Morrigan’s Body 8

When Morrigan came to she was back in the cave, hanging upside down from ropes affixed to the rough hewn ceiling. Her legs were spread wide, making the noirette woman look like a ‘V’ as she dangled, swaying softly in the dim light. Everything hurt… her monstrously raped cunt burned like fire, and her tits looked more like swollen bruises that the breasts she knew they should be.

Her jaw ached and her back ached and her neck ached and her ankles ached and all of the pain combined into a single, massive injury that did not so much hurt as it simply exhausted the witch with its very existence, draining the energy from her in massive gulps as it strained on her awareness, blocking her mind the way a cloud blocks the sun.

Dimly, Morrigan knew to be thankful that the demoness wasn’t with her even now, but as her yellow eyes closed once more it seemed like a pale think to be grateful for.

When she woke next the first thing she heard were Fiona’s screams. The sound made her eyes shoot wide, and she found the Chasind girl only a few feet away from her, pinned between two huge slaves as they fucked her cunt and ass at once. Morrigan shivered as she saw the two men looming over her, but to her surprise they did not touch her, even when she jerked in her hanging bonds and began to struggle pointlessly away from them – they only looked at her briefly before turning their attention back to the rape in front of them. After several long seconds, the raven haired girl stopped her futile squirming – all she was doing was further hurting her ankles.

She hung there for hours where the men found new ways to abuse Fiona. They raped her and raped her until she was in spasms on the floor in a pool of their cum, then dragged her up and made her impale her own ass on their cocks and ride them, long legs twitching with the strain but her eyes too wide with fear to stop. She gasped every single time she pressed herself down on the huge thralls, the ride impaling her even deeper than she usually was fucked as gravity did its brutal work on her.

When they tired of that they made her spend the rest of the day crawling between then, sucking their cocks while they whipped her. Her agonized squealing, the screams around their fleshy cocks, stuck with Morrigan no matter how hard she tried to shut them out – the image of the pain being inflicted on the red haired slave was too strong to escape her.

At last Fiona fell unconscious on the ground and they did not wake her. Instead, Cormac walked over to Morrigan and put his hand against her upturned cunt. She struggled as he approached, but the second his rough fingers touched her raw flesh she screamed and went absolutely rigid, afraid to even twitch lest she agitate the swollen hole. The incredible pain she felt on even being touched made her glad that she couldn’t see her own cunt in this position – she was sure her once tight hole had been stretched beyond recognition by the ogre’s cock.

Cormac smiled at her as he twisted two fingers in her, making her spasm in unbelievable agony, and then he began to spread them and Morrigan nearly blacked out… then he pulled a tiny vial of red liquid from the belt that held up his loin cloth, and with a tiny flicker of a smile her upturned the vial into her spread cunt.

The witch screeched herself hoarse as the liquid poured into her. It felt like alcohol on her raw wounds, burning into them with an almost primal fire as it spread into every crack, down every abused surface of her raped pussy, making it slick with the painful liquid. Her mouth was still open from screaming when Cormac pressed his cock inside, fucking directly into her throat as he hung upside down and completely vulnerable. Morrigan couldn’t breath as he gathered her black hair in one massive hand and swung her again and again down on the huge shaft, filling her throat absolutely as her cunt blazed with agony.

Then, even while her lungs began to ache in desperation for air, her cunt began to cool – the blasting anguish fading into the numbness of ice and the breathless witch realized the feeling of a healing potion at work… she had just never been masochistic enough to pour the solution directly into a bloody wound before. Cormac, however, did not care whether she had stopped screaming onto his cock or not. He continued to rape her face at the must helpless it had ever been, plowing up into her hanging throat like he thought she had no need for air while the struggling rings of her esophagus massaged him. At last he growled, pumping cum directly up her pipe into her stomach so she had to work her throat muscles to keep it from dripped down back into her mouth and choking her again.

When he was finished, one of the men standing to her side cut Morrigan down and let her fall to a bedroll, where she passed out the instant it was obvious they were not going to immediately rape her again.

The next day she awoke again to the foreign sensation of not being abused. She had lain on the bedding until she had woken up, quite undisturbed by the same two barbarians watching her. If she tried to leave the bed they moved to stop her and pinned her back down until she stopped struggling, but otherwise no matter what she did, they stood like statues.

The other girls were not so lucky. With only three slave girls now, their abuses were even more intense. Morrigan watched with horror as the men crammed them full of seed for hours at a time, beating them until their voices gave out and they could no longer scream. Forcing the two Chasind girls to suck cocks together seemed to be a special favorite of the barbarian slaves – they made the pair of women do it several times, choking them by sheathing a cock down their throat in turn while the other licked their balls and ass, then they would trade places, over and over again until at last one of them made the man cum.

This is not to say their other holes were neglected when they did this. Rather, with fewer available holes the men were always careful to keep all of them busy at all times. An endless stream of cocks filled the pair of pale women as they wept and made pleas that they already knew would go unanswered…

But by far the worst off was the poor blonde elf. The Dalish girl was used even more heavily, until her hair was more white than golden and sperm dripped from her gaping holes. Once, to Morrigan’s horror, the barbarians decided to see how many of them they could make the poor elf service at once. Her screams echoed through the cave until the raven haired witch had to cover her ears with her hands, desperate to shut out the terrifying screeches she was making. They worked her hard, making her impale her own ass on a man before another man climbed on top of her and began to fuck her pussy. Some struggling of limbs later, a second cock began to force its way into her stretched ass, and that was when the screaming really started… and it only began slightly more bearable when a man, and then a second man, crammed their meat as deeply into her mouth as they would go. Two more men took the weeping elf’s hands and forced them onto their cocks, punching her sides until she learned to stroke them despite her agony. Finally, one of the huge barbarians sat on her chest, crushing the air from her and finally silencing her screams as he crushed her tits around his cock and fucked her raw, the friction burning at the whipped globes. A full eight men used the tiny elf at once, and her pale flesh had all but disappeared under the crush of their muscles, and Morrigan could only weep in empathy for the poor girl… but be glad it was not her.

Days fell of the calendar as Morrigan rested, the bruises and welts vanishing from her form as she remained untouched by the slaves. She ate when they gave her food, drank when they provided her with water, slept as much as she was able and watched her sister slaves get raped the rest of the time… until one day when she woke up with Flementh’s smiling face staring down at her.

For a moment, the ancient witch said nothing, merely stared at her daughter, who grew increasingly uncomfortable with these old, merciless eyes glaring down at her now-healed form. Of course, her being here meant more torment for her, but hadn’t these last days shown that Flemeth was capable of mercy after all? Morrigan was not sure and that alone increased her discomfort even more than mere fear could have.

“ Stand up, my dear daughter”, she finally said, after waiting a few moments. Again, she was completely naked and felt no shame about it whatsoever. Somewhere behind her, the Dalish knelt, weeping, forced to share a deep kiss with Fiona, the cum of four barbarians passing back and forth between their mouths. Bridget was bent over the table, suffering under Cormac’s violent thrusts into her cunt. She would scream were it not for the wooden dildo forced into her mouth by one of the female thralls.

Morrigan shuddered, again grateful to be spared these attentions. Nevertheless, Flemeth’s words had been a clear command and she dared not refuse her mother again. Not after what it had brought her. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, enjoying the strength that had returned to her. For one brief moment, she even considered pushing Flemeth to the side and making a run for it, but the ancient witch must have caught a glimmer in her eyes, for she simply said, “ Go ahead. But do not beg for mercy when I let every single beast from here to Denerim fuck your ass…” That single threat and the knowledge that Flemeth could enforce it was enough to destroy these stray notions.

“ I see you have healed well”, Flemeth said, nodding with that slight smirk Morrigan had come to dread. When flemeth placed her taloned hand against her flat belly, she had to fight down the urge not to flinch, but her fear must have been visible for just a moment, for Flemeth chuckled softly. Slowly, her taloned claw wandered upward, the tips of the talon running over Morrigan’s round, perfect breasts, tapping her nipples, though once again, they never broke the skin. Nor did Flemeth squeeze her orbs, content to feel them for the moment.

Then, the claw travelled down again, to her thighs and between her legs, rubbing over her soft folds, eliciting a gasp from the terrified witch….and then a pained groan as her index finger pushed upward, into her tight cunt. “ Very good…it would not have been fun to have my favourite toy all stretched out…”, Flemeth remarked cruelly, at once annihilating every hope of being freed Morrigan might have harbored unbeknownst even to herself.

But the noirette dared not speak and only groaned again as Flemeth added a second finger, pushing them deep a few times before withdrawing from the tight fuckhole.

“ Good, good, this will do”, Flemeth spoke, taking a step back. “ Now, Morrigan…you will have the chance to earn my trust. I will not use the leash this time. You will walk by my side back to the hut. If you do that, I know you have become an obedient little whore, just like you are supposed to. Do you understand?” Morrigan was quick to nod. If she could get Flemeth to think she was submissive enough maybe the ancient crone would let her guard down…and if she ever did, Morrigan would show her that even a life as long as hers could end!

“ Then come!” Flemeth continued, winking and motioning her daughter to catch up, which Morrigan did. Together they left the cave, walking in silence for a few moments before Flemeth shook her head. “ I am getting so forgetful in my old days! There is one hole I have not checked! Spread those cheeks, cunt.”

“ Mother…you healed me…”, Morrigan whimpered, knowing where this would lead, “ you know that! Please, you know I am…am tight all over again!” Flemeth snarled. “ Do you want to forsake this chance to gain my trust? No? Then grab that perfect ass of yours and spread it!”

Biting back tears, Morrigan did as she was told, her fingers grabbing her cheeks and spreading them…and a moment later, she cried out, feeling once again the thickness of one of Flemeth’s talons push into her asshole. “ Now keep walking…”, the ancient witch hissed, pumping her finger in and out of the tight hole while her daughter walked on, crying the first tears of the day.

When Morrigan arrived back at the hut she was weeping steadily, silent tears of suffering and humiliation flowing in constant streams from her face. She expected to immediately be abused again in some new, horribly way, but Flemeth instead guided her into the door by the finger in her ass, making the witch follow immediately behind. The hut was now incredibly clean, or rather, it was in its customary state of filth and disrepair — all evidence of the bloody ritual had vanished.

Cormac rested by the bed, and Morrigan instinctively began to struggle to get away from him and received a contemptuous, absent-minded slap from her mother for the effort. The witch need not have worried… for the first time since she had met the chasind thrall, his cock rested limp between his legs. The white haired shapeshifted tore her talon roughly from Morrigan’s tight hole and before her daughter could as much as more Flemeth had pushed the raven-haired witch across the room at the barbarian.

“Take care of her for me, Cormac. I need to go get our guest…”

As soon as Flemeth left the room the noirette expected the thrall to fall on her and drag her to the ground, but instead he pulled her onto the bed and… began to brush her hair? Morrigan was restrained by confusion and surprise as the barbarian dragged a brush through her tangled black mane with surprising care, taking out tangles that had appeared in the course of her extended abuse. He then pulled it back and put it into her customary knot, dragging the loose locks of hair into the neat hairdo she had worn for years before… this all had happened.

He stood up and went to one of the room’s chests. Morrigan considered running, or perhaps attacking him while he was alone and Flemeth was gone, but without her making she was no match for a man of that size. She desperately strained at her mind, trying to find a scrap of magical power through the suppressing lyrium, but her power would not come to her call. When Cormac came back from the chest, her quickly took a cloth to wipe the tears from her face before he set some clothing down on the bed… a pair of Morrigan’s own, she realized with a start. An almost identical set to the one her mother had destroyed so many weeks ago. She hadn’t realized that she had left behind the clothing when she left with the Warden after the fall of Ostegar, but now she was glad she had. Even her golden necklaces were still here, no doubt kept from when the ancient crone had stripped her earlier. In fact, all of her possession were here, every meaningless trinket she carried except…

She barely kept herself from crying anew as she saw the one thing that was missing, and spotted in on the room’s table. A tiny silver hand mirror lay shattered on the wooden surface… the most precious thing she had ever been given… and Flemeth had shattered it precisely the same way she had an earlier mirror, a decade ago.

“I hope it really does bring you ill fortune, you evil bitch…” she muttered as she slowly lost the struggle to keep from weeping, the lost of such a sentimental object taking on almost titanic importance as the abuses she had suffered in the past weeks sought an outlet, and found this one. Cormac continually cleaned her face as she dressed, the familiar clothing resting easily on her body… and by the time she was finished and sliding the necklaces over her head she felt human for the first time in weeks. Of course she still smelled like a swamp, but so did everything else, so it wasn’t like anyone would notice.

Then the door creaked and she turned to look at it, dreading the return of her mother… but as she spun her golden eyes went wide, her jaw dropping limp in shock. “Y-you?” she sputtered, utterly incredulous. “W-what the fade a-are you doing here, you idiot!”

At first, she had barely recognized Alistair. Where before he had been the epitome of the young up-and-coming templar, blonde and way too boyish for her likes, he now was unshaven, unkempt and obviously drunk. Red-rimmed eyes stared at her with unbridled malice and anger. Leaning against the doorway, he spat onto the floor before her feet and snarled, “ What does it look like? Paying you a visit, you treacherous cow!”

“ Treacherous? What are you talking about? Still blathering uselessly, as usual, it seems”, she retorted. True, she had absolutely no idea what he was doing here at this moment, but right now, she did not care. She had never liked Alistair and, after a few biting remarks and heated exchanges, the feeling had obviously become mutual. Still, he’d been a member of the Warden’s group and in battle she had stood by his side, healed him, even saved his sorry behind by charging into the fray in bear form. To accuse her of treachery…it infuriated her.

Not to mention the fact that he presented a very tempting target to vent all her fury and frustration at her own dismal situation. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, though Morrigan did not doubt she was somewhere close by. Maybe she had even arranged this – she most likely had, there was no chance the drunken ex-templar would have found her hut on his own – but Morrigan was beyond caring at the moment.

“ You whore!” Alistair raged, staggering towards her, his presence – and odour – forcing the witch backwards. Even drunk as he was, he had still had martial training and just a week of bumbling around with his head in a bottle did not remove years of muscles earned in hard combat and relentless drill. In a fair fight, she would not stand a chance. And that damned poison of her mother’s still worked, keeping her from accessing her spells or shapeshifting powers.

But Alistair did not know that. Trying to put up her most threatening expression, despite of her dignity having been crushed repeatedly over the last days, she raised her hands, fingers entwined in an arcane gesture he would clearly recognize. “ Stop it right there, Templar!”

“ Bah!” Alistair made, “ I’m not a templar anymore…I’m not much of anything anymore…thanks to you! You spread your legs for him! Made him listen to everything you say…”, he drawled, stopping for the moment.

Was that what this had been about? Certainly, Alistair had noticed when she and the Warden had shared a tent for the first time – everyone had and she could have set Oghren’s beard aflame for the dirty looks he cast at her the entire day afterwards – but he had not seemed to mind, ogling Leliana’s ass for most of the time.

And what an ass it had been…her mother would have loved to have the red-haired bard as a plaything. Frowning, Morrigan killed the thought as quickly as it arose. “ So what? He fucked me, yes…so? Are you jealous you didn’t get to join in?” She had to force the words out, feeling them hurt herself just as much as they were supposed to hurt him. Flemeth was right, she had allowed this to go too far, to make her vulnerable…but Morrigan would not have wanted to miss a single moment of it.

“ That bastard betrayed the king! He had us hunted and nearly killed! He employed that monster Howe! And you…you snake…you bitch…you made him show mercy!” Alistair was screaming at her now, spittle flying from his lips and hitting her as he stumbled towards her again.

So that was what it was about… Loghain. A bastard he was, yes… but a crafty one, a wise one…one they could use. She had persuaded the Warden into showing mercy when everyone, including Alistair, had demanded his death. Flemeth had taught her to recognize and use power and wisdom and Loghain had had both. She hadn’t expected Alistair to just rush off in blind fury, but that was what had happened. The mighty templar had thrown a tantrum.

And it appeared as if he was close to another one now. She could smell his breath, laden with cheap wine and whiskey, his presence seeming to fill the small hut as he loomed over her. Morrigan knew she had to get away. Even drunk as he was, he could simply throttle the life out of her if he so wished. And he looked as if that wish might have crossed his mind.

Taking a desperate chance, she tried to duck away and forward by his side, but his reflexes were not so addled as to let that happen. With an angry snarl, he backhanded her violently, his mailed gauntlet slamming against her chin, bruising it and throwing her onto the bed. Before Morrigan could get up again, he was at her side, pushing her down, one hand at the hem of her dress. “You whored your way into his mind… let’s see you treated like a whore!” And as he yanked, exposing her tits again, Morrigan finally, in one dreadful moment, understood why Flemeth had brought her here…

“Oh, no, no…” she said, wiggling away from the templar on the bed and crossing an arm over her exposed chest. “No, you can’t possibly… Alistair, this isn’t you!”

A look of rage came to his face and masked whatever tiny shred of the innocent templar had been left there. He slammed his fist into her gut, then again and then a third time, punctuating his words. “Shut the hell UP!” he roar as Morrigan tried to curl into a ball, trying to shield herself from the man’s metal enclosed fist. He spat on her face as he yelled into it, slapping her again. “Don’t you tell me who I am, Maleficar whore! You don’t know the FIRST THING ABOUT ME!” He grabbed her necklaces, garroting the witch with them as he tore at her pants. “You don’t GET to pretend you know me!”

The pants came off her at the same time that the necklace snapped, spilling metal fragments and round beads across the bed at the floor, and allowing the raven haired witch to gasp in a breath. He fell on top of her, crushing Morrigan beneath the heavy armor, so cold against her skin. She hadn’t had her lung filled with air for many minutes now, not since he had smashed it out of her with his heavy fists, and she had instead been forced to make do with occasional gasps between being choked and struck and crushed, and her vision was narrowing even as he tossed pieces of his armor off, pawing at her breasts and slapping away her ineffective attempts to protect them of push him off of her. Her sight faded into tiny tunnel, and the last thing she saw before it went completely dark was Alistair’s smiling face.

When she woke up, she was in agony and it took her a second to realize that the blonde templar was inside her! “Nooo!” she wailed, batting at his arms as he rested on top of her on the bed, his cock pounding into her with no regard for her dryness at all.

“What’s the matter, apostate whore?” he growled, slapping her again. At least this time his gloves were off. “You wanted gray warden cock so badly… here it is bitch! Aren’t you happy, you succubus slut! I should have just killed you the moment I saw you at Ostegar… then none of this would have happened…”

Morrigan longed so badly to fight, to get him off of her… but he was so strong… how was he so strong? With Alistair already between her legs there was little she could do but thrash, and every time she tried to strike at him with her arms he retaliated with vicious slaps or another punch to the gut, batting down the witch’s pathetic attempts at resistance until she simply lay beneath him sobbing, broken by the utter humiliation.

Alistair was raping her… Alistair! He had been her companion in the fight against the Darkspawn, her constant rival. They had annoyed each other, insulted each other, fought from each other, and bled for each other. He had been an ally and even a friend… or at least one of the closest things to a friend the raven haired witch had ever had.

She had not hated the templar… far from it. She had, at the very worst, considered him painfully naive and foolish, but as she fell for Cousland more and more she began to actually admire those attributes of his… she had wished, sometimes, more than anything that she could share them. She longed to be as innocent as the boyish warden seemed to be, as unjaded as he had been.

How she longed to be as innocent as he had been when she met him. How she longed that she could even be as innocent as she had been, then.

She had not realized he had hated her so much. What to her had been jibes had become festering wounds for the furious gray warden, boils of fury and madness that burned at him until he wanted to make her hurt as badly as he did, at the bottom of his bottle. He would never understand that the warden hadn’t abandoned him, but that Alistair had abandoned him. He wouldn’t understand that Morrigan had not made the Warden do anything — in fact, one of the things she… loved… most about him was that no one could make him do anything at all.

No, she had not hated him… but behind her eyes, behind her tears, a fury was growing. It obliterated her tears, swallowed her humiliation and her despair and her pain and replaced all of it with a burning hot rage, the kind that makes a man’s vision go red and do stupid things that make no sense. Oh, how she hated him now.

If Alistair had been truly looking at the woman he was fucking, he would have noticed the fire kindling in her eyes, but he could not make anything out through the tears he was crying. Her idiotic, boyish fool of a rapist was weeping while he used her… sobbing in a morose alcoholic stupor. “You took him away from me…” he was saying, and though his voice had grown no less angry Morrigan could not help but think of his as whining like a child. “You messed with his head until he chose you over me, his friend! You made him abandon me…”

The witch wanted to scream at him, even as his more vicious thrusts made her wince even through the curtain of fury hanging over her sense. Made the warden choose her over him? ‘You left him because you couldn’t take the “betrayal” of your precious Duncan, of his adding Loghain’s strength to his own, you fade damned fool!’ her mind seethed, her breathing ragged not with pain but with rage. ‘He did what he had to do to fight the Blight, you moron… or did you forget about the Darkspawn? Too filled with your own childish wants to remember your purpose?’

Alistair moaned on top of her as he came, his cock jabbing deeply into her tight cunt and spilling a river of seed inside her. The witch hardly felt it, so intensely was she focused on the failure of a gray warden on top of her. As he glared down at her, pumping spurt after spurt of set into her unwilling body. “I don’t get what he see’s in you…” he mocked. “You aren’t even a good fuck.” He pulled out of her…

And with scream, Morrigan clenched her hand into a claw and raked it across the arrogant drunkard’s face, digging her nails deeply into his skin as she clawed for his eyes. With a cry of pain the templar rolled away from her but she stayed after his, her finger tips gouging into exposed flesh whether she could find it. “How dare you!” she roared, not even aware of her anger as she gave voice to everything she felt all at once. “How dare you even call yourself a gray warden! Cousand is a warden! You aren’t fit to shine is armor you stupid evil pig!”

Morrigan’s grasping fingers left a bloody furrow across his cheek as he drunkenly grabbed for her arm, missing as she pulled it back in for another slap. “You aren’t a tenth of the man he is, and you planned to rule Ferelden? I’m sure Cousland and your bloody precious people would be thrilled to embrace a sniveling,” she scratched again, raking bleeding lines across his arm. “Cowardly, childish troglodyte of a rapist!”

At last he managed to grab her arm, and pulled her to him, delivering a punch across her jaw that sent her stagging away from him… but she did not lose her feet. “Duncan…” she, said, breathing as heavily as he was across the room, glaring at him in vicious hate, “would be so proud of you. If he could see you now, he’d have left you to rot in your miserably chantry!”

Alistair started to advance towards her. “You fucking whore…”

Morrigan laughed, spreading her arms wide, freely exposing her entire naked body. She knew her sneak attack had played out, and that she had lost… you can get away with attacking anyone the first time, because they didn’t expect it the first time… but now that he knew that she planned to fight like a wildcat his martial training and strength would be too large of an advantage to overcome. A small part of her mind noted with horror that she did not care — her fury had far from played itself out. “Come false warden… show me what kind of man you aren’t. Show this apostate whore what a templar is made of. Show Duncan who you really are, you drunk, stupid slob…”

With a wordless cry of rage, he was at her again, his one single step to close the distance seeming like a charge as he barreled into her, his combat reflexes, unaffected by his anger, making him place his shoulder in front, ramming her just like he would a Darkspawn creature, sending her flying backwards against the bed again. Morrigan cried out, even her anger not enough to help her ignore the pain. As she gasped for breath, she winced, pain shooting through her chest. He had not broken anything but he had, at the very least, bruised a few ribs.

“ And now”, she hissed, grimacing, her rage not quelled in the least, “ you are beating up a defenseless woman? Loghain might have been a monster but at least he was a thousand times more of a man than you!” Every breath she took sent new spears of pain through her chest, an ugly dark bruise already starting to form just underneath her left breast.

Sitting up on the bed – or, better said, scrambling back to her knees – she noticed that Alistair had apparently not taken the bait again. Instead, he was staring at her, his eyes still smoldering with barely-controlled rage, tears of fury running down his unshaven, sunken cheeks. He still looked utterly pathetic, even more so because he somehow managed to hide how dangerous he could be. “ I…I should stuff your dirty, lying mouth!” he snarled, advancing upon her.

“ The moment you stick something past my lips, I’ll bite it off!” Morrigan retorted, meaning every single word, “ though I doubt your little cock could even reach past my teeth!” Spitting at him, blinded by her own fury, she did not notice his fist slamming into her side before it was too late. For a moment, there was nothing but pain, her ribs screaming in agony, stars dancing before her eyes and she knew, he had aimed well. Few people knew that bruised ribs hurt more than broken ones – unless said people had taken lessons in unarmed combat.

“Hurt, are you?” he growled, delivering another punch to the exact same spot, driving tears to her eyes and making her howl in agony. “ Well, maybe I can show you how this felt to me!” And another punch fell. His assault drove her against the wall, desperately shielding herself with her arms, though it barely helped reduce the impact of his battle-scarred fists. The bruise had taken on a much darker coloration, the pain radiating outward until her entire chest felt crushed, a throbbing, fierce pain that worsened every time she moved.

“I’m… still… not sucking your… flimsy… cock”, she grunted, attempting to keep a straight, angry expression despite the pain.

“We’ll see about that!” Alistair said, backhanding her across the face so hard she fell onto the bed. Before she could even attempt to get up again, he was on top of her, straddling her, his mail-encased legs on either side of her chest and pressing against her, sending more pain flaring up from her nicked ribs. In order to fuck her, he had just taken off his codpiece and mailed gloves. Alistair still wore most of his heavy templar armor, his muscled frame and experience allowing him to move almost normally while encased in it.

At the moment, this presented Morrigan with another rather severe problem – that of increased weight. She felt as if a massive boulder had rolled onto her, nearly crushing her chest as the templar leered down at her, placing his cock – which, to her chagrin, was not nearly as small as she had mockingly said – between her heaving, round tits. “ Fearful…of losing your…precious manhood?” she attempted to goad him into actually trying to stick his cock into her mouth, but her voice had turned into a wheezing gasp, losing all of the anger she had meant to convey.

“I want to make you beg for it, bitch”, he said, spitting into her face again. His hands closed around her tits, squeezing them together and then he started pumping his hips forward, putting his entire weight onto her bruised chest. Morrigan’s scream of pain was clearly satisfying to hear, especially when it was cut short by lack of breath as the drunken ex-templar began fucking her tits with abandon, knowing full well the pain that welled up in her chest every time he moved forward, putting pressure onto the bruise and her chest in general, his fingers digging into the firm orbs of her tits in an attempt to make it even worse for her.

“ You can make me stop…if you suck my cock and drink my cum, you worthless whore!” he yelled, slapping her again for good measure…

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