Evil Comics

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She lowered her visor and lance and spurred the horse forward.
Over the rise it lay, every joint plated, many sharp spurs covering it, razor sharp teeth filling its mouth. And it was regarding her. She charged. The lance struck home and she was hurtled
from her mount. With a glance from the dragon the stallion froze
- a statue. She tumbled to the base of another statue, that of a
naked woman and shuddered, wondering. Suddenly the thing’s
massive paw pinned her to the ground in her armor. The jaws
closed around the helm and ripped, freeing her long hair. The
dragon stopped, regarding her with a gleam in its eye.

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The horse was a buckshin with a slightly whiter mane and tail.
As she had combed the mane out it had kicked her viciously,
almost as if it knew and understood her resentment, as if it knew
she enjoyed dominating it, and it chafed at the dominance. Faint
traces of that resentment faded as they rode off.

Rumors of a dragon, a foul platinum colored thing, swept the
land. It was said that this dragon was once kind and good but
now it had been conquered and corrupted by the evil goddess
Tiamat. Now she rode forth to find it. And slay it.

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Dahala’s armor felt warm on her shoulders as she saddled her war
stallion. She hated horses and this spirited light war horse was
no exception. They tended to be headstrong and they smelled bad,
though, admittedly, their fur could be soft. The feel of the
saddle reminded her of the smooth leather against her own skin
under her armor. She loved leather and when the horse died,
either in combat or if she slit the foul thing’s throat, she’d
make herself a new jerkin out of it’s hide.

She swung up into the saddle, the girth tight around the horse’s
barrel, the cinch squeezing it snugly. Though she was still a
virgin, she was not quite the valiant knight most thought her to
be – mainly because she, and her five sisters, enjoyed the teas-
ing she could give the men – and the sound thrashing if they
overstepped their bounds. Still she was kind by nature. She was
a tall woman, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and quite
lithe. Her musculature did not detract, rather, it enhanced her
shapely figure. The long flowing blonde hair left hidden, along
with the firm curves, inside the full plate armor she wore.

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Finally he released my throat, allowing me to breathe. My
respite was only momentary, as he forced me to my hands and knees
and mounted me. Time lost meaning as I became his
concubine, his tongue wrapping about my neck as a collar, invading my helpless mouth and throat, and reaching down to where his
hands brutally held my cock and balls by virtue of which to pull
me back and forth on his rod in a piston-like action. I was
helpless as the object of his demonic lust, lost in sensation,
able only to serve as I was subjugated by his true power.

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His strength redoubled again, and I began to bend, my mouth
now filled with his Wand. Still his strength increased, and I
had to move. I twisted his arms in my grip unexpectedly, stepped
in, felt his weight shift as I pulled him to throw over my hip,
his right hoof scraping, unsteady,

And he pushed me laughably to the hard floor, spinning and
pinning me on my back. Reorienting around the tip of his cock in
my mouth, he thrust it home to the back of my throat and beyond.
It slid, oiled, for an eternity until my face was embedded between his hairy thighs and held tight there, only able to breathe
the aroma of his heavy, full sacks. Though I could not see it,
his tongue serpent-like struck between my legs and slid up between my cheeks, forcing me open and greasing me with his slime.

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I stepped triumphant into the final circle, the most intricately drawn. The chanting and drumming reached their peak and
stayed, and the fog of incense cleared, allowing me to see who
sat upon the dais, who sat upon the throne, who presided over the
proceedings.

The ancient texts named him Baphomet; Satan Mekratrig’s
warrior-duke. My sword and shield were limp in my grasp as I
looked up, as he was many hundreds of feet tall. His head was
the head of an ibex, with the outward-spiralling horns, gazing
inscrutably down upon me with the eyes of a beast. His shaggy
chest was traced with scars delineating his prowess in battle,
inflicted perhaps by a flaming sword. He stood, rising from his
throne, on the legs of a goat, stepping into the seventh pentacle
on cloven hooves. In his right hand he held a sword cold as ice,
and his left stroked his impossibly huge phallus. As the warrior-magus, he wielded the primal Wand, and his scent struck me a
nigh-physical blow with the power of his maleness. I staggered,
and could not bear the weight of my shield, letting it drop into
the abysmal pit below my feet, lost.

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I awoke when I realized that I was lying on stone, and not
sheets. Sensing motion about me, I leapt up into a cloud of
incense, and weaved about an empty-handed blow at me. Unbidden,
my motions were swept into a rhythm of chantings and beatings of
drums, and I hop-scotched over intricate chalk lines in the dimly
lit, smoke-filled room. Lashing out with a foot I caught my
assailant in the side, crashing him to the ground. He was up in
an instant, and rushed me. I took a stance, and felt the power
flow up from the earth into me, filling me strangely, rushing
into every hollow drained by the High Mass. The fight became a
dance, and my opponent could not touch me; every time I struck
him, his power exploded out as if he were a powder puff, entering
me. His steps grew weaker, and I drained him dry, leaving him
lifeless upon the floor.

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Once away from the Church’s grounds, I felt centered upon my
horse. It was a Liath Mactha, a grey of battle, and power flowed
up through its beating hooves to me from the earth. I felt well
again, and I rode to the castle of the Templars where I was first
assigned, there being no immediate fighting. I arrived just
after dinner to much cheering and fanfare, received a repast, and
joyously took another heated bath. My last conscious thought, as
I luxuriated in the huge bed and clean sheets that were now my
right, was a delirious joy at the quality of the plumbing system
of the castle.

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