The Prominent Member

"Commander Ivan Xavier Pestilence, I presume?"

The beautiful, radiant woman suddenly appeared from the stairway and stared frivolously at the tall, stocky, full moustached fellow who had carefully stepped into her lair only moments before. Immaculately dressed in his prestigious dark uniform he seemed so alien, so uncomfortable in this softly lit, lushly decorated boudoir. There was a hint of perfumed incense lingering teasingly in the air.

Commander Pestilence automatically froze and rose to his full six foot seven height and gazed upon this mysterious female with puzzled suspicion. "I am. But how – "

"Your arrival was inevitable." She answered. "Sooner or later you troubled souls find your way here, to seek solace. " She had a shock of long, curly raven hair, loosely tied with ringlets that fell over her face. She had the deepest green eyes, and spoke eloquently through full, red lips. She was clothed in only two long pieces of white silk which were fastened together at her shoulders by ornate broaches, so that her arms, outer thighs and most of her heavy breasts were bare.

"I know much about you, Pestilence," she began. "I know that you are Commander-In-Chief of the 4th Defence Strike Legion of the powerful Terran Empire. I know that you're respected by your peers and feared by your underlings. You've spent forty of your fifty-eight years in the Empire, you are a militarist of high status and noble rank and that you've worked and sweat hard to earn your position and respect yet, you seek ... more."

"How can you possibly know this, witch?" he demanded. This was insane! How the blazes did she know so much about him? Come to think of it, how could she have known that he was coming here? He told no one, he wouldn't have dared.

When he applied for three days leave they didn't ask question (high ranking officers of the Terran Empire were prone to long periods of privacy), he simply departed in a one man Strike Fighter and blasted into deep space, leaving no record of his destination nor maintaining sub-space communications. If any of his fellow officers, or worse still, the grunts, knew that he was using his leave to travel to the little-known moon of Clandestine to seek out a mythical wish-granting witch why, it doesn't bear thinking about! But this! How could she know? Unless she actually is who she claims, who he hopes she is ...

"You cannot hide from me what you want more than anything, Pestilence. The fact that you stand before me is proof of this, yes?"

"And am I standing before the Countess Vjestica Fleur?" he calmly asked.

"Do your eyes lie?"

"No, I was just expecting ..."

"A cackling old croon? With a black hat and a broomstick and an ugly wart at the end of my pointed nose? A man of your militarist experience should know better than to judge by appearances."

"Of course." He admitted.

"I take it you were sceptical about coming here?"

"Very."

"So, why did you?" She left him standing and sat down on a mesh-mash of cushions and pillows. The front part of her dress fell neatly across her left leg as she crossed them, revealing all of her right thigh and curved hip.

"To see if the rumours were true, to see for myself if it were possible to – "

"Grant you your wish?" she smiled.

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Can you?"

"These rumours," she continued, ignoring his question. "What else do they say?"

"It is said that you demand a price in return for favours ... granted."

"A price!" she beamed, clapping her hands together childishly. "How very exciting! What kind of 'price'? Your severed left hand? The fleshy tongue in your head? Your very soul?" she laughed, mockingly.

"No one knows, I cannot say." He replied.

"And so you should not!" she sneered, curling her lip aggressively at him. He backed two paces away, a feeling like fear, no, uneasiness creeping over him.

Bitterly long, quite moments dragged past. Pestilence stared at her, unsure what to do, whether to turn around and storm towards his ship where he landed alongside this foreboding castle-like structure and make a quick, embarrassing exit (and maybe dropping a couple Thermo-Nuclear Destroyers for good measure) or to wait her out and see what little tricks she'll come up with next.

It suddenly dawned on him that maybe she was psychic, a mind reader who had scanned his thoughts as soon as he had touched down on this desolate rock. And that she had created the illusion of this witches' den and this clever charade especially for him, waiting to suck him in with this ludicrous travesty.

And speaking of which, how ludicrous was he to have heeded such nonsense concerning this so-called Countess Vjestica Fleur and her wish-granting 'magic'? Whatever possessed him to listen to those mad shamans on Gurop III, who directed him here, halfway across the Galaxy in search of his Fountain of Youth?

Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

"I know why you're here." She sincerely offered.

"You do? How novel! What else do you read, 'Countess'?" he snapped, tapping his skull with two fingers. Any fear or uneasiness he once felt was now banished by annoyance.

"You've gathered I'm psychic, Pestilence? Then you are correct. I am also telepathic, and telekinetic, but then again I am a witch, you know. And before you run out of here like a spoilt child I would ask you to bear in mind that I can give you what you seek."

"And if I don't believe you?"

"Then you will run out of here like a spoilt child and feel very foolish indeed."

Pestilence sighed. No matter how much he liked to cross-examine himself on this questionable decision to come here the fact remained that he was here now and that the witch who supposedly granted wishes was sitting in front of him reassuring him that she could indeed help him. If he left now he'd never know, he's always have the knowledge that the stories were half true, and for the rest of his life wouldn't it drive him insane wondering what if?

He sighed. "Will you ... " he began solemnly. " ... Help me?"

"But of course!" she beamed, and there and then he just knew that he had made the right decision.

* * *

Moments later the Countess had led Pestilence up the steep stairway and into her study where he now sat at a smooth, black marble table. The witch – looking at her he couldn't help but think that she wasn't a witch, such was her beauty – stood behind a large, dark green globe of a planet which Pestilence didn't recognise. She spun the globe with random flicks of her right hand, concentrating on the dazzling, spinning sphere.

Pestilence didn't have a clue what she was doing, but reckoned it was a better cliché than a crystal ball. He continued staring at his surroundings.

The study was a large, bleak, grey room cramped with wall-to-wall bookshelves, each stuffed with brown, dusty old volumes. Scattered here and there were ornaments fitting of a witch's lair, this looked nothing like the almost seedy boudoir downstairs. A stuffed bird of prey, its wings raised alarmingly, seemed to leer at Pestilence, boring holes into his head. Coloured clay models of anguished faces peered down at him from atop bookshelves, the facts that they were so lifelike made him shudder. Where there were gaps in the walls hung huge maps of long forgotten worlds, paintings of unmentionable horrors and ghastly portraits of sinister characters best left un-introduced, and a large, four handed clock, each hand bearing a horrific resemblance to human fingers. It was quite, quite eerie.

Pestilence scanned the study searching for a witch's familiar, a black cat, he hoped, and found himself slightly disappointed when he couldn't find one.

"You are blessed, Pestilence." The Countess said, looking up from her now still globe and approaching the opposite side of the table. Sitting down gracefully, she continued. "Zothogloth favours your request."

"Zothogloth?"

"The ancient and long dead Sorcerer's world, the origin and focal point of my magic. Though it no longer shines brightly in the dark sky it's immortal power still feeds us, nurtures us. It has been around eons before your Empire and will continue to do so long after it's demise.

"Now you must speak aloud your wish, Commander."

"Speak aloud?" he snapped. "I thought you knew what I want?"

"But Zothogloth must hear it from your own lips." She calmly replied.

This embarrassed Pestilence. He never expected any of this hocus-pocus nonsense. He was hoping that the witch of Clandestine would grant him his wish, he'd pay her price (he loaded the cargo hold of his ship with jewels and riches from across the Galaxy, just in case), and that would be that. But talking to a globe? He was not one for superstitions or weird religious practices, if she wanted to communicate with globes fine, but there's no way –

The price. What of the price?

"Speak, Commander." She ordered, and he immediately obeyed.

"I want to be a prominent member of the Terran Empire's War Horse, an elite club for retired War Heroes. I don't want to wait another twenty years or so, to serve out my career and possibly not make it. I'm tired of warfare and the constant raging of battle on alien worlds; I need to join this society now, at my present age. I can't even buy my way in there, it's not like I've tried ..." he realized he was panting, as if this was the opportunity he needed to tear this most secret burden of his chest.

And how he desperately wanted to join that elite club! Once a member he could give up his military career as a spearhead Commander and sit back and observe for a change. For so long he blindly followed orders from his superiors, without question, to the letter. So much destruction, death, and so sick of it. Well, now it was time to give the orders instead of taking them.

Of course, he could wait a few years and receive the inevitable promotion that would eventually come his way, but by then he'd be approaching seventy and his spark would no doubt have left him and where's the fun in that? And as he said, bribery was definitely out of the question, he had subtly asked close associates already members in the club if it were possible but of course he already knew the answer to that before he asked it. It was so frustrating! He wanted it now, when he could enjoy it, when he could enjoy the perks and privileges that came with it, but at fifty-eight it seemed too far away, so very far away.

Wishes granted ...

It seemed outlandish, impossible, intriguing, but Pestilence couldn't help but wonder. After all, it's not as if he was after wealth or power, he merely wanted to become a member on that unique yet presently out-of-reach committee. Not much to ask, he consoled himself. Hardly greed, just ... a short cut.

And now he had gone through with it, surprising himself by coming here and sharing his most darkest secret with this stranger and now he felt foolishly childish, as if a roomful of people were waiting impatiently for him to deliver an important speech yet, when he did, they failed to respond.

Yet there was still the matter of her price. What could she possibly want from him? His soul? This didn't frighten him nor perturb him. For as far as he was concerned the military claimed had that years ago, and whatever was left of his soul she was more than welcome to it.

"Before I grant you your wish, Commander," the Countess cackled mockingly, rubbing her hands together and scrunching her face like some old croon. "It's up to you to seal it!"

Pestilence did not find her mimicry amusing. But here at long last she would reveal the price he had to pay. There was no retreating now.

"Long ago," she began, standing to her feet and approaching the great bird of prey that continued to silently gawk at Pestilence. She rubbed its feathers affectionately. "I was banished from my home world by my older sister, a beautiful, powerful Sorceress feared throughout the known realm. She was as evil as she was lovely, Commander ...

"I was the studying apprentice to her lover, a dark and handsome Wizard who took it upon himself to bed the innocent sister of his Sorceress; and in time, through lies, deceit and dark seduction he succeeded in his foul scheme and took me, spilling my immortal wine.

"It only happened once, yet once was enough, inevitably my sister found out, and my sister's rage was legend. So blind was her love for the Wizard that she refused to believe that he had enticed me, she could not nor would not see the truth. And it was only because I was her sister that she spared my life.

"She banished me to here, to Clandestine, this forgotten place, to live out my sorrowful life with a heinous curse, to haunt my everlasting days."

"A curse?" It was almost impossible for a man like Pestilence to feel compassion; a Commander in the Terran Empire, a conqueror of worlds, a participator and organiser of Galactic genocide does not feel remorse or pity, yet for his secret desire to retire early there was something about this woman ...

"Yes, a curse." The Countess sighed. She returned to the black marble table, only this time as she sat down she stretched her long legs on top. She wore no footwear.

Slowly parting her thighs, she brushed away the white silk dress between her legs and delicately, nimbly, began massaging her pink sex. Pestilence noticed with great awe the beauty of her little pussy, the batch of black curls above her perfectly formed slit.

"My sister thought me very promiscuous." she went on. "So to her I presume my punishment was very fitting." Deftly she opened her labia and slid a finger between the soft lips, guiding it up and down then gently flicking her exposed, swelling clitoris.

"You see, Commander, I can't have an orgasm ..."

* * *

Pestilence lay back on the marbled table bare-chested, his uniformed jacket and shirt discarded to one side. He held onto the Countess' hips with his heavily muscled arms as above him, moaning pleasurably, she sat astride his face and ground her wet, sticky pussy deeper onto his stabbing tongue and sucking mouth.

So this was her price, he thought, hammering at her clit with his tongue. For me to join the grandest, most splendid committee in the Terran Empire, for me to brush shoulders with the greatest military leaders ever to strike out into the alien depths of the Galaxy, all I have to do is give this woman an orgasm?

Oh, the irony of it all! He had to bite his tongue from blurting out "Is that all?", such was the ridiculousness of her plea, but the distressed look of sincerity on her face told him differently.

Well, no matter, for she was asking perhaps the only man in the Universe who possibly could give her an orgasm – for Commander Ivan Xavier Pestilence happened to be the most enduring, well-endowed cock's man in the entire 4th Defence Strike Legion!

Never married, he had bedded literally hundreds of sluts and whores from a hundred different worlds; his pussy-splitting, clit-purring cock was known and loved by those cum-craving bitches as much as his own troops feared him.

And so to this task he leapt straight in, tearing off the top half of his uniform, inviting the smiling Countess to squat over him. She squirmed as his hot breath and knife-like tongue sought out her clitty and danced wildly around it.

Pestilence had now developed a massive erection that bulged uncomfortably beneath his pants; the Countess peered gleefully at it before slowly falling forward, so that her face rested upon his groin. Leaning on one hand she unbuttoned his breeches and carefully pushed and pulled his pants downward, so that the further they slid down his hard, hairy thighs the more of his throbbing cock was revealed. Taking his enormous nine inches in her hand, she gasped with wide-eyed anticipation.

"Zothogloth!" she exclaimed, gently shafting him in her grip. "My, you are a big one, aren't you?" And so saying she sucked five inches and no more into her mouth.

As Pestilence face-fucked the Countess' tight, succulent pussy his thumbs parted her buttocks giving him a better view of her anus, to which he slipped his tongue from her honey-pot to her brown rose in one quick move and licked her there.

"Mmmmgghh – fuck!" she gasped, through mouthfuls of cock, clamping down harder on his hot dick as it swelled in her mouth. Her long fingers pulled passionately on his length, her tongue licked around his circumcised knob, her lips sucked upon it, kissed it, gently biting. Closing her eyes, she let his cock rest against her face, feeling his tongue wriggling in her ass and his fingers embedded in the soft, wet folds of her pussy, which desperately, and achingly cried out to be fucked, and fucked hard.

"I want you," she said, crawling off him, slipping the silk dress over her shoulders. Still on the table she positioned herself on all fours in front of him, raised her rear and beckoned him forward with a teasing smile.

"I'm going to fuck you good ..." he promised her, getting to his feet. His pants around his knees, he pulled them to his ankles and, with some difficulty slipped them over his thick black boots, before kicking them to the floor. Then scurrying behind her he placed his cock between the slick lips of her labia and, grasping her curvaceous hips slowly eased him into her.

"Oooh, yes, oh that feels soooo -!" she moaned, as she clasped him like a wet vice, and for a while squeezed his thickness within her. His thrusts became longer, harder; she drove back to meet him, his heavy balls bouncing off her ass with the metronome rhythm of native drumming. She threw back her head of raven curls, her hair spilling on her bare back.

Sweat forming on his brow Pestilence bashed away at her, occasionally reaching under her to squeeze and pinch her heaving breasts, tweaking her pink nipples that felt rubbery to his touch.

Suddenly, without warning, he withdrew and, hooking her up in his powerful arms he once again sought out her clitty, licking and sucking it with his mouth and tongue, nibbling at it, sucking it. He then lay her back down on the table, this time on her left side and, positioning himself behind her lifted her right leg and carefully entered her from behind. As he fucked her, her thigh resting on his shoulder her tweaked and fingered her clitty, causing such sensations that made her twist and squirm with unrealised pleasure.

"You like that, Countess?" he asked her, almost mockingly, kissing her neck, inhaling her scented perfume. He struck out with his tongue at her ear, gently licking her lobe. All the while he never stopped fucking her, never left her clitoris alone, bombarding it from both positions, all angles. Their tongues met; a dance of lust, she gasping through closed eyes and gritted teeth. She grabbed the back of his neck with her right hand and clawed his short hair, her long finger-nails gripping his tight, bull-like neck, urging him onward, pleading him forward.

She was going to come.

Pestilence recognised this too. It goaded him on, intensifying his pleasurable assault upon the Countess' pussy, whose moans and cries grew louder as her moment of climax approached. Her body tensed with orgasmic anticipation, her grip on his neck tightened, her groans grew louder, her clitty swelled until finally, eventually, after waiting for so long an orgasm ripped through her, electrifying her, spilling onto his beautiful cock, almost rendering her unconscious.

It was indeed magical.

But Pestilence still continued, and as she experienced fiery hot flushes from her now sensitive clit the Commander again turned her over, onto her back, and with her legs held firmly in mid-air he continued fucking her, his thrusts never letting up, his engorged cock shafting her creamy slit and sending ripples of excitement through her.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna -!" he stammered, and quite suddenly she felt his cock begin to swell within her. Looking up she saw him with clenched eyes and gritted teeth, this wonderful mortal, and as he swiftly withdrew from her for the last time he pulled upon his sticky length, spurting a torrent of thick sperm onto her breasts and flat tummy, jet after jet splashing her tingling body, his grip on her foot tightened as his climax shook him, and she giggled with delight at the pool of white cum that he so sloppily deposited on her and the now broken spell, oh, the broken spell ...