was thrusting in and out of Lamia with increasing speed, and she
was reacting in kind, when all of a sudden, they each felt a foreign touch
on their genitals. The feeling was soft, yet not as soft as fleshy patches
of skin. It was calculating and flexible, yet not as much as a hand would
be. Looking down, Tristan saw what was happening. His mother, taking Lamia's
words about using her whole body to heart, had slid her foot down to the
area of penetration and was using her toes to skillfully stroke and coddle
both Tristan's cock and their mistress's pussy at once.

The new feeling excited Lamia even further and she began moaning loudly,
working herself towards the finish. Tristan took advantage and began
thrusting with conviction, working his cock like a hammer to offset the
softer touches his mother was giving them both. Lamia screamed in
exhilaration, and Tristan knew she was close. He suddenly accelerated as
fast as he could, rushing his forceful thrusts to a blistering speed, as he
heard Lamia shout, "All together, cum together!"

And with an ecstatic scream, echoed by a lusty growl from Tristan and a
loud moan from his mother, Lamia tensed her muscles, and she and her slaves
came at once. She had, of course, forgotten about the geyser of cum shot by
the young man, and Tristan's mother scrambled quickly to lap up all the
excess spend that dripped from Lamia's pussy.

Lamia smiled and stroked the now young woman's head. "Oh my precious
little..."

And that was when Lamia realized that she didn't know her slave's name.

"Pet," she said, sitting up, "you may speak to answer this question: What
is your real name?"

The woman stopped her licking long enough to answer, "My name is Una,
mistress."

The witch sat upright quickly. "UNA?!" she gasped. "As in, Una the princess
of Stormhold who vanished years ago?!"

Una merely nodded and continued her lapping. "But," Lamia sputtered, "the
king's dead...and the princes...!"

She looked down from the platform at the body of Prince Septimus, the last
surviving prince of Stormhold.

And suddenly, she had a revelation. "That means," she began, "Tristan is
the last male heir to the throne of Stormhold! Tristan is the new king!"

Tristan listened intently and nodded along with what Lamia was saying,
while Una happily tried to gather all the remaining cum from her vagina.

Suddenly, Lamia began to laugh evilly, a sound that would chill the heart
of any man save for the two slaves before her, to whom the sound was as
sweet as any music. She laughed and laughed as she realized that her dreams
of world domination were not just fantasies; they were, in fact, already
coming true! She had control over the new king of all Stormhold! She could
make him do anything, even name her supreme empress. 'Or,' she thought, 'I
could carry out all of the business behind doors and leave him the
figurehead role. I could rule with an iron fist. I could make everyone my
slaves!'

Una finished her duties and kneeled again, knowing better than to stand
before her mistress. Tristan just stared in wonder at the beautiful witch,
not aware that just then she was plotting her domination of the country
which he unknowingly now ruled.

Lamia stood grandly on the table, towering over her slaves, as she
announced, "Dress and make ready our transport. We're going to claim the
world."

THE END

    

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