5 comments/  29337 views/  20 favorites

Caught in Darkness Ch. 01

By: Belderiever



With a subtle knock on the door, the carrier announced his presence to those within. The large round stone door swung open under its own power. The courier did not waste a moment and begun pulling the cage into the room. A soft glow from within revealed the room and its occupant -- a Zecarin elf. Darker cousins to the faerie folk, they lived in the dark places of the world, preferably around volcanoes. 

A lady of lavish tastes sat observing an odd scaly creature inside a glass terrarium. She watched it feed off a bit of rubbish and made notes in a journal ever so often. She wore white silk sheer enough to nothing to the imagination in dim light. But when she leaned closer to the terrarium, and closer to the light source next to it, the fabric changed a dark opaque grey and blended with her skin. Her red hair was artfully woven into a complex array of braids that arched and crossed one another, with the tail ends dangling around the whole making the back of her head resemble a flower bloom. She didn't seem to notice the servant as he worked.

The courier, a mangy looking bugbear with brutish arms clad in a only a loin cloth positioned the cage next to one that was built into solid rock of the back wall. The metal bars locked together, and with the flip of a lever, the door unlatched and opened into the other cage. The prisoner inside took his cue and walked to his new quarters. 

A human male was rare this deep in the city. Under elf had no taste for them. Their strength could not compare to bugbears or trolls, and they lacked even the coordination of lesser under elves. Humans also could not survive underground without light as madness soon took them without it. The other races were adapt to the darkness with heat sensing vision that humans lacked. They were also more susceptible to the coldness of deep ground. Luckily for this one he got caught.

He hadn't been a captive long as his face was still free of fur. Yet he did sport a few bruises, especially a dark one around the left eye. What remained of his original clothing was still clinging to his body. Now torn and darkened with spots of blood. He took it all in stride and sat patiently on the floor of the cage as his jailor finished securing him. The bugbear knew his job well, and was soon hauling the rolling cage back out the round door. Once through the door shut behind him without a sound.

Silence was his jailor now. He watched the woman across the room study the creature. Those were the only two recognizable things in the room to him. He couldn't tell what was art, to what had a purpose as the line between the two would blur item to item. He recognized the glint of metal of tools that looked too vicious to be anything but torture devices as the laid arrayed on a table. Hopefully he never got to see that side of the room more closely.

"I speak little human." Said the woman. Her voice was melodious and soft but marked with a heavy accent. Like the scales of a snake - smooth as silk yet rough at the same time. "You is not afraid?" she turned in her chair and crossed her legs casually to regard her new specimen. Her face was stoic, as she rested her elbow on the table and leaned her head against her hand. She regarded him with curiosity. 

"A little." He said as he crawled to the edge of his cage and gripped the bars to look around. His injuries seemed minor, but left their mark on his posture.

"Why is you here?" She started slowly. The language was noticeably difficult for her. She glanced sidelong at her other subject as it finished eating. "You come alone?" He didn't look her in the eyes but kept his rotating around the room as took in his surroundings.

"You notice many, before you notice few." He said slowly, lowering his grammar to a simplistic level to ease the translation. In his last phrase he even copied her intonations, mimicking her accent. It did not go unnoticed.

"You..." she paused searching for the words. "...came in not seen. How?" He paused to regard the floor for a moment thinking. 

"I have tools. They took them."

"Tools? That can lie to magic?"

"Tools. That can hide from magic." He corrected carefully. Blind defiance would only get him killed. And they both knew this. His only chance to survive was to work with the under elf and somehow stay alive long enough for an opportune moment. 

"You show this?" her interest was piqued. He was being interrogated on how he infiltrated their domain. How he slipped past their security spells, wards, and guards. He got all the way in to their dungeons and freed a prisoner. By the time the Zecarin realized something was amiss. The prisoner was gone, and he was in her place. 

"Tools, left with her." He said. "so she could return to surface."

"Why?" she asked. Her attention went to her journal as she flipped to a new page and began taking notes. 

"Paid to." He answered as he rubbed a growing bruise his left forearm. She paused in her note taking and chuckled lightly and ironically to herself as she looked at him.

"Too bad for you?" she smiled darkly. He shrugged, and a silence grew as she looked off in thought for a moment. The lady stood and opened the terrarium. She gently removed the reptilian creature and carried it in her arms as she walked toward his cage. Her face showed the lines of age, she was mature for an elf and not afraid to show it. Her gait and demeanor however hinted at a youthful spirit. But there was no mistaking the thin chain wrapped around her waist with razor tips embedded along its length. Disguised as jewelry to accent the braided purple rope belt, it lent a deadly touch to her lavish attire. He knew better that to think it decoration.

Her hand gently stroked the head of the lizard-like creature as she looked him over. He stood slowly and presented himself respectfully. His eyes angled down to her bare feet, but through the top of his field of view he could see her well. He stood a good foot taller than her. She was tall for an elf, and he was tall for a human. She was gaunt, almost skinny accept for an ample bosom, and motherly hips. Age had drawn the skin taught on her cheeks. The sheer of her gown shifted to translucent. Her appeal was undeniable, and she knew how to use it. 

"You speak elf?" she asked casually as she regarded his injuries. "So hurt. Yet not dead." Her words almost sounded like a compliment.

"No." he replied. Lifting his head up but kept his gaze focused past her. 

"Look at me." Her words were a command. His gaze shifted down quickly to her without movement. She looked up at him from under her brow. Like an animal regards something larger than it right before it takes it down -- sizing it up for the strike. Her hand slid down her torso to her hips suggestively. Her lips parted for a moment right before she bit her bottom lip out of habit. Her fingers touched the chained razors around her waist and caressed them. "Look..." she breathed huskily. His eyes locked onto hers and never left them. Slowly he noticed the intensity of those red irises rise - a sign of excitement.

Suddenly with a yank of her wrist the chain flew free. A deft flick from her wrist and the end wrapped around the neck of the creature in her hands. It had barely a moment to squeal before she yanked on the chain and the tipped razors tore through flesh and bone severing the creatures head in an instant. Blood spurted towards him, splattering down his stomach and legs. The head thumped to the floor with a wet plop. None of the gore landed on her. 

"Never look again." She said in a growl as she walked back to her table. She placed the carcass on the table. From her hair she pulled free a slender sliver of metal. With it she severed meat from the carcass and skewered a piece.

"Eat." She said over her back without looking at him. She nibbled the piece of flesh daintily. Her fingers worked skillfully as she filleted the kill with little trouble. Without further regard the lady resumed her note taking in her journal.

The man stepped backwards until his back was against the wall. He made no effort to clean the gore off of him or remove the head as it laid between the bars. Slowly he slid down the wall to the floor. His arms wrapped around his knees and he rested his head on his arms as the silence grew between them. The shock of the display slowly settled in and passed.

"Where from?" she asked at length. With one hand she flipped pages in her book, and with the other she skewered bits of carved meat with her stiletto and ate them. 

"The surface." He said. His tone reverted to a more natural accent, forgoing the attempt to sound like a Zecarin.

"Where?" she repeated. 

"My home is not near a city. It has no name." he said at length. She muttered something in her language that he did not understand. She stabbed another piece in frustration and devoured it ravenously.

"alone?" she asked as the meaning to what he said came to her. 

"yes." 

"Why?" He did not respond. "I not speak twice." She warned and touched her belt to emphasize. She knew he was watching her even though her gaze never left the books before her. But there was still a silence. 

"I do not live in a city, or village, or town." He said at length. "there is no one to seek revenge on." He lifted his head and regarded her evenly.

"Where get tools?" she said changing the direction of the interrogation. "Magic?"

"I made them. No. That's why I called them tools." He retorted.

The stone door opened again silently. The bugbear and cage had returned. He stood, expecting to be put inside that mobile cage. But instead he saw it was occupied. As the cage rolled closer he saw a limp form lying on the ground. Long golden hair covered most of the body but light skin appeared from here or there. It was from the surface, and was probably another human. The cage rolled into place next to him and locked into place in the adjoining cell. The door opened, but the occupant was obviously unconscious and not going anywhere. The bugbear pulled the lock bar from the cage door and used it to roughly push the body into the cage. It rolled out -- an elvish girl. She wore torn undergarments and nothing else. She had obviously been captured in a fight and stripped of anything useful. Her body was covered in a dozen cuts and bruises, all fresh and coated in dried blood. 

The lady walked over as the bugbear secured the captive and started pulling the cage back out the room. She stared at the prone girl with a snarled lip and a look of disgust. She spoke another curse in her language and glanced at the human. He felt her eyes on him, but he did not take them off his neighboring cell.

"Better for food." She growled and unlatched the door to the elf's cell. With one hand resting on her belt and the other caressing her long thin knife, she stood in the entrance to the cage and regarded the body at length. The soft tap of metal broke her concentration and she looked up to find the human standing near, placing his hands on the bars that separated him from her. His eyes looked into hers, with that same look he gave her last, and in that moment a hair stood up on the back of her neck followed by a shiver that ran down her spine. 

The sensation unnerved her, and she instinctively took a step back out of the cell confused by this display of confrontation and disobedience. She walked, dazed, from the elf's cell to his. Their stare never breaking as one bar after another came between them until she reached the door to his cell. Those pale grey eyes somehow held her transfixed. She tilted her head to the side to regard him a moment. Then without another thought the chain flew from its rest and darted between the bars. The weighted end flung around and wrapped itself around his neck once, but he caught it quickly before it could wrap around any further. Instinctively she braced for a retaliation and held her knife high, but he just stood there watching her her. 

"Very tough." She whispered, regarding her new pet in a different light as an idea came to her and she relaxed. "Very useful." She lifted her chin up to him and took another step closer. She was within reach of his arms, but he didn't make a move. "you like her?" she nodded in the direction of the elf girl, but could not take her eyes off his.

"no." he said calmly. "I do not like blood." He corrected and shook his head. He looked to the chain and slowly unraveled it from around his neck. "I will tell you a secret, for her life." Now he nodded to the elf girl. "I could have killed on my way to your dungeons. But I didn't." She tilted her head to one side as her mind digested his words and translated them.

"Why?" she asked evenly. Always that question.

"Because I can." He answered. Her grip on the other end of the chain tightened as she watched him. "If you want to leash me, use something that does not cost you a weapon." With the last of it off, he let it drop, and rubbed his neck. With a flash of her hand it was around her waist again. She walked off to the other side of the room in silence to contemplate his words. He watched her walk away to the place where the table full of torture tools stood. He could see knifes of different lengths and curvatures, forks with curved prongs designed for plucking out round objects, heavy cutters for thick round materials, and thin stickers with small hooked objects at the end. She selected one of the forks with curved prongs.

"What can you do?" she said to him as she returned. She held the instrument in her hands casually as she read his face for a reaction. "Can you fight?" he watched her intently. "Can you get away?" she stopped between the two cages and waved the wand back and forth as if making up her mind. 

"Can you stop me?" she let the words roll off her tongue and looked to the elf in the other cage.

"No" He said evenly. "I wouldn't get far."

"Wouldn't?" she asked again confused by the word. 

"what is this word?"

"I can not get far." He repeated. Her head angled back and she smiled darkly up at him. 

"You need me." She grinned sadistically. "then you will learn. And you will teach me more..." she turned slowly away and walked to the round door. It opened for her and she left without another word. The glowing lights blacked out as she left plunging the room into complete darkness. He was left alone, with only a badly beaten, unconscious elf woman to keep him company. 

Long hours passed before the door opened again. But the lights did not return. From the sound and the smell he could tell it was the bugbear servant returning. It slid something long and flat between the bars for both him and the elf before leaving. The man reached around in the dark and found the tray of food left for him. Half eaten scraps of fish and flesh, with a few rotten vegetables and mushrooms. It was all he had and he gave no complaint as he wolfed it down instantly. 

Then he was alone again left to the darkness...

* * * *

The days came and went just the same. He learned to keep his eyes closed to maintain some sanity in the blackness. His neighbor in the other cell was alive and breathed deeply as she slept for days. The bugbear came repeatedly with scraps on platters, and he ate every bit. It was barely enough to keep him alive, but it would suffice for now.

The day came when the round door opened and light came back into the room. He shielded his eyes and waited until they adjusted. His captor entered the room grandly, her long hair trailing behind her on the ground like a cloak. She wore more casual attire than her revealing gown before. Her body was covered in a plain scarlet dress that covered her neck to toe, and her arms up to the wrists. It was form fitted with slit down the left side for ease of walking. The hairy hulk servant followed her into the room and closed the round door. 

"Kill them," She said. Her words were in his language; something she had not spoken to the bugbear before. The message was meant for him. That confused him, but as the goblin kin brute marched towards the cage with a clever in his right hand there was no mistaking its intention. 

"Elf first." She smiled wickedly as she watched his reaction. This was a test; she was forcing his hand. The moment the brute passed his cage he snatched up the ceramic food tray and smashed it over the bars. Powder and fragments flew over the ground, but left a large piece in his hand. Fast as a serpent's strike, his arm snaked through the bars of his cage and flung pottery shard towards the goaler. It sliced through its neck with deadly precision. The creature clutched its throat in surprised as it choked on its own blood. It fell to the ground and tried to stop the bleeding, but the fatality of the wound was unmistakable. It took several horrible moments for the monster to die as it bled to death coughing up dark green splatter. The silence that followed its final breath was accented by deep husky breath. The mistress let out one long sigh of pleasure. She was licking her index finger sensually and caressing her body with her other hand. The dark scene elicited an unexpected reaction from the elf. Those hateful red eyes fluttered back into her head as her pleasure peaked, and then slowly fell on her human prisoner.

"I like..." she cooed and approached his cell. In his grasp was another fragment of the serving tray, and his other hand was on of the bars of his cell. "You will kill for me." She spoke in that whispery husky voice as she paced along the bars in front of him.

"you like elf?" she strolled casually in front of the prone maiden's cell and placed her hands on the latch of the cell door. "You kill me for her?" she tilted her head to the side as she read his face trying to gauge his intent. He didn't flinch as his predatory eyes followed her every step she took. She looked down to the slumbering elf with a wince of disgust. The mistress stood abruptly and walked out of the cell as if something had changed her mind. At her writing desk she pulled an elegant glass bottle with a rosy pink liquid from a drawer. Her fingers caressed the curves of the glass container as she floated seductively over to his cage.

"This causes fire inside," her eyes were malicious and taunting as her words trailed off her tongue. As her grasp of the language became more practiced, they flowed with more ease. "many beg me to put it out." She unstopped the glass cork and breathed in the aroma of the potion. She approached him slowly and held the glass bottle tightly in her grip as she lifted it to his face. "Do you know it?" The smell wafting from the potion was unmistakable, and she read recognition in his gaze. A lustful grin curled her lips as she lifted it to his nose. It was electrifying. A deep yearning inside him awoke suddenly and he breathed deeply to steady himself. He had to remain composed, the longer he drew this out the better his chances of finding a way to escape. She watched his reaction and snorted, stoppering the flask suddenly. 

"This not for you." She growled and walked to the elf woman's cage. With a snarl she kicked the prone elf over. Unkind hands grasped the limp head by the blond hair and yanked it back to open the mouth. The stopper left the flask and the bottle was tilted ever so slightly to cause the rosy substance to drip from the curved spout. Three drops landed in the elf woman's mouth, he knew it to be a deadly dosage. 

His hands curled tightly on the bars in anger. The knuckles turned bright white as he watched this. He understood the game. The potion was a very potent aphrodisiac. So potent it took control of the brain and created an insatiable, all consuming desire for fulfillment in victim. If they fought it, it would burn at the back of their mind, creating excruciating headaches, and eventually death from seizure.

The elf started to stir. The potion seemed to also have some reviving properties, no doubt their captor mixed it in purposely. His captor touched the bars separating their cells and spoke deep guttural words that echoed off the walls with magical power. The metal bars melted away into the floor, making their two cages one. She cooed to herself as she walked away to her writing desk and sat satisfied with her trap. With a wave of her hand the lights in the room dimmed except for the one sconce above their cell. His gaze fell on the elf woman thrashing in her sleep. 


Caught in Darkness Ch. 01



With a deep profound sigh he approached the moaning elf maiden and touched her forehead. It burned to the touch; already the fire within had started. Again, she was forcing his hand. If he protected the elf's dignity, she would die. He caressed his fingertips down her cheek and neck, they flowed across her petite form and found a perky breast. Her massaged it gently at first, rolling the nipple around under his thumb. Her thrashing calmed from his ministrations, and a measure of peace came to her. Lifting her body in his arms, he untied the back of her crude chest wrap and tossed it aside. His lips found the other breast and suckled it slowly. Sharp, forceful licks of his tongue over the stiff nipple caused her to sigh deeply in pleasure. His hand roamed down her abdomen to between her thighs and parted them. Her mound was wet to the touch as the rest of her started to bead with sweat from her fever. The undergarment was pulled free and his fingers caressed over a soft patch of blond pubic hair. As his tongue alternated back and forth from each nipple his teeth started to pull and tug at the erect nubs. The elfa groaned and her body arched up reflexively, pressing her small round breasts into his mouth. 

His fingers were wet from her sex as he started rubbing her slit back and forth. As his thumb rolled around her clitoris the lady would jerk slightly as he found the right combination of movements. Her mouth parted and gasped sharply, drawing in deep breaths as her muscles tensed. Quickly he increased the speed and firmness of his fingers as his teeth bite down sharply on the soft skin under her neck. Her body trembled in his hands as a wave of pleasure took her. He felt the muscles of her pussy grab the tip of his finger and release it, only to grab again and release. The spasm subsided and she started to relax, but he knew there was danger to that. To combat the potion, her excitement had to be maintained until it worked out of her body. 

Lifting her hips up, he crawled down her body and buried his lips in her mound. The smell of her sex was electrifying the nerves in his body that had been affected from just smelling the potent elixir. His tongue found her clit erect and he flicked it rapidly and forcefully. Immediately the elf reacted and started to whimper. The respite in their love making was brief and he had to maintain a steady pace. His hands caressed up her body to her breasts and found her nipples standing erect from her excitement. His fingertips touched them ever so slightly before rolling them around. They grew firmer from his touch and soon he started to pinch and pull as he rolled them. Her body arched back as a deep sigh of excitement escaped. Her hips started to thrust upward against his tongue trying to bury it inside her. Almost too eager to oblige her needs and desires, he thrust it between her lips and deep into her pussy. He alternated between licking around the opening of her mound and thrusting it inside. Her whimpers turned to high pitched moans as her hips matched his rhythm forcefully. 

Then suddenly her hands found his head and started to run through his hair. A reaction he both dreaded and yearned for. This was precisely what the lady wanted, and precisely what he did not. Her grip was strong and held his face to her wet mound as his tongue lavished her inside and out. As her thrusting became more forceful, each one stronger than the last, he knew he wouldn't last much longer. With one hand still manipulating her breast he pulled the other down to her soaked fur and plunged two fingers deep inside her warm pussy. The effect was immediate and she dug her nails into his scalp as another orgasm wracked her body. Her pussy grabbed his fingers and pulled them deeper inside with each spasm of her pleasure.

"Please," she begged in a whimper. He knew what she wanted, and he knew that he couldn't stop, but it was the last hope he had of sparing her from this forced indignity. His own body betrayed that thought as his cock had been straining against his pants as he worked her. Whether it was the madness of the aphrodisiac affecting her judgement, or his own skilled ministrations, she wanted him. He could not deny it any longer, he had already gone so far.

He crawled back up to her so their bodies laid side by side. His fingers were still buried deep in her mound and he started to stroke them in and out slowly. To alleviate some of the forced tension, and kissed her lips and found her tongue wanting it badly. Her hands immediately found his body and ran over his muscled chest, his partly opened pants, and straight in to his rock hard shaft. They hungrily separated him from the rest of his clothing and pushed him back against the floor. But he knew there was a danger in that; he had to maintain control or she would burn herself out too quickly. Fighting against her, he managed to wrestle her around onto her side with his hard cock pressed in the crack of her small tight ass. She twisted around and their lips met again as she caressed his head and ran her fingers through his hair. With gentle guidance, he lifted one leg up into the air and pressed his hips against her round butt. His cock slid between her thighs and pressed inside her wet mound. He pulled back slightly and angled it up before thrusting back in. They both wanted it desperately, and their sexes melded instantly. For a moment he suspected it hadn't gone in until her inner muscles grabbed his manhood fiercely and would not let go. He started a slow, deep rhythm with his thrusts; burying his long hard cock so deep inside her it pressed against her back wall. Each time he made contact she drew in a sharp breath and her nails dug into his scalp. 

He made it purposely slow work. With each stroke she moaned between her heavy panting. The fever had peaked inside her as well as her excitement, her body was in a full sweat, and her hair clung damply to her neck and cheeks. Her breaths were labored from a need for air, and excitement from their lovemaking. With her free hand she found his and entwined their fingers together. Her head was being cradled by the thick bicep of that arm and she pulled the rest of it around her. She brought one of his fingers to her lips and started to kiss down his palm and forearm, the act of which angled his grip towards her chest. And when his palm touched one of her sweaty breasts she clamped his hand down hard against her. Her own grip worked over his, kneading and massaging her breast. The hunger inside her was intense and she craved everything he could do to her. His hips thrust again and again against her petite form, impaling her wet sex on his rigid shaft to their moans pleasure. As his own breaths grew labored his lips found one of her delicate curved ears. His teeth pulled on the pointed tip ever so lightly, and the affect was surprisingly immediate. Her body convulsed in a third orgasm and she screamed her pleasure out to the echo of the room. Apparently her body held secrets few knew, and he had just discovered one. His tongue replaced his teeth as he kissed and licked along the length of her ear. The action prolonged her pleasure as she continued to spasm with the rest of her going peacefully limp.

Then without warning her whole body went rigid suddenly, and then wilted. Her consciousness followed, and he sighed with relief. The potion had been burned out, and the resulting release of sensation caused the brain to black out. He disentangled his sweaty body and laid her unconscious body gently on the bedding in her cage. Her garments were replaced around her and he gathered his up in his arms as he retreated back to his cell. His manhood still stood rigid and glistening from their love making, and he was forced to sit and wait for it to subside. With his hands on his knees, he sat cross legged he started into the darkness of the room. Taught muscles flexed and released all over his body as he used their tension to distract himself from his unfulfilled desires.

"Does it burn?" that dreaded voice called out from the darkness. Her soft, taunting laughter reminded him she had watched the whole thing. "Take her, if you like." She cooed. Her words were an invitation, but not an order. So he chose to ignore it. Soon his body fell back into a calmer state and he dressed. The rumble of the round door opened, and dim light entered the room from the hallway outside. He saw the under elf's silhouette leave the chamber and the door roll back into place.

As it did, the light above his cell went out. Peace at last.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 02



Author's note: Explicit violence and gore, reader discretion is advised. There are no sexual situations in this chapter, but it sets the stage for the next ones. (for those that like plot)



In darkness, time passes unseen.

By the meals the servants brought he could it had been about a week since he was captured. To a human, a week alone was being forgotten. To an elf, it was merely a delay. The elven lady in the cage next to his had awakened after sleeping for about two days. She was famished and he parted with one of his meals one night so she could regain her strength. The servings were pathetically small, so on that night he shared his, he went without. The days passed in silence. If she remembered anything about their lovemaking, her dignity would not or could not handle talking to him. Even with their cells still joined as one, he decided it was best to stay respectfully on his side. 

Then the day came that his food was brought to him without a tray. It was dumped on the floor of his cell by the three foot tall creature that served them. He scoped up anything edible with his fingers and sucked them hungrily. Today they were served rotten fish remains and something that felt like seaweed on his tongue. When that didn't edge his hunger he licked the remaining spill off stone floor – curdled milk. Then he heard it - a soft demure chuckle from somewhere in the room. 

She was here.

The under-elf had come in silently while he was ravished his servings. She was watching him in the darkness with that heat-vision elves had. His pause was short lived. It didn't matter how he ate his food, so long as he got as much of it in his stomach as he could. But now he understood why they hadn't given him a tray.

"do you like the dark?" her voice sang sweetly from across the room. "Do you want the light? Yes?" she spoke his language very fluently now. The days off had been spent preparing for further interrogations it seemed. "You like my words, no? They are more softer I would think, yes?"

"You speak my language now." He answered the dark.

"I can be very soft." She cooed from another place in the room. His head turned to face the new direction the voice was coming from. "And I can be very hard..." her tongue rolled the last syllable off.

"Things you want, I can give." She spoke from a new location, he tried his best to keep facing her.

"Things you have, I can take." The mistress spat the words venomously from beside the elf woman's cell. He heard his cell-mate shout in alarm and scurry away towards the middle of the cell. The mistress voice sang out with those magic words that worked the cage's bars. The partition rose from the ground and separated the prisoners. Panic rose in the elf woman's breath; she pleaded something in her native language. The mistress spat something guttural back and struck the elf woman with something hard. He heard her body crumple to the ground and heard her whimper. She crawled back to her bedding and huddled there in fear. This one's pride was failing, her composure was decaying in the presence of their captor. It wouldn't be long before they could get anything they wanted from her. When they had it all, she was would be dead.

That, he could not permit.

"You protected her, the time before." The mistress was speaking to him now. Her words inflected curiosity. The elf woman was just leverage now. Leverage against him. "You want to protect her?" her question was in earnest. Silence followed it.

"I do not want her dead." He responded.

"I can hurt worse than death...but not death." she breathed huskily inches from the bars next to him. "You will hear, then you will watch..." the certainty in her voice never gave him reason to doubt her.

"Why?" he asked the darkness. "you want me to talk? Ask me. Torture me. Why her?"

"In the dark, you only protect what has value... You protected her. You value her." she whispered only inches from his ear. He turned slowly into it, and could feel her hot breath on his cheek. She was inside his cage, and he never heard the bars open. Boldly his hand reached out but touched nothing where her face would be. She was gone.

Metal bars screeched as they were bent aside, and his fellow captive screamed in the darkness. Her limbs flailed about and kicked ground and bar alike. Something had her and was dragging her out. There were thumps and thuds of something on flesh, and each sound was followed by a groan of pain from the lady elf. It didn't take many to cease her struggling. She moaned shallowly, the sound one makes when beaten into submission and half conscious. Metal chains clinked as they were pulled and moved. Clasps banged together and bolts slid into openings. All of this he could here, but he could not see who was doing it. His companion whimpered in the darkness. Her soft moans were all that filled the room now. He could hear them clearly as if she was right beside him. 

Then she screamed. And the smell of blood filled his nostrils. He gripped the bars and growled angrily at the darkness.

"She dies. You die." He threatened through gritted teeth at the darkness.

"I can hurt worse than death, without death." She remarked. There was a faint glow of heated metal in the room. And then he saw it.

The elven lady hung from chains and manacles from the ceiling. Her arms and legs spread out and suspended. Blood pooled on the stone under her and ropes dripped from her to the ground. Then the smell of bile hit his senses and he knew those to be the elf lady's entrails. She had been gutted.

A mangy servant creature, a mongrel of some kind was holding a heated iron bar under the body. From its glow he could see the gruesome scene before him. Soft malicious words floated on the air with magic power. The entrails levitated back inside the body cavity of their own accord. On cue the mongrel touched the metal bar to the wound, cauterizing the flesh. The smell was horrendous, and his nostrils took it all in hungrily. But his anger relinquished. This was part of her game. The elf woman would be tortured again and again to the mistress's pleasure. As long as it elicited a response in him as well. 

The man turned around and put his back to the bars. With one knee propped up and his elbow across it he rested his chin in the nook it created and withdrew to his inner mind. She would not win this fight. Not yet. He ignored them as them released the elf woman and threw her barely living body back into the adjacent cell. The room was dark again and quiet. He never heard them leave. All he could hear was the whispy breaths from his cellmate as she clung to life.

The room stank. From their filth, and the blood. The room was silent accept for the breathing of the prisoners. Something moved. A breath later he jerked his hand up to his neck to catch a leather strap that was about to wrap around his neck. 

"You're getting sloppy." He growled in the darkness. She hissed viciously in his ear from the other side of the bar and yanked hard. For a female under-elf of her age she was surprisingly strong and the strap pinned his hand against his throat. He didn't struggle, he should have rolled away from the bars where she couldn't get him, or take this opportunity to grab her. But escape wasn't his intention. It was his intention to make anything he could difficult for the mistress.

He relented, and the strap caught his throat and pulled his head against the bars. She pulled it as tightly as she could but his neck was too thick for her arms to overpower it. For the time being, she relished in the red flush the skin of his head, and the bulging veins in his cheek and forehead from the pressure she was exerting. The strap had a buckle and she snapped it together and whispered a magic spell that sealed the latch. Only then did she let go and allow the man to get accustomed to his new leash. Studs on the inside of the leather pressed against the skin and made breathing uncomfortable. A lesser man would choke to death from the pressure.

The bars of the cell opened, as did the round door to the room. For the first time in many days a warm red glow struck his eyes and he could see through that door. He rose to his feet and looked around the room trying to take in details. 

"Come, slave." Was all the mistress said as she walked out of the room. Some force inside him compelled him to obey and he strode from the cage and then out into the hallway. The collar was magic. He stopped walking and found he could fight it, but it gave him a headache. There was some other power there that he didn't want to test, so for now he followed the mistress down the hall.

This was a dungeon. Cell blocks lined the walls. Some were empty, some were occupied, some even with the remains of previous occupants. The hallway was rounded, and all the doors circular. Smooth solid slick stone. Only the floor had a flat surface or any groves. What looked decorative architecturally, was actually a very practical way to prevent escapees. A rounded hallway had no places to hold onto or hide in.

They came on half a dozen armed solders. Lightly armed, and not armored, they wore casual clothes, though rich in fabric and frills. The style was very light and flowing, the slightest breeze sent lapels, sleeves, and frills undulating around that person. The two under elf males held smirks of contempt and certain lust in their eyes for something inside the cell. They parted for the mistress and her slave as they entered. Silently the two males took up posts in the hall. 

The creature inside had been beaten bloody. She hung from twin chains that stretched across the room and attached to opposite sides of the wall. A iron collar hung around her neck and length of chain held taught to a ring in the floor. The tension between the three put excruciating strain on her neck and upper spine. Her body was covered in bruises and scratches. Dried blood covered her wounds but little of it fell to the floor. She was one of them – a Zecair, an under-elf, like the mistress. To him, she looked almost like the Elthair, the surface elf he left in the cells. Zecairs were dark fae, twisted spirits that fed off the suffering of others. Their war with the surface Elthair was a timeless, and vicious one. And it seems he was caught in the middle of a minor skirmish between the two. 

"She is dead." His mistress sneered. "Will be soon. Give her one last pleasure." She laughed a haunting laugh and floated away to put her back to the wall. The human stood, confused. What was he to her now? An instrument of entertainment? An instrument for her to get her sick lusts satisfied? Or was there some meaning to this, an insult to the dying? Whatever it was, it was another of the mistress's tests. 

She was indeed doomed. He could see a break in two ribs, the broken half didn't move as she breathed, the rest of it disappeared inside of her. The black skin was turning a reddish purple there, and in a dozen other places that marked broken bones. Her left cheek had been shattered and protruded outwards, almost breaking through the skin. One eye was a bloody mess that stared blankly. The other orb was a cloudy white, with a vacant stare at the ground under her. Her fingers were mangled, dislocated and broken so many times they looked like gnarled stubby branches of a swamp tree. Some merciless force kept her alive and conscious. And his mistress wanted him to... mate with her? She wore no clothing, her sex was open to him from her kneeling position, but her body could not take the strain. It would not be a lovemaking, it would be just be more torture. 

One last indignation for the condemned.

He walked to the beaten dark Fae and placed too gentle hands on her cheeks, careful not to press too hard into the shattered bone. His fingers slid backwards through her hair and over her ears to hold her head between his palms. His hands found her once long, and sensitive ears cut, bloody stumps. His touch was oddly soothing to the life between his hands and for one brief second, coherence returned and the one working eye looked up to regard him. There was no emotion in it, just a blank registration that he was there, and that he was touching her. 

Then, with a quick snap, it was gone forever.

He let the lifeless head fall to dangle from the body and stood up. He expected outrage and retribution for his disobedience. As her turned to face the short, elder under-elf he was surprised to find her smiling. That wicked smile he saw before, before she took the light away. With a flash of her hand the chain soared through the air and sliced through his ear. 

Show pain! He beat down his instincts and forced himself down onto the ground and wailed in agony. The warm wet blood flowed through his fingers as he cupped the ruination of his ear. Her laughter was melodious as it echoed off the walls. Her bloodlust was in full bloom, he failed to sate her sadistic desire, and it needed must be sated. 

So be it.

The chain flashed out again, but this time he stepped into it, and the razor edges clipped his ragged hair. His speed caught her off guard and he body checked her into the wall. The impact forced the breath from her, and gave him a moment to regard the two armed males rushing into the room. Their wickedly serrated steel swords mirrored the hunger for blood that their masters starved for.

The first one came at him with a quick lunge. It was a lazy stroke, he apparently hadn't seen the man sidestep the mistress's razor chain. And that was his mistake. The human grabbed the hilt with one hand and jabbed the attacker in the throat with his fingers. The guardsman choked on his breath and staggered backwards. The man kicked his knees in from behind, making the soldier lurch forward onto his knees. A fierce hand grabbed the males head and yanked it back. That soldier glimpsed the serrated edge of his own sword one last time before it plunged downward into his gaping mouth. 

The second guardsman and stopped and watched his comrade's gruesome demise. It was a reaction the human had counted on - he would use their own sick bloodlust against them. He glanced once at the mistress and saw her biting her bottom lip in a lustful look. All thoughts of violence against him had been put aside by the spectacle of the grizzly murder. But her other bodyguard did not stay entranced for long. His steel was quicker, and his moves more probing and cautionary, he would not make the same arrogant mistake as the blood fountain sitting on the floor. The wicked sword backed the human up against the chained corpse of the female they beat, he ducked under her stretched arms and chains. This forced his opponent to hack through her corpse to get to him. Severed limbs scattered the floor, and the stone grew more slick with blood from another body. Their footing became less sure, but both combatants stayed on their feet. The human remained on the defensive, waiting for the right moment to strike. For the moment he let his far adversary exhaust his techniques without connecting. But his dodges were less and less effective, and that serrated blade cut into his arms more than once. It was a painful sting, that hurt worse for the tearing action of the blade's teeth. 

The human found himself corned against one of the walls sprouting the chain. His hunter kept his distance for the time being and paced left and right. His weapon only slightly greased from the few strikes he was able to connect with.

"Kill the cornered animal." The mistress commanded with glee. She was eager for another life to end. The man bowed his head curtly in her direction, a motion that confused her, but gave his attacker the moment to strike. The lunge was meant for his head, to impale it right at his nose and pop out the back of his skull. At the last moment he substituted a length of the heavy chain for his face and leaned back away. The blade skewered one of the lengths and was wedged as the serration bit into the steel and snagged. The man balled a fist but left his first two knuckles raised and drove them into the back of his assailant. The blow landed between the shoulder blades and he twisted the knuckles against the spine as he dug into the flesh. The resounding crack of the shattered vertebrae told him his strike worked as the male went limp to the ground from a broken back. 

Gasps and chokes from the bewildered and prone bodyguard were music to the mistress. The man dragged the male across the slick floor by his hair and presented his gasping body to Her.

"I do not share your pleasure. But I will let you saver it. He failed you, my lady, bleed him. I'll be resting in my cell..." He breathed the words, in an almost whisper. Under-elven hearing was superior to most creatures, and his words were seductive and succulent to her ears. This was the moment he had been waiting for, where he could position himself in her standing. The road beyond will be as cruel as this moment, but it was the only way to survive. For him, and the girl he came here to get.

The man left her for the hallway. He did not stay to watch her draw up that chain around her bodyguard's neck and slowly squeeze the life from him. Blood flowed were the razors bit into his neck, but not fast enough to spare him from the suffocation of a crushed windpipe.

He never managed a scream.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 03



He returned to the mistress's room. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark, but as they did he could detect movement in the middle of the room. The elf woman's slender form slowly took shape against the blackness, outlined by the faint light that came in through the front door. She was working the chains in the middle of the room. One was around her neck and the other in her hands. He knew what she was up to before the rest of the details were visible. 

"I didn't come here to watch you die." He growled at her. His tone carried a warning. "But I did come here for you." He approached her slowly but steadily. Her hands paused but only for a moment.

"I freed your honor guard, and let myself get caught so I could find you. They keep me alive to learn how I slipped past their spells and guards. The same way I intend to get us out." She stopped her work and searched his eyes in the dark. She shared the same heat vision as the under elves, his temperature was cool, and the blood on his hands was unmistakable. 

"Who did you kill?" she inquired.

"One of her captives, and two of her guards. I gave her something to think about. It will change how this game is played. And it will get worse for you, but you must survive it. Survive it, and I promise to return you home."

"Why should I take the word of a human?" her hands were ready to yank. The chain would pull her neck up and she would strangle. The lock mechanism on the pulley above only allowed for one-way rotation. He paused in his approach and tilted his head back towards the door as if listening for something.

"Because I only look human." he barely whispered. There was a stillness between them before he lunged at her. His hands had her wrists and squeezed them hard. Her delicate bones grinded against themselves and she screamed in agony against his grip. The pain made her wilt with a moan. The chain came off easily enough from around her neck. "you belong to me now." He growled in her ear, and bit the tip of it sharply. It was the same erogenous zone he worked during their lovemaking and it sent a shiver down her neck. The spasm came back in a flurry of anger as her hand slapped him across his cheek. "good..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "I like it when they fight back."

His meaty hand wrapped around her throat as the other held her wrist. He walked her back to the cage as she beat and slapped him with her free hand as much as she could on any part she could reach. Her flails were useless against his muscular torso. With a grunt she was dumped unceremoniously onto the bedding of her cell. Her eyes bore into his face with hatred and betrayal. "Such energy for someone so wounded." He chided her with a smirk as he knelt to one knee and ran a hand along the scar across her belly. It had healed remarkably fast – it could have only been the doing of the mistress's magic. The elf woman pulled her legs to her chest and scooted backwards away from him until her back was against the bars. The stark stench of death and bile floated into the room. He glanced over his shoulder but could not see Her in the shadows. However the lady below him had no trouble seeing their captor, so he followed her gaze and stared at the blackness wherever she did. Now is the time. It was his turn in the game.

"Where I come from, we have one high law." He spoke to the darkness towards where he guessed She stood with that chain in her hand ready to strike. "You kill it, you keep it. The strongest are the richest." Silence rewarded him, but soon he felt hot breath on the small of his back. The man did not turn but spoke to the room. "I killed two of your guards. I claim their service." Her voice chuckled in the dark, it was a humoring laugh, yet there was no derision in it.

"You have many surprises." She whispered an inch from his left ear. He turned slowly towards her and could feel her breath on his chest. Zecair women were infamous for their seductive abilities. It was how they controlled their mates, those that fell in disfavor found themselves in a deadly lovers embrace. But one could never tell those embraces from the lustful ones. She taunted him with her advances, trying to break his resolve. That was the point of the first test with her lust elixir. To prove he could be seduced. If he could not be controlled, he would be killed. But if he gave up too much control, he would be easily compromised by another female, and she would kill him before that. That was their game. She had to break him, and he had to prove he could only be broken by her. Then he would win, by succumbing to her will and hers alone.

"I have many more surprises." He taunted her. His demeanor was too bold, it taunted to the point of insolence. "Let me serve, and I may show you them."

"Why?" She whispered behind him, her fingertips trailed across his back sensually. He spun on her in an instant and grabbed her hand. Before she could protest he pulled her close to him and bit her ear like he had the elf woman's. His mistress twitched and he felt the bite of her chain across his chest. The wound bled instantly and he staggered back. It struck him again across the arm, then the shoulder, then the back. His advance one her was heresy, and now he had to repent. He knelt to avoid the strikes he could, and defended against the others. But in the darkness he could not see them coming. Soon the floor was red with his blood from a dozen long cuts into his meaty flesh. "I can hurt worse than death." She growled huskily into his ear.

"I can kill better than your soldiers." He groaned against the pain. The act made the cuts sting and he lurched forward clutching his ruined skin. When the moment ended he chuckled lightly.

"You need me."

"I need, not."

"You let your soldiers be killed by a human." That was his rub.

"What is it you want?" her question was a trap. She was playing along.

"Just her." He lifted a bleeding arm towards the cage. "She owes me."

"Why would I take you? Humans do not survive here." Her voice held boredom in it. She was sitting in her chair at the desk where she wrote her findings on. He could feel her gaze on him, measuring him, trying to determine how far to let this play out. He knew he was pushing it too far too soon, but he had to take control or there was no chance. A brief silence filled the room.

"Why did you use me on your captive?" He said at last. "Humans do not survive here. If you used one as a bodyguard, it would be foolish. Your enemies would think you were weak and desperate. They would strike against you." He had been order to rape that captive as an insult, she was barely conscious and there was no way her mind could have responded to anything he did to her body. Humans were lowly regarded he found, and he knew she was using this disregard as a weapon, now he would us that against her. 

"How do you kill, what can not be killed?" she asked him. The deadly flirtation was gone from her voice, her words were stern and angry. He had her now.

"You kill what they value." He stated honestly. The room went silent. His pieces had been played, it was all out in the open now. She did not respond, as the silence grew he could not tell if she was still in the room. "You can hurt worse than death. I understand this. Yet, I can kill more than the body. I can kill the pride. I can kill the honor." 

"I CAN hurt worse than death." She repeated in a mellow tone. "I will kill what you value." The door suddenly closed, and the blackness filled the room.

****

Lies within lies within lies. Too hard to unravel, too easy to get lost. He thought.

He brooded as he was escorted back to his cell. His body had been ravaged. Bruised, cut, bleed – battered. Flanking him were his escort, two elite soldiers of the training grounds. Armed to the teeth with knives and blades, with two jagged metal spears aimed at his backside should he slow down. The weapons were similar to the ones that gave him his marks, but those had been wielded by trainees; Trainees that no longer breathed. 

They arrived at the door to his cell. The round stone slab rolled inside the wall and he was shoved inside with those barbed metal points. The door closed behind him taking away the faint glow of the wall sconces. Inside there was no light, only the sound of her breathing, and of those few moments when she moved or spoke.

"How many did you kill today?" She asked in the deep accent of her people. His cellmate was Cutharin, a far relative to humans. Cutharins had mottled –grey-green skin, a protruding jaw that sported canines twice the size of men, it also gave their speech a deep echoed affect.

"Only five." He lied. By the end of the day it would be nine from the wounds he inflicted. He walked straight to his straw mat on the floor and laid down to rest. His groans betrayed his condition, and he could hear her moving towards him. They had shared this black cell for six days. It had been that long since the Mistress took him from the cage with the elf maiden and brought him here. Each day he was woken up, dragged from the cell, and made to fight new soldiers. Each day he killed a handful, but still they made him do it again the next day. Each day he was returned to his cell, and she came to him to nurse his wounds. He had been commanded to do all this by the Mistress, and he had chosen to serve her. He wasn't sure what would be the fate of the elf maiden, but any chance he had lay in earning the Mistress's trust. This was her first command, so he followed it. 

His cellmate's lips were very sensual as she kissed his skin. Her nose could smell the blood on him, and always led her lips to his wounds. Cutharin tongues were forked at the tip and their saliva had a minty-vapor smell that numbed nerves. She licked his wounds just as she had each night before. Cleaning the blood from his skin and numbing the pain. Her technique was unnecessarily sensual for medical treatment, but he had yet to tell her to stop.

As she moved from one wound on his arm to one at his side, her motherly breasts dragged across his skin. Her skin was leathery to the touch, but just as bare. For her own reasons, she nursed him each night, until he slept, and on the morrow he was taken out to fight again.

"This one will take some time." She spoke softly as her tongue worked the remains of cut across his shoulder and collarbone. It was three days old, but still she licked it as if it were fresh. Her saliva reopened the wound and cleaned it fresh again. The flesh was red and puffy, but soon after her treatments the swelling lessened. Her body pressed against his as she repositioned. He felt the sharp points of her nipples pushing into his ribs. Her hands were gentle as she held his flesh apart, even gentler as she reached between his legs and stroked his cock under the remnants of his pants. His hands instinctively grabbed hers and wrestled her free. 

"My mistress commanded me." She explained with her mouth now inches from his ear as she took his earlobe in between her large teeth and pulled. The enlarged canines bit into the skin and drew blood, but the vapor of her breath had already numbed the skin. It was a seductive display, but ended nevertheless in his firm grasp pushing her back. 

"She did not command me." He said firmly and shrugged her off. She took those hands of his that had so firmly pushed her away, and placed them on her large breasts. They were leathery to the touch, and she made him massage them with her one hands. It was something that gave her incredible joy, as she moaned and hissed in pleasure. She brought one nipple to her own mouth and bit the sharp nub. She whimpered from the act, but not a milky substance flowed down her breast onto their hands.

"Drink, it will give you courage tomorrow." She hissed huskily and leaned forward to place her breast in his mouth. Yet again, those denying hands pushed her way. The man growled and rolled over to put his back to her. She recoiled into the blackness of the cell.

"This is to be our last night together." She explained. "She commanded me to tend your wounds, and take you within seven days. Tomorrow she comes."

"I am sorry." Was all he said. An uncomfortable silence grew between them. And soon slumber followed. It was a long time before she moved; she waited until she was sure he was asleep. Her body crept across the room to him and she hovered her head over his body. Her tongue slowly slid out and caressed down his bare thigh. The numbing venom of her saliva dribbled down his leg to his crotch. She shifted her weight and brought her face to his cock. That forked tongue slowly slid out and bathed the topside of his girth with her spit. He never stirred. 

Emboldened by his slumber, she reached up and cradled his member in her fingers, wrapping them around his meat slowly and gently. That wet muscle snaked down and around his length, coating it well with her saliva. The numbing power had a mixed effect – it would cease all pain sensations, but the reflexes would still react. The slickness of it made her fingers glide up and down easily. It didn't take long for his flesh to react, the soft thick member started to harden and thicken in her grip. Once soft delicate caresses now town to firm deliberate strokes as she took to her task. Her mouth opened and she took his cock into her mouth, enveloping his flesh with her thick wet lips. Slick fingers worked up and down his shaft as her lips held him firmly in her mouth. Her movements quickened as more of her saliva coated his hard cock.

If he wouldn't give it willingly, she would take it - No one disobeys the mistress. His breathing grew heavy, and the rest of his body started to react and tense. It wouldn't be long now. She would have him, and her proof, and she could fulfill her duty to her Mistress. His body arched, and she grabbed his cock firmly as her fingers pumped away. Her tongue flicked the underside he his bulging head, expecting to taste his seed as it erupted from his twitching manhood. His body jerked, he shot upright, and two strong hands grabbed her head and jerked it sharply to one side. 

Her vertebrae cracked loudly as it shattered.

When the guards came to escort him out, they didn't seem to care about the body that had gone cold. They herded him down the hallways as usual, but the path they took was different from the last few days. The corridor ended at a open door and beyond was a study with shelves of books, chairs, and a table piled with both. A thin frail, male hobbled around looking for books. He hid his face under a curtain of wispy red hair that hung from his head. The guards said not a word as they shoved him through the door and closed it behind him.

"You will stay. You will learn." The male said. There was only the faint flicker of candlelight in the room. 

"I am Boil." He said with a scratchy voice. As he turned to face the human, he turned his body into the light. He was missing one arm, and the other was malformed from birth. It worked well enough at picking up things with his two gnarled fingers but had no strength. His hair hid his face as he perpetually looked to the ground as he spoke.

"I have no name." The human replied. He stood straight and watched the male Zecair as he moved about.

"We all have names." Boil started. "Some are given, some are taken. Some are branded."

"Then I am "Human"."

"We shall call you, Mule." Boil hobbled over to the desk and began to pick off the books one by one and drop them on the floor. "I am to teach you the Zecair language. Just as I taught Her, The Majestic, yours."

"Her, The Majestic?" Mule repeated.

"Her taken name. She rules all within these walls."

"All?"

"Within these walls."

"Meaning..." the Human started. "Outside these walls she rules none."

"Part of our language, is learning what has not been said. This will serve you well." Boil said as he finally uncovered the book he wanted. He lifted it and shuffled over to the human and dropped it to the floor. "This will serve you too. It has all our words, yours and ours. Read it now. And speak your first sentence to me." The man sat and read the first few pages. He flipped back and forth looking for at the words.

"Sarssah juil meyu unkh ou hamarlly ka?" Mule said. "Zecair haoutra de." Boil stopped in his tracks at the human's unlikely prowess at their language. He almost dared to lift his head in curiosity but instead inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"You learn fast, human. That will serve you as well." Boil said. "To answer your question, Boil was given, my own taken. Because I failed. So I live now to serve." The man flipped through more pages.

"Yal kooh. Sarssah immon, desaralllial ka?" he spoke casually as he flipped through the pages lazily. 

"Yal koohN." Boil corrected. "Ka is only used for personal inquisitive. For general inquisitives it is not needed...You will stay here until we can speak our language without that book." Boil pulled a chair under him and sat down. His threadbare grey robe bunched up at the waist, so he stood briefly to smooth it out with his malformed hand. The man sat down on the floor and closed the book. He placed it at his feet, crossed his arms and stared at Boil intently.

"It is odd that you are so eager to learn." Boil said quietly in Zecair. "Tell me how you came to speak our language so well?" The man looked around the room as he deliberated on his answer. 

"Would not any visitor to a strange land first wish to learn the language?" Mule responded casually in their native language. The polite formality of his words caused boil to lift his head up slowly. One good eye stared out blankly, behind it was the soul of a being broken and enslaved. Mule did not look at him, but kept his eyes anywhere Boil's was not.

"There is more I can still teach you." The Zecairin said cautiously. "Knowledge is what kept me alive when all others wanted me dead. Including myself. It is by her divine grace, The Majestic saw some use in me. Here, I live to serve."

"I would be grateful of all you can teach me." Mule replied solemnly and bowed his head in respect.

"I was commanded to teach you our language, and some of our ways. But I see the opportunity to serve throughout, by arming you with more..."

Uncounted days passed in the small little room. Their meals were brought to them, much like they were when he was in the cell. There was a duct in the corner that took their waste away, but there was no where to sleep. Boil's hunched back had come about from falling asleep bent over the table and a book. But the human preferred the floor, with his head in his hands. Each day began with Boil lighting another candle in the darkness and beginning a conversation; from the most irrelevant idle chatter to ancient history of the Zecair people. Boil was patient teacher, but even he had to work to keep pace with his eager student.

"Names are a source of pride in our people." Boil began one lecture in his native language. "We are given a name at birth, but it is taken away when we come of age. We must then earn another before our next name day, or one is given to us."

"Did you name me Mule?"

"Yes. It will only last in here. Another will be given by one more suitable." Boil cleared his throat. "Power comes from the name, for no two can have the same name. One can take a name by killing its owner, or by embarrassing them in defeat until they submit to one's rule. Assassinations are all too common. As are duels in front of many witnesses. But they all serve one purpose, to defend one's name. To defend one's power."

The door opened, cutting off Boil's speech. The glow of the Mistress's spell basked the room in bright orange light. Both males shrunk from its bright glow. She stood before them in a sheer white gown that draped from one shoulder down across her body to the hip. It barely covered one breast, but that deadly chain of hers wrapped around her waist and criss-crossed over the fabric to other shoulder. It dared the looker to fixate on her parted breasts. The elite guards that escorted him down the halls now flanked her on each side, and each of them wore armor of bright red chain. Purple capes adorned their shoulders and gave both males a formal appeal.




Caught in Darkness Ch. 03



"Come." She said firmly then turned around and left. One of the guards followed her and the other prodded Mule out the door with his barbed spear. Boil's room disappeared behind him, and the man was sure that would be the last he saw of Boil, if not the last of Boil.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 04



He stood wary. All around him were the curious stares and hateful glares of the Zecarin nobility under the rule of Her, The Majestic. They wore thin silks of purple, red, and white. Some of the males walked around shirtless and wore swords in their waist sashes. The heat in the room was formidable as ducts in the floor piped in hot air from natural thermal springs and lava beds. The floor and pillars were tiled brownish-pink marble. A reddish light glowed from sconces on the far wall and a chandelier above.

"This is the creature that freed the traitor." The Majestic said loudly to all gathered as she made her way through the dozen gathered. "See how he grovels now!" She whirled on him and that chain flew from around her torso and struck him across the chest. It left a red slash that bleed, but he did not flinch. I must let her dominate me, or else they will not respect her. Mule thought. He stared at the floor and didn't look up to any of them. To make eye contact would show that he hadn't been broken yet. And his plan rested on that. 

"He was abandoned by the female he came here to free." She laughed haughtily. "Now he is just another slave." The thin metal chain flew again at him. The razor edges worked into the metal length of it tore through his flesh. His thighs, his arms, and his cheek soon bore the marks of her weapon. That last cut to his face made him drop to his knees, but he fought back the pain and breathed forcefully. It struck his back a dozen times more, then his shoulders as he dropped to his hands and knees. She whipped him with that razor chain again and again, each strike leaving a fresh mark. Mule collapsed to the ground and balled up, panting and bleeding from a hundred small wounds. Any normal man would have lost consciousness from the pain perhaps, so he feigned it as best he could as he went limp to the ground.

Strong arms grabbed him and hauled him up. Behind them faded the laughs and sneers of the gathered under-elves. He was tossed in a corner and left as the crowd drew their attention to the next spectacle. One of the soldiers in red mail came in dragging the elf maiden by her hair. They had cut her long blond hair down to short little curls, just enough to get a handful of. She seemed unhurt, but did little to resist the horrible treatment. They tossed her onto the spot spattered with Mule's blood. As she rose to her knees her hands went slick with his red blood and a look of horror shone from her eyes.

"That is the human's blood." The Majestic said in the common language of the surface. "I made him bleed. For his crimes." She glided over the stone tiled floor to the elf lady and stood before her with her chin held high. There was no blood on her white silk dress, nor on her, but her chain was coated with it. "I will make you bleed for yours too, but not so simply as I did with him." Slim dark fingers reached down and lifted the maiden's chin, their eyes met, but the girl stared blankly back with a broken stare.

"Wake him!" She shouted gleefully. A soldier in the red mail of the elite smirked as he went to one of the heat vents near the floor and pulled a spear from it. The steel tip glowed with a faint reddish hue in the air. The Zecair soldier walked casually towards the prone man and waved the heated weapon over his body.

"Smoke the animal!" came a nobleman's voice that jeered the soldier on. The warrior wrinkled his nose in disgust and touched the flat of the tip to Mule's rump. The skin sizzled for a few seconds before its desired effect sent the human rolling away screaming. The soldier followed, prodding the man, herding him towards the center of the hall and the elf lady. Mule stood and clutched his arms, steeling himself from the pain. The crowd egged him on with insults, calling him an animal and a walking piece of meat in the Zecair language. He understood their taunts, but ignored them as if it was just noise. When he stood next to the bedraggled elf, the crowd grew quiet. The Majestic had cleaned her chain and had just finished wrapping it back around her body. She looked up at Mule with a cruel smile.

"She is dead." The Majestic said calmly. "She will be soon. Give her one last pleasure." Those same words had been spoken in a cell when he was brought before another broken, battered corpse of a captive. He had killed that one, rather than humiliate her further at the wishes of The Majestic. With so many elite soldiers in this room, and the lords and ladies that commanded them, he doubted he could be so brazen as to disobey this time and live. The Majestic knew how to play the game, and she had him cornered.

The hot spear prodded him in the back with a soft hiss. He scowled as he moved towards the elf maiden. She had grown more pathetic looking in their time apart. They took away her hair, shredded her clothes to mere wisps of thread that barely covered her waist, and beaten and bleed her countless times by the scars on her milky skin. This wasn't what he wanted. The Majestic had ruined her for him. And now there was no reason for The Majestic to keep her.

Mule pulled his loin cloth aside, and pulled out his cock. It was sweaty, and smelled of his musk from the heat in the room. With one hand he grabbed the elf woman by the hair and pulled her head back. Her mouth instinctively opened and that's when he thrust his cock inside it. She didn't resist him, her eyes were a blank stare, and neither did she take any part in it. Mule was left to do the work himself.

The act was well received by the spectators and they shouted their rude comments to cheer him on. Mule rocked his hips back and forth sliding his cock in and out of her unresponsive lips. Before long his member was fully erect and throbbing. He pulled it out of her mouth and tossed her head aside. The elf crumbled to the ground on her sides.

"Take her! Now!" The Majestic shouted. Her fingers lazily played with the chain that crossed between her breasts, each digit seemed almost to dare caressing her own mounds. 

"I only take a mate in conquest." He said in the common tongue. "This one is spoiled!" Even though she had sent him to Boil to learn their language, she had spoken to him in the common tongue, and so he chose to keep his fluency a secret for now. "What good am I in service if I do not earn my rewards?"

"It seems my pet animal doesn't like the feel of her." The Majestic laughed in Zecairin. Some of the onlookers laughed as well, and some just looked on with distaste. The Majestic sighed and stretched as she walked away nonchalantly. "This was the price you required for your service... this... thing." She sneered at the prone girl with an upturned chin. Her venomous glare mellowed as it moved to him, there was something there he could not recognize in the way she looked at him. But it was only for a moment, before that malicious gleam took it over. "You serve me now. Take your pet from my sight." She waved her hand up at him dismissively and turned her back. The elite guards in red came to flank him, and one was holding that red hot spear.

Mule dared not argue. In a way, she paid him what he requested, and in a way she had cheated him out of it. The elf lady wasn't lucid. If she had a mind left it was a base, feral thing acting only on instinct. Her consciousness had retreated into the safety of its own self. Mule picked up her body and slung her over his shoulder. Her light frame was easy to manage. The soldiers turned and pointed with their spears in the direction for him to go.

The Majestic laughed haughtily at his back as he left. Her voice echoed in his head even after they had left the hall.

The tunnels all looked the same to him as they walked. His body ached, and his mind was fighting back the hundreds of pain sensations from the cuts all over his body. Each step opened or reopened this cut or that one. One of the guards even made a rude comment about the trail of blood droplets he was leaving behind. But he wasn't concerned about himself, or the guards, it was the incoherent person on his shoulder that occupied his mind. This outcome wasn't what he had expected. Continuing with the charade was pointless now unless there was some way he could revive her. It was too much to hope for that The Majestic would give her up so easily, but to give her up at all in such a state was a sour deal. He cursed himself for not expecting this.

He was taken to what could be called a holding room. The guards rolled the door open and the smell that greeted them was horrendous. There were many other slaves inside but very little else but mats and scraps of clothing thrown into heaps. Some of the creatures were chained, some were wandering freely. And they all reeked. The whole room smelled of refuse, waste, and blood. He was roughly shoved inside as the door was closed behind him. There was no light here. He closed his eyes against the blackness and walked forward. In his mind he remembered the way the surroundings looked in that brief moment before the door shut.

Mule navigated his way blindly to the wall nearby, to a spot that was vacant enough for him to set her down. Gently she was rolled onto her side and her legs folded before her. Then he listened. None of the other creatures seemed to pay him any mind. No one was approaching, and no one was shouting in his direction. It would seem there was some rest to be found here. So that was what he did. His bruised, bloody and battered body curled up around her on the floor. He slid his arm under her head to give her some comfort as he laid his own on the hard stone. For a brief moment he thought back to the last prison he shared with her -- a decent bed, no other smelly occupants, and privacy. It was a bit of a dreamy fantasy compared to this one. Mule let loose a chuckle, and cursed his mind for thinking so small for a fantasy. Instead he pictured a feathered mattress, thick blankets, a roaring fire in the hearth... Then his smile faded. He couldn't remember what they felt like, it had been too long.

A soft squeeze on his arm woke him from his dream of feathered beds. Her fingers had found their way to his arm and were squeezing his bicep lightly in regular intervals. Then he could smell it. One of the other inhabitants of this holding cell was near, and was giving off a rancid fecal order. Yet it kept its presence silent enough Mule couldn't tell where it was yet.

Her fingers started to move. Slowly one slim finger was tracing a shape on his arm. A symbol. A Letter. A message.

Feign. It said. It was the command to pretend in her language. He understood it. But for a brief moment wondered if she knew he could speak her language along with the trade language.

Watched. Another word was slowly traced on his skin by her fingertip. She was speaking to him! His mind ignored the fact that she was now cognizant, and was preoccupied with the presence around them. Despite his acute senses, it was all being overwhelmed by the horrible smell. It forced him to breath through his mouth and forsake the nose. It distracted him from focusing on even the faintest of shuffles, the slightest of grunts, anything that would give him a pinpoint to their visitor. So preoccupied was he with trying to avert their intruded he hadn't noticed her subtle movements.

The elf lady's free hand had found his, and pulled it up to her chest. She guided it to her own bare breast and squeezed herself through him. He surrendered to her control, confused and baffled by this display. She moved his palm around over her mound, rolling her nipple around underneath his grasp. The pleasure of it made her draw in short breaths, as she arched her head backwards to nestle against his face. Theirs was now a lover's embrace, one wrapped around the other and given to her control.

She massaged her breast with a hunger. Her brief gasps turned to suppressed whimpers. His hand was just caught between them. Nevertheless his manhood couldn't help by respond vigorously to the wanton display. Yet something held him back, he wasn't sure how to respond to this, and part of him just didn't want to risk it. So the choice was made for him. Eager for more, the lady in his arms moved his hand between her legs, up underneath the wisp of clothing around her waist. There he found her warm, wet, and wanting. Her hand guided him in, but her fingers quickly took control over his. She moved them around in quick intricate motions that seemed just random hunger. Until it made a sign he recognized. One it had made before -- Feign.

Her lustful display was another clever method to give them privacy to communicate. She was writing whole sentences on her clit with his own finger. Mule had been too distracted by his own arousal and half her message had already gone by before he caught on.

You made promise. She spelled, then moaned loudly in ecstasy. Why? Twice commanded to take me. Twice refused. Why? 

By the time she had finished spelling that out, her breath was deep and heavy. If her past performances were any telltale, she wouldn't last much longer under these manipulations. His hand was already wet with her juices, and his own sex was straining, throbbing against her thigh waiting for its own turn.

Mule pressed his lips to her the back of her neck and suckled loudly. Inside, the tip of his tongue wrote a single word on her skin in the same fashion she had done with him. RESCUE. 

She screamed as her body spasmed in wet carnal release.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 05



Author's note: This story contains a bit of non-consent sex. Reader discretion is advised. 

*

"They are creatures of the dark." She said in a quiet tone. The elf lady sat nestled in his arms staring out into the darkness. Mule sat behind her with his back to the wall staring blankly at the black all around him. She had been describing the creatures that sulked about the room in detail to him - being his eyes for him. For the moment they felt safe here, the denizens of this room were a community of sorts. There was no violence among them, and they left the two well enough alone. Food was brought in through the maid door as vats of gruel. It was a mix of plant and animal leftovers. The food was lacking but it wasn't horrid. One could say they were well fed by Zecarin standards.

"They are the children of man." Mule whispered back. His tone hinted at sadness.

"I know of no magic that can change the shape. How can it be you are not a human?" She asked him. "How can they be the children of man?"

"It happened long ago." Mule said. "I have strayed too far from them to be called human anymore. But to me, it is they who have strayed." The explanation didn't satisfy her, but the lady recognized a distraction for what it was.

"Tell me someday?" Was all she asked as she reached up to his cheek and caressed it slightly. "You have not asked my name? Is that not customary to greet among humans?"

"It is safer that I do not know." Mule replied. "There is power in a name." the elf lady shrunk away from that. Something in his voice disturbed her and a small fear planted itself in her mind. "Why do you stop yourself, when we are joined? There is nothing to fear. Eltharian and Humans are not compatible..." Mule did not answer her right away. His silence only made the moment more uncomfortable. 

"I am not human." He said at last, and then kissed the tip of her long ear. The reassurance was momentary. The lady kept the rest of her thoughts to herself after that.

"Killer." Came a voice from the darkness that did not belong to either of them. Its tone was a greeting, and came from a creature with harsh vocal cords. The lady turned her head abruptly, and clenched his arms securely.

"a Langken." She whispered to him. "a lizard-kin."

"You are the killer." The Langken said. "The one whom the guards speak of. The one whom we fear when they take our strong away." It spoke with an old man's voice. "You are the killer?"

"I am." Mule said. "They made us fight."

"This is known. They make many of us fight." It approached them slowly. "You are human. You are Eltharian. This is known. Yet unknown to us." It studied them for a moment before breathing deeply. "Such rare things from the surface do not last long here. This is known. We wish you peace, Killer." The Langken made a chortling noise, some sort of farewell, as he left them alone. 

In the darkness, Mule rested his head against the stone wall. His thoughts drifted away from the here and now to give him peace to think. The lady in his arms had grown silent. She drew herself away from him, hugging her knees to her chest. A seed of doubt about this human had been planted with the Langken's words. Mule was a killer, one that could sneak into Zecarin territory undetected by their spell-wards and soldiers -- the perfect assassin. Too perfect to just be a coincidence, and too dangerous to assume he had honorable intentions with her. If he intended to rescue her, why hadn't he? What was he waiting for? These questions monopolized her attention while Mule napped behind her.

The door opened. Light entered and showed the denizens of this room in a different way to her. She turned her head and found Mule had woken from his short nap and was watching the Zecarian jailors as they stepped aside and let in the honor guard of The Majestic.

"They're here for me." Mule said as he rose to his feet. The soldiers were scanning the crowd when they spied him approaching. The Langken was also standing before them expectantly. Mule looked at the grey-brown walking lizard with a hunched back. Their eyes met face to face. "The Majestic would only send the elite for a Killer." He told the old reptilian. One of the soldiers turned his spear point towards Mule. It was the slave keeper standing next to him that spoke.

"You, and the pale bitch." Growled one of the jailors in the common language.

"Do not expect them both back." The soldier with the spear chuckled to the jailor in Zecarin. "She has an appetite tonight." Mule forced back his bristled reaction and glanced back to the elf lady. He motioned for her to follow before the soldier was bothered into action. Together they were ushered out into the light of the hallway.

They walked in silence through the halls. Mule studied the layout this time, his eyes were glued to the floor but each time they came to a junction he took note of the path they took. His mind was trying to memorize a map of sorts. When they opened the door to their destination, he found it to be same audience chamber he had recently left from. The heat vents made the air arid. The sensation made his wounds itch from the memory. He glanced down to see them well scabbed over. They had spent two days in the holding room at least.

The room was less crowded this time through. The Majestic sat lazily on a cushioned, orange onyx chair, her head propped up in her hand with a mixed look of boredom and anger. She wore a more conservative silver silk dress this time that covered her torso and neck, but left her arms bare. Her legs were wrapped in red leather leggings with glistening orange scales sewn into them. That chain of hers was gone. Across from her stood two Zecarin nobles in rich attire. A lady, younger than The Majestic wore a purple corset lined in gold trim. It met at her neck in a collar, and made a circle opening over her cleavage. Her legs were hidden behind a skirt of stringed black pearls. Her hands were demurely pressed together at her hips, and she gave Mule a suspicious look with pursed lips.

Her companion, a warrior-lord in full black scale, polished to a glossy sheen sneered at the lady elf behind Mule. His head slowly turned from her to Mule and their glances met. This one was a seasoned killer, and he measured Mule's worth just as Mule was measuring his. It grew to an uncomfortable stare between them before the lordling forced himself to look away. Something snagged in Mule's mind, he noticed no one was armed -- except the soldiers that escorted them in. There was a chance. 

"I was expecting someone bigger." The guest lady said in Zecarin. "Are you sure?"

"This is him." Her companion assured her, as he approached. The warrior-lord walked around them, sizing them up from top to bottom. "He is a marvelous specimen. One can see how he made it this far into our city. What is his worth?" The Majestic drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of her onyx chair

"Much." The Majestic replied. "For he has already cost me much."

"You should be more careful with your things then. And this one?" He turned his eyes to the lady and she immediately shriveled away from him. "The body looks well, but the mind has seen some wear. Is she trained?"

"Neither is." The Majestic let her annoyance show in her voice.

"I speak the language of humans." The lord said in a hard accent. "I am The Unkillable." He walked in front of Mule and presented himself. The human's gaze immediately dropped to the floor. He kept his eyes there even as the Zecarin began to pull off his polished scale tunic. "You keep it so hot in hear. My skin must breath. His armor fell to the ground bit by bit until he stood bare-chested in his undergarments. "Look at me, and read the truth on my body."

Mule glanced up, and briefly scanned over the hard toned muscles of this warrior's thighs, arms, and torso. But they ignored his build when they saw his scars. He studied each one that littered his body. This was not some pampered lordling that stood before him, but a monster of war. Healed over holes, long dark gashes, and mottled skin that had seen the flame too closely. There were scars that told of wounds that no one could have survived on their own - a faint smile in the skin of his neck, a dent in his sternum. Everywhere but his face bore the marks of his life's work. His head had been shaved, and he wore a mustache of red fur on dark grey skin. 

"Yes, this one has seen war." The Unkillable hissed in elation. "He will make a fine gladiator."

"He is not for sale." The Majestic yawned. "But you may play with his pet if you like. She likes that." 

"Faugh! I will not soil myself with the pale worms." The Unkillable sneered and whirled suddenly on elf, striking her across the cheek with the back of his hand. The blow sent her to the ground, where she stayed motionless. Her eyes stared out blankly, awake but unresponsive -- it was how she dealt with their punishment. The warlord gathered up his armor. "You always make this chamber so hot." He sighed in fake distress as he paraded his muscled body before his companion. But his distraction fell on blind eyes, as the two women hadn't let their gazes move from the other. "I will enjoy the hospitality of your pool garden. Seek me out there." His footsteps thumped loudly on the stone floor with the pace of a soldiers march.

There is power in a name. Boils words echoed in his mind as he watched The Unkillable leave. His stomach knotted with the feeling of uncertainty -- the only one that could possibly stand in his way just walked from this room half naked. To have a name like Unkillable is to be able to defend its truth.

"I am sorry, but these exotic pets of yours do not appeal to my appetites." The lady in the pearl dress said to The Majestic. "The debt is not yet repaid, sister. I will visit again, and I hope you have something more worthy then." She turned to leave, and the tightly braided ponytail of black hair swung behind her like a heavy rope. The elite guards that had brought Mule in now escorted her out. Mule realized this and turned to look at The Majestic. She in turn was already staring directly at him. It was a long, dreadful silence before she finally spoke.

"Here I sit unarmed." She said in Zecarin. Her demeanor was much more subdued than her usually perverted bloodlust. "Yet I send my guards away. Why? Is it because I do not fear you?"

"It is because I should fear those two, more. You do this for our protection." Mule quickly finished for her. His choice of words, and quick response showed he had mastered the Zecarin mannerisms of speaking to nobility. The Majestic lifted her head slightly and let a soft smile curve her lips. She stepped down from her chair and walked slowly towards him with her hands across her chest defensively. Her calm attitude was uncharacteristic. There was a complexity to the interactions of Zecarin nobles that Mule was just now beginning to understand. They wore many faces, and many masks. At least the women did; that warlord wore no other face but his own, and the scars that made Mule nervous. 

"Humans are creatures of legend here." She spoke softly to their air. "Few are those that have seen one. Fewer are those that know what they can do... or cannot do." She let the comment hang in the air before continuing. "We all know what the pale ones are capable of." She said with distaste as she glanced at the Eltharian lady. "They only inspire fear in their own homes. Here, alone, enslaved, they are pitiful." With the toe of her red leather boot she rolled the lady onto her back.

"What am I to do with you?" She pressed her toe to the lady's cheek and rolled her head to the side. Mule knew she was not talking about the elf.

"I claimed a service. I will serve." Mule stated flatly. He couldn't help but look at the back of The Majestic's neck. One quick grab, and this devil women would be dead without a sound. He could take his charge and run, he knew the way out. But something inside him said simply - 'wait'.

"Yes. You will." The Majestic again let the comment hang in the air. "It would serve you well, to maintain the mystery of humans, and reveal nothing." She never looked at him as she turned to leave. "Outside this door, my servant will take you to your new apartments. She will see to it you are cleaned and clothed appropriately." Mule helped the elf to her feet and helped her follow the Mistress.

"It would also serve you well to rid yourself of the one person in this city that knows what a human is truly capable of." A cold chill immediately ran down the elf lady's spine as The Majestic spelled out Mule's weakness in their little game. 

But when she looked up at him, he wouldn't meet her gaze.

* * * * * 

Mule looked at the tub in question. The water steamed up in the already warm air, dictating that the temperature would be too high for his liking. The mistress had commanded that he be bathed and cleaned so he would be tolerable to the nobility. But the attendant had taken some liberal assumptions about how to do that. Mule glanced over his shoulder at the serving girl. She was Zecarin, but disfigured, like Boil. The left side of her head and shoulder was completely scarred, probably from a fire. She grew her hair long to cover that side of her face and always kept her gaze downward. Even now as she scrubbed mules back with a porous stone she was watching his heels. Mule had been lathered by her ministrations in a oily-soapy residue. It smelled musky, and made his skin slick. The dried blood, sweat, dirt, and other grime of the last few weeks were being scrubbed off along with a layer of skin. It left finished areas freshly pink and tender. Behind them, the Eltharian lady watched in quiet study.

The three of them were the only ones in this bathing room. The stone tiled floors were rough, absorbing the moisture from the feet that tread across them. Whereas the tub itself was recessed into the floor and made of scintillating colored glass that reflected and refracted the light from a source underneath it. The tub glowed, casting its array of colors onto the walls and ceilings, yet leaving most of the rest of the room dim. This chamber was meant for royalty, and the serving girl was part of it. This was not something Mule would likely see again, but in it was a lesson to be learned. His Mistress was teaching him things without saying the words herself. It was Boil who first gave him that lesson - "Listen to what is not said, more than what is said."

This bath house was luxurious. The Unkillable mentioned he was headed to the pool gardens when he left the audience chamber. If a male like him, a warrior, also indulged himself like this, then he was a soldier that had earned it. Zecarin's earned everything through conquest - status, desires, wealth. The Unkillable was dangerous. That was what his Mistress was trying to show him -- through a measure of what the male Zecarin earned for himself.

A cascade of cold water shattered his train of thought as it poured over him washing away the oily soap. He jerked involuntarily and clenched his fists tight as well as his teeth. Wet, brown curls dripped into his eyes and he shook his head violently to send water droplets out away from his face. The attendant placed her hands on his back and ran her fingertips down his flexing muscles in a soothing fashion. Her arms wrapped around him as she pulled herself against his back. Her warm bare skin pressed up against his chilled nerves. 

It did the trick of instantly soothing him back into a relaxed state. The contrast of cold and warmth was another one of her skilled ministrations for relaxation. His head lifted back reflexively and nestled against the top of her head as his neck sought out more of her to warm him. It was an instant later he remembered who he was and where he was that he sat up straight again and pulled away from her.

Mule looked down to his arms, and the raw tender skin was showing the veins in his arms clearly. The constricting cold had jarred his circulation into pumping faster, and the clenching of his muscles caused the veins to distort grotesquely above his skin. He looked down his bare body and was amazed that the effect was not limited to his arms.

The attendant crossed his field of view and brought his thoughts back to the now. She took his hands and led him slowly into the steaming tub. Her naked form started to disappear below the low lying fog. In that moment Mule noticed how beautiful she looked, her hair perfectly masked her deformity so long as she kept her gaze down. And as she led him into the water, there was a certain allure to her that he struggled to fight back. It wasn't until he was waste deep in the bath that he realized the water wasn't as scalding as he anticipated. It was in fact very preferable and relaxing. The floor under the water stepped off sharply about a foot making a ledge or seat. 

The attendant placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down onto it, submerging the rest of his torso up to his armpits. Slowly she circled around him and positioned herself to sit behind him with her legs under her. Each instruction she had given him had been with her hands, she never said a word to him, her hands did that for her. So he stared out at the water as he had done and waited. Her hands touched his neck and started to rub the tension and pain away. Her hands spoke to him "Surrender To Me."

Her arms made no splash in the water as they worked nor did she make any sound other than the light breathing of her slender form. The room was silent. The light was pleasingly low yet enough to navigate around. The temperature was constantly warm. The smells were subtly musky from the soap and lightly herbal from incense burners in the corners. This had all been planned out to an art form - this was a room for seduction.

The thought had no sooner occurred to him than a soft wet sensation stole his mind back to the bath. The attendant's lips were on his neck kissing softly up the curve of the muscle and tendon towards the ear. It was a sensation that sent all kinds of nerve impulses throughout his body. Part of him had already been seduced by her attention and begged for more, and yet the other wanted to push her way. His muscles tensed drastically. The attendant sensed his discomfort and backed away, her fingers replaced her lips and started to rub and kneed those tensing muscles back into submission.

Mule turned his head slightly and glanced back to the corner of the room where his companion sat watching them. Her face was stoic, and unemotional, and she watched them both as instructed. This was a lesson for her as well as for Mule. Since he had claimed her, The Majestic had commanded that she attend to him in their fashion, so that Mule would learn their ways and live as one of them. She was to attend to him, as the scarred Zecarin now did, and this was her first lesson.

The attendant's lips found the back of Mule's neck again, this time he didn't resist. Her hands roamed over his shoulders and down his arms, rubbing and kneading with a surprising firmness that overwhelmed his senses and he found himself taking deep sharp breaths in elation. Her thumbs pressed into the large muscles between his shoulder blades that ran down his spine and worked away the knots. She put her weight into it as she rose forward onto her knees and used her body's entire motion to work out the tension in Mule. The effect was immediate. His shoulder's slumped forward and he let a soft moan escape his lips. The lower her hands went the farther forward he leaned to accommodate her. When they reached his waistline she slid forward and pressed forward against his back. Her small breasts were firm enough to illicit an immediate response from Mule as he sat back up, but only to pressing against her. Her strong fingertips found their away around him to his manhood, and took him in her grasp. 




Caught in Darkness Ch. 05



With gentle pressure she stroked him with just her finger and thumb; Mule's member quickly grew into her grip. A sigh escaped his lips as he found himself lost in her trance. When he was fully enthralled, she brought the rest of her fingers into play and had the whole of him in her grasp. A few slow gentle strokes squeezing him all along gave the last coercion she needed as his member throbbed for her in her fingers. She held him in place as she moved around to face him in the water and positioned her self in his lap. Her bare chest pressed into his cheeks and wantonly sought out his lips. It was a call he could not refuse and his mouth eagerly took in an erect nipple. She moaned deeply as he sucked on her and licked her nipple with his tongue. His hands found her back and held her there as he lost himself in her breasts. She held his cock against her belly as she moved and swayed side to side, swaying her hips in his lap. She was not shy in her moans of ecstasy as he expertly suckled her pert breasts.

She stroked him underneath the water, and as she felt him pulsing and throbbing in her grip, she guided him into her and sat down. His girth was immense for her petite body, and she took him slowly. The water and sweat made him slick as he slid inside her. The feeling was ecstatic for both of them as they leaned their heads back simultaneously in euphoria. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and she nestled her head against his neck. Her whimpers at his size were soft whispers inches from his ear. Yet she remained in control as her body undulated slowly atop him. Their lovemaking was interrupted by a short masculine laugh. Mule slowly turned his head and caught a familiar face.

"Such pleasure you will never know again, enjoy it! Leave me to mine." Unkillable said as he sauntered over to the fair skinned Eltharin woman. She still sat with her gaze fixated on the two in the tub. Even as the chiseled warrior ran his fingers over her head she did not flinch. With a quick grip and jerk, the Zecarin general had her cheek pressed against his bare thigh. She couldn't resist him with her hair firmly wrapped in his fingers, clutched tightly in his grasp.

"Suck it you pale bitch." He sneered and pulled her face closer to his loins. Mule couldn't look away, even as his consort ignored what was happening and lost herself in her pleasure on top of him. Her hands wrapped around his neck and tried to make him look away, but his attention would not be deterred. He needed to watch, and she could not seduce him away from it. Yet he did not move either, nor did his manhood loose interest in her. The serving girl raked her nails across his chest, eliciting a brief hiss from him. Warm wet kisses followed them, and erased the thin blood trickles that started to form. Yet none of this could pull him away from the sight of the master of war forcing his cock inside the prisoner's mouth and gagging her with it. His growing member thrusted into her lips without leave and made her choke and writhe away from him. Her protests were mulled while his flesh was in her mouth, as he started to fuck her head violently. Each thrust made her choke and stifle a cough, yet she did not fight him. Resigned to her fate, she did her best not to inconvenience the monster that ravaged her mouth for his own pleasure.

When he finally pulled free she coughed up all the spit she had choked on and tried to turn away form him. He let go of her head with a violent shove and she collapsed to the floor. With a superior smile and glanced over to Mule.

"Is this your pet?" he asked.

"She belongs to my Mistress." Mule answered plainly. He watched The Unkillable, but did not make eye contact with the man.

"Is that so?" The Unkillable said rhetorically as he let the last syllable roll off his tongue with a lusty sigh. A quick kick to the shoulders, and the pale elf was on the floor before him. She whimpered once as her face smacked the stone, and tried to push herself back up. The Zecarin male stepped on her fingers, making her scream out in pain as she wilted back to the floor. "I didn't say get up, bitch." He seethed at her. She turned away from him, trying to hide her shame. The Unkillable straddled her legs and pulled her hips up into the air.

Mule gritted his teeth as he watched, the tension made his body throb and the serving girl ridding his cock moaned louder. She placed a hand gently on his cheek and tried to make him look away, but his resolve was decided, and she gave up the fight. Burying her face into his neck, and her arms around his torso, she held him tightly as she finished her business relieving his erection. Yet Mule's tension wasn't building in just his loins.

The naked, muscular warrior-lord ripped the fabric away from the lady's waist exposing her sex to him. She huddled on the ground on her hands and knees, as her assailant knelt behind her. Strong hands took a firm hold of her waist and another her neck as he positioned his cock behind her at her mounds entrance. There he stayed and stroked her sex with his wet member. She sobbed silently to the stone floor but gave no resistance to the male behind her. He held her securely and thrust forward violently. But when his hard cock penetrated her rectum and not her wet sex she screamed.

Mule was out of the tub and halfway across the stone tile to her before his disengaged companion made a splash in the water. The Unkillable smirked the moment he saw movement from the tub, it was what he was waiting for. He saw the hand reach for him and caught it easily. His speed was greater than Mule's and his elbow shattered the human's ribs before he could recover from the failed attack. Mule collapsed to one knee clutching his side, and that was his last mistake. The Zecarin Lord was on him, the warrior's knuckled fist struck him in the temple and the room spun around. Something hard caught him in the jaw and he felt it snap inside his head. The pain was excruciating and the room went black. He heard another ladylike scream - he knew it was hers. Something grabbed his arm, twisted it such that his arm popped out of his shoulder socket the same time his wrist dislocated.

That was too much for his brain to handle and it shut down from the pain.... 



Caught in Darkness Ch. 06



Author's Note: Some scene's contain explicit violence and gore.

* * * * *

The entourage set out from the granite walls of The Majestic's stronghold towards the city proper. Six elite guards walked with weapons held ceremoniously before them and took flanking positions all around The Majestic's litter. Eight slaves covered in dark hemp robes manned the four struts on each side of the litter. The fabric was bound with buckles, and the cowl's were full hoods; the whole garment took away their identity. Each one was identical to the other as they marched along carrying the large litter on their backs.

Inside The Majestic lazed on a pile of satin pillows from behind a curtain of red silk. Her gaze was focused elsewhere, but she managed a poised posture as she awaited arrival at the arena. Her hair had been braided beautifully into a large fan of arches behind her head. The gown she wore was low cut, black velvet, and long enough that the excess fabric at the bottom pooled into a blanket over her feet. There she sat alone to brood as they traveled.

The trek was long, so her thoughts had all but run their course when the litter came to a slow stop. The slaves set the litter down with rehearsed precision and steadiness. Once finished, they took positions cowering behind the elite guard. Those soldiers were position between their lady's liter and the other ruling Zecair elf nobles. Four richly dressed noblemen and women stood waiting the last arrival of their peers. Two ladies of twin likeness stood together with one arm entwined with that of the other to display their unity. They contrasted in their attire with alternating matching colors in both their garments. Even their hair was arranged in reciprocal designs -- one with matching pigtailed ribbons, the other with a straight plume from the top of her head. 

Next to them, stood The Unkillable. He wore no armor, just a vibrantly puffed silk shirt with gold trim, and skin tight leather pants that showed off the definition of each muscle of his lower half and then some. The leather was striped in taupe and black, it gave his lower extremities quite the eye catching appeal.

"Dear Sister!" He shouted with a smile and raised his arms to the air as if to invite an embrace. "We were going to start without you, too bad you ruined it." 

The red silk curtain flashed aside and the Majestic thrust forward with a voracious down turned glare at her brother. With her hands thrust out downward at her thighs she walked the ramp up to the platform above. It was the grin on her face that betrayed the offensive posture as she approached him and pressed her half exposed flesh to his chest. 

"Greetings..." she breathed huskily at him with her lips mere breath's away from his red mustache. "Where is your lifemate? Do I get you all to myself this day?" The Unkillable thrust out his hips in gesture and clasps one of his hands to her exposed lower back, causing his straining groin to grind against her thigh. 

"None for you I'm afraid." He breathed back as he suddenly broke away from her. "Let the blood boil a bit in the bloodbath below before you speak of 'lifemates'." He chided her. "But alas, your sister has taken to bed with a headache. I fear I was too rough on her this morning." The Majestic passed by the twins and lifted a sleeved arm to each one in turn to caress the opposing cheek of each woman in greeting. She took to the stairs to follow The Unkillable into the seating beyond. A soft touch caught her other hand and guided her away.

"So fast. So forgetful..." He breathed and kissed her hand. Something in that contact made her body shudder in anticipation. She slowly withdrew her hand. 

"Charmer, I did not forget." She smiled demurely. "My mind was focused on less pleasant things, and I wished to save such a delectable conversation until those thoughts were washed away in the glory and joy that is to come." The lordling took his hand back and tilted his head to one side, this caused his long straight lockes of pure white hair to fall and cover half his face. His shirt was long and burgundy, and billowing at the sleeves. The black pants he wore ended in tight brown riding boots that went all the way to the knees. They made a click-click as he walked from the metal reinforcements in the toes.

"One wonder's who is charming who." He purred and slid past her as if gliding in a dance step. He followed the twins up the ramp into the seating beyond leaving The Majestic to bring up the tail of the procession. The seating area hosted twelve stone thrones in two rows of six carved into the rock steps that led to the edge of a pit. It was the only seating around the rim of this arena; this was something only a select few could see. No one else was present at this gathering but the five under-elves. The Majestic's guard and slaves waited with the litter outside, leaving their mistress to her social obligations inside. She took her seat between The Charmer and The Unkillable, and the twins floated by to take their seats farthest away from the entryway next to the war lord.

"Would you like to place a wager?" The Charmer began the nights affairs. "I will put five casks of aged behemoth blood on the defenders. It's a fools bet, I'm sure, but I get the impression tonight will be an interesting one." The twin with the plume of hair chuckle in a ladylike fashion.

"I will see your bet with twelve Cutharin slaves we have in our household. You should find their venom useful in your... Charming." She smiled demurely.

"One always needs to numb the pain of dealing with you, dear Allurer." Charmer countered, and blew her a kiss. "Will The Majestic grace us with her offer?"

"I will abstain." She stated and folded her hands in her lap demurely. The Unkillable lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. A servant male came to stand behind his seat. 

"I will have wine before the match, and roast flank chop after the first match. Betting makes me anxious." He grumbled and leaned forward with his chin in his hand. The servant bowed quickly and hurried off.

"Lady Deliquescence, you have refrained from wagering, does your sister speak for you as well?" The Charmer piped in.

"She does not waste her breath on frivolities, my lord." Her sister answered for her. "She allows me the pleasure of using my tongue." To which the Charmer slowly recoiled in his chair. The servant arrived with a glass goblet filled with red wine. The Unkillable took it, and casually held it in his hand as he waited for the show to start. It didn't linger long, a low rumbling sounded that could be felt in the stone floor as two gates opened in the arena below. The balcony seats were fifty or so feet from the arena floor, and no one else was present around the arena rim - this was a private party. The four nobles watched as a small army entered the stage. They were an amalgam of races, all humanoid, all dark-dwellers, and all armed to the teeth with spears, swords, axes, and metal claws. Some wore armor, some didn't. They were slaves, and none below showed any military discipline. They didn't acknowledge the spectators above but collected in the center and began to converse in voices inaudible at that distance. Another gate opened and a high pitched screech ripped through the air and startled all those gather. 

"Damn, a screech beetle." The Charmer muttered. "It would seem I have lost that bet, and all others against those monstrosities. At least I have the pleasure of being indebted to such quintessential beauties." He touched his hand to his forehead and bowed in their direction in a manner of salutations.

Below, a thunderous stomping echoed from the pit to the cavernous walls above as a giant insect charged from the gates. The gladiators fanned out into a semicircle to intercept it as it came on. It plowed through and gored the first one in its giant mandibles before he could scream. They descended upon the monster, slashing and hacking at its chitinous bulk as it shredded and devoured their companion. Their metal weapons were insufficient against its armor, and the giant bug took little interest in them. But their horror was too soon realized as a second monster beetle charged into the arena room and trampled three of the warriors dead. They descended on the first beetle with a desperate fury, one warrior even managed to climb atop the ten-foot tall monster's back and started thrusting his spear at its neck joints. The beetle paid him no mind as it skewered another warrior in its large, spear like mandibles. Between the two of them, the gladiators were slaughtered in mere moments. Only the beetle-rider managed to survive longer than his comrades. And when it dawned on him that he was the only one left, he abandoned his spear and hung tight to the bug's back hoping to go unnoticed.

As its companion set about devouring the deceased, the besieged screech beetle charged at one of the arena walls. Gruesome stone spikes lined the upper portions of the stone walls to prevent escape by the confined. It seemed intent on impaling itself on the bottom row of those spikes; the rider on its back just hung on for fear of his life. But just before it reached the wall, the giant bug skidded to a halt and bucked its back section up into the air, the langken warrior flailed into the air as it was sent to its death against those spikes. The Unkillable laughed.

"Smart abominations, aren't they?" he chuckled and downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp. "More!" he shouted, and the steward came scuttling up with a jug in hand. 

"I find no appeal in such mismatched battles." The Alluring sneered as she wrinkled up her nose. "The fear of death, just stinks up the room. Whereas the fear of loosing is much more sweet. Place two well matched opponents together, and see them fight tooth and nail till the bitter end." She smiled and leaned against her sister's shoulder in affection. "This one was over too soon." Her sister leaned in to bite playfully at her sister's ear. They were lost in their own fawning when the Charmer leaned in towards the Majestic.

"My lady, you are so quiet this evening. Not enjoying the fights?"

"Present matters preoccupy me." She breathed nonchalantly. Her gaze was fixated on the feasting below.

"Come now, you're not still sore I stole you're little white devil away from you are you?" the Unkillable scolded her. The Majestic turned her head and grinned ever so coyly.

"Never darling. She was more trouble than she's worth. I hope you fuck her into insanity." The Unkillable scrunched his nose up and snorted. Her verbal barb was meant for him. "I came across a lesser species, whose actions just did not make sense to me. And that has troubled my thoughts of late."

"Phah, that human? He was worthless, be happy I killed him."

"Oh, sorry darling. My mind drifted, I wasn't talking about the human. He's rotting in some hole by now. Good riddance." She waved the steward over to her, and was served a goblet made of gold and had it filled with the same wine. Slowly she drank as they awaited the next match.

"Wagers?" The Charmer leaned in.

"I wager, that your perfume will be the end of you darling." The Majestic slowly turned her head to stare down the male that had inched so close to her.

"You don't like it? I had hoped it would excite your mood."

"It does." She smiled at him. "Just not in a favorable way."

"Favorable to whom?" He grinned wickedly at her and resigned himself back to his chair.

"I wager the next fight will be more interesting." The Unkillable chuckled, and lifted his goblet into the air. The steward quickly arrived to fill it, but the Unkillable's unsteady hand made the cup move, and the wine spilled onto the stone floor. 

"What a waste." The Alluring sighed. "he was such a dutiful servant too." The Unkillable quickly turned his head and smiled at her.

"You have no idea." He tossed his goblet into the air, and all the nobles watched it as it tumbled end over end into the pit bellow. So fixated on it were they, they didn't notice the sizzling sound coming from under The Majestic's seat. The wine had flowed down the stone steps and was reacting with something underneath it. 

The Unkillable leaned in towards the Alluring and grinned a deadly smile as an ear splitting explosion erupted not but two feet beside him from under The Majestic's throne. 

The sound of the explosion called the guards into the seating area. They stood dumfounded and in awe as they watched helplessly as their mistress tumbled like a rag doll through the air into the pit beyond. Then their blood went cold when they saw the two hulking screech beetles that lurked below feasting on the bodies of gladiator's they had just killed. The nobles stared just as dumbfounded as they watched one of their own falling to her doom. 

"M-murder!" The Alluring named him and pointed to the Unkillable. She staggered as she stood, and held her ears to stop them from ringing. The male laughed and grabbed her pointing arm. 

"She is still alive!" He grinned at her. "Go see for yourself!" He shouted as he pulled her in, took one hold of her waist, and tossed the dainty woman into the air after The Majestic. He turned to regard her sister, but the Deliquescent had caught stone debris to her head and was moaning prone on the floor, unconscious.

Only the Charmer stood to witness the madness unfolding. His wits collected quickly and he hopped up the steps and snatched a sword from one of the confused elite guards. The soldier did not know who to obey in this situation, the rules of their society had locked him into a do-nothing position - he could not act against a member of the nobility with The Majestic. His mistress had been blow away to her death below, and that put him out of a job. He looked to his fellow soldiers, but found the same fear-stricken confusion that he suffered in the other guards' face.

"Let us not be too quick to temper here, my friend." The Charmer began as he put distance between himself and the Unkillable. "You'll need a witness to say the Alluring, in a fit of jealousy, cast the spell that murdered The Majestic. And you, in all justice, sent her to the same fate." 

"Or you could just stick me with that sword, and tell the truth." The Unkillable laughed and waved the steward over for more wine. The servant oddly obeyed, as if nothing had happened, and the Zecarin general toasted to himself. "Do you really think this was my idea?" He chuckled as he staggered over to the railing to see the body of Alluring crash painfully into the ground below. "Or that we were meant to survive? If it makes you feel better stick me now. Because the real murderer has plans for us both to die tonight. And I would rather die quickly with a sword in my belly, than poison in my veins. " The Unkillable lunged at the servant and snatched the wine jug from the trembling male's hands. He began to chug away the red liquid as if he was dying of thirst. This left the Charmer with a moment to consider his words, and he didn't consider long before leaping forward and thrusting his sword at the Unkillable. The General spun at the last moment and smashed the wine jug over The Charmer's head. 

Splintered porcelain dug into the man's scalp as he fell. Quickly his white hair turned bright red from both blood and wine. The Unkillable easily claimed the dropped sword and thrust it into the male's exposed backside right below the ribs. 

"I'm sorry, I lied. This was all my idea. You murdered The Majestic, and The Alluring. The Majestic's guards, sought vengeance on you. Here you are killed with one of their swords. And I avenged your death against her guards. All ends are now nicely tied up." The Charmer could no longer hear him, the life had left him through the other end of the sword. His words did not fall on deaf ears however, as The Majestic's guards took a nervous defensive position and waited on the General's next move. 

"Ha! Fools! You think that will serve you?! I am THE UNKILLABLE!" He shouted and descended on them in full battle bury. He sliced through one guard's throat before he had a chance to blink. Steel rang against steel, and death cries echoed off the cavern walls one right after the other.

So lost in the battle was The Unkillable, he did not notice the blur of brown that flew off the stair steps into the pit below...

* * * * *

The explosion was deafening as the echoes reverberated off the rock walls back at them. They could see a body fly off into the air, and disappear, but it was there and gone before the edge of the ramp obscured the rest. He watched the elite guards of his mistress panic, and rush up the ramp to investigate. He heard talking, then shouting, and then someone died. That was all he needed to know. 

His legs carried him up the ramp in a matter of seconds and took him past the melee that was breaking out in the arena seats. That wasn't where he needed to be, he needed to be where her perfume was coming from. In that one second his mind took in all that was going on in the pavilion above, he knew what had happened and who had flown into the pit below. His feet kept going, and he launched himself into the air and into the darkness below. 

On the way down he saw an injured woman limping away from two monstrous beetles that were too intent on gorging themselves of prey than to notice her. But it was on his way down that he spied her, his mistress, caught on the spikes jutting from the walls. Her hair had snagged on one of them, and now she hung limp and lifeless from it by her hair. As he fell past, he caught the tip of the protrusion and flipped around its circumference once to slow his momentum. There he hung face to face with his broken mistress. 

She moaned. 

He pulled her belt free, that silvery chain laced with razor blades, and used it to saw through those red strands of hair that held her captive to the wall. In a moment she fell free, leaving behind a mass of tangled red hair. He caught her with his legs. Begrudgingly he had only one choice, and dropped them both to the ground. It was a rough landing, and his knees stung from the scraping. She looked undamaged from the front, but it was the back that was worse. Burned skin embedded with stone shrapnel covered her backside. If she didn't get aide soon, she would die shortly.

An ear piercing scream like two giants of metal grinding against one another startled his attention away from his mistress. One of the screech beetles had spotted the limping Zecarin noblewoman and was rearing up for a charge. She saw it coming and she screamed in fear as she made for the gate twenty feet away. The beetle charged and its speed would overtake her in a few seconds. 

But his was greater.

He flew across the dirt and tackled one of the monster's legs. The impact made it crumple sideways, and skid along the dirt ground. In that instant that it's head was ground level he grabbed one of the giant mandibles and pulled. The maw came open, and the monster screeched at him. The chitinous fang was structurally reinforced against the force he was exerting, and as the monster started to pull its jaw back, so too was its strength against him greater. 

So he reversed his momentum. 

Four feet of the mandible broke off in his hands and green gore splattered all over him. The monsters shrieked in pain and jerked itself to its feet. Its prey had eluded it to the safety of the gate. The metal bars came down to the ground and locked the woman inside, safely out of harm's reach. But so two did she lock the monsters in with him. The other screech beetle was walking towards the broken Majestic, it was full on the flesh of the others slain and was merely inspecting this new meal.

He grunted and hurled the broken tusk into the air. It flew like a javelin until it embedded itself in the creature's eye. The screech beetle wailed loudly with such a horrendous din that he had to stop and cover his ears. In that brief instant the one-fanged beetle plowed into him with its head and tossed him into the air. It waited, open maw, for his return plummet. As he came down he latched onto the remaining black glistening tusk and swung about it. The monster beetle tried to snap him up, but he had already planted his feet into the side of it's face and held himself out of harm's way. It thrashed about and raised it's head up to slam the side he clung too into the ground. At the last minute, he lept off as the bulk smashed into the dirt. The force was tremendous, and sent a dust cloud up all around the monster's head. It also jarred the beast senseless. As it tried to shake off the daze he thrust one of his fist's into its glaring, multifaceted bulbous eye. It pushed through, and popped the orb like a bubble, showering the man in more green gore. He pushed deeper in, until he felt something solid, grabbed it, and yanked. A hunk of lumpy grey matter came out covered in green ichor. 




Caught in Darkness Ch. 06



The screech beetle stopped moving. Dead.

The other giant bug overcame its pain and fixated its one good eye on him. It thundered forward intent on revenge. The man reached down and snapped the other sharp mandible off the dead screech beetle and held it in one hand to meet the charge. As its charge came within a few feet of him, he leapt into the air at the last second and pressed that sharp tusk outwards. The momentum of the monster did the rest of his work for him as he impaled the other eye with the other mandible. With matching injuries the monster wailed out that same soul wrenching screech. Its assailant had climbed atop it during its agonizing wail and hung on. But it knew what to do against that. 

The giant beetle ran forward hard and fast; it knew how to dislodge an unwanted rider. What it didn't know, or couldn't see, was how close it already was to the wall it was charging at. Its rider jumped off at the last moment, and there was a sickening crunch, as the massive bug splattered itself against the spiky protrusions of the stone wall. 

The arena was calm and quiet now, with just the faint drip-drip of green ichor as it bled down the stone walls.

He gathered up his mistress and her chain, and walked to the gate the other noblewoman had taken refuge behind. The bars were meant to keep something larger inside; they were far enough apart he could slide his mistress's body to the other side and climbed through himself. 

On the other side, he found the woman collapsed against the wall, her hand dangled form the lever that closed the gates. Her face was feverishly pale, even for a Zecarin, and a broken bone protruded from her left leg.

"w-who..?" she managed to get out as he squatted next to her. The slave undid the buckle over his gore drenched hood and pulled it free. Brown curls of hair fell loose and dangled from his head.

"I am Mule." He said. 

"Who do you serve?" She said. She was in pain, and her body was loosing the fight to stay conscious. The Alluring was not going to last much longer

"Your life is in my hands. To save it, you must save The Majestic first." He stated plainly. "I will tend to your wound as you tend to hers." He turned and picked up the Majestic. His mistress was limp in his arms as he carried her and placed her beside The Alluring with her head in the lady's lap.

"You can heal her." Mule stated. "Do it." He then squatted beside her and started to examine her broken leg -- the shin bone had broken cleanly and protruded from the ripped skin almost the length of his finger. The Alluring hesitated. So much of this situation was wrong, and yet she felt compelled to do as he had said. She placed a hand on The Majestic's breast and closed her eyes.

"There is too much pain, I can't concentrate on the energies." She whimpered. Her teeth chattered from the cold chill of shock. Mule placed one hand on her thigh, right above the knee, and other on the back of her neck, behind the ear where the skull started. He arranged his fingers and pressed firmly into the lady's flesh. She jumped from the sudden pain of the pinched nerves, but that immediately faded, along with the pain of her broken leg. Her breathing started to calm, as she recovered her wits. She closed her eyes again and this time a soft yellow glow came from the air about them and flowed into her hand. Through her fingertips it entered The Majestic's chest and the whole limp body spasmed once and drew in a sharp breath. 

"There, she will live, but it will be some time before she recovers." The Alluring said. She turned her head to face Mule. Their faces were only inches apart, but in her daze she could only stare at him.

"Can you heal your leg?" Mule asked. It suddenly dawned on her that she could have healed herself also. She placed her hands on her thigh. It confused her that she could lift and move the broken limb but felt nothing of the pain. She brought the knee to her chest and grabbed her calf with one hand, and pushed the bone back in with the other. The flesh squished, but realigned, and then she called the magic into her fingertips to heal the flesh. There was a sudden jolt to her system, and Mule had to hold tight or break the connection. The bone was now solid, but the flesh was pink and scabbed over.

"This is going to hurt." He said calmly. "I'm going to release the pressure, nerve by nerve slowly. You will then feel everything you didn't feel a moment ago. You may blackout. Are you ready?" He waited for a response. She gulped once then turned to look into his eyes searching for something.

"Please. I have served well. Please don't kill me. I can serve you even more." She begged. Her hands touched the one he had placed on her thigh. One held his wrist, and the other caressed the back of his hand. "Anything you desire, I will do."

"We will speak more in a moment." Mule reassured her. "Even if it is after your nap." He released her knee and thigh, one finger at a time. Her face started to scowl in pain, and then she took on a pitiful pleading look as she cried out from the twinges in her leg. Then came the hand to her neck, and finger by finger that one too was released. Her leg suddenly kicked and she wailed in agony, before collapsing to the ground. 

Fainted...

When The Alluring came too, she was alive but gagged and bound. She looked down and found her dress was missing; she sat in her white lacy undergarments. Her hands were tied behind her and her legs were also tied together at the ankles. The taste of mossberry was in her mouth, the same herbal scent she used in her hair, and that's when she realized that it was her black hair serving as the gag. In the darkness, she could see the man that had done this. He sat with The Majestic in his lap, his body was bare but for his smallshorts, and sweat beaded all over his chest and arms. As she watched him, her memory of the frantic events that had just transpired came back. The explosion, the fall, the screech beetles, and then Mule. The room was hot, very hot. There was a faint orange glow from around the corner; it was one of the lava rivers that flowed through the caverns. Mule had taken them from the Arena; she didn't know where she was now. Sweat dripped into her eyes, and she realized she was starting to glisten. 

"I am Mule." He said quietly. In his lap laid The Majestic face down. He was pressing the skin around a piece of stone shrapnel embedded in her back and squeezing it out. Her breathing was raspy, and loud. As each one was pushed out, she would bleed a little, but it closed over quickly. "I am not Zecarin, but I have learned much of their ways." He said again in that same calm quiet voice. "I have questions, and I can take my answers from you, as a Zecarin male would." The Alluring shifted uncomfortably on the ground and waited for him to finish. There was nothing else she could do, without him she couldn't find her way back, and she wouldn't want to, half dressed and bound -- the embarrassment would be too much. 

As the last of the bits of debris were pulled from his mistress, the human laid her carefully onto the stone ground. He laid her face down, on her stomach and folded her arms under her head to rest. When he turned, she could see the sweat pouring from his face, and body. The heat of this room was affecting him worse than a Zecarin; perhaps there was a chance there.

"But I am not Zecarin. I am human. And I can smell the Sapphic in you." He said. The Alluring pulled her legs together and brought her knees to her chest. "Why ask for what you can take, correct?" She watched him warily. The Alluring had seen him kill two giant, ten foot tall screech beetles with his bare hands -- not even The Unkillable could boast that. She knew he was dangerous. "You will nod Yes, or No to answer my questions. Do you understand?"

Yes. He pulled her legs down from her chest and straddled them at the knees. His fingers gently, sensually caressed one of her long, pointed ears. It made her breath shallowly and close her eyes. It was an erogenous feeling.

"If you lie to me, I will move from this, to this." He released her ear and grabbed her nipple through the fabric and pinched it hard. She squealed from the sharp pain. "If you lie again, I will move to this." He reached below her panty line and started to rub her most sensitive spot. "If you lie a third time, I will take you, as a Zecarin male would. With this." He stood and pulled his smallshorts away and his half-hardened cock dangled inches from her face. She looked at it in curiosity before looking up at him. There was a hard suppressed concern in her eyes. Mule sat and straddled her thighs and began to play with her ears again. He leaned in to one of them to whisper. 

"I can smell the Sapphic in you. You have not yet been taken and bled by a male. But you smell of sex. I know this to mean you are Sapphic, a lover of females. Yes?"

Yes.

"Are you lying to me?"

No. Mule stopped caressing her ears and pinched both her nipples. 

"You lie." He sighed disappointed. "Will you lie again?"

NO! she shook her head vigorously, and whimpered from his torture of her sensitive nipples. He released them and started to rub her clitoris through the fabric as promised. 

"You are still lying." He growled. She muffled a moan of ecstasy. Then glared at him defiantly and shook her head once in No. 

"Yes, you are." He got off of her legs and lifted them up; she struggled against him and kicked. One strong hand grabbed her throat and pinned it against the stone wall, and he squeezed. She choked and fought to breath, forgetting the struggle to guard her privacy. Her lace panties were ripped free and her legs lifted over his shoulders. Each of her knees rested next to his ears and his now erect member rested against the opening of her sex. The Alluring started to weep in her bindings.

"Will you lie to me again?" Mule asked as he slowly rubbed the head of his cock against her moist slit. The Alluring nodded her head Yes and sobbed.

"Now, that, was a true lie." Mule said and lowered her legs. He caressed her ears as he had before in a soothing fashion and pulled the gag of hair from her mouth. The Alluring looked at him with tear streaked cheeks and a half pleading, half murderous glare. 

"I know you now." He said. "I believe you will answer me truthfully. I want to learn more about your people." He said softly, in almost a whispering voice as he soothingly stroked her long ears. It had and almost immediate effect in calming his captive.

"There is a scent about you, I can tell. That you and your sister have, but not the other nobles, nor the other slaves I have met. You don't seem to thirst for blood as The Majestic and The Unkillable do. Why?" His voice was calm. The Alluring took in a deep breath to steady her nerves before answering.

"There is a thirst, we all feel." She started. Her eyes were lost, dreamily in his as his attention to her sensual nerves were lulling her into a happily, placid state. "It can be sated with love or with blood." She sighed contently from his ministrations. "The longer they go without love, the more violent they become. Some nobles like it better that way. They are feared more, because they are more unpredictable. Sating it with blood is only temporary, lasts a day or so." She moaned pleasantly and rested her head against the rock wall.

"You and your sister are different." Mule stated matter-of-factly. The Alluring didn't register the comment, until Mule stopped caressing her ears. 

"The thirst only comes when we have been taken and 'bled by a male', as you put it." She looked off into the distance and closed her eyes to cry. It was a deep secret, and it was plain to see her admitting it that this was painful.

"The other nobles do not know." Mule nodded, understanding her plight.

"No." she choked.

"What would happen if they did?" 

"That doesn't matter anymore. He has my sister, and he will take her. Then I will be alone. Please just end me. Take me if you must, but end me when you have had your fill." Her mood had turned dark and defeated, and the change was not something Mule had anticipated. He stood and reclaimed his clothing to give himself a moment to think. His gaze fell on The Majestic; she was breathing more regularly and was sleeping on the ground.

"The Unkillable," Mule started. "Would he loose his bloodlust, if he took a mate?"

"No, for males it is different." She sniffed to clear her running nose. "The opposite is true. They must go without, and starve the thirst from themselves."

"Eunuchs and Sapphics." Mule muttered. "a bad combination. A combination for war." He turned around a knelt beside The Alluring. "If your sister is taken, can only the love of a man sate the thirst when if comes to her?"

"Yes." The Alluring sighed deeply as she answered. Now her torment was apparent. Either her sister would become a maniacal killer, like the Majestic, or would take a male lover instead of her, and betray the bond she formed with her sister. Mule knelt beside The Alluring and leaned her forward to get at the bonds behind her. She didn't resist, and didn't respond as he untied her hands. The bonds were her shreds of own dress, he returned them to her as he worked at the bonds at her ankles. This confused the Zecarin lady.

"I will take The Majestic home." He stated. "You will go to The Unkillable, and bargain for your sister."

"I do not understand." She said as she pulled the remains of her dress over her head.

"You are not supposed to." Mule responded with a smile as he lifted his mistress and placed her over his shoulder. "Tell him The Majestic lives, and you will swear for him in exchange for your sister."

"Swear for him?" she questioned as meaning suddenly hit her. "You intend to have The Majestic make a claim against his attempt at murder?" the revelation hit her.

"No, but you will tell him that. Is that what you would think she would do correct?"

"The Majestic would just kill him." The Alluring stared at Mule in disbelief.

"That is why he will be confused." Mule grinned an evil, toothy grin.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 07



"My sister is a fool." She growled. "But the Charmer is a flower with no thorns. This cannot be so." She scowled at The Unkillable.

"We are agreed. Had I not seen it myself." The Unkillable sat lounging in a stuffed chair with his booted feet propped up on the back of one of the Twins. "What will we do with this one?" he looked down to the once noble lady know kneeling on the ground to serve as his footstool. Her once elegant dress had been torn and shredded disgracefully.

"Put her in the cage with the pale devil. Let them strangle each other for a taste of your cock. I care not." She waved her hand dismissively and left the room. "I will light a candle for my sister. Do not disturb me." Once she had left, The Unkillable leaned forward and lifted the tear streaked face of The Deliquescent.

"You see? She doesn't even care about you. But I do. I saved you." He smiled. She couldn't look him in the eyes, but kept her face towards him. "I would have saved your sister too, but she was killed outright in the first attack." He let go of her face. "Hmm, but my wife had a good idea. You should meet the pale bitch, and use your powers to steal her secrets. My wife's sister, kept her for a reason. I want to know why. Do that for me, and I will avenge your sister, so you can reclaim your House."

The Deliquescent barely nodded in agreement. 

* * * * *

The household was on alert. The soldiers manned the front gates and every entrance to the compound. The stone mansion had been chiseled out of solid rock into the mountain side of the volcano interior. It was very defendable, but their numbers were very limited. When the Majestic did not return, the alarm had been given and preparations were being made.

The Majestic's personal attendant sat huddled in the corner next to her mistress's bed. Her shoulder length crimson hair covered her face as she wept nervous tears. She wore a plan servants dress; it hand one long strap over the right shoulder and ended in a skirt at the knees. Her petite form was toned and capable, but still looked more fragile than she was. The news had hit her hard and she was half between a state of grief and a state of panic. She pulled her knees to her chest and tried to comfort herself as best as possible until the end came. If her Lady truly was dead, the council would come for them and make them all slaves to be sold to other houses -- but her mistress had given them other orders, they were to fight anyone who came to the death. Even now, this grieving serving girl clutched a thin slender knife that curved elegantly. The edge was razor sharp and meant for the smooth removal of hair, but it could easily remove other parts. The door opened and a figure she did not expect entered with a woman in his arms; it was her mistress's pet human wearing a shredded skirt. She did not recognize The Majestic at first, she was dirty and her long mane of hair was mostly gone. But when she did, her heart jumped but the panic still remained.

"Draw a bath." Mule commanded, as he brought the body to the bedside. The serving girl got up and moved and did immediately as she was told. Steaming water flowed from a wall fountain and gathered in a basin drain from the far side of the room. She gathered it into a silver bucket, and used this to fill the Majestic's lavish white porcelain garden tub.

"I heard no alarm." She stated with a scowl. "How did you make it in? Does the house know?"

"The same way I came in the first time." Mule grunted as he fought to undress his mistress. "And no, and it is for the better. The Majestic came home of her own, she was not carried by a human." He clarified for her. She paused a moment mid-fill, as his meaning sunk in, and then quickly resumed filling her bath. Mule carried his half-conscious mistress over to the warm water and gently set her into the tub. The Majestic settled right into the water, and her head rested on the curved back. The girl kneeled behind her and pulled her head back gently to pull what remained of her hair over the edge of the tub. Then she started to cry.

"Why?" she sobbed. "Who did this?" Mule paused, deliberating on his answer before her next question caught him off guard. "Who did this to her hair? Who would mutilate her so?" she cried as her fingers ran through the short remains of the Majestic's once impressive head of red lockes.

"I did it to save her. Her hair snagged as she fell, and she hung by it. She was easy prey for the monster that would have eaten her. I had to cut her free." The girl didn't take solace in his words, and only wailed more. Her emotional state was quickly deteriorating as she kept clinging to her Mistress's scalp. 

"Then she shall have mine!" she growled through gritted teeth and brought that razor knife to her own forehead. Crimson squirted as the blade sliced through skin and flesh down to bare bone. Mule jumped a moment too late and caught her hand before she could maim her scalp even more. Blood gushed and she cried out in pain as the sensations hit her. But it did little to stop her fury. "You did this to her!" She screamed and struggled to regain control of her knife. He slapped the girl hard across the cheek. She tumbled to the side with such force she spun onto her back when she hit the ground. The blow left her stunned, and the knife skidded across the floor. Mule straddled her chest, pinning her arms with his legs, and bore his weight down on her upper arms. He reached behind him and ripped at her dress until he had a good sized wade of the fluffy fabric in his hand. He placed it to her forehead and pressed down hard to stop the bleeding. 

"I will only say this once." Mule started. "I need the Majestic alive, and restored to her former glory. But I do not need you in order to accomplish that." He said nothing else and the two stared at the other as the intensity of the moment waned quickly as the pain of her injury settled into her brain. She her eyes rolled back and she closed them as she fought against the agony, her face started to sweat. 

"I need a needle and thread." He hissed through his clenched mouth. She pointed to a small cupboard next to a large floor pillow. Mule slid off her hands and grabbed one to place on her bandage. Inside the cupboard he found her tools; sewing instruments for mending the Majestic's clothes, small silver instruments for hygiene and grooming, and an assortment of vials with oils and liquids in them. The serving girl rolled on her side and clutched her forehead. Mule threaded the needle and knelt next to her head on the floor. 

"For you, this will hurt." Mule growled. She flinched when she understood his intentions. Mule had a towel from the cupboard and draped it over her small body. One arm cradled her head and he lifted her upright. She moan sickly, and the sudden motion made her eyes roll back into her head. The effect was immediate; her short labored breaths stopped, and her hands went limp -- she was out cold.

Mule took his cue and quickly pulled the cloth off. A good size section of her scalp the length of his finger had been shaved off in that one stroke; it was an ugly wound. Yet, with her fainted, her blood pressure dropped and the wound was barely bleeding. He worked quickly, pinching the flesh together with one hand and running the needled through with the other as her head rested on his shoulder. Unconscious, she barely registered it and he was free to work quickly. Once finished and tied off, he inspected his work, and used the needle to pull out hairs he had sewn ingrown. Satisfied with the stitches, Mule ripped off a longer piece from the bottom of her dress. One piece he wadded up into a pad, and the other he used to strap it in place. Complete, he picked up the girl and laid her down on her back with her legs hoisted over his shoulder. One hand held them up, and the other squeezed her neck just enough to make her cheeks turn rosy -- a moment later she stirred awake and groaned. His hand left her throat to inspect her scalp. She muttered incoherently as her eyes opened and tried to figure out where she was. She sobbed and clutched her head finding the bandage there, realization came back to her. Mule put a hand on her chest to keep her lying on the floor while he held her legs up. 

"Why?" She managed to breath out amidst deep, pained breaths.

"Its easier to explain a cut, than a dead body." Mule smirked. "Time is running out, and we have work to do. Can you clean this up? Can you pour the Majestic a bath?" He nodded his head to the mess they had both made bleeding over the floor. She looked up at him and nodded slowly. "What are you called?" Mule said.

"The Obedient." She whispered. "What are you?"

"The secret weapon." Mule said with a smile. "But I am named Mule. There is something I must do now. Do not fight me on it. You and The Majestic are suffering from the Thirst, I intended to extinguish it." His comment caught her off guard, and she stared at him long and hard. A mix of emotion welled up into her cheeks; embarrassment, anger, indignation, Murder. "It is for your continued survival, the Majestic has grown callous and wanton, and you took a knife to your own head." He let it end at that. The Obedient turned away from him and did not answer.

"How dare you." She muttered.

"I will do this. And if the Majestic disapproves when she revives, she may kill me for it. Then you may both taste my blood." Mule growled and got up.

"I will do this while she is unconscious, so that she will not have suffered through it. Does that appease you?"

"My lady took a husband once. She killed him for his impudence." The Obedient sat up and kept her hand on her wound. "If you can sate my thirst, I will permit you to service my lady." Mule was surprised by this, but the look The Obedient's face held irony. There was something in The Majestic's past that was dangerous for him, and he was walking right towards it apparently.

One the fall wall there was a fountain pouring a small steady stream of water into a porcelain basin on the floor -- a miniature waterfall. Mule went to it and washed the dirt and gore off his body. The cold briskness of it startled him, he expected a hot spring in this humid land. He dunked his head under the flowing water and welcomed the refreshing sensation. The coldness constricted his blood vessels and returned a feeling of vigor to his weary body. A hand on his back startled him and turned around. Firm hands took his cheeks and brought his lips down to hers and she kissed him. They parted and she looked into his eyes, judging him.

"For returning my lady, I will reward you on her behalf." The Obedient said softly, her hands started to play with the back of his neck. "Do not take me lightly, this wound is superficial. I've killed many lovers that lowered their guard, before my lady bought my service." Mule recognized that sense of superiority of someone that was once higher than they are now. The Obedient was a taken captive from another house. Mule now found himself in a more uncomfortable position than before. The social rank and classes of the Zecarin's still confused him, and he blundered into a place he hadn't intended. "You have done The Majestic a great service, and you'll receive a just reward."

Her lips touched his nipples, and she tugged lightly at them with her teeth. The cold water came down over her head off his shoulders as she did. Inside her mouth her warm tongue enveloped and encircled the erect but tenderly. It made Mule visibly relax as allow her to take control. Then he understood her position -- she could relive her past glory with him and be a person in control. The Obedient had spent years under The Majestic's rule, and now for this brief moment she could now rule him instead. Her hands rand down his back and massaged the thick corded muscles of his torso. Eventually they came to rest on his firm buttocks and she grabbed him as she pressed herself against his body, pushing him away from the water.

The cold water fell over her and she lifted her head to welcome it. It soaked the fabric of her dress and washed the blood off her face and shoulder. It stung her wound, and she flinched, but a moment later her eyes opened and she stared intently at the human with a look of fierce lust. Her lips swallowed his, and her arms held him down to her level. He reached up to move the strap of her dress, but her hand intercepted him and pushed it aside firmly. The Obedient was in control, and he was subservient to her will now. She pushed him backwards until he was against the wall. The water cascaded behind her, the warmth of the room returned to their bodies, and not once did her lips leave his.

Now against this warm stone, she moved to his neck, and planted succulent kisses down to his chest. Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling the cold taught muscle and twirling her fingers through his chest hair. Her lips found his nipples again, and her mouth warmed them as her tongue rolled around each one in turn. His cock had come to life below her, and pressed against her stomach through the remnant fabric around his waist. It did not go unnoticed as one of her slender hands wrapped around its length and started to stroke it slowly. Her palm came to rest over the head of his member, and her fingers stroked the neck of his cock as her palm rolled around his head. Mule moaned loudly.

The Obedient continued down his body as her tongue caressed the definition of his lower torso and ribs. She moaned lustfully from the taste of his skin. She reached the waistline of his clothing and ripped it off in one quick jerk. His throbbing member came free and thrust upwards at her face. She craved that hard piece of flesh, and she devoured it hungrily in her mouth. Mule's head leaned back against the wall as waves of pleasure shot through his system. The shock of the cold now mixed with the warmth of her mouth was too much for him to resist. Her tongue swirled around the smooth bulbous head of his cock each time she pulled it out only to devour it once more deep into her mouth. Her lips hugged it tightly as she slid it in and out; feeling every bump and vein along its length. Mule was lost to her power, he moaned deeply in pleasure from the sensations she was causing in his cock. Every time his hands roamed up to touch her -- her head, her ears, - to share in the pleasure she was giving him, she forced his hands away.

The Obedient wanted him now. She released his cock form her lips and pulled his face down to hers, her teeth took his bottom lip and bit it lightly. She turned around and took his hands to her breasts, her fingers moved his fingers and massaged her pert tits in a circular motion that made her moan Her backside rubbed up against that throbbing wet cock, and teased him with the cleavage of her round ass. The small Zecarin woman had to lift up onto her toes in order to ensnare that cock between her thighs and hug it next to her dripping wet lips. There she held him and slowly rocked back and forth as she continued to guide his hands on her breasts. She teased herself with it and with each stroke her panting became more heavy, and her moans more passionate. She took his fingers and made them pinch her erect nipples. They were unusually long and rolled around against the skin of her breast to the sound her small screams of pleasure.

When her lusting reached its peak, she rocked far forward, released his cock, and pushed back against him. The man's hard, erect cock pushed her wet lips aside and slid into her warm pussy. She screamed loudly, and made Mule pinch her nipples sharply. Yet the size difference between the two was significant, only half of Mule's hard member could fit inside the petite under elf. Despite that, her control was superb, and her dexterity amazing as she gyrated her hips and rocked her backside back and forth onto that hard shaft of his. It didn't take long for her first convulsion to wrack her body; when it hit she screamed loudly and buried as much of Mule's cock inside her as she could take. Yet even her intense orgasm didn't stop her, only paused their lovemaking. Once it subsided The Obedient resumed her masterful control of her hips and legs and worked Mule's hard cock inside her around in a circular motion. 

Mule strained hard to focus on the cues she was sending his hands. The Obedient was taking complete control of their passion, and it fell to him to follow her instructions as she gave them. Suddenly she pulled his hands far out to her sides and leaned forward while still holding on. He was holding her torso up at a horizontal angle as she thrust her hips back. Mule could feel her tight petite vagina swallow more of his throbbing member to the point of his head rubbing against the inner wall of her womb. Once she reached that point she froze suddenly with a gasp of passion and held herself there. Then slowly she rocked her hips, making the large head of his cock rub back and forth against her inner wall. She continued like that as her screams and moans of passion built up to another body wracking orgasm. This one left her a bit weary, and she laid suspended by his arms as her breathing recovered. Slowly she slid off his member to the ground and pulled him down with her. At the last moment she tugged on his arm and sent him falling to the ground instead, only to find her now sitting atop his chest.

Slowly, sensually, she leaned down and kissed his lips softly. Her tongue pushed its way inside his mouth to dance with his tongue. Quickly she slid her body down his until she found that hard wet cock of his and impaled herself on it. The length of it prevented her from sitting upright, but lying on him, chest to chest, seemed perfect for the moment as she started to thrust her hips up and down on his shaft. She moaned into his mouth as the electrifying sensations in her pussy began again. The Thirst did not do the lust of Zecarin's justice. The Obedient endured another tremor throughout her body that left her arms shaking, yet did not seem diminished by her third orgasm. Mule had given himself over completely to her control, and where she wanted him is where he went. His hands were placed on her backside, and he caressed her lower back and rand his fingers along her spine. Her hunger left her panting, and her lips had to leave his for air. She propped herself up on his chest with her hands and gyrated her hips back and forth along his abdomen making that long cock slide in and out of her. She was lost to a frantic pace now, her past orgasms were just the precursor to something bigger that had built up in her body. This small Zecarin elf was lost in a rising rhythm of her body and no longer gave her lover instructions. The feelings inside her were reaching their ultimatum and her breaths came in short high pitched squeaks of pleasure. Mule could tell she was peaking, but something still remained to push her over the edge. On instinct, he reached up and took one of those long nipples into his mouth and bit it lightly.

The Obedient screamed in ecstasy at the top of her lungs. Her nails dug into his chest reflexively and drew blood. Her back arched, and her whole body locked up. Her eyes were open, but the orbs had rolled back into her head. Her whole being was enraptured by the orgasm flooding her body. 

Then, a breathless moment later, she collapsed, utterly spent.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 08



The Majestic stared at the corner of her room. Her bath steamed around her and smelled of burnstone powder -- a musty sweet smell. One arm was draped over the edge of her tub where The Obedient was busy cleaning and polishing her mistress's fingernails. The servant girl's deep crimson hair was now accented with the beginnings of a blond streak where her wound had been. Her mistress had used her magic to heal her, and then commanded her servant to clean her while she sat brooding. Her legs shifted under the water as she repositioned herself, it made her motherly breasts bob in the water. The sudden motion startled The Obedient, but her perfect hands never erred in their work. One of her mistress's legs lifted from the scented water and she flexed her foot in the open air. The Majestic moved the foot around in a circle, and curled the toes. There it stayed, floating in the air. It was a cue to The Obedient, who set down her file and polish, and started to rub the Majestic's arch and heel. The attention made her Mistress sigh with relief, and once satisfied the foot sank back into the water bit by bit. The Majestic was slowly returning to her as her mind digested the last day's events.

"Tend to my back, something has hardened the muscles." She said as she sat up and leaned forward, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. The Obedient stood and disrobed, letting her dress fall to the floor. Her thin, athletic form was bare to the air. She gently entered the water behind The Majestic, trying not to disturb her Mistress. Once positioned, her hands went to work, starting at the neck muscles and slowly, deeply kneading the skin. Sitting together, both red-haired Zecarin women could be mistake for sisters. Their closeness, and ease with the other in such a personal environment spoke of the intimate bond they shared. The Majestic sighed pleasurably, and The Obedient moved closer as her hands worked the shoulder's and arms of her lady.

"Your body feels to have been in a fight. There are bruises and knots all over." The Obedient commented as she followed the trail of tense flesh over the shoulder blades and down both sides of the spine. Her fingers ran idly over the scarred patches that pock marked her lady's back as she took in each one in scrutiny. The Majestic's eyes opened from her dozing as she felt each bump, and her nails instinctively dug into the skin of her legs. It was as if she could see her scars through her attendant's fingers and it angered her. The Obedient could feel her mistress's obvious tension. Her fingers ran up to her short red wet locks and pulled them back out of her lady's face. Each hand then went to an ear, and started to softly stroke her lady back into a state of sedation.

"That old trick has seen too many uses." The Majestic murmured. The Obedient leaned forward and placed her lips on the back of her lady's neck. She kissed the skin softly and let the tip of her tongue glide off the wet skin. She repeated this, kissing softly down one side and then down the other. The Majestic visibly relaxed and leaned into the petite girl's body. Her servant's small pert breasts pressed up against her lady's back as she in turn leaned forward with her caressing hands. The Majestic relinquished her knees and sat upright, fully entwining herself into her servant. She eagerly pressed her hungry skin into those lips. The Obedient's hands roamed down her lady's sides to under the buoyant flesh of The Majestic's bosom. Her dexterous fingers cupped each of those motherly mounds and massaged them firmly yet slowly. The Majestic let a soft sigh that could almost be mistaken for a moan escape her lips. Those fingers gently encircled each protruding nipple and started to rub them lightly. The soft, sensual touches of her servant eased The Majestic's troubled mind and let her lose herself into her servant's embrace. The Obedient let go of one of her lady's breasts and let her hand venture down her lady's body into the temple where only a few are allowed. Her fingertips stroked the opening to her mistress's pussy; they rubbed the lips and pinched them together lightly. This sent shockwaves into her lady and caused her to gasp sharply before letting out a drawn out moan.

The door to her bedroom opened and both women froze. The room was dark except for an area near the bed where a few candles stood glowing. The intruder was barely outlined, but the two ladies were shrouded in darkness. The Obedient withdrew instinctively to make room for her mistress to leave the tub. She knew what was about to happen. The Majestic rose to her feet as the figure slowly entered and closed the door behind them. This slave wore the all concealing robe of one of her Unnamed servants and didn't seem to notice the two women in the corner of the room.

The Majestic stepped quietly out of the tub. Water dribbled down her mature form onto the stone floor in soft patters. She crept silently up on the intruder as she made her way to a lounging chair between them. Draped over its back was her razor chain; she took it quietly in her fingers. The Unnamed one was only a few feet away and oblivious to her presence. As she lifted it, the chain made a slight rustle, and it was enough to draw the Unnamed one's attention. The moment the slave turned around she let that chain fly through the air. Surprise was her ally, and it caught the intruder around the neck. But before she could end them, the intruder caught the length of it and yanked hard. Surprise was now her enemy as this caught her off guard. The Majestic lost her footing and tumbled forward. The moment she hit the ground she ducked into a roll and came to her feet beside her opponent. They were still struggling to free the chain from around their neck. She reached out to grab the other end that dangled off their shoulder. She wasn't quick enough; this slave caught that reaching hand and threw her down to the ground. A foot caught her in the chin and sent her reeling backwards, sprawled out onto the floor with a hiss.

Something heavy landed on her, she couldn't get her bearings from the stars that danced before her eyes. When they did clear, she found the slave sitting on her chest, pinning her to the ground and still trying to dislodge the blades caught in the fabric. The insult was too much. Fury burned in her eyes and her teeth ground in anger. She snatched the chain at both ends just as her attacker grabbed a length of the deadly jewelry and stretched it across her own throat. Surprise fought against her fury once again; this was the first time she had let herself be taken. Silently she cursed the stalemate they were now in -- she wasn't yet at her full strength. Her salvation came from the serving girl that was silently creeping towards them with that shaving razor out in her hand.

"Drop it!" A male's voice hissed through the fabric mask. The Obedient recognized it instantly and hesitated. But The Majestic was lost to her rage and indignation and pulled on the loose end of chain in the moment of distraction. With his hands preoccupied with the section pressed to her throat, Mule had only one opportunity left. He slammed his forehead into his Mistress's. The crack of two skull's colliding made The Obedient cringe and drop to her knees in sympathy.

The effect was immediate; The Majestic went limp and groaned. Mule carefully removed the chain from his neck and tossed it away. He tore the hood from his head and watched the dazed Majestic's head loll side to side as she groaned. He moved off her and looked up to The Obedient who still held the slim knife in her hand. She met his gaze and quickly lowered it, she knew his prowess, and she was not skilled enough to kill this human. And for the first time, she questioned if anyone could.

"You don't have to witness this." He commented as he started to disrobe. She watched as he picked up her mistress and carried the flailing, half-conscious Majestic over to her lavish post bed. She waited; her own feelings about this situation were conflicted. Since their lovemaking, she didn't feel angry about much anymore, she was more content with her lot in life, and for the first time she was starting to see the dangers of having a ruthless mistress. But for all her confliction, she did know she needed to witness this. She needed to watch him closely in order to protect her mistress should he misstep, or to take advantage of the distraction and finally end this human-demon that had killed so many. But there was also a faint whisper in the back of her head that told her The Majestic would feel as good as she did. And she wanted that for her mistress.

So she watched.

****

The collar itched her neck terribly. But then slave collars weren't meant to be comfortable. The Deliquescent fingered it absentmindedly. It was a gift of her new master, and it would be hers until she died. Her old life was taken, and this one was given. She now served and she had a task to accomplish. But as she looked up at the pale devil, this Eltharian elf, she wondered if this task was worth her life.

She was a skilled magic user, and she could force the answers out of this elf, but it would be a distasteful joining of the minds. As she stood looking at this girl, her stomach was churning from the disgusting thought she was about to endure. With the Eltharian chained to the wall she wasn't a threat, her naked body had been beaten and bruised, and her head of short blond fuzz hung unconsciously from her shoulders. Still, the longer she looked at this pathetic creature she realized her revulsion was more of what had been done to her and not what she was. The collar itched her neck again.

She left the doorway where she had been standing for the last few minutes and entered the cell. She smoothed her new plain servants dress, and steeled her resolve for what was needed. Her hands touched the cheeks and lifted the head up. This girl had once had long gorgeous hair, just as she did. But they had cut it all off, and unevenly. Silently she thanked the Unkillable for only humiliating her, and not marring her appearance. Her own hair still hung straight down her back, half way down it changed from dark black to silvery white. Their faces came together. She winched when she saw the purple, puffy flesh around the girl's left eye. It was swollen shut.

The Deliquescent closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Her forehead touched that of the unconscious girl. Through that contact she could feel the elf's spirit; it was weak and fragile, she had been tortured too much and the slightest misstep would snuff out that life force. The Deliquescent sighed in disappointment at her kin's handiwork, it made her task much more difficult, and there was a good possibility that when she was done that spark of life would be too week to continue. The Deliquescent found herself doubting her next action. She could kill this woman, end her torment, and claim she was too weak to interrogate. That would aggravate her master, and that thought pleased her. It would be the fool's own fault for letting his men beat this girl. She found herself with an uncomfortable question of conscience.

Yet, she wasn't a killer.

That was the power of the bond she and her sister shared; it freed both of them from the bloodthirsty urges and left them free to pursue a more civilized means to an end. She could be delicate, get what she needed, and let the girl live only to be killed by one of the Unkillable's men, or worse by that monster himself. Death at her hands would be a sweet mercy compared to the fate that awaited her with him. But she wasn't a killer. The dark skinned lady touched her lips to the split, cracked lips of this girl and breathed into her mouth. Her essence floated on her breath and entered the unconscious prisoner - the spell had begun.

Memories floated about in currents of this girl's life force. The sorceress picked a recent one and looked in on it -- she saw the human's face, and the look in his eyes as he made love to her. There was an emotion in his eyes she wasn't familiar with, but this elf girl understood it -- it was called pity, and seeing that on his face shamed her. The human was gone according to The Unkillable, and according to The Majestic he was just a house servant, so this man wasn't important. She let that one go back to the spirit stream and waited as another one passed by. It was a violent memory of the beatings she received --through this Eltharian's eyes she saw the Unkillable as he dragged her down the hall by the neck. She was crying. Her heart had been broken. The Unkillable had killed the human, crushed his neck with his foot until he stopped breathing. There was too much raw pain in that memory. The Deliquescent needed to be careful, each memory she shared also made her share in the emotions. Powerful ones could overpower her spell and break the connection. She pulled herself out of that one and moved on; the next one was inside a holding room. There were sounds and rancid smells of a dozen different species in there; it overloaded her senses with so many scents. The Deliquescent scowled. Everywhere she turned in this elf's mind there were horrors. She couldn't go any deeper until she let the spiritstream get used to her presence. 

"Who?" The subconscious had become aware of her. 

"I am Mila." She said, using her child-name. "I will not harm you". She spoke lovingly as if it was her sister she was now sharing with. The assurance was well received, and the spirit seemed to feel as if it knew her. She felt it growing less resistant to her presence, so she delved a bit further. There she saw glimpses of the journey into Zecair territory. But then the elf's spirit started to resisted, I didn't want her going deeper, and it started to squeeze her out. She had two choices, retreat and be expelled, or run deeper in.

She dug deep. Way deep into the past of this soul. She saw the world go by, the flowers and the sky and the buildings of her home -- all those memories flew by as glimpses. It was an oddly exotic place to The Deliquescent, but it was home to the Eltharian girl. There she lingered and shared in the warmth of that memory with the subconscious presence chasing her. She watched the faces of the young Eltharian elves as they came and talked with her. There was a beautiful young male by Eltharian standards, and the girl felt a rush when she looked at him. It was an odd sensation for the sorceress -- she wasn't attracted to the opposite sex, but through this girl she was feeling what that felt like. Even her revulsion to the pale elves was over shadowed by the love for this man. She lingered and watched the memory play out as the young lovers ran away to a secluded hilltop. They wanted to be alone and to enjoy each other's intimate companionship. She couldn't stop watching, it was an erotic curiosity to her to see how the Eltharian's mated. It was a slow and sensual thing, not as passionate or violent as some Zecair pairings. But because she was sharing these memories, she started to feel as if she was the one reliving that moment. That made the Deliquescent very uncomfortable.

She left it and moved back to the memory she was driven away from. This time she saw this elf girl meet with a female Zecarin scout dressed in shadow leathers; she recognized her as The Mischievous. It wasn't a chance encounter, they had intended to meet, as both sides were accompanied by two guards each. They spoke sternly to one another -- she couldn't hear the actual words, only feel the emotions of the moment, and they were very nervous. Something The Mischievous said made the girl relax and feel elated, but it agitated The Mischievous's bodyguards who kept looking around nervously. 

A secret rendezvous? Was this a defection? Or maybe the swapping of intelligence? Whichever it was, it was what The Unkillable wanted to know, and that was now her mission to retrieve this from the spirit. She watched more.

Suddenly the congregation panicked and scattered. One of the Zecarin soldiers grabbed her by the arm, as dozens of soldiers appeared. Fighting broke out and all of the bodyguards were quickly killed. Both girls were captured and bound. She had found the secret she needed, but the girl's spirit was still not fully open to her. It would take some more coaxing but soon she could relive the moments herself instead of just looking in from outside. At that time she could then hear the words being spoken. 

As the girl was being escorted away, a face appeared that was related to this memory. It was an Eltharian woman, older, and she had her back turned away. The sorceress opened up this memory to investigate; she could see more detail in this woman's face. This woman looked oddly similar to this elf girl, they were probably related. Suddenly felt the spirit shore up its resistances to her.

OUT. Her subconscious screamed at the intruder, and The Deliquescent quickly regretted this action. All her efforts to breath life back into this soul in order to ease the probe were too successful, she had regained too much of her strength. Who ever this older lady was, she was important, and that made it necessary for the sorceress to push harder. She fought on, and the girl fought back. She could almost make out the woman's clothing, and a piece of parchment she carried with some sort of instructions. But before she could read it, something opened up inside that memory and a surge of energy erupted. The girl was regaining consciousness!

MILA! I AM RIYARRA. GET OUT OF MY MIND OR I WILL KILL YOU! The Deliquescent didn't have enough time. A tidal wave of conscious energy swept over her so suddenly she was caught up in it. It broke the connection violently, and The Deliquescent was forced out. 

The Zecarin sorceress was knocked backward by the backlash of energies. She flew across the room and skidded along the floor on her backside. Her head hit the stone hard, and she was out cold. Riyarra looked on, still shackled to the wall.

"And stay out you BITCH!" Riyarra spat a bloody wad of saliva from her broken mouth.

****

There was a subtle change in the human's movement. His body was more relaxed and his movements softer and more casual. It was an odd change for someone that seemed always poised to strike. Mule took one of his mistress's legs and lifted it up into the air. He kissed softly down her shin to her foot. As her senses returned, one hand grabbed his head and took a firm, violent hold of his brown curls. But when he reached her foot and those lips took to her toes like succulent fruit, she moaned -- loudly - and her grip relaxed. His tongue swirled over each digit, and pulled each one into his mouth as his teeth bit and scrapped sensually over the ticklish skin. This drove The Majestic crazy. Her back arched, her arms thrashed reflexively, but her hand still held firmly to his head. Yet it didn't pull him away. His tongue left for the arch of her foot, gently sliding down its curve to her heel. That long sensual trip elicited a long sensual moan from his mistress. Those lips found her ankle and suckled it, his teeth pulling at her Achilles tendon lightly. With fluid movements he laid on his side, and put his lips to the back of her knee, kissing the soft skin tenderly. The Majestic purred.

It was a sound her servant hadn't heard before. The Obedient tilted her head to one side as she watched with an odd fascination. This human, who had mastered the art of killing, could also be a master of sex? The conclusion then came to her -- he knew anatomy. He had studied it thoroughly; he knew where to push and where to pull to get exactly what he wanted. This revelation sent shivers down the girl's spine. Her hand drifted to her sex and her fingers started to remind her of his touch.

She felt cheated. She had taken control of their passionate encounter and served her own needs first when this male could have done so much more for her if she had let him lead. Oh how she envied her mistress now; her regret at her mistake made her ache with another yeaning. As her fingers delved into her now wet pussy, and her breath escaped her for that brief, intense moment, she decided she was going to enjoy their lovemaking as best she could.




Caught in Darkness Ch. 08



His lips slowly traversed her thigh, they were pilgrims searching for her sacred temple, and the question now came to her whether to permit their entry. Her mind was too clouded with mixed emotions of anger and lust that the answer didn't come to her before his lips had already arrived. The tip of his tongue grazed the very outer edge of her labia, and the shock of nerve impulses erased all doubts she had. It parted her lips, and licked the inner folds ever so softly at first. Her breath came in long and short gasps and both hands grabbed handfuls of his hair. She clenched her firsts tightly.

He did not relent. That wet muscle between his lips caressed and massaged the outer layers of her pussy, circling around the entrance to her temple but not yet entering. Instead they changed direction and went for the gatekeeper to her inner sanctum. His tongue flicked over her clitoris once, then circled it sensually with just the barest amount of pressure. The Majestic moaned. She arched her back, begging for more, pressing her wet lips against his mouth and holding his head there making sure he could not stop what he had started. Mule was too eager to comply. His lips sucked that enlarging bud into his mouth briefly, the sensation made his mistress squeal lightly from the overloading sensation. But too soon it was over, and that wonderful tongue returned to flicking softly over her erect clit. The Majestic's grip on his head turned to warm caresses as her fingers released his hair only to grab it again and again. Her desires were overpowering her anger against this human; she just wanted it to never stop. 

But her human lover still had more for his mistress.

Two thick probing fingers squeezed her labia folds together lightly as his tongue still lavished her clit. It made her moan. One thick, probing finger circled the entrance to her wet mound. It was already soaked with her juices and it met no resistance as it slowly wiggled its way inside. Out and in, it came and went until it was buried almost up to the first knuckle inside her. The Zecarin elf shuddered and clenched onto his hair as she was penetrated by his digit. His tongue kept her subdued with its wonderful manipulations, but that intruder to her vagina set off an alarm in her body. And she bolted upright with a menacing hiss.

The mature under-elf grabbed his hair fiercely and dragged his head off of her. She glared at him, teeth clenched in the blackness as she pulled his head back to expose his neck. But that finger buried inside her found the back of her wet tunnel, and slowly started to rotate in a circle inside her, caressing that inner mound to her womb. It was a sensitive spot that sent waves of electrifying pleasure into her brain. Her menacing glare quickly melted to gasps of joy. In that brief moment began their battle of wills -- the slave against his mistress. For his impudence, he should be punished, but his sensitivity to her needs could not be overlooked. The Majestic's eyes rolled back into her head as the sensations overruled all conscious thoughts with intense pleasure. She moaned and whimpered as the aches of years past were finally being massaged away by a true master. As that thick, dexterous digit massaged her inner walls her hand subconsciously let go his head.

His lady sank slowly back into the featherbed, writhing and moaning in pleasure from his manual manipulation. So he followed her down and touched his lips to her motherly breasts. Large and round, his lips latched onto an erect nipple and teased it with his teeth. His mistress hissed, in a delighted manner this time, and cooed from the pleasurable pain. Reading her tells, he tugged at the erect nub and pinched it slightly harder in his teeth. His strong hand came up to the heaving breast and kneaded the doughy flesh. Her other breast began to feel envious of his attention so her hand instinctively went to it and started to mimic his ministrations. She squeezed her own mound of flesh and pinched the nipple atop it. Her heavy breathing quickly grew more frantic and characterized with moans and pants. He could tell it wasn't much longer now; his finger maintained a slow rhythmic pace against her vagina, but his teeth accented her pleasure with nibbles and bites all over her large breasts.

The Obedient watched all of this. She was mesmerized with the skill this lesser species could service her mistress. Her own body ached to share in the joy she was feeling. Her hand cupped her dripping pussy as her fingers tried to simulate the light rapid movements he had lavished on her lady's clit. When her lady took to her own breasts, the small girl rubbed her own pert tits. The serving girl bit her lower lip to keep from screaming as the pleasure inside her built to a climax. This was her mistress's moment, and she mustn't disturb it with her own moans of pleasure. When it ebbed away, she felt a need to be with her. It was selfish, she knew, but she wanted to serve her mistress as well as this human. But for now, she had to watch.

It was like a seizure hit The Majestic when her growing passion finally peaked. Her body spasmed and tensed, her breathing stopped briefly and her voice squeaked out as the air left her lungs. The walls of her vagina gripped his finger tightly, and flooded his hand with her juices. But he did not stop. Her heavy breathing and moans did not subside, and her escalated pleasure did not plateau off, instead it only fueled the fires inside her more. She grabbed her human's throat with those sharp fingernails and pulled him off her breast. But his finger still fucked her pussy, and it was enough to keep those fires burning, and her moans still vibrant.

It was time. Their battle of wills was now called out. Her eyes fixated on this human, this creature she found crawling around her dungeon, and she questioned his place below her feet. He was strong, skilled, intelligent, exotic, and a mystery -- her perfect, valuable subject. But deep in the back of her mind, she knew he was too dangerous. He could rival her. He could not be trusted. And she had no patience for intrigues. As the nails started to dig into his neck, he could see she was fighting the urge to end him, and the urge to let him penetrate her. Her body had been awoken to the pleasures she had forgotten and that was hard for her to ignore. This mistress he only pretended to serve was now realizing the depth of her situation. She was being used. In the back of his mind he delighted in this reversal of roles; she was now a slave to him because he had value and she wanted it. Her words came back to him that day in the cell. "In the dark, you only protect what has value." And that was what he wanted. Now that she valued him, he had some measure of power over her. And they both knew that was the question being fought over in her mind.

His cock would break the stalemate. It had grown hard and throbbing from listening to her moan. With her pussy dripping wet from an intense orgasm, it was ready for the taking. Mule lifted her legs up into his arms and positioned himself between them. The moment the head of his member touched those wet, puffy lips, he saw her eyes open wide and lock in on him. Yet those nails didn't tear out his trachea. He pushed in slowly, and the large girth spread her lips and entered into her warm wet tunnel. He was average by human standards, but very large by Zecarin comparison. The Majestic let out a whimper, and her hand fell from his throat to her side. It was a sign of weakness. It was all he needed to hear. She had lost.

When she heard that soft whimper, The Obedient lost control and a mild tremor went through her body. She pulled her fingers off her clit, and caught her breath. The lovemaking of her Mistress and Mule was turning her on so much that she needed to relieve the pressure. It wasn't a slave's place to bed her mistress, but then she and The Majestic had shared many passionate moments. They had all been at her lady's pleasure, and not hers. She wanted to feel that cock again, she wanted to taste it, and she wanted to writhe in pleasure just as her Mistress was. Emboldened by her desires, she went to the edge of the bed and crawled onto it next to her lady.

Neither Mule nor her lady stopped her, but both felt her presence. She would serve her mistress, and when her lady was done with this exotic specimen, she would keep him entertained while her lady disciplined him for his brash impudence. Her mistress needed to know she was there, and willing to serve. She leaned out with her mouth and kissed her lady's heaving breast. Her tongue came out and slowly circled the areola. The attention was well received, and The Majestic held the girl's head to her nipple. She took the cue and licked the tip of her tongue around the erect bud. Her lady liked that and curled her fingers in her servant's hair. She held her lady's breast to her mouth, and played with the other one. Her deft fingers tenderly massaged and stroked that engorged nipple.

The firm steady rhythm of the human's cock and her servant's slow, sensual tonguing of her nipple brought The Majestic to another peak in her pleasure. She bit her bottom lip and arched her hips into one of Mule's thrusts one last time as she came. It left her out of breath for the moment, and all she could do was purr and moan pleasurably. Yet fire inside was only partially.

The Majestic wanted much more.

****

The Unkillable touched the neck of the prone body to check for a pulse. His servant was still alive. He looked up to the shackled pale demoness, and the mirth left his face.

"It seems our tigress has finally bared her fangs." He muttered, and nodded to the men at the door to take The Deliquescent's body away. "I wonder if she can still bite, without her teeth." He approached the chained Riyarra, and sized up her wounds. They weren't terrible, none of her bones were broken yet, but the flesh was badly bruised in many places. He started to roll up his frilly sleeves and loose the collar of his beige shirt. The one good eye of the pale bitch was staring right at him, and she didn't move otherwise.

The Unkillable had thought of this creature as just another piece of meat. She was no threat, and when she had no value left he would end her. Pale Ones weren't uncommon, so why The Majestic would keep this one was a mystery. Even if the human claimed her, The Majestic must have known how it would seem to have an Eltharian slave. There was no law prohibiting the taking of the fair elves as slaves, but they were so hated, that to bring one into one's home would invite danger. The other houses wouldn't suffer a live Eltharian in the city. But this Eltharian had contended spirits with a skilled sorcerer and beaten her. That gave The Unkillable means to pause.

He stroked his mustache as he contemplated this mystery. End her now and be done with it, or delve deeper into this mystery and follow it wherever it lead. Both choices could be expensive if this creature had any secrets of value.

"Guard, bring the scratcher." He said over his shoulder and proceeded to pull his shirt over his bald head. One of the sentries bowed and left the dark cell for an anteroom. "Let us make this pale bird sing." 

****

The Majestic sighed as the cravings of her body were finally being sated. She straddled her human and slowly rocked her body in a fluid, sensual motion. His large cock filled her completely, and with each undulating movement she made the head of that throbbing piece of meat rub the back of her vagina. That made her coo and sigh with each pass. She planted her hands on his chiseled abdomen; her fingers lazily traced the curves of his stomach muscles and played with the short hair that ran the middle of it as rode him. Their drawn out lovemaking was taxing their stamina. Already their bodies glistened in sweat. The Majestic's hair was now damp and matted. The Obedient's had taken on an heavy curl from the humidity in the room. Mule seemed the more comfortable, he hadn't protested letting her take control as her servant girl was keeping him very preoccupied.

The Obedient had his arms pinned under her thighs, and held his hands to her breasts. She wanted what her mistress got, and had her wet pussy pressed to his lips. She wasn't yet ready to let him have control yet, so she kept his hands on her as she rocked forward slowly against his tongue. Mule was eager to oblige as his tongue tried to stay in contact with her wanting clitoris, but her movements made it difficult. If that was how she wanted it, he was in no position to complain. He could sense she wanted more, she wanted his tongue to ravage her. With each forward rock she was eager to return her pussy to his tongue, but her recoil was slow to come when she took it away. She was matching her Mistress's rhythm. But for The Obedient, it was more torture than pleasure, she had a fury within her that needed to be put out, but The Majestic wanted a slow burn. Lost in her own pleasure, she didn't notice the increasingly louder gasps and moans coming from her mistress. It wasn't until her lady stopped moving all together that the girl paused and listened. The Majestic hovered there for a moment savoring the slightest sensations. It was Mule that finally acted as he thrust his hips up to grind his rigid member against that sensitive spot deep inside his dark Zecarin mistress.

The Majestic drew in a sharp breath and bolted upright as waves of electrifying nerve sensation flooded her body. With each violent tremor that shook her body, she drew in and exhaled sharp gasps. The Obedient immediately broke away form Mule and took her mistress's shaking body in her arms. The Majestic's eyes were open but rolled back; her mind was overloaded by the final release of years of pent up energies. Then, just as suddenly, she went limp.

Mule helped move The Majestic off him and they both laid her down on the bed. The Obedient brushed her lady's damp hair out of her face, and stroked her cheek. It was the same near catatonic state the serving girl had been in when she had finished with Mule. She knew how to tend to her mistress now; it would be some time before she woke.

Mule rose from the bed and headed for the tub. The water had long since turned cold, but that didn't stop him from dunking himself inside it. When he emerged, the sweat and smell of sex had been overpowered by the scented oils of the bath. 

"What are you doing?" The Obedient asked him candidly. All thoughts of disciplining this human had left her, although they were not yet allies, she no longer felt he was a threat.

"The scents of this bath will attract less attention than the smell of two aroused females." Mule stated matter-of-factly. "I have business with one more person." The Obedient watched him dress as she digested his words. Her mistress slept deeply below her. 

"What of the slavers?" She almost accused him of abandoning them. But at the last moment she paused. This human could be shrewd and calculating; he knew something she didn't.

"Taken care of. Word has spread that The Majestic returned." He said. That was what he left for, and why he returned in an Unnamed robe. Lowly though they may be, the Unnamed Ones were slaves free on their owner's death and free to take a servant's name. The appearance of one of The Majestic's Unnamed ones was almost proof of her return. But Mule could still sense her doubt.

"Some may choose not to hear the whispers." He said. "I will give them an easier target." His meaning was not lost on her. 

"Who?" She asked. The fury in her voice was unmistakable, and her trust in him was now adamant as his plan was becoming apparent. Mule fastened the belt around his waist and looked up at her.

"The one who attacked The Majestic." He stated and met her eyes. Her expression slowly changed as it all fell into place inside her mind: he was shrewd and calculating. 

"Name them." She whispered darkly. As she searched his gaze, for the first time she saw him now as an ally.

"No." Mule shook his head. "But I will take away their name." a wicked, sadistic smile curled The Obedient's lips.

"Rip his throat out." She growled. Mule smirked and left.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 09



To be a General of Zecair, one had to attain Master Elite status as a warrior, the rank of Tactical Commander of the army, be anointed by the Council of Nobles, and have a vote of no contest from the other generals. A General was entrusted with the security of Zecair. They defended their territory, and spearheaded attacks into their enemies. 

For a General, a quintessential hero of Zecair, The Alluring found The Unkillable's taste in companions disturbing. She stood inside the General's home accompanied by distasteful creatures. Guarding her were three Coszai Behemoths, hairy hulking, savage brutes that ate their enemies after battle. They were impossibly strong and could rip soldiers in half with their hands. A single blow of one of those long arms could kill the heartiest of men. For all their savagery, they were a superstitious people. Across the room stood a Veldain Chameleon, a treacherous lizard man that could mimic the shape of any creature it could see. They changed sides in battle as quickly as they changed their skin. It stood with its lizard eyes on her, and she wondered if it was memorizing her appearance right now. But what disturbed her more, was the lack of Zecair soldiers she had seen. Multi-racial slaves and servants were common, but households were only guarded by trusted, pureblooded Zecairans. 

For a General, his choice of décor also had much to be desired. There were no trophies lining the walls or works of Zecair art. The waiting room she stood in was purely functional -- bare of anything but her guards. This was more a stronghold than a household. The Alluring wondered how deep The Unkillable's treachery lied. Shrewd, tactical assignations weren't uncommon -- always appearing as accidents -- but he brazenly blamed his own attempt on a murdered Lord. That was unheard of. She pulled the slipping strap of her bedraggled dress up over her shoulder and smoothed the skirt. Her role was to appear whole and well, but desperate. She needed to convince The Unkillable that she had value. But as she looked around, she wondered if he even valued a Zecairan life.

Boot falls echoed down the hallway and the guards stood up at immediate attention. It was an odd thing for her to see a Coszai standing up straight instead of its usual hunched posture. The Alluring took a similar posture, folding her hands before her, and looking to the floor instead of the hallway. The first thing The Unkillable needed to know was that she was submissive. As he approached, the smell of blood approached with him. She couldn't help but look up. He was wearing the same striped leather pants and brown riding boots, but wore no shirt. His scarred, heavily muscled chest was covered in blood spray and splatter. The sight made her heart skip; she hoped with all her heart it wasn't her sister's.

The General entered the room but didn't say anything. She met his gaze and saw the look of disbelief and confusion on his face. He took a moment to inspect her, as if determining if she was real. He glanced once to his Chameleon and then folded his arms over his chest.

"What were the last words we shared?" He asked her in a stern voice. She understood he had to test her, the reason why was standing right next to him.

"You commanded me to see for myself that the Majestic was still alive." She replied meekly. "And I've come to report, by no hand of mine, that she does still live. She was saved by her slaves, most of which died to the Screech Beetle." She watched his face, she was expecting fear or anger. Yet, The Unkillable laughed.

"I see, so she will face the slavers." He stroked his mustache and contemplated the news. "I wonder how much of a price she would fetch on the slaver's market. I would love to take her." He grinned as he paced, letting the daydream expand in his mind. "Oh, the look on all those Lord's faces when The Majestic goes up for sale on the block only to be outbid by a General." He laughed heartily.

"This is good news!" He grinned and approached The Alluring. "Now, what to do with you..." He placed a hand on her barely covered breast and squeezed it; his fingers congregated to her nipple and pinched painfully it through the fabric. She didn't protest.

"I am to understand that my sister now serves My Lord?" The Alluring said as evenly as possible despite the sharp pain. "I wish to serve with her then." She bowed her head in submission.

"That is good to hear!" He grinned and released her tit. "She could use your help in dealing with a problem. It seems the pale devil was too much for her. See to her, and then resume the interrogation. I've softened the bitch up for you." As quickly as he came, The Unkillable left. The Alluring breathed a sigh of relief; that had gone suspiciously easy. But it was his last comment that made sense -- if her sister had failed him, then their combined power would make up for it. He had a need for her now; that is why he had been so welcoming.

The Chameleon stood forward and waved her on. She watched as it changed suddenly to look as a Zecair houseguard in tight leather. A feeling of disgust and horror crept up her throat at the sight. It changed shape with such ease she wondered how many of these creatures were actually being used? Perhaps the Coszai Behemoths were just more Chameleons, perhaps The General was... Those thoughts plagued her until a faint odor tickled her nose, and she smirked. Veldain Chameleons could imitate a creature physically without flaw, and the best ones could learn their habits and traits as well. But the one thing all Veldain's did that lead to their subjugation, was give off a musky order when they got excited. Zecairan's could detect this faint scent.

Her escort led her to a bedroom and waited outside with the door shut. Inside she found her sister lying on the bed sleeping. That uneasy feeling in the back of her throat quickly melted away. The Deliquescent didn't seem to have any injuries, and wore a plain servant's dress. She went to her, and sat down on the bed beside her. Her hand softly caressed a cheek until The Deliquescent stirred awake. Their eyes met, and for a silent moment they took stock of the other. It was The Alluring that moved first. 

She kissed her sister softly on the lips. Her body hovered over her sister -- one hand held her cheek, the other propped her up. She breathed into the waiting mouth and cast the spell of sharing essences. It was a warm, invigorating wave of energy and presence of mind that awoke the recuperating sorceress. 

"Dear One, are you well?" the silent voice said as their souls joined.

"Alya, I thought he had killed you."

"He tried. Shush and share." She soothed the consciousness, and opened up her memories to that horrible scene as she fell to the Arena floor. The Deliquescent relived the whole event over with her sister -- the fall, the limping to safety, watching that slave save The Majestic from the Screech Beetles, his touch on her body as he ebbed the pain away, and even his lewd interrogation. 

When it was over, the twin spirits merely existed as one, sharing in each other's presence and comfort for a time. Eventually it was The Deliquescent that opened up to share her time with The Unkillable and his plans for the Eltharian. She was slow to share in the elf woman's memories. Methodically she opened them up to her sister one by one and then closed them and waited. It was a skilled transition from one essence to another that help keep boundaries between the identities of the souls being shared.

"What is on your mind sister?" The Alluring said first.

"This human, Mule, is more a demon than this Riyarra. His skill is terrifying. The Majestic has a powerful slave. She could rival The Unkillable. Yet it looks to me as though The Majestic is not the holder of his leash. What is his purpose? Why did he want you to come for me? Why did he want us to speak against The Majestic to the council?"

"Good questions all." The Alluring admitted. "We need more answers before we act. For now let us do as promised, and take them from Riyarra."

"Be careful, Alya. Mule values Riyarra." The Deliquescent's voice gave The Alluring a sudden doubt.

"I have other doubts. The General associates with too many lesser species. He attacked his own kind, and openly. If we side with him, we go against The Majestic's monster. If we do not, the General will kill us."

"He is a dying dragon." The Deliquescent put a perfect name to the feeling they both shared. The paranoia, the open display of violence against perceived enemies, the association with dumb brutes over his own kind -- all similar to the violent paranoia of a dragon that knows its death is coming.

"Then what shall we do? I am afraid, Mila." The Alluring admitted, and sought solace in her sister.

"We will speak with Riyarra, as promised." The Deliquescent said with conviction. She wanted a rematch against the elf.

****

A quick snap. A gurgle of disbelief. A spasm of released muscle tension. They all died the same.

Mule dropped the sentry's body and watched this Zecarin solder slowly change into the bare, scaly, opalescent hide of a Veldain Chameleon. That made six chameleons where there should have been six under elves. He paused and reflected on the corpse. He had left the others out in the open; should a guard come by they would question a dead slave less than a dead Zecarin -- unless there were no real Zecarins in this compound. But then again, if they were all Chameleons, and they were finding their comrades' bodies, they would look to their master for an explanation. This could work to Mule's advantage.

A bad smell wafted up the hallway along with the loud thumping of something massive. The hallway was barely lit, only a few glow lanterns were hanging from their wall posts. The creature that was coming from the darkness ahead was large and lumbering. Mule faced it as two beady red eyes shown like pinpoints in the black beyond. They locked in on him and the creature charged.

Mule bent down and picked up the sentry's spear, bracing it against his foot. The perfect scapegoat for his executions just presented itself.

****

The Twins stood side by side. Each had an arm wrapped around the other's waist for support. They wore matching brown servant's dresses, and had their white and black hair hanging straight down. Their elongated ears poked out between the strands. They looked identical with matching rich amber eyes. They stood at the entrance to a steel barred cell with the chained Eltharian; the guards had stepped outside the cellblock by The Unkillable's order. If this elf got the better of them, they would be on their own to defend themselves. The elf knew this as well.

Riyarra dangled with her arms stretched outward by the chains. She watched them through her one good eye. The other had been taken by her torturer. The socket had bled badly, leaving a trail down her cheek and down her bare body. She was covered in hundreds of rough abrasive gashes all over her limbs and torso. They had been very cruel with her. 

The Deliquescent swallowed hard as she met that steeled, one-eyed gaze. The girl she knew before was gone. This creature was not in a diplomatic mood, there would be no posturing, no pleading, no deceiving, no reasoning -- all of that had died along with her sanity during the torture. This creature that glared at them silently with a tight, broken lip could barely be called sentient now; her mind had shattered and her most basic instincts were rampaging inside her. Feral, violent, brutal, she had become what they had done to her. The twins were ladies of stature, proper and cunning, they fought with words and reason. But this beast required sheer strength of will to subdue. 

"I can't." The Deliquescent murmured and nuzzled her cheek against her sister's.

"She expects us to take from her." The Alluring whispered back. She was also taken aback by the state the Eltharian elf was in. She was no stranger to the horrors of torture, but even this was too much. But as she looked at the elf it was revulsion she felt, not pity. "We will give back to her what she has lost. We'll make her feel loved."

They approached arm in arm, with the opposite hand outstretched to touch the elf lady's face. With each step, the chained creature tensed more. Her nostrils flared and that one eye radiated hate through it at both of them. It wanted them to get closer, it had something in store for them, and they could sense it as well. With their hands inches from her face, the twins paused and regarded the Eltharian.

"First, let's clean up this mess." The Alluring said. She called the magical energy into her hand just as she had done so many times before. Healing was a basic use of magic, almost every sorcerer knew it; it was the first lesson because it was the least dangerous to the magic user. The Deliquescent mirrored her actions, and together they touched both cheeks of Riyarra's face. The effect was immediate; the bruises disappeared, the cuts and scrapes vanished, her missing eye started to grow back, even her roughly shorn head was rapidly growing her long blond hair back. When they finished, the Zecarin twins stepped back and let the prisoner recover.

Re-growing an eye was an uncomfortable sensation; there was no pain from the sister's magic, but the nerve endings inside the socket could feel motion as something grew and made connections with them. She blinked rapidly, and the side of her face twitched from the discomfort. But when it finished she opened it and let it adjust to the light in the room. Then it focused on the Zecarin sorceresses that stood smugly staring at her. They were impressed with their work.

"There now, much better." The Alluring commented. "Now, will you speak with us? You surprised my dear sister, but together you will find us more formidable." The Deliquescent remained silent, she had fallen into her old role of letting her sister take the lead. Riyarra stared at them defiantly; she was done letting Zecarins interrogate her. There was a look in The Alluring's face she didn't like -- arrogance. It wasn't that she knew she could win by forcing their combined will on hers, but that she had something else to use, some secret or trick.

"I want to share with you a memory. It is of your lover, Mule." She lifted her hand and her sister did the same. Together they touched both of the prisoner's temples, and invaded her mind in an instance. There was no contest, no delicate intrusion, no resistance; the twin's power was overwhelming and the elf was forced to relive the attack on the Arena pavilion through the eyes of The Alluring. She felt the fear as the Zecarin fell, the pain of breaking her leg, and the desperate limp to safety behind the kennel gates. From there she watched in horror struck curiosity as this faceless slave bare handedly slew a screech beetle, a fluke surely, until he did it again with equal ease. Awe and fear claimed her as he approached carrying the Majestic's body, but when he removed that hood she was speechless. It was her first encounter with a human, and he left an unforgettable impression. The Alluring awoke a second later to find herself bound and gagged, powerless to the interrogation of this human. He knew exactly how to use leverage against her, threatening the one thing she needed more than life -- hope of her life returning, but also the fear of it returning corrupted. That image faded away, and the sorceresses withdrew from the elf. Riyarra winced and shook her head violently as she tried to force the memory out of her mind. The twins stood back and waited. 

"He is more than you think." The Alluring said. "My sister saw your memories, and she believes Mule is unique among humans, because even you were surprised by his prowess." Riyarra didn't respond she just stared at the floor trying to shake the disorienting cloud from her mind. It had jarred her consciousness to the surface to beat down her savage instincts. "Are humans a threat to the Eltharian?" Riyarra looked up with a quizzical scowl. "This one has an interest in you, are you safe from him? What is his plan for you when you are free? We believe he can do this - free you. He has the power to simply fight his way out past our army. So why doesn't he? What does he want from us and you?" That was it. That was her trump card. She asked the hard questions that had been building in the back of Riyarra's mind. The elf's quizzical scowl subtly changed to a doubtful one.

"Just kill me." She growled. "I am ready." It was The Deliquescent that moved first this time. She touched the elf's cheek and felt her tense up. Half expecting another mind probe, half repulsed out of anger.

"Riyarra." The Deliquescent spoke soothingly. "You know me. We shared essences. I am not a killer."

"Coward." The elf sneered. "You will just sate your sick desires with my mind, just like your soldiers did with my body." Her barb hit the mark, and The Deliquescent recoiled. She wasn't oblivious that these two were different, she saw the pity in their faces when they first looked upon her. But they were just a different type of torturer, they flaunted their kindness at her hoping to instill hope within her. Perhaps she would believe them, and hope they would help her -- if she only cooperated. These two Zecarians were no different from the others, they did things differently yet were just as cruel.

"Is Zecair in danger from the humans? How do you kill one?" The Alluring spoke up now. Now she had the heart of it, they were afraid for their own security now. Mule had given them another problem to fear.

"Stick one with a sword last I heard." Riyarra snorted. There was a noise at the door, and it opened. The guard outside stepped into the cellblock and was walking their way. The twins looked to one another briefly before turning around to face him; they broke hands from the other as The Aluring went to meet him.

The soldier never had a chance as The Alluring raised her hand open palmed, hissed a guttural sound, and closed her hand suddenly. The guard gasped and clutched his chest as the bones inside crunched loudly. He dropped to the ground instantly dead. At the same time The Deliquescent gestured with a sweeping motion at the round stone door and it rolled shut. All this didn't bother Riyarra, she didn't care what they did with their minions, she wasn't about to let them get to her mind again. She bit her tongue sharply and grinded her teeth into it. A cry of pain hissed through her teeth as the muscle tore and blood started to flow. The twins didn't miss it and quickly joined hands together. They were on her in an instant with their hands pressed to her temples. There was a blinding light before her eyes, and Riyarra was dragged into the soulstresm of shared consciousness. Then she was out of it again, her tongue was whole but the mind fog was back again.

There was a presence in front and behind her. Soft, delicate hands ran down her back and sides, caressing her. One of the sisters was in front of her, holding her chin up to look into her eyes. She touched their lips together, and Riyarra prepared her mind to resist the spell that would conjoin their spirits. But it didn't come. The Alluring simply kissed her. Her lips were soft and gentle. It caught Riyarra off guard.

"Calm your spirit. We aren't going to hurt you." The Aluring said, her amber eyes look deeply into Riyarra's bright green ones. She let her intentions be read; she wanted this elf to know exactly what she meant to do to her. This was a different kind of interrogation, one of passion. Another pair of hands drifted up the back of her body and gathered Riyarra's hair together -- she had forgotten about the Deliquescent. It pulled it back behind her head and started to braid it. The Alluring stepped back and turned to the dead guard. She removed one of the straps that held a dagger to his arm -- it was just the right length.




Caught in Darkness Ch. 09



"Are you thirsty?" She asked as she walked back. With her hand lifted up to the air, small wisps of air started to pool together in a small whirlwind. It gathered moisture out of the air until a small ball of clear liquid hovered above her palm. "Manipulating the elements is easy. The hard thing is what to do with it once its done." She smiled coyly. Riyarra instinctively licked her lips against her better judgment -- she was parched. "Drink then, dear one. It's pure." She didn't know why, but Riyarra believed her, in this the twins were not being treacherous. But their game would soon come out. The Alluring lifted the ball of water to the elf's mouth, and she eagerly sucked it down. Once finished, she conjured another, which was devoured just as eagerly, and another.

It was the on fourth one that the trick was played. As the captive sucked the water into her mouth it reformed into the ball and pushed her jaw open. She mumbled a protest that was lost and shook her head to try and dislodge the bewitched thing. The Alluring shushed her to be still and lifted the leather strap to the elf's cheek.

"It's a small punishment for biting your tongue." The Zecarin lady grinned deviously as she placed the strap into the elf's mouth. The water hardened it ice around making a makeshift ball gag. "It will also muffle the screams of joy we hope you will make for us." She breathed huskily into the elf's ear and licked her earlobe. She glanced behind the elf's head to her sister that put the finishing touches on the elf's braid. Her sister shared that same seductive, devious smirk.

It was The Deliquescent that moved first. She leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the nap of the elf's neck. Her lips nuzzled the exposed backside of the elf's neck, and gave it slow, succulent kisses as she moved across to the shoulder. Her hands held onto Riyarra at the waist, and her fingers softly caressed her hips. The Alluring held the elf's cheek in her hand and gave it a gentle, loving touch. Their eyes stared at one another. There was no cruelty in The Alluring; it was a confusing realization for Riyarra, yet there was still a devious nature there wasn't to be trusted. But as The Deliquescent's lips reached her ear in the knowing way that shivers of pleasure down her spine, Riyarra eye's rolled back into her head for that instant, and she decided this was a much preferable method of interrogation.

With a soft shuffle of cloth her eyes opened to find The Alluring had disrobed. The Zecarin's build was similar to her own, but held a more maidenly characteristic. Her hips were straighter, and her muscles had less definition. She approached with a soft, seductive motion, and gently pressed her body against Riyarra's. The sensation awoke buried desires inside the elf. Feeling another person pressing their warm akin against hers was a welcomed comfort. She closed her eyes to hide her feelings from her captors. The Alluring placed her hands on the elf's back right below the shoulder blades, and pulled her body closer. Their breasts squished together, their thighs touched, and the Zecarin rested her head on her shoulder. There she just stood and held her pale lover as her sister mirrored her positioning. 

"Be with us." The Alluring breathed against Riyarra's neck. "We are very different from the monsters here. We will help you, we will take you out of here to a better place, if you will just be honest with us." Her lips moved to Riyarra's neck, right under her jaw and kissed her pale skin softly. 

Then a silence grew between them. Three elf women just stood pressed tightly together, sharing in the warmth and comfort of their bare bodies. Despite that comfort, Riyarra's mind pulled away from that moment to focus on her situation. She opened her eyes and stared blankly out into the emptiness of the cell and her gaze fixated on the dead guard outside. These two women were strong by themselves, and very powerful together. She could not win if they forced themselves on her. They could just take what they wanted from her, but they hadn't done that. Instead they had healed her wounds, rejuvenated her, made her comfortable, and made her feel... loved. Whatever their game was, they had set down rules for it. Honesty was the first price they had asked for. She turned her cheek and nuzzled it timidly against her dark skinned lover's lips. 

The Alluring lifted her hand to the elf's mouth and the ice ball melted away. She unbuckled the strap and pulled it free. Riyarra groaned and moved her numbed jaw around trying to work sensation back into it. A hand held her mouth still and soft lips touched hers in an impassioned kiss. There was an intoxicating warm sensation coming from that kiss that took the cold away; she couldn't help herself anymore and let her emotion flow freely in that kiss. They had given her the gentleness she had gone so long without in this harsh, cruel place. She wasn't a Sapphic, Riyarra preferred male lovers, but The Alluring had awoken a yearning in her. She missed feeling loved.

Their hands caressed her. Not to massage or to reassure, just to touch and feel. The Deliquescent trailed soft kisses down her back as she knelt to touch her thighs. Soft fingertips ran over her calves down to her ankles and firm gliding palms moved their way back to her hips. Then her hand rested on the elf's rear as those soft soothing lips kissed each check in sensual succession.

Riyarra's own thoughts were enraptured by The Alluring's kiss. True to her name, the elf couldn't ignore the under-elf's appeal - she couldn't stop, couldn't break free, she wanted it to last forever. The Alluring's hands were firm and strong and ran up her sides and her outstretched arms to her shackles. They unfastened, and her wrists were released from the cursed chains. They came to fall gracefully around her dark lover's neck and she held The Alluring's head softly. Together they stood as stark contrasts, pale and dark, but joined in an undeniable embrace. Their kisses were slow and soft, sharing a tenderness only a Sapphic could give for long. 

A wet sensation tickled her rump before she realized what it was and then cooed softly into her lover's lips. The Deliquescent's tongue teased and played with the crack of her cheeks, sliding up and down the cleft of those two mounds. It was an electrifying sensation, erotic in its novelty. Riyarra instinctively parted her legs slightly wider to invite more, and was rewarded. That warm, wet, tantalizing traveler visited her aching pussy and roamed the outside of her mound. Firm, gentle hands parted her rear and held her slightly up to expose her wetness to her lover. The tongue return caressed the outer folds of her pussy slowly yet firmly before running across the opening. The Deliquescent maneuvered her hands to part Riyarra's wet flesh, and her tongue immediately filled the gap.

Riyarra gasped sharply and moaned into her lover's lips. The Alluring broke away to allow her to breath and gasp in pleasure, only to sink her lips onto the elf's ear. Long, pointed, and sensitive it was something overlooked by the males that just wanted to sate their lusts. But these two women wanted to fulfill her lusts, and they knew just how to work her up to it. Riyarra tilted her head down to expose her ear to her lover, and The Alluring made good use of the vantage. Her lips glided back and forth slowly along the upper ridge, causing a mix of moans and sighs of delight from Riyarra. Her hands cradled the pale elf's head as she worked the tip of her tongue under and across that ridge of cartilage and skin. Riyarra drew in a long breath as her lover's tongue made the journey down its length only to exhale lustfully. To The Alluring, it had become a competition with her sister to see who was being the most effective.

She was outdone when The Deliquescent's tongue finally touched Riyarra's clitoris. The pale elf's fingers curled instinctively and the nails dug into her dark lover's back as she drew in a sharp breath. This time The Alluring moaned lustfully -- she liked a bit of pain while lovemaking, and decided to up the ante. She bent her head down to Riyarra's full breasts and bit one of her nipples lightly. The elf whimpered and dug her nails in again. This made the under-elf moan into her breast. Riyarra picked up on the queue and started to rake her nails gently down her lover's dark skin. Her efforts were rewarded with a long drawn out hiss of pleasure for her Zecarin lover. But her mind wouldn't stay focused very long, her attention was split between two women bent on driving her lusts wild. All this time The Deliquescent's repeated swirling of the tip of her tongue around the pale elf's clitoris had worked her passion up to its peak. And when one slender digit started to stroke the folds of her pussy, she lost control and a minor tremor of ecstasy shook her body. Her breath caught in her throat, only to slowly exhale in a long drown out moan of pleasure with the tremors stopped. 

Both women stopped their lovemaking and held Riyarra as they had done a moment before. Riyarra wanted more, they had awoken something in her and she wasn't sated yet. But then, she realized that was their angle -- to get her to come to them for more. She opened her eyes and looked into The Alluring's face.

"This isn't the place for this." She simple stated with a calm smile and stroked her new lover's cheek. "Now it is your turn. Tell us and we will take you with us." Riyarra searched those eyes looking for more. She was furious she had been played, but also deeply aroused by the thought of sharing more with these two powerful, and yet gentle women.

Mule, for all his strength and ability, wasn't making her escape a fast one. He had hinted at her rescue, but he seemed to have his own agenda. These two sorceresses were sincere and straight to the point -- all they wanted from her was honesty.

Perhaps it was time she formed her own alliances.

****

The General was furious. He hadn't even paused to suit up for combat, he just stormed down the hallway with sword in hand. Flanking him were a dozen house guards armed and armored to the teeth. Another Zecair swordsman approached them from the other direction.

"My Lord, two more were found near the armory." He reported. "The cellblock has been sealed from the inside. We cannot get in."

"Ignore it. Continue your search, it's a small party of one or two assassins, when you have them dead bring their bodies to the great hall. I will be there." The soldier saluted with his hand over his chest and ran past the contingent. The Unkillable looked to his own men. "You four head to the east wing and organize the guards to protect the rest of the family. Allow none to come to harm or the consequences will be most severe. The rest with me, we need to secure the Mistress." He whirled around and continued his march forward as the escort divided and carried out their orders. They marched in silence. The halls were quiet as the rest of the house was either sleeping or busy searching the left wing where the murders were discovered. 

They came to the Chapel with two acolytes sitting outside the entrance in quiet meditation. They were both female, draped in layers of sheer silk that hinted at their bare bodies underneath. Sounds of passion carried out of the room and into the hall - his Lady was indisposed. The general snorted derisively and turned to his men.

"Spread out. We wait here."



Caught in Darkness Ch. 10



Zecair was just one city of dozens that was home to Zecarin elves, but being the first it gave its people their namesake. The entire city was housed in a hollowed out mountain that was once a volcano, making it almost impenetrable. Shielded from eyes, ears, siege engines, and unwanted visitors the Zecarin people could prosper unmolested. It was the sanctuary they needed hundreds of years ago from the cataclysm that divided the Elthair, Zecarin, and Awien elven peoples. Being the first and the oldest made it the cultural center of their society.

Mule could see the entire city and he marveled at their architectural accomplishments. Leaning on the balcony of the watch tower, he could see The Majestic's compound below. The great houses ringed the outer wall of the volcano's interior, each one served as a sentry to an access tunnel from the outer wall and the world outside. Each family compound also held similar watchtowers, but Mule could only make out the three closest to him. Bright glows from magical and subterranean lights illuminated aspects of the city. The city squares gave off a deep orange glow from the fountains in their centers. The fountains did not pour water like the ones above, they were deep thermal vents capped by stone sculptures. Warmth in this sunless city was just as crucial as water for survival.

Hundreds of people, Zecarins mostly, walked about the street like ants from this distance. The surrounding air was cold, but every now and then gusts from the vents below would make it his way and warm his cheeks.

"They deserve better." He brooded. Mule stepped back from the balcony and sat down against the wall behind him. A few steps from him was the open door to the guard station; none of the guards were up this high, they were all below worrying for their mistress and their lives. He pulled the remains of his servant's robe around him snuggly and leaned his head against a stone pillar jutting from the wall. A warm gust of air blew by and he closed his eyes, his head wiggled about trying to get comfortable in the nook. 

It was so peaceful up here he could finally sleep.

*****

"I came looking for my brother." Riyarra started with a long sigh. She accepted the cup of warm liquid The Deliquescent offered her. They sat in The Deliquescent's quarters, the Eltharian and her two Zecarin guards. She sat in a chair next to the bedside with both women sitting on the bunk. Her hosts had provided her a servant's dress and a head wrap to cover her hair and ears. Her features were still distinctly Eltharian, but a little dirt on her face made them less obvious in the makeshift disguise 

"Go on." The Alluring patted her thigh reassuringly and sat back in her chair. The house had been locked down, and for the moment they had been confined to their quarters. The Zecarin soldiers... no - chameleon soldiers by The Alluring's discovery, didn't care about their servant just in securing his task.

"My older brother, Zarion, was captured in a Zecarin raid." Riyarra continued. "I came to rescue him. I came, because my younger brother has inherited the family." She chose her words carefully, as the grip on her cup tightened. Heavy, barely restrained emotions accompanied thoughts of her younger brother. "He is a traitorous ass that will bring shame on us all. If I found Zarion, he could oust Merloul." She paused to sip her cider and collected her memories. The minty aroma help stimulate her memory.

"Inherit? What does that mean?" The Alluring asked her, truly puzzled.

"He takes control of the family upon his father's death. He gains all power and money that his father held, and the family will follow his leadership."

"How odd. Your people just hand over their fortunes, without making your offspring earn their rights?" The Alluring was baffled and somewhat disgusted by this concept. Riyarra couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. She decided to change the subject.

"I tracked the raiding party here." The elf continued, taking another sip from the minty beverage. "We waited for a patrol to come by. I was in charge of the party, I knew the best way to start was to get some information first. We ambushed the scout party and quickly subdued them. I gathered the prisoners together and asked which one was their leader. A male lifted his head high, sneered at me, and said 'Suck my cock and I'll tell you.'" Riyarra's eyes turned hard and stared off into space. The Deliquescent scowled and The Alluring smirked.

"So I told him to suck mine, and I shoved my sword down his throat." Riyarra continued. "Then I asked who was next in charge. No one spoke, but they looked at this one female soldier. I approached her and said. 'You just got promoted. So now you owe me.' She was willing to talk." The Alluring let out a soft chuckle. She harbored resentment for male leadership that Riyarra was also starting to show. "She told me she could find him, if he was still alive, and for the right price arrange for him to disappear into one of the entry caves."

"Price?" The Alluring asked. She was intrigued.

"You met with The Traitor." 

"She introduced herself as The Mischievous at the time." Riyarra leaned forward and looked to the two ladies faces. She was about to incriminate one of their own so she needed to be sincere in how she explained it. "She didn't want money. She just wanted us to ambush another search patrol and eliminate a certain officer that would be there. I suppose she was looking for another promotion."

"That one was trouble." The Deliquescent spoke now. She was agitated with Riyarra's story. "I knew The Traitor. I knew she would come to a violent end."

"She didn't." Riyarra corrected her. "I think The Majestic said Mule had freed her." Both Zecarin women scowled. 

"Why?" The Alluring said first. "That makes no sense."

"Mule doesn't make sense." Riyarra replied. "I will tell you more about humans once I finish this story." She downed the rest of her drink and sat back in her chair. "We set a place for a meeting once she had made her arrangements. She would give me the time and place her commander was going on patrol, and once he was dead she would give me the tunnel and time where my brother was going to be released. I had to show faith on my part."

"That must have been the part I saw." The Deliquescent said.

"Yes, when we were ambushed." Riyarra agreed. The Alluring grew silent, but she had her hands pressed together -- she was channeling magic energy.

"You kept your word. I believe that was the truth. Now it is our turn... Houses aren't allowed to keep Eltharian slaves, they are hated too much. If your brother was taken prisoner, he would be interrogated for information just as you were, and then executed." The Alluring looked into Riyarra's eyes as the certainty of her own fate sank in. "I don't think your brother made it here alive, you were the first live captive in a few years. I'm sorry." She placed her hand on the elf's hand. Riyarra squeezed it affectionately.

"Thank you both." She tried to smile as the words caught in her throat. "It's probably better this way. Without Zarion, Elthara wouldn't be worth returning to." She acknowledged she would never leave here, but now felt more at ease with that aspect. Without her brother, life seemed almost valueless to her.

"Tell us about Mule, and about humans. They're legendary here." The Alluring leaned forward with her sister, eager to hear what the elf had to say.

"You'll be disappointed." Riyarra tried to laugh as the tears started to swell in her eyes. "Mule told me, when we were in The Majestic's dungeon, that he wasn't human. And I believe him, the humans I know are very base creatures. As a people they have almost no skill in magic. They have some art and some culture. But their main strength is their modest ability in wars and in starting them. They have no real future except in building their stone castles and their armies." Her gaze went off into the distance for a moment. "A human couldn't survive down here. They need the sun to see, and their other senses are just as dull. Without the sun they go mad, or kill themselves. There really is no mystery or mysticism to humans, they're plain and boring."

"But Mule isn't." The Alluring commented and stared at Riyarra wishing there was more. The elf only shrugged; she was just as intrigued as they were. The Deliquescent sighed, disheartened, and leaned her head on her sister's shoulder.

"We'll be safe here until that monster gets bored and comes looking for us." The Alluring griped. "You two should sleep. I need to think about our situation. By Zecair law, we can't act against our master. But I'll die before I let that bastard touch me or my sister again." She started to pace the room with her arms crossed. She was getting furious as the direness of their situation started to mull around in her head. It was a pale hand that reached out, taking hers in a wanting embrace, that broke her silent tirade.

"Please join us." Riyarra asked. "A calmer mind can see things more clearly." She took The Alluring's hand and kissed the back of it, nuzzling her cheek into that dark skinned palm. 

The Alluring stifled a soft whimper. It wasn't something she was used to. Her sister was meek and accommodating, never taking the initiative -- she was a follower. The Alluring was always the one in control in their relationship. Riyarra took one of the under elf's fingers and kissed the tip of it softly. The Alluring's nerves lit up with excitement; this was the first time someone had been forward with her and she welcomed it. Perhaps just this once, she could let someone else make the first move.

Before she had finished rationalizing it, she found herself falling into the bed. Riyarra had taken her lack of protest as consent and had guided her onto the featherbed. The Deliquescent sat propped up on her elbow and only watched. Riyarra kissed her this time. Her lips were just as soft as The Alluring remembered only this time there was no doubt or conflict behind the kiss, it was pure affection. She looked up at her pale lover as their lips parted, reunited, and parted again; never in her dreams or nightmares did she ever see herself having to lie with the enemy. Yet here she was, discovering that Eltharians were not as monstrous as her people believed. Their culture was very different, but as she felt those lips kiss her again and again, and their tongues reached out to touch the other briefly during those kisses, she found common ground.

Her hand reached up to cup one of Riyarra's breasts through her dress. As the elf leaned over her, she felt the full weight of that womanly bosom in her palm. Her fingers curled around it as her thumb found the spot she desired. Riyarra's nipple was firm, but just started to show excitement as her thumb gently rolled around it. She didn't press, or pinch, just caressed, and used the fabric of her lover's dress to add an arousing texture to her touch.

Her attentions won her a soft moan from her lover's lips. Riyarra slowly broke away, only to place those warm, supple lips on her neck. It was something only her sister knew excited her, and she silently applauded her lover's ingenuity as those lips found all her aching spots and kissed them. This time, she let out a soft moan.

Riyarra's hands slowly hiked up the Zecarin's dress, pulling it up to her waist bit by bit. The Alluring sat up and kissed her, once, twice, as her dress was pulled over her head. The pale elf discarded it and found an eager pair of hands pulling hers up over her head as well. Then they were naked and bare, free to caress each other's warm bodies.

"It seems my sister couldn't wait for us." The Alluring whispered. Riyarra glanced over to find The Deliquescent curled up on her pillow, already asleep.

"Waking her up will be just as pleasurable." Riyarra whispered back and nibbled The Alluring's ear. She sighed deeply as the elf's lips traversed her sensitive ridge.

"She's a deep sleeper." The Alluring breathed between gasps of pleasure. She let her fingers traipse over her lover's back, idly brushing over skin and spine alike. When she'd finally had all she could take, she pulled away from Riyarra's embrace, only to lean the elf onto the bed and hover over her. Now it was her turn to truly play.

With one hand she pulled her hair back over one ear, and leaned on the other. Her fingertips caressed over Riyarra's body, and her eyes followed them where they went. She took in every curve and inch of the Eltharian's body.

"We are not so different after all." The Alluring lip's spoke as they moved to her lover's neck. It brought a soft content sigh from Riyarra, who responded by running her fingers through the Zecarin's white and black hair. She moved down her pale lover's body until her lips came to one pink areola amid a mound of pale flesh. Her lips kissed the nipple softly, and her tongue gave it short caresses. There she stayed, kissing over Riyarra's ample, supple bosom, and eliciting moans of pleasure from her. Her fingertips lightly grazed over Riyarra's other nipple and it immediately became hard to her touch. The elf moaned as her sensitive nubs were being tantalized by the soft touches of The Alluring. Her lips and tongue lavished one nipple, while her thumb and forefinger rolled the other one between them.

Her gasps of pleasure urged The Alluring to continue, as too did her hands as they caressed her dark lover's head and ears. Each touch was trying to reciprocate the pleasure the elf woman was feeling, and didn't go unrewarded. Soon that wonderful soft pink tongue journeyed south across her belly, stealing kisses along the way. 

Riyarra's legs parted instinctually, but The Alluring still lifted them up and moved them where she wanted them. Once more she paused to pull her long hair behind her ear, and gently lowered those sensual lips to Riyarra's labia. But it was her pink tongue that did most of the work, tenderly caressing and exciting the nerves of those outer folds. And as she kissed, she moved her body to hover over Riyarra's, placing her own warm sex in a similar position near her lover's mouth.

She was new to Sapphic love, but Riyarra was eager to please her rescuer, her savior, her friend. Her lips went to the under elf's smooth thighs first, placing soft wet kisses along her soft skin. They slowly worked closer to the wet sex that called to her. She was surprised to find The Alluring hairless, whereas she was covered in a small patch of blond hair. Her lips were eager, but nervous. She tried to mimic the attentions being paid to her own wet mound. Her tongue circled the outer folds of The Alluring's sex, causing a pleasurable moan from dark lover. She stroked her wet muscle up and down the wet labia, until it gently brushed the clitoris. The immediate reaction and sharp gasp by The Alluring told Riyarra it had been some time for her new lover. She kissed that sensitive bud, caressing it with her tongue gently and slowly. Making sure each and every sensation that played across The Alluring's body was felt and enjoyed. It wasn't long before she had the Zecarin elf in a panting frenzy. The Alluring's breaths had turn to continual moans, and Riyarra could tell she wouldn't last much longer. She herself was loosing her ability to concentrate from the wonderful, warm soft muscle exciting her clit. It was almost a contest to see who would reach orgasm first, but Riyarra forced herself to push those thoughts aside, she owed it to her lady to give her release first. 

One of her hands drifted down The Alluring's toned body until it cupped a hanging breast. She massaged it gently until she felt the erect nipple come into her grasp. Her fingers pinched it lightly and rolled it between them. The Alluring broke away, panting for air as her pleasure was peaking. Her gasps turned sharp, and her body started to lock up and spasm as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her nerves. Riyarra held her tightly as her orgasm ran its course. When The Alluring finally calmed down, she collapsed beside her, panting. Riyarra gentle repositioned them until they were both lying in the bed with The Alluring's head nestled against her bosom. Her dark lover had forgotten her role and he lost her senses to such a powerful climax. She could tell it would be sometime before the afterglow had run its course. She had never known a lover to become so incapacitated after lovemaking; she wondered if it was the same for all Zecarins. Riyarra went unfulfilled, but there was always the morning to look forward to. 

For now, she was content to sleep with her two new sisters cuddled up against her. 

****

The halls were silent. Even the General's anger was quiet now. He and his men still lined the hall waiting for a report from the sentries. The Unkillable had closed his eyes for a bit of respite leaned up against the wall. It had been hours since the alarm had been raised and still no answer from his scouts. His men didn't dare rest though; they stood facing opposite directions down the hall guarding this one door.

When the messenger did arrive, all of the sentries looked to him to hear the news. The Unkillable even stirred and stood with his sword in his hand.

"Lord Master." The man said out of breath. He went to one knee briefly, and then rose to continue his report. "No intruders have been discovered, five guards were killed all of them lizards, their necks were snapped. The last one killed a behemoth before he died." The guards exchanged glances with one another but didn't dare voice their opinions. They were true Zecarins, and they didn't share the general's trust of the lesser creatures. 

"There's more." The messenger looked straight to the general when he spoke this time. "The slavers are on their way here." The General didn't seem to register the news. But his eyes showed he was already formulating a strategy to repel the attack.

"Alright. Stand down the alarm immediately and have all units report to their brigades." The general said and secured his sword to his belt. "This was just a distraction; the slavers are the main threat. For whatever reason, they think this house is sick and ailing. They'll be in for a surprise." He smirked briefly as his men saluted. "Captains to your brigades and get them to their positions." They dispersed to carry out their orders.

The Unkillable stroked his red mustache to think and stared at the round stone door in front of him. Beyond was their personal chapel. His mistress and her servants had sequestered themselves inside the chapel during the lock down. The house would defend itself, but that was only part of the danger. Now he needed answers; he needed to find out who was behind this. If this was a precursor to things to come, he needed to know now.

The stone door rolled aside as he approached. Two acolytes dressed in sheer silk rolled it aside from inside. The Unkillable walked past them without a word, and without instruction they moved the door back into place. The oval chamber was lit by two standing braziers burning fat in the middle of the room. They bathed the chamber in an orange glow and filled it with the musky scent of meat. Purple and red sheer silk curtains hung from the center point of the domed ceiling, draped over to the side walls and then wrapped around the support pillars to pool at the floor. A recessed pool was in the center of the floor between the two braziers and filled with a dark red viscous liquid. His lady stood wading through it up to her hips. Her body was bare and her long black hair glistened with moisture as it fell straight down.

His Lady was chanting. It was the old tongue that only the religious caste bothered to learn. Priestesses worshipped in private and earned prosperity for their houses through offerings. Things of value were given to the pool -- slaves, property, lovers, names -- and taken by the power that lived in the murky depths. The reward would be a prophecy uttered by the priestess that would lead the seeker to the thing they desired.




Caught in Darkness Ch. 10



The Unkillable was no stranger to this pool and this priestess; he had used their prophecies to thwart enemies in the past. It was how he gained his title and defended it -- all due to his willingness to give up what he valued most in this world. To him, anything could be bought for the right price. And the spirits were no different.

He undid his weapon belt and let it drop to the floor quietly. Then his shirt, his boots, his pants -- everything he wore until he was naked in the room. The priestess turned slowly to face him, her eyes were closed and she was still chanting. She offered out her hand. It was a signal for him to enter the pool. The liquid was very warm and very thick as it clung to his hairy legs. He had seen battle and torture enough times to recognized blood when he saw it and felt it. She had once told him it was the Eldergod's blood, summoned from the earth to mediate the spirits transition into their world. Whatever it really was didn't matter; he had killed clergy and defiled such rooms before and never suffered divine retribution. The Eldergod and these spirits had no true power in this world, they were just onlookers -- voyeurs. 

He took her hand firmly, and their fingers entwined. At his touch, her eyes opened and they reflected the red glow of the braziers. There was an odd intelligence in those eyes, and a bit of perverted villainy -- she had already channeled a spirit for him. Her chanting suddenly stopped.

"We know your desire." She whispered harshly. "Make us an offering." Her voice was deep and brittle, like the howling of a thermal vent. It was the invocation of the seeker; it was now his turn to give something of value to the pool in exchange for a prophecy. The greater the value of what he offered, the more meaningful the prophecy. 

"For you dear one, I'll give you a taste of my cock." He smirked and caressed her cheek. It was blasphemy, something he was good at. But he had little respect for these rituals, he could not deny their insight, but aside from spying on the lives of mortals, pool spirits were nothing more than voyeurs. None of them had ever manifested themselves to him or to the priestesses he had killed.

His wife's lips turned up a menacing sneer. Those perfectly purple lips amid a sea of gray blue skin held him in contempt. Such was their relationship. As he thought about it he realized that they had sex more often while she was possessed than while she was herself. He liked it more when the spirits came out to play; an ironic turn of his distaste for their voyeurism.

"Give us your seed... all of it." The priestess whispered. The drop in her voice gave it a husky hint that sent his loins aching. Ever so slowly and sensually, the very tip of her tongue came out and traced the edge of those perfect lips to accent her offer. That wet, glistening pink muscle of seduction called to him, he wanted that tongue on his cock.

"Agreed." He growled and grabbed a handful of her long elegant hair. She placed her hands on his chest and leaned into him. Her nails scraped across his skin and drew blood, her lips engulf his bare nipple and sharp pointed teeth pierced it. He gritted his teeth and hissed in pleasure; this one liked it rough, and so did he. The possessed priestess looked up at him with a sultry smile; rows of small needle sharp teeth had replaced her normal ones. This was something new, but he liked it. 

She touched his lips with her nails, and he found sharp claws had replaced them. She pinched his bottom lip between them and pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him softly at first, then with a more seductive feel. That tongue came out and danced playfully over his lips. There no question about it anymore, The Unkillable closed his eyes and let himself go. He found her lips electrifying; they sent an arousing tingle all throughout his body. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and wound itself around his tongue. It was long and dexterous, coiling itself around his like a snake and pulling it back into her own mouth. It surprised him and aroused him at the same time. He imagined the pleasure such a prehensile tongue would give his cock. 

She seemed to sense his desires, and immediately pulled away grinning the moment he thought it. Her body slowly slid down his muscular frame to the pool below, her nails raking thin bloody trails down his chest. She stopped at his cock, and that tongue came out and wrapped itself around his growing member. The sensation overwhelmed his senses, and his head lolled back as he let loose a deep moan. She started to constrict his cock with her tongue and pulled the tip into her warm, wet mouth. His hands went to her head to steady himself from the dizzying sensations, and grabbed big fistfuls of her hair. Her hands went to his ass to keep him still, and dug those claws into his firm cheeks. As that tongue undulated around his cock, it engorged instantly with blood, making it hard and throbbing in her lips. It strained in her tight embraced and with each pulsation, she moaned lustfully into his cock. She squeezed his ass and those sharp claws pricked the flesh. The mix of pain and pleasure was exactly what turned him on. Too soon his pleasure was building to its climax; it wouldn't be much longer before he filled her mouth with his seed. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted, and exactly what he wanted in order to get it. Her tongue undulated around it, caressing his rock hard shaft. She could feel a sudden tension build in the veins as his balls started to constrict. With a single slender finger, she pushed her way into his anus and pressed against the gland she found there making him come instantly in her mouth. The Unkillable shuddered and bucked, gasping and moaning as his seed poured into her mouth.

The lovers relaxed and let the passion ebb a moment. The Unkillable still had his hands on her head and his fingers entwined in her hair. She released his cock and looked up to him. Her tongue licked the rim of her mouth to pick up any strands of his gooey sperm she missed.

"I want it all." She cooed. That finger entrapped in his anus put pressure on his organs and forced his shaft to grow hard again. She wiggled it about inside, sliding it in and out of his dry puckered hole. His face bore mixed reactions between hisses of pain and grunts of pleasure as his cock throbbed back to life.

This sexual demon that had possessed his once frigid and condescending wife was getting all he had one way or another. Her hand dipped into the pool and came away dripping the thick, slick blood. She dribbled it down her chest, coating her breasts with the substance and moaning as it dribbled down her ample tits.

"Taste... and know pure pleasure." She breathed at him. Her body rose out of the pool and she stood before him. Slowly she arched her body backwards as her arms came to wrap around his neck. She pulled him down to her chest, and the general was not one to deny a lady for long. He sucked at her tits like a starving child, pulling each erect little nipple into his mouth in turn. Savagely he ravaged them, giving no effort to sensation or sensuality. A new fury burned in him now, and he would have her on his own terms. As soon as he had his fill of her breasts, he stopped and yanked the priestess head backwards sharply by a handful hair.

"Speak, and know my pleasure." He countered. This spirit was a trickster, he could see it from the beginning. It would try to cheat him out of his dues at the earliest opportunity. But as she grinned at him devilishly, it seemed it was not without some sense of fairness.

"A name will be taken. Just as a life is taken." She cooed at him. The Unkillable smirked; The Majestic would fall. Her hands went to her own breasts and she started to knead and caresses her own mounds. Those thin claws pinched and pricked her own nipples to the sound of her squeals and gasps of delight. The Unkillable growled and bit into her neck, his teeth pulled at the flesh rather than grind through it. The pleasurable pain made her forget what she was doing as a long sigh of ecstasy hissed from her lips. His mouth replaced her hands on her breasts and he licked the blood off her nipples and areolas each in turn.

His throbbing member had regained its full glory while grinding against the fur patch above her pussy. This heavyset male was easily twice the size of such an elegant lady. It was an easy task as he picked her up, cradling her small ass in his hands, and drove her slippery pussy onto his waiting cock. Impaled by pleasure, she willingly submitted to his desire, wrapping her arms and legs around his neck and waist. Deep guttural pants huffed from her mouth with each thrust of that hard shaft into her wet mound. He held her legs in his arms, her ass in his palms, and forced his shaft deeper into her with each violent thrust.

The longer his fury endured, the louder her pants became until they turned to screams of passion. The general too was near his end again. Sweat dripped from his brow and shoulders. His muscles were taught and tense from holding her up in the air as his legs thrust his ranging cock into her small wet pussy. The rhythm kept growing and growing until the general jerked forward suddenly and stopped. He howled into the air as he came, shooting torrents of his hot cum into the priestesses cunt. She felt each gush of his warm lifeforce and it made her body tense and shake from the release of her own orgasm. Her claws curled and dug into the back of his neck sharply, almost threatening to rend his flesh. That only added more fuel to his passion and he came more and more.

His body kept coming, showing no signs of stopping. His seed started to drip out of the priestess's still impaled pussy into the pool below. And with each shot of come, she spasmed again, and her vagina gripped his cock even tighter, milking him more. His moans of pleasure turned to moans of pain as a dull ache started in his crotch. It grew more painful and he tried to shrug her off. With her nails dug into the skin of his neck, he found that difficult. The more he resisted, the deeper she sank her claws until they pricked bone. What he thought was a lovemaking had turned sinister.

"I want it all." She hissed at him and started to cackle. The Unkillable found himself trapped painfully. He groaned and winced as more and more of his seed pumped out of his still buried member. His hands grabbed her wrists, but he couldn't dislodge the woman, his strength had left him too. 

Then, suddenly, the pain stopped, and she let him go. The Unkillable splashed into the pool below and struggled to the edge. His loins ached with that debilitating male pain that left him curled onto the edge like a baby. He couldn't move, couldn't think, all he could do was wait for it to subside. His hands instinctively went to cup his balls and shield them. The pain originated there from their unnatural lovemaking. To his horror he found nothing but an empty, shriveled sack between his legs.

The Priestess rose from the depths of the pool. Blood cascaded from her rejuvenated form as she approached him slowly, with a seductive sway to her hips. Panting, his face twisted in pain, he watched her approached and did little else.

"A Price is paid, a Prophecy will be heard." She spoke in her otherworldly voice. She stood over the Unkillable and looked down upon him. "A trap has been sent to snare a beast, it was made for a beast, and only a beast may spring it." Once said, the priestess fell back into her chant and turned away from the confused, in pained general.



Caught in Darkness Ch. 11



Mule looked up to the high dome of The Pit, its black marble 'sky' was dotted with white and blue streaks that almost reminded him of the night sky. Were it not for the bright lights that reflected off the white stone walls, white stone pillars, and white stone floors of the interior chamber it would be.

This was a place of politics, ironically named The Pit, by the Zecair nobles. And as he looked around he could tell why. On the face of every man and woman that had shown up for this trial, he could read the desire to see blood. Even the deep maroon rug that they stood on, that covered the whole of this bottom stage, the only touch of color in the room, made this just another arena to them. He glanced across the lower pavilion, the stage for The Pit, and saw his charge, the elf lady Riyarra not thirty feet away. She stood plainly, one of three slave girls in matching uniforms and collars. He was glad to finally see her whole and in one piece.

Riyarra itched at her collar. When the guards stormed their room so early in the morning, they had taken them by surprise. No time, and no ceremony was given to allow the ladies to dress and clean properly, they were slapped with the slave collars and marched from their room. She looked to her left, and found The Deliquescent and The Alluring holding hands. The Alluring's face was stern and strong, she was being the pillar of strength. Whereas The Deliquescent's resolve had melted much earlier that morning, her gaze never left the floor -- it was the downtrodden gaze of the condemned.

The elf felt eyes on her, and she glanced across the room to see Mule staring at her. She hadn't seen him in some time, but he hadn't changed much. Like her, he was dressed in a plain uniform, a servant's robe, and wore a magic collar that painfully suppressed defiance. It was his eyes that bothered her, she had seen that same look this morning when they had been brought before The Unkillable. The bastard was busy suiting up in his polished black scale when they had arrived, his face wasn't angry, or fretful, just cold steel -- he was preparing for war. She saw that look in Mule's eyes as well despite the chains and shackles on his hands. To his right stood a Zecarin in a black dress lined in purple feathers. The lady's red hair was short and spiked with sap. It gave her a fearful appearance. It was Her, the demon bitch, The Majestic...

The Majestic's face was the most tranquil of her company. Her eight guards were visibly nervous, and even her personal servant wouldn't stop fidgeting with her sleeves. She knew she should be angry, furious at this public spectacle, perhaps even worried about its outcome, but deep down she knew better. She had the favor in this matter, and if The Unkillable was able to sway the court against her, she was content to die if such a travesty of justice could occur. 

When she received the summons that morning, she didn't stress over it and simply had her servant prepare her for court. She knew this was the opportunity she had been preparing for -- Mule was her trump card. The mystery that surrounded him would confuse the court, and make them pliable to suggestion. He had served her well, and dutifully, there was no reason to mistrust him anymore. Today he would take a name, per their laws, and become a noble of her house. Once given rights, she could use him as a weapon against her enemies...the ultimate weapon. And today her weapon would take down a General. 

Her eyes casually drifted to The Unkillable. He stood proud in his polished black scale armor and helmet with the visor up. A pale blue cloak hung from his shoulders, and he held onto a two handed greatsword planted, still in its sheath, tip first into carpeted floor. As befitting a General, he was stoic, keeping his feelings hidden and his mood unreadable. But to The Majestic, who knew this man that had married her sister well enough, that shroud of coldness meant he was concerned.

"The Loud," The Unkillable said as he turned his head. The Alluring looked up -- it was the new name he had given her that morning when she protested the lack of courtesies she and her sisters had been given.

"Yes, Lord?" She answered dutifully.

"You swore to lend me your voice against our enemies," The Unkillable said with an iron tone. "Uphold it, and I will permit you, and your sister to be nobles in our house. You may even keep --that- as a pet." He stuck his thumb out at the Eltharian. "You will never need to fear me again, so long as you do not betray our house. Betray me now, and I will slaughter all three of you on this floor."

The General returned to his stoic posture and said no more.

Worry ate at The Loud's stomach like stale food. She hated this bastard that stood before her, but she had promised to serve him, and promised to swear against The Majestic -- at Mule's instruction. She didn't know what to do now, Mule told her to promise that, but didn't say whether to actually do it. If she did swear, The Majestic and Mule would most likely be killed right here, and she would be trapped under The Unkillable's heel -- slave or not. If she didn't, The Unkillable would wet his blade on her, her sister, and Riyarra before engaging his enemy. Like it or not, she had only one choice really.

"I have no loyalties to The Majestic or her daemon." The Loud whispered. She was speaking more to herself, but those around her had heard her.

"Good." The Unkillable responded. But it was the look Riyarra was giving her that upset her more. It was confusion -- the same confusion that she felt. Their own fates were now uncertain, and they were both powerless to try and save themselves.

The High Patriarch finally arrived, entering the room from a side door below the first tier of balcony seats. The council members -- the heads of the ten great houses, Zecarin men and women alike -- sat on this first tier and watched below. Nobles and commoners filled the seats on the tiers above, some of them were even non-Zecarins. All Zecarins immediately stood and recognized the High Patriarch. His entrance was demure, but his appearance was anything but. He wore layers of blue and green silk that blended the two colors back and forth, and even seemed to changed from one to the other as he walk. It formed a sort of robe that floated in the air as if in a perpetual breeze. More impressive were the hundreds of polished and cut gemstones that orbited his person magically like tiny moons. The air became electrified as the power of this person could be felt by even the least trained in magic. His hair was short and stark white to match his wrinkled complexion, and sagging ears -- a man that wasn't afraid to show his age.

He took a seat on the council throne, an intricately decorated chair of wood and velvet -- expensive commodities in the underground city. The whirling silk settled with him, casting a tranquil aura on the whole room. Everyone but the two parties before him sat down. A hush fell on The Pit.

The door opened again, and two more Zecarin elves in full battle regalia entered the room. They looked like the Unkillable in their brightly colored, polished scale and the intimidating weaponry they held in their hands and that hung at their hips. One of the knight's mail was a deep, dark purple with a matching belt and sheath. A dark crimson cloak hung from her shoulders, and a plume of red feathers adorned the top of her helmet. Even her eyes matched her colors, as two purple dots amid her grey face. The other knight wore a mix of olive and grey piecemail, splotted and messy, there was no symmetry to his armor. But like his face, it was a ruin of war, repainted to mask the marks and dents of battle. A gruesome jagged spear amid a steel shaft rested comfortably in his hand and leaned against his shoulder. They took up flanking positions next to the High Patriarch, and the room grew silent again.

"Generals and nobles," The Patriarch began. He didn't move while he spoke and the whirling gemstones around his presence didn't stop. "For the duration of this trial, The Unkillable's rights and privileges as a General are temporarily suspended." The room remained silent. Even The Unkillable seemed to expect this. "First, this Trial will address a rumor. The Slavers reported seeing a fight in the streets between a soldier of The Unkillable's house guard, and an unmarked slave. The soldier was killed, and upon death was revealed to be a Veldain Chameleon -- a race forbidden to impersonate Zecarin officials while in servitude." The Patriarch's glance turned to The Unkillable. "How do you answer this rumor?"

"I do not deny employing Veldain Chameleons in my house guard." The Unkillable responded loudly to the audience and the Patriarch. "In fact, my entire house guard is comprised of non-Zecarins." The onlookers gasped and murmured disapprovingly at this incriminating admission. "However, they are but the first line of defense in my home. They are also the only visible line of defense. Another force, one of pure blooded Zecarin's who answer only to me, lurk in the shadows of my compound. They watch the Veldains as well as my guests and household. The Veldains are but fodder, drawing out the true enemy for my elite force to slaughter at their leisure. This spares any pure-blooded Zecarin from unnecessary harm." There was a murmur of approval from the nobles above. His cunning tactic had some merit. The two knights flanking the patriarch turned then and conferred with their Lord regarding this admission. After a few moments of deliberation and discussion, they resumed their positions facing the defendants.

"The Generals approve of this measure. You are granted clemency." The Patriarch announced. "Such a tactic requires secrecy of its use to be effective. This admission of such a secret, will no doubt ruin its effectiveness. Therefore, we are confident the Veldains will no longer be necessary as guards, and the law will continue to be abided." The Unkillable bowed to one knee at hearing the ruling. 

"Now, to the claim made to this council," The Patriarch began again. The Unkillable rose and resumed his warrior's stance. "There is this matter of murder at the Arena. Why was blood shed so openly in our city? The Majestic, answer this!"

"I do not know, Your Grace." She said sweetly, and bowed before the court and the witnesses above. The Majestic kept an equally cool demeanor. Any sign of anger or frustration -- a wavering of confidence - would be an admission of guilt. "I was the victim in that attack. Were it not for my servant, this human, I would be dead." The Majestic's face was confused, but cold. She was playing the part of the victim. The crowd murmured at this, and all eyes fell to Mule. The High Patriarch turned to The Unkillable, and the General did not need to be prompted.

"She was found to possess the most forbidden of living property -- an Eltharian." The Unkillable announced. The crowd gasped in shock. "Her execution was mandated by law. Even so, I took the chance to question her about it first, during the arena games. She started to speak blasphemies about using Eltharian's as pleasure slaves. I confronted her on her treason, but The Charmer came to her aide and drew his sword to threaten us. I killed him with his own weapon and threw the Majestic into the pit to her death." The witnesses above shouted angrily. They called for The Majestic's death. "I even have witnesses." The Unkillable turned to The Loud and The Quiet and gestured to them with his hand. "Having saved their lives from The Charmer, I took them as household slaves. Upon proving their worth and loyalty, I will make them nobles in my house."

The Majestic smiled demurely. His hand had been played, and she now saw the game he was playing.

"It is true." The Loud's voice carried throughout the chamber. "We were saved by The Unkillable from this traitorous bitch." She pointed an accusing finger at The Majestic, and The Majestic's faint smile disappeared. The Quiet took her sister's hand and stepped forward, but all she could manage before such a crowd was a fervent nod in agreement. Having played her part, The Loud bowed her head to her Lord and slunk back with her sister in tow. The crowd shouted taunts and leers at the accused. But the High Patriarch raised one hand and all grew silent.

"Have you any witnesses to defend you?" The old man said.

"Only my human's." she replied.

"The word of two former ladies carries more weight than an unnamed slave." The High Patriarch announced, and the crowd called out for blood. "Your life now belongs to the General for your treason, to do with as he pleases." The audience shouted in jubilation, and bloodthirsty taunts came at the demur lady with the spiked hair. "However," The High Patriarch continued and silenced the growing mob. "The Unkillable must now defend why he now houses the --same- Eltharian." Everyone in the room grew silent. The Majestic's demur smile returned.

"Eltharians are not permitted alive within this city." The High Patriarch spoke with a stern voice. "This is law. Humans, an undocumented race, are to be studied at the Inquisitorium before sanctions of ownership are granted. Until then, are not permitted as slaves" The Patriarch paused to let his words be heard. "In this you are both found guilty."

"The Unkillable, convince us otherwise," The Patriarch commanded.

"This... thing..." The Unkillable said loudly but did not budge from his mighty pose. "Was captured from The Majestic's compound, and I was interrogating it for intelligence when this Trial was called."

"I do not deny this." The Majestic answered the charge. "I was attempting interrogation myself by use of this Human -- a friendly face to the Eltharians - when she was stolen from me."

Mule had a sudden twinge of guilt. Now everything that was not said before was out in the open. He hadn't realized how much The Majestic had stuck her neck out for him before. He had learned a lot about their society from Boil, but by then he had already forced his mistress to break a few laws. He looked to his shackles; the chain that bound his wrists was short and left him little room to stretch his arms. There was no challenge in these bonds, he expected more from Zecarins, a society built around slavery. It seemed the Majestic was getting sloppy. He shrugged it all away with a sigh, it would all be over soon anyways.

"How does The Unkillable respond?" The Patriarch asked.

"That is a convenient excuse that justifies her bedding the Elf." The Unkillable sneered, and the Majestic's countenance turned to a dark frown. "The Majestic has a sick fascination with the lesser species. She was probably satisfying herself while watching the elf mate with her human!" A mixed roar of randy laughter and disgusted outrage came form the tiers above.

"Is the Eltharian a threat, General?" The High Patriarch folded his fingers before him. The Pit grew quiet.

"We uncovered that she is worthless, just a scout searching for her lost brother." Both Riyarra and The Loud bristled at his words. The bastard had been spying on them! "She'll be put down at the end of this trial." The General ended his speech with a reassuring way of his hand. Riyarra's eyes glazed over. She suspected as much, but now she knew it was coming. The High Patriarch looked to The Majestic.

"I do not contest." She said and raised her hands defensively, and returned to her demur smile. "Then housing her for so long was not justified." The High Patriarch concluded with a scowl. "Put that wretched thing down now, General." The High Patriarch commanded with a wave of his hand. The Unkillable loosed his sword in one motion. The Guards surrounding the slaves immediately backed up. Even The Loud and The Quiet, the twin sisters, shied away from Riyarra and her coming death. The elf girl only held her head high and closed her eyes. She wished this, she was waiting to be reunited with her brother. The Unkillable poised his sword over his shoulder to strike her head from her shoulders.

"I challenge..." Mule said loudly to all that would hear. His voice was calm and he spoke in perfect Zecairian. The General paused, he could not act when a challenge was issued, but he did not put his sword either. All eyes went to the human.

"This slave belongs to me. By Zecarin law, an Unnamed One is freed on their master's death. But those who save their owner from certain death will be immediately granted the rights of a noble, the right to take a name, and be admitted to their house under them. As a lesser noble, I have the right to defend for this slave that was also promised to me as a reward." He accented his declaration by yanking on the chains that bound him. The Majestic couldn't suppress the slow smirk that grew out of her smile.

"High Patriarch," Mule spoke to the crowd, never taking his eyes from his enemy. "The Majestic was thrown into the Arena, neither of them deny this. I was her Unnamed. I rescued her from two monsters you call screech beetles, armed with less than I have now." He raised his chained hands up as far as he could. The Unkillable laughed. The guards around him laughed. Even the Zecarin's above laughed. 

"The Challenge is announced." The High Patriarch conceded. "But if you intend, even as a recognized noble, to keep an Eltharian as property, you will be guilty of treason just like The Majestic. This is just foolishness, you will die just as she will."

"I challenge... The Unkillable's rank of General." Mule said loud enough to be heard. Everyone stopped laughing. Even the High Patriarch was speechless. The two knights standing next to the old man tightened their grips on their weapons. The Majestic's smirk was turning to a wicked grin -- this was what she had waited for. Even The Unkillable let loose a most drunken guffaw.

"This pile of shit? Impossible!" His laughter turned to disgust and he spit at Mule's feet. "You're not even Zecarin." Mule looked to the two knights standing next to the High Patriarch. Their eyes met, and they recognized in each other the strength of their spirits and their conquests. 

"What does Zecair need with a General that allows a little known race to roam about their city unwatched," His words were directed towards the two generals standing next to the High Patriarch. "I was free to drink your water, breath your air, eat your food... and you don't know what diseases I might be carrying?" The two generals exchanged a stern glance with each other. "What does Zecair need with a General that would waste an Eltharian slave, instead of using her to strike at the heart of their enemy?" His words grew angry, and they resonated with the hatred the crowd above felt for the Eltharian elf. Riyarra was dumbstruck; did Mule truly intend to use her against her own people? She instinctively took a step back from this man, this demon, that had once shared her body. 

"What does Zecair need with a General, that cannot even dispatch a traitor properly...when all that stands in his way is an unarmed, Unnamed, slave" Mule leveled his eyes on The Unkillable and stared the warrior down. The General didn't wait for a verdict; he struck out with his greatsword for Mule's neck. The human leaned back, and the black polished blade missed. 

"The Challenge is accepted." The High Patriarch announced, begrudgingly. The two knights flanking him immediately came to the front and stood between their Patriarch and the combatants beyond. All those gathered of both sides, retreated to the far walls of the Pit floor as the two combatants circled each other. Mule's movement was slow and liquid, each step was perfectly balanced and silent. Even his chain had been pulled taught between his wrists to limit its sound, or to use if he needed it. The General saw how quickly he dodged the last strike, and properly gauged his opponent this time.




Caught in Darkness Ch. 11



"I thought I killed you too quickly." The Unkillable conceded. "Your Mistress said you were skilled, but I dropped you too easily. You didn't give me enough of a fight. You faked it didn't you?" He thrust out his sword, and Mule caught it in his chains. The blade showered sparks all over the man's skin, but the links held. The Unkillable showed him his true prowess in battle by burying the man under a relentless barrage of quick thrusts and slices. Mule was forced to duck and dodge as fast as he could. When he couldn't, he used the thicker steel of his manacles to redirect some of the blows. Despite the raw power of such a large sword, the General was using a barrage of quick thrusts and slashes. His opponent was quick, not powerful. Mule's body started taking some of the punishment that blade dished out in cuts and gashes all over his person. For the moment, he was on the defensive from the onslaught.

The Majestic watched the fight, but saw only her trump card barely escaping The Unkillable's strikes. Her smirk eventually faded away, this fight wasn't looking good. All it would take was one serious blow from that weapon and Mule would be done for. Her magic couldn't heal him this time. If he was going to win, he needed a weapon and the perfect opportunity to use it. She looked across the Pit to the elf Mule worked so hard to protect. Riyarra was just as engulfed in the fight as everyone else, and also just as confused to the tactics the human was using. She was no help dissuading The Majestic's growing fears. 

A black metal boot took the human's footing out from under him, and that heavy greatsword followed the man's body as it fell to the floor. Mule barely got his manacles up in time to block the blade as it came down to cut him in half. The General followed the blade and put his weight behind it, grinding it closer to Mule's face. The crowd cheered their General as on the sharp black steel inched closer and closer.

"You disappoint me." The General growled. He placed his armored forearm over the back of the blade and used the added leverage to press it closer into his opponent. "You're weaker than the Eltharians. I have killed enough of them to know. Your legend is a lie." He sneered. That shift in his weight was what Mule was waiting for. He planted his knees into the General's stomach, and lifted the Zecarin's body up with his legs. His hands guided the weapon past his cheek into the floor, and the sudden imbalance sent The Unkillable flipping over him onto his back. The Unkillable rolled to his knees, but Mule was the quicker and got his chains up into a double fisted haymaker. The manacles around his wrist slammed into the back of the General's helmet. The ding of metal on metal echoed throughout The Pit and elicited sympathetic groans from the crowd above.

The Unkillable was dazed, but used the force of the blow to roll forward and swung his weapon up to where his opponent should be. It missed Mule by inches, but a quick twist of his wrist and it nicked a gash across Mule's chest as the man tried to outdistance it. The wound bled badly for such a shallow cut. Mule retreated some feet, putting distance between him and the rising General. 

The Majestic's visage turned cold at the sight of his bleeding chest. She had seen him kill so many times; he was quick and deadly, no effort was ever wasted, all he needed was the opportunity to strike and it would be over. Unfortunately, it didn't look like this warlord would give him that opportunity. One of her guards touched her shoulder, and the Majestic took her eyes from the fight. He nodded to her hands, and to her surprise they were dripping blood. Her sharp nails had bit into her palms and punctured the skin. The lady ignored him and her wounds and kept her eyes on the fight.

Mule backpedaled from the wide arcing slashes his opponent was cutting through the air. The Unkillable was over exerting himself trying to overwhelm his opponent; it was working, Mule couldn't do anything but dodge and evade, but it was also tiring the expert warrior. This was turning into a battle of will and attrition. Mule glanced behind him and found he was coming dangerously close to The Unkillable's trio of slaves. The two Zecarin ladies were already moving out of the way but Riyarra was standing still. Either awestruck or resigned to any fate that may befall her, she wasn't scrambling out of the way like the others. It was almost as if she refused to be afraid for her own life. This was the opportunity Mule needed -- something the General hated more than him.

When he got in range of her, Mule stopped back-stepping and spun to one side as that blade came for him. The Unkillable's fury was burning out and his recoil attacks had become slower and slower. This time when he saw his opponent dodge, he went to strike again and found the elf girl in his way instead of the human. The defiant look on her face fueled his frustrations; he would wet his blade one way or another. The Unkillable lunged forward to skewer her up to the hilt with that massive weapon. He took his eyes off his true opponent long enough for Mule to get close. Dawning comprehension came too late as he saw that thick shackle chain coming down in front of his eyes and catching his neck at the metal gorget. Mule spun in place the moment it made contact, twisting that chain taught and putting his back into the General. With a fierce yell that ripped through his vocal cords, he thrust his hips back and dropped his torso. Pulling with his hands over one shoulder he yanked with all his strength as his body dropped. The surprised warlord was sent flying backwards over Mule's shoulder to collide painfully face first onto the ground. 

With the still chains still wound tight, Mule planted a foot on the back of the General's neck and pulled up as he grabbed his wrists together. The Unkillable let go his blade and struggled to grab the chains and stop the strangulation. The metal of the warrior's gorget groaned under the tension, and suddenly gave way bending inwards. Mule released his victim an instant later and walked away to catch his breath.

The General got to his feet and picked up his sword, but the strength had left his hands. He gasped and wheezed as the misshapened armor piece was now putting pressure on his windpipe, making it hard to breath. He yanked off his helmet and struggled to remove the warped piece of metal, but it was too damaged to come off. Mule just stood and watched; the fight was over, The Unkillable just didn't know it yet. The Zecarin's wheezes turned to coughs and gasps and his dark grey face started to turn a shade of deep purple. A hushed silence suddenly fell over The Pit at this sudden turn of events. 

The hall was filled with only the frantic gasps for air. The general went weakly to his knees. His fingers clawed, pulled, and tried to pry the bent gorget off his throat. The harder he yanked, the more it bit into his undercoat and through it into his neck. Soon a small trickle of blood could be seen seeping from the seam of his gorget and scale shirt.

"You're an animal." Mule spat a safe distance away. "Die like one." The General's eyes grew wide at this unlikely coincidence. The prophecy had been about him! Frantically he yanked at the misshapen metal, but the harder he pulled the more it cut into his neck. His strength soon gave out between the lack of air, and the blood loss, and the General collapsed. Mule picked up the greatsword and placed the tip to the unconscious and wheezing male's neck. With one quick, violent thrust, the tip passed through all until it bit into the stone of the floor. The maroon carpet drank in the blood that flowed. The Pit was quiet.

"Today I take a name!" Mule yelled to all that would hear. "I am The Killer!" he threw the sword to the ground with a clatter and approached the High Patriarch. He went to one knee before the wooden throne, and he could feel the tension in the two remaining Generals. The High Patriarch stood, his aura of power flared and the gemstones glowed brightly. 

"You have murdered a Zecarin General." The Patriarch announced with a stern voice. He came to stand before this human.

"He was unfit." The Killer answered sternly. "May a more worthy, pure-blooded Zecarin, take his place."

"You, who have already claimed so much, will not make a claim to be General?" The High Patriarch raised his head and looked down his nose at this human. The Generals flanking him on both sides had their weapons at the ready to skewer this man should he misspeak. It was a trap.

"Only a son or daughter of Zecair can be a General." Mule stated plainly. "Zecair deserves no less. May the elite soldiers prove their worth." The Generals seemed to relax a little. "I desire all that I can attain legally."

"Rise then, Killer." The High Patriarch said begrudgingly. "Your name has been taken. Claim your rewards for your house." The old under elf raised his hand towards Te Killer, and the remaining shackles disappeared. The Killer turned and looked above to those seated around the Pit. He met the curious, and hateful gazes of the spectators and councilmen above. They would not suffer a human among them for long. His gaze fell to those in the center, the guards of The Unkillable were visibly nervous. The Twins, and Riyarra were still fighting the shock of seeing the monster they hated dead on the ground. Even the Majestic couldn't take her sneering visage off the body. 

"By law," The Killer started. "I will claim only those in this room that owed servitude to the dead." His words were invoking the Claim of Rights. It was the part of a name taking ceremony, when the victor chose his spoils from the defeated. "Those that owed fealty, may return to their house and serve its new master, I do not claim it or them." This uncommon act of charity caused mixed reactions from those above. Even the High Patriarch was arching one bushy eyebrow in suspicious confusion. "You three." He pointed to the slave girls. Then he turned to The Majestic, whose smug visage was borderline proud.

"The Majestic, whose life belonged to the dead." The Killer started. The Majestic finally met his gaze as an equal that time. She no longer looked with contempt or scorn. "I claim her house, and I give her the name The Lascivious, in servitude." The Killer met her gaze and didn't flinch. The Majestic's smug expression melted, her jaw dropped, and her nails dug back into her palms. This betrayal was unexpected, and she couldn't hide her outrage. That unladylike gaping mouth closed tightly, barring rows of grinding teeth. This last damning act finally won a favorable reaction from the crowd. Jeers and lewd comments echoed off the walls towards the newly fallen Councilwoman.

"The Killer," The High Patriarch said. "Your house will now need a representative to The Council of Ten. You will not be allowed." His voice was trying to be neutral, but even he was having a hard time accepting this human among them. The Killer paused and thought for a moment.

"I will send an appropriate delegate. One, worthy and loyal to Zecair." The Killer said. 

"The Killer, now that you are in possession of a forbidden slave, you are now guilty of treason." The High Patriarch said calmly and folded his hands together before him. "How do you plead?" Mule glanced at Riyarra and thought on how to answer that. Hopefully he had worked the crowd up enough to be suggestible to anything involving bloodshed.

"I will use her as bait, to ambush more Eltharian patrols. She is now a tool of war." He answered. Riyarra gave him a murderous look, her trust in this man was all but destroyed. Even if he was lying, he did it so convincingly it called into question everything else he had ever said to her. Mule, The Killer, this human... could not be trusted.

"Let it be done." The High Patriarch announced the ceremonial end to the Trial. He turned and walked from The Pit, ever grateful to be done with this fiasco. The two Generals paused and saluted the man that had killed one of their own. In their eyes he saw the respect he deserved for the service he had done Zecair, even if the people would not openly voice it.

Mule approached the entourage of The Unkillable. He met the gaze of each guard and gave them unthreatening looks. Despite his efforts, they still looked ready to swarm him or flee.

"You," he pointed to one of the more impressive looking soldiers -- a tall Zecarin male with a broad chest and black chain armor. "Deal with the body, the rest may return to your house. You three..." he looked to the Twins and Riyarra. He didn't meet their gaze for long. "Attend to your new Lord and Master. We're going home, and I need a bath."

****

A bath was indeed what he needed. The Killer sat on a washing stool of the spa room his legs were spread wide, and his hands were planted on his knees. It was a fierce posture, even for one here to relax. This was the same room where he first fought The Unkillable and lost - on purpose. This time, he had posted guards outside to ensure he was no disturbed. 

The Obedient attended him. Like him, she was naked. Her short red hair was wet and pulled back behind her ears. She was at work, dabbing the numerous cuts on his arms and thighs with a cotton swab. It reeked of grain liquor, and each time it touched a wound he would hiss through his teeth. The Killer's hand went to his chest and touched the stitch work she had performed on the nasty cut there. It was clean work.

Kneeling on the stone floor away from them was a Zecarin woman. Her head was shaved bald, and numerous earrings lined her long ears. She was naked with only her jewelry to adorn her. A matching pair of silver rings protruded from the puffy nipples of her well endowed chest. They were connected by a thin silvery chain to a ring in her navel, and that one to another ring somewhere between her thighs. Her gaze was plain and stoic.

The Killer breathed in the scented air. He was so looking forward to a long soak in the hot water of the tub before him, but first he needed to be properly groomed. And his new personal servant was seeing to that. The Obedient finished cleaning his wounds and pulled a thin silver razor from her jeweled box. It opened with a click, and The Killer raised his head ever so slightly. Her hand touched one of his cheeks and tilted his head to one side as she moved that razor towards his throat. She paused in her work.

"Why do you trust me with this?" She asked earnestly. The razor came around his head so he could see it clearly in the dim light. 

"Your proficiency is well renowned." The Killer smirked slightly. "You were recommended to me." The razor went to his neck and gently cleared off a section of the short beard that had overtaken his face.

"And how do you plan on paying me for my services?" She cooed into his ear.

"I was thinking of giving you a more suiting name." He responded. She shaved off another section.

"Choose your next word carefully, Master." She whispered huskily. The razor went to his skin, right below his adam's apple.

"I am open to suggestions," He whispered back coyly. The blade, with expert care, shaved the difficult contours of his adam's apple. "The Lacerating comes to mind." As the blade went up his throat to his chin, it slipped ever so slightly. The Killer hissed.

"Was it worth it?" she said sweetly as she wiped the blade clean on a towel. The Killer touched the small nick on his chin and checked it had barely bled.

"I'll tell you when you finish." He responded. "Clever answer." She giggled and resumed clearing his chin of hair.

"Our house needs a new face for the Council." He said offhandedly. "And a new Master, I will not be tolerated here long."

"The Loud can be quite good at entreating others." Her hand never slipped once as she worked. He paused and thought about her recommendation.

"No," He responded quickly. But his reason why took some deliberation. "She doesn't have the ferocity for politics."

"Another clever answer." She smiled and started to work on one of his cheeks. "Do all humans grow so much fur on their faces?"

"The men do." The Killer tilted his head to one side to follow her lead. The blade finished that side of his cheek and moved to the other. In a few quick strokes she had the last of his beard removed. The razor was cleaned and folded back into its handle. With a clean section of the towel, she dabbed the rest of his face clean. From her jeweled box, she pulled out a vial of yellowish oil. This she dabbed into her palm and then rubbed it into his pink, hair free face. It took the sting of the shaving away instantly.

"Don't ask where it comes from." The Obedient grinned at him when she came around in front of him.

"Raeal mucus." The Killer wrinkled his nose. "We use it up top too." The Obedient smiled in concession and stood up offering her hand. Her Lord took it, and she guided him into the hot bath waters beyond.

The Killer let loose a long profound sigh as the soothing hot water eased his aching muscles. It overpowered the twinging sting of the many cuts on his legs when they contacted the water. He went to the first ledge under the water and sat down. The Obedient's dark skinned form glistened in the light from below the water. He didn't get such a good look at her before, the light in The Majestic's chamber was so dim. She had the attractive curves of an athletic female; her hips were round, and her body slim and toned. She even showed off a little abdominal definition when she bent over. Her breasts average but ample for one so conditioned, and still perky as they stared The Killer in the face.

"See something you like?" She toyed with him as her hands ran up her sides to cup her breasts. "Despite being such a lowly human, you deserve a reward for taking care of such a thorn in my side." She said with a pout on her lips. The Killer shook his head with a chuckle.

"Why do you trust me enough with that?" he said, using her own words.

"Your proficiency is well renowned." The Obedient replied and bit her thumb seductively. "You were recommended to me." The Obedient let her hand slide down her stomach as she flexed the muscles. She leaned down to her master, and draped her arms around his neck. Her full red pouty lips went to one of his ears and blew gently on it. "This time, I get your tongue, all of it." she whispered into his ear.

The bath slave sitting quietly near the wall didn't move, and didn't speak. This was her home, her place of work and rest. It wasn't uncommon for lovers to take to the baths and not need her services. Sometimes on rare occasions they requested her skill during their lovemaking. For now this was no different than any other visitation; only she got to see the monster that threw two houses into chaos in one day.

The Obedient had served as a bath slave, she knew the skills needed to service visitors. She had served in many roles, and learned many things. It was an honor and a privilege to be served by one with such a reputation and value; the lord of their house deserved no less. As she stood to her feet and walked towards The Killer, her feet straddling his lap, she held the presence of the Mistress more than the Slave. She ran her hands down his long wet hair to his cheeks as she stared down at him. She glanced up once to the bathing slave and nodded to her. The slave moved a stationary string instrument from behind her to in front of her. It was made of bright yellow wood with a hardened glaze; metal strings ran across its length. The slave pressed her fingertips to the neck of the instrument while her fingernails started to pluck out a slow sensual melody. Her nails had been cut to different lengths, and each one coated in metal to improve their strength and durability. Their differing lengths made different sounds from the strings.




Caught in Darkness Ch. 11



Her Master, The Obedient, started to sway her hips in rhythm with the music. Her arms rose up her body and danced in the air as her whole being became one with the slow rhythm. The servant sat and watched a true master at seduction perform for her patron. Never once did her feet lift from the water, all of her movements required perfect balance and fluid movement as she swayed before The Killer. Her hands touched her body in soft erotic caresses -- her arms, her neck, her hips, and thighs. As a deep drumming beat came from the musician's fingers, The Obedient arched backwards, her arms and hips continued to dance to the beat of the music. Her stomach was horizontal to The Killer's face, and there she stayed, holding that poise, letting her sexual flower spread and bloom before him. It gave off a tantalizing scent that electrified The Killer's nostrils; such a perfume was made and used with only the most erotic of purpose, and only the most deserving.

Her knees pulled forward to rest on his shoulder, pressing her alluring sex within reach of his lips. Both her hands came to rest on his ears, and her fingertips gentle caressed the outer ridge and earlobe. Her body slowly rose to the beat of the rhythm, her torso undulated as it did. It was astonishing the muscular control she had as she kept her balance and the beat of the music as she rose to a squatting position.

"Taste, my lord." She breathed huskily. Her movements became more subdued and subtle, yet still as erotic and mesmerizing as she played with his ears gently. His tongue obliged her as it came out to sample the sexual nectar of her flower. The perfume she added had a spicy sweet taste to it, and it made him want even more. His tongue circled her labia, keeping contact despite her body's undulating dance. It hungrily licked up each side of her outer folds, seeking as much of that taste as he could find. A slow gasp wisped from her mouth as the sensations aroused her body. He slowed his tongue's lavishing trying to match the rhythm of her body and the music, with each upbeat he stroked her clitoris, with each winding rhythm he alternated between her inner folds. It made her tremble with excitement and her gasping turned to whimpers. Her fingers expressed her excitement better as they pinched his ears during heights of her arousal, it was a clear signal to when and where his lips needed to go.

While her guests were enthralled in their lovemaking, the musician watched and listened to The Obedient's responses. She tailored the music to synchronize with her lady's growing arousal. Her fingers picked up speed and tone, and knowing a woman's rhythm she could push their building tension higher with unexpected tones the lovers then had to meet. In a sense, it was almost as if she was now guiding their experience, building them steadily towards the climax her mistress desired. She herself could empathize with her Mistress, as her own sex needed a release from her voyeuristic arousal.

As the tempo increased so to did the lavishing of her human's tongue on her soaking pussy. Her hands had moved to his head, and grabbed fistfuls of his curly locks during intense moments of pleasure, and caressed his scalp while building up to one. Her lover never tired for her, never touched her with his hands, never changed the beat of their dance, never gave her any other sensation to distract her from the wonderful ministrations of his tongue on her pussy.

Her body started to arch backwards as her swaying stopped and her breath caught itself in her throat. The Killer knew the signs of her peaking pleasure and thrust his tongue deep into her enflamed pussy and flexed the tip of it inside her. Her fingernails dug into his scalp on reflex and a muffled scream started in her throat, grew as she took in breath, and then released itself as her pleasure released itself in tremors that flowed through her body and flooded his masterful tongue. The Obedient came, and came hard. Her whole body wracked up and she curled forward to cradle his head against her. The walls of her pussy were still contracting around his tongue and her juices flowed down it and his chin as wave after wave still flooded her being.

The bath servant echoed her lady's orgasm and leaned backwards, the chains connecting the rings of her most sensitive parts pulled taught and stretched her nipples and clitoris. It was all she needed to push her own arousal over the edge. She bit her lip to muffle her scream as a minor orgasmic tremor moved through her body. When the spasming stopped along with her pleasure, she calmed her breath and resumed her quiet observance.

The Obedient had sank into The Killer's lap. Her red pouty lips kissed and licked her juices off his newly shaven face. Her chest heaved from the exertion as she caught her breath. Their tongues met, and then their mouths in a passionate kiss. The Obedient straddled his lap, and found his hard erect member waiting patiently for her. She ground her wet pussy against it under the waterline -- teasing him with it. 

"Has my master tired of me yet?" She breathed at him when their lips parted. She ground her hips forward stroking her pussy with his erect cock.

"Not yet. But I have matters needing my attention first." The Killer sighed and pulled away from her.

"As my master wishes." She pouted, in a feigned obsequious tone.

"You'll enjoy this almost as much." He smirked and rose from the bath. His engorged member stared her straight in the face as she remained seated. Her lips gave it a soft kiss, and her tongue traced the underside of it from shaft to head. "Even more enjoyable than that." He reassured her. The Obedient sighed in disappointment, and rose to dress. The bath servant met them both with towels. She serviced her Master while The Obedient was left to dry herself.

"What shall we do with our prisoners? I would hear your opinion." The Killer said. 

"The Lascivious failed." The Obedient said coldly. Her earlier devotion to her lady had disappeared completely now that she served a new Master. "She deserves whatever fate you decide. " "She was an instrumental tool. One that no longer has a purpose." The Killer responded almost as coldly. "The new Mistress of this house might find some use for her."

"She might." The Obedient had finished drying and went to find her servant's robe. To her surprise she found it missing and clothes in its place. There was a pair of deeplizard skin pants, the black scales had an opalescent sheen to them that changed as the leather moved. She pulled them on, and found they hugged her curves perfectly and still stretched to allow movement -- a very expensive item. But it was completely overshadowed by the azure colored, fine mesh, metal shirt underneath it. She picked it up by the collar and looked at it. Silk-metal was tough as steel, yet light as silk, and easily ten times as expensive as the pants. Silk collars at the neck, wrists, and waist held the billowy material in place. It was too much a coincidence. She shot The Killer a suspicious glance.

"My teacher, Boil, told me many things when I was tutored by him." The Killer answered her glare. The servant girl was pulling a plain leather vest over his head. It left his arms bare, but also showed the scars on his muscled arms -- an intimidating effect. "This house needs a leader that is more than just fancy indulgences. It needs someone that can appreciate their uses at times. But one that also knows how to use a razor."

"You've stopped speaking in riddles." She muttered as she clutched the shirt to her bare chest.

"There's no need for me to hide who I am anymore." The Killer smirked. The Obedient pulled the shirt over her head and laced the silk cuffs and collars around her person. "I used your people's own ignorance against you. I played the mysterious role to keep my enemies suspicious and cautious."

"I need shoes." The Obedient complained.

"Go buy some." The Killer shot back.

"What is it you want from me, in exchange for all this?" She gave him a suspicious glance. The Killer noticed her left hand was curled inside itself -- she was holding something.

"That you forget about me." He answered honestly as he pulled on a pair of brown leather pants. "And the Eltharian. I'm taking her from the city. You'll never see either of us again."

"A fair trade." She scowled at him and crossed her arms under her chest. The material of the shirt was translucent, and her posture made her breasts perkier. It was a distraction tactic, but it wasn't working. "Why do I get the feeling I know you?" She eyed him suspiciously. The Killer stopped buckling his belt and stared off.

"Because we are very much alike." He responded coldly. "The mission is all that matters. Anything for the mission. Everything for the mission." The Obedient tucked her razor into the hem of her pants as she approached him. 

"I like that saying." She smiled and cupped his chin with her hand. This time when she kissed him there was no façade, no duty, no feigned lust. It was quick and affectionate, the kind of kiss siblings would share. "Let it be done." She announced to seal their deal. The bath servant rolled aside the door to the bath house. As The Obedient followed The Killer outside the room she paused and lifted the chin of the serving girl.

"I like you." She smiled. "Come play for me in my chambers later." The servant bowed her head respectively. Yet there was no excitement in her eyes over the offer, promotions in Zecair were rarely a good thing.

****

The Killer met his charge at the entrance to the outer tunnel. As the door shut behind him the darkness engulfed them. There were no lights here, nothing to show that this door disguised as rock was part of a larger complex. There were no guards, and no one else but them -- The Loyal, the new Mistress of the house had seen to that. He pulled a strider lizard along by the reigns, a sleek looking reptile that resembled a giant gecko. It stood about four feet tall when it walked, and was saddle with provisions.

Riyarra had been bound hand and foot and blindfolded. She looked like a discarded hostage lying crumpled on the floor. But true to their arrangement, she had not been hurt otherwise. The Killer picked her up, and draped her over the back of the mount. The elf girl made no sound or protest, and that made The Killer suspicious. He walked around the animal until he was facing her head, and lifted her face up by pinching her cheeks together. She scowled and suppressed a grown of pain from the mishandling, but otherwise kept her comments to herself. Good enough. He mounted up and nudged the lizard into a fast stride with his knees. 

Strider's were runners, and within' a few hours they had reached the exit to the tunnels and the surface above. The cold night air brought with it new smells and sounds they both hadn't heard in so long. And the star filled night was bright to eyes used to pitch black. It was the first clue Riyarra had to what was happening. And when she could hear and smell those old familiar things she started to squirm and shout.

"Wait! Wait!" she screamed over the wind and the thumping of the strider's feet. 

"Not yet princess!" The Killer shouted back and kept the lizard going. It speeded though forest and bushes and over rivers and streams. As its clawed paws splashed through the brooks and puddles, it sent mud splattering into Riyarra's face. She coughed and hacked, trying to rid her face of the dirty stuff. He heard her choking, and brought the lizard to a slow halt. The Killer maneuvered the beast up some rocks onto a small secluded patch of hilltop out of eyesight. It was nestled next to the side of the mountain above. This was the very same mountain that made up the Zecarin city on the inside. 

"This will do," The Killer announced as he dismounted. He stretched his legs and back. He took his time checking the surrounding area. Riyarra, still bound and blindfolded, struggled to get a sense of her bearings. Satisfied this place would do, he shouldered the bound elf and sat her down on the grass and dirt.

This elf lady, the one he'd worked so hard to protect, was now his and at his mercy. Her long hair fell in a tangled mess over her shoulders and back. Her bound hands struggled behind her to relieve the uncomfortable position. Her human escort paused for a moment to consider her as she sat on the ground with her hands behind her. It was only a brief moment, but she could feel the silent stares, and for some reason if filled her with dread. The Killer pulled the blindfold off her head and discarded it. Riyarra blinked a few times as he eyes dared to take in the night sky. She couldn't stop staring up at the sky. The stars, the sparse clouds, the moons all painted the picture she never realized her heart longed for. 

"Do I dare?" She whispered. Then her eyes fell coldly to The Killer. "What's your game? Hmm?" Her doubt turned to suspicion. As she looked at him standing with his bare arms crossed over that leather vest he wore. It was a superior pose, and it wasn't something someone who intended to rescue her would do. "Show me the surface for just a bit, only to take it away and stick me back in a cell?" She had gotten shrewder since they last spoke. 

"Its over." The Killer said calmly. "There are no more games."

"What did you win?" She asked, playing along.

"Everything." The Killer answered. There was an unemotional tone to his voice that bothered her. She could never tell what face was the act and what was the truth with him. 

"So what should I call you now? Mule? The Killer? Human?" She said. She flung her head back trying to dislodge some of her hair from her face. He shrugged as he knelt in front of her and started undoing her ankle bonds. The rope was simple and the knot plain, whoever had done it was sloppy. She could have wiggled her way free if she had tried. He left her wrists still bound. 

"I'm a disruptor. We don't have names." He finally said.

"What is that?" she humored him. He just shot her a glance as the rope came free and he tossed it away.

"It means my name becomes whatever the mission requires it to be. Call me what you like."

"I liked Mule. It fit." She shot back with a distasteful glare. "What is, or was your mission?" Mule stood and started unpacking the satchels strapped to the back of the strider.

"To disrupt the Zecarins." He replied. He pulled out a thick, rolled up blanket that compromised a bed roll and spread it out on a relatively flat section of the ground. "And that's all I'm going to say right now."

"So you're a mercenary?" She said with some comprehension. "Suddenly you seem more human by the moment." Mule laughed.

"If you say so." He smiled coyly and fished some wrapped food out of the packs. He brought some dried jerky over to Riyarra. "Are you hungry?" Her instinct, or maybe it was her pride, wanted her to say no. But the moment she smelled the spiced meat her mouth started to water. He tore off a piece and hand fed her. She scarfed it down, it was the first time she had had meat since her capture.

"I will tell you this." Mule answered as he munched on some of the jerky. "You weren't part of my mission. You were supposed to be dead, not captured. Your highness."

"Don't call me that." She muttered.

"Why not?" Mule smiled. There was a flicker of mischief in the way he looked at her. "Don't you want any Zecarin within earshot," his words were patronizing. "or any of their spell crafters listening in, to know that they just had the princess of Elthara in their dungeons... and they let her go?" Riyarra couldn't look at him anymore. This was dangerous territory. He knew who she was, and since he wasn't being overly chivalrous or respective to her station, he had other ideas in store for her.

"That might cause a problem." Riyarra finally muttered.

"It might. But not for us."

"How can you be so sure?" For the first time since their capture, she finally let down the wall to her fears. She was angry with him for exposing her secret, but it wasn't just him she was angry with. Her eyes teared up, and before she knew it she was crying. Her sobs came and went. Mule's face turned cold.

"A once future ruler of Elthara should be stronger." He sneered at her. "After all you've been through, after everything they did to you, and you choose now to loose your strength? You need it now more than anything!"

"Why?!" she cried. Her voice was fraught with emotion, and she practically yelled the words at him. "You're just another monster!"

"Because your brother, the one who hired me, only said this.' Mule paused to finish his jerky. "If you find her, she's yours. Do what you want with her." His words only made her cry more. She cried for the betrayal of her brother. She cried for the monster that was now her 'owner'. She cried for herself. 

Mule unbridled the strider, and removed the saddle and satchels. He kept silent as Riyarra let go of all the emotion she had stored up. After awhile, he couldn't even hear the cries anymore. They would still need the big lizard, but it wouldn't be of much use in the sun. They'd have to stay here during the day, and ride out at dusk. He didn't like remaining so close to Zecair, but their mount needed the cool night to run in, and morning was coming on the horizon. The strider would hunt for a bit before lazing on the big rocks around here until dusk. 

With everything secured, Mule made his way back to the bedroll. Riyarra had collapsed onto her side and still sniffled now and then. For the most part she had exhausted herself. Mule picked her up. She went limp as she did when her mind retreated. He carried her over to the bed mat, and sat her up.

"You haven't asked me what I intended to do." Mule said with disappointment in his voice as he laid her down and undid her wrist bonds. He sat down on the other side of the narrow, makeshift mattress and started pulling off his boots. It caught her off guard, and in her unclear state of mind she could just stare up at him blankly as she rubbed her wrists. Her eyes were red and puffy from her tears, and she wiped them with her dirty hands. "Just like your brother, you assumed my intentions would be bad ones." Mule didn't say anything after that. He let the words sink in as he retrieved a cotton blanket folded up tightly in one of the satchels. The satchel itself, now empty, he stuffed with his vest to make a pillow of sorts. He pulled the blanket over the both of them as he settled in for the morning, with his captive curled up somewhat uncomfortably away from him. The air grew cold and damp as dawn approached, and an uncomfortable silence grew between them. 

"The mind needs to fight to survive what you've been through." He started to speak to no one in particular. Riyarra just laid there and listened. "If I just cut you loose, you'd never trust it and you'd never recover completely. You have to earn this for yourself. " Mule finally sighed. The dawning light was shaded by the mountain side. But come noon, it would be directly overhead and here would be no sleeping then. And he wanted his rest, and it was showing in his voice. 

"One of their Generals is dead. Usually the one who kills him, takes his place. Since I didn't, every elite soldier is going to be competing for that rank. And everyone below the one that gets it is going to be competing for -that- rank. And so on... and so on.... Most of the patrols have already been recalled I would imagine." Mule let a long yawn out. "And those that weren't are coming back anyways. None of them will pass up the chance."

"What will you do now?" Riyarra finally asked.

"My mission is done." Mule sighed. Then he yawned and stretched his neck one last time as he settled in. "I will probably go home." His answer didn't seem to sit well with Riyarra. She kept her back to him as her thoughts digested all they had already spoken about. So much of it all didn't make sense to her, there were too many missing pieces -- secrets she would have to get out of him later. Why did her brother send him to Zecair? What was her fate now? What she did know, was that her brother had hired him -- and not to rescue her.