Half-Breed. Chapter 9: Visitors from the Past

By: Dawn2069MS

My mother once taught me that it is one’s past, not one’s present, which influences the future. That memories which are lost beyond recall are like parts of ourselves having vanished out of existence. A human should always strive to conserve the memories of one’s past, regardless of whether they contain pain or joy. Even now, so many years later, I still ask myself if my mother had known what she had been talking about; if she ever had been forced to suffer from painful memories. I still wait for the veil of oblivion clouding my former consciousness, but the darker parts of my mind are abiding and recall what once I had been.

The first memory surfacing is of my father, smiling. His face is angular, yet pleasing; his laughter harsh, yet comforting. His hair is long and raven black, like satin waves flowing from his head. I struggle every time to hinder this memory from fading. I remember him being a hunter; it is the memory of the smell of the forest coming along with my father. The animals he brings home from the woods are dead usually, but once he surprised me with a newborn wild cat – a needy little creature, orphaned.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The second memory that comes to the forefront is of my mother. It is a painful memory; one that I’d like to keep sealed. They are not many, these memories of my mother. Seldom do I remember her without feeling hurt. Her gray eyes always look onto me with love, and when they do, I feel safe and secure. Her black hair is like my father’s; I remember it shimmer in the moonlight, like the water of a nightly ocean.

I vividly recall perceiving my mother and a stranger – another hunter – from the balustrade of the stairway, talking. I cannot hear nor understand their words, but their aggrieved faces speak of sorrow. The stranger hands out my father’s bow. My mother sobs, cries, screams, holding fast to the only remains of the one she loves. The stranger leaves. “Mommy?” I ask. Mother spins around, surprised, drenched in tears. Her gray eyes look upon myself with love, but it is despair which taints her gaze. Back then I didn’t comprise that father was gone. Dead. I was young those days, unused to the ways of the world and my feelings were innocent still.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The third memory finds me sitting in a corner of our kitchen. I perceive my mother and another kinsman. Their talk is of great gravity, fueled by black despair. The visitor’s figure is squat, his visage a mixture of ministration and malignity. I feel disgusted by his presence. Anger meets with sorrow, frustration fades into helplessness, finally giving way to resigned compliance. The man leaves, sparing me as much as a glance, smirking. Mother tells me that she cannot accommodate us anymore. Filthy lucre it is what a human needs to live, to survive. That at least is what mother has been told, persuaded, ruined. People of our kin visited her often since then, hiding where she and father used to pass the night. Most of them never spared me as much as a glance, but some gazed at me like a predator sights its prey. I’m afraid. It is the past, long gone.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The fourth memory is of me awaking during the night, the groans of a foreign voice – a male voice – rushing upward through the staircase. I was young these days, able to sneak like a cat, none of my steps drawing a sound from the otherwise creaking wooden planks. I perceive my mother kneeling in front of another stranger through the keyhole of the bedroom door. She’s a captive! Her arms are bound behind her back. Mother kneels between the stranger’s spread legs and licks the thing between his thighs. I do not understand what she does. The man groans aloud again, mother’s eyes are closed while she appears to make him feel good; that is what his visage conveys at least. I can see some coins on the nightstand, their silver-colored surface glistening like gold in the candle’s shine. Filthy lucre it is what a human needs to survive.

The stranger suddenly grabs mother’s silken hair and pulls her head deep between his legs. I can hear her gargle, struggle against the thing in her mouth, her eyes opening wide. The door is not locked. I’m scared as I rush into the chamber to help. I feel mother’s gaze locking onto me, appalled, in disbelief. “Let go of her!” I scream, enraged, racing towards them still. The stranger’s eyes flash with anger and annoyance, as he easily stops me from intervening. As his fist impacts my temple, there is a short yet painful flash. » I am not strong enough to protect mother, « is the last conscious thought rushing through my innocent mind. Then I go dark.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The fifth memory bridges a long span of time. I have grown. I have seen a lot of our kin visiting my mother, men and women alike, too many visitors. Mother tried to explain her doing to me. She looked at me with her gray eyes, with love, her gaze lost to emptiness. I heard her words. I nodded – crying – and appeared understanding. Her words, they hurt. I was innocent back then, innocent until she made me understand the ways of the world. It had reinforced all of my further upbringing. I remember waking up at night once again. This night is significantly difference to other nights – I find myself carried on a shoulder, like a puppet. I panic. My attempts to free myself are answered with painful blows to my ribs. I am not strong enough.

This feels strange, …

I see my mother lying on what has been my parent’s bed, many years ago. Her sight makes me cringe. Bound to the bed, wrists and ankles, legs spread … naked and bruised. She screams – cries – as I am carried into her field of vision. No, please, let her go! My child, she’s innocent, please. Her tear-stained gray eyes look upon me with love, with fear, with despair. The naked man kneeling between her legs, the one who visits my mother quite often, he smiles maliciously, a lecherous gaze. His accomplice throws me onto the bed, pinning me down. Too much strength he has; I struggle, cannot withstand. I am stripped naked, my juvenile body trembles as my arms get bound behind my back. It hurts. They position me on top of my mother, on my stomach – her stomach – and bind my ankles to my mother’s. Our gazes meet, drenched in tears, scared. My heart screams, as I finally get aware of what terrible thing is going to happen. To me. To us. “Mama, I’m so scared.” I whisper, my voice quivering. Be strong, my dear. You can endure this. “Will it hurt?” I ask. Yes. One hand holds me down, rigid, brutal. I feel the heat of the man’s body between my legs. The moment he pierces into me, I scream.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The sixth memory is short and intensive. I sneak out of our house at night. My mind is filled with rage, the sickles in my hands an elongation of fury. » Revenge. « I remember their faces, the men who tortured us, the men who are guilty of expunging my innocence. » Revenge. « One of them I find in his house, in his bed, sleeping, alone. His death is fast, violent, liberating. After shoving the tip of the sickle down is throat, I make sure he recognizes my face. His eyes gape in horror as he awakes one last time, then I forcefully pull at the handle of my sickle. The razor-sharp blade cuts through his jaw and flesh until it impacts on the sternum. There is blood, lots of it. I come back to my senses. » What have I done? « It is the past, long gone.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The seventh memory. Fire. The village burns. The enemy, the Kazdruk, are ruthless and powerful. Dragons rain fire down upon us. I see people – friends and strangers alike – burning, dying, yet walking, in a stoic trance. The demonic hordes overwhelm the surface of the scorched earth, killing, capturing, enslaving. The Kazdruk’s appearance fuels fear and horror in most of our kin. They are beasts, with horns, hooves, claws and fangs alike. And yet, behind their facile physiology, there is an alien beauty, exotic, appealing. I do not fear them.

I remember having fought well. My sickles have tasted Kazdruk blood. I stand in midst of our village’s main road, next to my mother’s body. Her gray unseeing eyes look upon me. She is dead, yet beautiful. I sink down on my knees, exhausted, desperate. I cannot cry – why? No tears, so the cries of my heart remain mute. My hand caresses her cheek. There is so much love for her within me. And so much fury … “Rest in peace, mama.” I close her eyes. I was not strong enough.

A woman approaches, a Kazdruk woman. Her hair is of a dark purple, almost black. Her head is embellished with horns curling back over her hair. Her eyes, hard to look into, are glowing red, sticking out of the pale red color of her tattooed skin. She has pointed ears. Her hands and feet are clawed, suiting the beast she is. She wears little armor and no visible weapon. She looks down upon me and our gazes meet. I do not fear her. “You are not like the others.” she says calmly. She puts forth her clawed hand, a gesture of offering. “You have potential, girl. It would be a shame to kill you. Join me and live, or follow the path of the woman next to you.” she speaks on. My heart starts beating violently. I cannot fight anymore. I am not strong enough. I want more power. There is nothing to keep me here anymore. I put forth my hand, trembling. Her touch makes me shiver. She smiles at me, knowing.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The eighth memory, a chamber in a dungeon. Torches light the area. This is not my chamber, it is where I am trained, tamed. They pleasured me. They bound me. They raped me. They whipped me. They invaded me, my body, my mind. It hurt at first, but not anymore. The one who adopted me, the Kazdruk woman, visits my very often. Aeltha is her name, a demonic sorceress. She cares for me, listens to my needs. She speaks to me about the past, my mother, my childhood. It hurts. It fuels a darkness buried deep within me. It hurts and I cry. The sorceress comforts me, knowing.

This feels strange, …

My body aches for tenderness, but my mind refuses; too great is the fear of pain when being penetrated. Aeltha knows, cares. “Shall I cure your suffering?” she asks. I nod, hesitant. The demoness undresses and reveals her secret. She is more than a woman. Her penis is hard and scary, yet shapely, needy. I’ve never seen one on a woman’s body before. She invites me to explore her body, touch her, kiss her, caress her. There is this feeling again, deep within me, crawling to the surface, pushing away the fear. Aeltha is patient, guiding, reassuring. As I finally surrender to my body’s desire, my loins unite with hers, slowly, passionately, thrillingly. She kisses me dearly, knowing.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The ninth memory feels like a flash. I am chained to the dungeon wall, wrists locked in metal shackles above my head. The feeling of warm air upon the skin of my naked body. Leather stockings and gloves is all I am allowed to wear, as a slave I am. I am not alone. My Mistress, Aeltha, is with me. She is accompanied by another demon woman, but her name I do not remember. They talk; Aeltha plans to do some experiments on human captives. Her goal, the creation of a demon kinsman or kinswoman. The other one asks if she has someone specific in mind for the first try. The sorceress nods and points her finger towards me. My destiny is set.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The tenth memory is of the cold stone of an altar pressing against my back. Arms chained above my head to the sides of the stone, legs held in place, spread wide to give access to my most private parts. The ritual of transformation is about to begin. There is someone nearby; it is the nameless woman from before. I get a glimpse of her nether regions. She is like Aeltha, more than a woman. My head is bent back, over the edge of the altar, held fast by a leather strap. The tip of her penis points towards my face; a spear, ready to pierce deep into my throat until her testicles reach my lips. I feel Aeltha’s fingertips caress my inner thighs, the head of her phallus teasing my labia. My heart beats fast within my chest.

Loins suddenly thrust forward. I feel impaled, twofold. Aeltha’s cock fills my vagina. I moan. My eyes go wide as the salty flesh of the other cock passes my lips, over my tongue, down my throat. I gag, I groan, it hurts. As the two demon women continue to shove themselves in and out of my body, the pain fades. Lust prevails. I cease to gag, my tongue slithers over the cock sliding between my lips; the nameless woman answers with lascivious groans. I thrust back my hips against Aeltha’s movement, my vagina spasms and contracts around the invading flesh; the demon sorceress joins in the cacophony of groans. She begins to cast her spell, calling in dark powers in a language never heard before. Something starts creeping into me, unfurling in all of my body, my mind, myself. My body cringes, tenses, as a sudden jolt of pain blasts trough me, lingering, raising. The seesaw of orgasmic sensations and horrendous agony ravages me; it is unbearable. The demon magic crushes my feet and legs, breaks through my rump, my fingers, my forehead. My gagged screams of pain make my tormentors groan aloud, as hot Kazdruk nectar forces its way into my womb and down my throat. “This looks promising.” are the last words I hear before I pass out.

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

The eleventh memory that comes to the fore is of my eyes snapping open, still lying on the altar, alone. How long have I been unconscious? I can still taste their cum on my tongue. As I lick my lips to savor the flavor, I recognize the inhuman length and the forked tip of my tongue. It startles me at first. I sit up and look upon my legs. What once was human has been altered into the shape of a beast. I move my legs to the side and set my hooves down upon the floor; a clacking sound like that of a horse trotting. I try to stand on my new … feet, with caution. I am amazed how the muscles of my body quickly adapt to my new form. For the first time in my life, I feel strong, powerful, superior.

The door opens and Aeltha enters the altar chamber. I turn my upper body around to face my creator, looking back over my shoulder, my hips swaying slightly due to the turning movement. “Such a gorgeous succubus.” she says, smiles and continues: “Come, my child. It is time to present my creation to the others.” I follow my Mistress through the dungeon. Moving on my hooves feels more natural with every step. We pass a mirror, mounted to the wall of the hallway. I pause for a moment. It is the first time I see my new self entirely. The pupils of my demonic eyes are slit, like those of a cat, and the yellow color of my eyes complements the darkened tan skin color of my altered body. A pair of gorgeous twisted dark horns protrude from my forehead. Pointed ears. Larger breasts. I am nearly stunned by the beauty of my succubus body. Furthermore, I somehow enjoy wearing only stockings and arm-length gloves. I see Aeltha appear behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Irresistible, aren’t you?”

The chamber we enter is occupied with other Kazdruk, standing, sitting, talking. The crowd falls silent as we enter the room. Dozens of eyes peer at me, their facial expression ranges from being astonished to inquiring. Aeltha presents me as her very first human who has been transformed into a succubus. A murmur runs through the crowd. One of them speaks up and asks for my name. I answer:

“My name is Rhyeesh.”

This feels strange, though not too painful, so the sensation will fade before long.

I awaken. It is the present, of course it is! … The light of dawn shines through the windows of the abandoned cathedral, the one near the human enclave, the one I had played with my two elven girls. In the corner of the room I can see the frightened young woman I captured near the enclave last night. She gazes at me, bound, gagged, helpless. Her anguish amuses me, she isn’t used to see a demon.

Time for my breakfast …

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