Grimora the Soceress (Pixiv Fanbox)

Staffing Problems

Beyond the Swamps of Ruin, in the heart of the Forest of Forgotten Souls, rose up a sharp black mountain that made the last two places look pretty nice in comparison, actually. No one dared climb it, or walk near it, or even look at it too long. Because inside that mountain, carved by summoned devils into that evil and desolate rock, lay Grimora the Sorceress' Mountain Fortress of Power.

Or as she shortened it for people she was about to kill, the Sorceress Fortress.

Her magic ravaged the land and terrorized the peasants, sometimes to get something, sometimes for laughs. If the crops failed, you can be sure it was because Grimora made it rain frogs. If a town burned down, it might have been that Grimora commanded her minions to steal something and they got bored doing it. If the cattle bore mutant calves in springtime, it was probably because Grimora summoned a hell bull to go on a mating rampage with them in the night while she watched (because she thought that was kinda hot). Whatever horrible misfortune or unnatural tragedy befell, Grimora was likely behind it. She was as wicked as they come, and she wanted to rule the world. Because what else was magic for?

But Grimora had a problem. You see, to take over the world, even with magic, a girl needs people she can count on. And her legion of impish minions, on the whole, were useless. Loyal, yes. Evil and mischievous, absolutely. But they were also small, weak, and dumb. They could break things, as long as nobody bigger and braver than them showed up to kick them away. The could steal things, just not usually the thing that they were asked to. And for any plan that needed stealth, subterfuge, coordination? They would screw it up in seconds. In any mission they were sent on, the body count would be in the double digits even if it was "successful". Not that Grimora actually counted. But she knew it was high.

She could also summon demons and devils from the lower planes, which were much stronger and cleverer, but they always wanted contracts, and pacts, and your soul or something in exchange. And they would turn on you in a heartbeat.

Hiring mercenaries? Too expensive, and not much more competent than her minions, which she could make in a pit for free. And it was against her principles to pay money for things.

No, she needed a real henchman. A warrior. A strong right hand. A champion of evil. Someone mighty, cunning, loyal, immune to fear, impervious to pain, invincible in battle. With someone like that by her side, all would fall before her!

Grimora gazed into her crystal ball, and sent her minions far and wide to search for such champion, or if none could be found, the means to make or summon one. So far, the search remained fruitless. Such a warrior didn't come around every day.

After yet another disastrous mission where her idiotic minions failed her yet again, she grew tired of throwing them into a pit of starving wolverines and retired to her boudoir. It was full of magical artifacts, evil tomes, staffs with skulls on them, and lots of other things with skulls on them. It was also full of stuffed animals and plushies, and many of them had skulls on them too. Pillows, silks, chandeliers with black iron and blue candles, a vanity mirror the size of a barn, a roaring fireplace that could fit 4 men skewered end to end. Though if she let their legs down, she bet she could fit 5 next time.

It also had a handy pentagram carved into the stone floor. She needed some tension relief, and the wolverine pit didn't do it today. She needed to summon up someone to help her out.

Grimora prepared for the ritual. Normally she would have started at the vanity mirror so she fix her hair could touch up her makeup, which she liked dark around the eyes and lips. Her whole presentation was decidedly Gothic, with black hair and nails, pale complexion, and long dark dresses or robes being her style of choice. She liked looking good. But she was too frustrated to freshen up today, and she knew that who she was summoning wouldn't say no anyway. She decided to cut right to the chase, and pulled off her dress over her head and tossed it in a corner.

Naked, and voluptuous as a dark queen ought to be, she began the ritual. A dance, a chant, a dusting of sulfur, and the pentagram began to glow red. From its center, ring of whistling hot flames erupted. And up through it, accompanied by the distant screams of the damned, rose a beautiful and muscular young devil. His skin was red, his eyes a gleaming amber. A set of small horns and a roped tail gave away his origin, in case anyone was confused.

The incubus, who was clothed in a fine shirt and trousers, bemusedly eyed the already naked Grimora.

"It seems we are anxious today," teased the devil in a smoky voice.

"Spare me, Barnabus. I've had a hard day and I need some stress relieving. Kindly get on with it."

"Very well," he smiled, and bowed. "You have summoned me, your humble servant, Barnabus. What does the mistress desire?"

"Start with the usual."

Moments later on her giant circular bed, the incubus was making her body stir. He knew all the places she liked: that spot on the back of her right knee, the feeling of fingers running between her shoulder blades, a light nibble on the earlobe. She was beginning to relax a little. Not bad, she thought, for the cheapest incubus in hell.

It was taking a while to get her going, much to Grimora's annoyance, but the incubus was patient and persistent as a coiled snake. He moved on to the breast sucking and the light caress of her labia. As she began to sigh and her body began to heat up, his caress focused to her clitoris, circling it with his expert touch, which made it "pitch a tent" under her hood. With his target now coming out of hiding, he took his mouth off her breast, and, kissing her body all the way down to it, gently put his mouth over that tent.

She lay there, deep in thought, while her pussy was being eaten out by a devil. She just couldn't get her mind off this special henchman business. Was she looking in the right places? There had been so many dead ends. So many foolhardy men who turned out to be all boasting. So many recipes that turned out to make simple golems, or suits of talking armor to entertain tourists. So many snake oil salesmen that ripped her off, who she then fed to the wolverines. What was left to try? Could sell her soul to a devil, not like the pretty boy with his tongue in her snatch down there, but a real one, with power to grant. Tempting...but she did want to keep her soul. She was a strong believer in sole soul ownership, no strings attached. It was the principle of the thing. Maybe collaborate with another magic user? No way, then they would want to control whatever they make. Then there would have to be double-crossing involved, and who knows what a jealous partner could do in the time between--

"Mistress Grimora? Do I give you no pleasure? What troubles you?"

She looked down in annoyance at the handsome face between her legs. It was nothing mind-blowing, but it was a warm, comfortable tongue-fucking that was good for thinking. She wanted bark at Barnabus that she didn't tell him to stop. But she was just thinking in circles, and that wasn't making her feel any better. She didn't summon him to help her think, she summoned him to get her off. And this wasn't doing it.

"What troubles me doesn't concern you, Barnabus, except that I am still quite unsatisfied. I think this is going to be a "bull" kind of session."

Barnabus licked his lips and grinned. "Indeed, it does look like some more...exciting measures are needed today. What you ask for, I will serve."

He produced a pot full of gel, who knows from where, and with his fingers applied it to Grimora's vagina, inside and out. It had a cooling sensation that made her break out into goosebumps and shiver. Her heart began to beat faster in anticipation, and she began to heat up again.

The incubus smiled and offered his hand, which she took. He led her to a short wooden structure in the corner, a crossbeam held up by two sturdy supports, like a set of stocks without the holes. A set of cushions were attached to the top. Grimora bent over at the waist and rested her head and arms on those cushions, presenting her rear end to the room. She felt the incubus lean over her, hugging his body to her's, and cup her breasts in both hands. He kissed her on the ear and gave her breasts a gentle squeeze. Then he whispered in that ear:

"I'm going to make you my cow."

"Oh, Barnabus...that was a very unsexy thing to say. Try again."

"I'm going to breed you like a steer."

"Better. But no more talking." Neither of them knew that a steer was a castrated bull.

He released her breasts and backed off. She saw the wall in front of her light up from a flash of hellfire behind. She heard a set of heavy hooves land on the stone floor. She heard a loud snort, and a hot blast of air hit her ass cheeks. She flinched, and something in her belly quivered.

Grimora turned her head to look. Behind her was a magnificent red bull. His horns were wide and curved, his muscles were enormous. He snorted again, and pawed his hoof on the floor.

"Ah...that is a better look for you," remarked Grimora with a smirk. She widened her stance.

The bull put his nose between her cheeks, and she felt a strong, thick tongue lap at her vagina. She hissed, and she felt her knees start to go weak. Now that was not a tongue you could ignore!

"Ah--OK--Ah OK, that's MM! Good Barnabus! Enough of that. I'm ready for you. Come on!" She rocked her hips invitingly.

A vast shadow fell over her, and two huge hooves landed on the crossbeam on both sides of her with a CLOMP. The bull was right over her now, and something long, hard, and hot came to a rest on her back. She swallowed, and her heart pounded. This was it!

She leaned herself forward, feeling the bull's penis slide down her spine, until its tip was burning hot between her bottom cheeks. She wriggled her hips until its fleshy head was partly nestled in her labial folds. She took a breath. Then, pushing off the beam and grunting, she slid that magnificent powerful penis into herself as far as it would go.

"HAAAAAHhhhhh..." she sighed, knees trembling. It was so hot, so filling! Her legs were having trouble holding her up. She began to drool.

If he were a real bull, she would have died very quickly. But Barnabus, even in the form of a hulking animal, was perfectly controlled. He snorted and grunted as he pumped the small woman under him, slowly, gently.

"Hah...hah...faster, beast! I thought you wanted to NNN! breed me!"

On her command, Barnabus picked up the pace. She got on her tiptoes and stuck her rear in the air, and got that ramming bull cock hitting just the right spot. She gasped, and moaned, and her legs shook under her. She dripped moisture from many places: her skin; her mouth; her pounded, squelching crotch. She reached out and gripped the bull's front legs, hanging on for dear life.

"Aaaah, YES! More! More! AAAA--"

Her breasts shook, and she yelped and cried out with pleasure, and reached down to her crotch to feel the furiously pistoning penis slide in and out of her. She caressed her own clitoris while she was there, and her eyes crossed, her legs buckled, and she groaned. All over her body, the waves of mind-melting sensation began to peak. Here it comes--!

"AANG--Barnabus! I'm not, NNNN! your fucking cow! You're my bull! You NNNNGAAAhear me!? You (gasp) are (gasp) MY (gasp) BULLLLLLLL!!!"

Her insides slammed shut, her legs tucked in, her back arched to match the curve of the bull's belly, and despite her words, she lowed very much like a cow. When the orgasm released it's grip, she sagged, hanging off the bull's penis like an oven mitt on a peg. Her toes dragged on the floor.

The erection died down and lost its pressure, and she slid off and fell on her hands and knees on the floor. She keeled over and lay on her side, quivering and panting. She felt the points of a pair of horns prod at her back, then slide under her and lift her off the floor. Barnabus the bull carried Grimora's limp body on top of his horns, then, gently as he could, tossed her back onto her bed.

"OOF! Haaaaahhhh ha ha ha...delicious. Oh my. That put me right...as...rain."

Still breathing heavily, she lazily put her hand between her legs, swished it around a time or two, then bought it back up to look. She only saw her own clear juices on her fingers.

"Looks like you chose not to breed me today after all," she wryly remarked.

"No, I thought that it would make easier cleanup," replied a now humanoid Barnabus, wiping his penis off with a rag. "The first time we did that, you complained about how all the bull cum ruined your rugs."

"I see...well, being pumped full of bull semen does add a more...visceral touch at the end. Depends on my mood, I suppose."

"I suppose. Now, whenever you are composed, Mistress Grimora..."

"Yes yes, your payment. A moment."

She made a somatic pattern with her hand, and pointed a medium sized box with a tarp over it. She bid it come, and, lifting off the ground and floating through the air, it did. The box landed on the edge of the bed. From somewhere inside came a muffled and pitiful whimpering.

Barnabus took off the tarp, and smirked. "Excellent. You remembered the air holes this time."

"A fine litter of puppies, freshly kidnapped. I hope they will make excellent hellhounds."

Barnabus cracked open the lid, and his smile dropped right off. He reached in and pulled out a puppy, squealing and wriggling in his grip, and peered at it closely.

"Are these...dachshunds?"

"Is that what they are? Well, you can make hellhounds out of anything, I suppose."

"No, not really Grimora! You need, you know, tough dogs! Pit dogs! Guard dogs! Not some tiny family pets! What am I going to do with these?"

Grimora gave a wicked grin. She loved it when she could make Barnabus drop the classy "service top" act.

"Pish posh, dear Barnabus, give them a chance. You never know what they'll grow up into. Why, with your expert training and tender care, I'm sure they'll grow up to be the most feared ankle biters in hell!" She cackled.

"Not funny!" Barnabus fumed. "The other incubi are going to laugh at me! Some payment! I want real dogs!"

"Come now, Barnabus, let's be reasonable. You never asked for specific breeds, and even if you did, my minions would never be able to tell the difference. You get what you get. Now kindly leave my chambers before I send you back the hard way."

"Hmph!" Barnabus pouted, which looked hilarious to Grimora on that usually unflappable chiseled face. He snatched up the box in a huff. "It not that hard. Just tell them to look for big dogs. Big, scary dogs. Not flipping...wiener dogs! GAH!"

Ass out and carrying a box of kidnapped puppies, the incubus stomped back to the hell portal and fizzled back from whence he came.

Grimora, still glowing from post-coital bliss, and having successfully topped it off with a good old act of meanness, sighed with contentment. Yes. That did put her right as rain.

The Discovery

Then came a timid knocking at her door. “Mistress! Are you decent?”

Grimora sighed with much less contentment. Of course. It could never last. She wrapped herself in a sheet.

“Never am, Sneegleeves. Enter.”

The door creaked open, and in shuffled Sneegleeves, a scrawny green imp about 3 feet tall, wearing an old cracked pair of glasses and an old brown shirt full of holes as a tunic. Of all Grimora's minions, he was the least useless.

“Ah! I, ah, regret to disturb you, evil one--”

“You shall regret it much more if you do not get to the point, Sneegleeves.”

“Indeed, mistress, indeed! But I bring wonderful news! We found the Chronicle of Origath!”

Her mouth dropped open. And then it closed.

“Sneegleeves. Either someone lied to you, or you lie to me. The minions, MY minions, cannot have found the Chronicle of Origath.”

“I swear it to be true, your Evilness! I have seen it myself, seen its foul etchings, read its first few leaves with my own eyes!”

“You are telling me, you worm, that not only did you all summon the brainpower to find the last living copy of the great Emperor Origaths' own chronicles, you actually laid hands on it? How in all the hells did that happen? Speak!”

“A most happy accident, my Lady! Our forces found a caravan traveling under light guard, which they set upon. In one of the wagons was a chest full of old tomes, and this Chronicle has a terrible leering skull on its cover, and the others know how you adore things with skulls on them, your Greatness. So they brought it home unspoiled, and I opened it, and so it was! The Chronicle!”

“You have it here!? Bring it to me! Immediately!”

“At once, your Vileness!” he gave a quick bow and scampered out.

Grimora fell back on her pillows in disbelief. The Chronicle of Origath. The final copy of the histories of the legendary Dread Emperor Origath. Origath the Doombringer. Origath the Calamitous. Origath the Worldburner. He who could not be pierced by spear nor cut by sword. He who feared no weapon or spell. He who tread kingdoms under his feet like grass. He who made all tremble at the sound of his name: Origath! Who crushed all and ruled all with an iron fist for a hundred years, and was only vanquished when a secret alliance of archmages combined their powers and organized a betrayal in Origath's court. And then, after a long battle, disintegrated his body to dust. Even then, it was said that he was so deathless that his soul still wandered the earth, waiting to be reborn in a new conqueror.

But most importantly to Grimora, it was said by some that he was never born in the first place, but made. By a ritual most obscure and revolting, created to do battle and never be defeated. Well, up to a point, Grimora thought. But nearly invincible is good enough. And this Chronicle might be the key to finding out if it was true. And if so...!

A trio of minions came bursting through the door, carrying a big book over their heads and staggering under its weight. Sneegleeves came in with them.

“Careful, you maggots! Up on the lectern!” Sneegleeves barked at the others.

But Grimora was too impatient. She waved her hand, and the book lifted up and floated through the air towards her bed, a minion dangling from it and squealing. She grabbed the book with a look of wonder in her eyes, and without looking, booted the gremlin off onto the floor. It did indeed have a big beautiful skull on it. She opened the cover to the title page, and there is was in big red illuminated text:

The Chronicles of His Majestie, Origath I, Emperor of All He Beholdes.

“YES!” Grimora shrieked. She put the book down on the bed and threw up her arms in triumph. “YEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!”

The sheet fell down and her boobs fell out. The minions yelped and covered their eyes. Grimora glared at them.

“Everyone except Sneegleeves, get out! Go get some grog, or burn something down, or whatever.”

“Yes mistress!”they squeaked in unison, and fell over themselves as they ran into the hall.

“As for you, Sneegleeves, read this and summarize for me.” She hated reading.

Sneegleeves hopped up on the bed and peered at the pages, skimming and flipping through carefully.

“Ahh...it says that he ruled alongside a most powerful mage, Revolta the Wise and Powerful. And that...she made him! With magic!”

Grimora's heart leapt. “How!? Read on, damn you! Tell me how!”

Sneegleeves fretfully skimmed. “It does not say here, only stories of this childhood and all the things he murdered while learning to walk! Perhaps further on? I will read more, your Greatness!”

A tense minute of fruitless page turning. Grimora bit her knuckle, her heart beating faster. So it's true! An unstoppable conqueror made by magic! It had been done, and done spectacularly! Now, the thought, if this book leaves out the recipe, I am going to blow up my own mountain.

“Wait,” she said. “What's that loose page towards the back?”

“Eh?” Sneegleeves looked. There was indeed a differently colored page sticking out a bit. He flipped to it, and saw a loose single sheet of what looked like vellum. Scrawled lines and sigils were all over it, looking much less neat and scholarly than the surrounding pages. Grimora's heart beat still faster. That looks like human skin, she thought. You always write your black rituals on human skin, that's been the standard forever!

“Read it. Read iiitttt!”

“...A Potion for...an Immortal Warrior! Giant's semen...troll's blood...powdered dragon scale...dried demon's heart!”

“YEEEEESSSSSSS!” she cheered again, laughing and cackling madly. “At last! At last! My very own dark emperor, within my reach! Sneegleeves! Prepare the minions! We go to find these ingredients, at once!”

It took many adventures to get them all, and to keep this tale short, they will be abbreviated here. Grimora set out with her minions herself, because none of these ingredients could be gotten easily. She had to be sure they jobs were done right. They summoned a demon, then slayed it and cut out its heart. They hunted down a troll and bled it dry into jugs. They had to delve into the tomb of an ancient dragon, take its scales, and then find a hammer and anvil strong enough to crush them. As for getting the barrel full of giant's semen...there was catfishing involved, and a lot of unhappy minions.

Until at last, the ingredients were gathered and brought back to the fortress. Grimora and a crowd of chattering imps gathered around a cauldron, poured everything together, and brought it to a boil. She stirred the concoction with a unicorn's shinbone, gleefully chortling as she did. The imps danced and hooted and laughed along with her. The potion became bright red and full of glitter from the dragon scales.

Grimora paused to sip from her favorite skull goblet. It was full of the blood of her enemies. That she then turned into wine. It still counted, she thought, and tasted much better.

“What's next, Sneegleeves?”

“'Take it off the heat, allow it to cool!'” he announced. Grimora made a simple hand pattern, and the flames under the cauldron went out in an instant. Another pattern, and a jet of freezing air blasted from her fingertips, covering until the cauldron was coated in frost. The crowd of minions watched and went oooooh!

“And now, Sneegleeves?”

“'Take half a flagon of the potion, and flush'...um...” Sneegleeves hesitated.

“And what? Out with it!”

“...'flush into a womb steeped in powerful magic. Hold inside for 1 minute.'”

The room went quiet. Grimora stared at him and the recipe sheet, which was now trembling in his hands.

“...did you read that right? Like...a literal womb? Not a magic container or something?”

“I-I don't know, your Evilness. It seems to m-mean what it says.”

Grimora paused, a bit taken aback. She knew about rituals that needed other female elements, like menstrual blood, or milk, but this? This was a first. Well...unfortunately, she had one of those. And couldn't think of anyone else to use.

“So...what the fuck is a flagon, and how much is half of it?”

“Um...I, I'm not sure, your greatness? I think a flagon is like a big cup, or a jug? And half of whatever that holds?”

“Hmm...” She thought about it. But not too long. Big magic was never supposed to be easy. She pointed to a minion in the crowd.

“You! Go to my chambers and fetch the old turkey baster. As for you, Sneegleeves...”

She hiked up her dress, sat barebottomed on a nearby table, leaned back, and spread her legs.

“...you will get me ready. Start licking.”

Sneegleeves gulped, but put down the recipe sheet and timidly shuffled towards Grimora's waiting crotch. Many minions covered their eyes, but many others leaned in closer and leered.

It was not that Grimora was at all attracted to imps. Nor did she particularly enjoy being watched. But she did enjoy mortifying Sneegleeves. So as he stuck his long nose and glasses between her legs and started meekly licking her snatch like a kitten, with a throng of minions staring at him, Grimora looked down at him and smiled.

“A little higher, Sneegleeves. And a little more pressure.”

She gently rubbed her left breast in a circular motion, and took another sip of her wine.

“Ahhh...that’s right, Sneegleeves. Keep at it.”

Grimora looked around at the rest of her minions. “If any of you think you can do better, you can come have a turn in a minute. Just know that if any of you perform badly, I will crush your skulls between my thighs.”

One orange imp in the crowd jumped up and down and waved a hand excitedly. “Ooh, ooh! Me, Me!”

“My, my! A brave one!” She tapped Sneegleeves on the head, who backed away and coughed. “What is your name?”

“Me don't know!”

“No name yet, hmm? Well come on then, little one, let's see if you don't earn one. If I don't kill you, that is.”

The imp ambled over with his tongue out and a greedy look in his yellow eyes. What Grimora expected was that the upstart imp would dive in and slobber all over her privates like a hungry dog, and then she would snap his neck.

Instead—he put his paws on her thighs—felt his lips on her folds—and--

“Ooh. Ooh! Oh my! Just a little bit slower, but...aah!”

What was this? He was rough and eager to be sure, but...he was doing everything right! Waves of actual pleasure began to run through her, and her lower parts began to heat up. She massaged her own breast again, faster this time, and gave a little moan. She wrapped her legs around the imp's head. Unfortunately, this made him stop and make muffled squeals in terror.

“Don't you dare stop!” snarled Grimora. “Keep going, or I pop your head!”

The nameless imp resumed with renewed fervor. Grimora leaned back, putting her hands on the back edge of the table, and sighed with a smile on her face.

“I never ah gave any of you balls, but...mmmmif you had them...I think you'd have good ones! Ha ha...ahh!”

She looked at the door and was a bit dismayed to see the first minion come back with a sizable turkey baster in his hands. Not now! It was feeling good! But...did she really want to cum in from of all her minions?

Yes. Yes she did. She grabbed the brave imp by his long pointy ears.

“Come on, a little harder, right there! Yes! Almost there! Al-(gasp)-most! Come on! COME ON! Yes! That's the way! Keep at it! Keep at (gasp) it! Ah! Ah, yes! Ah! AH! AH!...MMMMMM!”

No doubt as the orange imp felt the thighs clamp tight around his head, his short little life flashed before his eyes. But instead they released him, and he looked up into the rosy face of his evil mistress, who was sweating and breathing heavily.

“You...have been promoted. Your name...is now Slobberjaw. Or until I come up with...a better one. Understand? Answer me, Slobberjaw!”

“Yes mistress! Me Slobberjaw! Me your happy happy servant!”

“Yes. Very good.” she breathed. “Now one of you fill that baster with the potion and bring it here.”

It was done, and Sneegleeves stood before Grimora with the baster in his hands, quivering.

“Well come on now, Sneegleeves.” She spread her vaginal for him, showing him his target. “Push it in until I tell you to stop.”

He, very slowly, very carefully, slid the baster into her vagina. She hissed.

“OK...OK...stop. Now...squeeze that bulb...and fill me up.”

She felt the somewhat familiar feeling of the thick warm liquid hitting the back of her vagina. But much more than she ever felt before. She tried her best to clamp down and keep the liquid in but...there was so much! Sneegleeves withdrew the baster, and Grimora put a hand down to her vagina to try and keep it all in. She crossed her legs and sat up very straight, and felt it sloshing around inside.

“Whoo! Oh, that feels very strange! And I've got to hold it for one minute?

“Yes mistress.”

“And, um...what do I do with it after? Just kind of...let it out into bowl?” She took a somewhat shaky sip of her wine.

Sneegleeves peered at the recipe. “'Repeat once a week until conception'.”

Grimora spat out red liquid in a spray, out of both ends. A group of minions caught the blast in their faces and went awwwwhh! Except for Slobberjaw, who licked his lips.

“SNEEGLEEVES!” Grimora roared. “YOU MISERABLE IMBECILE! YOU DID NOT THINK TO READ AHEAD AND TELL ME ABOUT THAT PART!?”

A wind blew through the chamber from nowhere, and lightning sparked across anything metal, terrifying the crowd. Sneegleeves dropped to the ground and cowered.

“N-n-n-no, your Greatness! I thought w-w-w-we were to go one step at a time! I did not think—oh, mercy, mistress! Mercy! Mercy!”

The wind and lightning died down, and Grimora took a deep breath. And let it out.

“You're lucky your name is so fun to say, Sneegleeves. Or I would have roasted you long ago.”

She stood up, put a hand to her chin, and pondered, pacing.

“This...is not what I expected. What a strange twist. So Oligath's sorceress creator was...his mother? That's how she did it? Bore and raised him herself? Hmmm...” She frowned, and pondered some more.

“Could I do it too? Having children...ugh. But...that child would be my ticket to world domination. On one hand: ruin my pelvic floor. And my figure. On the other hand: thousand years of darkness, which would be awesome. On one hand: having to wait for him to grow up. And remember birthdays. On the other hand: can start early, teach him the basics of evil, then get to conquering. On one hand: having to carry a baby in me for ages, then have to push out that baby, destroy my lady parts, eww. On the other hand: that baby will have superpowers. And will do whatever I tell it to. And then the world would be mine. Hmmm...”

She turned to Sneegleeves. “Any other extremely important instructions I should know about?”

Sneegleeves yelped and scrambled for the recipe sheet.

“Ah...'Eat or drink no intoxicants, n-nor potions until the warrior is borne.' That's all, mistress! That's all!”

Grimora put a hand to her face and groaned. “On one hand...no more wine. On the other hand...”

She sighed. Then, resolutely, she sat back on the table and spread her legs.

“Come on then. Give me another dose. Quick, while I'm young, and before I change my mind!”

Sneegleeves filled the baster with more red potion, slid it in, and squirted his mistress full. This time, she kept it in. She put her hand on her lower belly, thoughtfully.

“...on the other hand,” she said to herself, “she who dares...wins.”

Brewing

It took 8 weekly injections before Grimora got sick and threw up into a bowl.

As she held back her hair and spat the rest of it out, she thought to herself: Ugh. Here we go then. The first step to ruling the world.

She summoned her whole imp army to her throne room, and she stood before them with Sneegleeves and Slobberjaw by her side.

“Minions!” she announced. “Listen up, all of you! I am here to tell you that...the potion has worked! Your future overlord is here!” She pointed below her belly button.

The imp army leaned in closer, squinting and scratching their heads. One of them shouted “Where?”

“Right here! Inside me! I’m with child, you dolts!”

A chorus of OH!s, and then the whole vile throng cheered and cackled and pumped their little fists. Grimora let it go for a moment, then held up a hand for quiet.

“That’s right! Now begins the great project! The great quest of our time! Your greatest mission yet! To bring forth the co-ruler of the world!”

Another round of cheers.

“This will be a long and hard journey! Particularly for me! Morning sickness already sucks! I am going to become huge and give birth and have to look after a baby! And then train that baby to fighting form! I will not suffer through all of that, get fat as a hippopotamus, spend all of my best years, for nothing! You, all of you, minions, will defend us! Guard us with all your miserable lives! Because if you do! If any of you survive long enough: my child and I will ascend and crush all who stand in our way, and you will ascend and crush right alongside us! We will lay waste to all that lies before us! We will rise to the highest peaks of power! AND THE WORLD...WILL BE OURS!”

Her army went ape, screeching, hollering, jumping up and down, throwing each other up in the air, cartwheeling and falling over.

Well, she thought, they get the idea. She left the throne room with a flourish, but sagged when she returned to her chambers. She needed a nap. And probably another basin.

So it began. Time passed. And Grimora’s belly began to grow. Her second frustration, after morning sickness: clothes. Things began to stop fitting right. All her sexy slim dresses? Got very tight by month 2, and bursting at the seams by month 3. She stood in front of her vanity mirror and turned to the side, her belly bulging under her last kind-of-fitting sexy slim dress. She looked at herself in annoyance, while struggling to breathe. In 2 weeks or less, she would not be able to get this one on either. She would have to ask her useless minions to go steal some more. Ones that were slim and sexy...and somehow roomy in the middle.

“BAH!” Her hormones were making her hotter than usual, and her face burned still hotter with anger. She struggled to peel the dress off her swelling and sweaty body, and threw it in a corner.

“Fine! Robes then. Loose fitting robes, like a nun. No more slim sexy dresses for me. Slim sexy dresses are for slim sexy girls. And Grimora is not one of those anymore!” She stormed out of the the room in her more practical clothes, and took out her hormone fueled self-loathing on some unlucky minions.

Her third frustration: hunger. As she entered the second trimester her uterus expanded up towards her ribcage and all her stomach and guts were shoved out of place as it took over her abdomen. It was like her stomach was replaced with her baby, and that baby was ravenous. It wanted red meat. And ice cream. And carbs. And salty snacks. Grimora sent her minions on many raids to get what she was craving. She felt like she just sat around eating all day, like a cow. She certainly thought she looked like one. All that food was going right to her baby, and her middle was growing into a big round bulge. And then bigger. And then bigger. Her back was starting to bend to hold it up, her robes no longer hid her belly, and she couldn’t walk straight anymore. It’s all for the plan, Grimora consoled herself as her back began to ache. I’m growing a powerful baby, to make a powerful warrior. This is what I want. It’s all according to plan—and then the fetus would give her a swift kick in the bladder and she would be re-convinced that this was the dumbest idea she ever had.

The one thing that gave her any comfort was Slobberjaw. Her libido was ascending to heaven and her energy was descending to hell. She couldn’t do full-power sex for anybody. Therefore, that little tongue savant was a godsend. When she had desk work to do and her legs were sore, she would yell for him and have him go to town on her under the table to get her mind off it. Or when she was in bed and needed help sleeping, Slobberjaw was the one to call to calm her body down. He would do anything. Anything. And he kept being a loyal crotch soldier even though Grimora’s belly got so big and tall that she couldn’t see him anymore as he worked. Which was fine by her. She didn’t call on him for his pretty face.

The end of the second trimester came, and she...felt very pregnant. Packed full, heavy, lumbering. Her minions did manage to steal some dresses that worked. The kind that sort of gathered up just under the chest and were flowy the rest of the way down. They were dark and sexy in their own way, Grimora supposed. But it looked like she was holding a prize pumpkin underneath that dress, and she felt its weight in her hip bones.

She never bothered seeing a midwife for checkups, or reading up on her condition. If she had, she might have known that she was already as big as a full-term pregnancy. And not a small one either.

All she knew was that although she felt like a whale, and had to pee all the time, she saw the minions shie away in awe as she passed, and not in the usual fearful way. Grimora felt it too. It certainly was different, seeing the big round ball under her dress and knowing that there was a future dark emperor inside. And knowing that somehow made her feel more powerful. That there was great power, and aura in that growing belly of hers, and that she had great power for making it stronger. She sat in the throne room, stroking her great swollen middle, feeling...well, like a team. That the one inside her was already her partner in evil, and they sat on that throne together. They were two, but one. She had never felt that close to anyone before. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling but...nice. More than nice. She felt her destiny coming closer, that soon she would not be alone. Yes, there was great power indeed inside that belly. And the more it grew, the more power she felt.

Which was good, because grow it did. When the final trimester arrived her belly swelled out larger, and at a faster rate, week after week. When on her throne, she spread her legs wide to make room for it as it ballooned out well beyond normal size. All her body, all her blood, all her nutrients were funneling to the insatiable infant inside her, and her belly grew, and grew, and grew. Past the edge of her throne. Then past her knees.

Yes, her big bad baby made her feel huge and powerful. Yes, she liked the way she kept kicking minions by accident because she couldn’t see them anymore. Yes, she enjoyed playing footsie with the baby inside, thinking of names, and daydreaming of pillaging and murder as a family. But she was really starting to struggle in a lot of ways.

For one thing, feeding that baby and herself was not easy. She could never eat enough. Her appetite was huge, and her stomach was not. How she wished she could just drink an energy potion! But she couldn’t. She cared nothing for rules in general, but the rules of spells were always an exception. She would take no shortcuts.

For another thing, she kept ruining her clothes again. Just when she had a style that complemented her great big pregnancy, she had to start leaking milk all over the front of her dress. And her pelvic floor was so soft and pressurized and her bladder so crushed and tiny, that she lived in fear of every sneeze.

And finally, it was just getting really hard to move. Her giant belly was heavy and cumbersome. Walking was murder on her legs and back. She got a staff to help her get around, which revolted her, because staffs were for nerdy wizards. At least it had a skull on the end.

Just getting up from a sitting position was a whole deal: Scoot to the edge of the seat. Put both hands on the armrests. Get her legs under her. Try to center her mass, which took a minute because because her center of mass was now very large, very heavy, and way out in front of her. Using both arms and both legs, push her massive pregnant self into a bent semi-standing position, then straighten out by bending back. Proceed to listen to her back and pelvis sing angry songs of protest.

Grimora reflected on her life and decided, all in all, she wasn’t so bad, all things considered. To combine constant urges to pee with an inability to get up easily? Now that was the real evil. She made do by having a minion on call to bring a chamber pot to her on a moment’s notice.

When her joints could take no more and she had no more wicked deeds to scheme for the day, she retired to the fortress bath house. The warm waters of the pool soothing her stretched skin and taking the weight off her bones was the one thing that kept her going. The other was Slobberjaw’s faithful and energetic salad tossing, which he still did.

Grimora slowly, and very carefully, eased her giant round body into the water. Then heavily sat back against the pool’s wall with a splash. She gave a very long sigh of relief. Glorious, she thought. Now if I gave Slobberjaw gills and he could service me down there, I would never leave this pool.

A moment of peace. She felt the water lap against her. She saw the reflected wavy patterns dance on the stalactite ceiling and tiled walls. She heard the trickling of water from the nearby fountain, and the ripples splashing off the pool walls.

The baby too, decided to settle in. Grimora looked down at her massive belly, a hill of flesh under her breasts, and felt something massive roll inside. Like a great white shark under the surface of the sea. She saw the belly stretch out to the side, then the other. Another thrashing movement or two. And then was still.

She continued staring at her hill of a belly, regarding it. It was tall, and round, wet and shining from the water, and shot with red stripes that lotion could not keep away. It rose up out of the water like one of those fabled islands on the backs of turtles. She raised her knees up, making two little islands on the sides of her big one, and held them in her hands to see how it felt.

She had no doubt she could do it. Despite knowing that the baby warlord had grown huge inside her, she knew she could give birth. It had already been done. This was the plan, the recipe of Revolta, who had gone through this and ruled alongside her own superhuman son many ages ago. If she could do it, Grimora could do it. It was as simple as that.

Only...now Grimora had to think about it. She had to be close, had to be. She was having womb cramps every once in a while, not bad ones, and not often, but they were there. She had felt her belly shift down into her pelvis, making her somehow have to pee even more often. There was such a weight there. A weight preparing to come out. She could feel it. She was close.

She looked around the bathing chamber. Saw the serene reflections of the lights off the water. Heard its trickling. Felt its warm waves on her body. Yes. Yes, here. She would do it here. Soon.

Boss fight

A frantic rapping at the door shook her out of her reverie. She growled. Never a moment’s peace!

“WHAT!?” she yelled at the door.

“Mistress!” cried the voice of Sneegleeves. “A thousand apologies! There are intruders in the Forest of Forgotten Souls, heading for the fortress!”

“Agh...fetch me a towel! Several towels!”

A long waddling down the hall later, and she stood by her crystal ball with Sneegleeves, staff in hand, wearing a now cartoonishly tiny bathrobe that covered nothing, and a towel wrapped around her hair. She waved her hand mystically over the ball, and its insides cleared to reveal a scene of battle in the forest. 5 people, some with axes, some with swords, and one with a staff, were fighting a small army of skeleton warriors in a grove of dead trees.

“My my...they do look like a determined lot,” Grimora mused. “It seems soon we will have visitors. Sneegleeves, prepare the defenses.”

“At once, your evilness!”

As Sneegleeves scampered off, she wondered how quickly it would take for those interlopers to get here. She decided she had time to get properly dressed to greet them. She and her huge belly ponderously waddled to a special armoire that she had for just such an occasion, and with a wave of her hand, it flew open. Inside was a fearsome battle outfit, with a skull crown, matching cape with spiky skull pauldrons, a wicked looking black dress, a belt that was also full of skulls, and her favorite pair of foe-stomping boots.

She sighed in disgust. Of course. She wasn’t going to fit in any of that. Well, maybe? She would have to improvise.

The dress was obviously impossible. She went with one of her flowy dresses instead. The cape still worked just fine. What would she do about the belt? Wouldn’t fit where it was supposed to, but could she work it somewhere else? She tried to fasten it between her chest and the top of her belly, and found, surprisingly, it worked. The skull ornaments made a wreath over the top of her fundus, and made her boobs look great. She smiled. Success! But she looked at the boots and immediately abandoned hope. Not with those ankles. Damn it. I loved those boots, she groused to herself. She settled with a set of ankle bangles, which also had little skulls of course. I’ll just have to do my skull crushing with my bare heels.

She checked her crystal ball. It looked like the intruders were fighting the gargoyle sentries at the entrance. Looks like she had time for makeup. She sighed. After another pee break.

“Pot!” she barked. A teeny blue minion scrambled out from under her bed carrying a chamber pot, and brought it over to her. “Pot!” it chirped. Blowing hard through her lips, she hiked up her dress and squatted down.

“How I await the day...when I hold this conqueror in my arms...and I have a bladder bigger than a thimble,” she grumped.

Now then. Time to make herself feel sexy and scary again after that. She eased her huge self down to sit in front her vanity mirror and got to work. Lighter foundation to tame those blushing pregnancy cheeks. Fuckton of eye shadow, as usual. She smeared some of it down her cheeks for extra intimidation points. Mascara, she liked dark eyes but eyelashes were still important. Dark lipstick, as if there was any other kind worth wearing. Tried adding some lip pencil lines down from the sides of her mouth to see how that looked. Realized she made herself look like a black metal grandma and wiped them off. She turned her face right and left, admiring it. “Marvelous.”

She checked the crystal ball again. She saw the invaders trying to make their way through a hallway full of swinging pendulum blades and spike pits. Grimora giggled. They’re going to love the hidden flame traps at the end.

“Hmmm…” She noticed there were only 4 of them in that hallway. Weren’t there 5? She swished her crystal ball’s view around until a roguish young woman appeared skulking down a side passage, dangerously close to her chambers.

“Ha! Split the party, you fools. Step on the tile, missy! Step on the tile!”

The rogue stepped on the tile. The floor opened up under her, and dropped her into a dark abyss. Grimora cackled, and swiped over to where she would land: the wolverine pit. She cackled harder as they mauled her to death in a hilarious fashion. One down! And she finally got to use the wolverine trap door!

Then she went back to the party, and saw less good news. The minions were trying to hold them off, and the do-gooders seemed to be taking a beating, but they were pushing through to the heart of the fortress. Time to take her position.

Grimora put on the crown and displayed herself before the mirror. Death’s head staff in hand. High crown sharp and full of skulls. Face done up pale and black like the goth queen she was. Dress and cape flowing long and black over her body. Her belly was enormous, yes, but framed with skulls and spikes, and with all the rest of it? She thought it swelled out confidently, intimidatingly, huge, black, and imposing. Like a billowing storm-cloud. She posed; staff leaning out, hand outstretched with long black nails. Yes. Oh yes. That was the look. Doom. Huge, wrathful, impending doom.

She rubbed that huge belly, and looked at herself, satisfied. “Marvelous. Slaying for two. Come along then. It’s time for us to go smiting.”

In the throne room, the ax-wielding warrior booted in the double doors with a crash and the surviving intruders filed in. There, high up on the platform at the end of the room, Grimora the Black Sorceress sat lazily in her throne, stroking her massive round middle. She had recently got another cramp, and it made her belly very hard. It did not hurt, but the feeling was fascinating.

“Well done, heroes! You’ve made it into my lair. What brings you to the domain of Grimora, the Sorceress Fortress? Tell me, before you die.”

“What did you do with Molly?” demanded a sword wielder.

“What, the little thief? Fed her to my pets. Terribly sorry about that. She really should not have wandered off on her own.”

“Bitch!” roared the ax-wielder. “I’m going to cut off your face and wear it on my shield!”

“Ah! Such violence! Have you no decency? Can’t you see I’m...expecting?” She patted her belly smugly.

“We know!” shouted the staff wielder. A nerdy wizard no doubt. “You stole the Chronicles of Origath! You’re trying to resurrect him! And we won’t let you!”

“Resurrect him! Is that what you thought I was doing? Oh dear no. My warrior will be even better than Origath! Together, this child and I will conquer the earth and rule it for a thousand years! To start! I am so close to bringing him forth. But before I do—”

She heaved herself as smoothly as she could to a standing position. She couldn’t help but grunt. But she managed to stand there imposingly, hand outstretched like she practiced in the mirror.

“—I will destroy you all! Minions! Attack!”

A series of hidden doors suddenly burst open from the walls, and out of them poured a reserve army of imps with scimitars to make a final stand.

And so they fought. The fighters tried their best to fend off the horde and protect their mage. The wizard hurled a fireball at Grimora, who batted it aside to explode on a nearby wall. She responded with a lightning bolt, which the wizard blocked with a force field. She cackled as she let him have another, breaking his force field and bringing him to his knees.

It was clear that they were already worn down from their battles to get here. Grimora knew they would not last long at this rate. But it looked like the ax man was making a break for it. He furiously swung his ax, cutting down 2 or 3 minions with every swing, and furiously wading his way to Grimora. He was going to make it through!

As he charged up the steps, Grimora made a quick pattern in the air with her hand, and reached out to the ax man as if to seize him. He froze where he stood, quivering, paralyzed.

“Be still, you worm!” Grimora shouted. “You will not touch me! You will not touch either of us! The world will be ours!”

“Oh...yeah…?” the ax man growled through gritted teeth. Through some force of will or rage he broke his limbs free from her grip, and staggered up the steps. With a roar he took a wild savage swing with his ax at the surprised Grimora. She stumbled backward, and the blade grazed her left breast. She fell heavily and painfully on her backside. She put a hand to her chest. Blood.

She glared up at the ax man with a look of pure searing hate.

“You cut me...IN THE BOOB!”

She reached out a hand like a claw. The ax man spasmed, then screamed as furious jets of steam shot out of his nose and mouth. His muscles shrank, and his skin began to stick to his bones. In a moment, the last the steam left, and his last breath with it. All remained of him was a standing brownish mummy, all moisture sucked out of him.

Heart pounding, Grimora took her staff and pushed herself and her heavy midsection up with a groan. And then with a screech, she smashed the mummy with her staff into a cloud of brown dust.

She turned back to the main battle, breathing heavily. There were so few minions left. But only the wizard was still standing. He shot off one last spray of fire, then fell to his knees, spent.

“Bring him...here!” Grimora shouted breathlessly.

The surviving minions dragged the beaten wizard before her. She grinned evilly at him. Then she grimaced, as a cramp hit her. She put her hand on her expansive middle, which was hardening rapidly.

“Ah...how fitting,” she grinned. “He is coming soon. Born of battle. What a marvelous emperor he will be.”

The wizard looked up at her and her belly overshadowing him, exhausted, but defiant.

“Was that a contraction? Woman, I almost pity you. My only comfort...is that that great infant will kill you, and the world will be saved from two tyrants!”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth, as her belly tightened into a rock. “I think first...he will kill...YOU!”

She kicked him onto his back, and the minions held him down. Grimora crouched over him, took her hard, huge, and heavy belly in both hands, and with a yell, she brought it down on his head. She rose up high on her tip toes with another yell, then dropped it again. And again.

She sat there in a squat for a moment, panting. Then stood up again, with the front of her tented-out dress stained with blood. The contraction relented, and she let out a long breath.

“Minions...gather all survivors. I want the bath house furnished. Bring a bed, table, chairs, cushions. Food and water. And some of my stuffies. The time has come to prepare it for the coming of our overlord.”

“And then get all these corpses out of my throne room.”

True final boss

Grimora paced, naked, across the bathhouse floor with a bandage on her breast, breathing in and out. A pair of minions followed her close with a pair of fans. As she passed by the fountain, she cupped her hands, drank from them, and splashed some water on her face and neck. She put her hands on her back, closed her eyes, and exhaled.

This was it. Labor. A throng of minions watched her move around the room with bated breath, waiting for the coming of their emperor. The contractions rolled in, one after another, each time getting a little bit stronger, a little bit longer, and a little bit faster. With every one, the heavy mass within her great belly ground down into her pelvis, as slowly but unstoppably as a glacier.

Grimora took them without complaint. This was what she had been waiting for. 10 months of waiting. Of aches, and illness, and fatigue. Of eating. Of growing. Of fulfilling her own prophecy of getting just about as fat as a hippopotamus. And now, at last, labor. It was all part of the plan. This was the last phase of the ritual to conjure an unbeatable warrior.

That’s what kept her going, as hours passed and the contractions got stronger and stronger: this too, was part of the ritual. The most powerful work of magic she had ever done. That’s how she thought of it, as she lay on her side and hissed through her teeth on a makeshift bed. Intense…powerful...magic. This is what was necessary.

This is what she tried to bear in mind as she rocked in a chair, fist clenched on a table, sweating buckets: these were the steps to take.

This is what she remembered, as she put her hands on the tile wall, hung her big belly low, rocked her hips, and moaned: this was the sacrifice that was demanded.

It was all just a ritual. Grimora knew rituals, knew how exacting and demanding they were. If you wavered, or fumbled, or broke concentration, the spell was ruined. And this was a spell that she could not ruin. Not now. Not when she was so close. It did not matter how long it took. Or how badly it was starting to hurt. She would bear it. She would take it. She would not even take tea or medicine to help ease the pain. Those might count as potions, and that would break the rules of the spell. This was what was necessary.

Hours became a day. Her moans became yells. Her yells became screams. Her belly became a red hot ball of agony, and her lower back a searing poker, and her whole body flashed burning hot. She tried to quench it in the pool. She submerged her enormity in the water, put her head on her arms on the side of the pool, and screamed. The pains were relentless, coming every minute. She sweated. She cried. She screamed.

The ritual continued to demand more and more. She had given this baby her food. Her blood. Her breath. Her time. Now, she deliriously thought, let it take my sweat. Let it take my tears. Let it take my suffering. Let him absorb it all, and be strong!

And then, after an interminable amount of time, all at once, the contractions seemed to relent. They stopped coming as often, and they ceased to torture Grimora quite so badly. She breathed, and regained her focus. She had passed this part of the test. Her minions continued to fan her face.

“Ah...that’s much better.”

Though she was far from comfortable. She had been ignoring it for the past several contractions because she didn’t want to get out of the pool, but she really had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t ignore it any longer. It felt like a bowel movement the size of a bowling ball.

“Pot!” she barked, and the faithful blue minion came running with the chamber pot. “Pot!” Several other minions came to help pull her out of the pool. Dripping, she slowly lumbered to the table for support, then squatted down over the pot. She held her breath. Nothing came out. She quietly grunted. Still nothing came out.

“Pot?” exclaimed the confused pot minion, and rattled it on the ground as if in encouragement.

Of all the things. Constipation now too? Grimora thought. Her face went pink as she really tried to empty her bowels. Her knees shook, her bottom quivered. Then she let out her breath. She stood up and looked down into the chamber pot. All she saw was a thin stream of red slime trailing from her vagina into the pot.

“Oh. OH.”

As the tidal wave of realization washed over her, she looked around at the staring crowd of minions and felt disgust. She couldn’t stand looking at them watch her any longer.

“Out. All of you out! I will do this next part alone! OUT!”

All the minions went yipe and stampeded out. Except for Sneegleeves and Slobberjaw. And the chamber pot imp.

“But mistress…” Sneegleeves protested, “without any help? What if something should happen—”

“OUT, I said! I will come out of this room with a child or not at all! Begone! I command you!”

Both shuffled out. The chamber pot minion stood there shaking with terror and uncertainty.

“...yes, even you. Leave it.”

Almost looking heartbroken, the little blue imp set the pot gently down and shuffled out the door as well.

Now it was quiet again. Grimora was alone. She heard nothing but her own heartbeat and the trickling of water.

Grimora looked down and rubbed her belly. Yes. For this final test, she must be alone. She alone must prove she has the strength and the power to bring forth the ultimate warrior. That she has the will, the perseverance, to bring the ritual to its end. To prove that she has the tireless, relentless desire to conquer the world. By first, conquering herself.

She felt the overwhelming urge to defecate build once more, but this time she was not fooled. She kicked the chamber pot aside.

“Alright,” she breathed to the huge baby in her belly. “OK. Now’s the time—to fulfill our destiny. You and I. Time for you—TO COME OUT—!”

She sank down into a squat, and her work began.

Grimora pushed as hard as she could. There was such an incredible fullness in her bottom, and she just had to get it out. It did feel very much like taking the biggest shit of her life. But she knew that fullness was her baby. That was her warrior. And she, Grimora, would be the one to force him into the world.

She took a breath. Then did it again. Her face went red and beads of sweat broke out all over her body. Her massive belly tensed up round and hard as a boulder. Then sagged. Then went round again as her body shook with effort.

When the contraction faded she sat down on a chair, and caught her breath. She took another drink of water from a jug on the table. Next to it was a green potion in a bottle, the only one she allowed in the room. A healing draught. For after it was finished. Not a moment before.

She took a precious few minutes to rest. She knew already that this would not be easy. She would need all the energy she could get. This, she knew, would take while. Before long, the pressure returned, and she slid off her chair into another squat. And again, she heaved.

And breathed. And heaved.

And breathed. And heaved. Then rested.

She pushed like that for an hour, grunting, straining, sweating. Her long black hair stuck to her back, and drops of perspiration fell from her face, breasts, and giant quivering belly.

“—DAH!” She leaned on the table, breathing heavily. Her legs were starting to hurt. She was far from giving up, but she wanted to push somewhere else. She eyed the bed. She waddled over to the bed, and sat on it. The wood creaked under the weight of her and her overlord offspring. She put her hand on her belly.

“We can do this. We just have to change positions...and keep trying.”

She kneeled on the bed and put her hands on the headboard. In front of her enormous belly, she could see that the minions had obeyed her command to bring some of her stuffies down. She took one that looked like a black goat demon, her favorite. She wondered if she would consider giving it to the baby when it was born. The very thought surprised her. Not so long ago, she would have turned a whole town into pigeons with chlamydia if anybody even thought about taking her goat stuffie. But now? The tension in her lower belly returned, and she focused up. For now, it was something to squeeze. She hugged the little goat plushie to her breast in one arm, held on to the headboard, and bore down again. Long and hard. Then sank all the way down, thighs to calves. And pushed again. Long. And hard.

Over and over, she shook, gasped, groaned, and pushed. Trickles of fluid oozed from her vagina onto the sheets. She kept trying, kept straining. She clutched her belly in both hands and yelled as she pushed, and pushed, and pushed. And no baby.

She flipped onto her back. Her belly rose above her like a mountain. She sneered at it, determined to conquer it or die.

“We can do this...we can do this...just got to try...a little harder!”

She balled her fists, curled her toes, and pushed with a growl and gritted teeth. With her push, her belly rose up still taller. It loomed above her, red, shining, merciless. Covered in her sweat. Full of her giant baby. She pushed harder, roaring, refusing to be afraid. She would live to see that mountain toppled, her belly empty. She grabbed her thighs and pulled them back around that mountain, as she pushed. And...pushed. And...pushed.

More time passed. She lay on the bed, sheets soaked with her sweat, breasts heaving. Another brief respite. But she knew it would not last. She had to will herself to move. To try something else.

“OK...got to get…upright again…”

Grimora got herself back up into a seated position, and put her head in her hands. Her face was red and hot. Her hair hung down in drenched and dripping locks, running over her back, her breasts, her belly. She waited, once again, for the cramping to return. When it did, she squatted down by the side of the bed and leaned back against the mattress. She gritted her teeth again, and glared at her stubborn belly.

“Come on, you brat. You want to rule the world, don’t you? You can’t do it from inside me. You have—to come—OUT! AAAAAAAAAAA--!”

Blood ran from her fists. And from her vagina. She bore down that mass, that incredible mass in her bottom, as she screamed. Her knees shook. Then went still. Then shook again. Squatting. Shaking. Screaming. Squatting. Shaking. Screaming.

She tried so many other positions. She stood up, legs apart, and tried to scream her baby down while standing. She put a leg up on the table and ferociously bore down at an angle. Many times with the right leg. Many times with the left. She crouched down like a frog, her belly so big her hands could barely reach the floor. She grunted long and loud as she bore down. Then she panted, and grunted longer and louder. She gasped, then grunted yet again, her grunt rising up in pitch until it ended in a scream. That was all that came out of her.

Some more time passed. She lay there on the tile floor, panting. The tiles were cool. They felt nice on her skin. Her body was so hot. And so tired.

Just then she heard the door creak open. “Y-your Evilness? A-are you alive?”

Grimora rose to an elbow and glared at the door. The owner of the voice did not show themselves around the open door. But it could only be Sneegleeves.

“I told you...to stay out!”

“Oh, what a relief to hear you are still with us, your Vileness! It’s morning! You have been in there all night! You had been quiet for a long time, and I thought—”

She thought of summoning a swarm of snakes to eat that stammering nitwit behind that door. But...while he was here...

“You have disobeyed me, Sneegleeves. But...I will forgive you just this once...if you bring me breakfast.”

“Yes! Right away, your Evilness!” His feet pitter-pattered off down the hall. Her crushed stomach growled somewhere up under her ribs. Yes...a bite to eat would help regain her strength. Can’t push out a warlord...on an empty stomach. Another contraction gripped her. Although...I think I have time for another round. She lifted up one leg, took a deep breath, and pushed where she lay on her side. And pushed...and pushed. There was still plenty in her. Literally.

Sneegleeves brought in a tray of meats and treats and set it on the table, and on Grimora’s command, helped her up to the chair. She ate as much as she could fit. Which was not a lot.

“Will this meal suffice, your Wickedness?”

“Yes, Sneegleeves,” Grimora chewed. “You have avoided punishment. For now. But next time you disobey me—ugh. A moment--!”

She got out of her chair and sank into a squat. She took a few breaths, then strained down with a groan.

“hmmmmmMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRRR—”

Three more hard, groaning pushes. When she was done, she looked over at Sneegleeves, who looked petrified.

“Mistress...though I would not dream of contradicting you...are you sure you do not want to summon someone to help? You are enduring quite the long and mighty trial!”

“I am...always sure!” she snapped back breathlessly. “Did you not hear me say...I would come out of here...with a child...or not at all? Do not question me! I will endure, and keep enduring, until it is done! Leave me! And come back...around lunchtime!”

“I-immediately, your Greatness!” Sneegleeves scooted out again.

Despite her words, she could feel doubts creeping in. She reached down between her legs, and felt nothing but her own slick tunnel. Her fingers came back bloody.

For a moment she heard the words of the wizard, prophesying her death. Felt a ripple of fear, but shoved those thoughts away. No! She was not going to die! She was still fine! Just...weary. She had been at it a long time. Was she doing something wrong? Was there something missing?

No, she decided. This is just what birth is, from what she understood. A lot of pushing and screaming until a baby came out of you. It took a long time. Rituals were long too. And this was part of the ritual. She had pushed all night. So what? She’d push all day too. She’d push all week, if she had to. Might take all week, with a baby this big. But she would do it. She had to.

Though to be honest, she thought, I hope that Sneegleeves interprets my command as more of a brunch.

Another contraction built up in her belly. They weren’t getting any weaker. Her body still seemed determined. So she would be too. She took the deepest breath she could. She waited until the pressure reached absolute maximum...and PUSHED.

And she kept it up. Hour after hour. Quivering over the bed. Shaking against the wall. Grunting next to the table. Screaming by the fountain. She pushed and pushed and pushed. Lying. Standing. Squatting. Screaming. All around the room, she dripped sweat, hardened her huge belly, shook, and screamed.

As she fell back on the bed, exhausted, the door creaked open once more. “As you commanded, mistress, I have returned. How goes the birthing?”

“Do not...ever ask me that again!” Grimora cried hoarsely. “Bring lunch! And...and bring Slobberjaw!”

It was done as she commanded. Though she wasn’t hungry, she needed a break. And to recover her strength. And this time, she told them to stay.

She pushed one more time in front of them, wearily. She was disappointed in herself. She said that she could pass this test alone. But she couldn’t do it alone. Not anymore. She needed something that wasn’t pain, that wasn’t struggle. Just for a moment.

Grimora lay on her back with a pitcher in her hand, and poured water all over her crotch.

“Quickly, Slobberjaw...I need you. Now, before another contraction comes.”

His leering orange face lit up. “Hooray! Slobberjaw is on it!”

He did a sliding dive right into her privates, and slurped and sucked away.

Grimora’s breath hitched as the her crotch goblin went to work. She felt the most strange and unfamiliar feeling of melancholy. Was this...the last time she would feel this? Who was she kidding? She couldn’t push for a week. She felt like she couldn’t push another minute. She was getting the growing, unshakable feeling that she was going to die. World Domination, or death, that was what she was prepared for. Death was what she wanted, if she could not have the world. But wherever she went if she failed--she would miss things like this. The kinky sex. And terrorizing peasants. And trying on bitchin’ outfits. And feeding her enemies to the wolverines.

She decided to let herself enjoy it while it lasted. She felt the waves of good feeling wash over her. Even when a contraction did come, she blowed hard and endured it while her minion gave her his best, and by the time the contraction faded, she was almost there. And then it built, built, built some more until--

“MMMMMNF!” Her insides spasmed, and trumpets sounded in her head. And then everything relaxed.

And she thought, just maybe, she felt mass in her bottom shift a little bit.

A lightning bolt of post-nut clarity. Of course! She could not do it alone! Idiot! That was the whole point of this whole ritual! She needed the help of someone else! To take over the world! And she needed the help of other people to help her get the help of someone else! To fan her, get her snacks! And...and...help her relax.

She had been fighting all this time, making a huge ordeal out of it, because that’s what she thought had to happen. And sure, she knew she had to work hard. But nothing would progress...if she didn’t also relax. The answer had been so obvious, right there the whole time.

“Eureka,” she breathed out loud. “I’ve got it. Minions. Kindly help your mistress to the pool.”

While taken aback by her change in attitude, Sneegleeves and Slobberjaw obeyed and helped her waddle to, then sink into, the pool. She sighed, and settled in. She looked lazily over at Sneegleeves.

“Now...bring me my scented candles. The ones that say ‘Burning Churches’ on them. And chocolates. And some fans.”

It was done. She was soon surrounded by black candles flickering at the edge of the pool. Sneegleeves worked a fan, which blew a cool breeze across her face. Slobberjaw popped a truffle into her mouth, which she rolled around her mouth and savored. Another contraction rolled through her, but with the water soothing her, they already felt better. She closed her eyes and blowed through it. She wasn’t quite ready yet. It passed, and she relaxed again. Let the chocolate melt in her mouth. Inhaled the smell of the candles. Felt the breeze on her face, the water lapping against her body.

“Marvelous,” she sighed. She had been a fool. She had been pushing like a peasant. A cave woman. This was how a Queen of Evil was supposed to give birth.

Speaking of which: another contraction was coming. As her belly tightened, Grimora tried to keep that relaxation in her bottom. She regarded her hill of a belly. It was tall, and round, wet and shining from the water, and shot with red stripes. It rose up out of the water like a fabled island on the back of a turtle. She raised her knees up, making two little islands on the sides of her big one, and held them in her hands to see how it felt.

It felt just right.

“Behold, minions,” she panted, “now you will see a lord of darkness—BE BORN!”

She took a deep breath...and PUSHED!

“hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm—”

Nothing showed. But now—she felt movement! Another deep breath...and PUSHED!

“HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM—”

More movement! It was exhilarating! She took another deep breath...and PUSHED!

“HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

She relaxed again, breathing hard, but with a smile on her face. She was doing it. She could feel it coming down. At last. She saw a little cloud of red float out from between her legs underwater. She turned and smirked at Sneegleeves, who was panting as well from working the fan.

“Do keep...that fan going Sneegleeves. I’m working hard here. So should you.”

“Yes mistress!” he grunted, fanning faster.

She chuckled. Humiliating Sneegleeves. Ah, how could she have forgotten how good that feels. This birth just kept getting better. “Another chocolate, Slobberjaw.”

A vicious feedback look began. Her courage rose as she bore down, and felt that huge mass in her pelvis move down more. The lower it moved, the more irresistible pressure she felt. And so she gave a wicked grin and bore down harder. And the mass moved down more. And the pressure only grew more intense. And she bore down still harder with bared teeth and a battle cry. Yes! She was Grimora! The Black Queen of Sorcery! This was her creation! A mighty king of evil! She grew and strengthened him with her own body! And now...she was shoving him out into the light!

With every mighty heave, a cloud of red spurted from her nethers. The water in the pool grew more red and murky with every passing push. She saw it, and was only more encouraged. It meant progress! And so she pushed. And pushed. And pushed again!

And then, the ring of fire set in.

“AAAAAH! HA! HA! NNNNNNGAH! Oh, Nelly! Oh that burns! Oh that burns!”

Panting, she reached down between her legs to feel what was going on. She felt...she gasped. An enormous bulge under her flesh. Her lady lips parted wide. And in between then: an expanse of skin and hair that was not hers.

“Ha. Ha ha! HA HA HA! There he is! I feel him! You see, you worms? I am doing it! Your overlord is coming!”

She put both hands down. She panted! And then she PUSHED! Through the burning she pushed and pushed and pushed. She felt the massive head part her labia and bulge out further under her hands. The bloody cloud spread around her. The head slid in as she released.

“COME ON, COME OUT! YOUR KINGDOM AWAITS! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH--!”

A great hairy dome, bigger than she could have imagined, inched up under her fingers. Her hands could hardly hold it all. Her pussy burned beyond all description. The waters were pure crimson. It was so close! So close! Her warrior! She PUSHED through the pain with mad strength!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! COME ON! COME ON! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH--!”

With a long, bloody shriek, the enormous head shot out into her hands.

“HAAAAAAA! Haaaaaaa! Haaaaaaaaa! Haaaaaa…”

Sneegleeves and Slobberjaw squinted down into the opaque red water. They looked up at Grimora. She continued to breathe heavily, but slowly and proudly nodded at them.

“Haaaaaaa. Haaaaaa yes. That was the head. That’s the head…” She ran her palm around it. It was slippery. And round. And huge. “By all the devils...that feels...as big as my crystal ball…”

She went haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaa in the space between contractions. Anyone else might be horrified to see how red the water was. But to her, it was just right. What a detail to add to her own dark king’s chronicle. Born in a pool of blood. Wicked.

One more contraction started to build. She grabbed her thighs, made two islands around a big one, and prepared for a final push.

“Come forth now, my conqueror...my child. Come forth now, into a world not ready for you. Come forth, and let the land tremble at your coming! Come forth! COME FORTH! COME FOOOOORTH! COME FOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAH! YES! HERE HE COMES! HE COMES! AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

With a maniacal screaming laugh, she felt the rest of the gargantuan baby explode out of her vagina. A mind-shattering tsunami of euphoria, ecstasy, and triumph engulfed her brain and body. Better than any food, any sex, any scheme, any anything. Her eyes saw nothing, no thoughts went through her head, and she only giggled insanely for a moment while the hormones erased all bad feeling. When her eyes could focus again, she looked at her belly. Or where it was. The mountain had been toppled. She had completely deflated. She was empty. She had done it. It was over. The ritual was complete.

But where was it? She waded forward into the water, feeling around under its surface. A moment of concerned searching. Then her hand bumped into something soft and pudgy. Yes, that was a leg...there’s a belly…there’s a head…

She looked up at the minions. Paused for a moment of suspense. A wide, wicked smile cracked her cheeks.

“Behold. Your Overlord!” She lifted a huge black shape out of the red water. It was a baby. But nearly the size of a minion, and much fatter. It’s skin was black as coal, and slightly glittered. There were nubs on its forehead, where horns might one day be. It sputtered, thrashed, and cried out in tiny fury.

“Hail! Hail the new overlord! Hail!” cried Sneegleeves.

“Hail!” replied Slobberjaw.

“Hail!”

“Hail!”

“Hail!”

A few minions poked their head out through the door. Then flooded in in a torrent, all screeching and cheering.

“Hail! Hail! Hail! Hail!” they chanted as the obsidian infant screamed.

“You have done it, your Greatness! He is...magnificent!” Sneegleeves took off his glasses and wiped a tear from his eye.

“As he should be!” Grimora brought the baby down into her arms. “You gremlins will never have any idea how hard I worked to make him, to bring him forth. But now he is here. My little conquerer. We are going to do great things, you and I.”

Sneegleeves peered at the baby, and suddenly looked awkward.

“Although, ahem I-I wish to correct myself on one point, your Vileness—”

“Don’t ruin the moment with your blathering, Sneegleeves. Out with it.”

“The Overlord...appears to be a girl, my lady.”

Grimora moved one of the baby’s legs aside. The imp was right. There was a teeny little butt shape down there.

“Huh. Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha! Well! Why not? A girl overlord! How marvelous! In fact, I like it even better! A mother-daughter quest for world domination! I love it! It’s going to be legendary! Oh, my girl! You are going to be a terror just like your mumma!”

“Yes, your Wickedness! You will raise her to be the most unstoppable warrior the world has ever known! You will both lay waste! And the world will belong to us!”

The imp army cheered. Grimora bounced the humongous baby warrior. Her eyes blinked, and they were blood red. As they should be, she thought.

“Raise...?” Grimora guided the baby’s mouth to her nipple. She latched on and began to suck. Grimora smiled down at her, with an expression as close to motherly love as an evil sorceress queen can make.

“...no, Sneegleeves. That will be your job.”

THE END