by Sarah Hawke
“Mistress…” the girl blubbered. “Mistress, I’m going to…”
“It’s all right,” Varassa soothed. “Spill for me. Spill inside your mistress.”
Solemi instantly lost control. Her seed flooded her mistress’s quim, and her sparkling emerald eyes rolled back as if she had been possessed by a demon. Varassa grabbed the back of the girl’s head and pulled her in close, and they devoured each other’s tongues while the last echoes of ecstasy shuddered through their joined bodies.
“I hope I have pleased you, mistress,” Solemi breathed between kisses.
“Always,” Varassa replied, sifting her gray fingers through the girl’s platinum hair. “My precious niskaru cunt.”
Solemi smiled and closed her eyes as she reveled in her mistress’s touch. Even now, after all this time, it was still difficult to believe how quickly she could transition between docile slave and domineering enforcer. She really was unique.
“Please, allow me to clean you,” the girl begged.
Nodding, Varassa unlocked her ankles and scooted up on the sheets, allowing Solemi to slide away and kneel at the foot of the bed. The girl began to eagerly and diligently lap up the seed oozing from her mistress’s quim. The expert flicks of her soft tongue sent another euphoric shiver rippling along the Matron Mother’s spine, and she moaned in delight as she slung her legs over Solemi’s back.
“Ahaluthh,” Varassa breathed, holding the niskaru against her as she let her head fall back against a pillow. She looked up at their reflection in the mirror on the ceiling, strangely aroused by the contrast of her gray flesh coiled around Solemi’s sleek, pale figure. Her thoughts turned to the highborn cunt back in the Gray Citadel, and she started to imagine Serrane and Solemi fighting for the right to pleasure their mistress. Nym could still snatch away her prize, of course, especially if the Ranger-General proved stubborn. But Varassa had full confidence in her ability to identify—and break—slaves who didn’t recognize their own deep-seated desire for submission. Soon enough, Serrane would be on her knees, begging for the chance to please her mistress just like Solemi.
It was only a matter of time.
***
“Plynn ol jal, dos xa’huuli darthiir nek!” the drow soldier cried out as he stroked himself to climax. For the third time today, his gray cock fired a barrage of smoldering seed through the gap in the metal bars, covering Serrane Starwind’s cheeks, chin, and tits. She had stopped trying to dodge the onslaught a long time ago. While one set of webs bound her wrists behind her back, another anchored her collar to the wall in order to keep her head still. All she could do was close her eyes and hope for the best whenever another drow used her naked, kneeling body as target practice.
The squad of drow males standing outside the cell right now seemed pleased with their performance. They hectored the highborn prisoner in their language and in the common tongue while a handful of blank-eyed female slaves busily stroked and sucked their masters back to life. Once the men were ready, a drow priestess would materialize from the shadows and cast a renewal spell upon their cocks, ensuring they could produce as much seed as if they hadn’t spilled in a month.
The result was that Serrane was so thoroughly caked in semen that her features were barely recognizable. She knew this for a fact thanks to the full-sized mirrors her captors had placed on the right and left walls of the cell. Her only options were to stare at the men about to spill on her or look upon her own seed-splattered visage. It was degrading. It was humiliating.
It was also unbelievably arousing.
“Smile for me, cunt!” a drow soldier sneered as he pumped himself to climax. His seed struck her lips so hard some of it seeped into her tightly sealed mouth, but she knew better than to spit it out. The last time she’d tried that, another male had fired a shot directly across her tongue and down her throat. His comrades had howled about it for several minutes straight.
“I think the bitch is starting to like it,” another male teased. “How wet are you, slut? If you beg for it hard enough, the Matron Mother might open the door for us…”
Serrane glared into the mirror to her left while they continued mocking their prey. She didn’t just look like a whore—she looked as utterly, thoroughly defeated as the slaves who had already resigned themselves to their fate.
And I have, haven’t I? I’ve stopped struggling, and my quim is so hot I’d give almost anything for a cock—any cock—to fill it.
“Looks like we missed a spot,” one of the drow men said. “Stay right where you are, cunt!”
Serrane flinched when yet another volley struck her cheek. She couldn’t help but remember when Aluriel had first convinced her to dress up and put on a disguise so they could fuck as many men as they wanted without sullying their reputations. Over time, Serrane had become addicted to their little outings, and more than one of them had ended like this. She and Aluriel would be on their knees surrounded by farm boys desperate to spill all over two pretty little elven girls…
Even at the time, Serrane had worried about how much she had enjoyed those escapades. They had been so filthy, so depraved, so whorish—and yet so unbelievably satisfying. What did it say about her that she had enjoyed them so much? What did it say about her that she was enjoying a part of this so much?
I have to get out of here soon. My head is swimming, and I’m already having trouble concentrating. I haven’t spent a single second planning an escape since they locked me in here. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up like that poor, deluded half-elven girl.
Serrane snarled and tugged at her restraints, prompting another round of jeers and snickers from the men outside. Several of them were on the verge of spilling again, but just before they had the chance, a door creaked open from somewhere down the corridor beyond the cell. The drow exchanged hushed whispers in their own language for a few moments, then the males reluctantly tugged on the leashes of their slaves and shuffled away into the darkness.
“If only every darthiir cunt could look as lovely as you,” a female drow voice sneered from around the corner. The Matron Mother’s pregnant sister, Laetharys, appeared outside the cell a few seconds later. Unlike the last time Serrane had seen her, the drow woman was actually clothed—if a bra, panties, and dangling sash counted as clothing, anyway.
“One day your queen will be here in your place,” Laetharys went on. “I can already imagine how beautiful she will look after our soldiers defile her.”
Serrane resisted the impulse to snarl back. The more she protested, the more these drow seemed to enjoy tormenting her. She had no intention of allowing this bitch to get off on her suffering.
“The Matron Mother has prepared another trial for you tonight,” Laetharys said as she opened the cell door and sauntered inside, a bucket of water dangling from her hand. “I cannot fathom why my sister even bothers with such foolish games, but I promise you this: before this day ends, General Nym will plant his seed in your belly.”
Laetharys dumped the bucket over Serrane’s head. The water was freezing cold; the ranger couldn’t help but wince as it streamed down her cheeks and over her breasts. Still, at least it washed away some of the semen covering her skin.
“Nym prefers his bitches clean and presentable…at least until they are properly bred,” Laetharys said. She made a beckoning motion, and a servant scrambled around the corner and into the cell with a second bucket in hand. “Once you are heavy with his child, he will have no further use for you. You can be as filthy as the rest of his harem until you are ripe again.”
“That must explain why you look the way you do,” Serrane said, eyeing the drow woman up and down. “Clearly no one has taken an interest in your appearance for some time.”
Laetharys’s blue eyes instantly narrowed, and she backhanded the ranger across the face. “Darthiir cunt!” she snarled. “How dare you insult a noble-born drow!”
Serrane licked at the blood now mixing with the seed on her lips. “Noble-born? You may be a drow, but you’re just as p
regnant as the humans and mixed-blood mongrels down here. Even the Matron Mother’s half-elf pet seems to have more authority than you.”
Laetharys grabbed the second bucket from her servant and splashed it directly into Serrane’s face. “The general wants your womb, not your tongue. Once he’s finished with you, I shall carve it out and take it as a trophy.”
Serrane shook her hair and spit the water from her mouth. “The half-elf seems to speak whenever she likes, and she’s never been bred, has she? When I pledge myself to your sister, she’ll grant me the same protections.” The ranger smiled and eyed the drow’s swollen belly. “Who knows, maybe the Matron Mother will order Nym to breed you instead…assuming you can make yourself presentable enough for him.”
This time, Laetharys didn’t bother with a backhanded slap—she hauled back and punched Serrane with all her might. If not for the webs holding the ranger upright by her collar, she would have immediately crumpled to the floor. Blood filled her mouth, but she steeled herself against the pain and flashed the drow a triumphant smile.
This is it—this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The spurned sister is a far more vulnerable target than the half-elf girl.
“Speak out of turn again, cunt, and I will order those males to shove their cocks down your throat until you suffocate,” Laetharys growled.
Serrane spit blood on the floor. “You probably know what that’s like, don’t you? How many times has your sister raped you? I bet she even allows her Throne Maiden to fuck you whenever she likes…”
Laetharys reared back, eyes blazing, as she prepared for another strike. But a split second before she landed a blow, a magical web materialized out of thin air and snatched her arm. Snarling, she spun around and glared into the shadows just beyond the cell.
“Vel’bol phu dos xundus?” a female voice said. A moment later, the drow priestess who had been revitalizing the males stepped into the dim light. “Lil ilharess ilhar quarthen dos ulu orior nindol kul’gobuss!”
Serrane couldn’t understand most of the words, but the newcomer’s vicious, spiteful tone made it clear that the ranger’s gamble had paid off. Laetharys couldn’t truly harm her without invoking the wrath of her sister, and now she was about to be disciplined.
“I will not allow this highborn wretch to insult a drow!” Laetharys protested. “She must be punished!”
“Not by you,” the priestess said. “You were ordered to clean her up and make her presentable. If you damage her in any way, the Matron Mother will place you back in the stocks where you belong!”
“This is intolerable!” Laetharys hissed. “I am the eldest daughter of House Hu’nate! I will not be insulted by a mere—”
“Kneel,” the priestess said, her voice shuddering with magical might.
Laetharys instantly crumpled to her knees, and her jaw trembled as if she were trying to speak but couldn’t muster the strength to open her lips. Serrane could feel the Spider Queen’s power tingling in the air, and she swore the water dripping from her skin suddenly turned to ice.
“You are no longer the First Daughter of Vel’shannar,” the drow priestess said, her eyes and palm glowing with magic. “If the Matron Mother hadn’t allowed you to carry her child, you would be nothing at all.”
Laetharys quivered in place as if a great invisible weight were pressing down upon her. For a single perfect moment, she was every bit as helpless as Serrane.
Remember, betrayal is in their blood. Stoke the flames long enough, and they will destroy one another…
“The Matron Mother is waiting,” the priestess said after a moment. “Finish preparing this cunt for tonight’s festivities, or I will invoke the wrath of the Spider Queen upon you.”
The moment the priestess released the spell, Laetharys toppled forward and struggled for breath. She glanced up, her glare as baleful as ever even as she accepted her defeat.
“Her will shall be done,” Laetharys said.
“Good,” the priestess replied, a contemptuous smirk touching her lips. She tossed a final glance at the shivering prisoner, then turned and strode out of the cell.
“Like I said,” Serrane whispered, “the half-elf gets more respect than you do. It’s almost a shame.”
This time, Laetharys didn’t take the bait…though her hands did ball into fists at her sides. “Get me another bucket,” she yelled at the servant next to her. “And fetch me a gag while you’re at it.”
4
Triumph
Laetharys dumped several more buckets of cold water over Serrane’s head before she ordered her servant to unfasten the ranger’s bindings and drag her to her feet. Serrane had no idea where they might take her, and she was genuinely surprised when they arrived in a small room that had once been the warden’s office. The drow had apparently converted it into a powder room where General Nym’s latest breeding project could be properly primped to his tastes. Serrane quickly found herself strapped to a chair while more servants styled her golden hair into braids, dabbed her cheeks with rouge, and dusted her eyelids with shadow. Watching the entire transformation in the vanity mirror made her sick.
They’re transforming me into his toy—his pet. How many other women have they strapped to this chair? How many of them now have a drow monster growing inside them?
“Thankfully, you won’t need your mouth tonight,” Laetharys said, holding up the ball gag her servant had fetched for her. “Unless Nym wants to hear you scream while he despoils your highborn cunt.”
She ordered the servants to hold Serrane’s mouth open while she wedged the gag between the ranger’s lips and fastened the straps tight. The bitter taste of leather was so foul she nearly retched, and it was difficult to breathe through the tiny holes. Laetharys scoffed contemptuously as she inspected her handiwork in the mirror.
“It’s hard to believe you are considered beautiful here on the wretched surface,” the drow woman said, clutching Serrane’s chin and tilting her head back and forth. “So meek, so submissive…and yet males still covet your pale flesh. It’s revolting.”
She grabbed Serrane’s leash and snapped her head back, then leaned in so she could whisper into the ranger’s long, pointed ear. “I hope you’re still alive when the Spider Queen’s forces finally breach the walls of Nelu’Thalas. You’ll be able to look your highborn queen in the eyes and tell her exactly what it feels like to have your pride bred out of you one mongrel at a time.”
Serrane didn’t even flinch. Even half a day ago, she would have been so frustrated and infuriated by the relentless taunting that she would have struggled against her restraints—which was precisely the reaction Laetharys wanted. Now that the ranger had seen just how powerless this woman was in person, however, her impotent taunts meant nothing.
“Oloth plynn dos,” Laetharys spat as she pulled Serrane back to her feet, then handed the leash to one of the servants. “Get her onto the breeding rack. The Matron Mother will be here shortly.”
A few moments later, Serrane was being led back through the Gray Citadel to the breeding cell block where Nym fucked her throat yesterday—or at least, she thought it had been yesterday. The hours had started bleeding together, and she had no concept of how long she had been chained in that cell with the males spilling upon her.
I have to keep my bearings. I have to stay focused. No matter what tricks Varassa pulls—no matter what torments she tries to inflict—I just need to stay cool and wait for the right time to strike.
Serrane repeated the words to herself until they were practically a mantra, and by the time the servants dragged her into the cell, she was feeling a bit more stable—right up until she looked upon the breeding rack. The servants didn’t waste any time lifting her up onto the cold, inclined wooden surface, locking her wrists into iron shackles above her head, and looping her ankles into the stirrups. The ranger’s breath quickened when the leather tightened around her skin, and her heart began to pound inside her chest when she realized just how exposed she truly was. Her legs
were splayed open wide with her quim on full display.
And it was absolutely, thoroughly soaked.
“You had best get used to this view,” Laetharys said, as she paced around the rack, her fingertips tracing along the edges while the servants fiddled with something beneath the rack. “You should be fertile for at least another century, possibly more with the Spider Queen’s help. Even once you’ve finally begun to wither, I’m sure we’ll be able to find some desperate male who’s still willing to breed you.”
Serrane’s collar unexpectedly tightened, pulling her head flat against the wood. She belatedly realized the rack had an opening where the servants could tug her leash through to the other side. They tightened it until she could barely even turn her head.
“Are you satisfied, mistress?” one of the servants asked.
“Very,” Laetharys said. “Your work is finished—now get out of my sight!”
The women immediately scurried off down the corridor while the pregnant drow continued pacing around the rack. Her eyes glinted devilishly, and if she’d had a whip—and permission to use it—she would have surely lashed Serrane’s breasts and stomach. When the ranger closed her eyes, she could practically feel the cord striking her flesh…and the very thought of it made her quim tingle in delight.
This isn’t a game I’m playing with Julian. I’m in a real danger here! So why in the hell am I so bloody hot?
“I will give you some credit for courage, darthiir,” Laetharys said after a moment. “You’re not even trembling. Most of the cunts we strap to this rack beg and plead until the deed is done.”
Serrane swallowed and took a deep breath through her nose. Focus. Focus. I need to focus!
“Though perhaps it isn’t courage after all,” Laetharys went on, positioning herself between the ranger’s legs and squatting low enough to be eye level with Serrane’s quim. “Perhaps my sister is right—you really are a born submissive.”
