Death Prophet first person

Every craft has a master. A legend that sits atop a hill, waiting for a challenger to best them. These legends never die, even if their bodies decay. A profession obscure as fortune telling has its own mark. Tales of a woman who could do more than foresee the future, for the right price. A heroine who diverts pandemics, ends droughts, bringing golden ages to empire after empire. Her powers are naught restricted to devout practices, quite the opposite she is fickle. Just as frequent as fortune eclipses, bad luck afflicts those who wish to foresee a future. Is this woman the catalyst of all fortune good or bad? Only Krobelus knows.

There’s always a business that every time you walk by, you wonder how they stay in business. Some establishment that stays afloat through thick and thin. A tent is pitched every few years near one of these complexes. Between a blacksmith and a carpentry guild. You’d never guess it, but those who enter the tent come out completely different in mind and body. More often than not those who enter do not leave, and those who have never entered leave the tent with more questions than answers. A banner pitched outside reads: “Fortunes told, coin or nay.”

I enter the tent, expecting nothing more than a crystal ball and some tacky adornments. The inside of the tent spans a room thrice as large, bustling with an armament of all things mysterious. A cloud of purple smoke looms overhead, fueled by a vase with burning incenses. I walk to the pot, motioning the smoke with my hand. The cloud has a will of its own, and follows my beckon. I take a deep breath. My mind goes fuzzy as the scent overpowers my lungs, infatuating me with thoughts of pleasure and sex.

“Non.”

I regain consciousness as the smoke pours from my nostrils. I feel my system flush the intruder out. Rather, the smoke leaves me of its own accord. A well-aged woman standing behind me motions the haze back to its previous activities. Her face is a pale green in contrast to the purple flowing dress she wears. Her hair is equally pale, but has a cerulean tinge to it. The long, flowing locks seem to float light as the air itself. She is wearing two gloves that match her outfit.

“My apologies dear… Sometimes the scent does not compliment the décor.”

The gypsy whispers in my ear. I am left speechless by this woman. She motions back to a large table in the center of the room with a divot in the middle. As she walks, I fail to hear her footsteps. She takes a seat, motioning to a chair across from her. I follow her stead and take seat facing the woman. She idly toys at her hair with one finger, apathetic to my presence.

“You did not come to indulge yourself with my incense. My name is Krobelus. Your name means little this trip since you have no need for a tarot card. That much is clear. What is not clear is the why. Why are you here when you do not believe in fortune?”

“I don’t know”

“Ah! The unknown. Madness, random, the unpredictable, incidental, the arbitrary. There are many a phrase for what I cannot foresee. You do not know why you are here. If you did know, I would have already sent you on your merry way dear. Then tell me mon ami, why haven’t you left?”

“…”

Krobelus removes her gloves one by one, revealing two massive claws that shine bright as emerald. The haze turns dark, and comes down from the ceiling. It fills the table’s divot, forming a crystal clear mirror. She drags her claws across the surface, etching archaic phrases. With a pound of her fist, the pool shatters, flying out in all directions. I shield myself best I can, bracing for impact but feel nothing. I open my eyes and see the smoke violently spinning; restricted by an invisible sphere.

“Your past has many roots, all which shape your future. The trunk of your life splits in two halves. A crossroad of fate. It comes soon. A life of wealth and prosperity down one. Misery and strain for not only you, but all who surround your roots. Your time comes now dear. Which fate do you choose?”

Life! I choose life!”

I cry out in a panic. I sweat in anticipation and fear of what is to come. The cloud spins faster and more violent, turning dark as a thundercloud. Electricity shoots from the cataclysm, striking at random objects all around the room. I hear a screeching sound as Krobelus motions with her claws at the orb. A vacuum seems to pull my body into the cloud. I fruitlessly resist, abandoning my chair.

“Worry not young one!”

The smoke has no regard for my resistance. I am pulled from the ground into the vapor. The last words I hear before blacking out are:

“Venir la mort douce…”

I wake up lying atop Krobelus’s table. All in the tent seems well. Nothing outside of my emotions and clothing are damaged from the ordeal. The fortune teller seems less than phased. She carries a teacup in one hand.

“You braved the storm, now drink deep mon amour.”

Krobelus lifts my head with her talons, bringing the cup to my lips. I wholeheartedly drink the tincture. I feel my nerves calm down. My body ceases its shaking, and I feel my heart slow down. As she leans over, I get quite the view of her figure. Her breasts are criminally held back by her dress, tight against her frame.

“Do not try and hide things from me. Even desires are best left out…”

Krobelus motions to her dress, sliding it from her shoulders and down her arms.

“In the open air.”

Her garment falls to the floor, revealing her voluptuous figure. Krobelus sets the emptied cup down and snaps her fingers. The haze overhead drifts down and spreads, quickly engulfing the room. I hold my breath, but the fumes slide through my nostrils by their own will.

“The smoke may infatuate you, but that is not its power. Rather, it invokes what you want most and brings out the truth. Don’t fight it dear. Let it flow.”

My tattered garments do little to hide my erection. It is true, I want Krobelus. With that in mind, I give in and take a breath. The infatuation comes back to me in full force. Even as I exhale, more and more incense flows into my veins. I look to her, who beckons my attention. With her dress gone, she stands before me wearing a deep purple corset and a matching garter belt. Two heavily laced pantyhose cover her thighs. She unbuttons two bright ruby earrings and sets them aside the teacup. Her long fingers are quite nimble, and more than capable of tightening her corset. Her breasts heft even higher, threatening to burst from the corset. As she climbs onto the table, I get a view between her legs at the fabric sliding tight between her lips.

Krobelus takes the dominant position, mounting my chest. She removes my tattered clothing and discards it leaving me exposed. I feel beads of sweat run down my face, nervous in the presence of a professional. She parts my legs and slides, poising her thighs over my cock. She shifts one leg to the other side, sliding my aching member between her flanks. Her flesh feels heavenly as she motions back and forth, driving my member wild with desire. Even a gentle squeeze drives me crazy. Krobelus grabs the teacup set aside and drips it onto my pleasured shaft. With each drop, I can feel my girth swell and increase. It’s almost too much, but she never goes too far.

“This elixir you drank will help you with endurance…”

Krobelus grabs the kettle and pours a glass for herself. This tedium drives me insane. I watch this woman play with my cock like dough between her haunches and all she does is idly sit by and pour tea. She closes her eyes and takes a sip, savoring its taste. Her curvaceous body comes into full form as her breasts enlarge and her thighs tighten. Even her hair lengthens the more she drinks. She drops the graceful demeanor as she sips more and more, cupping her glass with both palms.

“My tea is missing something… A little milk.”

Krobelus’s breasts pop from their bindings. Her nipples stand rigid from the sexual arousal.

“Would you be so kind? These talons aren’t suited for such tender activities.”

Krobelus releases her pleasure lock and graces over my member with her snatch, giving me a brief feeling. She leans over me and holds a teapot with an open lid. I grab one teat with my hand and begin caressing. A loose dribble turns to a stream as I migrate to the nipples. I lovingly roll them between my fingers as I fill the pot. My erection slides between her rumps. She subconsciously works her cheeks over my shaft as she massages me. Her shuddering makes it hard to aim, but I do my best. Unable to resist, I go straight for the tap and suckle her lone teat. As I drink her fluids, the stream hastens to a downpour. I focus less on filling the pot and more on savoring her delicious nectar. I spray her cream on my body by accident. Krobelus’s fluids dry as she runs out of milk. With a “pop” my mouth lets her nipple loose.

The fortune teller swirls the doused pot with the remaining tea and pours two cups. She beckons a toast and we touch glasses. We interlock elbows and drink the tea with vigor. Her breasts start to secrete on their own. I feel a sample of pre cum bubble up out my shaft. The haze turns from a dark violet to a bright pink.

Krobelus migrates down, sliding my cock between her breasts. They feel heavenly wrapped around my girth. Rather than pump, she slides her entire frame over me, pleasuring not just my member but my entire body. Krobelus reaches back with her claws, tearing loose her underwear. She toys with herself how she can, but a woman in her situation is desperate for love. She rides my knee between her legs rubbing her hot cunt over me.

I am pushed to my limit. A climax builds up inside me, burning for release like a ball of fire in a pipe. I feel my cock distend as a spray of seed jets out. Krobelus motions with her fingers, using her power to levitate my seed. She gathers it into a singular sphere growing larger the more I ejaculate. She motions at the orb with her hands, pulling it to and fro.

“So this is the essence of life?”

“I need it inside me.”

Krobelus motions the orb to her side and drops it into her teacup. She brings the cup to her lips, shaking out of anticipation. She tries to drink as calmly as she can. A strand of my fluid leaks down her cheek.

“Délicieux, maintenant me baiser!”

Lust takes over the fortune teller. She grabs the kettle and douses my crotch. My nails dig into my palms as I feel my cock painfully distend. Krobelus kneels over me, holding her waiting cunt open with two fingers. She slams down hard, taking as much as her body can support. Her love canal does not halt my ever expanding member. I feel the blood rush from my body to support my cock. Thrusting becomes nay impossible, but that does not stop Krobelus from enjoying herself. Quite the opposite, she grips the sides of the table and impales herself even deeper.

“I can’t take it mon amis!!!”

The lustful gypsy retracts from my member, pulling out. She shifts forward farther, positioned with her ass ready for penetration. Krobelus slides her hips side to side, trying to compensate for the massive size. I press in with all my strength and penetrate her second love hole. With less restriction, I feel my cock distend as long as it pleases. It has to be at least twelve inches deep. Her corset pops loose as her stomach stretches wider and wider. The banshee swipes at the air with her hands, high off of ecstasy. She cries out all manner of French cuss words. A macropyre of sexual energy builds up inside me as I approach the finale.

All the pleasures in the world cannot compare to this divine experience. I feel my shaft dilate and let loose a waterfall of seed. No wave of semen could compare to the torrent that is erupting inside her. I watch as her stomach distends to pregnant levels as Krobelus fills like a balloon. This goes on for what feels like an eternity as my body spasms from the exploding bliss. The rush of blood however renders me dizzy. The last words I hear before I feint are:

“So that is the pleasure of life?”