It Was Fated to Be

Zane felt the weight of the air changing as he shouldered his pack and started to walk down the dusty path into the valley. Behind him, his horse was already galloping away, making great speed towards what could only be greener pastures in every regard.

There was a heaviness to the air, the weigh of loss, like the sky itself was grieving. Between that, and the way his horse had started to become skittish, it was how the young warrior knew his path was the right one.

Animals that were not raised from birth in the shadow of the Demon King’s reach felt most keenly the presence of his evil in ways no human could, and those that were raised within the wicked expanse of his realms were often ill tempered or simply devoid of any quality.

It was strange, that his wickedness felt like something less, and not like something more.

Behind him, through tall grass and deep rivers, through castles of stone and muddy roads, was home. With any luck, his horse was galloping that way even now. Zane hadn’t named the beast, growing up on a farm he knew better, but name or not the faithful stead’s presence would be missed.

Behind him too were countless battles fought and won. Each against some petty foe, or some fierce servant of greater darkness, one and all sworn to the tyrannical Demon King.

Destiny had beset Zane, tasked him with vanquishing this vile shadow, and with every battle there could be no doubt he was truly chosen by fate.

With every slash and thrust his arm had grown stronger. With every bruise and cut, his body grew harder. With every ambush and pursuit his eyes and ears grew keener. And behind it all, his will and his purpose become intertwined, bound as one irresistible force that knew no fear, broke no cowardice, and whose light of goodness could not be dimmed.

Zane, humble though he was in both his upbringing and his pride, charged onward, dauntless as the summer sun. He was very far away from his family’s farm, very far away from the comfortable boredom of everyday life.

Yes, here, as the air grew cooler and the light lost its luster, here at the edge of this valley, all alone, the young hero sensed a darkness more true than all the foes and all the fiends he’d banished, or left bloodied, broken, or slain.

All of Zane’s companions had been called away one by one. 

Some had been taken by death, some by other quests and noble obligations, a few were crippled too badly in body and in spirit to face battle again wounded even beyond the reach of magical healing, others still were shackled by the practical needs of so many newly liberated lands, and though he’d been alone on his quest before, it has been quite a while since the farmer turned warrior of prophecy found himself wholly without a companion.

Fate had brought him allies along the way, and he trusted to it again as he began his decent into these dark, unknown lands.

Zane carried with him no great items of power, not even a single tool of any minor enchantment, and it was not for a lack of want. 

One by one, in calling after calling, other heroes of the lands had risen, taking with them arms and armor of power, enchanted helms, magic rings, enchanted tomes, and every heirloom of war and splendor that could be imagined. 

For their part, some saw not a few moments of triumph, some even continued to wage battles against the darkness in lands they had come to by both necessity and fortune, but most had fallen into the darkness of defeat, or the darkness of time.

So, Zane carried not but his well worn mail, a notched and scarred shield of wood whose iron band was jagged now as any saw, a hunting knife gifted to him from his town elder, and the same simple long sword he’d taken from the first wicked bandit he slew. This was all he carried along with the supplies a life on the road required, still, he walked with his head held high down into the lands of the enemy.

Past the valley, and somewhere in the desolate wastes on its other side, was the ruined city, and there in its heart was the Demon King. Though some scholars had offered possible names of this lost place, and others offered possible paths and routes, none, those who called Zane friend and called themselves wise, and those foes who had faced the hero and lived to tell, could speak with certainty on the matter.

But the stars and rivers of fate and destiny guided and carried him, so as ever, he persevered.

The armies that had arisen in the wastes and marched out to press the good and free peoples of the realms had finally been broken, and in wave after wave, they had been pushed back and back until their conquests were greatly undone. All that truly remained under the Demon King’s sway was those kingdoms he’d first enslaved, and whose leaders he had cowed into obedience. The valley sat between two such places, and his hope was to find a sympathetic ear, or to spark a fire in the hearts of those who remained there.

All other paths had been blocked by war and siege, and by battles he knew belonged in the hands of others. So it was that he traveled alone, as an arrow flying towards evil’s wretched heart.

By nightfall of his first day of travel, into the valley Zane had come to a hamlet with its few buildings clustered on both sides of the road. He saw the remains of a once occupied garrison as well, the abandoned parade ground where that force would have mustered, and the wide shallow fire pits that would have served their needs.

Save for this, there were no signs of any true military presence, and only one guard stood alone in a small watch tower just off of the road.

“Halt stranger, state your business.” 

Zane continued to walk forward as the guard shouted to him. Not wishing to seem nervous, he offered a wave of his hand to the guard, “Well met, my name is Gorn, and I seek logging this eve.”

Gorn was the name of a bandit leader in the low lands, one who’d died over a year ago, he was not someone anyone was likely to remember or miss. It was also the first name that came to the young hero’s mind, and under the scrutiny of the guard he’d become doubly thankful for his choice to shave off his golden brown locks and abandon some of the other trappings he’d become more associated with.

“You’ve come far enough for nothing then, turn about and be on your way. You’ll find no passage and no peace in these lands.”

“I’ve coin that says otherwise good sir, come, can we not barter as men of both iron and of gold?” It was an offer that had gotten him into and out of many tense situations, one he’d learned long ago from his first companions, a band of good hearted mercenaries who had helped forge him into all he’d become.

“Ah, so you’re knowing the right greetings then, “ the guard slid down a rope and walked towards him, “follow me my friend, we’ll see to a proper conversation by the light of the fire.”

Not three steps into the hamlet proper, two more guards fell in beside him. They were wearing the tattered regalia of men hard used, and what their uniforms lacked in splendor their drawn blades made up for in gleaming cruelty. The blood red argent of their horned skull patches told Zane these men were not simply local ruffians, they were or had been soldiers in the Demon King’s army.

“Let’s have your coin, and we’ll see about what we can get for your life stranger.” They were hard words, cold and even, these men were not trifling brigands.

“You’ll find death is a sore trade,” and faster than his foes could have predicted Zane’s blade was out, his shield raised, and battle was joined.

It was no great pleasure to take a life, but when the odds were so fully against him, he had no compunctions about it. And hardened though they were, they fell with little fanfare and even less suffering.

“Well done brave warrior,” a woman’s voice floated in the coming night, it was familiar, soft, inviting as a warm hearth on a snow filled evening, “such a grand show of strength, alas at such a terrible cost.”

She had stepped from one of the buildings, or perhaps appeared from their long shadows during the battle, and while she was still several strides away this dark cloaked figure was closer than Zane desired.

“You’ve taken three of my men from me, ones I truly could not spare, and I doubt you’ll willingly pay me their due will you?” She stepped closer, just out of the reach of his blade, and her words were distracting.

Not in their content, no their threat was obvious, but in their tone. It was a voice he could have sworn he’d heard before, and as he thought on it, despite their clear purpose there was a hidden meaning to them as well, a quiet promise of peace, a way to settle this misunderstanding…

Two wicked sabers black as a moonless night descend on him and his body moved with the thoughtless elegance of wild animal in the hunt. His shield deflected them both and his sword answered before his eyes could clearly see what he was facing.

Her cloak still hung over her body, taking the shape of a robe glinting as though it were made of soft black leather, but her hood had fallen back to reveal lustrous red hair, pale eyes that glowed with a pale and inviting pink light, and curved horns that were purple in the waning twilight.

She was fast and graceful, batting his strike away while fixing his gaze with her own. “Come, do you not deserve to offer yourself for the lives of my men? Is it not a fitting trade, your one life is not truly worth three is it?”

His gaze fell into hers, into the glowing light, the too inviting beacon of her eyes, and her words struck a chord with him, how fair was it truly? Perhaps he could make amends to her, not with his death but…

Again, his reflexes worked against her beguiling speech faster than his thoughts could, and again her attacks were turned aside, followed this time by a more vicious barrage of his own.

Magic had woven itself into his quest for good and for ill, and never was it more subtle and more obvious than what he faced now. From two steps away, he would have seen clearly what she was, but within this creature’s presence her magic was obscured from thought and reason.

But then again, so was his.

Fate and destiny were not simply ascribed to him out of hope, and though he was without artifacts of legendary purpose he wasn’t without power. His sword and shield worked as one with his body, his senses took in more than he saw and heard, and that made him faster than his own thoughts.

Whoever this new foe truly was, this demoness, perhaps force of arms would banish her, and if the violence of the moment could best her, then perhaps the press of sharp sword and keen purpose could compel some cooperation from her. She wasn’t the first fiend from the other realms he’d met, and despite their wickedness they weren’t so different from ill hearted men and women.

Of course, he’d still have to best her, and as their blades crossed, as his shield turned away malicious stabs and furious cuts, it became clear that it wasn’t a given he could.

After a series of furious weaving cuts, the demoness spun back, and as she did her robe seemed to fall away, twirling as she spun in and out, stabbing, slashing, and parrying, the purple black fabric seemed to cling to her and gleam like leather, then fall away revealing more of what was and wasn’t underneath.

She was hardly clothed, covered only by a thin, translucent tunic that was clasped by a bright red ruby at her neck, and slit to reveal her stomach, and her massive breasts.

They were the size of her head, and as she moved, those breasts bounced in a gentle rhythm, creating a sense of music where there was none before. So it was that as she fought her body fell into a dance, and every step become more predictable to him, watching her breasts, watching her chest show him what was coming next, seeing her eyes leading her own dancing body into his parries, encouraging his strikes, and as easily as she moved, as easily as her impossibly large breasts moved with her body, he matched her dance step by step.

Then it was too late, his sword was down, his shield drooping, his eyes were beguiled no longer by the grace of her movements but by the hypnotic jiggle of her chest.

He saw her wicked smile, the tips of fangs protruding over her lower lip, and the inviting softness of her eyes, pink and warm, beckoned him to be still, telling him it was over now, there was no reason to fight, and he saw the truth in her eyes…

As she stepped in to deliver the finishing blow, she saw his smile, and the edge of his shield struck her hard in the temple, and his blade worked faster and harder, more savage and more precise than anything he’d show her to this point.  

The sabers in her hands were too slow to stop his blade, but strike after strike only led the way for his shield to do the real work, striking her, blinding her vision, and making it easy for him to trap and disarm her. Finally, his onslaught ceased, and the demoness was kneeling, head down, weapons beyond her reach. 

The truth of her robe become clear to him; it had been her wings, shapeless as liquid darkness, and they were back, cut and torn by him, unable to carry her away.

The light faded from her eyes as she looked up into his, bested, “You.”

The stories his enemies told of him were even more far fetched than the ones the people he championed shared. He wasn’t surprised to be known so quickly by one who seemingly held some importance and some true power to keep it.

The tip of his blade met her gaze, starlight had found a home on its edge, “Tell me your name or find yourself gone back and not with easy passage.”

“Arelia, that is my name here and beyond. Speak it to summon me, speak it to banish me.” Her purple black wings curled around her shoulders and fell down her arms as she spoke. Arms that were gloved in the same material as those wings.

“Clearly you’re one of his, tell me now why I should offer you the courtesy of a banishing without my blade.” No one would have thought him an imposing man, not in the way some warriors walked with death heavy in their eyes, but his strength of purpose was clear.

‘What would you know?” She spoke with a softness that bespoke her displeasure and her ire, yet that voice was still tickling his memory, asking him over and over where he had heard it before.

“Where is he?” His eyes were trained on her, and her purple black gloved fingertips slid down the plunging neckline of her tunic. The transparent fabric shimmered in the dark, radiant as her eyes were, and her heavy breasts were pressed together by her arms.

Such a sight on any other women would be as irresistible as it was impossible. But, her being what she was those breasts were the least impossible thing about her, and while Zane’s eyes were surely drawn to her and to the ever present hypnotic bounce of her chest, his heart and mind sought nothing else but answers from her. 

“You think I would betray him so readily?” Her question was as sharp as those blades he’d fended off.

“I think your self-preservation is stronger than any loyalty you’d have towards him. I know your ilk, I know your hearts are fickle as a mercenary’s purse.” At this point, trying to coerce the Demon King’s underlings had become a matter of banter, almost rote memorization and repetition for him. They all said the same things, until you said the right thing to make them talk.

The leather of her gloves was like that of her wings, they may have been crafted from the wings of a rival demoness, and while she sat silent, both of her hands continued to tease the translucent hem. She laughed, and it was not a gentle or musical sound.

“You’re right.” She met his gaze again, and still that haunting, and inviting glow was absent from her eyes. She’d stopped trying to compromise him, but still he kept his sword point to her neck.

“He summoned me, demanding my service as he did many of my ilk, forcing us to serve in his conquest, where we would not…”

Her fingers had started to move in intersecting patterns now, back and forth in front of her breasts, weaving patterns of motion that kept his gaze done, drawn into her cleavage, down into the softness of her impossibly large breasts, “…act with such malice in your realm, working against you in such ways. You know this, you know we are not all as vile as he.”

“Cease your sorcery, and save your tender words demoness.” Zane had started to lose track of the conversation, he’d started to forget what he’d asked of her. Instead, he’d found himself thinking of the buxom maidens in his home, listening to their songs, watching them as they went about the days, longing for them, and wondering if perhaps her voice was akin to one of theirs.

But then he felt his wrist move, his sword danced soft in his hand, angling to finish her, as though his body was battling her voice without his mind.

She raised her hands, and in doing so, those massive breasts began to bounce, jiggling up and down as they had when she’d fought, their size making the motion more spellbinding than any enchantment, “Peace Chosen One, I could weave no spell greater than the ones you’ve already bested. I’ve no great skill with the arcane arts, only the powers of my kind, ones you’ve shown yourself to be nigh immune to, yes?”

Again her laughter was sharp and harsh, but it seemed as though she was laughing at herself, at her own misfortune.

“I command of you Arelia, speak truth and tell me where the Demon King lies.” If he were a wizard, or skilled with any magic of spirit, book, or element then his command would bear more weight, and thought Destiny and Fate were a magic of their own, their power did not extend to these acts as wholly as others would.

Still, his words struck home, and her arms fell again, along with her eyes, “As you speak, so shall I answer. He lies in the great ruined city in the center of the wastes. It can only be found by the absence of stars, and he abides in the last remaining tower…”

She paused, and looked up at him with eyes both sad and soft, “Do you really believe, Chosen One, that you can best him alone? That you can survive the wastes, his warriors, and his own power. You know so little of him, you have no great force at your back, is prophecy truly your only shield?”

Now her gloved fingers started to play with the ruby at her throat, just below the point where his blade would surely sink if he struck, “But… You are him, truly you must be, the warrior of destiny, the one they call Zane? Was I wrong, are you not he?”

As she spoke, the unsolved puzzle of her voice continued to tug at him, and thought she was clearly stalling, clearly trying to bide her time for something, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as before, and once again their impossible size was pressed between her arms, made her attempts to delay not wholly unpleasant.

“I’ll not offer my name to you, regardless of your state of defeat. Now tell me true Arelia, what would you care about my tasks and my duties?” To know a name and to give a name were separate things where magic was concerned, but as deft as she was at trying to bait him, he wasn’t without his own cunning.

To use the name of one from the other realms in any way, in any command carried power too, and in so using it to question her, the demoness was bound to speak more truthfully than she would otherwise.

“Truly, oh brave one,” her tone was the softest mockery as her fingers continued to toy with her gem and her breasts continued to press together as they rose and fell, “I wish to serve no king, not the least of all one as crass as he. Think not that I am his charge, but that I am at his mercy, as are many of his ‘trusted’ captains.”

“Your kind would as surely lie as they would betray each other. I would take no offer of aid from you, and I see now our time here is done.” He could banish her now, as she’d given him her name, and with a drop of his own blood he could command her back down to her own realm. 

It would be different were he to strike her, she would not return to her home, but to a darker place, and that fear had kept her well heeled. 

“No,” she took the tip of his sword in her hand and pulled it down to try and rise, “please, wait. You’d be a fool not to heed my words, you’d be a fool to cast me away so soon. You’ll find no more friends past this point, I beg you, listen.”

“I hear tell of the resistance in the wastes, brave warriors who fight against him and his ilk even in the heart of his strength.” Zane did not pull on his sword, not for fear of wounding her, but for the sake of his own modest ruse. She would give him no more without cause, and he would not renege on his word both for honor, and for fear that it would break the power he held to banish her.

Demons were a tricky business, and oaths and contracts held power with them beyond that of promises between mortals. 

She laughed, halted in her bid to stand, and instead sunk back to her knees. The blade of his sword was still in her hand, and it was resting now back at her neck. 

The up and down motion of her body had caused her chest to bouncing again, and Zane’s eyes watched their motion. He watched as he would watch a swordsman’s body, and he watched as any man would watch such a sight.

Her laugh was still piercing, but when she spoke, he felt as though he could almost place her voice now, “There is no resistance, just the would be rebels he keeps about to test his officers against, hunting them for sport. No, chosen one, not in the wastes, not in his dungeons, you will find no allies of merit, there is no one else now save me.”

Those last words seemed to bend in his ears, and his eyes watched as thin cut in her tunic that had not been there moments before, spread into a rip and a tear as the weight of one of her massive breasts pressed on it, and as the fabric gave way her breast fell free, naked in the fading light.

He had not seen the way she’d moved his sword tip, cutting the fabric as she made her plea.

“Please Zane, heed my words and save me. Listen to me, please, please save me from the Demon King’s wrath.” As her breast fell free, she moved a leather gloved hand to it, squeezing it as she covered her nipple, her fingers spread wide so the soft flesh could spill between them.

It was truly a magical sight to behold.

He stood, stunned, as the call of her voice stroked again at some lost, familiar memory, her words begging him for strength, and his name on her lips, said with such familiarity, such friendship he’d not have imagined before, left him mouth agape, staring at the demoness as she massaged her bare breast with what could seem to be nervous modesty.

All around him the hamlet had seemed to fade away, and the world had grown slowly and steadily quiet at the edges. Even the wickedness that pervaded the air had faded from his senses as he watcher her, enamored of the sight in spite of himself 

“Please, listen to me before you cast me back, listen to all I say, and make your decision after you’ve heard me truly.” He stood still, watching her hand, its motion squeezing the massive softness as her other hand came underneath to cup it.

He couldn’t place her voice, but every word had come to feel like a song to him. When she spoke it was as though the wind through the forest back home was whistling behind her words, and as she stood there, exposed, weaponless, her name given to him, Zane felt certain she was beaten. And he felt it so, for not a small part of it was because she was. Now, when she asked him to listen as he hadn’t before, which was true as he knew her to be dishonest and defiant, he thought differently on her words.

She was pleading for her life, and yes she would lie to him, but there was truth in her words too, truth he’d compelled from her. 

It dawned on Zane too, as his eyes followed the motion of and around her naked breast, that she was clearly not one the Demon King’s most powerful servants in arms or in magic. As no more men had come to join the battle, whatever force she’d nominally commanded was broken. Now, she too was laid low, so perhaps her pleas were as honest as any demonic being’s could be. She held no power here, so what was the harm in listening?

Listening and watching her hands, one cupping from beneath, the other rubbing and moving in slow nervous circles that his eyes found easier and easier to follow.

“Please, you promised not to strike me, stay your blade and listen closely, listen dearly for my words may save you. Let your heavy sword drop, let me stand and heed my words, please, save me as I would hope to save you Zane. You’ve come to see I’m beaten.”

He didn’t move, he didn’t answer her, and his sword stayed in its place, though its weight did seem more pronounced in that moment.

“If, you are chosen as they say, surely you’ve defeated me as destiny would have it be done. Surely fate has brought us together in just the moment.” 

It seemed almost as though her finger had begun to trace around her nipple, fidgeting with it as one would play with a lock of hair. The purple black leather of her glove stood out against the soft white of her skin, and the hand below, cupping it so that its size still spilled ever outward, bouncing it gently up and down.

Who was it that she reminded him of so? What fair maiden from his journeys had she become an image of, one he hadn’t been keen to recognize before? Did that voice belong to that same face? It was hard to say as she’d grown to look so familiar to him as well, it was both youthful and experienced, a face he both knew and knew he had never seen before. 

Surely too, no mortal body could be as hers was, beyond human in its narrow waist and impossibly full breasts, yet everything about her had become familiar in some haunting shadow of reminiscence, like the details of a dream he could not place. 

Yet, that was not the matter at hand. His mind wandered backwards through his paths to this point, and surely she was right, destiny had saved him from her wickedness and his arm had done the rest, she could not now lead him astray or undo his work, there was no harm in listening.

“Stay your blade as you have stayed your mighty shield, let fall these weapons of blood and malice, you’ll find no resistance from me Zane, dare, speak my name as proof, tell me you understand my purpose now, wicked though I am, I would do one good deed in your honor, in your favor for your mercy Zane, say my name and pledge you understand me now.”

She had risen to her feet, the motions of her hands on her bare breast had become rhythmic and wider, making bouncing circles upon circles that his eye could not help but follow, and now his sword rested on her shoulder, heavier in his hand by the moment, almost as heavy as the shield that had dropped from his arm some time ago.

Though when exactly it had fallen, he could not recall.

“I pledge that I do understand you Arelia, I know well your fear, I know well the terror that grips you, regardless of your heart.” It felt right to show her kindness, he was in his own heart a generous and noble young man and it pained him not to be so at all times.

“And,“ the hand cupping her breast moved to her shoulder and to his sword, brushing it away, “is your sword not too heavy to hold in these peaceful moments Zane, tell me it is so.”

“Yes Arelia, it is.” The blade fell from his hand and he let out a sigh, finally to be with an ally, one who would be so if only for a moment, one who would aid him in the perilous path ahead, one who knew the ways of the Demon King perhaps better than any other, for who else but a demoness could share such secrets.

Her hand floated back to her breast, and the slow bouncing circles resumed.

“What would you tell me of our foe?” His eyes did not look into hers and did not see the soft pink glow that had started to emanate from them. They were drawn, as a mouth to a flame, to her breast, and he was too close to see how truly transfixed he had become.

Not by magic, but by the gentle, soothing pattern of her touch, hypnotizing him not to control him, but to enhance the power of her voice and her innate ability to charm and beguile.

“Only that I know his true name, though I cannot share it.” She pinched her pert large nipple as she said this, and watched as his eyes grew slightly wider at the sight. “Only that I could help you rally his other foes, those bound to him out of fear, who would not trust to a chosen hero, ones you would not reach with your kindness as you have reached me.”

With that, her hands moved to her tunic and she tore the rest of it away, exposing both breasts, both the size of her own head, bouncing before his eyes.

“Truly,” her gloved hands squeezed the fullness before him “if destiny has guided you, then my aid is meant to be is it not Zane? And is that not your name?”

She dared not step closer, and dared not touch him, but her words wove a world of sweet memories around him, and the promise of sunlit days and triumphs yet to be had, and he dared not hope this was only a dream.

Zane, so entranced by her wiles, had not realized he’d pledged himself to her, using her name and offering a promise, and it had bound him, not to her thrall, but to being beholden to her words. Now he heard and understood her words almost as though they were his own, and it was as she had intended.

“Yes.” His head had started to move side to side, swaying with her nipples as she shifted her hips to and fro.

“Who are you, that you are staring at me so, showing me such mercy and flattery?” Her hands moved to her breasts, cupping them again, before beginning the same slow spiraling play around her nipples as before.

“I am Zane, chosen hero of the fates, guided by destiny and tasked to conquer the Demon King, setting his evils to rights and freeing this land.” It seemed polite and proper to finally introduce himself as he would to any other lady. And though he knew all too well that her heart was wicked, he heard in her words not only a familiar sense of warmth and safety he’d longed for, but a clarion call of wisdom and insight.

“And who am I to you, that you may spare me of hardship and pain, even as your eyes beseech my figure?” Round and round her gloved fingers went, and truly as he stared at those massive breasts, kept to them by their size, held in a gravity of blooming lust he could not have ever imagined, frozen in desires stronger than those he’d ever felt for the comely lasses of his home, his own voice became a shallow thing, powerless and without purpose, if not to speak kindness to her.

All the while her eyes continued to glow with soft and inviting light, all the while her voice become more melodious and inviting, but there was nothing more compelling to the young hero than her breasts.

“You are Arelia, demoness and former minion of my sworn enemy. My quest has crossed our paths…” he stopped for a moment as he felt a tug in his heart, desperate to share something beautiful with her, “and that means we were fated to meet.”

She smiled and took a step closer to him.

“Yes it does, and we are bound now to be allies in our part, it was meant to be, we were meant to be, all that I am, and all that you are, united.” The leather of her gloves, thin and smooth, traced down his cheeks and still he did not look away from the deliberately constant bounce and jiggle of her chest.

“No harm can befall you my Zane, my powers cannot sway you from your quest you,” her hands moved to his sword belt and unbuckled it, “and all we do together was meant to be.”

As his belt fell, and his hunting dagger with it, Zane realized he’d been disarmed, but there was no fear of what that might mean. As her hands moved to his trousers, undoing that belt, and then easily untying their draw strings, he only felt joy and relief.

“You are safe with me, safe in my company, you are my Zane and I am your Arelia now. I am loyal to you, I am at your service with all of my talents.” Her gloved hand took his cock and started to stroke with those words. “Accept my service, and accept my talents now, embrace me Zane, say my name and ask of me all I can give.”

He gasped, his body shuddered and the words came slowly, “I accept your services and your talents as a gift to me, I accept your loyalty Arelia.”

His eyes remained on her breasts, and as he spoke, she knelt again, and guided his cock, hard and full, between her breasts. 

Such were the powers of her kind that her form could shift the slightest amount to do so, but Zane was unconcerned with such details.

Instead, he watched as his cock disappeared from sight, swallowed up as wholly as his attention had been, as wholly as his mind had become. His hips started to buck slightly as she pressed them together, massaging him between her massive warmth.

Her powers would have overwhelmed a mere mortal, her charms would have bewitched and enslaved any she sought to compel, usually with nothing more than a few soft words and the simple sight of her. For those who were stronger, gazing into the depth of her eyes would slow them enough to lower their guard both physically and mentally, but not him, not the chosen one.

He’d proven it in battle, so, she stopped fighting him, testing the limits of his resistance. As she did, her voice, which always evoked in humans a sense of longing, started to wear away at his mental defenses, and though he was a noble and brave warrior he was still a young man, and she was still impossibly beautiful and sexually compelling.

“Slowly my Zane, lest this moment end too soon for your liking my hero.” The feel of his cock, full and throbbing, hard as steel, and of his balls, just as plump and full, buried between her breasts, inspired in her dreams not unlike his own.

If she could continue on like this, making him cum, she would have him, and not just in the throes of her magical charms, she would have a hold on his essence, on his very being. 

In his mind he felt free, unburdened in the softness of her breasts, and in the glow of her eyes he saw wisdom and hope. She would help him, she would open the way to his victory. 

In her mind, she saw him following her from this field back into her chambers and into her bed, where she would draw more of his strength from him, binding him to her in a haze of mystical love and beguiling lust.

He saw himself walking forward into the darkness, a hero to all, and she saw him as her new champion, the one who would deliver her to a throne. And as she continued to massage her breasts with the same languid slowness that had fascinated and bewitched him, keeping his aching cock swallowed between her breasts, neither of them would be wrong.

Unless, the thought flashed through Zane’s mind, working through the perfectly woven web of oaths and promises that had bound not only his mind but also the source and flow of his power, unless he’d been outsmarted and defeated in a battle he could never have foreseen, prophecy or not.

His hands fell to hers, but she slid them back and instead he found himself holding those huge warm breasts. Her hands closed over his, and slowly she started to guide him, showing him how to touch her, the leather of her gloved hands felt identical to her breasts, and it was as though both his cock and his hands had sunk into her all consuming cleavage.

“You are safe with me Zane, safe to share in me, unburden yourself, let go and lose yourself in this moment, be within me, only me.” Every word was accompanied by the same slow hypnotic caress, and his hips started to buck faster.

“Yes my Zane, this is your destiny, follow the tides of fate now, into me, into my voice, words you sworn to understand, thoughts you pledged to accept and embrace, just as I have embraced your flesh. I am your destiny, this pleasure is your destiny, surrender to it, surrender to me and to your fate.”

As he felt the urge to cum building, his doubts were as lost between those breasts as his cock. “Do you surrender to the pleasure I give you? Say my name and surrender to the joys of the flesh.”

“I surrender to your pleasure Arelia,“ the words carried a release greater than the one building between his legs, but he wouldn’t know just what he had given. Zane was too lost in the beguiling music of her voice and the enthralling softness of her breasts to realize what she’d coaxed him into saying and giving.

Where magical charms did not prevail, her hypnotic influence had, and now, he was both entranced and enchanted. “Yes my hero, embrace the rule of my pleasure, embrace the power of my touch.”

His hands moved under her touch, bound to her breasts by the power that drew all men to her, and had she wished it, he would have erupted deep in the valley of her cleavage. But that was not her desire. Yes, it would have bound him to her, but by continuing the same hypnotic pattern of touch and speech, by using her mundane and mystical wiles, controlling the cock to control the mind of the young man would give her a greater treasure than a simple slave, it would deliver her a champion.

“I would do anything to aid you my Zane, would you do anything for your Arelia?” Another oath, one spoken even at the height of arousal would still bind him, just as his surrender of surrender had and would.

“Yes,” he gasped, biting his lip, his entire body shaking with need, “by the powers of fate and destiny, by all that I am, yes my Arelia I swear it.”

“Then show me. Give to me of yourself, give to me what you would never dream of giving to another demoness, knowing what I am, knowing what it will mean.” As she spoke, her grasp on his hands grew tighter and she started to fuck him with her breasts more vigorously. “Say yes my Arelia, and give me what I desire.”

“Yes my Arelia.”

He gasped and panted, his body tighter, muscle upon muscle taut, and then with a long gasping sigh his body became loose, and slowly he fell first to his knees then to the ground.

His cum, thick between her cleavage, was absorbed by her, and as she took it into herself, she took him inside her as well. His mind was silent, on the verge of something deeper than sleep, deeper than the hypnotized trance he had been in since long before her naked breast fell free, and his body was sill.

All around them the hamlet was quiet, none saw what transpired, none heard what she did not wish them to. The small populace was all bound to her in one way or another, and even Zane was only half aware of her crawling between his legs again, resting her chest on his hips, waiting for him to grow hard once more.

Starlight fell on them, and to Zane it was warm as the sun, he opened his eyes, “What magic is this?”

Her eyes glowed in answer as the soft smothering warmth of her breasts started to inspire life into his cock all over again, aided by the mystical compulsion of her will working against his body with a delicate pressure softer than a lover’s touch.

“Let your eyes answer with the sight of your desire my love, watch and see how easily enspelled you are by your true destiny.”  She arched her back slightly, and as his cock came to life, buried again between her breasts, she started to massage them again.

“Look at my breasts my Zane, my gift to you, their warmth and softness, the sight of them, like my voice, carrying you away from worries, and away from fears, watch my breasts and surrender to my pleasure as you swore you would.” 

The head felt impossibly sensitive, and his eyes fell into the deliberate hypnotic motion of her breasts, rolling together up and down, milking him with a near painful slowness now. Every pleasurable wave was making him ache in need, but the longer she went on, massaging and squeezing, pressing her weight down on him as his hips tried to rise and to buck, the harder it became for him to think clearly, or see anything past those breasts.

“I will keep my oaths to you my brave hero, to do all I can to help you, and to give you all of my gifts. This is your destiny, and you know this. Fate would not have allowed you to succumb to me if I wished you harm, or to stop you, for who I am to unseat prophecy. I am here to aid you in bliss, and give you pleasure. Nothing else matters to you now, watch my breasts, watch my hands, look into my eyes and see the truth.”

He did as he was told, acting now by the ethereal stands of influence she had over him, and as his eyes met hers, he felt a profound need not to think any longer. 

Slowly, easily, she blinked his eyes away from hers, willing him to look back down, deeper into the endless waves of hypnotic flesh, enthralling him anew, and every time he struggled to find his will, or to use her name and demand she stop, or command her to free him, those rolling smoothing breasts brought his cock to the edge again. 

“You want me to help you my noble Zane.”

Her words had become her breasts, his world had become the desperate throb between his legs.

“I want you to help me my Arelia.”

She smiled.

“You need to this pleasure don’t you my Zane?”

He gasped, feeling the truly supernatural sensations and stimulations she commanded in his body and mind.

“I need this pleasure my Arelia.”

His body was a single raw nerve, crackling with sexual energy.

“You need to stay in my thrall, to be guided and led to be kept safe in my control, don’t you my Zane?”

Simple mortal hypnotism kept him in a dreamlike state, and the most complex rules of her arcane influence, and the rites of demonic power kept his body on the verge of climax. 

If he told her to free him, to renounce her influence, which he could though she would ensure he never thought to do so, those strands that bound them now would be cut. If she worked her will against his purpose, the beguiling light in her eyes would wash over him even as his body worked against hers, and the single minded purpose of destiny would be the end of her. 

Much as his cock was lost between the overwhelming weight of her breasts, her hold on him too was between impossible forces. 

“I need to be yours my Arelia.”

She willed it before she spoke it, and he felt it before he heard it. 

“Then give me what I desire.”

Her breasts shook with the force of his climax, his second orgasm, thicker and more powerful than the first was still buried between her breasts.

“Sleep now my Zane, let your mind sleep and let your body be mine. You are tired my hero, you are exhausted by your duties, sink into me now, sleep and let your flesh follow my voice.”

He drifted away to sleep as he stared into those glowing eyes, and shortly thereafter, his body moved as she commanded it, not for any ill deeds, but for the simple act of pulling up his pants, gathering his things, and then following her to her chambers.

There, she took him again and again until his body could not oblige her, and when he woke in the morning, his head resting on those impossibly soft, pillowy breasts, he knew he’d found a most unexpected alley and perhaps the greatest weapon in his battle against the Demon King anyone could ever desire.

Then, the demoness rolled onto her side as her hand closed around his limp cock and started to slowly tug, “Look at my nipples Zane, you could not see them clearly in the dark, but in the morning sun you can see them now can’t you?”

Her voice was like a dream, no, a daydream, one of hopes for love and the desires for companionship he’d had before his quest began. It was the voice he’d longed to have greet him on mornings like this, and as her slow, deliberate stroke continued, Zane felt an irresistible compulsion to stare at her nipples.

“Look at my nipples, let my breasts become your world now. Nothing else matters, just my breasts, look at them and let go, let your mind wander away on my words as you fall into my cleavage now.”

Her hand, still gloved in the soft purple-black leather, felt just like her breasts had the night before, and as his eyes started to blink and become half closed with hypnotic relaxation, the Demoness rolled over slightly, so her breasts brushed across his face, and a nipple found its way to his lips.

“Suck and kiss, and float away, let my words fill your mind as I drain away you thoughts and fears.” Zane felt a seizing, throbbing pleasure between his legs as he started to cum in a slow trickle that lasted till the sun was high in the sky.

And in all that time, her supernatural charms were carried into his mind by the endless hypnotic cadence of her voice and rhythm of her stroke.

They did not leave the bed that day, and the sound of her voice did not leave his mind, even as night fell and sleep took them both.

They would set off to continue their quest the next morning, him to slay the Demon King, her to become the Demon Queen as surely as she’d become the queen of his heart.