Lamia Rearadoora and the Sticky Quickie

Lamia didn't see the beer coming until it was seeping into the cups of her bra, and by that point it was far too late for her to slap the man. She slapped him anyway, because slapping people is fun.

"You fuck!" Lamia pulled her hand away, shaking it lightly at the sting of the impact. "Watch where you're going, ya damned drunk! Zoot's gracious gazongas!"

The man bowed deep in apology, clutching his cheek. He was a gangly fellow, his arms and legs better proportioned to a scarecrow than a living, breathing human, and his every movement seemed exaggerated and wobbly. He tipped the emptied tankard towards Lamia, as if offering some of the nothing inside to her, and she smacked it away with a curse.

Lamia tottered lightly to one side. She was standing in the Sheep's Rotten Arsehole, the cheapest pub she'd ever visited in one of the grimiest towns she'd ever seen. Despite reservations about the sooty countertops and questionable clientele she'd decided to grab herself a drink before heading to bed for the night, and though the ale was watered-down and disgusting she settled for the buzz tiptoeing through her head. The clumsy splash of beer onto her tits had killed the warmth, however, leaving her sticky, annoyed, and too aware of her drunkenness.

She pointed at the bar, finger waggling a little more crazily than normal. "Get me a drink. As a sorry. I want... the best ale they got. Not an empty fuckin' tankard. You get me? Best ale. I'll be over there."

The man, hand still pressed protectively against his cheek, nodded stupidly. After a quick glance up and down Lamia's body - not the first she'd received that night - he wandered off to the barkeep, meandering this way and that on his dizzy course, looking as though he might cover the distance within the next hour.

Weaving through a packed room of half-filled tables and hazy smoke, Lamia returned to her seat. Fidget was waiting for her, sitting in his dwarven booster seat and looking more miserable than usual. He brightened slightly as she sat down, and one of his legs 'accidentally' brushed against Lamia's thigh. She kicked him back.

Tossing her raven hair over her shoulders with some mild difficulty, Lamia glared down at her breasts. The man's booze, whatever it was, had stained her normally alabaster skin a pale yellow. Streaks of thick mead, almost as thick as honey, trickled between her tight cleavage and left her tits feeling clammy. She gathered a gob of the stuff on one gloved finger, licked, and grimaced at the strong, almost smokey taste.

"You getting drinks poured straight on you now?" Fidget asked hopefully. "Can I have some? I'm good at cleaning."

"You'll be good at cleaning the mud off my boots if you don't stop acting like a perv," Lamia snapped.

Fidget fidgeted. "Sorry. What happened?"

"Drunk splashed me," Lamia murmured. "Gimme a sec, I'll get it gone, 'n then we'll have some free drinks. On him."

Sighing, eyes darting blearily to the bar to see if the man was getting her a beer as demanded, Lamia waved a hand in the air, praying for the power of Zoot to clean her figure. She didn't call on any particular spell, just one to remove the booze.

Zoot, apparently, had better things to do, and the beer remained firmly stuck to Lamia's chest. Snarling, Lamia tried again, fingers waggling lazily in the air as she tried to recall a specific spell that would clear the mess. The alcohol lingered. Most of it was now puddled happily around the bottoms of Lamia's breasts, and some of it was slipping out the cups of her bra and down her belly. How the man had managed to so thoroughly douse her when her tits were so tightly jammed into the bra she would never know.

Lamia staggered back to her feet, jabbing a finger at Fidget. "You!"

"Me?" Fidget pointed a finger at himself.

"You!" Lamia waved a hand at the bar. "There's a guy. He looks... I dunno... a little like that lizard thing we killed a few weeks ago. But less green. He'll have beer. Wave him down and get me the beer. And then give me the beer when I come back. If you drink it on me I will fire you, because I earned that beer. My hooters earned that beer."

"Hooters," Fidget agreed.

Throwing her assistant a dirty glare, Lamia coughed once at the bank of smoke filling the upper half of the Sheep's Rotten Arsehole, looked around, and started for her room on the second floor. A cluster of men at a nearby table hooted at her as she passed, and she lifted her cape to tantalize them with a shot of her ass. They laughed, and one reached out to grab a cheek; a quick slap sent him back again. More laughs.

'least my aim is still good, Lamia thought, head buzzing. Dunno how long that'll last.

The Sheep's Rotten Arsehole was not a particularly nice pub, but the rooms of the attached inn were clean enough, and Lamia had a cotton bed to sleep on. She clicked the door open after fumbling with her key three or four times, closed the door behind her, and made for the bathroom. It, too, was not particularly nice, little more than a hole in the ground, a water basin, and a dusty old rag, but it would serve her purposes.

Lamia considered locking the door. But, she reasoned, she would only be here for a minute, only a minute, and Fidget wouldn't have enough time to sneak in and gawk at her before she'd cleaned herself. Not nearly enough. So she unclasped her bra, and, feeling lazy, she let it clank to the floor, already preparing to stoop down, dip the rag in the water, and clean herself.

None of those things happened. Not a single one.

The bra fell away from Lamia's body, but it did not clank on the ground. Instead it settled slowly, ever so slowly, suspended by a thick layer of yellow-green slime. And this was slime, oh yes, she could tell that now, not some super-thick mead, but honest-to-god goop, and had Lamia not been drunk she probably would have realized as much a long time ago.

Depositing the bra so gently that the metal didn't make a noise, the slime whiplashed back up towards Lamia's breasts, rolling over her pert nipples and lashing tendrils around the soft curves in a tight embrace. Lamia staggered back, surprised, her caped back hitting the wall. She raised her hands to her breasts, scrabbling at the slime and trying to pry it free.

The slime resisted. Already firmly anchored to the bottom of Lamia's breasts, it flowed up her fingers and tightened around them, gluing them against Lamia's nipples. She cursed, trying desperately to wriggle free, but every time she moved the slime only bound her more tightly in place. One poorly-judged movement later and she was stuck against the wall, sagging impotently.

The slime burbled what sounded like a little laugh. It jiggled lightly, and Lamia's breasts bounced in their gooey enclosure.

"Get fucked, you little shit," Lamia growled, hiccuping lightly. "Y... you... dammit, this is stupid... outdone by a wad of snot..."

"Not snot," a voice cut in.

~~~

"Oh, gee, I wonder who that is," Lamia growled. 

Lamia turned her head as best she could. The gangly man who'd drenched her was swaying in the doorway, a wide, sly grin on his face. He quietly shut the door behind him as he stepped into the room, each move of his legs ungainly and wobbling. But his eyes were keen and hungry, and he was clearly not drunk.

"Hi." Lamia tried to flash him a grin that was both cocksure and angry. Still mostly inebriated, she wasn't sure if she'd managed either. "Got my drink, or what?"

The man sidled up beside Lamia, rubbing his head against the wall. His features, Lamia noticed, were wide and ovular, as though his mouth and his eyes had drifted just a little too widely across his skull to look entirely normal. She hadn't noticed this weirdness in the haze of the pub. He raised a hand above Lamia's entrapped breasts, and the ooze responded to his presence, lifting towards his fingers.

Lamia tried to use the opportunity break free. It didn't work, and she slapped back against the wall with a chesty wobble and another curse. The man tittered again.

"You are... sorceress..." the man croaked, his voice sloshy and weird. "Saw poster... magic... you carry good items... worth money... I will sell..."

"Like hell you will," Lamia scoffed, though her heart jumped in her chest. She did, indeed, like to carry magical items around, many of them irreplaceable. Baronesses across the land would pay handsome money indeed for her enchanted dildo collection. "All the magic I do comes from the goddess Zoot. I don't have shit. You're wasting your time."

"We'll see..."

The man dipped in and licked Lamia's cheek, his tongue a slick, yellow-pink slab that looked like a slug, and it left a trail of slime across her skin. Then, pausing just a moment to touch her hair, he stepped away and headed for Lamia's bed - and Fidget's pack, which had virtually every worldly possession Lamia owned. It wouldn't take long for him to find something of value. The slime on Lamia's hands seemed to tug in his direction, as if to follow him, but ultimately remained bound around Lamia's breasts, fixing her to the wall.

Lamia's mind raced as best it could, given the swirl of alcohol in her system. She was not operating at peak efficiency, she knew as much, but she needed an idea, something, anything, to help her get out of this stupid setup. Under normal circumstances she liked to think she never would have fallen for such an obvious con job.

There was only one thing for it, really.

Arching her back as sexily as possible, given her sticky situation, Lamia raised her ass and spread her legs, planting her boots firmly on the floor. Then, summoning every bit of lustfulness she possessed, she offered the man a deep, throaty moan, as though someone had pressed into her most intimate of areas. The man stopped, one hand on Lamia's bed, and she moaned again, licking her lips for good measure.

The man turned, eyes wide with suspicion, but he, too, licked his lips, the bulk of his inhuman tongue leaving a smear on his face. Lamia noticed for the first time that there was an indent in his cheek, with three obvious fingerprints impressed just below his eye. Right where she'd hit him.

Lamia knew this wouldn't be the most convincing argument, but without her magic or her normal collection of wits she didn't have much choice. "Fuck me."

The man cocked his head, stooping slightly. He looked as though he expected an attack at any moment, but he kept his eyes on her, investigating the silhouette of her body beneath her cape. "What?"

"Fuck me," Lamia insisted. She waggled her hips at him invitingly. "C'mon. You know you wanna. I can't stop you, so why not? Fuck me."

Taking one cautionary step away from the bed, the man looked at the door, then back at Lamia. "Is... trick. Or trap. No."

Lamia moaned again, biting her lip and laughing as seductively as she could manage. "What, you think I planned on getting my tits stuck to the wall? I look like an idiot. It's a bad trap if it's a trap at all. Which it ain't. So fuck me already."

Abandoning caution in the face of her odd logic, the man slid in close. With delicate gestures he plucked the cape from Lamia's back and draped it down her side, revealing her curved back and rounded hips. As though fearing she might burst into flames he slowly settled a hand on her side, testing her with a few gentle pats, then dragging his fingers back to caress her ass. His fingers played with the drawstring of her armoured thong -

- and he gasped as Lamia winked, and the thong undid itself and slid down her legs. It was the best magic she could manage, but she suspected it would be enough. The slime around Lamia's chest and hands twitched and writhed, which was a good sign.

The man hesitated a moment longer, both hands now on Lamia's ass, one sliding between her legs to caress her pussy. His touch was slick and sticky, like the slime on Lamia's breasts, and she felt a trickle of cold, thick liquid oozing down her right leg. One of his fingers slipped between the lips of her cunt, and Lamia gasped, working her mild surprise into another moan. The man's finger slipped in and out with contemplative slowness, and his nasal breathing became a desperate rasp.

"C... cunnie..." The man rubbed the seat of his pants against Lamia's ass. It felt almost gelatinous, the fabric of his pants seeming to squish around Lamia's skin. "Human... cunnie..."

"Lots of time," Lamia insisted, smirking. "Lots of time for a - "

Abruptly, and without warning, the man drove a second finger into Lamia's pussy. She shrieked and pressed herself against the wall as the man's squishy, probing digits slid into her, the tips stretching and sliding against the subtle sponginess of Lamia's cunt. Lamia felt heat rising in her cheeks as the man's fingers expanded, filling her, seeming almost to tickle her with pleasure.

The man leaned over and around Lamia as he finger-fucked her, rubbing his face against her cheek, his wide, wild eyes inspecting her lips. Breathing hard, she winked at him. He opened his mouth, and his ghoulish tongue slid out to coat her lips in slime. Bracing herself, Lamia wrapped her own tongue in his. It tasted smokey and strong, just like the goop pinning her to the wall.

But not for much longer, Lamia thought, scowling inwardly. I got you now, you bastard.

The man pressed his face to Lamia's, tongue wriggling into her mouth and smoothing itself along hers. His lips squished clumsily against Lamia's, and slobbery ooze trickled down her chin. His finger-fucking intensified, the rhythm sloppy but pleasurable, and despite herself Lamia felt the onset of climax warming in her pussy. His fingers were too fat and too filling, too large, too -

And then, abruptly, they were gone. So, too, was the man's squishy mouth. Lamia opened her eyes, surprised she'd closed them in the first place, and spotted the tips of his greasy hair as they retreated out of sight. Two firm hands grasped Lamia's backside, and something slimy slid between the cheeks of her ass.

"C... cunnie..." the man breathed, voice shaky and desperate. "Must... fuck..."

The ooze on Lamia's breasts wriggled, loosening - but not enough. Lamia braced herself, even as she smiled. "That's right. Always... always time... for a quickie."

~~~

The man's cock reminded her of her favorite dildo: large, flexible, filling, and ribbed for her pleasure. Or it felt that way, anyway.

The man rammed himself into Lamia with clumsy, unrestrained speed, pushing his cock into her so relentlessly that she expected a blossom of pain. But it didn't come: the cock was too soft, despite its girth, and it compressed exactly to fill Lamia's cunt without stretching her to bursting point. She could feel it compressing and expanding inside her, as if someone had filled her with jelly, and Lamia cried out in genuine pleasure.

"Augh... huma... human cunnie..." The man sounded rapturous, as though his greatest wish had just come true, and Lamia felt a drip of his perverse drool pool onto her back. "Fucking... sorceress... cunnie..."

Rocking Lamia relentlessly, hands clutched tightly onto Lamia's ass, the man fucked. His cock coated the inside of her pussy with a cold, pleasing slime, lubricating her cunt in a way Lamia had never felt before. She bit her lip and pressed her head against the wall, struggling to maintain her arched back and tiptoe stance under the force of his eager fucking. 

"You... you like that..." Lamia punctuated each thrust with a little squeal, as much out of calculation as pleasure, urging the man on. "You like... my slutty... little... cunt... baby..."

The man nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing back and forth on his neck with such ferocity that it seemed as though his spine was formed out of a spring. In response to his eager fucking the slime on Lamia's breasts tightened against her, latching onto her skin and seeming almost to suckle at her tits. The act left only a few, thin tendrils attached to the wall - 

- and it released Lamia's hands almost completely. They were, after all, in the way of her nipples, which were now red and perky in the mass of yellow-green goo.

Almost there, Lamia thought. She discretely placed her hands against the wall, supporting herself more comfortably, moaning more than loudly enough to keep the man distracted. She tested the strength of the hold of the goo against the wall with a few gentle tugs, maintaining the rhythm of the man's rampant fucking, but it held fast. Almost there. Ohhh god, he's fucking gross, but he's good. Maybe...

Before Lamia could consider any sort of plan, the man's posture seemed to change. Lamia felt his pelvis drifting forward against her bare backside, his stomach seeming to topple and fold over her back, his scrawny chest press against her shoulder blades and settle there, each body part quivering with the thrusts of his cock. He folded his arms around her belly, and one finger drifted down to finger Lamia's clit.

Lamia came at once. She screamed, her legs trembled, and she slowly collapsed to her knees, taking the man down with her. He fucked her the whole way down, settling on Lamia's back, pushing her legs apart as she drifted to the floor. She reoriented herself, pushing away from the wall, arms struggling to keep her body upright. If the slime on her tits touched the floor she'd be stuck again, and she needed to be -

"I want your... your mouth... too..." The man's words were in Lamia's ear, closer than she'd expected. His tongue wrapped into her hair and oozed around her neck, caressing her jaw. His words came out as a confused mumble. "Phuck... yo mouf..."

Breathless, Lamia watched through one hazy eye as the slime clutching to her tits, suckling her tits, detached itself and plopped onto the floor. With tiny leg-like suckers the slime crawled onto the wall, raised itself to face level, and formed a thin, wiry, tentacular penis. Lamia had only a moment to admire the odd texturing of the surface jelly before the penis shot forward, jamming itself into Lamia's mouth mid-moan.

Pussy raw from the relentless fucking, her sex partner oozing down both sides of her back and pressing her into the floorboards, a gummy mouth latched onto her neck and no doubt leaving an enormous hickey, a translucent cock sliding along her tongue, Lamia shrugged inwardly. Still done weirder shit than this.

The first signs of the man's orgasms came as subtle twitches along his oozing body, then as pulsing gyrations. His movements against Lamia's ass slowed for a brief second, then, head shuddering like a bowl of tapioca in an earthquake, the man drove himself into Lamia as deeply and fully as he could, the tiny, jelly nobs of his dick rubbing against the inside of her pussy so hard that she thought her scream would bring the whole pub down to its foundations. Lamia came again, and again, and again, her moans of ecstasy not stifled at all by the wriggling cock in her mouth - 

- and, at last, the man joined her. The weird warmth of his cock rocketed out of Lamia's pussy, replaced by a much warmer spurt of white, dripping cum. Shrieking aloud, the man jerked upward, then sagged against Lamia, the last of his body's cohesiveness abandoning him. His head dipped away from Lamia's and sank into the mass of yellow-green goo now mounded on her back, the slime penis in Lamia's mouth dropped away and splatted down her face, and the body pressed against her back began to drip onto the floor in thick, slow streams. 

Fucking slimes, Lamia thought, once her head had stopped buzzing with pleasure. So easy to trick.

~~~

It took Lamia several minutes to inch her way out of the goo creature's sticky embrace, and several minutes more to clear her head sufficiently to cast a spell. Even then it took several more attempts before her shaky hands managed to weave one successfully. But Zoot answered, eventually, and when she did the entire mess lifted off of Lamia's body, floating in the air.

Laying on the ground, breathing hard, the mess of the creature's seed still dripping out of her cunt, Lamia glowered at the mass of gel hovering, trapped, before her. The creature vibrated lightly, and Lamia interpreted the motion as a snore.

Yeah, she thought, idly wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, that's just like a guy. Fall asleep right after the fucking.

Fidget entered the room several minutes later, face painted red in concern and envy. He'd obviously heard most of the clamour and come up to check. The envy disappeared when he spotted the mass of free-floating goo, however, and it was enough even to keep his eyes off of Lamia's nude body. Only for a second, but it was measure enough of the strangeness of the situation.

"Stop gawking," Lamia barked, "and grab a jar from downstairs. A big one. With a screw top. Quick."

Fidget disappeared, and Lamia, concentration split on her spell and cleaning herself up - properly this time - washed the semen out of her crotch and put her clothes back on. When Fidget returned he was carrying a large, glass jar, not big enough for its intended load. Which, Lamia reflected, was exactly what she'd hoped.

Waving her hands, most of the drunkenness dispelled by her tumble with the slime creature, Lamia forced the mass of goo into the jar with her magic. Another prayer to Zoot reinforced the jar, allowing it to safely contain such intense amounts of slime, and Lamia screwed the top on nice and tight. It weighed almost a hundred pounds, she estimated, trying briefly to lug it off of the floor.

It didn't take long for the jar to begin shaking slightly, and a light, burbling pop issued out of the top.

"Hi again," Lamia said to the jar, kneeled beside it on the ground. "Comfy? No? Good. That's what you get for trying to steal my shit, asshole."

The jar shook so violently that it toppled over and rolled around on the ground, leaving a slight indent in the wood from the weight. But the glass and the top held strong, fortified by Lamia's magic.

"You're a hefty fuck, and you owe me a drink, so you're gonna pay for the next round. The next few rounds." Lamia grinned, licking a drip of salty sweat off of her lips. "Slimes are worth a couple hundred gold on the black market. You'll make some crusty old wizards and his experiments reeeeeally happy."

The jar hopped. Lamia stopped it with her booted foot, kicked it against the wall, and laughed at the tiny shriek that floated out of the glass. It stopped rolling, then, the slime apparently resigned to its fate.

"No one fucks with Lamia Rearadoora, bitch," Lamia said, grinning.

Fidget, standing off to one side and looking confused and sheepish, raised a finger. "Actually, uh, Lamia, it seems like everybody gets to fuck with you... I mean, technically, if we're talking about the verb - "

"Fidget?"

"Shut the fuck up. You're fired." Lamia smoothed her breasts. They were still sore from the ordeal. "Now go get me an actual drink, I need it."

Lamia Rearadoora and the Panty Phantom

The mansion looked as spooky as expected. A trifle more colorful than normal for a haunted house, perhaps, but still spooky.

“I like the facade,” Lamia Rearadoora commented airily, cupping her chin in thought. “Interesting. Greco-Nipple columns and a dominant fresco out front. Also, lots of red paint. What do you think, Fidget?”

“I think it looks like garbage,” Lamia's dwarven assistant scoffed, voice haughty but tinged with fear. “And this job is garbage. We should find something else to do. C'mon, we don't really need the money, right? We have enough coin for a flophouse as it is.”

Lamia tossed her raven hair over her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips, scowling. “You're such a little shit. Yes, we have enough for a flophouse, but I'd like to stay somewhere nice for a change. The last dump you found was full of bedbugs. Took three cleansing spells just to clean my mattress enough to sleep in it. I want a proper bed, and with the pull from this gig I can get it.”

“But… I don't want to die...”

Lamia scoffed. The mansion – 1 Scrumptious Road, the only home on its countryside stretch – was not half as dangerous-looking as many of the places they'd visited. It was ominous, sure, those same columns she'd admired earlier cracked and covered in snaking vines, the painting of frolicking angels faded and ghostly, the windows oozing darkness, but it hardly looked threatening. Compared to Nympho Peak, or the Funkalicious Coast, or Vagina Valley, or, hells, even the raucous pub where they'd eaten dinner, it was positively inviting.

Though the long gashes of red paint decorating the front did look a bit like blood. Not enough to stop Lamia, or even slow her down a whole lot, but the comparison lingered in her mind for a while.

“The client wants us to go in,” Lamia reminded the dwarf, “so we go in. We're getting ten thousand for this exorcism. And there might not even be anything to exorcise! Man up.”

“I don't know why anybody would want to live in a place like this,” Fidget grumbled, but he hitched up the massive pack on his back and took a few tentative steps forward, reaching out to cling to Lamia's swishing cape. The cape lifted a bit too much, though, and she smacked him for (presumably) staring at her ass.

Fidget took every opportunity he could to stall the long walk up the mansion's dirt road, and Lamia, rolling her eyes, waited him out by reviewing the details of the case in her head. The mansion was thoroughly haunted, she'd been told by her client, though only by a single phantasm. 'How did they know it was only one ghost?' She'd asked. 'You can't really know that if you don't know any magic.'

'Because,' the client confided, 'it kept stealing the maid's panties.'

'The maid's…' Lamia coughed. 'Panties. The maid's panties. You know it's the same phantom because it stole the maid's panties.'

'Oh, yes.' The client, an elderly man with a stiff mustache, nodded fretfully. 'Stole them five, six times a day, I'd say. Same times every day. One minute she'd be flouncing about in her skimpy little outfit, free as a bird with her drink tray, and the next? Those panties would be winding down one leg and slipping off her foot! Flew away into the attic, never to be seen again! The owner had to pay for so much underwear that he decided it was easier to simply flee the home! Dreadful, simply dreadful.'

'Oh.' Lamia had confidently risen from her seat to give the gentleman a full look at her lithe body, showcasing both armored bra and armored thong. 'Well, as you can see, my panties are firmly affixed to my ass. So I should be fine. Did the ghost do anything else to make you think there was only one?'

'Umm…' The client considered the question over-long, eyes roaming freely from Lamia's pert breasts to her slender, supple legs. 'Oh, I suppose it killed about a dozen butlers by stringing their entrails along the rear topiary garden.'

Lamia blinked. 'Lead with that next time.'

That same garden came into view as they approached the front steps of the mansion, though Lamia couldn't spot evidence of guts on any of the overgrown plants. It was a sizable collection, full of curiously-well-defined animals: two bears, a gryphon, a dog, a horse, a dragon, and a string of smaller mice, gambolling silently around the feet of the rest. They all seemed to be staring at Lamia and Fidget, their green, leafy eyes alert and accusatory.

“How… how long as this place been abandoned…?” Fidget swung his pack around like a shield, holding it in front of himself.

“Two decades, the guy said.” Lamia bit her lip and crossed her arms. “Yeah. I know what you're thinking. They should be overgrown by now. Well, that's no reason to fret – might be some spell keeping them trim.”

“You mean like the one you use to cut your pubi - “

Lamia cracked Fidget hard against the back of his head. Ignoring the topiaries, she strode briskly towards the front door. It was hanging loosely by a single hinge, its upper half collapsing into the door frame, and Lamia kicked it open with a swift boot heel. The wood splintered apart under the impact -

- and the moment it did, something behind the house rumbled.

Lamia paused, glancing between the columns in front of the house. She spotted only the omnipresent woods surrounding the estate, and no signs of movement, but something had changed back there. She was certain of it, if only because Fidget, too, had noticed, and his feet were now clicking together nervously.

“Go check,” Lamia insisted.

“You go check,” Fidget countered. He clung to his master's leg, and rubbed his face a little too far up her right thigh, almost burying his nose in her crotch. She kicked him away.

“I'm paying you to do shit other than carry the backpack.” Lamia winced as the something behind the house rumbled again. “This is it. Go. Or you're fired.”

“But I'll… I'll… I'll...” Fidget dove for her leg again.

Cursing under her breath, Lamia sidestepped the dwarf and raised a finger. She called upon the power of her deity, Zoot, and wove a quick, simple charm in the air, drawing on Zoot's glory to heft Fidget with an invisible hand. He wailed, probably assuming he was dead already, and the pitch of the wail increased dramatically as Lamia waggled her fingers and sent him flying towards the right side of the house. He landed in a bush - 

- and screamed, as a topiary rat dove in after him.

“Oh,” Lamia said to herself, nodding. “That makes sense. I guess.”

Fidget was fast, Lamia had to give him that much. Before the rat could rake the dwarf with its brambly claws he'd rolled out of the bush and hopped to his feet, scurrying back down the dirt path towards town with all the speed he could manage. More of the rats, each almost as big as Fidget himself and far more menacing, chased quietly after him in pursuit, the only noise they made the rustle of leaves in a light breeze. By contrast, Fidget's howl echoed across the countryside long after he'd disappeared.

Lamia shrugged. Guess I'm out of distractions. Oh well. Wouldn't want his guts strung up in the garden anyway. She turned to the door -

- and found a very large, very angry-looking bear topiary staring down at her. It had somehow managed to crunch its head into the crooked doorframe without a sound, and it leered at her, body comically wedged into a too-small space.

“You...” Lamia pursed her lips. “You wouldn't happen to have a thing for panties, would you?”

The bear didn't reply audibly. Instead, it reached its leafy arms out and around Lamia, pulling her into a tight embrace. Everything went dark, though Lamia did not lose consciousness, and she wondered just what she'd gotten herself into this time.

~~~

The bear did not carry Lamia far, but it was far enough. By the time it dropped her on the floorboards of 1 Scrumptious Road she'd already lost all sense of direction, and as the bear broke apart into a heap of twigs and dried leaves it didn't bother to offer directions.

“Fine!” Lamia kicked at the remains of the topiary angrily, though because it was so dark in the house she slipped and fell on her ass again. “Fuck! Stupid bears! I don't care if there are bears with two penises, you fuckers aren't cool! Hear me? You aren't cool!”

The bear didn't respond, because it was now a heap of leaves. But the house responded, creaking loudly from multiple directions, and Lamia shut her mouth. A slight breeze whistled along Lamia's skin, and she cocked an eyebrow, searching for the source. Nothing on the ground floor hinted at an avenue of escape, however, and only darkness greeted her eyes wherever she turned her head.

“Great,” she grumbled, dusting a few errant leaves off of her legs. “Fucking fantas - “ 

Suddenly, something unseen tugged on the drawstring of Lamia's thong. Locked by magic, though, the thong remained snugly in place. Lamia whirled around all the same, hands raised warningly, but she found nothing behind her.

The house creaked again.

Putting a lid on her rage as much as she could, Lamia got to her feet. The floorboards moaned under each step, and she winced, suddenly rather aware just how wide a space she was in. The mansion's interior was, as far as she could tell in this pale darkness, utterly vast: despite the occasional sliver of light slipping through cracks in the walls she didn't have a clue whether she was standing in a spacious lobby, an enormous dining room, an entertainment chamber for orgies, or anything else besides. 

The phantom – and there probably was some form of poltergeist in here, because topiaries didn't usually come to life on their own – could be anywhere. The thought filled her with dim unease.

Raising a finger, Lamia cast a spell, and a tiny puff of light popped out of her finger and hovered alongside her. It wasn't much, but it helped her avoid the remains of the bear topiary, and she picked a direction at random and started walking. If I walk long enough I'll find something. Makes sense, right? The place can't be endless.

The mansion creaked. It sounded like a cruel giggle to Lamia. Unseen forces tugged on the drawstring of her thong again, and the metal front tipped forward ever so slightly.

Lamia's slow tiptoes – she couldn't help but tiptoe, even though whatever inhabited the house obviously knew she was there – brought her to a wall with only a few moments of exploration. It looked as barren and cracked as the mansion's facade, and she ran her fingers along the surface, drinking in the sensation of pure age. It was a very old house, that was obvious, and she shivered a little as the scent of mould caught her nose.

Lamia explored. It was fruitless, but she explored. The mansion was much larger on the inside than on the outside, filled with what seemed like dozens of rooms. Each was fully-stocked with old, decaying furniture and hundreds of demolished personal items, the kind of stuff you'd expect from the home of the rich and the famous. Everywhere she went Lamia felt eyes on her, peering out of the darkness from every direction, but she couldn't seem to draw her pursuer out of hiding, regardless of the spells she wove to locate the fiend.

Just likes to watch, she thought, rooting through a musty chest in someone's bedroom. Judging by the contents of the chest – a heap of old, empty perfume bottles – it had probably belonged to a woman. Well, fine. It can watch all it wants. I know how to draw out perverts.

Grabbing the smoothest perfume bottle she could find, Lamia peered around the room. The bed itself had moldered long ago, leaving only a rickety bed frame. Not much, but it was enough. Closing her eyes, Lamia called on Zoot again, and the goddess responded to Lamia's quick incantations and finger-waving by creating a translucent green mattress. It plopped softly onto the bed frame, and Lamia cast another quick spell to reinforce the aged wood.

The mansion creaked questioningly.

Stretching and sighing deep in her chest, Lamia crossed the room slowly, each movement and footstep slow and sinewy. She ran a finger down the length of the glass perfume bottle, and after a whisper of an incantation the grime coating the bottle floated away, leaving it nicely-polished. Lamia smirked, unclasped her cape, and reclined on the bed, bobbing gently on its half-fabric, half-liquid surface. 

The mansion was so quiet that Lamia heard her own heartbeat. It was a step higher than normal, though still calm, still in control. The unseen force again tugged on her drawstring, and the whole room seemed to contract around her, as though every worn floorboard and dust mote was staring her down.

“Well,” Lamia crooned, gently flicking her light source away to an orbit over the bed, “I guess if no one's here, then… I might as well get comfortable...”

Tilting the perfume bottle to her lips, admiring the slight scent of roses that flowed out of the neck, Lamia breathed an incantation. Her warm breath slid into the bottle not as gas but as liquid, an oozing goo as white as milk but far, far thicker. She held the bottle over her chest, and several drops of the goo slipped past the magical containment she'd imposed and beaded onto the skin of her breasts, snaking down and puddling in the soft curvature of her cleavage.

The mansion moaned. The tugging on Lamia's panties became more insistent.

Grinning, Lamia raised the bottle to her face and licked the lip. She ran her tongue along the length of the thin cylinder, moaning lightly. She smoothed her belly with her free hand, running trails around her bared bellybutton, then slowly, ever so slowly, inched her way towards her panties. She idly flicked the top of the metal thong, pulling the tip of the perfume bottle into her mouth for a lasting suckle.

Lamia's underwear jostled insistently under her touch, and she could feel invisible fingers pulling the metal taut against her buttocks, trying desperately to drag it down her legs. Grinning indulgently, Lamia winked -

- and the drawstring holding the panties together loosened. She arched her legs, and her thong slipped along her creamy thighs and shot into the air. It dangled, suspended from nothing Lamia could see, at the foot of the bed. She suspected that she could weave a spell to see the gawker at this point, but Lamia didn't want to ruin the moment by scaring her prey.

She chuckled. “Impatient. I guess you've been waiting a long-ass time, though, right? I had better give you a good show.”

Placing the neck of the bottle back into her mouth with a grateful sigh, bits of warm liquid trickling onto her tongue, Lamia spread her legs wide and slid two fingers down her crotch. It was, unsurprisingly, wet, and she guided her middle finger along the moist lips of her pussy and up to her clit. The touch of her fingertips against that sensitive, fleshy nub sent a jolt of electricity up her spine, and she arched her back, releasing the perfume bottle with a little gasp. A tiny waterfall of goo oozed out of the bottle and down her neck, leaving a warm, wet trail in its wake.

Lamia's thong jerked in the air, seeming almost uncertain about its course. It sagged, then rose, then sagged again, lower and lower, and as it did Lamia felt a tingle of cold run along her ankles and calves, right through her boots. She shivered, goosebumps rising along her bared flesh.

Lamia smiled. “Mmmmm, I think someone wants in on the action after all… well, they'll have to join in before I'm done...” 

Lamia rubbed her clit more insistently, the pleasure counterbalancing the creeping cold, and as the flame of slow orgasm mounted something pushed her legs wide open. She pulled the perfume bottle  deep into her mouth, moving her body in rhythmic arcs as she fingered herself, the mixture of hot and cold on her pussy a strange and sensational contrast. She slipped a finger into her vagina -

- and a second finger, not her own, joined it. It felt like someone had slid an ice cube into her, and she jolted upward, shrieking mild surprise. Then, slowly, she settled back down into the bed, moaning more loudly as the phantom's invisible finger moved deeper inside her, bypassing flesh and bone to probe at the spongy wetness of her sex. Lamia twitched wildly, climaxing almost at once, the heat welling up in her legs and belly strong enough to smother the chill creeping along her skin.

Lamia's hold on the perfume bottle broke. The white liquid inside splashed out, filling her mouth with sticky sweetness. She drank deeply, savoring every drop, opening her mouth at the last to proudly display a pool of mystic ooze on her tongue. She swallowed, and the entire mansion seemed to moan along with her.

Then, all at once, the coldness in her limbs vanished. The prodding presence inside her sex pulled away, leaving behind a pleasurable – but still longing, still unsatisfied – ache, and Lamia blinked, dipping the perfume bottle to her chest. 

Her panties, still suspended in the air, fluttered happily. Then, with a parting flap, they glided quietly out of the room.

Head whirling, Lamia staggered to her feet, dispelling her bed as she did. Pushing past the swirl of emotional heat that threatened to clog her senses she summoned the ball of light to her side again and followed the thong back into the main room, both exultant at her success and worried that the ghost might already be done with her.

It was not. The panties were still within sight, a few meters away. She walked towards them, and they sailed several meters further out of her reach. A few more steps, a few more meters. Each time Lamia stopped they flapped invitingly to her, egging her on.

Lamia grinned devilishly. Got your attention. Now, lead me to your little panty den so we can really get this party started.

~~~

Lamia's underwear stopped hesitating once it was obvious that she would follow. Flying happily through the darkness it led her to a rickety set of stairs, dipping close to the floor to reveal cracks and holes that might otherwise injure the sorceress. She tiptoed around the flaws and up to the second floor.

“Damned decent of you,” Lamia breathed, painfully aware that her voice was still the giddy croon of a horny teenager. “Got your own room, then? Somewhere we can have more fun?”

The mansion creaked and tittered, and the panties flew onward, past a broken railing and down a hallway. Lamia gave chase on unsteady legs, navigating past crumbled furniture, through an emptied sitting room, into what looked like an old pantry, and into a small side chamber. Things flickered and moved in the darkness around her, but she knew she was in no danger at this point, and she focused on the panties, ignoring the gloom.

There was one specter she could not avoid, however: the second bear topiary. It was waiting for her as she entered the side chamber, and as she jolted to a halt the bear bowed low, crunching loudly. With one massive paw it reached up to the ceiling… and, grasping a pull string, it heaved. A set of stairs emerged from the ceiling and creaked down, half-crushing the bear into the wall.

The stairs led into darkness. As soon as the way was open, the thong shot up the stairs and into that darkness.

Lamia swallowed. Despite the ache and need still pervading her nether regions she felt a tingle of unease. She'd been safe in the house, that was sure, but this was different. The darkness up these stairs felt alive, and wild, and powerful, as though it weren't inhabited by a ghost, but was, itself, a living, breathing, lustful thing. She would be satisfied by going up here, yes, but… sometimes there was such a thing as being too satisfied.

Her thong did not reappear. The house creaked another question.

“Yeah, fine,” Lamia muttered, forcing steel into her voice. “But you'd better know now that I don't like rutting in the dark.”

The stairs creaked under her feet, a combination of ancient wood and crackling branches from the remains of the crushed topiary. When Lamia reached the top the stairs snapped shut behind her, and a rustle of leaves somewhere below suggested that the second bear was done for. She tapped the raised stairs lightly, to test for any give, but they remained firmly locked in place.

Lamia looked around.

The attic was smaller than she'd expected for such a large house, and most of it was occupied by clutter: old steamer trunks, empty shipping crates, some dilapidated furniture, several headless mannequins, and a body-length mirror spiderwebbed with cracks. It was dusty and dark, without even a sliver of light peaking in from the outside world, and Lamia sent her ball of light outward on a tight arc to investigate.

It didn't take long for her to discover the panties.

They were pinned against a wall, above a heap of old, moth-eaten rags, displayed as reverently as trophies in a display case. There were large panties and small panties, granny panties and thongs, blue panties and white panties and green panties, lacy panties and showy panties and crotchless panties, panties of every make and design imaginable, and the only thing they all had in common was their age. Each looked as ragged and faded as the rest of the house, some so thoroughly worn that Lamia could only assume they'd been panties.

Only one pair looked complete, and that was her own thong. It was pinned right in the middle of the rest, the metal plate on the front gleaming dully in the light from Lamia's whirling magic.

“Quite a collection,” Lamia said, stroking her chin. “Seen better days, though.”

The mansion sagged in the wind, an almost depressed motion.

Lamia reached out and touched the front of her thong. She was, she'd suddenly realized, rather chilly without it, the warmth of her orgasm long faded. “I guess I can't have these back?”

There was no response, but when Lamia tugged on the panties they remained firmly affixed to the wall. Answer enough.

Stepping away from the wall, eyes on the heap of rags on the floor, Lamia bit her lip. She knew what she had to do, but the exorcism required seeing the ghost, feeling the ghost, and if it wasn't showing itself in its own lair then she needed to coax the thing out of hiding somehow. She knew it wanted some sort of repeat performance, but -

The house creaked. Not just a general creak, either – something had moved.

Lamia's breath caught as she turned to investigate, and the first thing she spotted was the body-length mirror. She saw herself in the cracked mirror, she saw dozens of herself, and for a split second she admired her long, sleek legs and smoothed belly. But then she saw more, she saw something behind her, something moving, and she whirled again as cold wood pressed against her shoulder.

Lamia shrieked. But there was nothing there. Or, at least, there wasn't at first glance. But then she looked down half an inch, and she saw the chest of a mannequin, so close that it brushed against her armored breasts with a faint 'tink', and she jumped back. 

Another mannequin was behind her. It caught her in polished wooden hands, rocking backward to support her body. One hand snaked down to pinch Lamia's bottom through her cape, and she whacked it away, the motion born of too many days spent with Fidget and his grasping fingers.

The mannequins closed on Lamia, sandwiching her between them. The house murmured softly, purring, as the first mannequin slipped its hands under Lamia's armpits and groped for the string of her bra. As it did, Lamia felt the stirring, the tap, of something on her belly, and as she glanced down she noticed the thick weight of a wooden penis pressed against her. The mannequin at her rear pushed her cape aside, and a second penis slid into the crevice of her buttocks, rubbing anxiously.

“Usually when I do this,” Lamia commented dryly, feeling at last as though she was in familiar territory, “I have something in my mouth.”

The mannequins didn't respond, but the house tittered, as if in promise, and before Lamia could do anything else the mannequins lifted her into the air between them, surprisingly strong despite their thin limbs. They arched their pelvises beneath her, and she wrapped her legs around the mannequin in the front, boot heels clicking together behind its back.

“Okay,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But first, two things.”

The mannequins hesitated, waiting. Lamia waved a finger in the air as she braced herself against the rear mannequin, and all of the grime and dust coating their wooden bodies lifted away and disappeared. They looked as nicely-polished as the day they'd been made, if a little more cracked in places.

The mannequin in front pushed forward, sliding its penis against the still-wet folds of her pussy,  tip probing for entrance. The mannequin in the rear did likewise, pushing its length along Lamia's ass to find the pucker of her rear door.

“I said two things,” Lamia chided, smacking the front mannequin hard enough that it stopped. She waved her finger again, and this time a thin coating of white liquid – the same liquid she'd drank earlier – appeared as a thick, gooey wrapper around both penises. Most of the lubricant slopped to the floor, but it was enough to thoroughly coat the mannequins as they pressed up against her. “There. Obviously you've never done anal befo-”

The first mannequin didn't wait for Lamia to finish her sentence. Rubbing eagerly, it rammed its thick member into her cunt with expert accuracy. Lamia jerked upward at the motion, a surprised scream slipping out of her lips which quickly transformed into a deep moan. The mannequin pounded her in its bucking arms, dipping low with each motion and thrusting deep into her, the tip caressing the deepest regions of her pussy over and over, in and out, in and out.

“Oh… sweet… fuck...” Lamia bit her lip so hard that a tiny bead of blood dripped out. “W… wow… I… need to get… one… of… these...”

The jackhammering was so intense that Lamia barely noticed the second mannequin creeping its own member into position. Supporting her bucking ass in both hands the mannequin pressed against her hole, easing its dripping penis further and further inside, showing a great deal more gentleness – or at least restrain – than the first mannequin. Lamia did not realize she was being penetrated from both sides until the second mannequin made its first, determined thrust, half of its stiff cock buried in Lamia's ass.

Lamia shrieked. She'd been fucked in the ass before, of course, but never before with something so stiff and unyielding. It was painful, but it was painful only because it was different, and she rocked her bottom in rhythm with the two mannequins, the discomfort slowly but surely giving way to the usual buoy of pleasure. Her breasts rocked freely, and the first mannequin, propping her on its impossibly-strong legs, reached up to grope them. The sensation of her nipples being pinched mounted so much pleasure on the pain that soon Lamia was smiling stupidly, forehead practically painted in sweat.

“Oh… oh god… f… fuck… fuck me...” She panted hard, struggling to get the words out of her lips, then laughed briefly as one of the mannequins – she couldn't even tell which one – slid two fingers into her mouth. She sucked on the ends, reminded at once of popsicle sticks.

The relentless pounding from both ends had its intended effect within mere moments, and Lamia, screaming around the fingers in her mouth, orgasmed. The wetness of her pussy flowed freely along the first mannequin's slick cock, mixing with the lube she'd conjured, and the mannequin gathered a liberal amount onto its fingertips and slipped it back into her mouth. The pure kink of her own taste sent Lamia into another spiral of orgasms, and every inch of her body felt like it was on fire.

This, she thought, is probably what love feels like. But without the emotional shit. I have got to get me some fucking mannequins. Ha haaaa, 'fucking' mannequins? Is that a pun? Damned if I know. 

The mannequins were relentless. They fucked Lamia for what seemed like an eternity, hammering both sides of her with an intensity she'd never felt before, an intensity she knew she could never get from a living creature. They were the ultimate sex toys, cocks forever erect, a thousand times better than any auto-dildo Lamia could conjure on her own. They asked for nothing, only gave, and Lamia rode their wooden pleasure in a sea of heady joy, screaming her ecstasy so loudly that anyone walking by the mansion might have thought she was a banshee. 

Thoroughly drilled, Lamia lost all sense of time. She drifted, and thought of nothing.

Lamia was not aware that the mannequins had stopped for several minutes, long after they'd set her, shuddering, onto the ground. She could still feel the phantom push of the twin cocks, one in her pussy and one in her ass, caressing her most sacred of areas, and the sensation did not die away completely until Lamia realized that the room was now filled with light. Not her own light, that had disappeared in the midst of fucking the mannequins, but a weird, blue, ghostly light.

“Lamia Rearadoora,” a hollow voice breathed, “I think you're ready for me now.”

~~~

For once in her life, Lamia was at a loss for words. Eyes glazed, she stared stupidly at the ghost from her happy crumple on the floor, legs askance, her own juices dripping so liberally from her crotch that they darkened the floorboards.

The ghost was a blue-and-white creature, floating a few inches off the ground, resembling a portly man with puffy cheeks in his forties or fifties. His simple clothes looked like they belonged to another age, cut in an archaic, stiff-necked style Lamia had only seen in paintings. The two mannequins stood on either side of him, still stiffly at attention, a pair of perverse honor guards.

The ghost smiled greedily at her, waving a hand over her eyes. “Hello? Anybody there?”

Lamia gurgled something unintelligible.

The ghost chortled, rubbing his crotch. His pants faded away, revealing a pair of flabby, semi-transparent legs and a penis too large for a man of his size. He stroked himself almost absently. “Good to see I'm still in practice. It's been a while.”

“Arghlabsds,” Lamia sputtered.

Reaching for her arm, the ghost pulled Lamia to her feet, legs shaking. He was almost half a foot shorter than her, and compensated by floating slightly higher. His touch was the same icy cold as when he'd fingered her earlier, and the memory pulled Lamia even deeper into the throes of mindless passion.

“I know you're here to exorcise me,” the ghost said. He crooked a finger, and Lamia's thong flew off of the wall, settling into a lazy orbit around the pair. “But I'm not ready yet. True, I'm tired of sitting up here on my own, only able to spy on people from afar, but my lusts shall not be satiated yet. I have plans, you see - ”

“D… dummies,” Lamia muttered.

The ghost cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Lamia pointed to the mannequins standing sentinel, finger wavering slightly. “I… want… dummies...”

The ghost grinned. He moved in close to Lamia, sidling up behind her, his paunch sliding through her back. He slid one arm under her armpit, cupping her left breast in a semi-tangible grip. Her nipple perked immediately from the cold touch, pebbling fiercely, and Lamia straightened with a gasp, mind clearing a touch, as he fondled her.

“My, they really had an effect on you, didn't they?” The ghost licked her neck. It felt like someone was running a wet cloth along her skin. “You didn't even let me finish my story. Naughty girl. In my day, I wouldn't have put up with - “

“Dummies,” Lamia croaked again. One of her hands dipped to her crotch, and she groped at the still-lingering flames of desire in her pussy. “Give… me...”

The ghost pointed, almost lazily. The two mannequins standing at attention turned to one another and, working in quick turns, pulled each other apart. Lamia moaned helplessly as the last arm flopped out of the last socket, and the mannequins fell silent and useless.

Chortling, the ghost played with Lamia's hair, twirling around one finger tightly enough that it slipped through his glowing blue skin and floated inside. “You don't give the orders in my domain, Lamia Rearadoora. That's my job. I have possessed this house for over a hundred years, doing as I please with its inhabitants, and… and… wait, what are you doing?”

Pushing herself away from the ghost, Lamia staggered across the room. She knelt beside one of the mannequins, and, with a swift twist, yanked the still-dripping wooden penis off of its crotch. Then, pushing her cape aside, she planted one of her hands firmly on a stable stack of crates, arched her back, raised her ass into the air, and spread her legs. Placing the wooden cock on her tongue, Lamia licked the tip suggestively.

The ghost seemed taken aback, but his penis hitched higher than ever. “Um… I was just… saying...”

Lamia turned to glare at the ghost, eyes blazing with barely-contained rage and lust. “Mount me. Now.”

Flinching back, the ghost scratched his head. The panties floating around his head dipped so low they almost dragged along the floor. “I know I'm a bit perverted compared to my contemporaries, but this is unorthodox even for me. I haven't yet taken on a more pleasing form yet, as I know my current - “

Biting down on the wooden cock, Lamia wrenched her free hand around, silently calling on Zoot. The ghost shrieked as an unearthly force yanked him forward, dragging his ectoplasmic form across the attic. The ghost's semi-solid mass bounced against Lamia's buttocks, driving her forward against the crates, and the length of his cock sandwiched itself neatly between her cheeks.

“You stopped… before I was done...” Lamia's voice was a dull, thunderous rumble, though beneath it lingered a cascade of moans waiting to escape. “Fucking mount me, you little shit… I don't care what you look like… MOUNT ME...”

The ghost swallowed, but his erection had never seemed fiercer. Sputtering, he straightened his cock with his hand and floated back several inches, peering at Lamia's backside. Juices continued to flow liberally from the heat of her pussy, and her asshole remained tantalizingly slick and at the ready. “Uhh… which would you prefer I - “

Roaring vexation, Lamia cast a spell she didn't even know she possessed, a spell with no name and no direction besides, quite simply, stuffing her like a holiday turkey. An invisible force drove into the bouncing buttocks of the ghost, ramming him forward into Lamia's gaping vagina. She shrieked happiness, and the ghost shrieked confusion, and they rocked together in tandem.

Duhudhuoendljwed, Lamia thought.

The ghost didn't hesitate again. The moment his length was inside Lamia he began to thrust, planting the chilly pads of his hands on her back and the left cheek of her ass. His cock travelled easily in and out of her, spattering her pussy juice onto the crates and floor with each quickened push. Lamia responded by shoving the wooden cock back into her mouth, sucking on it desperately, greedily.

“I didn't...” the ghost panted, his hollow blue cheeks now rosy, “I didn't think… I could… ahhh… I knew only… a sorceress… could… but… oh my god...”

“Finger...” Lamia breathed, hard-pressed to brace herself against the ghost's thrusting. “In my… ass… put one...”

Running his hand along Lamia's ass cheeks reverentially, the ghost nodded. Palm flat, he slid his thumb against the pucker of Lamia's asshole, using a smear of Lamia's own juices to easy himself inside. Lamia jolted as he worked at her, sliding his thumb in and out, the sensation not quite so filling as the mannequin's cock, but enough, just enough. 

“You… are a hot… hot… slut...” The ghost twisted his thumb lightly, probing as he pumped Lamia's pussy doggystyle. “The… the hottest… oh god… I need...”

The ghost stretched a hand. Lamia's panties, practically forgotten on the floor, wiggled unsteadily into the air and soared towards him, dangling in front of the ghost's face. He pressed his bulgy cheeks into the metal plate, caressing them, sniffing them, savoring them as he fucked their owner. 

Unknowing and uncaring, Lamia orgasmed. Her head swirled with the strength of her pleasure, and she knelt against the crate, legs shaking so hard that she didn't know how she was still standing. She cast the wooden cock aside, no longer caring enough about oral to be bothered. The ghost rode her on and on, bouncing against her ass cheeks, thumb buried and twisting in her asshole.

“I… I… ohhhhhh...” The ghost panted, dripping ectoplasmic sweat on Lamia's backside, and his entire ethereal form glowed a subtle pink. He was wearing the panties on his face. “I'm… I'm gonna… gonna...”

Lamia considered telling him not to pull out. She didn't, because there was no point. He wasn't going anywhere.

The ghost bucked one last time, and as he did a spray of unearthly spunk erupted from his cock, warming Lamia's insides. She unleashed a primal scream, stronger even than the screams from the mannequins, and the force of their combined orgasm broke the crate under Lamia's arms. She tumbled to the ground, still screaming, and the ghost tumbled with her, cock rock hard in Lamia's glistening pussy.

They lay together, breathing hard, entangled, the ghost spooning himself around Lamia's curved form. Brushing aside a few chunks of battered wood, he wrapped his chubby arms around her, almost fully corporeal, and played idly with her heaving breasts. Lamia's panties lay askant across his face, covering one eye. He was still in her, but his cock was losing its strength.

“I've… never… never… not… even when I was… alive...” The ghost's heavy breathing sent puffs of chill air against Lamia's neck. “I… I can... I think… I can rest… properly… now… without… an exorcism…”

Lamia peered down at her chest blearily. The ghost's fingers seemed to be fading slightly, losing some of their blue luster, and Lamia could clearly see the reddened tips of her nipples through his skin. Even his penis inside her felt less substantial, and not just from post-sex fatigue.

“Th… thank you… Lamia… Rearadoora...” The ghost smiled. “You've released… released me, from my...”

“Again.”

The ghost blinked. “Ah… what…?”

Lamia pulled away from the ghost, then turned. She flopped the disappearing phantasm onto his back and glared at him, straddling his crotch. “You aren't leaving. I'm not done. Again.”

The flush of pink in the ghost's cheeks faded. He smiled, giving Lamia a little shrug. “I'm… I'm afraid I don't have much choice, my dear - “

Raising her hand into the air, Lamia chanted an incantation, long and loud. The air swirled around the two of them, rocking the entire house with its power and toppling the body-length mirror. The ghost trembled beneath Lamia's legs, and she reared up over him, face dark with desire, a smile playing along her lips. He looked, to her, just as vibrantly blue now as he had been when she'd first met him.

The ghost peered at his hands in confusion. “I'm not disappearing… anymore… what…?”

Lamia leaned in close, running her hands along the ghost's chest. Her fingertips sank into his body, two sets of grasping claws. Her voice was a threatening, husky rasp. “I'm not done yet.”

The ghost swallowed.

~~~

Six hours later, the ghost exorcised himself. Lamia never figured out how.

The moment the ghost disappeared, the mansion loosened, released from his perverse power. The overwhelming darkness of the attic dispersed, taking with it the invisible weight that had settled on Lamia's shoulders the moment she'd stepped inside the house. The panties on the wall had dissolved into dozens of heaps of ash, leaving only Lamia's own thong. 1 Scrumptious Road was just a building again, and Lamia knew that she would have no trouble getting out once she returned to the main floor.

Assuming, of course, she thought, I can move that far.

Lamia lay in a heap on the floorboards, her naked body a sticky mess. In her overwhelming lust she'd forced the ghost into fucking her a record fourteen times, pulling it back from the ethereal realm each time it tried to escape for another round. Her nethers felt sore and raw - though, with the departure of the ghost, they also felt satisfied. She tried to move her legs, but they refused to budge, locked in place by exhaustion.

Lamia lifted a lazy finger, the best she could manage, and tried to summon a bed beneath her body. But Zoot had done enough magic for her for one day, and the goddess refused to respond, leaving Lamia to recline uncomfortably on the floorboards.

“Oh well,” Lamia mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. Her final three words came out as half a snore. “Slept worse places.”

She dreamed of mannequins.

Lamia Rearadoora and the Tri-Cocked Warlock

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Fidget moaned, wringing his hands. “I mean, I… you know, I just don’t. It looks big, and nasty, and dark. We should go back to town.”

Lamia smirked, licking her lips. “Big, nasty, and dark? That’s kinda how I like ‘em to look.”

“Yes, but…” Fidget shrank behind his master’s cape, using his fright as an excuse to run a hand across her backside. “You’re not normally talking about… mountains…”

Lamia had to confess to herself that Fidget was right, though she swatted his fingers away all the same. The onyx spire that was Nympho Peak didn’t inspire much lust in her from sight alone: twice as tall as the Terribly-Titted Titans put together and not nearly so seductive, the Peak jutted out of the landscape with the subtlety and grace of an erect penis, albeit one with far too many pointy edges. Narrow trails ran ‘round the outside of its chunky surface like entwined serpents, leading to a cave somewhere so far up that Lamia couldn’t spot the entrance from the ground.

Lamia waved away her dwarven assistant’s concerns. “You’re just bein’ a pansy. Or you’re trying to get out of climbing all that because your legs are short. Either way, you’re coming with me. We need to get that gem.”

“We don’t need to get it,” Fidget protested. “You want to get it. I’d rather find an alehouse and drink until I’m sleepy. This is too much for me.”

“Well, we can’t afford a room at an alehouse unless we get the fucking gem and sell it, now can we?” Lamia tousled Fidget’s light cropping of curly brown hair. He was half her height, twice her age, and easy to demean. “C’mon. I promise I’ll give you a nice blowjob if you stop bitching.”

Fidget hesitated a moment, peering down at his crotch. He sighed and picked up his pack. “You’ve never given me a blowjob before and you never will.”

“Never say never!” Lamia pointed towards the base of Nympho Peak. “Onward!”

Lamia was a pert young woman of twenty-four, though she regularly lied and told those who lusted after her that she was twenty, and with her transformative magic she knew she could maintain the charade until she hit her sixties. Long-legged and sinewy, wearing little more than a cape, an armored bra, and crotch-plate underwear, she inspired amorous glances wherever she went. Lamia liked to think that her slender, well-proportioned face, shoulder-length, raven hair and blazing blue eyes drew most of the attention, but she knew the boobs did much of the work. Men, women, monsters and mages, all liked her magnificent mammaries.

It was those same breasts that were heaving as Lamia entered the fifth minute of their climb towards the top of Nympho Peak. The rest of her body shuddered alongside them, and she collapsed dramatically, placing a hand against her brow. “Oh! This is… ah… this is… too much…! Carry… carry me…?”

“I… I said… this was… a bad… idea… “ Fidget collapsed beside her. Arm shuddering, he reached out and shakily caressed her leg. “Let’s… let’s just… rest…”

Lamia slapped him away. Still breathing hard, she sat up on the dirt incline and peered up the rock wall of Nympho Peak. It was, she decided, much larger than she’d anticipated, at least half a day’s trek up to the top. She looked over her shoulder and scowled at how little progress they’d made so far.

“Zoot’s… Zoot’s horny breath, this is… gonna take… forever,” Lamia huffed. Waving a finger, she cast a quick spell of invigoration on herself. Glittering sparks shot out of her fingertip, whirled around her body, and refreshed her at once. She stood. “Ah, that’s better. But, hells, there must be a better way to reach the top than this winding path bullshit.”

“Some for me… too…” Fidget pleaded, collapsing under the weight of the pack on his back. “Please… I’m… you make me carry… so much… the dildos… are… so heavy…”

“Magic doesn’t work on dwarves, I keep telling you,” Lamia casually lied. Walking to the side of the path, cape whipping in the wind so forcefully that it slapped Fidget in the face, she inspected the rough rock wall. “Quiet. Mama needs to work for a minute. Can’t be a fuckin’ cult living here if… hmm, maybe…”

Closing her eyes, Lamia folded her fingers together in silent prayer. She concentrated on herself, then, pulling a part of her soul into the outer world through an act of mystic bullshit, she called upon Zoot to guide her path. The eternal goddess responded at once, and as Lamia’s lovely blues flew open again they turned a glowing green. Through her magnified sight Lamia could see, and what she saw were the faint traces of footprints behind Fidget and herself. They terminated against the rock wall, twenty feet behind them.

Lamia grinned, and her eyes faded back to normal. “Pay dirt. Get up, you lump. I’ve done all the work. Again.”

Fidget groaned, watching as his master ran her hands along the wall and back several paces. “Oh, please don’t… don’t… don’t tell me we have to turn around…”

Lamia rolled her eyes, but they lit up with glee as her fingers dipped abruptly into lumpy onyx, sinking directly into the rock. The darkened surface slowly faded away as the magic concealing it dissipated, leaving behind a volleyball-sized hole. Another appeared beside it, equal in size and depth. Lamia inspected the holes, looking down at herself as she did.

Fidget stumbled to her side, tipping back and forth as he struggled to get his pack on his back. A wad of used tissue tumbled out of one flap and blew away, unnoticed. “What… what is it…?”

“It’s a locking mechanism,” Lamia replied. She reached behind her back, hands fumbling under her cape. “Ran into the same thing on the Funkalicious Coast once. They must have some epic women in this cult for shit this big. Hope it shrinks to my size. Here I thought I was pretty busty already.”

“I don’t - “ Fidget began, but his mouth dropped open too quickly for him to finish the sentence. He struggled for words for several seconds as he watched Lamia. “What are you…?”

Lamia’s bra fell to the dirt with a loud clunk, leaving a slight chink in the metal framework. Lamia straightened, brushing her hair away from her rounded, ample breasts. They were supple but firm, large enough for a hearty handful but not so huge as to overwhelm the senses, and she used enchantments each morning to keep them pert and perky. The chill air played at Lamia’s nipples, rousing them to excitement, and Lamia ran circles around each one with her fingertips.

“There has got to be… a point… to this…” Fidget struggled, already sporting half a tent pole in his trousers. 

“Oh, there is. Enjoy the show.” Winking and taking a breath, Lamia leaned forward and placed her breasts into the holes.

The effect was immediate. The holes closed around Lamia’s tits, just hard enough to hold them in place, and the rock began to smooth and pinch as it flowed over Lamia’s chest in small, liquid waves. Lamia’s face reddened and tightened slightly, and she worked to suppress a moan as a slick, unseen wetness worked at her nipples. The tug on each reddened tip was just forceful enough to be pleasant without hurting, and Lamia closed her eyes, imagining a well-muscled pair of lads ganging up on her instead.

“This…” Fidget bit his lip. He rubbed his crotch. “Uh… can I…”

“No,” Lamia replied at once. “Mmmm, that’s… ah. That’s not… not bad. Turn around, you voyeuristic fuck, I’m working.”

Fidget tried to masturbate anyway. He wasn’t fast enough, as it was too awkward to tug himself with his trousers still on, but he decided it was the most satisfying interaction he’d had with his master yet.

Nympho Peak required approximately two minutes of suckling on Lamia’s breasts before apparently feeling satiated, and the holes released her with a deep, satisfied sigh that burbled out of the rock. As Lamia retrieved her bra from the ground a circular doorway opened in the wall, illuminated from within by a row of burning candles, each the shape of a penis. The tunnel beyond led to a circular altar.

“C’mon.” Clasping her bra back in place, sweat dewing her forehead, Lamia stepped inside. She plucked the first penis candle from its hole in the wall, snuffed the flame with her gloved hand, and tossed it to Fidget. “Save that for later. I like the shape. Might try and merchandise it. We can call them ‘Dick Wicks’, or something. Ha ha, that’s pretty good, actually! Dick Wicks.”

~~~

The altar, it turned out, was an elevator. The moment they set foot on the metal floor it began to rise, slowly at first, then picking up speed as it shot up the length of Nympho Peak. Fidget braced himself as best he could, fearing the elevator might shoot them straight out the top of the mountain like spunk from a cock, but it slowed and shuddered to a halt. 

“You’re sort of a pussy,” Lamia commented. She’d barely flinched the entire way up, standing proudly and inspecting her breasts for signs of damage as the elevator whizzed along. “Have I mentioned that before, Fidget?”

“Yes, all the time,” the dwarf groaned. “It’s hard not to worry when you’re trying to steal something from a cult.”

“You act like you have to do the difficult part in this.” Lamia wagged a finger as she stepped off the altar. “You get to hide. I’m the one who has to put on a show. Leave the pack here, we’ll be back for it.”

“I get to jump in if things go wrong,” Fidget pointed out, looking nervous, though happy to drop the pack for a change. He straightened, and his back cracked. “And they will, I know they will! Things always go wrong when you plan something!”

“Well, you’re fired when we get back to town. Just saying. I don’t need downers in my organization.” Lamia pressed a finger to her lips. “Now keep quiet. These guys’re perverts. If they find you they’ll fuck you to death with a mace or something, I bet. I’ll get royal treatment, because, well, look at me, but you’re a dwarf, you know? Mace fucking in your future. So zip it.”

Fidget zipped it.

Lamia quickly found herself appreciating the style sense of the owners of Nympho Peak. Once they’d moved past the comparatively bland stone corridors near the altar the inside of the cult’s headquarters opened up into a series of spacious rooms, each festooned with an assortment of carpets, oaken furniture, marble statues of nude men and women entangled in coitus, and sex toys beyond count. Huge, ornate banners ran along the walls, each embroidered with the image of a nude, green-skinned woman with white hair and an outfit that left little to the imagination. Old-timey runes running along the edges of the banners hinted at a mystical origin, but Lamia didn’t care enough to translate.

“Sexy,” Lamia muttered under her breath. “And quiet. Where the hell is everybody?”

Fidget shrugged. “Maybe they’re asleep? We’ve been in three rooms now and haven’t seen any beds… could be we haven’t found the sleeping quarters…”

Lamia lifted her boot, glancing down at the carpet under her feet. It looked as plush as any mattress, and bore the telltale marks of many, many stains. “No, I think these playboys just flop down wherever the fuck they like. Keep your eyes open, yeah? We only want one of these assholes to see me, and if my info’s correct he’s the only guy who’s here all the time.”

“Okay.” Fidget nodded. He moved so close to Lamia that he almost crawled under her cape.

“Fuck off out of there,” Lamia insisted, kicking the dwarf aside. “You need to keep away from me, remember? Watch the doorways and stay out of sight. If I get caught by someone else I can at least convince them to take me to their leader. You, not so much. Remember the mace fucking?”

“I remember the mace fucking,” Fidget confessed. He scurried away from his master and hid at the edge of the room, waiting for her okay to move.

The cult headquarters was much larger than Lamia had expected, and it took half an hour of sneaking uselessly through empty chambers before she found something worth seeing: a massive, wooden door. Four times taller than Lamia and a dozen times as wide, the door was covered in runic symbols and flanked by two more banners bearing the image of the green-skinned woman. Only a flat, rounded patch in the middle of the door was unmarked, and Lamia inspected it for some sort of door knocker or handle.

“Nothing,” Lamia muttered. She frowned and peered around, then, experimenting, rapped her knuckles against the bare wood.

“Did you find anything?” Fidget called from behind her.

“SHHHHH!” Lamia shoved a middle finger in his direction, then, unable to help herself, she cast a dirty glare towards the dwarf. He was huddled in a doorway, peering down the hall at her. “You’re going to blow it - “

“No, that’s your job, ma’am.”

Lamia froze. The voice, cultured yet oily, had slipped into ear with such dangerous proximity that she could have sworn the speaker was standing right beside her. That was at least half true, too, because when Lamia turned back to the door a wide, heavy-chinned face had emerged from the bare circle of wood. She took a step back, suppressing a shriek of surprise by biting her lip.

“Oh, come now, don’t damage those!” The face smiled, winking lecherously. “I have such a wonderful idea for that mouth, and I wouldn’t like it bloody! That simply doesn’t work for me at all!”

Lamia’s surprise gave way to irritation within seconds. “Fuck me, a gatekeeper. Great.”

“I would, but I doubt your hips could reach that high, dear. Blame whomever made me.” The face chortled. “Yes, I’m the gatekeeper of the Cult of Gorgroan. And you, I think, are not a member of the cult. Would that be correct?”

Lamia swallowed. She hadn’t expected a gatekeeper. Gatekeepers were dangerous, because they were semi-sentient at a minimum, and could warn their masters. This one seemed at least as smart as most horny men she’d met while staying at taverns. “Maybe. Maybe not. How would you know?”

The gatekeeper licked his lips, and his polished wooden eyes leered down at Lamia’s breasts. “I’ve tasted every female member of this cult before. I know them pretty well. You were very different. Highly pleasing, but… distinct. The outfit is a dead giveaway, as well. You don’t belong here.”

“Oh.” Lamia grimaced. This fucker is linked to the doorway that got us to the elevator. No wonder. “You just suck women’s tits all day long, then, huh?”

“It’s better than asking them to present their membership card,” the gatekeeper replied dryly. “The Grand Warlock finds that the suckling primes his initiates for… relations, once they get inside. He does so love his relations. So, too, does the goddess, but I wouldn’t know much about that.”

“Thanks for the history lesson.” Lamia crossed her arms. “So? You going to sound the alarm, or something? Should we be running?”

“Best say ‘I’, dear,” the gatekeeper mused. “Your dwarf ran off a few moments ago.”

Lamia whipped around. Fidget was, indeed, gone, his stubby head vanished from the doorway. Lamia wanted to scream that he was fired, but she suspected that any cult members present would be behind the door, and she didn’t want to give herself away until she knew their leader was there was well.

“Good help is so hard to find, these days.” The gatekeeper’s grin grew. “Good help is so hard, as well. Eheh, that was awful, I'm sorry. It was barely clever.”

Eyebrow cocked, Lamia turned back to the gatekeeper - and found a long, bouncing penis protruding out of the door instead. It brushed against her cheek, excited, and she took a surprised step back. A tiny version of the gatekeeper’s face resolved on the tip, and despite her predicament Lamia almost laughed.

“I get to sample breasts all the time, yes, but no one ever has to pay this toll,” the gatekeeper whined, pouting. “I’m not allowed. But you, ah, you, you’re an intruder, aren’t you? So here is my deal: I’ll open this door, which leads directly to the Grand Warlock - don’t pretend, I know you’re here for him - if you give me a bit of love. Tit for tat, eh? Doesn’t that sound fair?”

Lamia pursed her lips. “You want me to blow a door. Do I have that right?”

“More or less,” the gatekeeper admitted.

Lamia shrugged. “I’ve done stranger things.”

The face vanished with a final, excited smile, and Lamia slinked forward. The cock tapped urgently at Lamia’s cheek, and with a quick roll of her eyes she guided it towards her lips, giving the tip a quick kiss. Raising a hand to the shaft, she slowly began to stroke the gatekeeper’s cock, planting a series of small, flicking licks on the head. Though made of wood the penis pulsed lightly, as pliable as any other cock she’d sucked, and a hint of cherry touched her taste buds.

Magic is weird, Lamia thought, pulling the cock into her mouth and swirling her tongue around the top of the shaft. Magic is very weird.

The gatekeeper did not speak again, but the entire door thrummed with delight as Lamia pressed herself against the wood, unclasping her bra for a second time that day and rubbing her tits against the smooth surface. She carefully traced her nipple along the curves of one of the runes carved on the door, and it seemed to grow warm at her touch, as though little hands were reaching out to fondle her flesh.

Lamia slid her tongue down the length of the cock, leaving a sinewy trail of saliva along the wood. As if in response to her implied suggestion a pair of testicles emerged from the wood panel, at the base of the cock, and she pressed her mouth against them, lips wrapping around the rough folds. She teased the gatekeeper with her tongue, then with a series of small moans, feeling the gatekeeper’s testicles contract joyfully at the puff of her hot breath. 

“In my mouth or on my face?” Lamia asked mischievously, winking. She stroked the cock more vigorously, sucking on one ball, then the other, while she waited for an answer.

The gatekeeper’s member responded with decisive action. The shaft slipped out of Lamia’s grasp with surprising speed, disappearing alongside the balls into the door - but it reemerged almost immediately, the tip pointed directly at Lamia’s face. It popped past her lips and onto her tongue, so plump that it filled her mouth. It pistoned in and out, gliding smoothly, and Lamia began to suck.

Face-fucking, eh? Lamia shrugged, grinding against the door with renewed vigor. Fine. Whatever it takes, you bastard. Just hurry up.

The gatekeeper didn't hurry. For several long minutes the penis slid relentlessly in and out of Lamia's mouth, the tip tantalizingly close to the rear of her tongue with each thrust. Lamia caressed the bottom of the shaft, folding her tongue this way and that to massage the gatekeeper into release. Her right hand slid down her belly, and she moaned, fingering the top of her plated thong.

You'd think I'd be the one living in 'Nympho Peak', Lamia thought, one fingernail poised to push her underwear out of the way. Lords above. Suck off a door, of all things, and get hot and bothered. I don't remember being so demented when I was a kid - 

Lamia’s thoughts were interrupted rather swiftly as the penis jackhammering her mouth pulsated. The door shuddered again, seeming almost to sag on its hinges, as a thick stream of sticky cum erupted onto Lamia’s tongue and down her throat. Her eyes flew open, but she held her place, drinking down the gatekeeper’s seed, moaning to help it along. This, too, tasted like cherry, though closer to syrup, and sweet enough almost to be nauseating.

The cock sagged in Lamia’s mouth, and she pulled away, yellow-white jizz dripping down her chin. She smiled and lapped the remains up with her tongue gratefully. “Ahhh… well, that was… mmm… was that good for - “

Again, Lamia didn’t finish her sentence. The penis vanished, and the door abruptly creaked upward, sliding noisily into the walls. Beyond it lay an enormous chamber, and within it stood a sea of black-clad, hooded figures, all of them now staring silently at her.

Lamia blinked. She took a quick look down at herself - cheeks flushed, breasts hanging loose, dribbles of errant cum snaking down towards her stomach, a faint wetness percolating in her nethers, though only she knew that -  then peered back at the crowd. 

“You might want to replace that gatekeeper,” she called out. “He’s kind of a jackass!”

~~~

Not quite how I pictured this, Lamia thought, testing her restraints. They were as solid as expected. But I’ll improvise.

The hooded cultists had wasted no time taking Lamia into custody, piling onto her with a vigor she usually expected from flophouse orgies. Pinning her arms behind her they’d forcefully stripped away the last of her clothes, dressed her in a gold-and-green bikini so small her nipples peeked out the top of the bra, and dragged her to a wide-set altar at the far end of the room. Now she was tied to a stone dais, arms bound tightly with steel cuffs.

“You know, I was wearing less before you gave me this outfit,” Lamia commented dryly, peering down her stomach towards her legs. “This thong doesn’t ride up the crotch quite so much. Can I keep it?”

“LAMIA REARADOORA!”

The voice gave Lamia pause, and she jerked her head around to stare towards the ceiling. A huge statue of a woman, carved from onyx and lit by emerald flames, loomed over her like the specter of the grim reaper. The woman looked beautiful, yes, but her face was also pinched and cruel, framed by twin waterfalls of flowing hair. The statue’s eyes seemed to bore into Lamia’s, and she blinked at it thoughtfully. 

“You didn’t say anything, did you?” Lamia gave the statue’s figure as much of a once-over as she could manage. “You have an enormous rack. For your size, even! What’s your secr - “

The sudden crack of a slap rocked Lamia’s head to one side, and her vision blurred. Her eyes rolled freely in her head as she tried to gather her wits, pushing past the pain as best she could. She wished she had a spell for headaches - or, rather, a spell for headaches that she could cast without hand motions - because one was oncoming quickly. She groaned, and as her vision cleared a prominent, hooded man replaced the statue in Lamia’s line of sight. A golden circlet on his head pinched the hood in place.

“We have been expecting you, Ms. Rearadoora,” the man hissed. He was grinning beneath his cowl, Lamia could tell that much, but his features were largely obscured by darkness. “At last, the prophecy will be fulfilled. GORGROAN SHALL BE RESURRECTED!”

The Grand Warlock, for he could be nothing else, raised his arms in triumph. Hundreds of cultists surrounding the altar erupted in cheers and raucous prayers.

“Don’t tell me I’m part of another prophecy,” Lamia moaned. Her headache grew by a degree. “I hate those fucking things, always getting in the way. Look, guy, I’m just here to - “

“ - participate in the ritual! I’m aware, Ms. Rearadoora, I’m aware!” With a magnificent flourish of his robe, which, Lamia noticed, was much more voluminous and finely-embroidered than those of his followers, the Grand Warlock turned to the crowd. “It is thanks to your contribution that we will bring Gorgroan back unto this world! All shall tremble at her feet and despair!”

The cultists huzzahed. Throwing up his hands again for extra effect and earning more cheers, the Grand Warlock brushed himself up against Lamia as he circled the dais. He was hard, she could tell that immediately, but there was more bulk under his robe than she’d ever expected from a human, and she cocked an eyebrow at his crotch each time he came within view. The Grand Warlock seemed to enjoy this, and he paused by her head, rubbing himself against her cheek.

“Better watch yourself, I just got face-fucked by a door,” Lamia warned. “Haven’t had a chance to cast any spells warding off STDs. Do doors have STDs? Or would talking about that ruin your hard-on?”

The Grand Warlock stroked the hair out of Lamia’s face, running his fingers through the strands almost affectionately. “You have a big mouth, young lady. I will enjoy silencing you.  Oh yes. Perhaps half as much as you will enjoy it.”

“I just gave someone a blowjob,” Lamia complained. “We went over this, didn’t we? Are you seriously going to - “

“LONG HAS THIS BEEN FORETOLD!” The Grand Warlock shouted, drowning out Lamia as he addressed the crowd again. “I have lain with ninety-nine women on thirty-three nights, and now, with this final, all-encompassing sacrifice to the greatest goddess of lust this world has ever known, I shall bring about the final days of this chaste era! Soon sex shall reign supreme once again, when at last the gem is unleashed and Gorgroan rises out of the ashes!”

More cheers. The Grand Warlock continued his rant, making bold promises of sexual revolution and the end of all laws of decency, but Lamia tuned him out. She was more interested by the bulge of his crotch, which seemed to be growing larger with every second. She’d heard that the guy was a bit out there, and that she would quite literally have her hands full, but…

“BEHOLD!” The Grand Warlock spun, and with a dramatic flourish he opened his robe to reveal a well-muscled chest and stomach, a dusting of grey hair, and a crotch bearing three large, almost tentacular penises, each seeming to stretch and contract in size at will. They twitched and roiled with excitement. “The time has come, o infamous of the infamous, o trickster of the bedsheets, o Lamia Rearadoora! You shall be the final sacrifice to our great goddess! You will pleasure me to my limit, and when the gem is revealed, Gorgroan will be resu - “

Lamia’s eyes boggled. “Wow! Three? Three dicks? Holy shit! I’ve heard of one, yeah, everybody has one, even a lot of women have one, and I know there are a few species of dogs and bears that have two, but three? Fuck, man, you must be a smash hit at parties!”

The crowd of cultists went silent. The Grand Warlock’s arms drooped. “You… you are ruining this austere moment. You are… you are the final sacrifice, harlot! Does that not… does that not…?”

“Not what?” Lamia grinned. “Fill me with fear? Shit no! Bring ‘em on! I can totally put ‘Had sex with a dude who has three cocks’ on my resume now! Believe it or not, that’s great for business! I assume, anyway! I'd hire me!”

“I…” The Grand Warlock sagged, though his penises writhed excitedly. “You’ve kinda… ruined… what should have been a cool moment. The rest of the women… were quiet… I mean, I haven’t even really explained how this works yet - “

Lamia considered a retort, but both she and the Grand Warlock were abruptly cut off as the statue above them creaked. Chips of onyx tumbled to the ground, and a massive hand swept across the chamber, planted itself behind the Grand Warlock, and pushed him so hard that he tumbled onto the altar. His three cocks slithered along Lamia’s skin, warm and hard yet weirdly pliable. 

“I think your goddess wants you to get on with it,” Lamia commented slyly.

“Uh… uh...” The Warlock swallowed. Lamia could practically hear him blushing. “I… hrm… but… explanations...”

Staring into the Grand Warlock’s hood closely enough that she could see the surprise in his wizened eyes, Lamia smiled cheekily. She licked his cheek. “You can either explain why you have three cocks or show me how they work. Just saying now, though, I’m less interested in talk.”

So, apparently, was the Grand Warlock. With an expression that screamed ‘Fuck it’ he pulled his robe back, exposing a bald head and lined, strong features, and dove in for a salacious kiss. Lamia reciprocated, curling her tongue around his and drinking in his husky odor. The room erupted with cheers from the cultists as they kissed, and Lamia felt the Warlock’s three cocks tapping against her belly with frustrated impatience.

“I need… to fuck you…” the Grand Warlock breathed. “You… you smell good…”

“Magic incense,” Lamia whispered into his ear as he dug his face into her neck. She nibbled his earlobe playfully. “Put it on before I got here. Smells like a Parfum Dragon, I’m told. Drives men wild.”

“Ahh… ahh…” The Grand Warlock sucked on her neck, grinding himself into her crotch. “The others… they weren’t… so…”

“Eager?” Lamia arched up into the underside of the Warlock, feeling her scant bikini slip away as his hands fumbled near her ass. “Doing the math, it sounds like you had three women per session any time you did this before… I can do better than that.”

Twisting her hips, Lamia slid her glistening pussy along the underside of the Warlock’s cocks, savoring their bumpy texture as they writhed against her moist clit. Warlock and sorceress moaned, and Lamia felt her lips parting as one of the cocks flattened against her, sliding down, down, down, towards the warm wetness of her cunt. The tip paused there, testing her, tantalizing her, and she tried to push down to force it inside her.

“You fucking tease,” she breathed. “Do me.”

The Warlock nodded, already sweating from his brow, and with a wriggle and a push he slid himself inside Lamia. She rocked forward with a deep shout, half a scream, as his girth glided neatly into her pussy. He pumped her, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity as his excitement grew and grew. She worked her hips along with him, enjoying every thrust, eyes squeezed shut.

“Good… rhythm...” Lamia strained against her cuffs, breasts arched and bouncing with the thrusts. “Ahh… and they say… older guys… don't… cut it… mmmmm…!”

“I… I need…” The Warlock continued to rock her, almost unable to speak. Reaching to one side of the dais, he retrieved what looked like a small bottle with a shaky hand. “I need… to… the other…”

Understanding at once and moaning deeply as she smiled, Lamia arched her back, forcing the Warlock onto his knees as he fucked her. She motioned to the bottle, then down at her legs, and the Warlock, shuddering with pleasure as he pumped himself into her pussy, popped the bottle open. It took several careful motions to slather a second, expectant cock with globs of oil, and Lamia watched the Warlock stroke himself with one fluttering eye.

“Number… two,” she moaned, bracing herself. “Y… you know where it goes… baby…”

The Warlock did. Halting his forward motion as much as his hips would allow, he guided the slithering penis towards Lamia’s ass, pressing the tip against the pucker of her asshole with shuddering expectation. Lamia took a deep breath as the cock stiffened, like the point of a spear - 

- and shrieked as it plunged into her, a mixture of pain and pleasure so indescribable that Lamia thought, if only for a second, that he’d split her in two. But he hadn’t, and as the second cock joined the first in its rhythmic thrusting the pain receded, leaving a dull ache - and sensation, pure, positive sensation. Lamia’s scream continued, long and piercing, her moans echoing off every corner of the chamber. She was dimly aware of other moans, of an orgy in progress among the cultists, but that was not here and that was not now.

Almost done, she thought, pushing as much business into her mind as her sex drive would allow. One more. After that, I don’t know, but… one more.

The Warlock’s face had flushed red. Sweat beaded down his chest in waterfalls, and he looked tired enough that he might have a heart attack and die on her. But he pushed on, pushed admirably, two of his three cocks driving in and out of Lamia with incredible intensity, so much intensity that her head swirled with raw, animal pleasure. She writhed and moaned against him - and then, out of pure instinct, grasped his third cock in her still-sticky fingers.

The statue above them creaked, almost warningly. The Warlock reached a hand out, as if to stop her. “W… wait… n… no… I… that one…”

Lamia smiled over the moans. “Got… one more… place… for… somethin’… like this…”

Lamia had seen enough of the Grand Warlock’s three cocks to know that they were supernaturally flexible, and, ignoring him, she pulled the third towards her. It stretched easily, twitching eagerly as it drew closer and closer to Lamia’s breasts, breasts now freed of their bra, to her chin, to her lips, to her dewy mouth. 

“Yes…” she panted, breathing hard. Her tongue snaked eagerly along the tip. “Yes, yes… yes…”

“Yes…” the Warlock agreed, nodding as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Oh… yes… take… in the mouth… you dirty… ah… dirty… girl…”

The statue above creaked again, a dull groan so low yet so loud that Lamia thought the whole roof might cave in on them, but she didn’t care. This was part of the plan, but she didn’t give a damn right now, she needed the whole fucking experience, and if this would give her both of the things she wanted, then, whatever! Let the roof cave in! Let the whole world smash down and fall apart, because, by the gods, she needed a fucking cock in her mouth! 

The Warlock did not resist again. Ignoring the warnings of his goddess he pushed his final dick forward, sliding it between Lamia’s bouncing breasts and straight and into her open mouth. She sucked on it like a lollipop, urging it deeper and deeper, already tasting his precum on her tongue. It wasn’t cherry, no, but it was sweeter, because it was both natural and victorious. She suckled the head and pumped the shaft with her hands, using it to hold back her screams as the Warlock fucked her ass and her pussy. They rocked in tandem, he sputtering moan after moan, her aching with ecstasy.

This is the best threesome I’ve ever had, Lamia thought. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

The cock between Lamia’s breasts twitched, and the Warlock gasped, plunging him into stunned silence. Lamia urged the cock along, massaging it with her tits, pressing them together and using them to push the Warlock’s seed forward and upward, to spill it all over her, in her, to make it a part of her like he’d so desperately wanted since the moment he’d spotted her naked body. Lamia’s pleasure piqued - 

“Suck… it… all…” the Warlock panted, the best he could do, and Lamia knew it was time. She braced herself. “Allll… aahhhhh - “

The Warlock exploded in Lamia’s mouth, and Lamia joined him, orgasms compounding upon orgasms to create a massive wave of passion, fatigue, and relief. Cum bubbled into Lamia’s mouth, pussy, and ass simultaneously, and as she added a renewed wave of lubrication to the mixture Lamia’s head spun. It was all she could do to avoid swallowing, because she couldn’t swallow, not like the gatekeeper, not this time.

Something hard slipped into Lamia’s mouth, and she caught it with her tongue. Jackpot.

The Warlock shrieked and fell back, cocks now half-limp and slipping out of Lamia, and he trembled so violently on his knees that he fell off of the dais. He hit the ground with a loud thud and a solid crack. He was, at the very least, out cold.

Struggling to rise after all that exertion, the desire to have a nap so strong that she slapped her cheek, Lamia emptied the cum from her mouth into her hand. Sitting in the midst of it was a glowing green gem the size of a marble. It vibrated lightly in her palm, and seemed to wink at her.

“That,” Lamia commented, to no one in particular, “must have been… a bitch… to push through… a dick...”

A finger tapped Lamia’s hand, and she peered to her right, eyes bleary after the rush of pleasure and hormones. Fidget was standing beside the dais, a lock pick clutched in one hand, eyes wide as he surveyed her naked body. He lingered over-long on the cum seeping down between her legs, and she smacked him.

“Fucker… you took long enough… thought you'd… really ditched me...” Lamia mumbled. Slipping the gem into her hair with a wince of disgust - it was still coated in creamy white cum - she wobbled her way off of the dais, unsteady on her feet. She weaved a quick spell of rejuvenation, but it didn’t do much. “I’m… going to have trouble walking… for a few days…”

“That’s okay,” Fidget said. “We have time to get out of here. Look.”

Already knowing what to expect, Lamia looked out at the crowd. Every single one of the cultists, man and woman and anything in-between, was fucking. Lamia assumed they were so overjoyed by the impending return of their goddess that they’d joined one another in an enormous orgy of excitement, which, she’d assumed by the carpets, happened pretty much any time something good happened to the Cult of Gorgroan. None of them seemed to give a damn about what was happening on the altar, or that their leader was unconscious on the ground.

Something cracked over Lamia’s head, and she looked up.

The statue of Gorgroan was, to Lamia’s horror, coming apart. The stone around the right arm shattered, revealing a flash of green, smoothed flesh beneath, and bits of the face flecked away to reveal a large, yellow eye. It glared down at Lamia, and the statue struggled to reach for her with its remaining arm. Lamia yelped and ducked beneath the altar, feeling the gemstone in her hair pulse as its sexual energies tried to release Gorgroan from her earthly prison.

Snatching the bra she’d discarded from the floor but unable to find the bottom, Lamia rolled to one side, pulled Fidget out of the way of falling debris, and pointed through the sea of flexing bodies. “Go! Now! C’mon! Mace fucking! Go!”

Fidget groped at one of Lamia’s bare breasts. She smacked him away, and they staggered through the crowd of fucking cultists as Gorgroan struggled to break free of the statue. None of the cultists tried to stop them -

- but the door slammed shut in their faces as they reached the end of the crowded hall.

“What the shit?” Lamia pounded on the wood angrily, arms still exhausted from her recent four-way. “Open up! We don’t have time for this!”

In response, a stiff, waggling penis slid out of the door and tapped Lamia on the cheek.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she moaned.

~~~

They fled Nympho Peak without further incident. Dark clouds gathering on the horizon when they emerged from the elevator and into the sunlight might have worried Lamia, but she was too busy staring at the dripping gem in her hand to care about ill omens.

“Well,” Fidget said, slinging the pack back onto his shoulders, “that was… something.”

“Wasn’t it, though,” Lamia replied. She tried to straighten proudly, but her back, legs, and rear end were too sore to achieve anything beyond a haughty crouch. “I need a vacation for a few days. And I think this can pay for a vacation, and then some. This fucker will earn me money enough for a few years’ worth of riches.”

“You might also want new panties,” Fidget said. He pointed at the stream of cum dripping down Lamia’s legs. “Also… um… swaddling clothes, maybe…?”

Lamia rolled her eyes and started walking. “You think I came here without weaving a birth control charm? I did it before you woke up this morning. I don’t want to have a baby by some triple-cocked weirdo, y’know.”

“I guess.” Fidget followed, prodding at Lamia’s bare rear end. “You do need some panties, though. But there’s no rush. I’m, uh, I’m not bothered.”

“Fidget?”

“Yes?”

“You’re fucking fired.”