New Poll Driven Story: “The Tale of the Nemorvian Band” Part One

Preface: On Nemorvians

 

The Nemorvian are one of the strangest races in all of Alaria. To begin with there are only female Nemorvians, male Nemorvians do not exist. Impregnating them is hard, something that adds pleasantly to the life most lead but more on that later. If one does manage to get pregnant the child will always be female and always be a full blooded Nemorvian.

Physically they are about as humanoid as many other races in Alaria. Their basic shape is like that of a Human female, although they tend to naturally be of a much thicker build than the average Human or Elf. Their skin is generally a shade of copper brown that looks much like that of a common brown cow. This is only one of the physical features they share in common with these bovine beasts. They also all have small cow-like horns growing out of their heads and their ears are large and extended although they look more animal than Elven.

But what most notice first about a Nemorvian is their breasts. They all have thick, heavy, overlarge breasts. Many of them have breasts so large they seem unnatural. What’s more every Nemorvian lactates for their entire life after puberty. The milk is a sought after as a deliciously and potent drink. The milk tastes delicious to nearly every being but what’s more important is that if ingested by a male it will immediately make them hard and horny.

This is one of the reasons that most Nemorvians spend their lives as whores. Aside from their desirable large breasts their milk is able to make any man hard and ready to fuck even if he has just ejaculated. This means that if a man has the inkling, and the coin, he can fuck a Nemorvian till he is physically exhausted.

There is another reason that most Nemorvians live their lives as whores. Each one, no matter how strongly willed, seems unable to resist a hard cock. The mere sight of it will turn each Nemorvian into a drooling, mindless, horny, meek bimbo willing to do whatever they are told as long as it is sexual.

Most live their lives happily as whores, valued members of brothels or as personal slaves to some of the richest or most powerful in Alaria. But there are a few stronger willed Nemorvians that try to lead a different path. Some take up lives as priestesses as part of a religion that is sexual in nature, most normally Oohr or Ynara worship. Some rare few are known to try the life of an adventurer. There are even whispers of some becoming bandits with the hope of “saving” their enslaved sisters.

But where did these Nemorvians come from? No one is certain, but it is clear they were not always present in Alaria. Certainly before the Great Collapse there is no record of them. There is one legend that many put stock in. The details vary depending on the source but here is the legend in its most basic form:

The Nemorvians were originally the female population of a large city or small kingdom. At one point this places population as a whole insulted the goddess Ynara so badly that she cursed their entire population, transforming the women into the beings we know as Nemorvians and making it so their bloodline would never again have men in them.

Only the gods know if this legend is true. And if it is it’s an odd thing that so many Nemorvians now worship Ynara. But maybe enough time has gone by that even they don’t remember the curse that created them.

 

The Tale of the Nemorvian Band

 

Nowlen Drezen sits in his carriage; the expensive curtains drawn as he casually eats pistachios and reads a tome detailing facts about the different races of Alaria. “Hmph,” he grumbles. “Nemorvians. To think, some of the fat-uddered cows try to live lives other than that of a whore! Now I’ve read everything.”

The attractive, young noble is on his way to the city of Iphasea, capital of the Kingdom of the same name. His family has business there with the king and he has been dispatched to conduct it.

Looking up from his book Nowlen thinks on this. “About time Father starts entrusting the family business to me. As the first born it was always my birthright to take over from him. And now that he’s getting older, well…” He lets the thought hang in the air, not needing to finish it. All of his brothers know their father grows less formidable with every year that passes. They all know it is well past time for one of them to take over.

The carriage starts to slow, irking Nowlen. He had told his coachman that he wanted to be to Iphasea before sundown and that they needed to make good time. Angrily he leans forward and opens the small window that looks out onto the high seat the coachman and the guard with him sits on. “What’s the problem?” he grumbles.

“Sorry my Lord,” the coachmen, also the leader of Nowlen’s personal guard on this trip, says. “But I don’t like the looks of the stretch of the road up ahead. Would be the perfect place for an ambush by bandits. The road curves and the forest here is very thick with large branches hanging overhead. Archers could perch up there and—”

“And you’re just being paranoid!” Nowlen growls. “I know you’re paid to protect me, but really, you think a band of cowardly bandits are going to attack us? You’re both heavily armed and there are two more guards sitting on the back of the carriage. Why father insisted on so many of you coming with me… I had hardly any room for my things!”

“But ser—”

“No, enough. We must be to Iphasea before sundown! Now get a move on!”

With a huff of annoyance the young noble slams the little window closed and throws his body back into his seat. In the process he drops his book. Cursing he leans down to pick it back up just as the carriage picks up speed. “Stupid commoners, always troublesome. Even made me lose my spot!” Picking the book back up he starts to flip through its pages. “Dwarfs, no, Goblins, no, Night Elves, no. Ah, here we are, Nemorvians.”

Having found his place he turns the page but before he can start reading the next passage he hears a scream of pain followed immediately by the carriage veering off to one side. The young noble is jostled almost out of his seat. He expects the carriage to slow down, assuming at first that it had run over a large rock or a small downed tree. But to his great surprise he feels the carriage going speeding up and can hear the coachman shouting for the horses to go faster.

Except, he realizes, it isn’t the coachman shouting on the horses. It’s the voice of the man that is sitting beside him. Quickly he scrambles forward and throws open the little window, demanding to know what is going on. Even as the words leave his mouth he can see the coachman leaning over, an arrow sticking out of his chest, fresh blood streaming into the hand holding the arrow.

“Bandits, Lord,” the man says with a pained groan and a hint of an “I told you so,” in his voice. “Fired on us from above then leapt down onto horses they had waiting. They are giving us chase now, best keep low,” he says, the warning punctuated by another arrow flying by. Now ignoring Nowlen, the man turns and shouts to the men sitting on the back of the carriage. “Keep them back!”

Nowlen quickly slams the window closed then scrambles around, throwing open the curtains that cover the small back window. He sees the two guards there, one loading a crossbow another aiming to fire one. Back behind them, barely visible through all the dust being kicked up by the speeding carriage, are three cloaked figures on horses riding hard after them.

He can tell that the one in the lead is armed with a bow and is taking aim. Then he sees the arrow let loose followed by one of the guards, the one preparing to fire, being hit right in the chest. With a scream the man tumbles forward out of his seat, falling onto the road.

With a scream of alarm Nowlen slams the curtains closed and sinks down into his seat. He quickly looks around for his sword but remembers that it’s packed in with his things in a trunk secured to the roof of the carriage. Sweating profusely, his heart pounding, he starts to laughing madly to himself. “Wouldn’t matter anyways, was always shit at swordplay. My brothers were always better.”

“Keep ‘em back!” a voice calls out.

“I’m trying but they are too—” and then a scream from behind.

Nowlen starts to turn back, thinking about peaking out the side window. But there is no need. The shadowed figures of riders appear through the curtains of both sides of the carriage. The bandits have caught up!

The door into the carriage is wrenched open, slamming into the side of the carriage and leaving him fully exposed. Looking out and backing away to the other side of the carriage he sees a cloaked rider standing up on their horse, riding hard and preparing to leap into the carriage. Then, with amazing grace, the figure does just that. As it lands it points the tip of a drawn blade at the noble and throws back its cloak.

The face that’s revealed is a startling one. Not that of an old, grizzled man as most bandits are, but instead young, pretty and feminine. Yet it is no Human woman looming above the cowering noble. Her skin is too dark, an almost golden copper brown in tone. Her ears are too big and are long and pointed, but not like that of an Elf. They stick out straight from her wild tangle of red-brown hair and look more animal than Elven, each one pierced with three metal hoops of differing sizes. Sticking out of the woman’s hair are two small horns, yellow brown in color and one with a golden ring around its base.

“You’re a Nemorvian!” Nowlen shouts at the bandit.

The woman moves closer, pointing her blade into the man’s face. “So? And you’re a Human, but the coin we’re going to take from you will spend the same in my hands as it would in yours.” The woman is beautiful, even more so for the fierce confidence in her voice.

Even with the blade in his face Nowlen is no longer afraid. “But you can’t possibly make a good bandit!” he proclaims.

“And why not?” she asks, righting herself and opening her cloak to reveal a thick and extra curvy body barely contained in a tight outfit of leather and fur that leaves more of her brown skin revealed than covered.

Her giant breasts are barely contained in a fur lined bikini and as soon as he sees them he feels himself swell in response to the sight of so much indecent breasts flesh on display. Happily he grins at her, trying to keep her eyes of his hands as they quickly fumble with the front of his pants. “Because I know your weakness,” he says then quickly pulls his half erect penis out of his pants and waves it at her.

The woman’s eyes dart down and immediately lock in on the sight of his cock. She lets out a small surprised, “Oh.” A moment later her tense body goes slack, her sword lowering then dropping to the floor of the carriage. Her posture changes, leaning forward towards Nowlen’s cock as if magnetically drawn to it. She starts licking her lips hungrily and moving towards it, dropping down onto her hands and knees as she approaches, crawling the rest of the way to him.

The door to the carriage still hangs open. There are still sounds of battle outside. Yet in that moment Nowlen is confident the remaining guards will take care of the other two bandits. He’s already taken care of this one and he plans on having a little well deserved fun with her while the rest of the battle plays out. And maybe, he thinks, he’ll let his surviving men have a turn with her once the battle is done.

“I think we won’t be needing this,” Nowlen says, grabbing the front of her top and tugging it down. The scant garment simply falls free from her breasts, letting her magnificent huge breasts fall free. The noble marvels at them. He’s had many a whore and plenty of young noble women, but never has he been face to face with breasts so large and full and firmly thick. He grabs hold of them with both hands, squeezing and appreciating how dense the Nemorvian’s tit meat is.

As he squeezes them he sees a bit of white fluid squirt from her nipples causing him to giggle in glee. He keeps squeezing one of her tits, squirting a large amount of creamy milk into his other hand. The woman moans in pleasure as he does this, obviously being sexually aroused by being milked.

He takes the handful of milk and slathers it on his now rock hard cock, jerking off a few times before grabbing the kneeling woman by the shoulders and pulling her closer. Soon her tits are resting in his lap, wrapped around his hard cock. He squeezes them tight around his dick, cooing at how good their warm fat softness feels around his throbbing hardness. He’s also vaguely aware of her nipples leaking more milk, wetly staining his pants. But he doesn’t care, all he can think about is fucking this magnificent creature’s tits.

The pretty young Nemorvian’s eyes are still locked on his penis as if she has been hypnotized by the sight. She reaches up and grabs her tits, pressing them in around his cock. She then starts bouncing them up and down, titfucking his hard cock.

His hands now free, Nowlen decides her nipples need more attention. He grabs them both, pinching them hard and making the woman moan in pleasure. He pulls them together, grabbing hold of both with one hand and pinching hard as her tits bounce up and down his shaft. The woman stares down at his cock as it pops in and out of the top of her pressed breasts, her eyes opening in excitement each time it pops back into view.

“How goes things in here?” a female voice calls out.

Nowlen looks up, remembering suddenly that a world outside of the breasts wrapped around his cock exists. He realizes that the carriage has stopped and that it sounds as if only one of his men is still alive and fighting. There outside the carriage sits another Nemorvian woman, perched atop a horse with her cloak thrown back. This one has jet black hair and looks even younger with smaller horns sticking out of her wild, windblown hair. Her breasts are still huge by the standards of normal beings, yet are significantly smaller then the pair wrapped around his cock.

The woman looks in and sees what’s going on. Her eyes open in surprise and she looks as though she is about to call out but then the tip of his penis pops into view and her face eases, her eyes locked in onto his cock. As if in a trance she clumsily dismounts form her horse and stumbles towards the carriage, climbing up into it.

With a pleased laugh Nowlen invites her forward, telling her to pull her tits out. With a blank, transfixed expression on her face she does as he says. “Is the third bandit another Nemorvian?” he asks. The black haired woman nods her head. “Well then, it doesn’t matter if she kills my last guard! She’ll be as easily dealt with as you two. And then I’ll have THREE Nemorvian whore slaves to protect and serve me on the rest of my trip.”

The thought is enough to push him over the edge. With a groan of pleasure he starts to ejaculate, his seed shooting up and hitting the first Nemorvian in the chin. She starts to stop fucking him with her tits but he tells her not to. “I’m getting soft but that won’t last for long. You, with the black hair, come here! Let me drink your milk, it will get me hard and make it so I can keep fucking this one’s tits.” He looks down at her. “Do a good job, make me cum again and maybe I’ll even let you ride my hard cock.”

 

* * *

 

With a savage thrust Novaoa rams her blade into the chest of the last of the guards. The man, big and strong and having fought savagely with an arrow sticking out of his chest, drops to his knees and groans in pain then starts to fall limp. Novaoa pulls her blade free from his chest, enjoying the shower of red that comes spurting out as the man’s body falls to the ground.

Novaoa also enjoys the sound of the man’s body falling dead at her feet. She feels an almost sexual thrill in killing men. How could she not after having been enslaved and made to service them for so many years of her life? It was that forced servitude that convinced her she needed to not only free herself but free as many of her Nemorvian sisters as she could. The two she’s already liberated, the black haired Kilne and the red-brown haired Amitkoa were just the beginning. They were bandits now, but that was just to raise the coin they needed to buy better gear to free more of their sisters.

“Where are they?” she asks, suddenly realizing there is no sign of either of the Nemorvian women. “Amitkoa went into the carriage earlier and I sent Kilne to check on her.” She moves towards the carriage and immediately hears the unmistakable sounds of fucking. What whore of so many years would not recognize them instantly?

But no Novaoa is no simple former whore, she’s a Nemorvian. So the sounds of intercourse with a man is enough to get a biological response from her body. She feels the nipples on her humongous breasts harden. She feels her heart rate increase. She feels her slit moisten and start to throb with anticipation.

Cursing she starts to move towards the door of the carriage. She has to put an end to this, and fast. Yet, she’s already so excited. She makes herself stop, realizing she was falling into the trap that kept her enslaved for so many years. Should she turn and look into the carriage now it would all be over, her Nemorvian revolution dead before it truly began.

She needs to calm her body and clear her mind first. Novaoa leans her back against the side of the carriage, throwing her cloak open and revealing her massive breasts. They were always big, even for a Nemorvian, and they had only increased in size as she had grown older and thicker. And her new life as a bandit hadn’t burnt off any of her curves. Nemorvians just didn’t work that way.

Like her fellow Nemorvians the leather and fur outfit she wore was little more than a bikini. Like all of her race she hated wearing clothing, finding them suffocating. Yet she knew they couldn’t ride naked through the wild woods. She insisted they wear SOME clothing. Still, what they wore was easily taken off or simply pulled aside.

As she leans back against the carriage she drops her sword and pulls her huge breasts free of their clothing, breathing in deep in satisfaction as she feels the cool air of the shaded forest on her hot and hungry flesh. Her nipples are already rock hard, her huge areolas pebbled and raised in ripples of hard flesh, her nubs engorged and large. She arches her back and starts pinching at them, squeezing her breasts and sending some of her milk shooting out before her and into the dirt of the road.

She moans and presses back against the carriage, trying not to concentrate on the sound of fucking coming from inside. She can picture it so clearly, one of her fellow bandits in some man’s lap, riding him wildly, her big tits flopping up and down. And from the sucking and slurping sounds she can see the other one sitting next to him as he sucks on her tits, drinking her milk and keeping himself hard.

One of Novaoa’s hands drifts southward, dipping into the garment that covers her woman hood. Her fingertips dance around and then across her clit, making her gasp and grind her back into the carriage. Then she moves her hand lower, curling her fingers into her dripping wet cunt.

For a time the leader of the Nemorvian band of bandits stands there, her back arched and pressed against the carriage, her huge breasts thrust out as she furiously masturbates listening to her fellow bandits fucking the man they are robbing. Finally she manages to rise to climax, biting her lip to keep from screaming in pleasure. She has no desire for her followers to know she had to clear her mind like this before saving them.

With a deep breath of satisfaction Novaoa pulls her hand from her pants, lifting it to her face to lick the juices of her own cunt off her fingers and smell the heady, pungent scent of her womanhood. Then, putting her huge breasts back in her top, she rights herself and picks her sword up from the ground where she let it drop.

One more deep breath. She turns, closing her eyes then leaping into the open carriage. Even with her mind clear she knows she’ll have to act fast. She opens her eyes to the sight she had imagined: Amitkoa sitting in the man’s lap facing him, riding his cock. Kilne beside him, holding one of her breasts up as the man drinks her milk.

Novaoa screams and lunges forward, ramming her sword into the man. He screams, milk leaking out of his open mouth as he turns to look at her in surprise. She pulls her sword out of his chest them lops his head off. Amitkoa and Kilne scream in horror, quickly pulling away from the now headless body.

“He had to die,” Novaoa says. “Every man that uses his cock to tame us has to die,” she says even more firmly.

Both women recover quickly, pulling their clothing back on and staring at the corpse spilling blood all over the finery of the inside of the carriage with hate.

“I warned you.” Novaoa says. “Don’t stare at cocks for too long, even a glance is enough to make us stupid. Try harder next time.”

Both women nod, seemingly ashamed.

“Now come on, we must loot the carriage and be off. I expect to find a lot of coin and finery we can sell.”

 

* * *

 

“You are Jennenes Moonlight,” the High Elf says to himself in the mirror. He is tall, narrow, and muscular. His hair is short and dark, his ears impressively long even for a High Elf. He stands before the full body mirror naked, admiring his unclothed form. His muscles are well defined, his body a specimen of Elven perfection. Even his cock is impressively sized for one of his race. The only blemishes on his perfect body is a large gash like scar that runs from below his left eye down his face and over his mouth down to his chin. That and a number of glowing purple arcane tattoos on his forearms.

“You are Jennenes Moonlight,” he repeats with confidence. “You are king of the Kingdom of Iphasea. The youngest king in that kingdom’s history. You murdered your father to ascend to the throne. You are rich. Women all over desire you, desire your body and desire to be made your queen.”

He smiles at this, looking down at his cock and feeling blood rush to it as he thinks of all the pathetic noblewomen he’s bedded that thought doing so would lead them to becoming his queen. “You are a beast in bed,” he tells himself.

His smile grows. “You are one of the most perverse beings in all of Alaria, your sexual lust untamed and unmatched. The brothels of your capital city, Iphasea, or matched only by those of Cliffshield. You are the perverse king and you do what you please,” he says then nods happily, turning from the mirror.

Nearby is an ornately carved wooden table, small with a circular top. Sitting in the center of this small table is a circular black medallion with glowing blue runes carved into it. Jennenes picks the item up, the blue runes glowing brighter at his touch.

With the item in hand he moves across the large room, heading for a large cushioned chair. Its cushions are made of the finest, most expensive fabric, stuffed with the down of countless slaughtered swans. He gets up on the chair, kneeling on it. The red cushions have a round tube like cushion sewn into the top, a resting place for his head. The chair is built leaned back slightly and sitting in it on his knees like this leaves his crotch thrust out and up.

His cock, already half erect from thinking about all the women he’s bedded, now grows fully hard as he anticipates what he’s about to do. He places the black medallion on the cushion just under his cock. He runs his finger tip around the glowing runes, muttering a few arcane words in an ancient tongue. When he is done he pulls his hand away and says, “Eczotl, I give you my faith and ask that your medallion pleasure me.”

The runes glow brighter, a circle in the center of the medallion beginning to turn then opening up to reveal sparking bluish-purple energy inside. The energy extends out, taking the form of smooth tentacle like appendages of pure energy.

As the tentacles reach out Jennenes grabs his hard cock by the base and holds it up. The largest tentacle wraps its length around his hard shaft and begins jerking him off. The other two smaller tentacles start to caress his balls.

Jennenes leans his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes, moaning in pleasure. “I am Jennenes Moonlight, black mage and master of all the dark arts. I give my faith to all the dark, perverse gods. Eczotl, Baedor, Dethys, Azel, Bodruer and countless others. I give them my faith and they allow me to feel pleasure beyond most being’s imagination!”

He shudders as the tentacles of energy work his cock. “By the gods, this feels so good,” he moans. “Won’t last much longer…” Then he grunts, his hard cock quivering and spurting out a full, thick load of cum.

As he ejaculates the tentacles pull back from his cock, their energy receding back into the black medallion. Once returned to the inside the small circular opening slides closed, the glowing runes fading slightly. Most of his cum has landed on the medallion, but the black surface seems to suck the semen up as if it is powered by it.

With a deep sigh of satisfaction Jennenes stands, picking the medallion up and returning it to its small table.

He looks at himself in the mirror. “You are Jennenes Moonlight and this world is your fucking plaything.”

 

* * *

 

Jennenes sits on his large, ornate throne, bored and only half listening to his majordomo as the Elven man drones on about the boring matters of state. “Yes, yes,” he says, waving off the current concern. “I trust you to take care of these mundane matters, I grow bored of them. Is there nothing interesting on today’s agenda?”

The man stammers nervously, looking at the scroll in his hand. He knows the king’s anger can appear quickly and that it is best not to be the target of it. “Well, your Majesty, there are the mercenaries you have hired to deal with the band of Nemorvian bandits that have been causing so much trouble.”

The King sits up straighter, his interest returning. “Oh yes, I had nearly forgotten about them! Who would think such women could not only throw off their lives of servitude here in my brothels but actually make successful careers as bandits! If not for the bad precedent it sets for the other Nemorvians I’d almost be tempted to let them be. But we can’t have any more of our most profitable whores deciding to leave their jobs and go become bandits, can we?”

“Oh no, sire. There’s also the matter raised by the noble Drezeb family.”

“And what matter was that? Remind me, I forget.”

“Well, sire, their eldest son was slain by these bandits on his way to this very city! The father of the family demands these bandits be dealt with by the crown and suggests if they aren’t he and his family will stop backing you, perhaps even switch their allegiance to one of the other great houses that eyes the throne with such lust.”

“Well,” Jennenes says with a laugh, “we can’t have that. Rebellions are such boring and tedious affairs. So who are these mercenaries you’ve hired? Do I get the honor of meeting such un-honorable men?”

“Yes, sire. I will go get them now,” the majordomo says with a bow, ducking out of the King’s audience chamber. A few minutes later he returns, followed by a large group of hulking Minotaur’s.

The beastly men are huge, taller than the tallest High Elf by at least two feet. Their bodies are massive and wide, covered in rippling muscles. Other than being mostly covered in a thin, fine layer of brown fur they look much like men, but on a massive scale, except for their heads. They have the heads of bulls, looking far more animal than man till they speak. Then it is clear they have as much intelligence as any of Alaria’s sentient races.

Many of the Minotaurs are armed with massive weapons, axes and swords that a normal Elf or Human would barely be able to wield with two hands yet these huge men do so easily with one. All of them look tough and brutal and most importantly hungry for action.

There is another thing about these Minotaurs that peeks Jennenes interest. Every one of them wear little more than a few studded leather straps. They are each functionally naked, their intimidating large cocks hanging free between their legs. Few men’s members had ever made the King feel inadequate but these beast-men each have cocks that make him feel tiny by comparison.

He points at the Minotaur standing in the front, gray hair on his head and obviously the leader. “Why are you all so under dressed?” he asks demandingly.

The lead Minotaur grunts and looks down at his own overlarge cock then back up at the king. “We don’t like the layers of finery you Elflings and the Humans like to wear. They feel constricting and uncomfortable. And we pride ourselves in needing no armor. So we go about naked and there are none to stop us.” It is clear that the last statement is a challenge to the king. Not even for him will they clothe themselves, he’s implying.

“Oh, I like you,” the King says with a happy laugh. “So tell me, can you take care of these troublesome Nemorvian bandits?”

“Yes,” the Minotaur grunts. “Will be easy work.”

“What if I told you I wanted them alive?”

The Minotaur shrugs. “We can do that, but it will cost more.”

The King waves this away. “Yes, yes. Coin is no concern to me. I want you to leave today, my majordomo will tell you where they’ve been spotted. And remember, bring them to me alive!”

 

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