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This was what the original Enchantress stories was supposed to invoke... an erotic wrongness that you can't stop yourself from cumming to

You read a little fantasy book, roughly 100 pages.

It's about an adventurer who accepts a mission to try and defeat a smug and powerful sorceress.

She condescendingly describes all the sadistic ways she will torment him once she dominates him. The descriptions are vivid and almost cliche in erotica.

In a shocking twist you did not see coming, the novel ends in her victory. The powerful sorceress, without trouble, subverts narrative expectation after narrative expectation, and has her way.

The End

She begins the epilogue where she begins to torture the humble the hero. Lovingly detailed, her mocking of the hero (and the reader) for expecting her to be defeated. The should-be hero's wondrous erotic suffering.

It goes on and on, session of torment after session of torment, the hero breaking further and further further, the sorceress by contrast remaining steadfastly sadistic, lecherous, and unpunished.

You cannot stop reading.

You grow so aroused as you read on and on, desperate to reach the end of the book, but even as you continue to read you begin to feel yourself, not caring where you are or who sees...

The warped fantasy story overtaking your mind...

You are more than two hundred pages in... three hundred pages... four hundred pages...

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Bat4U: There's nothing sexier than a laptop with a removable battery and a built in Ethernet port

Enchantress: What about femdom?

Bat4U: Damn it, she's right. The ethernet port is a close second though.

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Has anybody ever written a Femdom story where the lady wearing the strapon is actually the sub? Hmm...

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The Enchantress: Birthday Beating

It was a lonesome walk through the common grounds, abandoned for the colder season. The hero sighed, trying not to think about his princess and apprentice, and how today would be the first birthday he’s spent without company in over five years.

Ever since his apprentice entered his life half a decade back (really his partner and equal at this point, the title was basically a nickname) he had gotten used to being part of a duo instead of a lone traveler. Even his relationship with the princess had gone closer and more comfortable with Bell serving as the mutual friend to bridge them closer.

He had forgotten that most of his years were lonely ones.

But all was not lost. He had warned his princess months ago that he would be spending this month on an important trip to the southwest. The princess had promised him an unmatched “gift” to make up for lost time at a later date. He tried not to think of what it means, though the thought kept him warm in the cold.

His thoughts were interrupted as his keen senses pick up on an aberrant sound, so subtle most regular humans would miss it. He turned and saw a figure coming from behind.

A tall and large woman wearing clothes that are far too short for the weather. Blue eyes and painted red lips that were noticeable from the white backdrop of her almost white skin and light gold hair. Her round cheeks puffed from her grin, her eyes locked on him. Her shoulders were broad, muscles visible from beneath her thin white cotton top. She wore no sleeves, her  muscular arms ending in hands bound in bandages. Upon her wrist was a loose metal bracelet with a round amber amulet.

Noticeable most of all were her shorts. They wrapped around her round hips almost like a skirt and covered her knees. They were made from the hides of some sort of light tan animal the hero couldn’t immediately identify. And she wore no shoes despite the harsh, rocky trail.

The hero spoke first.

Hero: If you were sent by the Enchantress, I don’t suppose I could pay you to leave me be?

The large woman smirked, bumping her bound knuckles together in front of her chest. She was clearly a puncher.

Pugilist: I’m afraid not, swordsman. 

The woman raised one hand, showing her amber amulet that glistened even in the cloudy sunlight. The hero made the mistake of watching it. He found his body lax, a familiar wave of loosened control taking over.

Giggling, the boxer gestured him to follow with one finger. The hero could not fight back the urge, and followed the large woman as she lead him to a circular clearing with a smooth stone floor. If this were an ambush the hero would have been in trouble.

When they were both standing on the circular arena she dropped the amulet on the floor and kicked it away. The hero regained control.

Hero: Damn it. What do you want from me today?

Pugilist: Why else would a fighter “invite” a fellow fighter to a clear ring?

Hero: Are you a gladiator?

Pugilist: Pankration and traditional bare fisted boxing are my main trades. But fear not, fellow warrior. My employer was very clear that I was not to rough you up too badly. Now be a good boy and come closer, so I can dominate you <3

Not so keen on accepting her offer the hero reached for his weapon but she was upon him before he could draw his blade.

A right hook struck the side of his face.

It was fast, it was heavy, and the hero knew it should have been strong enough to break something. But though he felt the momentum of the punch he felt no pain at all.

The next blow, faster than he could react, came to his chest. Once again it was powerful, strong enough that the hero fell to his knees, but he felt no pain.

It was numbness. Numbness would imply damage that he simply could not feel. It was as though his body was covered in layers and layers of thick protective wool. But at the same time, there was a feeling… a pleasurable feeling. On his unbruised face and chest, right where the powerful bruiser’s punches made impact, he felt a buzzy sensation of pleasure that travelled down his body like static, and around his crotch. A numb-y pleasure around his cock and balls beneath his thick pants and underwear.

The hero felt the pugilist grasp the front of his shirt and pull him up to face her. She smirked down at him, confident and knowing that she had him thoroughly beaten. With her other hand she grasped his belt full of weapons and tossed them away.

He stood up and tried to push her off but found himself being lifted into the air into a suplex.

She slammed him toward the ground as though intending to snap his body painfully in two. Whether he would actually be injured by the fall, and he was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t somehow, the hero would not know as he expertly manipulated his body out of the toss and softened the blow by landing on his feet. He then tightened his fists and dashed to his larger opponent.

He aimed one solid punch against her stomach. As his punch landed he felt that hidden beneath the thin cotton shirt and bit of fat was a well hidden layer of steel-like abdominals. The lady’s smirk didn’t even fade from her face as his punch landed.

She made to grasp him again but he switched tactics and grabbed her left wrist. He swung his body onto her thick arm and wrapped his legs around her shoulder and torso, trapping her arm into an arm bar.

He hoped this hold would keep her down and give him time to think of his next move. This didn’t happen.

The large woman then, with the hero still holding her arm, stood up and lifted his entire body with her one arm. She gave him a wink.

She slammed his smaller body onto the ground. Once again he felt no pain but the shock produced waves of strange pleasure throughout his body, particularly his crotch. He instantly became fully erect, the only pain he felt from his uncomfortable rock hard cock trapped in his clothes. He let go of her arm. Not giving him a chance she sat atop his chest. He could do nothing as the larger and stronger woman stared down at him with a look of utter superiority.

Pugilist: The enchantress told me that you might be trouble for me. I’m a bit disappointed that she was wrong.

Hero: Wait… please, let me go!

Pugilist: You might be wondering why my punches don’t hurt you… you see, long ago, I was cursed by a warlock. No matter how I try I will never be able to harm my opponents. Even still, through training and experience and my own natural strength I have become strong enough that my punches don’t need to actually harm my opponents… You agree, yes? I’ve beaten you so thoroughly even with this curse of mine…

Hero: Yes. You’ve won. I admit it. Please!

Pugilist: You might have noticed a tingly sensation. Your body doesn’t understand why it’s not feeling any pain and damage despite being utterly throttled, so it is a little confused. Some of my opponents even… well… embarassed themselves accidentally when I beat them. It’s always a laugh when that happens.

She shifted over his body. The hero knew she could feel his hard cock below her ass. She smirked.

Pugilist: My my. It seems you are feeling embarassed too, huh?

She tightened her fists, ready to pummel him.

Pugilist: Get ready!

With that she launched her punches, each one against the hero’s face. Numb, pleasurable, dizzying blows that broke no bones sent the hero’s nervous system into a confused frenzy. Each blow felt like a soft squeeze of pressure moreso than a punch. The hero tried and tried but he could not lift the woman off of his body nor could he scramble away.

And in his cock he felt mounting waves of pressure as the sensation of being thoroughly beaten was overwhelming him. Pain would have been normal, manageable. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. But this numbness, the feeling of her weight on his body, it was too much.

Hero: No… Please No!

Desperately, the hero’s instincts kicked in. Before the next punch, one that would have pushed him over the edge, landed he struck his opponent in the inner thigh with one finger. The woman’s punches stopped as the hero’s finger pressed against a pressure spot that activated a ticklish, and pleasurable sensation.

It was only a half second of hesitation, but it was enough for the hero to begin his escape. He bent his knees into a tent. He expelled as much air from his lungs as he could and manipulated his diaphragm to flatten his chest and slipped his arms beneath his opponent’s buttocks and grasped his knees as leverage, lifting the giant woman by a few centimeters. He then shot out from beneath her like a spring.

The pugilist raised an eyebrow, impressed but not afraid. She got up and made toward the hero with the speed that had surprised him earlier, but he was ready.

The hero utilized the only bit of his physical advantages he had over his otherwise highly superior opponent: his acrobatic skills and desperate thinking. He leapt over the quick opponent and wrapped her arms around her neck with one elbow. He then struck a bunch of her muscles in her back, laxing her musculature so that her magnificent strength was decreased to a manageable level.

He put her into a chokehold, straining his muscles to the point where they felt as tense as ropes about to snap!

The larger opponent fell to her knees, grasping his arms to try and fight the hold to no avail. It seemed the hero was about to pull a win from the jaws of defeat.

But then the pugilist chuckled, shocking the hero.

Pugilist: Very good. But I have my pay to think of so… I’m afraid we must resume your domination <3

The hero felt the large woman’s grasp on the forearm wrapped around her neck and, shocking him, pulled it off. A choke-hold is supposed to be impossible to escape from because the choker utilized their whole body while the oppoent could only resist with their forearms and no leverage… but his ridiculously strong opponent leapt across that uncrossable gap in leverage with her immense superior strength.

She easily reversed the hold, holding him to the ground. To his shock the hero found himself effortlessly put back beneath her, this time with his arms safely trapped to his sides between her tight and powerful thighs.

Pugilist: I’m sorry for what I said earlier, swordsman. No one has ever escaped me before. You ARE everything the enchantress promised… I wish I didn’t need to defeat you so soon.

This time she did not begin punching immediately. She stroked the hero’s face with one hand, sadistically smiling down at him like a lover. When she delivered her powerful but harmless punches she made sure to give him enough time between each blow to see her smug face. She loved watching him experience the loving, numbing, pleasure.

Before he was just a tiny opponent, just another bug to squash and humiliate for money. Now that he proved he was just a bit worthier of her she was enjoying his defeat more. Sadism without pain.

Hero: Please…No More… It feels so… No please!

His pleas filled her with pride and orgasmic bliss. She squeezed him between her thighs hard enough to crush a man’s ribs if it weren’t for her curse. She felt his cock grow hard beneath his clothes, shivering oh so close to that humiliating relief.

And then, when the hero closed his eyes, the last of his hope of escape leaving him and was completely broken, she wanted to reward him. She cupped his face and planted a kiss onto his cheek.

Pugilist: One day, swordsman… We’ll fight again one day. And then we’ll go all the way… but I’ve been told not to “finish you off.”

She stood up, letting the pleasure drunk hero go. The hero, still in a daze, looked at her beautiful face with barely disguise desire. She chuckled.

Pugilist: Happy birthday, “hero.”

With that condescending tone she left him on the ground. It was cold, his hard cock softening slowly, the hero left hungry for touch.

He would not be hungry for long as the familiar chuckle of his long time foe rang out, and the sound of stilettos approached him. The enchantress stood over him, looking down.

Enchantress: Did you enjoy your gift, my hero? Was she worth the money?

Hero: Enchy… why?

The enchantress slowly stripped down. She let the hero watch as her silky cloth slipped off her body, revealing her supple breasts and perfect skin…

She sat atop him as the pugilist had, though she was as light as a bird in comparison. She unbuckled his belt and slid down his pants, freeing his erect cock. She lifted his shirts off his body. She laid him totally bare.

Enchantress: I’ve been dominating you for years, hero. I know that nothing arouses you as deeply as being thoroughly trounced…

The hero could not crawl away as the enchantress got up and turned so that he faced her ass. With dread and non-consensual delight he saw her lower it to him, blocking out the sun.

Hero: MMMMPH~!

The pugilist’s blows and even slams were cursed… they felt like his body was covered in layers of protective cloth… the pleasure he got from them were the making of his own confused nerves…

But as the enchantress lay her body atop him and her ass pressed against his face he felt as though that protective layer was stripped off and he felt everything… Her soft skin, the smell of her cunt, the tickle of her fingers playing with his cock, it was ELECTRIFYING.

Enchantress: Mmmm… your body is so utterly defeated… I’m no fighter myself, so I needed to hire out… But to achieve this level of defeat and humiliation out of you… maybe I should keep her as a permanent employee. Would you like that?

Hero: No! Please…

The enchantress chuckled. Her precious little toy was still being silly and denying his destiny. She swayed her ass left and right, playing with his head beneath, as she squeezed the tip of his cock with her two fingers. He was so dangerously close to cumming, but she could keep him there forever…

Enchantress: You’re going to admit you enjoyed it, hero. Or else you don’t get to cum~ And I know you want to cum~

Hero: MMPH!

Enchantress: You want to orgasm because you’ve been beaten… You like that you’ve been beaten… admit it…

Hero: Mmmph~

Enchantress: Admit that being helpless against such a strong, unbeatable, beautiful woman felt so right… Admit that it feels so right to be held down beneath my ass and played with…

Hero: Mmph~!

The enchantress breathed onto his cock, letting him know how close to her tongue it was. It shivered. The hero couldn’t think with the pleasure mounting high and the overwhelming aroma of the enchantress’s pussy against his mouth. There was truly no fighting back.

Enchantress: The gallant hero… so used to winning fights and saving the day… loves to lose and lose and lose… say it… You can’t fight the urge to say it… You can’t win… say it and admit you love it…

Hero: I… I love to lose…

Enchantress: Oh hero… you can feel me shudder as you say it, can’t you? You know how much pleasure it gives me to hear you say it… Keep going…

Hero: I… I love being helpless… I fight so hard, but I can’t win…

Enchantress: Yesss~

Hero: I… I love when I’m beaten… it feels wrong and bad… but it feels too good… I’m sorry I feel tihs way… but I can’t resist… P-Please!

Enchantress: Oh… Your mighty foe, the evil enchantress, loves when you give in. Every admission coming from your mouth makes me sadistically happy… Even knowing that, you can’t stop, can you? Because you want to orgasm too much to hold it in… More, hero!

Hero: Mmmph… Please… You hired a fighter to beat me today… it was so casual… I couldn’t do a thing… It feels so wrong that a thug you hired could crush me so easily… I feel so ashamed… but that shame makes me so hard… please… 

Enchantress: Keep going, or you don’t get that last little squeeze…

Hero: Mmmmmmmph! She… she made me feel so good… even without hurting me she could have crushed my spirit anytime she wanted… only your orders spared me… please… I… I wanted her to keep beating me… I craved her… as I crave you…

Enchantress: I’ll give you that one little squeeze that will destroy you…

Hero: Ugh… Oh… and you making me admit these things… how willing I am to debase myself and beg for your effortless power to make me cum… It feels so shameful… It feels… it… it makes me love you so much…

The enchantress smirked, controlling herself, not letting the hero know that his words and utter submission made her came right there and then. She bit her tongue as trembles went all throughout her body, right atop her defeated and begging man.

She felt beyond satisfied. This was her gift to her hero, but she felt as though she could leave him like this like the cruel evil woman she was.

She should have got up and left him there, totally aroused and ashamed, no orgasm and no reward at all. The thought could probably make her cum all the more, masturbating to her hero’s teased and unsatisfied humiliation all througout the night.

She leaned close to his cock and whispered.

Enchantress: Happy birthday, hero.

She gave it a full, loving suck as the hero screamed in ecstasy. His orgasm was enormous and long lasting, with the enchantress not missing a single beat, swallowing all of it without pause and leaving no evidence. The hero shook on that floor, utterly defeated and spoiled by his mighty foe’s dark and loving mercy.

Hero: D-damn…No… no…

Enchantress: You’re welcome, hero.

With that the enchantress lifted her exhausted trophy into the air with her magic and they both teleported away to the enchantress’s abode where the hero’s undoing would continue for the entire day.

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Sculptor: Behold, hero. My masterpiece. The woman of my dreams carved from stone, brought to life from my imagination by my skilled hands, and yet in a way her beauty must have existed before I formed her! An eternal beauty taking housing in my work of art!

Hero: Its an incredibly work of art for sure, sculptor.

Sculptor: Alas, I have been cursed by her beauty. She is all that I desire and I can never truly love her.

Hero: Well, no, of course not. She’s not re-!

Sculpture: No, I’m alive. But I might accidentally crush his pelvis to powder if we fuck.

Hero: WHAT THE F-?

Sculptor: What a tragedy indeed!

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After going on adventures for weeks, using up all of his mind and muscle from planning and participating in heists, raiding enemy holdouts, and grueling battles, the hero is an easy mark.

His physical exhaustion makes him subconsciously susceptible offers of pleasure…

His mental toll leaves him gullible…

 The enchantress, of course, makes sure to protect her poor pet from being taken advantage of by anybody other than her own self.

Enchantress: Hero! I have injected you with a horrible ailment. The only cure is to surrender yourself to my every sexual whim. And I have many, many whims.

Hero: What? Argh… Fine.

*Ten hours of humiliating, breaking, and utterly fantastic sex*

Hero: … You didn’t inject me with anything, did you?

Enchantress: Nope <3

Hero: Damn it.

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The Enchantress: The Goblin’s Trophy

A sequel.

Three days ago the hero had been captured by small, strong, and clever goblin. Although he had been the smarter and more experienced of the two, and although he had easily disarmed her and had her at his mercy, he had underestimated her cunning and fell to her cloud of poison mist. Unconscious, she claimed him as a living trophy and carried him back to her home.

He thought she would keep him as a living pet, or perhaps kill him and mount his head on a pike. That, it seemed, was not the way of the goblins in this jungle.

As a trophy, the hero was branded with the goblin woman’s name and the goblin was granted awards. Other than that, however, it seemed the goblin woman had no intention of keeping the hero around. He was gifted to the entire tribe as a toy, pet, and slave. The last he saw of the goblin was when he was bound and collared. She gave a smug smile, a wink, and walked away carrying her rewards.

The hero was brought to the center of the goblin village, where he had remained to this day. During the nights he slept in a small stable, fed and watched over by guards. During the mornings he was made to lift large stones for construction, which helped to tire him out and make escape impossible.

The afternoons were the hardest. He was stripped of all clothes, forcefully tied to a chair situated mercifully beneath the shade, and goblins would line up to use his body. Despite his squirming and resistance, despite his superior strength, the hero could not escape.

*** ****

His users were mostly goblin women, a few goblin men. Their small but strong hands would stroke his chiseled and muscular body with erotic fascination. They were gentler than one with expect (there was punishment for messing with municipal property, after all) but they violated him roughly nonetheless. The hero, unable to resist their bindings, had soon gotten used to strong small hands gripping his cock, slathering it with their curious lubricant, and being inserted into their small bodies.

He became used to having his ass cheeks pushed open and goblin cocks, some real and some rubber, being inserted.

He became very familiar with the townsfolk. Goblin women, some shockingly human, though many very clearly not, all wild and lecherous. Goblin men, more stern and stoic than their women counterparts but just as hungry for his sex. The hero, when in a daze from being fucked for hours, sometimes wondered about the details about his captors.

They were creative with their dark black and red hair, often braiding and decorating them with beads and bones. They were experienced in sex, and mentioned that the hero was only their first human captive. It seemed breaking down warriors and captured enemy soldiers was a normal part of the tribe’s practice, and they utilized a variety of lubes, toys, and sexual techniques to thoroughly control the hero’s orgasmic experiences.

Most of all, he thought of the one who truly captured him. He tried not to, but he felt the fact that she was not the one to use him was… wrong. The goblins who raped him each day were sometimes attractive, as much as they could be to a human, but the image of HER would not leave him. The fanged, smug smile stuck in his brain and he yearned to see her again, to fight her a second time, and win back his freedom.

It was a matter of pride

*** *** ***

The hero escaped, of course. After the third afternoon he managed to undo his bindings and disarm his guards. He ran into the woods and lay low as the goblins prowled for him. He was unarmed and tired, but it would not be difficult to escape.

But he did not WANT escape, despite his better senses. He wanted a second chance: he wanted another fight. Another fight with HER.

He pushed these unreasonable thoughts out of his mind and prepared for his journey. He sneaked into an encampment and stole their weapons. Their clothing would be pointless to steal, but he could use their capes as makeshift loincloths.

Once he was as dressed and armed as he could be he ran to the river. He waded through it, the sharp cold of the water draining his body of its energy. It would be slow, but he could maintain his body heat with his rapid breathing technique. He would move at a turtle’s pace and escape.

… But then he heard the voice of a goblin. THAT goblin.

… It was foolish to leave the river, but he did so. He wrapped the capes around his waist and held the stolen goblin shield and sword as a dagger and buckler.

He found her. She was armed with her massive club and dressed in her wool and fur armor, obviously hunting him. She turned to see him, surprised. Then she snarled.

Goblin Girl: You are trophy. Leaving the town is not allowed. That brand makes you mine!

The hero lifted his dagger and narrowed his eyes. The goblin girl raised her club, and smirked.

The hero took a deep breath, and held it.

She lunged at him and brought her massive but hollow club down. She was quicker than she was before, most likely holding fewer concealed weapons. The hero dodged the blow.

The goblin had already let go of her massive club and was jumping at him, her claws raised.

Not nearly as merciful as he had been the first time they met, the hero jabbed at her body with the stone dagger.

She clamped down at the blade with her teeth, stopping it. The hero could not move the dagger: not only was he bereft of energy from having just come out of a cold river and holding his breath, biting the edge of weapons was a technique that all warrior goblins practiced. She wrapped her arms and legs around his arm and brought his weakened body down. She held him in an armlock.

She had won. All she had to do was keep him down until he took a breath, and he would once again be poisoned. The hero did not release his breath.

Goblin Girl: Give up, human. Become the town toy again. Maybe I will come and visit this time.

She dug her claws painfully into his side, causing him to scream. He inhaled the unscented herbs and was brought down once again.

*** *** ***

Once again the goblin girl was rewarded for capturing the hero and once again the hero was the town slave to be used daily. This time thicker ropes bound him to his chair each afternoon, and he was watched daily by more armed guards.

The town goblins, the women in particular, had come to love the feel of his human cock and caressing his strange large body. They were even getting visits from allied tribes who had no previous interest in them.

Day after day the hero’s body was becoming used to this. He became farm more enduring, able to orgasm almost fifty times a day without becoming too sore. His cock was uncomfortably erect all afternoon, sometimes staying so long into the night. He scent of the lubricant they used was as familiar to him as the smell of grass and the feel of sunshine.

But his anger and humiliation at his two losses kept him from breaking. He had been humbled twice by the goblin girl, both times due to his own stupid mistakes. He had walked into a battle he had little chance of winning twice now: the first time by underestimating her, the second seemingly on purpose.

To ask for a third chance would be asking too much of the Gods. But the hero desired it more than even escape.

*** *** ***

Goblin Girl: Do you even want escape, human? You come to me again?

It had been a week of enduring rape and humiliation at the hands of the goblins, but the hero held no anger or desire for revenge against those who used his body. They were nobodies to him, less noticeable than air. Even as they raped him and made him cum over and over, he knew he could have escaped and defeated them whenever he liked.

It was the memory of THIS goblin that held him back. It was SHE who had power over him, and the humiliating memory of his defeat stopped him from escaping his torment.

The hero knew deep down, with great shame, why he had so much trouble escaping, and why he felt the desire to face this goblin woman once again. He felt it as plain as day as she stood before him, fully armed, with eyes bright and ready to battle.

These last few days… had been a game to him, subconsciously. The slavery, the torment, the lines and lines of goblins and the rough rape for days… to him, it was foreplay. From the moment she had captured him and so thoroughly dominated him in battle his instincts had been in agony, waiting for her to finish the process and dominate him AFTER the battle.

But she had instead sold him off without a care.

Hero: No. I want to defeat you.

Goblin Girl: You will not. You are TROPHY.

The hero was fully armed and clothed this time around. He had fashioned himself a full set of clothes and armor. He held a sharpened spear. The goblin girl held her club and full arsenal.

This time would be the last, the hero promised. His itch could only be scratched by either victory at last, or being defeated THOROUGHLY by her. And since she was not interested in the latter option, the hero would have to prevail, or be mentally blue balled and fucked by every goblin in the town, forever.

The goblin swung the club, but this time the hero did not dodge it. He braced himself, stamping both feet on the ground, and let it hit his shoulder. He took the blow with a great thud. It bounced off of him as though he were stone.

The goblin was shocked, but recovered quickly, getting ready to swing again. The hero braced again.

This time she aimed for his head. He ducked down, letting the club strike his muscular back. It hurt, but once again he did not fall or indicate he was at all hurt by the blow.

He stepped forward and thrust at the goblin with his stone spear. The goblin girl leapt away from the blow, once again letting go of the club and retrieving her hidden daggers.

Goblin Girl: I will conquer you. And this time, I won’t stop.

Oh no. The hero felt his thoroughly trained cock rise a bit with that declaration.

The goblin girl leapt into the grass behind her, blending in with the forest.

The hero took a deep breath. He had inhaled the poison she utilized enough times to notice the scent this time. But he did not fall.

She leapt out of the woods behind him, daggers poised. He jabbed behind himself at her with the back of the spear. She performed a midair acrobatic spin to dodge, and drove the daggers to his body.

He saw this coming and raised his arms. He clamped the goblin girl’s two arms under his armpit.

Goblin Girl: No!

The goblin squirmed, her arms trapped by his metal-like bicep and sides. She kicked at him with her strong, sharp-clawed feet, but he did not release her even as he bled.

Hero: You must have set off another poison bomb while you were hidden in the grass. But I brewed and drank an antidote earlier that makes me immune.

Goblin Girl: Let go!

She knew this should have been his victory.

She was strong for her size. Stronger than a normal human, in fact. But he was on a different level. With a quick squeeze he could break both of her arms. It would mean his victory, his freedom from being her trophy.

But he didn’t.

The goblin girl, frightened, looked at the man. She noticed his conflicted expression. Her improved goblinoid sense of scent caught the smell of hormones: arousal.

She was still frightened and did not have control of the situation, but she slowly understood. She spoke slowly.

Goblin Girl: You will not hurt me.

Hero: …

Goblin Girl: You do not want victory. Not freedom.

The hero’s buff body was coated in a gleam of sweat. She began slowly pulling her arms out of his tight grip.

Goblin Girl: You are my trophy, human. You can not win against me. You will not escape me. Ever.

She pulled and her arms slipped from his grasp. She quickly jumped atop his muscular back and wrapped her small hands around his neck, squeezing. The hero tried to grab her arms, but they were too slippery. She had coated her forearms with the lubricant, making resistance impossible.

She whispered into the hero’s ears as she choked him out.

Goblin Girl: You want domination. You are enjoying this.

Hero: No!

Goblin Girl: You will enjoy this. Forever.

Hero: Let go…

Goblin Girl: You must be so frustrated. You want satisfaction. But being unsatisfied, being beaten, feels too good. You will be frustrated… forever…

Hero: P-please…

The goblin whispered into his ears just before the world grew dark.

Goblin Girl: …like a good trophy.

*** *** ***

The defeated and broken down hero was once again brought to the town. The goblins grant her yet another reward.

This time, however, she did not give the hero to them. Instead the hero was brought to her small shack. It was a small house full of skulls, weapons, and other trophies. A skilled hunter’s abode.

The hero was stripped down and tied. his wrists to the ceiling (which hung barely above his head) and legs to the ground.

The hero was shocked as the goblin hunter, after a long day of hunting him down, stripped down. Even though he had seen dozens of naked goblin bodies in the past week, hers elicited a mix of lust and admiration from him.

She barely acknowledged him as she prepared to sleep, naked. She did give him a quick glance, and winked at him as smug as the day she caught him. She gave his horribly erect penis a small light tug, nearly bringing him to the brink right there, and then went to sleep.

And that his how the hero spent the rest of his stay as the goblin’s trophy, a term of time which was sure to last much longer than his brief week as the town’s sexual toy, possibly even forever! Before he had been raped each and every day, orgasm after orgasm. Now he is forced to watch his beautiful superior before him every night, barely touched.

He has never defeated her. He believed now that he never will. She had never allowed his cock its sweet release, no matter how aroused at her body he was, and would probably never will. Just as he had multiple times held her at his mercy but never took that final action to defeat her and be satisfied, now he was trapped in a constant state of domination, constantly aroused each night but never allowed to release. Squirming, moaning, and undignified begging lay in his future.

The perfect living trophy.

[enchystemporarydomain]

Readers: Stop writing self indulgent cutesy stories and make us aroused, damn it!

Me: No.

The hero and the princess, in bright wool jackets, walk the snow covered town square hand in hand. There are lanterns strung above the streets emanating green and gold light. The blue twilight sky is alight with bright snow, and nobody notices the plain looking couple enough to cause trouble. Their date goes uninterrupted.

The hero notices the princess eyeing a merchant selling fancy colorful birds (a gift for spoiled children of rich lords around these parts) and threatens to gift her a dozen, despite her embarrassment. In turn the princess spies the hero’s known favorite snack available at a stand nearby, which he has been strangely avoiding glancing at, and makes plans to purchase a crate behind his back.

As the night approaches the two sit at the frozen fountain in the center of the town square, watching the busy festive crowd slowly disperse. White fog coming from their breaths, mitigated by over-sized scarves, they playfully tease one another as though children. Indeed, though the two approach their thirties tonight it is as though nothing has changed from their last true date: years and years ago when they were mere children with childish crushes on one another.

The night encroaches ends and they must leave the festive township.

Back to her room, where the next morning they will return to mere employer and employee, master and servant, star crossed yet soul-bound.

But before that, there is passion by the fireplace, and months and months of longing must find release. Atop the bed, on the fur carpeting, against the wall, the hero and his princess do as they always wish they could year-round, and become one as they know they are in their souls.

They also play board games in between, for they are a childish silly lot.

[Happy Holidays]

Keep reading

[enchystemporarydomain]

The enchantress, quite busy with her work of great occult importance, frowns as the crystal ball beside her hums. She taps it on the side with her fingernail and does not bother to turn. Her irritation is softened somewhat at the sound of the lovely voice calling her.

Hero: Motherfucker- What did you do to me?

Enchantress: Always a pleasure, hero. How may I assist you? I beg you to make it brief, however. I’m reanimating a very rare, very fresh monster corpse, and it’s being finicky.

Hero: G-Gah… I know y-you did this to me… what is this spell?

The enchantress frowns.

Enchantress: I’m afraid you’ll need to be specific. I don’t think I’ve cast anything on you recently.

Then she smiles.

Enchantress: Why don’t you describe it to me?

Hero: D-damn you… How could you take advantage of me like this… Didn’t you want this call to end quickly so you could work on your project?

Enchantress: Which is exactly why you must give me the details of your… discomfort, so that I may help you sooner. I’ve cast so many traps on you over the years and any one of them could have triggered.

Hero: I can’t stop feeling aroused…

Enchantress: Oh ho, that sounds like one of mine, alright.

Hero: I can’t stop cumming either… every hour or so…

Enchantress: More detail, hero. Assuming you want my help at all…

Hero: I’ll get aroused… small thoughts at first, but then it’ll get too strong to resist in an hour… If I resist too long I swear I start feeling my cock being milked… the image of breasts fills my mind… And then I cum… and an hour later it happens again…

The enchantress puts down her equipment. She frowns…

Enchantress: Oh my… That enchantment sounds like trouble, actually. Did it begin after you masturbated to a specific picture? A very old picture, perhaps?

The hero is silent.

Enchantress: Dear. Answer me.

Hero: … It was that picture of you that you slipped into my log journal years ago.

Enchantress: That’s what I was afraid of. The rather tasteful free photo I gave you?

Hero: … You were wearing the witch’s hat and nothing else.

Enchantress: Ah yes. I’m touched that you kept it for so long. Hmm… though I’m also dismayed it took so long for you to use it to please yourself. Took you long enough. Anyways, that photo is cursed. It’ll make you keep cumming until you die a wrinkled mess.

Hero: Dear Gods, it’s fatal?

Enchantress: I cast that spell LONG ago, hero! We were still mortal enemies at the time. *giggle* Well, more like you were my favorite victim at the time.

Hero: Am I going to die, damn it? O-Oh Gods, it’s happening again.

Enchantress: Oh come now, hero. You know I would never do that to you. I can reverse the curse anytime I wish. It’s just that… well…

Hero: Wh-what?

Enchantress: Hero… this corpse I’m trying to animate… I can’t seem to complete the spell. Whoever killed this monster must have put a charm in it to prevent reanimation… quite rude I think.

Hero: What does this have to do with me..?

Enchantress: *chuckles* Oh hero~

Hero: Wh-what?

Enchantress: Hero, please… tell me how to remove the charm.

Hero: I… I don’t know what you mean! Oh Gods… I’m… I’m getting hard again…

Enchantress: You do know what I mean. Because this Were-Ogre Knight was killed by you, hero. And you are the one who’s stopping me from reanimating it, and adding it to my army… Now tell me so that I may help you.

Hero: I-I won’t!

Enchantress: It’s your choice. I hope you’re somewhere nice and private right now. Because soon you’ll start feeling a nice, wave-like warmth down your body… Your cock will become super sensitive… even rubbing against your own clothes will start to harden it… You’ll have to start ignoring the pressure of your cock… the tightening of your balls… and then, as you’re contorting yourself to try and keep the feelings at bay… the hallucinations… Even clear air will smell of light perfume… The warmth of women’s bodies even if you’re alone… You’ll lose your sense of location and become trapped in your own irresistible arousal… Even my beautiful voice will ring in your mind… every sense in your body urging you to tug on your cock… dragging you into a blissful, prolonged, and dangerous orgasm… closer and closer to danger…

Hero: OKAY, I SURRENDER. The charm is in the creature’s left thigh!

Enchantress: Good boy.

The enchantress gets to work. Sure as day, the charm interrupting her powers was located in the ogre’s thigh, and removed.

Enchantress: Now before I cancel that spell, let’s make sure you’re in a safe place… Are you somewhere private and safe, boy?

Hero: I’m in an inn…

Enchantress: And this spell has been going on for how many weeks?

Hero: W-weeks? It only started this morning…

Enchantress: *chuckles*

Hero: Enchy-? I… I’m so hard right now… It’s getting harder to resist…

The enchantress turns off her crystal orb and gets back to her work.

Enchantress: He’ll be fine.

[enchystemporarydomain]

Massaged Again

[Short sequel of sorts to this]

The hero, having barely escape by the lecherous masseuse a few months ago, had since regained his strength and litheness through exercising all of the muscles below his waist. He stood by his campfire, squatting while carrying a heavy log, his muscular legs remembering their past lifting power.

The masseuse had spent many weeks, months even, used her unusual hip bones massage the hero’s hip rotators and upper thigh muscles with her skilled hip thrusts. The intrusive and all-too-intimate massage not only softened his waist and thigh muscles to lax, near useless string, but pressed acupressure points deep in his bones that paralyzed and aroused, as well as relaxed his entire body.

Under her “care” the hero and his enchantress had their bodies used in a relaxing, and blissful enslavement. Now that he had escaped, however, he had to regain use of his body and was feeling like his old self again.

However, as he squatted next to his fire that night, he did feel some “minor” differences in his body… A slightly worrying arousal. There were, perhaps, unusual side effects to the unusual training he had been following to strengthen his softened and relaxed waist…

As he pondered this, however, he was startled by a voice and dropped his log with a thud.

Masseuse: I’ve found you at last, my toy.

The hero turned to see the familiar woman standing before him. Several heads taller than him, obviously muscular beneath the soft skin, wearing a top of loose cloth. Covering her hips were a thigh-less, form fitting shorts with a sheen, like a swim suit. The hero recognized the shorts: they were the same shorts that she put on every night before proceeding to dominate the hero with her dry humping. He vividly remembered the smooth and glossy material pressing over his crotch, the mere touch of which aroused and aided her massage. Cool to the touch, and yet the obvious warmth of the wearer beneath… The hero was already feeling weak in the knees and his cock erect. It was clear what she intended to do.

With a speed that should not have been possible with her size the giantess pushed the smaller man back against a tree. Before he could resist she lifted him up and placed a hand against his hips, pressing in. A ticklish sensation filled the hero at the press, weakening him instantly.

Masseuse: My my, you have been busy. With my skills and knowledge I can surmise the entirety of your training with just one glance and touch.

Hero: L-let go!

Masseuse: In order to make up for how soft I made your hip muscles you’ve been doing many unusual exercises… Hmm, wading through thick muddy rivers… weight training… Why, I don’t think there’s another normal human being in the world with hip flexor muscles as thick and bulky as yours are right now.

Hero: Please, don’t…

Masseuse: I applaud your determination… but unlike my hips, there’s a good reason that people who are as, let’s say, equipped as you are should not desire such large inner hip muscles.

She smirked as she held the helpless hero’s cock in her hands. The hero tried all of his might to free himself from her hold, but with her superior strength he was overpowered. She placed him gently on the floor and got to work.

Wasting no time, she tore down the hero’s pants and placed her large hips over his. He felt the enchanted material rub against his bare cock and crotch.

She slowly lowered the rest of her body, pressing against the hero’s whole body.

Hero: Noo-MMM~

The hero’s cries were muffled by her ample chest. The masseuse smirked as she got ready.

Then she tensed up her thighs and the muscles in her crotch. The hero felt the tensing, his poor cock that was pressed between his own body and hers grew hard, and yet was still almost flattened beneath hero superior muscles.

Masseuse: Game over.

She gave just one small thrust.

The hero felt a hot pleasure inside his body swell up. It was pleasure from having his cock smooshed between him and the masseuse’s body, but there was more! Where was this arousal coming from? The hero had always been weak against the masseuse’s body, but to be this aroused so soon, so close to cumming already, was preposterous!

Giggling, the masseuse gave a playful wiggle of her hips. The hot feeling in the hero’s crotch continued to swell!

Shock and humiliation. The hero had only been humped once and teased and wiggled, and yet he had to fight back an orgasm already. His cock was shooting out precum almost as fiercely as a real orgasm.

Masseuse: Little man, you trained your hip flexors, as well as your adductor muscles, and all of those muscles in your hips and thighs, in an effort to defend against me… but because you made them all so big some of those muscles are always pressing up against your prostate organ…

Hero: MMPH!

Masseuse: Silly little man… you might have even felt it yourself. Constantly being slightly aroused even during the day… Your super strong muscles have been betraying you by rubbing against your prostate. Meanwhile my hip muscles are perfectly formed and shaped to give me maximum power and control over anyone I manage to catch under me.

She gave another hump. The hero gave a muffled cry.

Masseuse: Don’t worry, hero… As big and strong as those muscles are, I will have no problem squeezing them all into utterly relaxation once again… and then, once you’re properly squeezed and relaxed… a long long night awaits you.

She stopped holding back. With a mocking laugh she began to hump him in earnest. The hero struggled and struggled, but not even ten seconds passed before his orgasm. He felt the warm cum spread all over his body and cried tears of shame. But the humping massage did not end. After all, the orgasm was just a fun by-product of the massage, a consequence of the cock being caught between the two crotches. The masseuse’s hip bones and strong muscles poked and massaged the hero’s muscles into submission. Her strong and powerful muscles pressed down against his own and won the battle time and time again.

Masseuse: Oh you poor defeated thing… You never truly escaped me… I simply allowed you some freedom… so that I could crush your spirit beneath me all over again… And again… and again!

Wave of relaxation hit the hero as the massage continued, contradicted by the hot arousal that soon made his cock hard again. The hero was helpless as giantess massaged his crotch, thighs, and soon his whole body. He would not escape that night, and was made to suffer through a blissful cycle of orgasming, being massaged and squeezed, feeling the inevitable arousal building up and inevitably cumming again, all beneath the hips of his captor.

And when all was done and the hero was once again enslaved, he was brought back to the masseuse’s parlor, where his torment was nowhere near its end.

The End

*** *** ***

[I think I’m sick of the word “hips” now. This one came to me last night and I had to get it out]

[enchystemporarydomain]

The Enchantress: Happy Belated Halloween

Witch: Oh, what a fun halloween decoration the enchantress has put out for us tonight! It even shivers and makes groaning noises when you touch it.

The coven of witches smirk as they marvel at the captured hero, chained to the wall of the enchantress’s ballroom. He was completely bound in wool sheets, with only his erection bare. His skin beneath the bindings had been coated in oils that increased his libido, his mouth gagged to make his silly little cries of resistance into groans, fitting for a mummy.

One witch grasped his cock and gave it a pull. The mummified hero shook and shook against his bindings, groaning like a mummy, resisting the urge to cum with all his might, to the delight of the witches.

The witches were relentless in enjoying this splendid decoration. One by one they came to torment his cock. The hero groaned and groaned, resisting the coming orgasm harder and harder, which only delighted them further. There seemed no end to the enchantress’s guests.

He remembered the warning the enchantress had given him while binding him.

Enchantress: I beg you not to ruin my the enjoyment of my guests by spilling your seed and ruining their gowns, hero. If you can get through all of tonight as my decoration without cumming once, I’ll let you go. If not… I’ll keep you in my dungeon all throughout November. Bound up, aroused, and never cumming, of course.

And so the hero resisted and resisted all the touching and pulling and condescending witches. The fingers against his oiled cock, and the memories of the beautiful, evil enchantress in mind, rocking back and forth in his mummy bindings, humiliatingly entertaining every single guest all to the enchantress’s plans. It was going to be a looong night.

[enchystemporarydomain]

The Enchantress: hunting the rebels

The following is Man on Man porn. Gay action. Fantasy homosexual erotica. If that’s not what you’re here for, move along.

There is NO canon.

Also, the hero has no canon physical appearance, skin colour, height, etc. Some stories, such as this one, give him an appearance for the sake of the story. For example, in this story he is short and implied to have a thick-!

_____________________________________________________________

The brutish man ran down the alleys, but there was no safe place that night. Orange lights dotted the streets in front and behind him, along with the sound of horses. He darted through an alley, dagger in hand.

Nightwatch: He ran through here! Hurry!

The brute darted through the winding alleys but could not move quickly enough to outrun the torchlights of the police, which were coming closer and closer. Soon he would be seen and captured before the king.

He prepared to fight his way out, despite knowing there was no chance of overpowering the superior skills and arms of the night police.

???: In here! Quick!

The brute turned to see a figure in what had appeared to be a boarded up window. Not wasting time he leaped for the window sill and the figure pulled him up. The window closed just before the light of the torches revealed it, the wooden boards giving the impression it could not be opened.

As the brute caught his breath he turned to look at the room he was in, along with his savior. An old room, lit only by faint candle light. There was a desk, a bed, and a chain locked door. Clearly this room, or rather the whole building hadn’t been publicly used for a while.

Sitting on the bed was a small man dresssed in loose black clothing. A thick garb that covered his entire being in shadow. The brute knew this person would blend in with the shadow had it not been for the candle.

Brute: Who… who are you?

The man removed his head covers. He had a handsome sort of face, almost feminine, but somewhat scarred beneath his bangs.

Hero: I’m a traveler, though I’ve been hired by the rebels. You may call me as you wish.

The brute brandished his knife at the man, which only made him smile. The brute growled.

Brute: Oh no, I am not going back to them. I came all the way to this city to live a new life! I’m done being a rebel!

Hero: How well has that gone for you? You tried to lie low here, to avoid both the rebels AND that tyrant of a king. You could have evaded both forever.

Brute: T’was a slip up is all! I was just drunk!

The man in shadow confidently stood up from the bed and began to approach. The brute swung the knife, which was easily evaded.

Hero: If you really wanted to cut me that wouldn’t have been so easy to dodge. You WANT me to make you come back.

Brute: Oh? Why don’t you try and make me, like you said?

The man shook his head. He yanked something the brute couldn’t see and suddenly the brute felt his arms and legs betray him. A thin thread that he couldn’t notice until it was too late tied his arms and legs together. The man must have tied him while helping him up the window.

Brute: Wh-what the-?

Hero: Shh… don’t resist.

The brute clumsily tried to swing his dagger, but the lithe man in black grasped his arms and, with surprising strength, easily pried the knife from his hands. Like taking a toy from a naughty child. The brute felt humiliated. He would have struggled harder if he wasn’t still wary of the guards, possibly still hunting him out the window.

Hero, taking off his black garb: I know what you did to get the police on you, grappler.

Brute: Don’t you call me that. And why are you taking off your clothes?

Hero: Two of the king’s thugs are dead now. They had been on their nightly patrols two nights ago, at the farms. Hunting for young peasant girls.

Brute: The usual “fun” for all of the king’s thugs.

Hero: They didn’t have so much fun that night. Both of their necks snapped, the grateful girls ran straight to home.

Brute: It was what anyone should have done! Nothing special! Those jackals had it coming! And I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for the third one on the horse seeing me from behind the corner!

Hero: Even if you don’t want to fight for the cause anymore, you’re still a rebel at heart. You’ll always detest tyranny and their dogs. That’s why you’ll come back. You’re the rebellion’s champion grappler. Admit it.

Brute: You think I’ll come back to that hopeless rebellion just because of the goodness of my heart?

The man hooked one finger around the brute’s pants.

Hero: Nope.

He tugged the brutes pants down low. The brute squirmed.

Brute: Oh dear gods, please…

Hero: The rebellion is a noble gang indeed… but it doesn’t depend on superior ethics and moral standing to keep its soldiers convinced to fight…

Slowly the Brute’s pants came down, and his cock grew erect. The feminine man smiled down.

Brute: No… no no no… I remember…

Hero: Just say the word, Brute… Say you’ll come back and rejoin the rebels…

Brute: I… I can’t…

Hero: Then I must remind you why you joined… and why you stayed.

Brute: …

The man took the brute’s cock into his gentle full grasp. His hands were calloused, and yet dexterous and lithe… His smile tinted with desire.

“Just let him,” a mischievous voice in his head said. “What’s the harm of letting this pretty little man try his best?”

Hero: May I?

Brute: …

The brute surrendered to his urge and gave a nod. The blissful squeeze and stroking made him regret it, but the rapturous feeling was too much to let him articulate.

The man’s beautiful face looked up at the brute, with a smile that promised to utterly break his mind.

The man made sure to get the brute nice and hard and excited before slowly wrapping his lips around just the tip of the cock.

Whomever this man was, he knew the proper technique. The Brute, still bound up, shivered as he felt the man’s lips open just a little bit, travelling down his shaft. His tongue was cupped, and eagerly sliding around the brutish man’s thick member.

Then the man’s head began to bob up and down, sucking and massaging with his tongue. The brute almost screamed.

Memories of similar blowjobs entered his mind. The rebellion’s celebratory nights, or the blissful nights in between little and big victories. Men, women, proud warriors, or planners, or just plain farmers and wives. Rapturous orgies, or private nights of passion.

For wasn’t sex rebellious? Against the tyranny of the kings and queens, was sex not freeing and liberating?

Brute: Wait… Stop!

The man did stop. With a pluck he released the cock and looked up at the brutish man’s face.

Hero: Grappler?

Brute: I’m… Untie me…

The man frowned, disappointed. He cut the strings holding the brute’s arms and legs.

The brute stood up and, with one hand grasping his shoulder, lifted the smaller man to his feet.

Then he picked the smaller man up and took him to the bed. Slamming onto the bed he kissed the small man beneath him, who responded just as ravenously.

And that night, flipping the man over, he slowly inserted himself into the man’s ass.

Brute: I am the rebellion’s grappler and champion…

Hero: Don’t hold back…

The brute did not. He inserted himself in with just one push, causing the smaller man to squeal. He humped and humped.

The brute dominated the little man’s form, even roughly holding him in a choke hold, though not squeezing. Just to keep the smaller man under his power, let him know who was in charge that night.

Brute: Ugh! Thank you… for reminding me…I had lost all hope in rebellion… You’ve brought my passion back…!

Hero: Ah!~ M-Mercy!

They were both experienced lovers, and held back their orgasms to the blissful end, cumming together after a long and blissful half hour.

And then they continued.

*** *** ***

After that perverse night there was no going back. The brutish man, the grappler of the rebels, sneaked out of the city with the smaller man, and rejoined the rebellion without fuss. He was welcomed back with no complication.

The grappler was shocked to find out that the smaller man was not a member, however. His identity was that of a traveling ronin, a swordsman of the path, hired out by the rebellion leaders for troublesome members who abandoned.

The reason he was not a member? Apparently, ironically, orgies and constant sex was not his taste.

*** *** ***

The hero washed off the make up from his face that made him far more pretty than he truly was. He folded the ninja’s outfit and returned to his practical, light weight protective gear. He sighed, though grinning slightly.

The job payed well. Very well. And he supported the anti-monarchists at every turn. Though, for many reasons, he dreaded the day his enchanted nemesis discovered his activities. Not because she would not approve, of course. She would Very much approve.

His princess back home, on the other hand… there was no way to keep her from knowing.

Packing up his things, the seductive ninja who hunted the deserters of rebellion returned to his life of travelling. But the pretty man of the night would return, of course. As long as there was a good cause to support, good money to be made, and rapturous fucking to be done.

*** *** ***

[One day I’m gonna have to explain myself. I’m a straight, cis man who likes women and has no intention of ever sleeping with a man (at least not without my wife present). But when the inspiration strikes, I MUST respond.

I don’t like the rushed ending, but I am a believer that a finished mediocre erotica is better than a perfect one never published (my drafts is as bursting as the hero’s balls while the enchantress teases him)

I don’t usually write the hero dominating, as he would never do so to the princess and can rarely accomplish such a thing with the enchantress, or the various other voracious ladies who take advantage of him. But men? He could make any interested man in this fantasy setting bow if he wished.]

[enchystemporarydomain]

The Enchantress: hunting the rebels

The following is Man on Man porn. Gay action. Fantasy homosexual erotica. If that’s not what you’re here for, move along.

There is NO canon.

Also, the hero has no canon physical appearance, skin colour, height, etc. Some stories, such as this one, give him an appearance for the sake of the story. For example, in this story he is short and implied to have a thick-!

_____________________________________________________________

The brutish man ran down the alleys, but there was no safe place that night. Orange lights dotted the streets in front and behind him, along with the sound of horses. He darted through an alley, dagger in hand.

Nightwatch: He ran through here! Hurry!

The brute darted through the winding alleys but could not move quickly enough to outrun the torchlights of the police, which were coming closer and closer. Soon he would be seen and captured before the king.

He prepared to fight his way out, despite knowing there was no chance of overpowering the superior skills and arms of the night police.

???: In here! Quick!

The brute turned to see a figure in what had appeared to be a boarded up window. Not wasting time he leaped for the window sill and the figure pulled him up. The window closed just before the light of the torches revealed it, the wooden boards giving the impression it could not be opened.

As the brute caught his breath he turned to look at the room he was in, along with his savior. An old room, lit only by faint candle light. There was a desk, a bed, and a chain locked door. Clearly this room, or rather the whole building hadn’t been publicly used for a while.

Sitting on the bed was a small man dresssed in loose black clothing. A thick garb that covered his entire being in shadow. The brute knew this person would blend in with the shadow had it not been for the candle.

Brute: Who… who are you?

The man removed his head covers. He had a handsome sort of face, almost feminine, but somewhat scarred beneath his bangs.

Hero: I’m a traveler, though I’ve been hired by the rebels. You may call me as you wish.

The brute brandished his knife at the man, which only made him smile. The brute growled.

Brute: Oh no, I am not going back to them. I came all the way to this city to live a new life! I’m done being a rebel!

Hero: How well has that gone for you? You tried to lie low here, to avoid both the rebels AND that tyrant of a king. You could have evaded both forever.

Brute: T’was a slip up is all! I was just drunk!

The man in shadow confidently stood up from the bed and began to approach. The brute swung the knife, which was easily evaded.

Hero: If you really wanted to cut me that wouldn’t have been so easy to dodge. You WANT me to make you come back.

Brute: Oh? Why don’t you try and make me, like you said?

The man shook his head. He yanked something the brute couldn’t see and suddenly the brute felt his arms and legs betray him. A thin thread that he couldn’t notice until it was too late tied his arms and legs together. The man must have tied him while helping him up the window.

Brute: Wh-what the-?

Hero: Shh… don’t resist.

The brute clumsily tried to swing his dagger, but the lithe man in black grasped his arms and, with surprising strength, easily pried the knife from his hands. Like taking a toy from a naughty child. The brute felt humiliated. He would have struggled harder if he wasn’t still wary of the guards, possibly still hunting him out the window.

Hero, taking off his black garb: I know what you did to get the police on you, grappler.

Brute: Don’t you call me that. And why are you taking off your clothes?

Hero: Two of the king’s thugs are dead now. They had been on their nightly patrols two nights ago, at the farms. Hunting for young peasant girls.

Brute: The usual “fun” for all of the king’s thugs.

Hero: They didn’t have so much fun that night. Both of their necks snapped, the grateful girls ran straight to home.

Brute: It was what anyone should have done! Nothing special! Those jackals had it coming! And I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for the third one on the horse seeing me from behind the corner!

Hero: Even if you don’t want to fight for the cause anymore, you’re still a rebel at heart. You’ll always detest tyranny and their dogs. That’s why you’ll come back. You’re the rebellion’s champion grappler. Admit it.

Brute: You think I’ll come back to that hopeless rebellion just because of the goodness of my heart?

The man hooked one finger around the brute’s pants.

Hero: Nope.

He tugged the brutes pants down low. The brute squirmed.

Brute: Oh dear gods, please…

Hero: The rebellion is a noble gang indeed… but it doesn’t depend on superior ethics and moral standing to keep its soldiers convinced to fight…

Slowly the Brute’s pants came down, and his cock grew erect. The feminine man smiled down.

Brute: No… no no no… I remember…

Hero: Just say the word, Brute… Say you’ll come back and rejoin the rebels…

Brute: I… I can’t…

Hero: Then I must remind you why you joined… and why you stayed.

Brute: …

The man took the brute’s cock into his gentle full grasp. His hands were calloused, and yet dexterous and lithe… His smile tinted with desire.

“Just let him,” a mischievous voice in his head said. “What’s the harm of letting this pretty little man try his best?”

Hero: May I?

Brute: …

The brute surrendered to his urge and gave a nod. The blissful squeeze and stroking made him regret it, but the rapturous feeling was too much to let him articulate.

The man’s beautiful face looked up at the brute, with a smile that promised to utterly break his mind.

The man made sure to get the brute nice and hard and excited before slowly wrapping his lips around just the tip of the cock.

Whomever this man was, he knew the proper technique. The Brute, still bound up, shivered as he felt the man’s lips open just a little bit, travelling down his shaft. His tongue was cupped, and eagerly sliding around the brutish man’s thick member.

Then the man’s head began to bob up and down, sucking and massaging with his tongue. The brute almost screamed.

Memories of similar blowjobs entered his mind. The rebellion’s celebratory nights, or the blissful nights in between little and big victories. Men, women, proud warriors, or planners, or just plain farmers and wives. Rapturous orgies, or private nights of passion.

For wasn’t sex rebellious? Against the tyranny of the kings and queens, was sex not freeing and liberating?

Brute: Wait… Stop!

The man did stop. With a pluck he released the cock and looked up at the brutish man’s face.

Hero: Grappler?

Brute: I’m… Untie me…

The man frowned, disappointed. He cut the strings holding the brute’s arms and legs.

The brute stood up and, with one hand grasping his shoulder, lifted the smaller man to his feet.

Then he picked the smaller man up and took him to the bed. Slamming onto the bed he kissed the small man beneath him, who responded just as ravenously.

And that night, flipping the man over, he slowly inserted himself into the man’s ass.

Brute: I am the rebellion’s grappler and champion…

Hero: Don’t hold back…

The brute did not. He inserted himself in with just one push, causing the smaller man to squeal. He humped and humped.

The brute dominated the little man’s form, even roughly holding him in a choke hold, though not squeezing. Just to keep the smaller man under his power, let him know who was in charge that night.

Brute: Ugh! Thank you… for reminding me…I had lost all hope in rebellion… You’ve brought my passion back…!

Hero: Ah!~ M-Mercy!

They were both experienced lovers, and held back their orgasms to the blissful end, cumming together after a long and blissful half hour.

And then they continued.

*** *** ***

After that perverse night there was no going back. The brutish man, the grappler of the rebels, sneaked out of the city with the smaller man, and rejoined the rebellion without fuss. He was welcomed back with no complication.

The grappler was shocked to find out that the smaller man was not a member, however. His identity was that of a traveling ronin, a swordsman of the path, hired out by the rebellion leaders for troublesome members who abandoned.

The reason he was not a member? Apparently, ironically, orgies and constant sex was not his taste.

*** *** ***

The hero washed off the make up from his face that made him far more pretty than he truly was. He folded the ninja’s outfit and returned to his practical, light weight protective gear. He sighed, though grinning slightly.

The job payed well. Very well. And he supported the anti-monarchists at every turn. Though, for many reasons, he dreaded the day his enchanted nemesis discovered his activities. Not because she would not approve, of course. She would Very much approve.

His princess back home, on the other hand… there was no way to keep her from knowing.

Packing up his things, the seductive ninja who hunted the deserters of rebellion returned to his life of travelling. But the pretty man of the night would return, of course. As long as there was a good cause to support, good money to be made, and rapturous fucking to be done.

*** *** ***

[One day I’m gonna have to explain myself. I’m a straight, cis man who likes women and has no intention of ever sleeping with a man (at least not without my wife present). But when the inspiration strikes, I MUST respond.

I don’t like the rushed ending, but I am a believer that a finished mediocre erotica is better than a perfect one never published (my drafts is as bursting as the hero’s balls while the enchantress teases him)

I don’t usually write the hero dominating, as he would never do so to the princess and can rarely accomplish such a thing with the enchantress, or the various other voracious ladies who take advantage of him. But men? He could make any interested man in this fantasy setting bow if he wished.]

[enchystemporarydomain]

Enchantress: I can fix him.

Hero, actually offended: YOU can fix ME???

Enchantress: I am both fixing you and making you worse

[enchystemporarydomain]

The Enchantress: The Baroness’s New Strategem

[For this saga I’ve written the hero’s innate toughness to be supernaturally powerful, despite implying in other stories that he is just a very very strong normal human.

Canon? What’s that, some sort of food? If “canon” makes a story not work then I discard it]

It seemed to the hero, at first, that his captor had been failing to innovate and learn. She seemed keen on using the same torture techniques that have failed her time and time again.

For days the hero helplessly endured whips, thrashings, and all sorts of physical pain, none of which bothered him. Not merely a resilient man, the hero is incapable of being felled by pain: a single moment in his path that he never outwardly shares has made it so his threshold for it was not only larger than any human’s, it is unfathomable.

The baroness, meanwhile, lacked the imagination to utilize any other forms of torture. The enchantress, the hero’s semi-protector and lover, forbid the use of knives, or other such implements which could seriously harm her hero, and nothing less would bring about the moans of agony the sadistic baroness wished to elicit.

And to make the matter worse, the baroness has been beginning to feel for the hero in a way she has never before felt for the dogs and worms she had brutalized in her dungeon before. When she looked at the hero’s muscular and defenseless body she was finding herself wanting to touch it just as much as destroy it.

It was apparent, to both parties, that if the baroness could not find a way to break the hero soon than she was in grim danger of… of “falling” for him, a thought which disgusted and terrified her.

A change in strategy was needed if she was to reduce the hero to a begging mess, as she desired.

*** *** ***

On the seventh day, or perhaps it were the eighth day, the baroness entered the torture chamber, strutting confidently. The enchantress had finished bathing the hero with a damp cloth, as she had been doing every morning. The baroness gave her a curt nod.

Enchantress: Well, hero, we part once again. Time for your captor to have fun with you. I long for the day you escape so it can be I who has my fun, though with how powerful your captor is this seems less and less likely each day.

With a grin to her hero and a bow to the baroness the enchantress disappeared. The baroness held a coiled whip in her hand. The hero wondered about what strategy she would employ: both she and he knew that the whip would be useless against his supernatural toughness.

To his surprise she wasted no time whipping him across the chest with extraordinary strategy. The sound alone from the cracker slashing against his chest, let alone the damage and agony, would have felled any normal man, and yet against the hero there was nothing. Hardly a mark, hardly a reaction.

Despite this, the baroness remained smiling.

Baroness: Poor little victim… Wrists chained up… Ankles and thighs strapped down… Unable to do a thing as I whip you into grounded meat.

She whipped him again and again, producing no more of a reaction with each strike. The hero felt hardly an annoyance at the pain itself, but the baroness herself never faltered. Was she planning on beating him through sheer persistence?

Baroness: You’re all tied up… If only you could loosen those chains… If only you could escape those straps… 

She giggled as she sadistically struck, watching his body bounce slightly with each strike. Although the hero produced none of the wicked sounds of agony she craved she showed no sign of frustration.

Baroness: You are but a slave… A toy… Exactly where you belong… Chained up, frustrated, with nowhere to go…

With that comment the hero indeed began to feel a little bit frustrated, though not enough to show.

If her strategy had been persistence then it had not worked. As usual, the baroness’s whipping hand grew sore before the hero’s skin broke. Curiously, she did not seem to mind.

Baroness: I will see you tomorrow, my little slave. And no matter how shameful or painful my whips and no matter how much you loathe my smug beautiful smile you will never escape. Not while you are so desperately chained up.

With a toss of her hair she left the room.

Shortly after the enchantress appeared holding a washcloth and food for her hero. She wore an amused smirk.

Enchantress: What an interesting display of cocky sadism. I wonder what her angle is?

*** *** ***

The next day the baroness came to whip the hero once again. Despite the hero not giving the smallest wince of pain the baroness did not care. She continued mocking and jeering, her voice full of relish.

Baroness: Oh little hero boy… You came to this town with a mission to stop me… and now you’re stuck… Uneven to stop me from indulging myself all over your body.

The hero became frustrated. She chuckled.

Baroness: You’ll never be able to stop me, little swordsman. Chained up and vulnerable, under my power.

*** *** ***

This continued day after day. The baroness began incorporating other tools of torture besides her trusty whip, none of them truly effective. She jeered and delighted in the hero’s mild frustrations.

Her words were more of an irritant than the actual violence. He had the strongest body when dealing with her whips, crops and lashes. But her laughter and mockery stung.

He began to resent his inability to escape, his helplessness while chained to the rack… As long as he was bound up he was under her power…

*** *** ***

One day the baroness entered the room without her whip, crop, or any sort of weapon. She wore a red blouse and a long skirt of red dyed leather. She said nothing as she approached the chained up hero.

Then she chuckled.

Baroness: Your irritation hasn’t gone unnoticed, boy.

The hero did not respond.

Baroness: I bet you must have imagined how nice it would be to be free of your chains and bindings. How shocked my expression would be. I bet, after all I’ve said and done to you, you have even fantasized about revenge, about what you would do to me given the freedom. Am I wrong?

Again the hero did not respond. The baroness laughed.

And then she leaned over him, her face close to his. She smelled subtly of perfume. The hero felt her body straddling his own. He heard a click.

The clasps around his ankles and wrists released him. His limbs were free.

The hero, for a moment, only looked at the baroness with shock.

Baroness: Well?

The hero quickly tried to slide off the rack, though with the baroness holding him down his attempt was clumsy.

His body hit the floor, and the baroness fell upon him, grappling him down.

The hero tried to fight back. His fists struck at her chest. They did nothing. The baroness smiled and grabbed his wrist.

The baroness wrapped her hips around his waist. The hero tried to worm away. He brought his other fist up intending to strike her. Her hips clamped down hard around his body, stunning him.

Taking advantage of his surprise and pain the baroness twisted his arms into a lock and continued to squeeze him. How was the baroness so strong? Once again the hero was being dominated physically by this evil woman.

The hero mustered up all of his strength to try and reverse the grapple, but he could not shake the baroness off of him nor slip out of her grip. The baroness forced him to stand up and slammed him into the rack.

The hero kicked at her, but the protective leather skirt somehow protected her legs.

Easily dealing with his struggling, even whistling a tune as she did so, the baroness forced his left wrist back into the clasp and then locked it. She did the same with his right. His arms were locked down again.

The humiliation of having freedom dangled in front of him only to have it so easily taken back gnawed at the hero, and it was not even finished. The baroness bent down to do his legs as well.

She easily held down his thighs and ankles, chaining them up.

The hero was recaptured, and horribly and unwillingly erect. The baroness straddled his body in victory, her smug smile all he could see.

Baroness: Oh you poor boy… brought back to where you belong after tasting freedom for just a quick moment.

She chuckled at his disbelief.

Baroness: All week I’ve been giving you the impression that if only you were not bound then you could better me… Humble me… But you were wrong.

She pulled down the collar of her gown, showing him the fragrant oil she wore:

Baroness: This medicine is a rare and very expensive coating that gives me the strength of a dozen men. And my clothing, while luxurious, is made of incredibly protective material. I was wearing these every day, hero. Every moment where you imagined being free of those chains, of even attacking me, I was wearing these. Your imagined freedom was a lie… Even free from the chains I was always too strong for you to beat.

The baroness wrapped her hips around him and gave a mighty squeeze. The hero finally groaned in pain and humiliation as she always wanted. In that pain and humiliation he grew erect, though against the thick leather skirt she could not feel it…

Baroness: Now when I hurt you, even if you’re supernaturally tough… You’ll still feel anguish… The anguish of humiliation and despair…

The baroness smiled.

She watched his anguished face with delight.

His handsome face, glistening with sweat. His chest heaving from breathing deeply.

Her smile fell as she noticed.

The hero spoke his first word to her in days.

Hero: Baroness… 

Was the baroness imagining it… or was there… longing in that low, quiet voice? Her face came closer to his. Her body pressed up against his…

Then, getting a hold of herself, she separated from him and recollected herself.

Baroness: Well… from now on I know how to hurt you, and not only physically… Soon I’ll have you a quivering mess just like all of my toys end up.

She gave one last smug smile before leaving the hero alone, conquered.

*** *** ***

The enchantress watched all of this unfold from the darkest corner of the dungeon. She walked toward the hero, frowning.

Enchantress: Well, that was her angle all along. But hero… what is yours?

Hero: …

The enchantress shook her head. There was an ulterior motive to her watching this unfold, besides merely enjoying watching the hero be dominated, or ensuring the safety of a man she truly loved. Secretly her enjoyment came from watching a skilled man she admired perform. And despite the advantage the baroness had over him, the enchantress believed her hero would ultimately win this… this game or whatever one could call it.

[enchystemporarydomain]

The Enchantress: Forced Enchantrification

The hero raises his sword warily as the enchantress stands before him. She snaps her fingers and her evening blue gown slides off of her as though it were naught but smoke, leaving her in her brassier and underwear. The blue cloud that was her gown grows huge, like a cyclone, and begins circling the hero.

Hero: What is going on-?

Enchantress: It’ll fit you perfectly.

Hero: What?

The blue cyclone closes in on the hero, growing more concentrated. He tries to go through the smoke but it pushes him back into the center. He feels the blue cloud becoming denser, solid like glue.

Hero: No!

Enchantress: Yes!

The hero swings his sword, but it is launched out of his grip by the gluey cloud.

It begins clinging to him, and reforming back into the gown, with him inside. It eats away at his light armor and all of his clothes.

Hero: Stop it!

Enchantress: Oh how pretty I will make you… and there’s nothing you can do to stop me…

Despite his struggles the gown forms around him, wrapping somewhat tightly around his body… He can’t pull it off as it begins to settle over him… The evening gown of the enchantress, blue with golden linings..

Hero: Damn it.. .get off-!

Enchantress: Cease struggling.

The hero feels the gown manhandling him. His arms are forcibly folded back, as though his wrists were being grappled. His legs clasp together. He can’t escape the feeling of the soft gown around his would-be naked body… So soft… silky… reminding him of the enchantess, wrapped intimately around his body…

Hero: Nooo!

Enchantress: Oh hero… It must feel very pleasant… especially around here…

The enchantress cups her hands around his visible erection. Her grip and the dress’s cool silkiness makes him groan. She gives two little squeezes and he is already squirming to hold in a cum

Enchantress: You don’t have the body like I do, though… let’s fix that.

Hero: What? Stop!

With just a stroke of the enchantress’s magic coated hand the hero’s body morphs… His hips grow larger and rounder, his waist slightly slender… The enchantress giggles as the hero tries to escape her spell, unsuccessfully… There is no escaping the conversion…

When she is done the hero’s waist is the same shape as her own… and so is his chest. The enchantress has forcibly molded his muscular pecs into a visibly round chest, with cleavage visible.

The hero struggles and squirms in his silky prison as the enchantress celebrates making him into her…

Enchantress: Well now that you’re the right body for it… I should let you have these…

The enchantress indicates to her underwear and bra. They slip off of her as well and the hero feels them appearing around his body beneath the gown. He’s shocked at how perfectly the bra fits. The panties would fit just as rightly if not for his erect cock.

Hero: Please… please stop… I beg of you…

The hero is shocked to hear that even his voice is slowly changing

Hero: No!

Enchantress: You’re enjoying it…. having me wrapped around you… having my power wrap you up so thoroughly that I’m imprinting into your very soul… I am so inescapable that I’m even making your very identity my own…

Hero: NO!

The enchantress chuckles at the hero’s frantic squirming. This panic is her true mischievous goal. She wonders how far she can go… truly make him believe he’ll be forever in this form… And how erect the thought makes him….

Enchantress: There is no greater domination than the stronger soul converting and consuming the weak. Rejoice, hero. With this conquest you will never escape me, for you now ARE me…

And then the naked enchantress giggles and does not continue her deep philosophical speech and performs her TRUE intention. She cuddles up against the sexy, forcefully feminized hero, squeezing and grinding away to satisfaction.

Sexy, domineering self love.

[enchystemporarydomain]

The Enchantress: Other Option

After a long and grueling battle the insatiable enchantress has disarmed and pinned the exhausted Hero to the ground. Her hips straddle his struggling body in a vice, her chest pressed over his heaving chest.

Enchantress: You know that there's nothing that can stop me from taking my weekly ransom, hero. I need my dose of Pathetic, Defeated Hero Dick.

Hero: Gross.

She grasps him by the hair and pulls his head up to whisper in his ear.

Enchantress: And what is your pick today, hero? Do you want since evil villainess pussy or evil villainess dick? A middle ground between? I'll have whatever you wish...

The hero contemplates for a moment. He smirks. If he is to be ravished once again, best to make her work for it. He whispers his demand.

Hero: Other.

The enchantress pauses for a moment.

Enchantress: Other, you say?

Hero: Other. Surely there is no problem?

The enchantress eventually smiles at his challenge.

Enchantress: Very well.

It isn't easy for her. It strains her shape shifting energy and pushes her concentration something fierce. It defies euclidean spacial physics and several holy texts. But the enchantress manages to unleash upon her hero all the sublime and erotic "other" he could ever ask for, dominating him more thoroughly than ever before.