Two months into captivity, Maithum Falls Brothel

Lahk was as good as his word to make her pay full price for the whores she had freed.

Once she had arrived in Maithum Falls, the largest city in Silas, the elf had immediately been put to work making money for the church of Sanguinar. All day and all night, a continuous stream of filthy, smelly men came in and out of her cell, raping her in her chains before they left her weeping weakly on the floor and were replaced by the next man.

Athuum had no idea how long this went on. It was longer than a day. Probably longer than a week. Maybe a month? Longer? In the dark cell, time was impossible to track. She was not permitted to sleep, the brothel couldn’t spare her holes such a long break. Rather, the red haired whore slept when she passed out on the point of some invading cock and his slaps couldn’t bring her to, but each time she awoke she had numerous fresh loads of cum inside her. Her quota couldn’t be delayed by such a meaningless thing as the feeble woman reaching her limit.

Her only hint of time was the priests, who visited her seemingly once an epoch. They gave her a brief few minutes to eat, and if she refused she was whipped while the food was stuffed into her using a ring gag. The priests worked some kind of rejuvenation magic on the girl each time as well, before washing her off with a bucket of freezing water and inviting in the next man.

She had long since lost count of these visits. If they were once a day, she must have been down here for weeks, at the very least. Someone subjected to that endless rape would be driven insane.

Perhaps she already was. Athuum, Athuum, Athuum. The name repeated over and over in her mind. She knew she had had another name once, a more dignified name that her mother had given her… but goddess help her, she could no longer remember what it was. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been warm, when she had been safe, when she had been touched by someone who didn’t want to bring her pain and humiliation.

She must be losing her mind. In her spare moments, she found herself wondering the strangest thoughts. She wondered if any of the men had every fucked an elf before. Almost without fail her rapists ran their hands along her slender ears, gawking at her lithe, slender frame. She wondered if the priests were preventing her pregnancy, for it seemed they could hardly use children as leverage if they couldn’t do so. She wondered if she even still could have a child, or if her body had been too thoroughly abused… her cycle had not come since she’d been in captivity. She wondered how much the church had charged these men for their use of her.

She wondered if today would be the day Caer would finally let her die.


The poor elf’s horse was half dead from the speed with which she’d made the journey, but she had no time to spare for it’s health. She had already ridden another horse to death further south before stealing this one, and as the walls of Haven’s Ford loomed before her, she desperately hoped she was in time.

Racing to the gate, she tossed back her hood and watched as the men protecting the gate gasped at the black mask of a revenant on her face.

“Did a priest of Sanguinar pass here?” she shouted, ignoring the guards’ demands for her to dismount.

One of the other guards pushing aside the crossbow one of the younger fools pointed at the women. Interfering with a revenant was a sure way to bring the wrath of the Demon Queen down upon the interloper’s head, and Kardas was not known to be discriminating in her retribution. “A group led by one rode north a day past,” he yelled to the red haired woman. “Told them they were mad, but they didn’t want to listen.”

Neither did the elf. She turned and pointed her exhausted steed north again, flying across the frozen countryside. She had to find Lahk before he reach Caladwen, regardless of the cost.

The high priest had lived long enough.


Four months into captivity

It took Athuum long moments to realize what was different when she awoke.

There was no man grunting atop her, pumping a cock into her holes. She wasn’t gagging or choking. She was alone. Athuum lay there for hours, her body sore and worn as she stretched out on the cold floor. She ached, but for the first time in goddess knew how long she was unbound, and on balance the pain in her stretching limbs was a good one.

When the door again opened, the elf whimpered. She felt ashamed at the reaction, but the thought of the gang rape beginning again was too horrific to imagine. Instead of unwashed men, a pair of priests entered with carefully blank, business-like faces.

The elf was too exhausted to struggle much as they picked her up from the floor and pulled her from her cell and down the halls, up several flights of stairs until she was brought into a room that smelled of wild flowers and honey, the large scented bath resting in the center of the chamber. The aroma reminded her of home, so long ago, and the druid wept silently as the priests stripped and eased the elf gently into the pool, bathing her filthy form with the clean, pure water. Real soap was rubbed into her savaged flesh, grim and offal sloughing off her like water on oilskin as the priests carefully, gently cleansed her. Like dirt cleared from an ancient inscription, the noxious grease and earth being stripped from her skin revealed the tattered remains of the elf’s dignity that lay beneath it, and for the first time since she had arrived in the former royal palace of Maithum Falls, she felt something like a living being again.

The priests carefully rinsed her hair and perfumed the beautiful elf, her scarlet hair bright and clean for the first time in months. Her hands were confined by silver manacles as they continued to work on the woman, but even those cuffs felt soft on her skin, like a piece of jewelry more than a restraint. The two men carefully dried her and combed her mane until it shone bright and straight, falling down her back in even waves.

And then they dressed her. Athuum was sure she hadn’t worn clothing since she had been captured in Daggerport weeks ago, and when she was unbound they slipped her into a silk dress, the sensation of the smooth fabric on her scarred skin felt foreign. The emerald silk clung to her slender body, feeling like second skin over her scalded flesh, cooling, soothing.

For this brief instant, it was like the horror of the last months was but a nightmare and she was still the druid who had arrived in this forsaken land with hopes and dreams of her own.

The elf was taken from the room and escorted gently by the two priests being taken ever deeper and deeper into the former royal palace. The place had changed dramatically since she was last here, Athuum realized. Even during the deepest horror of the War of Ascension, the keep had maintained a quiet, regal sense of dignity and stark beauty, even as it became impossible to disguise its emptiness, how many men had left its walls and not returned from battle. Once she had been brought here in a grand fanfare, the people of Maithum Falls needing badly something to celebrate. She, a hero of the war, had been adopted by the king then, made into an honorary princess of the realm to the cheers of the public.

To them she had represented hope, a feeling that the war would someday end, and Silas would survive as long as citizens like her stood up. She had been proof that there was a future for the kingdom.

No one then could have imagined the magnitude of that lie. Now the entirety of the royal line lay cold in the ground, and the once proud manor had fallen into Sanguinar’s shadow — the depravity of the dark god filling its halls and chasing away the ghosts of glory. The broken remains of defaced icons of the other five deities of Silas remained, still carved into the walls, standing in sharp relief to the golden sign of the Lord of Suffering. The stone walls echoed with silence where once they had been filled with laughter, punctuated by keening wails of women where once the place was witness only to wishes of well being. Hope had abandoned this place when the church had claimed it.

The bound elf was taken into a bedroom and rebound with her arms above her head, the rope slung through the ring on the ceiling but not taut, her feet resting comfortably on the carpeted stone.

“Precious Athuum,” a voice from her darkest nightmares came to her as high priest Lahk entered the room. She gasped and took a small step away from the man. For the first time in her presence, he was wearing the garb of his office rather than the armor and arms of a warrior, including Lord Sanguinar’s dark crown. For a brief instant, her memory and terror of the dark god merged with her perception of the man, and she shuddered uncontrollably as he raised his hand in greeting, showing her the black whip in his hand.

“You’ve begun to reimburse me for the loses you caused us, as is proper,” he hissed, uncoiling the whip slowly, one circular motion at a time. “But you have yet to even begin your punishment for your attack of my church.”

He smiled.


The stink from the animals entrails filled the room of the brothel and Lahk wanted to be anywhere else, but Helios was smiling as he rooted around in them.

“The guards told her what you wanted,” he stated, his tone clipped with pride. “She rides north.”

“And you can follow her with this… divination?” Lahk asked, wrinkling his nose. It truly smelled awful… but it was apparently the best way for a non-seer to divine the future, and events in other places.

“Anthropomancy. And yes, I can, my lord,” the wizard boasted, and Lahk turned to his half brother.

“Stay and send word for the armies to be prepared,” he instructed the other priest, his fist striking his chest. “Helios, Cormac,” he said, his eyes alight with a vicious joy. “We ride for Caladwen.”


As her eyes widened Lahk suddenly rushed forward with his fist pumping, striking the elf hard in her stomach. She reflexively hardened her muscles and even managed to flex backwards with the blow somewhat, but Lahk was a strong man and her position severely restricted her air supply, so she gurgled and would have doubled over had she not been restrained. Lahk knelt and placed heavy, tight ankle cuffs around her while his captive struggled to catch her breath, gasping for air.

Satisfied with his work, Lahk arose and tugged on the rope, drawing the struggling druid a mere inch into the air. The manacles on her wrists began to bite and Athuum tried desperately to extend her long, slender legs to gain that extra inch which made the difference between comfort and agony.

Lahk circled his bound prize, enjoying the sight of the strong, athletic figure of Athuum hanging barefooted by her wrists, panting heavily as she recovered her breath. “You look beautiful, Athuum. A worthy tribute to your rightful lord.” He pressed against the hanging elf’s back, cupping her breasts though the silk.

“I accept the offering,” the high priest rumbled, and as his hands were removed from her body Athuum heard that black whip crack twice behind her sight. The first crack startled her, but at the second the former druid closed her eyes and resigned herself to her fate.

Her bare feet dangled above the floor as she hung by her wrists. Her eyes tightly closed, she waited for the whips kiss, but when next the crack came her flinch was for nothing. As she opened her eyes in surprise she had just enough time to take in the high priest’s cruel grin as the wicked whip found its target on her left thigh, slashing a ribbon of silk from the dress. She stifled a scream, but the blow had not hurt as badly as the druid had expected. The slight silk, so fine and delicate, nevertheless proved surprisingly effective at reducing the blow, and the welt the whip raised had no blood.

Another three strikes landed on Athuum’s back in quick succession. She allowed a small scream, a halting, half wail born more of terror than pain as more slashes appeared in the fibrous garment. The next strike landed on the bare skin of her right calf drawing blood as the sharkskin bullwhip hissed across her flesh. Lahk hit her again a few times, pausing in between, then circled around and landed the next blow on her taut stomach, followed immediately by another at the front of her thigh and by a third which landed on her left breast. The first real scream escaped her then, and Lahk’s eyes shined with lust for her torment as she writhed beneath the whip, her dress being shredded by the savagery.

Having found some slight remnant of her pride the druid was loath to abandon it, and resisted giving the high priest what he wanted. He pressed on relentlessly, however, lashing her long legs again and then moving to the arms stretched above her head, which proved a difficult target as the whip would wrap around instead of slicing skin. Changing his mind, he smiled and struck first one and then the other tempting breast, and was rewarded when the new tear revealed a nipple as she cried from between clenched teeth.

With each lash, Athuum felt her resolve waning. She could not dodge the whip, she could not fight back, all she could do was writhe and scream. Her situation was as hopeless as ever, so why did she foolishly hold to hope? Lahk did not strike at the elf in regular intervals, but paused often to let the pain sink in before renewing it, then occasionally launched a barrage of strikes in rapid succession, raining one after another all over her body as she gasped and cried. Her outfit now shredded, the druid hung before her nemesis, staring at the still magnificent body the lash had revealed.

The whip slashed again at the druid’s leg and her dress no longer provided any protection, her slender, athletic limbs rising up as a moan left the red haired whore’s throat, followed by a high pitched scream as the strong leather licked her exposed buttocks. More strikes followed, her muscular ass contracting beneath the vicious sting, only rapidly change focus and let the whip bite her side and immediately after her caved stomach, the force of blows turning her hanging form. The lashes climbed up her ruined body, now all but entirely naked, all the way up to her clenching fists and then down again. The sting of the shark skin kissed her stretched, long arms, muscles flexing beneath each blow, to the savaged breasts now undergoing another barrage of abuse and drawing new shrieks from the girl, then down again to her thighs and calves.

After another strike which removed the final tatter of emerald silk from her left tit, Lahk let one of his pauses draw out and finally put the whip aside, at last lowering the rope that strung the druid up. As Athuum was lowered to the floor, gulping and battered and thanking the goddess for the relief before the priest grabbed her beautiful red hair, throwing her onto his bed.

“Now, I want to hear you apologize to me,” he whispered in her pointed ear as he climbed atop the bound elf, his cock like a stone in his pants. “You are going to apologize to me for freeing those stupid whores, and you are going to make me believe it.”

Lahk folded Athuum’s bound legs up until the girl’s knees were practically in her face, and his cock throbbed as he exposed the elf girl’s abused lips and asshole from between her thighs.

“Please don’t hurt me…” she whimpered, the tatters of her pride fleeing the tormented Athuum as she begged, “I’ll do it good for you…” She felt his cock nudging its way between her lips.

“I’ll make it good on my own, whore,” Lahk grinned. “Now apologize!”

With a vicious buck of his hips the high priest’s cock speared between the elf’s pussy lips and deep into her scarred hole. Moisture from the high priest’s saliva was the only lubrication she received as his huge member plowed past her wounded membranes, but the agony that shot through the elf still made her thrash under him as he slammed deep into her in a single thrust.

“I’m sorryyyyy!” Athuum wailed, desperate to please the high priest in the hope he would stop hurting her even for a moment, the small hope seeming enormous to her desperate mind.

Lahk grunted with frustration. The girl was twisting in agony but his cock was little more than halfway buried, and the rest of him hungered for Athuum’s tight crevasse. He gritted his teeth and set to work, brutalizing the injured hole like an animal as he tried to hilt himself in her tight and swollen cunt.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Athuum screamed as shock waves of pain echoed through her abdomen. “I’m sorry!”

“For what, slut!” Lahk roared as he drove himself into the elf again and again.

“I’m sorry I freed your whores! I’m sorry I attacked your temple! I’m sorry! Please, goddess, I’m sorry!”

For ten minutes Lahk slammed into Athuum’s delicate body as she shouted apologies as loudly as she could manage, his cock brutally forcing itself deeper and deeper into the elf’s resilient body. Athuum wailed and cried, pleaded and begged for mercy, but the high priest’s animal fucking continued at the same vicious pace he had begun at. She could feel herself being embedded into the mattress, so hard were his thrusts, and her entire body shook with the impact of his assaulting hips against her ass until finally he erupted into her.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed as his cum flooded her, the warmth sinking deep into her pain wracked body as he released her and pulled away, allowing the elf to curl up bleeding on the bed.

To her vast surprise the priest then closed his vestments and left the room, allowing the bound elf to sob herself into an uneasy rest atop the mattress. As she fell asleep, Athuum muttered a prayer that soon Caer would sing to her and make her rest eternal.


“Careful fool!” Shevarn yelped as the apprentice mage lit his own robes on fire. Thankfully, long years of instruction had taught the wizard that it was unwise to teach new apprentices how to conjure flame around anything else flammable, and to always have water prepared. With a quick heave the former Archmage soaked Dorn to the bone, snuffing the flame in an instant.

“I’m sorry master,” Dorn sputtered, beginning to shiver in the cold air now that he was wet. “I don’t know why that…”

Shevarn sighed and waved the young man to silence. It had been as much the Archmage’s fault as it had been Dorn’s. He had been distracted as of late, and should not have grown so distracted that he missed the wrong gesture his apprentice had made, causing the conjured element to go out of control.

His mind had drifted to Alassiel, as it often had of late. He resolved to look in on the elf soon.

“Not your fault, Dorn,” Shevarn told him, opening the door for the shivering young man. “Go dry yourself and change, then we can try again.”


Nine months into captivity, Maithum Falls

“What did you just say!” Lahk roared, throwing his goblet of wine across the room, and Athuum shivered, realizing that she had misspoken and badly.

The despicable shards of her life had settled into a routine over her months of captivity in the brothel. The morning after she had been taken to Lahk’s chamber she awoke when the same two priests dragged her from the bed and cast her back down into her cell, barely ahead of her first customer. The elf was fairly certain she had not stopped screaming the entire time the unwashed peasant took her, weeping and shrieking and praying for death.

She had spent two more weeks in that hellhole before she was again taken from her new home and taken to the bath chamber, where she wept in bitter anticipation the entire time she was being cleansed and dressed, being made beautiful again before being taken to the high priest’s bed. To her surprise, however, Lahk was waiting seated at a table, with real, honest food upon it. Steam rose from prepared meat and vegetables, and a bowl of soup rested before a place setting across from the high priest.

Her mouth had begun to water, and Lahk surprised again by urging her to sit, watching as the elf ate voraciously before he began to talk to her, making conversation and asking her questions. Athuum was not a very good conversationalist, pausing long periods of time before answering and waiting for Lahk to explode. The high priest quickly grew tired of the elf’s reticence and ended the meal, savagely punishing the scarlet maned captive before dragging her to his bed to brutalize her sex yet again before having her returned to the brothel proper.

When next her constant raping was interrupted by Lahk, she was almost desperately eager to please him and held discourse with the priest without reservations. Eventually the high priest tired of the talk and strung her up for her punishment… but it was neither as long nor as harsh as the last, and when he had finished raping her he again allowed the slave to sleep in his bed. When she was returned to her cell the following morning, her use was less severe and less frequent. She even managed to find time to sleep between her rapes with frequency.

And so it went for many months. Lahk was surprisingly adept at conversation. Athuum had known him to be cunning, but she had mistaken his simplicity for stupidity. The animal proved to be surprisingly well educated and read on a number of subjects, and they spoke at length about a hundred topics before she was again punished and raped, but again the punishments were lighter, and she was ashamed to admit herself grateful. And the next day, when she was returned to whore herself again, she found herself to look forward to the next time Lahk summoned her.

They discussed science, and the state of Silas. She expressed concern over the the damage being done to the Veil with each passing day, and Lahk confessed himself worried as well, though the elf judged he was afraid of his own safety if it fell and not at all for the country. They spoke in criticism of the chef’s skill at preparing food, and in praise of the artisans that had long ago built the palace they now resided in. They talked about magic, and the responsibilities of Lahk as high priest. But must of all, they discussed her people.

Athuum knew that this was the point of the exercise, but like a moth to fire she couldn’t bring herself to stop. There was nothing precious she could tell him save for the location of the homeland, which he seemed to believe her when she swore not to know. Still, the elf knew that the topic was dangerous, and she would be wise to discuss anything else, but she found herself reluctant to give up the lighter punishment and delay her suffering, even if the cost was to speak about a topic she wished to avoid with a man she despised. And every time, the punishment was delayed longer and longer, and became less vicious.

Until now.

She backed up from the table, not knowing how she had angered the high priest but terrified of his wrath. “I’m sorry my lord, I meant no offense.”

Lahk’s knuckles grew white in his grip on the table, and in a godlike display of strength he ripped the thing from the floor, dishes and food and all, tossing it across the room and opening the space between him and the red haired elf. He seemed to fly across the distance so quick was his rush, and even in her loose bonds she could do nothing as he grabbed her by the throat, pulling her to him.

“I am not offended,” he growled. “I simply want you to repeat what you just said, whore.”

Her eyes widened as she desperately thought. What had she been saying? She had been enjoying the meal, and barely listening to her words as they exited her mouth, fixated on the next bite of precious food. He had asked her something about politics, and she had explained how they were all supposed to be equal before the goddess, and she had said… oh.

Oh no.

“Did you just say,” he spoke, and his voice was like the hiss of air escaping a pressured bag. “That the elves still have no queen?”

Athuum kept her mouth firmly shut, cursing herself for her stupidity.

“If your primitive race has no ruler,” he hissed, voice deadly cold, “then who sits on Sirae’s throne?”

Still Athuum did not answer, although she did briefly consider attempting to attack him. Maybe if she got very lucky she could force Lahk to kill her defending himself.

“You will answer me,” Lahk snarled, dragging her by the throat with his savage strength as he marched down the hall. “You will tell me everything, Athuum. And soon.”


Alissandra awoke slowly, moving through a hazy state of semi-consciousness. Her throat hurt, and her mind was muddled at first. Where was she? What had happened to her? She struggled to remember. As she awoke, her mind became clearer… and the woman almost wished it hadn’t.

She found herself standing, still fully clothed, in a large stone-walled room, and she could hear the faint echoes of screams through the rock of the chamber. The brothel still, then. The room was very big, and entirely dark, but Alissandra could still see clearly despite the effort to conceal the room, and what she saw concerned her greatly.

She was in a torture chamber, she knew. Strewn about the room were hideous devices of all kinds and all descriptions, of varying level of brutality. A stockade was about the most kind instrument in the room, and a vicious iron maiden stood solemnly across the room. Directly across from where she hung waiting, a supply of instruments of torture hanging from hooks and packed into boxes. Whips and gags, clamps and blindfolds, and many other devices intended to bring a woman agony — including a large collection of vicious looking dildos.

She stood in the center of the room, her wrists were held tightly by steel manacles pulled above her head by a chain in the ceiling. by tight steel manacles attached to chains which pulled her arms up and apart high over her head. Her ankles were chained with similar manacles, and attached to the floor to spread her legs apart. She noticed with outrage that the position of her legs caused her dress to rise up slightly, exposing all but the tops of her legs and barely concealing her crotch.

Any movement at all on the part of the hanging woman would expose her entirely below the waist, and fury took her as in frustration she tugged furiously at her bonds, trying to get free, using the entirety of her vast and vicious strength, but it was useless. Her shoulders ached from sleeping suspended from her wrists, and her wrists themselves had deep lines pressed into them from the sharp edge of the manacles. Her thrashing had worsened the injuries, and a slight trickle of blood wept from her right wrist.

She needed to escape these bonds. Her power was robbed from her while she was bound. Did the mortal fool know this? How could he? Alissandra silently cursed herself as she continued to wiggle in her cuffs, trying to find a weakness in the bondage that would allow her pull free. Trusting the church, even the slight amount she had, had been a terrible mistake. Had she been betrayed at any other time, her captors would not have found her such easy prey, but she was hungry. She had spent weeks on the road, searching for this Lahk that had so motivated the revenant that had cost her her band.

Such conditions had not been conducive to finding easy prey for her vast appetite, and her hunger had made her weak. She had let her greed and desire for retribution drive her into this foolish venture. It has made her weak, allowed her to herself become easy prey to the wizard’s paltry magic. The ward had defeated her in an instant, and now she stood bound and at the mercy of the merciless.

She had to escape. She had to feed, and soon, or she would die. She tugged at her bonds again, knowing it was futile, but desperate to escape. A thousand years long existence, and now it was at risk because of the luck of a follower of that bastard of a dead god? Unacceptable! Queen Kardas would eat her soul still writhing for such a disgraceful display!

She had to escape, but as the bonds refused to give, she knew that it was impossible for the moment… but only for the moment. Mortals were foolish, and men especially so. Her captors would grow overconfident, she was sure. Mortals were impatient, the primary curse of their short, pointless lives. Impatient and overconfident, it would only be a matter of a time before they released her from her bonds, even for a second, and then…

But what would happen to her before then?

Alissandra knew that there was a door directly behind her, in the perfect position so she could not get a clear view of it no matter how she writhed in her bonds to turn about. The position was intentional, she was sure. By placing the door behind her, he gave her something more to worry over.

She had been standing for hours, and she was getting very tired. Even an immortal required rest and sleep, and without feeding she didn’t have the strength to ignore such needs. The beautiful woman had been hanging limp in her chains, trying to rest as much as possible, and wiggling occasionally to reduce the pain on her wrists. Of course, the movement only made her wrists hurt worse, but Alissandra couldn’t help herself. The struggle was instinctive, and her form reacted as any other woman’s body would.

Her suspicions about the door were confirmed when he finally entered the room. The door opened behind her and she heard soft, meaty footsteps enter the room, then the door closed. She wanted to turn around, but she reminded herself steadily that she would not be able to see, and she refused to give the man any satisfaction.

He wanted her to turn, to look, to strain in the attempt to see him, and her frustration in being unable to would please him. Instead she stood still, looking forward, rage simmering in her veins.

If she had not been bound, his mind would be an open book for her, his every thought and desire at her disposal, but in her weakened state the ability was severely retarded. She could just barely feel his mind, but she could feel that he was frustrated that she did not look. His eyes lustfully wandered her body, and she was repulsed.

How dare he! The sensation of men looking at her, openly wanting her, was a common one, and she encouraged it with both her appearance and demeanor, but this was different. She had no control here. How dare he look upon her like this, a being ancient beyond his imagination!

He wanted her, she knew. He was planning to take her, and it began to dawn on Alissandra that if he chose to, he could take her inhumanly perfect body and there was nothing she could do to stop him. The thought sent a chill through her, and she could sense his satisfaction as he watched her shiver. She was an immortal, a thousand years old, but rare was the man she had ever permitted in her body.

What was even more frightening than the thought of being taken like a common whore, however, was that the thought of being taken against her will actually sent a slight tingle of pleasure through her body.

The footsteps began moving closer, and she could sense him walking towards her from behind, still standing where he knew she was blind, but even with her knowledge it still took every ounce of Alissandra’s willpower not to turn and try anyway. He came slowly up behind her and she could literally feel his eyes burning into her flesh with his mortal lust. Normally, such feelings would be her nourishment, but bound as she was, she could not feed. Then he was there, pressing his body against hers from behind. His hands reached down and rested casually, possessively on her hips. He wanted to touch her, she knew, he wanted to roam her beautiful body with his hands, but he was restraining himself. The anticipation of his molestation burned up Alissandra’s mind, and it tortured her more than his touch would have.

Her body tensed under his grasp, though she tried to stop herself. He could fear her anticipation through the touch, and cursed herself for not being stronger. She still did not turn to him nor speak. There was nothing to say. He would not release her until he wished to, and she already knew what he wanted — what any man wanted of her, follower of Sanguinar or not.

One of her greatest advantages was her sexual magnetism. Her very presence, her perfect form, and the sound of her voice made mortals practically go faint with lust and need. It made them easy prey for the ancient woman, usually. Right at this second, though, it didn’t seem like such a good thing.

He leaned forward and his hands began to slide around her body. The sheer fabric of the gown she had warn was little protection against the man. In fact, it seemed only to make his touch seem softer and more pleasing her. His hands roamed gently over her flat stomach, up her body between her breasts and around her neck. The priest behind her continued his tour of her body, hands touching nothing vital yet. He went between her breasts, but didn’t touch them much, then slid around her neck and down her back, around her sides away from her ass. He knew exactly how to play her. She kept anticipating him, thinking he would touch her somewhere she especially wanted him not to touch, but he kept surprising when he didn’t. Involuntarily, she tugged at her chains in fury when next he swept up her body, and that must have been what he was waiting for as his hands pulled away from her instantly.

She almost wished he would get on with it and rape her, torture her, or kill her, whatever he was going to do. The anticipation, as she knew well, was a torment in itself.

After she stopped moving, his hands lay against her hips again, resuming his slow, tormenting exploration of her flawless form. He caressed her gently for what seemed like hours, and as time wore on, Alissandra found herself less and less able to remain passive. She struggled against his touch and against the chains, frustrated beyond her endurance by her helplessness, and each time she did he removed his hands from her for a moment, and she could feel his pleasure at the game before he returned to touch her again.

Then without warning his hands took firm grasp of her breasts and began to knead them through the silken gown. Before she could stop herself, she groaned, and yanked her body against the chains to escape his probing hands. He had not even moved from his position behind her. She could feel his smug satisfaction at his power over her, and it disgusted her, but there was nothing she could do about it. She closed her eyes and concentrated on something else. She tried to think about her vengeance, how sweet it would be to devour this foolish mortal when at last he made a mistake.

When she finally escaped, she swore to Queen Kardas would make him suffer like no one else in all of history had ever suffered.

Her thoughts were interrupted as his fingers pinched her nipples, and she realized with humiliation that they were hard. His hands played with her breasts for quite a while, growing slowly more firm and rough in their treatment, pinching at her tender nipples, and she began to squirm against her will. She simply could not help herself. A couple of times, he twisted or tugged in just the right way and a squeal of pain escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

And by Kardas, it felt so good. To be powerless after an eternity of having others powerless before her. In a strange way, it was attractive to be at someone else’s mercy, and Alissandra could smell her own arousal.

After an eternity of this treatment, one of his hands slid down her smooth, flat belly while the other continued to play with her breasts. The hand moved down and down, and began making slow circles on her gown just above her crotch. He was teasing her again, and after a few seconds, she screamed a short scream of frustration and tugged at her chains, but he did not remove his hands this time. He made circles on her pelvic area for a few moments more, all the while his other hand fondling her breasts, then let his hand slide down into her crotch.

His hand stroked against her pussy, and it felt cool against the heat and wetness coming from her cunt. Her dress was lifted by her posture just high enough so he didn’t have to move it to reach her crotch. As his hand started to make gentle circles on her pussy, the humiliation was just too much. She lost all control of herself and became a beastly, demonic animal, thrashing about in her chains, and screaming in rage and frustration.

She thrashed against the chains, letting the manacles dig harshly into her wrists and ankles, drawing tiny droplets of blood. Her tormentor’s amusement washed over her mind as he calmly continued his fondling. She could not move enough to truly get away from him, and he knew it. His right hand at her pussy began to feel around for her clitoris and found it easily. He gently rubbed a finger up and down over it a few times, letting the rough feel of his hands drag against the sensitive skin.

It was then that the silence was broken, as Alissandra suddenly screamed at the man behind her with the rage of a demon. “Get off of me! I will kill you!” He did not answer her. The priest just concentrated on the movements of her body beneath his hands, and to her horror she realized she was about to climax.

Then he pulled his hands from her, letting her twist and writhe even more furiously than before. Alissandra didn’t realize what she was doing at first, of course, thrashing in a desperate attempt to get his touch back for just a single second. Her whole body burned and she strained backwards against the priest behind her until she realized what she was doing. She suddenly went still in her bonds, breathing raggedly.

Neither of the two had spoken until she had screamed, and she realized that she had lost a subtle game of power in that moment. The man walked around in front of her, and she looked anywhere but at him, her face flushed from her arousal. She was determined not to give the scum any more satisfaction than he had already gained at her expense, but her body still burned with desire. She was helplessly vulnerable to his every whim, and she could not look at his face for fear of crying in shame, and her Queen would never forgive her that.

“Your a strong one,” the priest said, and his name came to her in his mind… Aion. “Defiant.” His finger traced its way lightly up between her breasts towards her neck. When Alissandra thought he was close enough, she shot her head down as viciously as a snake and tried to bite him, but he had been expecting it. His fingers slid smoothly out of the way. She watched him smile and knew that he had been hoping she would try. “I love defiant women.”

Yes, he did, she could sense. He had taken many women in his life, but it was the truly strong ones he enjoyed the most. He enjoyed hurting them, breaking them down until they were not strong enough to resist any longer, and he was happy to take a lifetime to do it if necessary.

But she was not a woman at all, or mortal. She was an ancient Erinyes, a fallen Celestial of Caer now sworn to the Queen of Retribution. A demon, a seductress… a predator. Aion may enjoy breaking the defiant ones, but with her Alissandra vowed that he had gotten far more than he had bargained for.


And as the cock in her erupted and another took its place, she finally broke.

Her voice a choking, faint echo of itself, Athuum cried “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you about the throne.”

Lahk smiled as he pushed his member into her mouth, wet with her tears. “Yes, you will. You’ll tell me all about it.”

And she did.

Sobbing with shame, she told him how the elves fought their political battles against each other for the right to be first among their fellows, a war of hierarchy that they had avoided for thousands upon thousands of years.

She told Lahk how she had been disgusted by the political war and abandoned her own people.

She told him how Sirae had ruled her people for thousands of years even before the creation of the Veil, an eternal goddess ruling her eternal people throughout eternity.

And she told him how the throne, the seat of her power in the center of Caladwen, which she had sat upon in lordship for those millennia of rule, the seat of her divine power, sat vacant.

One thought on “Chapter 12: Gambit

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