The Apprentice’s Amazons (TG Story) - Chapter 4

The Apprentice’s Amazons (TG Story)

Korr and Dane were the north’s proudest brutes and barbarian warriors — cockswinging, scarred, stronger than any man alive. But when a witch who bent men’s wills with a whisper rose against them, their only hope was a filthy, forbidden ritual. They burned up their manhood, trading cock and pride for raw power, and rose again as towering Amazons: busty, muscled, dripping with strength the witch could not touch. They crushed her with their new bodies… but victory came at a price.

Day by day, their power seeped away — not into nothing, but into their apprentice, Leif. As he grew taller, harder, more manly with every sunrise, they shrank: muscles softening, voices sweetening, their proud dominance withering into need. By the end, the Iron Wolves of the north weren’t warriors at all, but hot, submissive women — blushing, breathless, and bound to the apprentice who had become the man they could never be again.

By the end, Korr and Dane weren’t warlords or Amazons anymore — just soft, needy women, too weak to even swing a sword. And Leif, the boy they once mocked as “soup-boy,” had become the man they now clung to, the one they called master… and eventually, their husband.

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Part 4

Leif crouched lower behind the ruined cart, his whole body trembling so hard he thought the boards would rattle. His masters—his gods—were coming apart before his eyes.

Korr’s growl had broken down into ragged moans, each one tearing through his throat like he was being fucked instead of fighting. Dane’s booming laughter was gone, replaced with filthy, guttural gasps that slipped out between clenched teeth no matter how hard he tried to roar over them. Their words weren’t words anymore—just snarls warped into groans, grunts bent into needy cries. Every sound that came out of them dripped lust, not rage.

The witch circled them like a cat, hips swaying slow, every step making their knees wobble harder. Her smile was lazy, wicked, like she’d already won. “Mmmm, that’s it… big wolves turned into moaning mutts. Drool for me. Let go. You were made for this.”

Leif’s stomach knotted. His chest ached. He wanted to shut his eyes, but he couldn’t—not when he saw Dane’s axe drag in the dirt, not when he heard Korr’s voice rasp into another guttural “Uhhhnnn—fuuuck—” as his scarred jaw hung slack.

Gods… they’re falling. She’s eating them alive, and I’m just sitting here.

His fists clenched until his nails dug bloody crescents into his palms. No. No, I can’t. I can’t just crouch like a coward while she turns them into beasts. They’re my masters. They’re… they’re everything. And if they drop, Frostmere drops with them.

His breath came fast and sharp, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the moans. He looked down at the pitiful knife in his hand, the only steel he had. It shook so bad he nearly dropped it. He swallowed hard, teeth chattering.

Even if I’m weak. Even if I’m just soup-boy, a twig, nothing. I have to try. I have to save them.

Before his body could talk him out of it, Leif pushed himself up, legs quaking under him. He sucked in a breath so deep it scraped his ribs raw, then bolted forward out of the shadows, knife clutched white-knuckled.

“L-LEAVE THEM ALONE!” he squeaked.

The words cracked halfway, high-pitched, clumsy as a boy’s voice breaking. His sprint wasn’t much better—more of a stumble, boots slapping the stone as his knees wobbled, his arms flailing to keep the knife pointed vaguely forward.

It was the cry of a lad who had no business raising his voice in a square full of warriors. Pathetic, boyish, feeble.

And for a heartbeat, it cut through the moaning.

Korr and Dane’s heads snapped toward him—eyes glazed, jaws slack, sweat dripping—but their gazes still found him.

The witch turned too, her hips still swaying, her smile stretching wide, golden eyes flashing like molten coins.

“Ohhh…” she cooed, her voice silk and poison all at once. “The pup’s come out to play.”

Leif skidded to a stop halfway across the square, his knife shaking so bad the blade rattled against its hilt. His whole chest was on fire, not from courage, but from pure panic. His lungs locked, then burst all at once into the loudest, ugliest scream he’d ever made.

“L-LEAVE THEM ALONE, YOU WITCH—OR… OR I’LL… I’LL KILL YOU!!”

The words came out shrill, cracking halfway like a boy’s voice gone sour, high and squeaky in places, too breathless in others. It was less a threat and more a tantrum, like some gangly stable-hand had just seen a rat.

The square went still for a heartbeat. Even the moaning men on the stones twitched as if confused.

Then the witch’s laughter broke loose.

It wasn’t soft this time, or coy. It came out hard and sharp, manic and mean, rolling from her belly in wild peals. She doubled forward, clutching her sides, golden eyes flashing through tears of mirth as her hips swayed with every cruel bark of laughter.

“Gods above—you hear that?” she cackled, spinning in a half-circle to show him off to the men groveling at her feet. “He squeaks like a milkmaid with her tit in the frost! That’s your threat? That shrill little bird-call?”

Leif’s face burned red as fire, his knees knocking. He tried to raise his knife higher, but it wobbled so bad it looked more like he was waving it than brandishing it.

The witch staggered upright, wiping her eyes, still grinning wide enough to show her teeth. “Look at you—smooth cheeks, no scars, no hair on your chest, your arms skinny as birch twigs. You smell more like milk and honey than sweat and steel. You’ve got less cock in you than a eunuch’s shadow. Why would I waste my magic on that?”

Her laugh tore out again, higher, sharper, spreading across the square like fire through dry grass.

“Ohhh, it’s too perfect,” she crowed between shrieks of manic giggles. “The mighty Iron Wolves crumble into drooling beasts… and the only one left standing against me is this little boy. Weak, soft, frivolous—barely even a man at all. You’re not my prey, pup. You’re a joke!”

She bent back, silks spilling around her curves as she threw her head high, laughter peeling through the night in a chorus of wicked, mocking bells. Every moaning man whimpered like they were laughing along with her.

And Leif, red-faced, trembling, knife still wobbling in his grip, could only stand there in the middle of it all, the sound of her jeers hammering into him harder than any blade.

Leif’s cheeks burned, his throat raw from that pathetic squeal of a threat. Her laughter was still echoing through the square, sharp and cruel, bouncing off the stones like a hundred jeers. He wanted to curl into himself, to vanish into the dirt. But under all that shame, a spark cracked in his chest.

She’s not even trying to break me, he thought, heart pounding. She thinks I’m too small. Too soft. She’s not watching me at all.

His grip tightened on the knife, though it still wobbled like a drunk in his hands. If she won’t waste her magic on me… then maybe I can waste her time on me.

He swallowed hard, then puffed his scrawny chest in the weakest excuse for bravado. “Y-you… you should be scared!” His voice cracked high, so he leaned into it, squeaking on purpose. “I-I’m a big, scary manly man! Look at these… these arms! Look at all my… h-hairy chest!”

The words came out shrill, broken, like some boy fumbling lines in a tavern play. He flexed his wiry arm with a squeak, the muscle barely twitching, his knife rattling so bad it looked like it might fly out of his grip.

The witch let out another bark of laughter, clutching her belly. “Oh, gods—stop, pup, I’ll piss myself!” She strutted closer, hips swaying mockingly, pointing at him like a child with a toy. “Manly? You? There’s more beard on my cunt than on your face! You’re not man enough to polish my boots, let alone stand in my square. What in all the hells do you think you are?”

Leif stomped one foot, squealing back, “I—I’m dangerous!” His voice cracked up an octave like he was twelve. “I’ve got… I’ve got b-b-big muscles and—and a huge… y’know!” He made a clumsy hip-thrust that looked more like a stumble.

The witch bent double, cackling so loud it sent the groveling men twitching harder in the dirt. She slapped her thigh, spinning in place, her golden eyes glimmering with tears of mirth. “Dangerous?! Ha! The only danger you’re packing is tripping over your own boots!”

Her laughter rolled on and on, wild and manic, spilling from her in great waves.

And while she jeered, while her focus tunneled in on mocking the ridiculous boy waving a knife like a toy—her grip slipped.

Korr, staggering, shuddered as the pressure on his skull seemed to ease. His jaw unclenched for the first time in minutes, breath dragging ragged into his chest. Dane blinked through the sweat blinding his eyes, his axe lifting just a little higher as the invisible leash slackened.

They didn’t notice it yet, not fully—but they felt it. A flicker of air in drowning lungs. A crack in the weight pressing them down.

And all because the witch was too busy howling at Leif’s pitiful squeaks, never realizing the spell’s chokehold was slipping with every shriek of laughter.

The witch’s laughter rolled on, loud enough to shake the broken carts and make the torches sputter. She clutched her belly, doubled over, golden eyes watering as she shrieked like a woman who’d just heard the filthiest joke of her life.

“By Velithra’s tits—you’re killing me, pup!” she howled, nearly stumbling as her silks whipped around her. “Big muscles? A hairy chest? Gods, you’ve got less meat on you than a monk’s dinner plate!”

Her jeers came in waves, cruel and endless, spilling over the square like acid rain.

But Leif, red-faced and panting, caught something out of the corner of his eye. Korr’s massive frame twitched, his axe lifting an inch higher off the stones. Dane’s golden head snapped once like he’d broken the surface of water, sweat flying as he dragged in a ragged breath. Their moans were still thick, still shameful, but there was strain in them now—a fight clawing its way back.

It’s working, Leif realized, chest seizing. She’s too busy laughing at me to choke them down. If I can keep her eyes off them—just a little longer…

His legs shook, but he forced them into motion. He stumbled forward, making his knife wave about like a stick, voice squealing high. “Y-you think you’re funny? H-hah! Well, I’m not done! I’m gonna—uh—I’m gonna show all these men how scary I am!”

He pitched his voice extra shrill, letting it crack like a rooster’s squawk, then sprinted straight past her, toward the heap of drooling, groveling men pawing the dirt. His boots slapped stone with all the grace of a calf on ice, his arms flailing as he held the blade out uselessly.

The witch turned, tears still streaking her cheeks from laughter, watching him with glee. “Gods above, look at him! He runs like he’s chasing goats! What are you gonna do, boy—tickle them to death with that little toothpick?”

She howled again, doubling over, her silks sticking to her curves as her body shook with manic laughter.

And behind her, unseen in her hysteria, Korr’s shoulders rolled as he dragged breath back into his chest, his scarred arms flexing against the invisible chains. Dane planted his feet, legs quaking but firming, his axe rising inch by inch as his golden mane whipped with sweat.

They weren’t free yet—but they were fighting, and for the first time since the witch appeared, the leash wasn’t pulling tighter.

And all the while, Leif kept screaming in that humiliating, boyish squeal, waving his knife like a child at play, hoping every ridiculous word bought his masters one more breath.

Korr’s chest heaved, every breath dragging fire down his scarred throat, but for the first time in what felt like hours, he could actually breathe. The pressure behind his eyes eased, the pounding lust drowning his thoughts thinning just enough that he could string words together.

He staggered, planting his axe into the stones just to hold himself upright. His dark gaze met Dane’s, and for once the two warlords looked less like wolves and more like men who had just crawled out of drowning waters.

“She’s… losing her grip,” Korr rasped, his voice still ragged, but no longer just a moan. “I can think again. By the gods, I can think.”

Dane wiped spit from his beard with the back of a trembling hand. His golden mane stuck to his face, but his grin—weak, crooked—was there. “Aye… I feel it too. It’s slipping.” He let out a broken laugh, still half a groan, but full of relief. “Korr… we’re not done yet.”

They both turned their heads, almost in unison, toward the sight that had drawn the witch’s attention away.

Leif.

The boy was flailing about with his pitiful knife, squealing like a child, running circles near the groveling men as though he could scare them off. His voice cracked with every word, his threats pathetic and shrill. The witch was howling at him, hips shaking with laughter, tears in her golden eyes.

Dane’s chest hitched—another laugh, but this one real. “That little fool…”

Korr’s scarred lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “No fool. He’s… buying us time.”

For the first time since the spell had sunk its claws into them, they both stood a little taller. Still trembling, still slick with sweat, still fighting the phantom leash tugging at their cocks and minds—but now they had space. Space to breathe, space to think, space to remember who the hell they were.

And it was because their “soup-boy,” the scrawny pup they’d dragged along, was out there shrieking like a fool, daring to draw the witch’s gaze.

Korr’s growl came steadier this time, his hand tightening on the haft of his axe. “He’s helping us, Dane. Gods damn it, he’s helping.”

Dane’s grin sharpened, teeth flashing even as his legs quivered. “Then let’s not waste it.”

Leif caught it—the shift. The way Korr’s eyes weren’t just glazed with lust anymore, the way Dane’s grin looked sharp instead of slack. His heart leapt into his throat. They’re fighting back. Gods, they’re free!

He spun on his heel, almost tripping over his own boots, and screamed at the top of his lungs, voice cracking like a rooster in the morning.

“RUN! D-don’t go back—don’t let her look at you again!”

The witch’s head jerked, golden eyes narrowing, her laughter stalling just a heartbeat. But Leif barreled on, his knife shaking in his fist, words tumbling out faster than his tongue could keep up.

“I—I figured it out! It’s your manhood! That’s what she grabs! The cocks, the scars, the pride—you give her the rope every time you flex! That’s why you’re drooling and moaning like beasts!”

His voice broke high, shrill and desperate. He flailed his free hand like he was trying to wave the truth into their skulls.

“But women—women don’t give her anything to grab! She can’t touch them! She said it herself! That’s the weakness!”

The words spilled raw, frantic, almost nonsense in his squeaky rush, but they carried. They reached Korr and Dane, who stared at him with wide, ragged eyes. The truth slid into place like an axehead into its haft.

The witch’s face twisted, her lips peeling back into a snarl. “You little rat—!” she hissed, realizing too late what he’d shouted.

Leif’s chest burned, his lungs on fire, but he screamed again, voice cracking into a humiliating squeal.

“Don’t fight her as men! It’s the only way!”

For a heartbeat, the witch’s laughter rolled rich and cruel through the square—until her golden eyes sharpened, narrowing like knives. The grin slid off her lips. Her hips stilled mid-sway.

She realized.

Her gaze flicked from Dane’s trembling defiance, to Korr’s iron grip dragging him back, to Leif squealing nonsense at the edge of the square. Her chest heaved once, sharp, before she threw her head back and shrieked, the sound splitting stone.

“You little vermin! You think you’ve fooled me?!”

Her voice cracked like a storm, magic already coiling at her fingertips, heat shimmering around her silken frame. “You don’t leave me. You don’t run! I take what I want, and I break it until it begs!”

Korr yanked Dane harder, snarling, “Move, damn you! She’s about to strike!”

And she was—arms rising, golden fire building in her palms, her body a vessel of sheer lust and fury ready to crash down on them. The spell hissed through the air, sharp enough to freeze the breath in their lungs—

When Leif screamed.

His voice cracked so shrill it stopped her cold mid-incantation. “HEY, BITCH!”

Her head snapped toward him—her fury twisting into shock at his audacity—just in time to see his knife spinning end over end through the torchlight. The throw was clumsy, wild, the blade more likely to bounce than bite. But it flew true enough to force her to jerk aside, silks whipping around her as the knife clattered off the stones where her chest had been a heartbeat before.

Her magic fizzled in her palms, power broken by the sheer instinct to dodge.

And in that instant—just that instant—Korr and Dane bolted.

Their boots hammered stone, their axes clattered against their backs, their lungs burning as they tore away from the square. Dane’s pride still fought him, but Korr’s iron pull gave him no choice. Behind them, the witch’s shriek tore the night in two—rage, humiliation, fury all wrapped into one sound that promised no mercy.

“RUN!” Leif screamed, legs pumping furiously as he scrambled after them, his chest tight with terror and triumph both.

And the three of them vanished into the shadows of Frostmere’s alleys, leaving behind the broken square, the groveling men, and the witch’s scream echoing like a curse.

The sound of Korr and Dane’s boots faded into the dark, swallowed by the alleys. The witch’s golden eyes tracked them until the last echo was gone—and then snapped back.

Straight to Leif.

Her lips peeled into a snarl, teeth bared sharp against the torchlight. Her silks clung to her heaving chest as she stomped forward, each step rattling the stones.

“You…” she hissed, her voice vibrating like venom in the air. “You wretched little rat! You cost me my wolves. My prize.”

Leif froze, his chest jerking with shallow breaths, his knife long gone. His legs twitched like they wanted to run, but his boots were glued to the stones under the weight of her gaze.

Her fury burst into laughter—high, manic, cracking off the walls like bells hammered too hard. Her eyes blazed molten gold. “Oh, but don’t you look delicious now? So small. So weak. So… unmanly.” She tipped her head back, silken hair flying, and shrieked with glee. “Perfect prey.”

Leif shook his head, his voice catching. “N-no… stay away!”

Her smile widened, cruel and wet. “Oh, I won’t waste steel on you, little soup-boy. No. I’ll punish you the way I punish men—where it hurts.”

Her arms spread wide, silks snapping in the unnatural wind that coiled around her body. Sparks of gold danced between her fingers, twisting and weaving into tendrils of light. Her eyes locked on his, her grin unblinking.

“You’ll choke on me, Leif,” she purred, her voice low and filthy, dripping honeyed venom. “I’ll crawl into that pretty little skull, twist your thoughts, and drag your moans out of you ‘til you beg for me like all the others.”

Leif whimpered, his hands flying uselessly to his temples. “Stop—don’t—”

“Too late!” she screamed, her laughter spiking into a howl. She thrust her hands toward him, golden light streaking out like lashes, snapping through the air. They coiled around his head, his chest, his limbs—burning and freezing all at once.

Leif’s eyes rolled back, his mouth opening on a ragged cry. The sound cracked high and desperate, echoing through the ruined square. His knees buckled, his whole frame shuddering under the weight of her magic.

The witch’s laugh rose higher, wilder, shaking with triumph. Her face was alight with manic joy, her golden eyes wide, her lips curled in glee. “Yes! Squeal for me! You thought you were clever, but you’re nothing! NOTHING!”

Her laughter turned guttural, thick with rage and lust. “Your masters ran because of you, little rat—so you’ll pay in their place.”

She leaned her head back, cackling until the very stones seemed to vibrate with it, her voice cutting through the night like madness itself.

Leif clutched at his skull like he could rip the magic out, but the golden threads only sank deeper, writhing through his nerves. Every tug lit him up—hot, wet sparks that shot down his spine and coiled low in his gut.

“Fight—nnghh—fight it—” he gasped, but the words tangled into a broken whimper. His chest heaved, sweat rolling down his ribs as his hips jerked forward, his cock swelling shamefully against his trousers.

The witch leaned in, golden eyes blazing, her grin dripping filth. “That’s it, little soup-boy. Don’t pretend you’re fighting—your body’s already mine.”

A guttural moan ripped from him, high and needy. “Ahhhhnnn—gods—ahhh f-fuck—” His legs buckled, nearly dropping him to his knees. He clung to his thighs, shaking, his knife long forgotten in the dirt.

Each pulse of her magic tore another sound out of him—pathetic, slutty little moans that echoed off the stone walls. “Hhhhnnn—ahhh—ahhhhnnnn—ohhh gods, can’t—mmmhhhnn—can’t stop—”

She cackled, tossing her head back, silks whipping around her as she circled him like a lioness with a trapped cub. “Listen to you squeal. Your masters roared, even as I broke them. But you? You just moan for me like a bitch in heat.”

Leif’s eyes rolled back, his lips slack. A drool-slick gasp slipped out, his voice warbling as his back arched. “N-nooo—ahhhhhhhnnnn—don’t—don’t—ohhh fffhhhuuuckk—”

The witch’s laugh was manic, her hips swaying with each step, her voice thick with venomous delight. “Every sound makes you weaker, every moan ties another leash around your throat. And you can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it.”

Leif’s hands clawed at the stones, his nails scraping uselessly. His head lolled back, mouth open wide, every breath a filthy, broken cry.

“Hhhhnnn—ahhhhnnn—ahhhh gods—nnnnmmmooooore—”

The threads pulsed again, harder, and his whole body shuddered. His moans climbed higher, more desperate, spilling raw and shameless from his throat.

The witch’s grin split wider, her eyes glowing like suns. “Yes. That’s it. Keep squealing. Every filthy noise you make is proof you’re mine. By dawn, you won’t even remember how to speak like a man—just how to moan for me.”

And Leif did—his last ragged groans breaking into a chorus of breathy, raunchy sounds that filled the night as her laughter rose wild above them.

To be continued...