Bated Breath

The warrior climbed the hill to the witches lair.  He had heard tales of this She-Devil and traveled many days to face her.

The atmosphere felt thick and a certain electricity permeated the air. The dwelling was as ominous as he had imagined, unknown symbols adorning the facade, rotting carcasses strung up on the dead trees surrounding it.

The warrior crossed the threshold into the dwelling and a pungent odor attacks his senses. There stood the witch, carving out the innards of a wild dog easily twice her size. His entrance shocked her out of her task and she dropped the knife to the floor.

The warrior sneered and his own grip on the sword he wore around his hip had loosened. “You are the witch they speak of in the valleys?” He scoffed, looking the young woman up and down. “You look no more than an unfed whore.”

She stared him down, attempting to look unfazed, but the warrior could sense a fear in her that she could not hide from him.

She backed into the table, no where else to go, and the warrior towered over her like a bear over a rabbit. “What are the men of this valley to be fearful of such a pathetic wench like you? I could snap you like a twig.”

The witch flinched, but not at his words but rather that one of his calloused hands had found it’s way under her tunic to roughly rub against her womanhood. “But what reason have I to slay a whore?” the warrior whispered darkly.

The woman called witch understood his meaning well enough. “For a mighty fighter such as yourself.” her voice trembled ever so slightly as she moved to lift her tunic to better expose herself to him. “How can I refuse.”

His dirty fingers stopped their careless prodding and withdrew from inside her and she relaxed for a moment. That was until he freed his manhood from the confines of his breeches.

“Let’s see if you’re as bad a fuck as you look, witch.” He lifter her onto the table and entered her with no pause, no concern for her comfort or pleasure. The warrior spewed insults and degraded her with every rough thrust. She held on tightly to the edge of the table, eyes closed and head thrown back, perhaps in an attempt to better endure the abuse.

In that position though, she did not see his other  hand reach for the knife she had been using to disembowel the wolf earlier. “You’re a worthless lay, so it would make no difference to fuck you dead.” Holding her head back by the hair, he sliced her throat as hard as he can.

She gasped, quickly clutching her throat as blood gushed out. She choked out what sounded like words and the warrior mockingly leaned in closer. “What was that? Speak up, harlot!”

“I would have at least let you finish before I killed you.”

The warrior had no time to scoff at or make sense of her words. Out of nowhere, an unbearable pain overtook him as he was impaled from behind by a monstrous broadsword, skewing him as well as the witch through the chest.

“My my wife,” he heard a voice come from behind. “I had no idea we were expecting company.”

He craned his neck as far back as he could and saw a golden eyed man at the end of the weapon, his eyes fixed on the witch and without regard for his presence. The stranger twisted the blade, making the warrior howl out in agony as his innards were sliced open further.

He could not fathom how, but the witch managed to find the strength to push the warrior off her. The warrior fell to the floor, the broadsword still embedded in him

The warrior can feel the life draining from him. He glances at his executioner and sees utter indifference as he watches him die. He has accepted his fate as quickly as it was dealt. “At least tonight, so too does the witch fall.” He laughs, trying to find some victory in all of this.

It is the witches turn to laugh. The warrior’s eyes widen in disbelief as the witches hands leave her neck to reveal the wound no more. Though the blood remained, there was no mistaking it, there was no sign of severed flesh in sight.

The stranger did not share the fallen warrior’s incredulity. “You have gotten better at that, woman.” he laughed heartily.

She smeared the blood down her neck sensuously and without even touching it, the gaping hole through her ribs begins sealing itself closed.

“Do I impress you, husband?” a playful smirk played on her lips as she continued caressing her body with her blood stained hands.

She runs her hand across her stomach where she had been opened up, and her skin was smooth and without trace of any injury. The warrior felt within him a fear like never before. He wanted to use what little strength he had to crawl away, but there was no power left in him to do so. He was left petrified, his broken body crumpled on the floor, forced to watch as the She-devil trailed her fingers down to her womanhood and used the mixture of blood and other discharge to pleasure herself.

And despite being out of his field of vision, the sound of clothing being undone was unmistakeable. The warrior could tell the two planned to pick up where he left off.

“The gods have mercy on your wretched souls.” The dying warrior gasped, coughing blood with every word. He curses them both until his word become nothing more than incoherent gurgling.

A heavy weight fell on his neck and there seemed to be no use in struggling to breathe any more. “You’ve outlasted your novelty.” Came the apathetic farewell as the man crushed the warrior’s neck under his heel.

And as the breath left him completely, his eyes remain fixed on the two as the man hungrily mashes his mouth against the witches and they begin their bestial intercourse.

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