The Erlking’s Bitch

Content Warning: Humiliation.

After one night with an elven queen, I was lost. I haunted the cemetery, wan and desperate for her return. Folklore told me that to eat in the fey kingdom, was to be trapped there forever. Yet, I hadn’t taken any food, but the sweet taste of the fairy queen’s sex clung to my tongue. And that was enough.

Nude woman with bobbed hair seated on a wall with the ocean and the moon behind her.

Every night I haunted the grounds, waiting to once again hear the jingle of the bells woven through her hair and the baying of her hounds. Tonight, in my despair, I lay among the graves, and I no longer expected her to return. As the chill mists rose, I shivered but stayed on my grassy bed. When I heard the bells, I was convinced I must be imagining it. I didn’t move until I heard the unmistakable baying of the yeth hounds.

Before I could rise, I found myself surrounded by the whip-thin snarling hounds. “Witch,” the voice carried through the mist, even if I couldn’t see the riders yet. “Waiting on a cold hillside like a fool mortal,” The voice carried through the mists, and I knew it was not my queen.

“I seek the queen of the hunt,” I managed to stumble over the words.

The unseen riders’ cruel laughter was a balm to my very soul.

“Foolish witch, you seek the Queen of the Winter Court while she is in decline.”

I silently cursed myself for a fool. He was right, it was Imbolc eve, the celebration of winter losing its hold on the land. My queen would be fading from the mortal world to make way for her Summer court counterpoint. The mists shifted and finally, I could see their shapes through the mists. These were not the fey folk I had encountered before, and their hounds continued to circle me, leaving me no room to escape.

The leader of the hunt stepped out of the mists his dark eyes gleaming. “Do you know me, witch?”

I stared at him with his hunter’s horn and gleaming bow and knew him. But I did not know if naming him would save or condemn me.

His eyes dark with the knowledge of millennia captured mine, and a cold smile curved his lips. “Can you not name me, mortal witch?”

I swallowed, still kneeling on the ground. Around me, his hounds moved closer, and his men laughed coldly. “I know you,” I said, my voice quavering. I licked my lips, and met his eyes, “I name you Erlking.”

A hush fell over the assembled hunters, and the hounds fell still. His eyes, lambent with cold fury, met mine. “Clever witch, to name me so.” He snapped his fingers, calling the yeth hounds to him. “What boon shall you ask of me?”

I was frozen. I knew the answer. It was so simple. I needed to ask him to let me live, let me leave this cemetery and live in peace. But the killing ache for my queen held my tongue, even as it quickened my loins. “Join me here, upon my cold hillside,” I said, my words not strong, but full of elf struck madness. I had no idea if adding a second fey conquest could cure me of the first. But if it could not, at least I may die sated. “Join me and spend a night in my arms.”

The Erlking sat silently on his horse. His riders’ sadism gave way to incredulity at my request. But fey law was law. He could not offer a boon and refuse it, but fey were fey – and he could still kill me as the sun rose.

He climbed down from his horse, his boots striking the ground with a heavy thud. “She is mad,” he said to his retinue. “But I have not taken a human in a century or more.”

I remained kneeling, shivering in fear and desire – and cold. He took two steps to stand before me, and I found myself staring at the bulge in his leather pants. I stared a moment before I let my eyes drop. I felt his heavy gloved hand on my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he jerked my head up forcing my eyes to his. His scent of musk and oak washed over me, intoxicating in a way that no human drink or drug could replicate.  

The ache in my sex grew, a hot, wet aching need of animal lust.

With his other hand, he freed his phallus, and the thick, heavy rod sprang free. I heard his riders laugh when I licked my lips at the sight of it, but I did not care. The humiliation of their laughter, their presence stoked my need.

Woman in flowered hat performing fellatio on a standing man. Victorian.

I took his phallus into my waiting mouth, my lips stretching around the glistening head. His taste, like smoke and whiskey filling my mouth. I sucked and licked and teased him. I thought I heard his sharp intake of breath, but I wasn’t sure lost as I was in his flavor, in the feeling of his phallus in my mouth.

I had expected, when he gripped my hair, that he would have taken control, using my mouth for his pleasure. Perhaps, I surprised him with my eagerness to please him? I heard the low whispering of the watching riders, was it admiration or more degradation they muttered to one another?

I continued to lick and suck, finally earning a low groan from the Erlking. I felt his shiver, and he shoved me back. I slid off my knees, falling back onto the cold, hard ground. Once again, I heard the brutal edge to the riders’ laughter.

The Erlking stared down at me, his eyes still glowing. In a strike so fast, I wasn’t sure I actually saw him move, he grasped the front of my dress, tearing it open. When he pulled a dagger from his belt, I felt, for the first time, my lust overcome by fear. I thought about reminding him of his promise, or reminding him that it was not yet dawn.

Then I felt the dagger blade between my breasts and my bra fell away, cut apart. My breasts hung heavy before him, and my nipples red and hard as yew berries pointed toward him. His gloved hands closed over my flesh, weighing and kneading. His touch rough and bruising. I whimpered with delight. His eyes briefly caught mine, before he turned to his riders, “She has heavy human tits,” he squeezed my flesh cruelly. The riders laughed, and the king turned me to face them, revealing my bare breasts to them. He held my arms behind my back, forcing my shoulders back, making me display myself to them.

“Look how her nipples jut announcing her lusts” one said.

I felt myself flush being dissected to, but the heat betwixt my thighs only increased. I wanted to beg the King to take me right then, to beg these riders to come down off their steeds and ride me. But I bit my tongue, only releasing it when I felt the Erlking’s gloved fingers pinch one nipple, hard – using it to pull my breast out for better display. I moaned then, and the fey all laughed.

The king’s hand moved to my panties then, tearing the cloth away, revealing my sex to his riders.

“I think you are already panting like a bitch,” he growled into my ear. To his men he called, “I can smell her cunt from here.”

Nude woman kneeling outside next to a tree. Circa 1920s

The riders jeered and offered their own crude comments, but the king, I noticed tucked my sodden panties into his belt. Then his gloved hand was cupping my sex, still telling his men how wet I was, how hot as he shoved his fingers deep inside me. And at this, I let go of my tongue. I moaned and thrust my hips against his fingers, begging for more.

I felt his phallus hard against my back as he held me pressed to him, letting his men watch as he fingered me, while I pleaded and growled. He pulled his hand away and pushed me toward one of the headstones. “Bend over it,” he ordered.  

My wetness dripping down my thighs, I bent over the cold stone monument. Without him asking, I spread my legs, knowing the riders were watching – knowing he was watching. And I waited.

“How long until dawn,” he called to his riders.

“Hours and hours,” they answered.

Then I felt him behind me, his phallus pressing against me, filling me. I gave a low moan of delight as he filled me from behind. “Hours and hours, witch,” he said, his hands on my hips. He thrust slowly, drawing back before a hard thrust back inside. “I wonder if you can last so long.”

I looked back over my shoulder at him, his face shadowed and unreadable. “Til the cock crows, my lord,” I smiled at him. And he laughed, finally increasing his pace. He was unsparing, riding me as he would ride his steed in the hunt. Rough, fast, single-minded. He sought his pleasure in my sex, and he would take it all.

I clutched at the cold stone monument and let the brutal pleasure wash over me. I did not hide my delight at his rough handling, crying out my orgasm long before he did. Ah, but he did. He thrust deeply, and I felt the twitch of his phallus and the rush of his release fill me. And I heard his cry of orgasm.  

The cock’s crow, indeed.

He rested a hand on my back, his softening phallus still within me. While I sagged, weak-kneed on the stone. “Hours and hours until dawn,” he whispered in my ear as he stepped back, leaving me exposed once again to his riders.

Their fiendish cries filled the night with their depraved suggestions. I shuddered at some of their suggestions. “Should I give you to them,” he whispered in my ear. His breath brushing my face. “Could you match their savage lusts?” his fingers caressed my cheek. “There’s only a handful with me tonight, my lusty witch.”

I trembled at the thought of being taken by them all for the rest of the night. And I almost acquiesced, almost said oh yes, my lord give me to them. Instead, I raised my eyes to meet his. “My boon was for you my lord, for you until the sun rises.”

He grasped my hair again, pulling my head up he kissed me then. A hard, claiming kiss – one that seemed to brand me with his mark. My head swam with the taste of smoke and peat. The riders ceased their speaking, sitting silently.

He broke the kiss, and I saw his phallus, glistening with my juices, already rigid again.

“Until the dawn, my witch,” he said, pressing his phallus to my lips.

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22 comments

  1. Masterfully done, I loved this Lucy, I’m going to check out if there was a prequel. You have such a way with words and I really enjoy your use of the older, folk legends

    Liked by 1 person

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