by J. M. Keep
It was no longer a gentle suggestion, but a command. Her stomach constricted. The elf had an overwhelming presence, one that imposed itself wholly upon her, made her feel even weaker than she was in comparison to the huntress. Her voice was strong, demanding, but comfortable, and her accent could not be placed. It was neutral, like someone who had been taught the language to perfection, but rarely heard it spoken. Amelia still shook her head, taking another step backwards as she raised the dagger higher.
The elf glanced out the tent, spending a short moment hiding aggravation. “Princess Amelia Janneleth, I demand that you and your forces surrender to me immediately.”
“I don’t even know who you are!” Her voice was shrill by now, eyes darting about for an escape route other than the tent flaps behind the intruder. Realizing there was nowhere to run, she turned her attention entirely on the huntress, shrinking as she realized the elf had her weapon drawn. The blade of the axe was in the shape of a crescent moon, with deceptively strong metal filigree connecting it to an intricately decorated, dark wooden handle.
“Soraya Eldamar, Champion of the Deep Woods, and your conqueror,” she said. The elf lifted the large weapon that still bore clear traces of the day’s fighting, fresher ones from the disposal of Amelia’s knight-guards, and swung it towards the muddied, red carpet near the entrance of the tent, letting go as the axe neared the ground. The weapon cut through the fabric, digging into the hard earth beneath, serving as the dangerous underlining of her following words.
“I will not ask again, Princess. Lower your weapon, and surrender to me.”
Amelia blinked her tears away, the absurdity of the situation having left her clinging to the hilt of the dagger as the one last thing she felt some measure of control over. Her father was dead, she was now ruler. She was the Queen. And yet, she had never felt more powerless and at someone else’s mercy than in this very moment, standing before a willingly disarmed, savage barbarian. The elf remained still, an unmoving, commanding presence that waited for her answer, ready to be merciful, or merciless.
Glancing down at her shaking hands through forming tears, the young queen made the first decision of her reign. She surrendered. The dagger fell from her hands, landing on the richly decorated carpeting at her feet with a barely audible thump. There would be no treaty, she knew. There was nothing left to stop this hulking, exquisite creature from taking whatever she wanted, whether it be a simple execution or burning and salting the lands. She looked up from the fallen, faintly shining dagger, already forming the regal sheen that had been drilled into her by her teachers and her father.
She was shaken out of it quickly, sensing as she lifted her head that the elf was moving. To Amelia’s surprise, the elf kept her in suspense, striding to the messy map-table, idly thumbing through parchment stacks, picking up stylized, black figurines representing this or that unit of soldiers. The elf exhaled, her shoulders sinking for a moment. It was difficult for Amelia to really make out, but it seemed almost as if those amber eyes gleamed with a sense of loss as the various models were set back down on the table. She turned towards the queen, her eyes hardening again.
“As I expected of your father,” she said, apparently finishing a thought. “Did you approve of this war, little one? Were you first among those inciting the flames of ambition?”
“W-what? No! I—” She stopped herself, realizing that she had been about to bare her private reasons for being in the tent in the first place. The mere act of control it took to stop herself was calming, affirming to herself that she was no longer in panicked survival-mode, but capable of coherent, civilized negotiation. There might still be a way out of this. She straightened her back, gathering her hands in front of herself.
“I didn’t approve. Never started approving, even when we seemed to have won. I only came here to escape the capital. I thought it’d be safer than it turned out to be.”
“Hmh.” The elf murmured in faint disapproval, picking up a crudely-chiseled representation of a wild elf. She rolled the figurine in her hand with a thumb, casting an inquisitorial glance at the young, now more collected woman.
“Your society is well-practiced in blinding itself, and even better at tying and strapping you down.” Soraya pushed the tip of her left index finger at a still-standing figurine representing a human regiment, slowly toppling it. She clearly expected no answer to her chiding words, and Amelia had no intention of speaking out of turn.
“Why didn’t you approve of the war, little one?”
“I suppose I didn’t see the reason for it.”
“Did you see reasons against it?”
She swallowed, looking for soothing words. “It was unnecessary. We have everything we need, or can trade for it. It was just about greed, really. The war.”
“The consequences never entered into your mind?”
“I’m not sure what you mean. That we’d lose? No, I didn’t consider it.”
The elf sighed again, picking up the figurine she had toppled. It was a man in chain armor, wielding a pike. She inspected it for a few seconds, turning towards Amelia and walking closer. The queen visibly tensed, leaning backwards slightly as the imposing, muscled sylph approached, her knuckles whitening noticeably as she clutched her hands. Soraya held the black figurine out, only inches from the queen’s face. “Do you know what this represents, little one? Lives. For your kind, these lives never factored in. The suffering and loss was an acceptable consequence and sacrifice for the greater good.” She almost hissed the last two words.
Amelia’s eyes darted from the coarse model up to the elf’s amber eyes, almost feeling herself shrink an inch under the judgmental gaze. Not only did this marvel of nature far outdo her physically, but she was, apparently, disgusting to it as well. She swallowed, reaching a comparatively small, dainty hand up, her fingers wrapping around the figurine to lift it from Soraya’s hands, meekly chirping an apology, though she had little hope of it making an impact. “I’m sorry, champion.”
“Sorry?” The elf’s eyes refocused on the queen’s face, striking the woman like amber lightning. As fast as her gaze had struck, the muscled commander’s hand lifted, finding Amelia’s neck. Long, strong fingers wrapped around her throat and squeezed evenly, but mercilessly. She had instinctively raised her hands to her neck, pulling at the warrior’s digits with what little strength she had, stumbling as she was lead back to and then pushed backwards onto the table, her head forcibly turned to look at a small grouping of black chess pieces.
“You’re sorry, little one? Do you even begin to comprehend the loss? You are a vapid, empty shell, a product of a befouled society, and you pretend to understand what has happened today? You are their queen, and this is all you can come up with, a meek apology?”
The barrage of words hit Amelia hard, but gradually phased out as the anger of the creature holding her against the table increased, choking her in its iron grip. Tears began to flow again, her nails tearing at the strong hand holding her down, her legs spasming, mouth agape in the struggle to breathe. With eyes wide and cheeks burning, she let out a tortured sound, sending a desperate look up at her near-snarling captor.
Soraya’s teeth were showing, her breathing heavy as she pressed the human down against the table. Anger was not something she let herself be swept up by often, but every encounter with the humans had brought it up in her more fiercely than the last. It was as if they flowed through life and the world, desperate not to notice everything that happened around them. There was opportunity here, though. This pathetic little thing was not yet beyond influence, and she was also their ruler. She could be molded.
Amelia coughed violently as the commander eased her grip, rolling off the table and onto the ground, holding herself halfway off the ground with shaking arms. Strands of thick drool dripped from Amelia’s parted lips, the fog of panic slowly dissipating from her mind and eyes as she gasped for air. She raised one hand, rubbing her rapidly reddening neck as she turned her head to look fearfully up at the feral, domineering war
rior standing over her.
The elf got down on one knee, still towering over the prone woman even then, reaching out, fingers unfurling as she neared Amelia’s face. The queen withdrew, acting more like an injured, downed animal than a person, her breath stuck in her throat as her face was lifted, turned and examined by the powerful being over her. Soraya’s eyes were neutral with just a hint of hunger as she watched the girl’s timid reactions to being inspected, unable to hold back lopsided, wry smile. “Don’t worry, little one. You are not beyond redemption. I can teach you. I -will- teach you.”
Her breath came in quick bursts through her nose, the momentary peace and quiet allowing Amelia to feel the almost painful, worrying clump in her chest as her head was turned, her worth, apparently, appraised. She did not dare move a muscle but those that were directed, looking anxiously up into the deep, bottomless gaze of the elf’s amber eyes, trying to find a hint of her salvation or damnation. The fingers around her chin were slowly moved down, pressing against her collarbone, pushing her backwards. She obeyed, her heart pounding as she reclined gradually, what else could she do but lie on her back and accept this mighty creature?
Soraya lifted one leg over Amelia’s prone form, planting her knee firmly next to the girl’s chest, now effectively straddling the girl. She lowered herself, resting on top of the queen’s flat, corseted stomach, her hands trailing up along Amelia’s sides slowly, as if she was taking in and memorizing the feeling of the girl’s form. The elf’s strong hands moved higher, the back of her fingers dragging gently over her apprehensive, tense prey’s arms, finally pushing her shoulders down against the muddied carpet. The commander leaned over the girl, looking down at her.
“It’s been my experience that humans need to be limited to appreciate the whole. I’m going to limit you, little one.”
Amelia’s breath was stuck in her throat as she tried to understand her situation. The moment the massive elf sat on her, her view of her position had changed. She had thought she was dealing with a noble savage, but the creature’s words and actions had taken on another dimension when she first felt the warmth and weight that spilled from the commander’s crotch, resting against her small frame like the insistent distraction it very much was. The deer-like eyes had returned, her head raised slightly from the ground as she shifted uncomfortably. It was pointless to struggle, now, but she desperately wanted to.
The elven commander held her down with ease, but with enough strength and weight that it was abundantly clear who was in control. For more than ten seconds, Amelia squirmed, high-pitched, almost nonexistent whines accompanying her writhing half-attempts at getting out from under the large sylph. Eventually, her shifting and turning stopped and she merely laid there, her back arched off the ground slightly, her breathing audible between parted lips. She looked up at her captor’s intense gaze, whispering quietly. “Please...”
“Shari’fal!” Another elf broke through into the tent, shattering the concentrated atmosphere between the two forms on the ground. The commander remained still, her eyes still fixated on the pinned woman beneath her as she replied calmly in the same foreign, lilting tongue. “An. Talah Ri.”
The foreign elf nodded, and then exited the tent again. Amelia’s insides churned. In the heat of the moment, she had almost forgotten that there were many more than the single elf in the command tent. Thousands more. She knew what the soldiers of conquering armies passed their time with well enough, and if they were all like the champion sat on top of her – Her head jerked to the side, her eyes reflexively closing as Soraya’s hand smacked against her cheek.
“Your attention’s on me, little one. Always.” She did not seem angry. Mildly annoyed, perhaps, but she treated the act of physically disciplining a queen as the most natural thing in the world, a necessary but minor evil.
Amelia’s rapidly reddening cheek brought some measure of her former sensibilities back to her. The rush of blood to the cheek cleared her head of the fog of submission that had clouded her judgment so far, and she started to turn from side to side again. With the massive, powerful elf planted firmly on top of her, her movements were limited, though.
“Your life doesn’t even happen in your dreams, little one. The you that once was is so deeply buried that you’ve forgotten even your dreams. You’re barely aware of your real wants and needs, little doe. But I can—will change that.”
Before she had even finished the last words, the bulky elf had drawn a small blade from a sheath on her thigh. Amelia could not see through the creature yet, but had so far not detected any real malice from her. A warped, extreme arrogance perhaps, but no trace of hate. Even then, she felt the same all-encompassing, slowly sinking feeling she had felt before the commander had entered the tent. A sense of mortality and inevitability, as if she was speeding towards her death and could do nothing but look it in the eye, paralyzed and unable to do anything, even scream.
She watched the needle point of the weapon descend towards her collarbone, her body and arms tensing, teeth gritting, a warm, tumultuous flow of indiscernible thoughts raging through her head. If other people saw their life flash before their eyes as they faced death, she was to be disappointed.
All she felt was a light tug, a small snap and the rush of air against her skin, another tug, another snap. She dared to open one eye, glancing down. The elf was slowly, meticulously slicing the front of her dress open and exposing her to the world, and once the champion had opened it as far as she could while sitting on the girl’s stomach, she started on the strong lace that held the corset in place. Amelia let her head fall back against the carpet, letting her breath out in relieved bursts that almost resembled laughing.
She was unable to hold back a happy, dimpling smile as the oppressive fear for her life left her, the constricting tightness of the corset being relieved contributing to her feeling of partial weightlessness. It only took a few, short moments before the rush of bliss faded away, though, her attention returned to the elf’s work. She was laid increasingly bare, her pale breasts already exposed to the warm interior of the tent. She could feel the elf working lower, carving lace just over the inexplicable, almost corporeal sense of anxious, perverse desire that had settled between her ribs.
Amelia knew what was going to happen. She had known it since the elf had first sat on her stomach, but she had not had time to vividly imagine it, to let the realization settle in. Now, as she observed the impressively sculpted elf, it dawned on her. Her cheeks flushed and though she knew she should be screaming and fighting for her life, the power and superiority that this huntress exuded had battered right through her usual reservations and demands. It not only felt strangely natural to be handled by Soraya as she wished, it made the secret lust for victimhood well up in her.
Even so, she lifted her hands, one meekly laying against the large elf’s firm stomach, the queen treated to her first sense of the commander’s powerful build as her fingers pressed against hard, slightly bulging muscle. She shivered, the fingers of her other hand wrapping carefully around the warrior’s wrist to stop her cutting the corset loose.
Soraya halted, refraining from physically disciplining her prey this time. Instead, she looked over the girl’s form, pressing her tongue out the corner of her mouth to run it partway over her lips. Amelia’s chest rose and fell with her heightened breathing, each snap for air pushing up and emphasizing her slightly flattened, perfectly proportioned breasts. Soraya ran her free hand slowly up the girl’s side, her touch starting so light it was almost ethereal, growing firmer as she went.
Trailing torturously slowly up to Amelia’s chest, the elf’s large, strong hand moved over and then below the queen’s curving breast, cupping it. Amelia was generously proportioned; easily more than a handful for a human male. For the massive, imposing elf, she was the perfect fit. The girl’s fingers twitched lightly, a low, nervous gasp escaping her as Soraya’s hand let go, her knuckles and the back of her hand caressing up over the perked, pink nipple crowning Amelia’s b
reast.
“This is going to happen, little one. We will connect.”
The elf’s words at once calmed and stirred Amelia to action. She had feared that she was to be tossed around from soldier to soldier, but the commander’s words implied nothing such. They did imply that she was going to be taken, though, whether she wanted it or not. She remained unsure, low-burning desire muddying the feelings she felt should be burning at the prospect of being ridden by this hugely-proportioned creature.
Amelia swallowed, feeling the warrior’s hand gently but insistently push hers away from the hand holding the knife. She complied hesitantly, only to have the arm lead behind her back. A surge of warmth went through her, coloring her cheeks in very clearly as her other hand was led away from the elf’s midriff and joined with the first behind her back. There were no physical restraints other than the domineering, almost imperial feral elf’s presence, and it seemed more than enough. For the moment, at least.
She glanced down, seeing the knife creep lower, exposing her bellybutton. She squirmed, shifting slightly only to feel the weight of the elf’s huge, still concealed shaft shift with her. It had rested against her since Soraya had first kneeled over her, and it had driven her half mad with lust and anxiety. There was no doubt, the wild elf was massive in all senses of the word, even considering her inhumanly large frame, and Amelia questioned if her body could take fulfilling the promise that fat dick gave every second its hefty weight rested against her.
“Stay.” The commander’s voice was demanding, one used to being obeyed, and Amelia found herself doing as she was told. Even though her mind raced, trying to push her past the weakness the powerful creature had induced into her, trying to make her get up and run, she stayed. Soraya raised herself up over the human, tossing the dagger carelessly to the side only to reach down, both hands fastening around Amelia’s dress and the last remnant of her corset, tearing both apart, leaving them as unconventional blankets beneath the naked, petite girl’s form.
