Total Party Wipe Ch. 01

Just as the sun dipped below the willows, Savok found them. Adventurers making camp near the forest trail. Three in total.

The first was lean; golden brown, with licorice curls as thick as a thumb. He called her 'Knife' on account of the throwing blades sheathed at her hip. The second -- 'Sword', he decided -- was pale and tall, with a bulkier, muscular build and short wheat-gold hair. She came with armor and a shield, with her namesake never far from her hand. Savok figured her for the leader.

The last was the shortest -- with a curvaceous, padded figure softened from time spent in study. Her hair was a lush carpet of whorled copper that hid the tips of her pointed ears. She kept to herself, her nose buried in a grimoire near the crackling fire. He settled on 'Book'.

A low rumble filled Savok's heavy muscular gut. The urog had not been spotted; this was owing in part to the campfire that dulled their view of the shadows. But he knew better than to push his luck. He was hard to miss -- four hundred pounds of muscle and fat, looming several feet above even Sword, with two chipped tusks jutting from his bottom jaw. His greenish-brown skin provided camouflage among the trees, but his eyes still smoldered like molten gold.

Savok had been tracking game when he was drawn by the scent of fat sizzling over a fire. They were roasting a spiced venison haunch. He wiped saliva from his mouth with the back of his hand. They're here to hunt me, he realized.

They each ate their share, with Sword consuming the most. Soon, Book and Knife were swapping stories, their laughter rolling out into the surrounding woods. Sword sharpened her blade.

Savok waited. The group discussed who would take first watch -- they settled on Knife. The other two curled up into their bedrolls while Knife paced, pausing occasionally to throw one of her daggers at a nearby tree.

She knows enough to not face the fire, Savok thought. Still...

His eyes traced their way down the supple curve of her back -- how the toned muscle of her shoulders flowed down atop the pliant dollop of her buttocks. She was clad in leather, with just enough space between her top and trousers to expose a sliver of brown skin. He admired the way her hips swayed; admired the plump tangles of sable hair that swirled from side to side as she strutted about. Savok could smell traces of her perfume. A long-forgotten urge stirred in the pit of his stomach.

He forced himself to be patient. It was a risk, he knew. Savok was a remarkable fighter -- he could likely take any one of them alone. Perhaps even two. But all three...? He wasn't sure.

His eyes continued to follow Knife's body. The curve of her high, perky breasts. The strong, coltish thighs -- the way they twitched with each step she took.

Stay focused. He dropped his hand down and under the leather flap at his crotch. Slowly, he stroked -- calming his nerves. His shaft swelled to fill his palm.

...schlk... schlk...

Stars were visible. Knife was slowing down; her stride had lost some swagger.

...schlk...

Savok slipped his other hand into the pouch at his side. He retrieved the dart, rolling his thumb over its surface. Feeling that tiny needle at its tip.

Right after she threw the dagger -- that was the moment to strike. The thud of impact would mask his throw -- and she'd be down a blade.

She took aim. Savok reeled back.

She threw.

...thwmp.

Fuck. The dart hit the ground a dozen feet past its mark. She paused; Savok held his breath.

Knife ambled forward, and -- with no visible sign of recognition -- retrieved her dagger. She walked back to where she started.

Savok permitted himself to breathe. He retrieved another dart. And when she threw again --

...thwk!

A small sound escaped her; little more than a sigh. She felt it, but didn't yet realize what it was. She touched her back. Soon, her fingertips would find the feathers protruding from her leftmost buttock.

Savok moved.

He lunged like a released spring, sprinting through the grotto. Knife felt his footsteps -- but by then, it was too late.

His left arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her side, as the other hand claimed her mouth. His immense frame eclipsed her as that palm, wrapped in damp linen, pressed over her lips and nose. He reeled her in tight -- like a lovely fawn caught in a hunter's snare.

Her heart was pounding. He felt her muscles twitch; felt her sculpted buttocks twist and writhe against his hips. He felt her back, squirming and undulating, struggling to wriggle free. He felt her lungs swell, preparing to scream -- only to be flooded with fumes from the soaked rag.

The dart's coated tip combined with those fumes made swift work of her. There, grappled by the brute only a short distance from her sleeping companions, Knife fought to be free.

"Mmmphhhm! Mmrngh!"

"...shhhh..."

"Mmmphh--! Mmgh!"

"...breathe in..."

"Mmph...! Mmgh..."

"...good girl..."

"...mnngh..."

Her eyes rolled back. She slumped into his arms.

Savok lifted her over his shoulder, her derriere held up like a trophy. He retrieved her knives before swiftly returning to his spot. There, he pinned her -- face-down against the soft moss, his knee to her back.

"Nhh..."

His would-be slayer wheezed and drooled. He bound her arms behind her so tight that it pinched her shoulders together -- forcing her chest forward. He folded her legs and tied her thighs to her calves, pressing her heels against her buttocks. He shoved the linen into her mouth, securing it with a strip of leather dangling from his hip. Then he carried her off into the night.

Once they were well out of ear-shot, he took time to familiarize himself with her lovely body. He lifted her into his lap and groped her breasts, her hips, her face. Still groggy, she responded with soft confused coos. The dart and cloth had been laced with bloodbloom -- a potent sedative and aphrodisiac.

At last, her kohl-kissed lashes fluttered open. She realized she was in Savok's lap -- back to him, her head against his shoulder. His hips grinding against her leather-clad buttocks.

She yelped. He squeezed her throat, muting it to a whimper. It barely mattered. Her friends were too far away to hear.

He seized her tunic in his massive hands and split it down the center. She emerged from it like a butterfly escaping its cocoon. Soft, sensitive breasts lurched forth, each capped with a dark nipple. He rolled one between a thumb and forefinger, pinching it. Knife squealed and tried to arch away -- but this only pressed her breast firmly into his palm.

Savok rumbled and nuzzled at her throat. She panicked like a skittish animal. He gently bit her neck; she spasmed and whimpered. Then, he took both her breasts into his hands and squeezed.

The bloodbloom's sedative effect was immediate, but its secondary effect -- the aphrodisiac -- took time to ramp up. Already, her umber skin was flush with warmth. Sweat atomized her perfume, filling Savok's nostrils. He dropped a hand between her thighs and swatted her hidden nethers -- sending a stimulating jolt through her. She jerked, rearing back like a mare trying to buck its very first rider.

Savok purred.

He used a skinning knife to nick her trousers, then curled his fingers into the slit and pulled. The fabric gave.

Inch by inch, her hips -- her thighs, her waist, her sex -- were exposed to the silver moonlight. She made a soft wail at the sight. Her tender cunt was gleaming. Savok stroked the cleft with his thumb, coaxing it to blossom.

"Shh..." he whispered. Her friends were far away, sleeping soundly. Oblivious to Knife's plight.

He lifted her up, permitting his cock to flop out and jut up under her. It was a tall, proud spire; thick and throbbing with the pent-up need that had been building from the moment he had laid eyes upon her. He brought Knife down -- brushing the crown against her slit. Thrust by slow thrust, he stroked across it. Stoking the heat inside of her belly until it was blazing. Only then did he press her down -- permitting the crown to apply a slow, direct pressure.

Little by little, he pried apart her labia. When that first inch squeezed in, he grunted; Knife jerked again, head snapping back. Desperate and confused noises escaped her throat. He squeezed her breast -- as if to soothe her.

"Shhh..."

Another inch. He eased up, giving her time to adjust. Then, he pushed down again -- another inch. Then, another. Easing again... then, another. Then...

...schmk.

"...hng. Good girl."

When he felt her hips press against his own, he groaned and bit down on her shoulder. Knife's expression was a mask of shock, horror, and something else. Savok could see it, sense it, feel it. It was the very thing he sought. What drove him to partake in this ancient ritual.

Little by little, she was losing touch with reality -- finding it harder and harder to believe this was real. Little by little, she was giving in. Giving up. Little by little, she was letting herself go.

Schlk... plp!

He lifted her, then drove back in. His first real stroke. The motion made her tense and clench. Then, he repeated it -- moving her slow but steady. It was as if she was nothing but a toy, used to get him off. And yet -- with each stroke, he squeezed her, soothed her, stroked her. With each stroke, he treated her like a precious treasure. With each stroke, her eyes grew more distant as her body responded.

"...that's it... let it go..."

Schlk... plp!...schlk... plp!

By the time he built to a steady rut, her nipples were as hard as stone -- two sharp edges that jutted out into the night, bobbing with each successive stroke. Her head fell back to his shoulder, her thick curls spilling across his back. He gripped her hips, gritting his teeth and picking up the pace. Pounding into that tight, quivering cunt. Savoring each stroke, each spasm.

Schlk, plp! Schlk, plp! Schlk, plp!

Her confused noises had all but faded. She was making tiny chirps of pleasure, now. In her mind, this was like -- no, it was! -- a dream. Some terrible, secret fantasy was playing out in her unconscious. This wasn't real -- it couldn't be.

Savok encouraged this. Whatever gave her permission to enjoy this moment -- whatever let her succumb to the growing tension inside her.

Savok groaned... then, for just a moment, lifted her free. He turned her around and pressed her down on her back, cushioned against the soft moss. He wedged her bound thighs apart, exposing that gleaming slit. He pinned her under his weight, his belly, his chest -- the thick trunk of his cock against her quim. Then he reached down and pulled out her gag.

As he slowly plunged back into that quaking pussy, penetrating her once more... he leaned down and kissed her.

It was too much. The roughness, the brutality -- combined with the tenderness, the gentleness. If Savok had just used her, it might have made it easier. He was treating her like an object, yes... a pet, a thing. But a precious thing. A thing that was desired, needed -- pursued.

The effect was overwhelming. Knife spasmed. As Savok broke the kiss, threads of saliva stretched out between their mouths. Her eyes rolled back. She arched under him -- and he felt her cunt squeeze, vibrating around his cock.

She was cumming.

Savok had subdued her, bound her, and carried her off to violate her. And now, just a hundred yards away from her allies, she was gasping and cumming for him.

plp! plp! plp! plp! plp! plp! plp! plp--

Savok groaned in satisfaction. Each stroke now made his back ripple in exertion. His buttocks clenched, his heavy balls sweeping forward to slap against her hips. Her knees jutted out from beneath him, hovering to either side of his thrusting ass.

He drove deep into her core, hammering her with an intense, relentless fury. He suppressed the sound as best as he could -- from a distance, it sounded like a soft rhythmic slapping accompanied by the occasional murmurs of animals.

He felt his toes curl, his fingers digging into her buttocks. His own orgasm came moments later. He marked it with another kiss. Savok's tongue plunged deep, as if searching something in the depths of Knife's throat. She mewled, swallowing him in her confusion.

His seed gushed forth -- all either of them could feel was the churning heat of his load, pouring inside of her, filling her.

Savok shuddered, riding it to completion -- only breaking the kiss after the last spurt. Spirals of steam rolled up from Knife's gasping, gulping mouth. She stared up at him, slack-jawed and speechless.

"Good girl," he whispered. He pressed the gag back between her lips -- and spent the next fifteen minutes cuddling and groping his new precious acquisition while contemplating the next move.