Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

"THEY RIDE LIKE THE FURIES!" One man lauded.

This man, like the others, was smitten lips shut in the sheer majesty of the topless Milfs riding in. In hardcore, military style.

The Junker queen, Dementa was in the lead of the riding gang; her grey tank top was zippered and the fly hung open, exposing very succulent and forward standing titties. Her areolas were warmed pink in the receding sunlight. Her camouflage combat pants were tight of her strong thighs and rode up her lap as her camel-hide boots throttled hard on the accelerator of her bike.

It roared in the red desert harder than a combust engine on a moving train. Three more hot cougars rode fast behind her. From the left, the busty sukky infamous for her sinful bod and BJs: Aya Naamah steered her own engine-chariot furiously. The iron wheels gave its own sandstorm as it beat across the ancient sands and made gravel shiver.

Immediately adjacent to her was another gorgeous, crazy rider. The Empress, Ravenna.

The runaway Queen had the smallest chest of the bunch. Compared to the inflamed succubus beside her, Ravenna's boobs were pear-sized—it didn't stop them from swaying with every jerk and rev of her mini-truck though. One could wonder for a millennia how the gangs of the Badlands managed to get their hands on such high artificial tech.

The simple truth was Grone. The man and his dad, Khrogan had robbed every poor sod to travel the brown sands from king to commoner, and baron to buffoon. Among these sorry lot, the Atlanteans had fallen victims. And those water citizens had more futuristic contraptions than the planet of dark Lord Hephaestus.

"I see a most ravishing redhead in the fork!" called the fourth woman of the all-female gang, the last biker on the right: Natalya.

One would think the Virgin of the Coldflame too high on morals to partake in such demented sport of nudity. But Rafel's abrupt abduction after the blast had brought out the motherly instinct—she didn't even knew she had—out of her.

Natalya gripped onto the handlebars of her bike and revved torturously with her fingers. It looked like she had just flattened a wayward coyote and wet her spiked tyres in its corpse blood for minutes. And pissed on it thereafter. Her biker slacks were stained in grease. The heaving machine under her looked like it was fashioned with both gnarly metal and roadkill.

One zombie eye popped out from the sissy bar. A trail of a rotting flag clung out behind, flapping in the wind and rusty dust. Natalya rode in heels.

Despite it being the first time the vestal was out of her usual white frock, she rocked the commando jeans like a proper goth femme. If she wasn't already deflowered by a certain husky, ruddy rebel, the hard driving she indulged would definitely have done it for her hymen.

Charging across the dunes the way they did, the four women resembled rock 'n roll dykes in their thirties tired of being the butch for one night and ready to claim the cock of a 21yr old. The itch to be ruthlessly pounded for once.

Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was suppressed need. But these four women rode across that sunset like it was their nephew—and it was just for one night.

"I see him too." Ravenna admitted.

Bruum! Brruuum!

And the sound of roar engines skyrocketed.

"Hell, she is something," Rafel zeroed his eyes on Natalya as their manic gang sped in closer. The Vestal was a vision in the cloud of dust that rose like a grainy shadow behind them. Of all the hot, busty Milfs driving into base, she was the whitest bitch.

Pap! Pap!

Her tits slapped up against her chest; it reflected the fucking sun. It made her porcelain skin glow and Rafel swooped around to charge those looking at them arrive: "To your fucking tents! All of you! There ain't no fucking Furies for you here. Those hot mamis are my effing brides. Go on. GET!"

Grone heralded the spectators away—which was everyone, and dished Rafel a naughty smile. He vanished too into the throng that dispersed among the tents.

"Finally!" sighed Rafel.

He walked with Cora past the silos and grain huts and [Hexgate]. And past the trenches. They halted beside a wall of rotting heads, impaled on long sticks under the orange dusk. Flies buzzed and fed their fill in the small field. "Here they come." He rubbed his hands. "—my gorgeous MILFs!"

And he was free to ogle four pairs of heavy, swell breasts without the green beast flashing on his face. Or the red one either. If the latter had showed, he'd have to murder everyone who'd layed eyes on his women.

Dementa's ivory skin was well blushed and mildly tan as she drove in, parking with a perfect 360-round inches away from him. Her bike blew up dust in his face. Rafel didn't even blink. Not when her boobs bounced on her chest.

Whaa bam! Whaaa baaam!!

He caught it in slow motion. Natalya, Ravenna, and Aya hit the brakes hard behind the Junker queen's bike and eased their hard boots off the throttles. Rising like slutty army chicks from their variant wheels, their motions were unsubtly sexual as they pulled their legs over the seats and hopped down their vehicles. Aya Naamah was first to fly into Rafel's arms.

"Lord Master!" she shrieked.

Squish!

Her huge boobs fought with his chest—Rafel didn't want to win. Everyone pulled in for one giant hug. Rafel grinned in sinister delight. 'Oh! What a day? I am surrounded by mommy titties. After that sorry affair with that motherfucker arsonist, I deserve this. I really fucking do!' He relaxed into the very warm embraced and began fondling breasts.

He bent his head, pulled one mamacious bosom into his mouth and suckled. The nipple was hot and tender in his mouth; very aroused. Rafel didn't even know which gorgeous MILF he had in his mouth until Dementa sighed and softly pulled off his head. He left her areolas with a saliva trail.

Her titties bounced in cream bountifuls. He was already hypnotized, and she had to draw his eyes to hers. Dementa chuckled. "Not here, my ruddy rebel. I am still Skullrider. And you... king."

Rafel nodded. "Lead the way."

Contrary to the horny minds of the women and their shared man-lover, there was to be no fucking that night. Darkness fell swiftly over the Badlands, and as soon as Rafel tumbled into the tent with Ravenna giggling up his back—and threatening to feed him Aya's butt if he didn't let go—they all found the Supreme Mother of Séltand waiting casually by the fireplace.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Indira," Rafel laughed, "come to join us, have you, mommy?" He teased.

Indira sighed, truly hating that she couldn't just toss off all her immaculate clothes and pin this stud under her for an hour. Rafel was the stuff of celibate dreams. The créme of female fantasies. "I am afraid, my king, this is not to be. Not tonight."

She turned from the lapping flames in the hearth.

"I have news from the scouts."

Ravenna slid off Rafel's shoulders. She could tell the instant his grip slacked. The air went tense at the words of the Supreme Mother. "What news, Indira?" Rafel tried for calm, but they was nothing to mask the rising wrath in the scratchy bass his voice propelled. It was exactly what he dreaded. It was one woman in particular, if she could be called that. Indira tilted her head and said.

"Lilith."

"Shite." Ravenna bit down in a huff and fell to a green settee. "Way to dull a girl's needs, Mother Superior." Cora vaunted also. "This fucking bitch! Hasn't she had enough of toying with mortal lives." The slender tomboy particularly had an axe to grind with the Queen of the Night because she had once had undying fealty and faith to Lilith. The fucking cunt had being her coven Matriarch—and then gone ahead to murder and resurrect her again, just to prove a point.

And there was the shit with wiping her memories!

If not for Rafel, she'd be a clueless zombie on the chessboard of gods.

"This fucking bitch." Cora said again.

"Mother Indira, details please." Rafel was the voice of reason.

Indira found her most reasonable tone to address the small room of trusted ranks in the rebellion war. "There's a battalion of armed sellswords who have set up siege at the Seat. Among their camp is a good number of Lilith's [Blackguard]. They also have wargs and witch factions in their midst. I was only able to escape their surround because I had come here initially for the Rites of Issus... your coronation, my king." Indira took two careful steps in front of the fire. The orange flickers bounced in her shawl and veils radiant light.

"She means to quell our revolution before it ever leaves the South." Cora told intelligently. Then her head swivelled to land marine eyes on Indira. "Did the scouts manage to have a number?"

"The mercenaries are a little over a thousand. The Blackguard stand fifty strong. From the dark tales I've heard of them, they do not need to be more."

"An army of a thousand?" Rafel recited Indira's words. "She's testing our battle stride."

"And resolve." Cora voiced again. "I know that bitch calling herself the Dowager. I once loved her to madness. She is the soul of [Yandere]."

Rafel circled in the tent. He looked round the faces of the roomful of hot women who had decided to take the stand against the greatest military in the Continent with him, and he loved them dearly. He said with clear conviction in his leopard eyes.

"Well, Lilith is wrong to underestimate us. We are the blood of rebels. In the words of a man whom was awfully martyred at my hand during the years of my deception. . ." he spoke of General Noguri, the Legatus Lilith's new bitch, Giselle, had coaxed him into slaying, ". . .the light of revolution has been ignited. Watch it burn into the might of a thousand Suns."

He ended with this: "Sleep, my darlings. Tomorrow, we ride for Séltand. Tomorrow, we make this desert dawn the last thing Lilith's little bitches ever see. Tomorrow, we begin our march to freedom."

"Hear! Hear!" All the women in the lamplit tent chanted—even the topless ones.