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They had called him Wither, a nickname that would likely plague him all his life. She had called him Basze, after her father; but the small, sickly child did not resemble the proud warrior his namesake had been. Basze, like his mother and her mother before her, had a hereditary disease that made him weak and frail, withered in appearance. Very few were in any doubt that Wither would be dead within a few years. Kaita looked down at her son now, a tear in her eye, which she quickly brushed onto her tattered sleeve; she was weak in form and always would be, but in being so she had become strong in mind. Basze should have been able to walk at his age, and yet he found much difficulty even in standing. His velvet-black hair had barely reached his neck; he had the hair of his mother, as well as her pale, withered skin and frail body. He had inherited too much from her, Kaita thought. She blamed herself for his doomed life; she was a proud woman, and yet to an extent she had already given up hope on Basze. Now Kaita�s thoughts were set on a new child in the hopes that she would give life to an offspring stronger than Wither. Istarar was renowned in the small metropolis of Suldolphor, if for no other reason then for his blood. Sprouting long and wide from Istarar�s spine was a pair of wings, and from his head a set of horns. His skin was scaled almost all over. His eyes were a soul chilling red, and his teeth were fangs, his nails claws. As far as half-fiends went, Istarar had drawn the short straw, for he was more demon than human in both mind and appearance. Istarar, like most of his kind, was damned to a lifetime of few friends and many foes; his appearance repulsed most and frightened many. For this reason, what took place on one particular winter�s night was most unexpected. Kaita knew she had only one chance at this; and that if she failed she would be a dead woman. But she had nothing to live for; the illness made her life expectancy shorter than most, and all she had now in the world was Basze, who she knew would be lucky if he made it through the winter. Kaita�s eyes fell upon her reflection in the condensed window, and she swallowed heavily in worry. The image that met her was not what she was used to. She was clad in only a brass chain mail shirt that showed her frail, curving form openly, and a short, black, leather skirt and matching stockings that left little to the imagination. Kaita had even pushed herself as far as to use make-up to darken her sickly pale cheeks and lips. Even with her frail, withered body, Kaita had managed to make herself somewhat desirable; or so she believed. Istarar had retired to his sleeping quarters an exhausted �man.� Once again he had had to survive an attempt on his life; the appearance came at a high price, even in Calimshan. The half-fiend was pleased with himself though; the paladin had been a strong fighter, but not strong enough. Istarar chuckled coldly to himself as he removed his full plate, laying it on the wall beside his battleaxe, the heavy clunk resounding around the chamber. With a flap of his enormous, boney wings, the half-fiend was hanging from the rafters, his feet firmly on the ceiling. Closing his eyes, Istarar prepared himself for a heavy slumber, but his momentary peace was abruptly broken by the sound of someone approaching him. The half-fiend�s lips curled into a sneer, his ruby-like eyes instantly open. It was a woman. Kaita had never seen the half-fiend this close up before. On instinct his appearance frightened her; the demonic wings, the fangs, the claws. She had made a mistake, a fatal one; she knew it now. It became clearer to her still as he landed, his webbed feet padding towards her, thudding on the bare concrete floor as he took each step. Kaita�s heart skipped a beat; now she was faced with death, the prospect didn�t seem so pleasant. She didn�t want to die. The smell of brimstone coming off the nightmare walking towards her was overwhelming, and in that instant Kaita knew she had to do as she had come to do, or die doing so. He had expected her to run from him the moment he touched the ground, or at least to make an attempt on his life with bow, sling or perhaps sword, if she were a brave but stupid human. What he didn�t expect was what did happen. Istarar felt her tongue meet his before he knew what was happening. It slipped between the points of the forked tip of his, rolling and playing with a hunger, an intense eagerness he had never before felt. They were usually limp, disinclined, unwilling. He felt her cold, trembling fingers brush the scales on his bare chest, and he knew her fear. She was terrified of him, of course, and this only led Istarar to wonder why� Kaita knew she had to keep him distracted if she were to survive this; he would have no hesitation in slaying her on the spot unless he wanted her there. At first the touch of him made her sick to her stomach; the smell was repulsive, his tongue thin and almost slimy. Yet his chest was so firm; so strong. That thought alone drove Kaita on; fueled her desire. She felt his arms, long muscled arms, snake around her waist and she did not flinch; she pushed herself forwards, pressing her curvaceous body into his chest. He didn�t understand any of this; he didn�t need to. He could feel the lust taking him, the human side of him taking over; she was forcing it out of him. Her touch so gentle, so alluring; he wanted it. He wanted her now. A growl leaving his throat, Istarar put his entire massive weight against this girl, pushing her to the concrete, his crimson eyes sparkling lustfully as his lips left hers, his hands moving feverishly for her clothes, the chain mail being literally torn off her frail chest. She knew she had succeeded this far. She was still breathing, though heavily, gasping for air as his large form lay on her. Her hazel eyes glittered as she stared up at him, noting with satisfaction the darkening of his, the parting of his stone gray lips. She managed to hold back a whimper as the mail was torn from her body, quickly leaning up trying to bring her lips back to his but he pushed her back; he did not want her lips. Istarar saw no point in wasting time, and it was with this in mind that his claws gripped her skirt, dragging the leather down the length of her smooth white legs, the material tight to her skin. Kaita gave a gasp, but she wanted this; she had aimed for this. He felt her hips lifting off the cold surface, pushing up against him, spurring him on. There was no hesitation, no reluctance; his thrusts came hard and heavy, rough and rapid, pushing down on her. He heard her gasp, and drew a sneer. She was smaller than he usually would have chosen; but this one had chosen him. His hands touched to her breasts eagerly, brushing, teasing and squeezing the flesh, extracting the moans from her like water from a tap, each one enticing his thrusts to grow harder, quicker� stronger. Kaita couldn�t stop the moans or the trembles, much as she could not stop him from giving what she wanted. And she could tell, from his firmness and the growing lust in his shudders against her weak body, that he wanted it too. She closed her eyes, not wishing to look at his deformed face any longer; not caring to see his blazing red eyes boring into her, his scaly wings outstretched from his back. Her hands moved to his arms, touching and feeling the muscles, massaging along them to his neck, taking in every contour, the sheer size of them, the strength contained in him. His thrusts were so quick, rough and heavy that it did not take Istarar long to climax against the frail human girl beneath him. Shudders that felt to her like tremors shook his body as he gave her a final thrust, drawing an elongated groan from her lips. He rose from her like the moon to the sky, lifting his head to ceiling and letting forth a demonic growl, feeling a satisfaction like none other. His sharp fangs gritted against his jagged lower teeth, his lips curled into a smirk, the half-fiend lowered his intense eyes to the girl that had given him this pleasure, only to find that she was already making a hasty escape. Kaita staggered home that night feeling weak and strong together. She found herself physically unable to control the tears that silently left her eyes, nor the shaking that quaked her frail naked body as she held Wither close to her chest; her clothes had been forgotten in the demon�s chamber. She felt raped; yet she had not been. Kaita knew she had put herself in the position and had been willing, yet she could not get those eyes, those fangs, those wings out of her mind. Still, she had been successful and now all she could do was wait and hope. |