Fyyra's Resolution Ch. 02

1.

In their haste to escape Eggun's lair, Fyyra and Shoradeen and the five other naked knights had ended up running the least helpful direction, south. It wasn't done on purpose. There was no discussion. None of them had stopped at the cave mouth to look around and consider where to go. They'd just all hared into the trees and kept going, as fast as they could, and as long as their strength held out.

If they'd happened to go a different direction, they would soon have emerged into open, inhabited country, and reached a road or farmers' fields. Eggun's cave was quite close to two different villages, with a prosperous manor spread between them, all providing rich pickings for the demon to prey on. But to the south was just unsettled wilderness, a vast grim forest, little explored. The women had plunged heedlessly into its depths. When daylight reached them and they figured out what they'd done, they couldn't find their way back. Furthermore, they were frightened to try. Eggun might very well be waiting for them in that direction. In fact it felt more likely he would already be pursuing them. They decided they best keep going straight ahead, at least as much as they were able.

Of course there was no one to help them in those woods. No one to give them shelter, food, clothing. They had no weapons or tools. They had nothing, except for Fyyra's crooked, droopy-tipped hat. Then the weather turned against them, too. The wind began to howl, thunder to boom, and rain to pour. The storm lasted for hours. Soon it had turned the ground swampy. Soaked and shivering, caked to their knees in mud, their misery was great. The passing of the storm gave no relief, for the sun's return brought punishing heat and humidity.

"How long can we survive out here?" Fyrra asked, "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. I've seen deer and squirrels all around us. With a bow I could quite quickly procure a rich feast for us. But bows are not easy to fashion without the right supplies. We'll have to make do with crude spears, I suppose."

Exactly such an instrument appeared before them, pointing at her chest. It was held by a grinning satyr—a man that was half-goat, with shaggy backward-kneed goat legs, a goat's tail, and goat horns projecting from his forehead. His ears and his beard looked likewise goatish. His bare arms and torso were elaborately tattooed, mostly shades of blue. They depicted tangled, leafy vines, with bright gold eyes peering through them in several spots, as if a horde of little curious figures were hidden under his skin.

"Oh, wonderful," said Shoradeen, raising her hands.

The satyr was not alone. Over a dozen others had surrounded them, hooting and stamping their hooves.

"I've never had dealings with these creatures before," said Fyyra, "I can't understand their language."

"I can talk to them, more or less," said Shoradeen. "But it's hardly necessary, almost. I can already tell you what they're going to say."

2.

"Well, Fyyra, I think they'll help us. They tell me they'll guide us to the far side of the forest, and they'll make sure we don't starve on the way. Should take about four or five days. Could probably be done quicker, but men like these, you can't make them hustle. They've mentioned a castle on that side, not far beyond the edge. I think I know the one they mean to aim for. If I'm right, it's the place of an old friend of mine. It's a foul, crumbly little thing; I heard he took it over in the last war down in those parts. A crumbly castle is far better than no castle. He'll be good to us there, once we get to him."

"That sounds good. You did well, Shoradeen."

"Don't be so sure, little witch. There will be a price."

"All right. What do they want?"

Shoradeen rolled her eyes. "They're satyrs, Fyyra. What else would they want? We've nothing else to give them out here, anyway, have we?"

"You mean ... they want us to ..."

"Yes. I imagine it won't just be one time here at the beginning of the arrangement. Part of the reason it will take us so long crossing their territory. There will be frequent stops along the way."

"Do we have to agree to this, Shoradeen? Isn't there another way?"

She shrugged, red in the face. "If we refuse, they will probably take us by force in any case. And then of course they won't give us the help we need after they've finished. If they finish, that is—they could decide to keep us captive. Make permanent pets of us."

"How do we know they're not planning that anyway, if they're as animalistic as you think?"

"We don't, Fyyra. But if we're ... well, cooperative, there's a chance they'll stick to their side of the bargain. What chance have we got if no bargain is made?"

"We don't need them. We can fend for ourselves, one way or another. You're all knights, aren't you? You know how to survive in the wild. Can't we just fight these bastards off?"

"We are not exactly well equipped, Fyrra, for combat or for survival. Look at us. Look at yourself! We're all hungry and exhausted. Even if we had weapons at hand, I don't know that my girls would be much good with them at the moment. After our time in that cave, you know ... They're demoralized, Fyyra. So am I."

"I understand. I'm sorry to push at you. It's too soon."

"What about your magic, though? Has your power started to recover?"

"I'm not sure. A little, I think. Only a little, though."

"If anyone can get us out of this situation, it has to be you. Hate to dump this all on your shoulders. We owe you for too much as things stand. Think carefully, Fyrra. There's a bunch of these satyrs here. They're wild and they're strong. They're eager for us, too. You can already plainly see how eager they are." None of the satyrs wore pants. "If you're not feeling powerful enough to take them on, knowing you can win, then we're going to have to give the buggers what they want. If you try and just mess up, that will make things much worse for all of us."

"I know. I can imagine. Goddess, it's hard to decide. I'm frightened but ... I don't want to give in these guys. I won't just let them grab me since I happen to be standing here. It's not fair. It's not kind, either."

"The brutes don't see it that way. Not that it excuses them. The fact they've found us running naked through their woods, though, it painted a picture for them. I've tried to explain how we got here, what we're running from. They don't wanna listen. They think I'm being coy. They think we came in here looking for the buggers."

"Of course. How flattering for them. All right, now I'm suitably angry. I'm going to try to take them down, Shoradeen. Soon as I begin, the rest of you start running. Don't look back. Don't wait for me. I'll catch up with on my own, when I can."

3.

She did damned good, in the circumstances. As drained as she still was, and flustered, Fyyra gave the satyrs a solid ass-kicking. Her magic picked them up and flung them around like stuffed toys. All but a couple.

Those two chaps happened to be wearing protective amulets around their necks. She should have noticed before. Her spells couldn't hurt them, as long as they had those things. They were twin brothers

She'd given time for Shoradeen and the rest of the knights to flee. Fyyra herself wasn't able to get away. The protected twins ran over and tackled her together. They pinned her to the ground, and then without a word they proceeded to fuck her, right there on the spot. Their comrades were scattered far and wide, half of them knocked cold, the rest clutching their injuries and groaning. The twins didn't bother checking on their friends. A few dangled sheepishly upside down from branches, caught in the trees after her magic launched them airborn. She hadn't killed any of them, though. For a time she would regret that.

Fyyra screamed as a satyr's cock plowed into her ass. When she did, the other satyr took the opportunity to fill her open mouth with his cock. She tried to bite it off—she found she couldn't harm it. Further protection from his enchanted amulet.

They used her brutally. It made her regret escaping from Eggun. Nothing he had done to her, not even the whipping of her breasts, had been as bad as that was. At the same time, somehow, she got a strange, funny satisfaction in the awfulness. The absolute extremity. She took pride in the fact she was sacrificing herself to save the other women, and truly suffering for their sake in the dirt. The cruelty of the twins added to her sense of accomplishment.

She thought she would die. Perhaps she would have if it had lasted longer. She'd started rather looking forward to it, reveling in her defilement as means of hastening that inevitable conclusion ...

The twins both came at the exact same moment. It was a trick of theirs. They always did that, every time they fucked her together, whatever pose they stuck her in between them. Luckily, that didn't happen many more times.

The other satyrs got angry at the twins for using her too harshly, as well as for the selfishness they displayed after the fight. When the twins had satisfied themselves with her, they immediately started beating her with sticks. Thorny switches. She couldn't defend herself in the slightest. She was far too distressed for further spellcasting, scarcely conscious any longer, and even if that hadn't been true, her magic didn't work on them.

Most of the other satyrs had got their shit together by then. A few took it upon themselves to interrupt the twins' "play". Fyyra was the only prize the gang had left; they didn't want the twins to ruin her before the rest got to have any fun.

A fight broke out. The amulets didn't work against physical harm from the other satyrs, or at least not near as well. The twins, hopelessly outnumbered, got their switches taken away from them and used on them. They were driven off, howling curses.

The remaining satyrs huddled close around her. They murmured to her soothingly. They rubbed medicine over her cuts. They gave her wine to drink. A great deal. Far too much, actually. She guzzled the stuff and got very, very intoxicated, then passed out as they were lifting on to a litter they'd constructed.

They were clever, those satyrs, the way they handled her. They didn't seem to hold a grudge against her for throwing them around with her magic. She was subjected to no further punishment. None of them attempted to have sex with her for several days, until the many hurts the twins had inflicted had all healed.

They gave her lots more medicine, lots of fruit, lots more wine. They never let her sober up. The ointment they rubbed all over her skin wasn't just good for her cuts; it made her whole body tingle pleasantly, especially when the satyr's were applying it with their hands.

She was aware what they were doing to her, what they were trying to do. She could clearly perceive the sinister, hungry motivation behind this period of kindness. She didn't protest. She didn't fret. She was still genuinely and profoundly grateful to them for the banishment of the twins. She grew to admire the contrasting grace and patience of their seduction.

One morning after the group finished their breakfast she stood up in the middle of their circle, adjusted her tattered hat, and said: "All right, you boys. I've decided I'm ready for you. Let's see what you can do. How would you like to begin things?"

4.

Hard to say how long she stayed with them. Fyyra didn't bother keeping track. It was quite a lengthy period. At least a few weeks. Perhaps months.

A witch should be adventurous. A witch is meant to explore and to study. To experiment. This was drilled into Fyyra since childhood by all her teachers as a vital doctrine. If a witch's power is to grow, she must regularly test her limits and strive to exceed them. She must be daring.

As a justification for staying with the satyrs, this was fairly half-assed. Not at all what her teachers had in mind. There are limits that need tested, certainly, and there are other limits that don't. A lazybones or a glutton can't excuse their unhealthy indulgences by calling them research. That's just not convincing. Fyyra's teachers would be furious with her if they knew what she was up to.

They didn't, though. Nobody knew. Well, except Shoradeen and her fellow knights. They had an inkling, wherever they'd gotten to. Except they wouldn't be imagining it the way it had really turned out.

The group or tribe, whatever it was, roved aimlessly through the forest, hunting and gathering, only not very much. Took surprisingly little trouble acquiring enough food. Fyyra had expected it to be a much more worrying, tricky business. Yet the satyrs never had to push themselves to find what was needed. The forest was bountiful. They spent at least half of every day, often as much as two thirds, engaged in nothing but fooling around. Sexual activities weren't the only way they wasted the hours and entertained themselves—they had musical instruments, and they loved to play rowdy catching and juggling games with bright-colored balls and over-complicated rules. Nonetheless, fucking was their favorite pastime. Fucking her.

She remained the sole female in the group. The men occasionally made sport amongst themselves, yet every time they got the urge fuck one another as a change of pace, they seemed to make sure she was given extra attention, afterward.

Randy brutes, the whole lot. Little else ever going on in their heads. Was she any better, anymore? Did she give a shit either way?

"Oh your dirty, dirty boys! Goddess, the things I let you do to me! Oh why do I let you? Whyyy? Oh ... oh yes, that's why. Yes! Yes! Yes! That ... is ... WHYYY!"

It wasn't a bad sort of life. Unsophisticated, yes, and unarguably repetitive. Fyyra found herself content. In no hurry to move on, not so long as the weather stayed warm. They didn't keep her caged or leashed. Countless opportunities to slip quietly away presented themselves, and she let them pass.

Her skin had browned, matching the bark of the surrounding trees. The bottoms of her feet had toughened. The satyrs were fascinated with them, since they had their hooves instead, and they loved playing with them, making her toes flex. They tended to get carried away with it. The calluses she'd developed had not made her feet any less ticklish.

Her magic had entirely recovered. The satyrs at some point had all procured protective amulets like the twins had—in fact she suspected theirs had been confiscated—so she couldn't have done what she did to them before, if she'd wanted to, and she didn't. But she could have put her skill to other use, in order to hide from them, say, or to find her way by herself out of the forest. She wasn't truly their captive. She just pretended to be. She stayed with the band by choice.

A big part of her reluctance to leave was that as soon as she did, as soon as she returned to the outside world, she would have to start thinking about Eggun again, and what to do about him. How to keep her vow. Her friend still needed saving, while perhaps more crucially the monster that possessed him would still be terrorizing the surrounding populace on a regular basis. She had vowed to take care of these things. That meant eventually she was going to have to try again.

Except she was no longer certain Eggun deserved rescue. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to blame the monster entirely for what was done to her. She might never be able to hold herself to that, not in her heart where it counted.

And the doubts she had were not trivial. For a witch, such things became deadly vulnerabilities. She knew the beast could defeat her, because he had done so already. Worse yet, she knew what it felt like when he did. She knew the awful pleasure of it. Twisted and degraded though it was, if she'd been susceptible to it before, she would be susceptible to it again. If she went back to that cave and challenged the monster once more, deep in her soul the whole time would be the temptation to surrender.

How could she face him again, if that was the case? How could she win? The answer was, there was no way she would. She would end up exactly where he'd put her before. The center of his gallery of trophies. Would she be alone in there, if that dark fate eventually came to pass, or had Eggun acquired himself new playthings since she and the fallen knights got loose?

Often—shamefully often—when she was letting one of the satyrs fuck her, she kept her eyes closed and thought of Eggun the entire time. She imagined she was bound and powerless again. It always made her come harder whenever she did.

"Oh you own me ... You own me! Own me! Own me! Show me you own me! Show me you own me! Dear forsaken Goddess SHOW ME!"

5.

Large golden scaled serpents infested some of the trees. If they caught a satyr, they would squeeze him to death and swallow him. But they weren't interested in that when they caught her. They fed on her power, instead. They stimulated it from her spirit like Eggun had done, by causing her to feel shame and sexual excitement. After it happened to her one time, it kept on happening. Her presence drew the serpents from all over the forest.

Her moans and screams would draw the satyrs so they could save her. They would come running and cut her free of the serpent's coils—the creature was usually too stupefied with its own pleasure to put up a fight. Their meat made good eating, also.

But soon, as this kept happening to her again and again, the satyrs didn't bother to hurry when they heard her calling. When they found her, they wouldn't free her right away. They'd stand and watch her suffer for a good while. They'd masturbate over her, not saving her until they'd got off.

Made her pretty mad. Especially 'cause it kept happening so much. Any time she was alone for two seconds at a time—for example, crouching out of view behind a tree for a piss—another of these enormous horrible demon snakes would swing down from the branches and capture her. Then the awful thing would dangle her off the ground, trapped and squirming pitifully in its thick shiny coils, usually upside down or sideways. It would use its tongue, and often also the very tip of its tail, to torment and tease her. The heat and flexing of its coils could be just as stimulating, depending on their position.

"Not again! Help! Help! This can't happen again! I won't go through this again! Release me, you cursed creature! It will cost you your life if you don't!"

"We shall see ..." The snake would talk to her. It would taunt her. "Weak little witch, captured and naked. So sensitive all over. So many sensitive parts to her body. And she never tries to cover them any longer. She never wears clothes. Just that silly hat."

"It's hot! It's always so hot!" The snake would snicker when she said that. "Not what I meant! The climate!"

"We know what she means. We know why she stays naked. Because it's ... hot!"

"I sweat! I just meant I sweat too much!"

"She certainly does. We can taste it!"

"Don't lick me! Don't lick me like that! Stop! Oh your tongue! Your wicked tongue! It's cruel! Oh stoppit ohhoohhuuhh! Not my nipples. Not there. I can't bear it if you ... OH! Oh nooohh Goddess oohhoohh!"

"What about here instead?"

"Not my toes, that's just as ... Ahhuuhaahh! Oh you're so evil! You'll make me pee again if you keep doing that!"

"But she just peed when we grabbed her. Just moments ago."

"Don't make me do it again! I'll lose control again! It will spray all over! I can't help it!"

"Because she's wanton, isn't she? Always, always ... Sex pet of the satyrs. Such power in her, and yet she never uses it. Too busy fucking all day. Bent over in the grass, in the streams. In the little caves. Busy busy busy, making herself come. Wasteful. No concentration. Just too horny."