Sy'lathris shivered under the light of the moon. The great dome above with its mottled eye that half-winked down at her filled her with unease, still an alien sight to her after a week of having left the caves. These were human lands, and that did nothing to ease her misgivings. Still, moonlight was better than the scorch of the raging sun that had driven her people into deep caverns and dungeons long ago.
The rags that she had plucked from a refuse pile stank of soot and urine, but she endured; the smell was, if nothing else, more tolerable than the reek of troll semen that had clung about her after the harrowing rape she'd suffered at the hands of the beast. She promised herself that when she returned to the underworld hale again, the troll would be captured and tortured to death by methods her own people had perfected over centuries. But alas, she mused, that would have to wait.
For now, she had to seek some clue as to what affliction weakened her so. Swathed in the filthy rags from head to toe, she could pass for a sickly human beggar; it would keep the despicable humans from scrutinizing her too closely, but offered little opportunity to seek their knowledge. That did not bother her too much; she doubted that these peasant humans knew anything about what ailments might strike a drow. Few humans cared to bother someone so seemingly destitute, and it offered a plausible reason for the episodes when her willpower failed her and her shaking legs brought her to her knees. The humans were soft, and some gave her food or small coins; it was enough to get by on. It made Sy'lathris smile wryly under the cloth covering the lower half of her face; as it was said among her people, generosity was a good trait—in someone else.
Shaking the recollections of her journey from her head, Sy'lathris approached the moonlit stream she had located, heading for where the trees grew thicker along its banks. She had managed to steal some cleaner clothes earlier in the evening; now she wanted to find a more secluded spot to clean up and change out of the urine-stained rags.
Avoiding the outer buildings of the village out of knowledge that these folk had little trust for those who wandered at night, Sy'lathris made her way into the little glade of trees. From her sheltered position in drow society, she'd known such plants only from tales and tomes of lore copied down from before her people had been driven beneath the earth, but seeing them now felt very different, a mixed respect and fear for the proud trunks among which her distant ancestors arose. Forests—even this small grove—struck a chord with her instincts, but they remained a place forsaken by her ancestors.
Picking her way slowly between the trees, she came to the stream she'd noticed. The water ran merrily along in its track, not too deep and not too fast, but clear, fresh water. After checking warily to assure herself that no one was around, she began to unwrap herself from the filthy rags. The new garments were still shabby—she did not want to look too well-off in the human lands, lest people grow more suspicious as to the reasons she hid her face—but at least they were clean. Casting the dirty clothes away, she slid into the water, shivering at its chill touch, but revelling in the promise of cleanliness it offered. She dove underwater, swam, rose again and scrubbed her body over and over with the clear water, her coal-black nipples stiff from the chill as she rinsed her gorgeous ebon skin and snowy hair.
Stepping out of the stream, Sy'lathris wrung out her hair and rubbed herself dry with what remained of her old cloak. She was about to take up the fresh clothes when she stopped abruptly, her keen drow senses warning her of potential danger.
Yes—over there, someone's eye could be seen as they peeped around the trunk of a tree. Black anger rose in Sy'lathris' drow chest. Someone had been watching her bathe! She would have castrated her menservants if she caught them breaking her privacy in such a way, but in her current state, what retribution she could mete out was far less certain.
"I know you're there! Come out at once!" snarled the drow in a hard, imperious voice.
From behind the tree, a youthful human male emerged with a sheepish expression on his pale face and a bulge in the front of his peasant britches. Sy'lathris noted with a hateful frown that the male showed none of the fear one of her underlings would have shown at being so called out; in fact, the lad approached her rather boldly in light of the awkward situation. The drow regarded humans as stupid, bumbling creatures, but Sy'lathris thought this one looked stupider than most. Even if he was a bit dull, though, he'd done his farm work with youthful vigor day in and day out, and it had made him strong; no muscle-bound warrior, but far from weak.
The drow struck at him with the side edge of an ebon hand, aiming for a point where she might deal a killing blow. The lad blinked, but reacted in time, ducking slightly and throwing up an arm. Her strike bounced weakly off of his forearm, and a moment later, his hand gripped her wrist.
"Leave me," Sy'lathris hissed, "or I will kill you."
The lad showed no sign of having understood, and she struck at him again. Again, the attack that should have killed was deflected far too easily, the proud drow pushed against a nearby tree trunk.
"What a strange little wench," said the lad in his own language, and Sy'lathris grimaced. She could barely understand what he was saying, and it was quite possible that the human could understand nothing of Sy'lathris' own tongue. Her threats had fallen on deaf ears, as it were.
For all the drow's hostility, the farm boy found himself fascinated by her—her body and face could have been the direct crafting of some dark divinity seeking to hone the concept of female beauty. He was the only one who'd followed the vagabond, simply out of idle curiosity after noticing her when leaving the village to head home after a stop in the tavern. Now that he'd seen that the creature hidden under the rags was not at all what he'd expected, other thoughts rose to the top of his mind, causing him to smirk a bit.
"You're a rude little thing, maybe I should teach you how a wench ought to act." he drawled.
Sy'lathris got the basic idea of what the youth was threatening without understanding all of the words, and she hissed, drawing back and preparing to struggle. Despite the vehemence of her resistance, her condition still sapped her strength maddeningly, and she was helpless against the youth's strong arms as he manhandled her into a supine position. His trousers dropped to his ankles as he unfastened them, then he stepped out of them, already growing erect as he caressed Sy'lathris' breasts, massaging them firmly.
He kissed her lips, a clumsy attempt at a lover's gesture that only irritated her more, then he slid into place atop her, his firm chest pressing on her breasts a bit as his cock found her warm ebon cunt and pushed into her between the silky folds. Her lip curled in distaste at being mated to the careless human, but compared to the brutal sodomy the troll had put her through, it was almost a relief. Her hands wrapped around him, clawing at his thighs with her fingernails, but it soon appeared that doing so achieved nothing but arousing him more.
He began to thrust, and she bit her lip, making no sound as his shaft slid in and out along smooth, warm flesh. His fingers toyed with her ears, tugging them a little, exploring the exotic forms of them as he grinned down at her. He attempted to take her as lovers do, but it was neither skillful nor wanted, and Sy'lathris found herself settling into a bored demeanor, teeth gritted but not bared. Her slave-boys had been trained to last as long as she might wish, but now she found herself hoping that the youth would orgasm quickly and leave her in peace.
As the ebon beauty went cold fish on the youth, though, his thrusting slowed and he looked at her as if wondering what was wrong with her. Not only did she look strange—albeit highly appealing to him—but she certainly didn't respond like the drunken bar wenches he'd sampled on the sly.
"Wake up." he grunted, slapping her cheek, not hard, but not particularly gently either.
It worked, if not quite the way the lad had intended; Sy'lathris hissed with rage and began to buck and struggle under him, punching at him, though with no more strength in her weakened state than a human girl younger than the farm-boy was. He wrestled her, thrusting harder and kissing her mouth until she tried to bite him, which produced another slap to her cheek from him.
Spewing a constant stream of drow profanities, Sy'lathris continued to struggle as the lad slammed his hips against hers again and again, his thick cock shoving in and out along the inner walls of her warm black cunt. His hands grabbed her throat, and she gasped in breath as quickly as she could, but he did not try to choke her, merely holding her silky-skinned neck firmly in his work-roughened hands.
Still, she tried to pry his hands off, hating the dominant position he'd put himself in, her nails digging at his hands and wrists, but that only encouraged him to tighten his grip and shake her a little, producing a new stream of profanities from the drow's mouth. Her hips bucked, trying to escape the thrusting shaft of the lad, but he pinned her down with his body, silencing her yells with another sloppy kiss that brought fiery humiliation to Sy'lathris' cheeks, saved from being seen only by the inky blackness of her silken skin.
Grunting with pleasure, the young oaf continued to pump into the drow's tight, well-sculpted body, finding to his surprise that her rage and struggles only excited him more, his cock feeling like if it got any harder it would burst. He bit her lip experimentally, and she attempted to reply in kind, but his hands still held her throat and she couldn't rouse enough strength in her body to throw him off.
"I'm going to fucking cum, you dirty little foreign wench..." the lad swore, using language to match the drow's tone of voice even though he had no understanding of the elaborate insults the drow had been spouting. Sy'lathris, for her part, understood a curse or two overheard in the market place of the last town she'd visited, and she hissed and spat in the lad's face, prompting him to shake her again.
To her surprise, he pulled out of her then and then straddled her chest, hauling her head up by her luxurious long white hair, his dirty fingers gripping tight on her locks as his other hand grabbed his cock, holding it in front of her lips. She stared at the bobbing shaft for a few moments, wondering what he had in mind as his hand worked up and down along it. She could see great pleasure in his expression, and she frowned, scowling at the bulging head of his cock.
Then he ejaculated on her face.
His hot semen splattered on her ebon lips, and fresh rage rose in her breast. The smell of his seed filled her nose as her beautiful face was defiled, her finely-crafted features wrinkling with disgust, one eye stuck in a wink by a slimy gob of cum over her eyelid. A sluggish, viscous rivulet oozed down her lower lip where the greatest part of his load had been splattered, running down her chin to drip on the ground. She thought she could taste it, creeping between her lips, and spat vehemently, finding that some actually did get into her mouth when she did so and repeating the action again and again.
Sy'lathris was dumbfounded. The mating habits of other races had been of no interest to her, and at home, her men were expected to relieve themselves of seed into the latrine after pleasuring her, unless she was attempting to conceive, which was rarely. The feel of crude male fluids defiling the sanctity of her silky ebon skin made her pulse race with fury, and she roared with anger and frustration, heaving herself up at his cock with the intent to bite down as hard as she might.
The youth's hand in her hair pulled her head back down easily, and he spoke to her again; words she wasn't certain of, except that he was calling her a "wench" again. A last drip of cum fell on her chin, and the human regarded her with a smug expression. She clawed at his ankle with her fingernails, managing to scratch him a little, but he just laughed and spat on her, the warm saliva splashing on her cheek to mingle with his cum. The farm-boy grinned then, watching his fluids drip down her face and finding that this had been somehow much more satisfying than the drunken bar-wenches.
Now he was done, though, his simple life not having instructed him in other ways he could amuse himself with the unwilling drow after having spilled his seed. He rose and hiked his pants back up then and began to walk away, fastening them as he went, a merry tune on his lips as he hummed. Sy'lathris wished she'd been able to get a good throwing dagger added to her stolen equipment, but the rustic humans here had only large chopping knives, good for cooking but useless for slaying an enemy from afar. She'd chase him down and kill him bare-handed, were it not that her strength had already failed her at that; seething, she had to let the youth go, though she filed his face to her memory. If she ever brought her people surfacewards to raze these lands, she would see to it that he was captured and brought to her to pay the price for defiling a drow.
Still smouldering with inward anger, Sy'lathris slipped back into the stream to bathe herself all over again. The water made the lad's cum into a thick and sticky mess as the fluids washed out of it, and she spoke scrolls worth of drow obscenities under her breath as she scraped the glue-like residue of the human's seed from her features. She remained in the stream, scrubbing and fuming, until the water had her feeling quite cold. Only then did she emerge to dry off and dress in the cleaner rags, leaving the foul ones behind and hurrying off as quickly as her weary body would allow; Sy'lathris wanted no more of these human villages with their open land and strange customs. The edges of a forest were visible in the distance, and she made for them, deciding to take her chances in the wilderness now. It meant grubbing for food from the earth's plants rather than begging as a leper, but at least the creatures of the wood would be less crude than the human lad who'd just used her.
At least, that's what she hoped....
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