Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ A Savage Land ❯ Night Elf ( Chapter 8 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

- -

She hated the Cult for what they did to her. She stood for the light, a priestess, and they stood for everything opposite of that. Cult of the Damned indeed.

It wasn't just the ones that had overwhelmed her in that battle, nor the one that had so tormented her inside that cage. All cultists she hated, wanting nothing more than to see them all beaten down and defeated, kneeling before the execution block. Her tormenter, she had been reduced to her knees for a more humiliating end, and that was fine with her too.

-

While Sigrid had been a Frost Vrykul in life, Gard was the first one Nathaniel had ever actually slept with. One of the most notable things about her, besides the blue of her skin and eyes and hair, was that her skin matched the temperature of that around her. In the snow where he had first encountered her, ice had formed along part of her features, and he thought that might mean she would be colder than those that were undead.

However, in a bed she had warmed until she matched him, not cold at all anymore, similar to how metal heated. It must have been the natural adaption of how Vrykul adjusted to these cold lands.

Resting after they had finished, Gard seemed oblivious to his presence. She lay flat on her back, eyes closed, her sharp features relaxed. He felt miniature next to her large form. Her strong will made her pleasant to speak with, but mostly she was as aloof as Fritha. Like Sigrid, however, she was passionate about challenges, and taking her this night how Sigrid proposed seemed to have Gard pleased all the way to the end.

Stubbornly a fan of human traditions, Nathaniel rose to leave a kiss on her lips. When he finished, her eyes were open and blinking at him. He smirked and left the bed. “I will see you in the morning, Gard.”

He expected things to be left like that, but her voice stopped him as he dressed. “I will cook in the morning. A great feast for us.”

Nathaniel turned to see her sitting upright, blanket pooled to her lap, and watching him. He asked, “You cook?” That sounded a bit too domestic for the warrior.

“For myself,” she huffed. She watched him for a few moments longer. Though nothing about her seemed to soften, she elaborated: “My mother was the Lodge-Matron. She taught me.”

A flattering compliment came to his lips, but his knowledge of Vrykul stopped him. Instead, he grunted. “We shall see if your cooking is acceptable. Perhaps you may be a more pleasing concubine.”

Gard's eyes flashed at the challenge. “You will break your jaw on my feast.”

Nathaniel thought he saw the meaning of that statement, and he smiled as he continued dressing. Gard was likely a great cook, but to stay true to Vrykul culture, he could only compliment the meal and she would take the implication that she was pleasing for him.

So much simpler if he could just say, “You can cook? That's wonderful.”

He left her there on the third story's open and exposed landing, walking down the outdoor stairs. To be honest, this place had seemed much better in memory, though they had made the military establishment more livable. At the second landing, Fritha confronted him. She was the Dragonflayer Flamebinder, blond hair with gold eyes, less muscle than most Vrykul, tattoos adorning both her shoulders. Her face lacked the stern most Vrykul had, instead bearing something softer and more feminine. She resembled the elves when she looked at something with disdain.

Right now, Fritha seemed hesitant. She kneeled to him, and her voice, characterized by the usual Vrykul accent, sounded as reluctant. “My liege, when will you... also bind me to you? Am I not as pleasing?”

“I thought you disliked me,” Nathaniel said, dodging her question.

Her gold eyes turned up at him, eyebrows lowering in an angry expression. “I loath what you did to my people at Utgarde, but I greatly respect you for the accomplishment. Not even my people's strongest could hold you back, and I am... honored to serve you.”

He wished that her kneeling didn't put them at nearly equal height. He noticed something, however. “You are Vrykul, but there is something different about you from the usual warriors.”

Fritha touched the tattoo on her right shoulder. “I am a Flamebinder, one who follows the arcane ways, not a warrior. Our honor duel was only revenge for my people. My submission to you was from respect, not duty.”

Interesting. Nathaniel didn't yet see the specifics of her differences from the others, but there was certainly something. “I am tired tonight, but tomorrow I will visit your bed.”

Fritha smiled at him. “Much appreciated, my liege.”

So long of fighting the Vrykul, her pleased tone with that accent made him almost suspicious that she had something deceitful planned. It didn't help that she was Dragonflayer, like Svala, and they with the ymirjar and mjordin were the most loyal to the Lich King.

He left her there, shoving down the doubts. That left Eydis and Thora still to be bound, then he had to deal with making sure the others – like Sigrid – didn't feel left out. Never did he think that this plan would involve this sort of 'responsibility.' Then again, he had imagined himself and Aylenn like rulers on black thrones, the servants of the Lich King kneeled before them. Working with the Vrykul system of honor merely eased his conscious.

-

“I think Merette may have been a special case,” Aylenn told him as they led their new captives inside the tower. And they were captives.

The two women were both highly ranked individuals in the Cult of the Damned, one from The Desolation Gate in Icecrown and the other just south of the Argent Tournament Grounds. The leadership of the Cult was difficult to distinguish as always, but together, Nathaniel and Aylenn had picked them out and slain them. These two Aylenn had wanted brought back home as additional pleasure girls.

While the thought of having cultist pleasure girls was nice, these two weren't as eager to cling to life as Merette had been. It might have something to do with their higher station, but their were fanatically dedicated to the Lich King. They both were defiant to their captivity. Neither wanted to die without being able to ascend into the undead Scourge ranks, but they also refused to serve a new master.

“First, we must separate them,” Nathaniel muttered back to her. He had noticed that both had lost their uncertainty once united, standing together against him. “Give Selendre to Merette for... training.” Aylenn seemed pleased by the idea, immediately dragging the woman away.

Selendre, formerly the one overseeing the reanimation of frostwyrms, had black hair parted down the side and tucked behind her ears. She had worn stylized robes of black enhanced by blue before they had stripped her of both the clothing and her former identity – same as they had done with Merette. Her face bore the standard cultist tattoos, her eyes also lined in dark purple, and the face was smooth with a generous mouth.

The other, Tassaria, was a more mature beauty, found as one of the commanding heads at Aldur'thar. Her silver hair was like Lasariel's, full and natural, not the work of age - though, 'natural' might be relative to a human with that kind of hair. She was gorgeous rather than cute, displeased features soft with the kind of timeless beauty one might expect to find in sculpted statues. Her corrupted blue eyes had something radiant to them. Looking at her, Nathaniel had to admit that she came close to being as attractive as his wife, despite being a mere human.

Aylenn had only just left the room when Sigrid came swooping in on her black wings. “My Lord, we captured an intruder in your absence.”

“Where is he?” Nathaniel asked, commanding Tassaria to kneel before him, the woman glowering while still looking fearful of her predicament.

Sigrid's lips stretched in an amused smile. “She, my Lord, and under watch at the tower's top. She is familiar.”

Familiar? Nathaniel wondered at. He pointed at Tassaria. “Watch her. I will confront the intruder.”

-

“Well, I must say I didn't expect our intruder to be you,” Nathaniel said upon arriving, seeing the woman forced to sit with her legs crossed, Thora aiming a weapon at her.

The captive smiled wryly. “In my defense, I knocked first.”

Nathaniel waved Thora back, offering his hand to help the woman stand. “Why are you here, Sylva?”

The night elf brushed off her robes, and she turned a bit shy at his question, arousing Nathaniel's suspicions. Surely she isn't here because...

“I heard of the raid approaching Utgarde and tried to warn you in time. Obviously, I failed. However, I saw you flee from the upper ramparts, and I decided I'd come and be sure that you were unharmed,” she said, silver eyes not quite glancing at him.

“That's not the only reason you're here,” he mentioned calmly.

Sylva sighed, throwing herself back against the stone lining the perimeter of the roof, using her elbows on top for support as she leaned back. She blew a strand of purple hair from her eyes, turned her attention to the endless ocean the vantage point overlooked. “I recovered my footing in life. I can live with my fear. However, I will not return to the war, and so I have been wandering... And not once did my feelings for you diminish, merely clench my heart with a longing to return.”

“Darkness, she's determined,” a voiced exclaimed from the stairway, and they looked to see Aylenn leaning there with her arms before her at ground level.

Nathaniel turned back to Sylva. “Do you even know what you are asking for?”

“This is a harem – wives, concubines, pleasure girls. Your feelings cannot be returned by him to the degree you want even if we were to accept you. Such practices have been banned among the Alliance for that reason. Not to mention, you'd be the only goody girl around. We are all agents of the Lich King submitted to this man,” Aylenn pressed. Her face was expressionless as she spoke, giving none of her feelings on the matter. “And we are taking cultists in. We have three presently for pleasure girls, and you will be exposed to them on a daily basis.”

“I realize that,” Sylva muttered quietly. Her silver eyes were forlorn as they continued their study of the ocean. “I will not beg anymore; I am no longer so desperate. However, I am willing to accept the conditions and limitations of such a life.”

“...Why?” Nathaniel asked softly. “There is nothing appealing in this life for you. You do not even know me. From what I know of night elves, you take mates for only a period of time, then move on. This is a mass of mates all intending to be permanent.”

“And I won't even be able to hold you in my arms every night unless you make me a wife,” she acknowledged, to which Nathaniel shook his head and said, “Our bed is too full for another.”

“To make matters worse,” Sylva continued, “I find it repulsive when the man I love sleeps with another woman, no matter the reason. It will be something I must live with everyday, along with the thought it won't be me you go back to in the end.”

“So why?” Nathaniel pressed, watching her.

Sylva still smiled. “Why indeed. It is a question I've meditated on since our parting, and I've found no real answer.”

Nathaniel hesitated, glanced towards Aylenn for her guidance. His wife was pensive, lips pursed in thought. He didn't like this, the illogical determination that filled the former captive. Aylenn appeared to pick up on the thought, saying, “Reminds me of the effects of an apothecary's love potion, or perhaps my dear husband has an influence like the Lich King's on the minds of mortals around him.”

Sylva seemed affronted. “My feelings are no bewitchment.”

However, her denial meant nothing. Emotions produced by potions still felt like real emotions. Nathaniel's mind turned, exploring the possibility of what his wife was suggesting, and a disturbing thought struck him. “Merette's experiments... What was the intent again?”

“Enslavement of her loyalties,” Aylenn answered, eyes widening. She sat up from her slouch, meeting Nathaniel's gaze and holding it in a sudden understanding. “And her mistake was troll mojo, the most common ingredient of lust potions.”

“No,” Sylva cut in, not liking where that conversation was headed. Her voice held a plea. “That's not it. This is not the effects of her formula.”

“Sylva, listen to how you sound when describing your feelings, how unlike you it is. It is impossible to tell if that is the potion's doing, but it is a very real possibility,” Nathaniel argued gently, returning his attention to her.

Sylva had left the railing, standing with her arms clasped before her and her eyes shining in anger. “I know how it sounds! These are my thoughts and feelings. They go beyond my usual, but they aren't disconnected choices. I've- I've simply chosen you and yours for my place in life. I do wish to attempt to pay off the debt I owe you and my feelings do exceed cold rationale, but that doesn't change that it is my devotion to you that is the shining beacon.”

Nathaniel studied her for a moment, seeing the real power of her emotions. He couldn't let any physical attraction be the determiner here; he still believed in ethics for those who deserved it. If only there was a way to tell if it was the potion or not...

Sylva saw his striking blue eyes watching her, his face giving no clue to his thoughts. Finally, he folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the stone division surrounding the roof. “Come here, then.”

Shivering at the lack of emotion in his voice, Sylva complied. Anything to give herself a real chance with him.

Once she was up close, Nathaniel didn't study her features. He gestured his head at the spacing between the stones. “If you want to repay your debt to me, if you are willing to do anything I ask... Jump down.”

Sylva's mouth parted in a gape at his demand. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she inspected the proposed fall down, seeing only sheer stone all the way to the ground, nearly a hundred yards away. She faced him, saw the expressionless of him. Her fists balled at her sides, and her arms trembled at the force she was exerting on them.

“I won't,” she muttered softly, feeling the despair at what was obviously giving up her chance to be with him. “I will leave if that is what you wish, but I won't give up my life at your word.”

Aylenn was there, and her small hand found Sylva's and took it, soothing the fingers to relax with her own. The blood elf faced Nathaniel with a pleased smile. “I'm impressed, dear. That never would have occurred to me.”

Sylva blinked, not understanding what she meant. Aylenn's smile turned to her and she explained: “Love potions, and certainly lust potions, are characterized by exceeding rational thought, much like what you are displaying. However, if your loyalties had been as tied to him as Merette's botched potion might suggest, you would have jumped despite the innate desire to live, so illogically bound to be with him that you'd give up the opportunity to get that chance.”

As she processed what Aylenn was saying, Sylva felt herself grow weaker at the knees. Did that mean they had accepted her? Her eyes met Nathaniel's, and she found herself asking, “You would have let me jump?”

A smile touched his lips as he shook his head, arms still crossed before him. “Of course not. I'd have pulled you back and refused you.”

Sylva felt tears threatening to overwhelm her, and she trembled again. Aylenn's hand was there for her, and she clutched onto it. “I may stay then... with you? You will accept me?”

“You may take the position of concubine if that is what you truly wish, but one last time I want you to think your decision through.”

A tear did fall, Sylva smiling. “Thank you. I already found my answer within the Emerald Dream.”

“Well then. You wouldn't happen to have brought a sleep roll for yourself?” Aylenn asked, to which Sylva nodded. “Then all that's left is finding you a place among the other concubines. You can expect Nathaniel to visit your bed... Honey, who is tonight again?”

“Fritha,” he said, eyes not straying from Sylva, “but I will lay with you tonight as well.”

Sylva's spine tingled at that, and she found herself smiling back at him in response. She might not be his first or best, but she planned on giving all of herself to him.

Aylenn nodded, ears swaying at the motion. “I suppose we will break the pleasure girls in tomorrow then.” She smiled suddenly, leaning against Nathaniel to give him a kiss. “We have so many now. Fourteen, you stud. Until we take the keep back, I don't think we should try for any more.”

The small doubts gnawing in the back of Sylva's mind were back, but the rest of her overwhelmed them. This man had rescued her from that desperate cage. She remembered the safety of his arm around her, could feel the joy of being near him again right now. Nathaniel was a wanted man on the Alliance posters, and yet she felt safer with him now than she had in the midst of the Alliance army.

Presently, she shook her head of the doubts, faced him and frowned. “Take back Utgarde Keep? You can't do that. Lord Irulan Trueblade has stationed his troops inside, deciding to occupy it himself so that no one else has the chance to turn the keep against him... again.”

“Against him,” Aylenn huffed. “We only want to be left alone. Our skirmish is with the Lich King.” Sighing, she kicked a booted foot against Bloodmoon Isle's dreary tower, feeling the ocean breeze piercing her skin through her armor. Their home was lost for good, trapped at this forsaken military tower. She faced Nathaniel. “Is there anywhere else we may reestablish ourselves? You have done much in Northrend.”

Nathaniel didn't reply immediately. Turning from the three women – he noticed the silent Thora was still there, watching them – he peered through the stone divisions out inland, seeing the grassy hills and snowy peaks. Had it truly been months since he first set foot in Northrend? What a long, strange trip it had been...

“Balargarde Fortress,” he said finally. “I slew its Overthane before entering Valhalas. It is still occupied somewhat, but we can easily purge it Arthas' dogs before settling in it ourselves.”

“No!” Thora protested. Her mouth was open in shock, staring at him from behind the sightless helm. “The lord of Jotunheim had my Liege's greatest blessing. He was one of his finest warriors. You may have emerged victorious from Valhalas, but you could not have-”

Aylenn had raised her hand and clenched her fist. Upon doing so, Thora's mouth shut with Aylenn's fingers, the death knight controlling her undead spirit. Nathaniel's wife didn't look pleased, either. “Nathaniel is your master now. Call the Lich King your liege one more time and I take your free will.”

Thora didn't try meeting her gaze, bowing her head. Aylenn nodded, then turned a smile to Nathaniel. “I don't think Sapph and I together could topple Overthane Balargarde. I'm impressed, beloved. Taking the Jotunheim stronghold, however... Yes, even if Sapph refuses to betray my former Master, we have the power to accomplish it.”

“There is the drawback,” he muttered, turning back to the view.

Aylenn frowned, nodded even though he couldn't see it. “The proximity to Icecrown Citadel. We would be on his doorstep and without an army backing us.” Nathaniel said nothing, a silent affirmation that she picked up from him. “Well, we will look into it later. It is all the way across the continent, a trek not easily made with our numbers and... huh, I don't have a name for what these women are. They were supposed to be subjects.”

“We will discuss this later.” He turned and faced Sylva, smiling at her. “Thank you for telling us. Let's get you settled back in here with us.”

-

“And so he finally arrives,” Fritha drawled, a smirk finding its way to her lips. “My liege.”

Nathaniel had finished securing the new cultists in the room under the tower, an area similar to a stables that he hadn't seen his first time through here. It was open to the elements, so both girls had been given a single, thin blanket to share, having to rely on shared body heat if they were to live.

Returning to the first floor, Fritha was there, sitting in her normal clothing on his bed. The soft featured Vrykul woman was smaller in more ways than just muscle from her warrior kin; she was nearly two feet shorter than most Vrykul, making her appear rather petite for her kind even though she held several feet over him. The result while sitting, however, gave her an illusion of almost being a normal woman's height, albeit still a large woman.

“I spoke with your wife about your kind's version of concubines. Surprisingly, not all of it is as illogical as you are. Some of it I even approve of over Vrykul custom,” Fritha told him, gold eyes glittering in the torchlight. There was something in them, perhaps a malice – for the oddest reason, Nathaniel felt wary near this woman, the Dragonflayer.

Knowing he had been with Aylenn for the most of the day, Nathaniel recalled that both Lasariel and Sapph were also his wives. That was such an odd thought to him. Harems weren't unheard of, but they were archaic. Him having one, seriously, with women he was bound to as his wives... Wives like Aylenn.

He still had yet to say anything to her, now standing before her next to the bed. She grinned at him, one hand coming up and sliding fingers under the side of the vest that covered her chest. “I remained dressed because I was told you males enjoy stripping females. A man enjoying work. Amusing, isn't it?”

One hand came to his hip, and he studied her nearly mocking expression. “I also enjoy kissing, embracing, holding my woman, stroking her hair, helping her bathe, redressing her. With Aylenn, I am content just being in her presence, the knowledge that she is nearby a comfort. I dislike killing, am no longer so consumed with righteousness that I feel compelled to provide strict justice for grave wrongs, and I would give up my place as Valhalas champion just for a few years of uninterrupted peace.”

“That is the conclusion I've drawn from you, my Lord, though you make the effort to please the others in the Vrykul way,” she said, still with a small smile.

“Your words alienate yourself from the 'others,'” Nathaniel noted, watching her reaction, still trying to determine what made her different from them.

“Concubines please the lords they are bound to,” she replied. “I wish to do so in the foreign race's way. Like you with us, I will learn your culture.”

“A passion for learning.” It made sense. She was the Vrykul version of a mage.

“I believe there is more to existence than swinging metal around,” she said, voice nearing a laugh. She was mocking the warriors of her race. “Now my Liege, if it would please you, relieve me of my top so I may try something new to pleasure you.”

Nathaniel had an idea as to what she intended, but he complied and sat when she began to divest him of his belt. She kneeled before his stretched feet after, leaned forward on her hands so that her free breasts hung over his bared groin. She smiled down at him, close enough to kiss, golden hair cascading down and blocking her topless body from his view.

This close to her, he could smell the earthen forest scent mixed with a light sooty fragrant he assumed came from her nature as a Flamebinder. “Tell me how it feels, my Liege.”

Still leaning, she cupped her breasts and pressed them together around his length. The furnace-heat of Vrykul skin enveloped him in a fleshy softness, and Nathaniel couldn't resist the loud gasp at the suddenness of the feeling. Fritha's eyes flashed over him at his reaction, pleased to see it. She began to slide her breasts over him, soft skin providing a mild friction.

She continued that slow motion over him for some time, Nathaniel finding himself unable to ask her to stop so they may move on. She had lifted her head away from his to lean back for this breast-job, so her hair no longer blocked her from view. He could see that her thumbs were idly playing with her nipples as she worked, brushing across them and pressing into the stiff tips.

When she finally stopped, Nathaniel felt his mind distort in numbness. The appreciation that the assault had ceased warred with his urge for more, a weakened rationale battling the primal urges, and he sat there in distracted silence as he pulled himself back together. When he focused back on Fritha, she was sitting back on her heels and watching him, amused.

“So she was right in that being quite pleasurable?” she asked.

“That was...” He couldn't find the words, not sure if these mental drawbacks measured out to something fantastic. “On special occasions only.”

Fritha looked down to her breasts, seeing the average Vrykul roundness and her dark nipples. She shrugged, clearly not understanding what was so unusual about the experience. Looking back at him, she said, “I am unsure about trying my mouth for now, however. Perhaps if we bath together and you are clean.”

She seemed to be waiting for something, sitting there still with her dress around her waist. It clicked for him, and he approached her. His arm going around her back, he lowered her to the bed. As he set to removing the both of their remaining clothing, he asked her, “Is this your first time?”

“Of course. I am no loose slattern,” she snapped, sounding offended.

With his hands at the sides of her dress, he asked her, “Should I compliment you in the human or the Vrykul way?”

“I'm getting complimented?” she asked, amused. “Human, of course.”

“Of course you are getting complimented.” He punctuated that with a kiss to her stomach, feeling it soft for once as opposed to the others' firmness. “You are a beautiful woman with a gorgeous body, and I am honored that I may be the one you first give yourself to.”

Fritha was laughing when he finished. “That sounds completely ridiculous, my Liege.”

Smirking back and ignoring the deceptive undertones of her voice, he began to lower her dress. Instead of revealing the blond curls he expected, there was only smooth skin all the way down, her sex glistening with her arousal. He had never met a shaved Vrykul before, and he glanced up at her face.

Embarrassment didn't come easy to a Vrykul, but her reaction came close to it. Her cheeks darkened with color, her eyes turned away from his, and her features set into a glare at the wall – for some reason, Nathaniel felt that was supposed to be her attempted dispassionate expression. “Your Lasariel told me that you small-race men prefer it that way. It pleases you?”

Leaving her legs still trapped in the waistband of the dress at her thighs, Nathaniel brought his hand up to stroke along the smooth skin, feeling it fever-warm. Her breathing hitched at contact, likely feeling it as something rather cold at such an intimate place, and her hips shifted slightly as he didn't leave her.

Tracing light circles around her, he said, “That is true for many, but I do not personally have much of a preference. Just keep anything here manageable. Though if I'm planning on using my mouth, this is appreciated.”

He had planned on doing such this time with her, but his fingers finally touched along her slit, came away coated in the clear fluid. She was already quite ready without him. He brought the fingers into his mouth and found it a more pungent smell and taste than a non-Vrykul. Already down there, he gave a mental shrug and lowered his head to her.

Fritha made a surprised sound, her body going rigid under his hands for a moment, before he continued with her. She slowly relaxed, the following sounds pleased. Or that was sarcastic moaning, a show she was putting on for him. His tongue working inside her, his eyes met hers, seeing the nearly illuminated gold orbs glistening with that emotion he couldn't read.

He spent only a short time on the enlarged netherlips. He sat up and wiped his lips, regarding her again. She was displayed rather lewdly: legs still parted for him yet bound by the stubborn dress, arms holding her up and framing her breasts, eyes unintentionally seductive in their returning gaze.

He finished removing the dress from her, and she laid her legs to either side of him. Watching him past a few fallen locks of blond tresses, she said, “I was also told you may like it if I struggled against you and you took me in a show of force.” Her full lips curved into a smile. “That sounds very Vrykul, my Liege.”

Lasariel, he sighed. He crawled atop her. Once lined up, he was sure he could even reach her lips if he strained his neck as she was so short. Hovering over her, he said, “I don't want to exhaust myself early. There is another I must see after you.”

Her hands came to his naked back, burning pleasantly warm trails as she rubbed him. “Thinking about other girls when in my bed. I must do better.” Her hips rose to where she touched his length and ground softly against him, skin to skin. Her wetness left its reminder.

Nathaniel decided to stop delaying, giving into his own impatience at her tease. He leaned back to settle more weight to his knees for better control – the Vrykul height always made him feel like he must stretch himself over them – then grasped his length to help guide himself in. He looked down at her shaved mound and parted lips, rested at the brink of actually entering her, and looked back to her eyes. Her arms were around him, breathing growing heavy with anticipation, eyes fixed intensely on his, her hips quivering with the small restraint from just taking him in.

He lowered his hips to her, feeling the slick walls move around him as he sank all the way to the base. No hymen with her, likely already broke from riding proto-drakes. He enjoyed the warm smoothness of her groin against his, the feel of her arms clutching him.

Fritha exhaled, ending with a smile. “I had been worried that you might be too small to please me as well. That is clearly not the case, my Liege.” She said the title with reverence, bright eyes still on him. She rolled her hips against his, building sensation between them. “I must have more.”

It was certainly an ego boost, knowing he could please women so much larger than himself. Though, it did help that they were all so inexperienced with men of their own sizes.

Nathaniel began, bringing his hips up and down. What he didn't expect, however, was exactly how taken Fritha already was by the pleasure of sex and the passions it stirred.

-

Nathaniel made sure he bathed after Fritha left, cleaning himself and washing away any lingering trace of her. He wasn't quite sure he could stand immediately after entering the water, and he contented himself with with resting tenderly there. His every muscle groaned with weariness, despite his initial intent.

Sigrid still proudly held the title of the craziest lover in a bed. Fritha, however, couldn't seem to get enough, her first night branching into as many positions as she could think of to try. When she was on top, she was careful not to slam into him, but her general fervor made that an impossible task at times. When he had finished, still she had asked if he might be willing to pleasure her with his fingers or tongue.

When he finally mustered the strength to leave the tub, he returned to his room to see Sylva already waiting, kneeled on the new bedding he had laid out from after Fritha. He sighed, no longer as eager for her as he had been before.

“Sylva, dear, if you are still insistent on this – and I can still see the doubts on your face – then you are the one doing all the work tonight. I can barely stand, let alone work my body properly for this,” he told her, collapsing down next to her on the bed. A real romantic, prick... A part of him, however, still wished she'd decide against submitting herself to a harem.

Sylva blinked at his rather impromptu entrance, not quite understanding how she should react to it. She understood the reason behind it though, felt her slight sickness brush her heart before passing. “You were with another woman just before, then?” He nodded, affirming quietly, and the sickness brushed by her again.

Shaking her head, Sylva turned a smile onto him. Her revulsion at that seemed nearly hypocritical with what she intended to do this night anyways. “No worries. I hope you do not mind, but I have requested the pleasure girl join us for the night.”

Nathaniel stopped his silent misery at that, turning to study her. There was a set to her eyes that told him everything he needed to know. She was bringing Merette, her captor, into this for long delayed revenge. He would explicitly forbid any form of physical harm from reaching Merette, but he felt Sylva intended on humiliation and sexual abuse. Of all the blighted things I could deal with tonight...

“I understand that I am just to be a concubine. However, for tonight if never again, may I have at least equal control in how this night plays out?” Sylva asked, determined eyes fixed on him, a silent plea in them.

He felt the beginnings of a headache, though in truth he felt sure things wouldn't get out of hand. If anything, Sylva deserved the opportunity.  He nodded his acceptance. She beamed at him, touching his hand in thanks.

Merette came, pale form approaching from the second story. She remained dressed here as a pleasure girl, wearing the gold necklace that covered her breasts and the loincloth that hung to her knees. She smiled alluringly at Nathaniel – she was getting better at that – then went rigid when her gaze passed Sylva, seeing the cold fire in her silver eyes. Her motions to come join them were unnaturally stiff.

Merette cleared the stairs and kneeled before them. “How may I serve you, my Lord?”

Sylva took a shaky breath, jaw setting. “Hello, Merette.”

The cultist swallowed. Her voice was considerably softer: “Hello, Sylva.”

Looking to Nathaniel, hands clasped in her lap, Sylva told her, “You will begin by removing your lord's pants and pleasuring him with your mouth.”

“Yes, mistress.” Merette save a small exhale of relief, fearing her former captive had something much worse in mind. She could handle humiliation – her pride had been stripped from her since her own captivity.

Merette brushed black hair behind her ear, smiling again at Nathaniel. It was disconcerting for him to see such a normal expression on one that normally appeared so fanatically crazed, her cultist tattoos and eyes taking on something more pleasant and exotic. He contented himself with just relaxing, still recovering from his time with Fritha, and he watched Merette move to kneel before him and begin to undo his belt.

She brought out his length, and with motions much more confident than the first time, she took him into her mouth. Her skill in this regard had improved vastly since the beginning, but the more pleasant techniques she performed with her tongue had appeared only after Lasariel's addition. He suspected a connection there.

Sylva watched Merette perform with what could almost be considered pleasure girl-enthusiasm, the wet sounds of her tongue audible even from her place. Her heart rate began to accelerate, watching the licentious act involving the man she desired and the woman she loathed so deeply. She tried to not focus on Nathaniel's male parts just yet, but she felt her body responding anyways.

A terrible monster inside her thrashed, and Sylva repositioned herself behind the nearly naked woman. She reached under the loincloth, felt the cloth of undergarments, and pulled it down. Her hand felt along Merette's womanhood, feeling it warm and covered in part with hairs. Her fingers entered the woman and began rubbing the inner walls.

“I want to feel you grow wet from this, whore,” Sylva said, the degrading name coming awkwardly to her tongue.

Nathaniel had seen night elves angered before, typically in battle. The look of it on Sylva wasn't particularly attractive, not compared to her happier expressions, but at least it wasn't twisting her features. The sight of her hand buried between Merette's legs and thrusting fingers in her, mildly abusive to the sensitive flesh, was quite arousing.

With Merette's recent skill, the pleasure began to run its course for Nathaniel. He still had a ways to go, but he didn't feel up to multiple performances tonight for Sylva. He watched the priestess, enjoyed Merette while waiting to see what else she had planned. Is this the last bridge you feel you must burn before you may purge your anger and hurt?

Sylva felt grossly intrigued when Merette actually did grow wet around her fingers, aroused by either her actions or being made to pleasure Nathaniel. Removing her fingers, she studied the clear coating on her purple skin, sticky when her fingers pressed together. The musky scent of female arousal reached her nose.

Knowing how men didn't like being left hanging after starting, Sylva still pulled Merette away from Nathaniel – she didn't want him finishing with just that woman. She brought her fingers near Merette's face, seeing the hesitation in her unnatural eyes as they turned towards her, lips glistening after her mouth-job. “Lick yourself off.”

Merette did so, knowing it wasn't the first – or likely the last – time she'd taste herself. The flavor had lost its repulsiveness, but it hadn't gained any appeal to her.

When she felt her fingers were clean, Sylva took them back, uncertain of what to think of the feel of the woman's warm tongue running over them. She herself had grown wet from everything so far, though she didn't know if it was the control of reducing her captor into this whore or the arousing setting she took her revenge in.

“Disrobe me,” she commanded.

Sylva had regained some weight since Nathaniel last saw her. Merette did the straps of the night elf's robes, began lowering it, and not for the first time, her body was revealed. The form under her light purple skin was lean and elf-slim, tall and with long, appetizing legs. She didn't have the curves Merette herself did, but her shape was a seductive image of its own, something sensuous and serpentine. Even entirely bare, the night elf enigma remained with her.

The silver eyes took in Nathaniel, her face softening into an expression he'd characterize as love – having seen it often with Aylenn. He took in her fleshed-out breasts with the stiff, darker nipples. Down her smooth stomach to her womanhood, once again shaved of any hair, the torches lining the room revealing her glistening arousal.

Sylva saw his gaze on her intimate places and felt herself grow self-conscious, holding her arm before her and shifting slightly. If it had been any lover but Nathaniel studying her, she would have confidently prowled over to him, taking pride in her body, and considered herself a treat to him for one of the most powerful and primal rituals of nature known. Instead, his opinion mattered too much to her, and she scanned her mind for all the defections on her body he would surely notice, the differences in race he would surely find unpleasant.

Merette seeing her was nothing new after captivity, and she lifted her chin in defiance to the cultist when those blue eyes glanced at her.

Finding nothing repelled or displeased in his expression, merely smoldering lust from his eyes, Sylva smiled and approached him. His length was still hard and waiting, and she felt a tingle of anticipation for what was to come with him. Her mind encompassed Merette again, and she felt her stomach lurch in a darker form of anticipation.

Nathaniel saw Sylva lower to him and crawl over his form until her face was right to his. Her eyes glowed like moonlight as she stared down at him, smiling, skin un-pigmented dark in the torchlight. They kissed slowly and passionately, lips in motion against each other. Sylva was first to add her tongue, Nathaniel's eyebrows raising before he returned with his.

Her hands undid the tunic he wore rather than armor, his muscles groaning as he lifted his torso to remove it. Sylva made a firm gesture with one hand, and suddenly something was removing his pants – Merette.

Yearning to finish what Merette had started, his member remained at full readiness even with the lack of stimulation due to Sylva's captivating form, his lust aroused. His mind processed the thought that he was to have the other kind of elf for the first time, a night elf. She lowered herself to him, breasts a soft cushion on his chest before the rest of her warm body covered him, her hips high enough to begin rubbing herself against him teasingly.

Exhaustion from Fritha be blighted, he wanted this woman. Hands coming up to her, he began to explore her body, her own hands under his arms to hold his shoulders. He felt what he couldn't presently see: down the smooth back, feeling the natural ridges and planes of her, he came came to dip before her rear, cupped the soft flesh to feel it deliciously rounded, flexing in her motions against him. He felt along the back of her legs, then up her thighs until he reached her center and ran a finger under her to feel her ready sex. He finished with the outside of her hips, brushing past the bone, the curve of her stomach, and finally just held her to him.

“Let's start,” he muttered, breaking their heated kiss and resting his forehead against hers, their breathing already audible.

His hand went under to hold his length steady, and the other held one cheek of her rear. His tip moved along the soft skin of her mound, found her wet slit. Sylva immediately sank herself on him, rapturous folds enveloping his length, and the denied pleasure of Merette being stopped came back with delirious blissfulness.

Sylva's head lowered next to his, her purple hair close enough for him to smell the floral scented elixir she must use to keep it so nice. She controlled the pace, raising and lowering herself to take him in again and again. He held her, too exhausted for much else, pressing small kisses into the flesh above her collarbone.

She didn't try for anything intense or fast, only a passionate movement between them as she rode him. It was love-making, plain and simple, and Nathaniel acknowledged the depth of her feelings as she gave herself to him so entirely. He only hoped he could provide a happy life for her with him, among so many other women.

As their breathing grew heavier, Sylva panted out, “Interested in a show?”

Nathaniel had been wondering when she was planning on including Merette again. The dangerous tone beneath her breathlessness told him enough. Still immersed in the sensation of their love-making, Nathaniel answered softly, “By all means.”

The pace of things changed when Sylva leaned back from him, revealing the sight of her bouncing over him, now with her body nearly hunched over. Her purple hair had grown disarrayed, falling over her shoulder, and she smiled down at him, a bit coldly. “Merette, strip and come here.”

The nude pleasure girl approached, her look of servitude mixed with unease. “What shall I do, mistress?”

Sylva had slowed her hips to a sensuous grinding over him. Her attention was on Merette now. “You will pleasure yourself over Nathaniel like a desperate whore, to climax and beyond, while displaying it all for him. You will not stop until we are done.”

Merette hesitated at the request for only a moment, then glanced at Nathaniel and immediately stepped over him so her pale form filled his vision, entirely nude. She lowered herself down slightly, squatting over him, until she had one hand against the bedding to hold her upright. Her other hand came to her stomach, sliding down it until it reached the small patch of black curls that covered her womanhood.

Nathaniel watched her pleasure herself, fingers toying with the netherlips. Her eyes stared down at him, emotions well-masked – a mistake for a pleasure girl – and grazed her teeth over her lip in either thought or concentration. Then, she began fingering herself, her fluids coating the digits immediately.

Continuing with Nathaniel, Sylva took pleasure in seeing Merette's bent form. Her impressive ass was near Sylva, but that was acceptable for the degradation. Not for the first time, Sylva noticed the cultist had an appealing figure. The repeating motions of Merette's wrist told Sylva enough about what she was doing, but still she frowned. “Faster, like the desperate whore you've become.”

Merette's eyes closed, and her body leaned more as she obliged and picked up her pace, hips beginning to jerk forward at times. She released a small moan.

Nathaniel watched the intense self-pleasuring. Oddly, even knowing it was coming, he was intrigued by it. With his marriage, he rarely saw a woman do it. Merette's fingers pumped fast into her haired womanhood, hips spread from her stance to show it all. She was biting her lip, the pleasure written on her face, already her breathing beginning to deepen. True to Sylva's command, she did appear desperate for a release.

Sylva was still deep into the passion of mating with Nathaniel, love for him no weaker and overjoyed that she may give herself to him in this way. However, that terrible beast inside had awaken and now vied for control. She eyed Merette's ass, the skin pale, to the shadowed area under where the fingers were surely working fast.

Still moving her hips for the mutual pleasure, she reached her hand under Merette. The pumping fingers were an obvious presence, but she only felt along the edges of the slit around them and gathered more female fluids on her own fingers. Merette didn't slow, likely consumed now by her pleasuring.

Sylva felt the wrongness of her decision, but her rage didn't allow her to change her course. With Merette's own arousal, Sylva found her former captor's rear hole and invaded it with two fingers, the coating giving her purchase into the tight expanse.

Merette's body jerked, the motions freezing as she gasped, “Ah, no-!” She snapped her mouth shut, fearfully glancing down at Nathaniel for rebuking. He only watched her, expressionless. Biting her lip again, Merette arched her body at the obtrusion and wrenched her eyes shut.

Sylva spanked Merette, a loud crack that had her gasp. She gathered more coating for her fingers, then returned to Merette's rosebud. “Keep going, whore.”

Merette reminded herself of her place, of what she must do to remain alive, then repeated the now empty promise of escape and personal vengeance. She fought through the humiliation and began to move her hand again, working back to the pleasure and blurring tempo. When she actually reached it and continued pleasuring herself, she felt the intrusion slowly becoming something that built to her pleasure. Cheeks heating with shame, she began to moan.

Nathaniel finally managed to lower his eyebrows, though his shock still lingered. He remembered Lasariel attempting to do the same to Aylenn and his wife's disagreement. More interesting was when Merette seemed to sink deeper, mouth open as her motions sped in their self-pleasure. She appeared, as Sylva so artfully fired out, a whore – consumed in her need for pleasure.

Merette's orgasm was an obvious occasion, a show for him as she moaned and tensed in her release. At Sylva's insistent prompting, Merette barely slowed before continuing again, body leaning more heavily against her planted arm. Her wetness began to leak down her leg.

Nathaniel finally felt his own approaching, and he warned Sylva. The night elf picked up her pace, her hands leaving Merette to hold onto his sides. He didn't understand her sudden burst until she found her own end, the enchanting voice of her race dropping low in pleasure, her hips pressed against his and rocking.

She quickly recovered and removed herself, settling down between his legs and grasping him in her hands. She finished him like that, hands now coated in her own fluid, spilling his seed onto the new bedding. She sat down after, looking tired, while Nathaniel felt like he couldn't rise from this bed until the morning.

Sylva eyed the white release. As a final humiliation, she commanded Merette to clean the mess with her tongue, watching her until it was deemed 'acceptable.' After, she looked away from her former captor, all fear of the woman long gone. “Now go. I am done with you.”

“Mistress,” Merette muttered, standing with a light wobble. She recovered her garments and left, still smeared in her own fluid.

“That was... a visual treat, Sylva,” Nathaniel said finally, watching the sitting woman. Her head was bowed, her nude state less a matter of intimacy and more an exposing of herself. Nothing was hidden from final judgment, paladins were fond of saying. One always finds only the guilt of their own actions once revenge is made. I know this well. “Come here.”

Sylva moved slowly, rising to her feet without her usual subtle grace. She laid next to him, his arms going around her, her head resting on his chest so he only saw her hair. She said, “I want to clean myself.”

“You know where the bath is.”

Her head shook against his chest. “Not even all the waters of the ocean could clean the grime from my soul, only that on my body.”

He exhaled, bringing a hand to her hair and softly stroking it. “It is finished. You will pick up the pieces and heal. The beast is gone, isn't it?”

She said nothing, instead just content to lie with him, soaking in his comforting presence. Sylva smiled wryly as she noticed that the safety and rest he gave her mind remained even afterwards, that feeling that had started this whole obsession over him in the first place. She had been worried that he was right and it would end after she had given up that which was most precious to her.

He accepted her silence and held her until she finally left. The beginning of this night with her, the slow passion of making love, had been exceptionally desirable, and he felt that now that her grudge with Merette was over, they might spend the next nights together like that entirely. He looked forward to the next time. Something is wrong with the fact that I'm eager to mate with a woman but can't because I have responsibilities to first sleep with other women...

-

“So how was it?” Aylenn asked, the first to return after Sylva left. Nathaniel still had yet to move from the bed, watching her strip to her undergarments and climb in next to him. An exaggerated groan was his response, and she giggled. “A new girl every night. It must be a dream come true for you.”

“I'll be happy when we reach a stability,” he grunted.

Aylenn moved her eyebrows suggestively, smirking as her fingers danced on his chest. “Already sampled the goods, so you'll know what you want that night?”

Nathaniel urged himself to move enough to bring her into his arms, pulling her so she was resting on him. Her cool body wasn't at all foreign, but it was almost strange after so many warm and Vrykul-warm bodies. In a more boorish sense, her words were entirely accurate, but... “What can I want one night that you won't be willing to offer me?”

Aylenn laughed, patting his arm. “Such flattery, husband of mine. Indeed I'll position my so very nubile body in whatever position, pace, or passion you want, but I cannot emulate the warmth of the living, the bulk – if you so preferred – of a Vrykul, that delicious tingle of a Val'kyr, or any other physical matter.”

“Nubile,” he echoed, quirking an eyebrow and smiling. “Indeed, the very same body I want to hold this night and have next. I cannot ever tire of you.”

“Because I was first,” she ventured, teasing him.

He shook his head once, resting now and holding her. “Because of so much more, dear. So much more.”

Oddly, that was the last thing he remembered of that night.

- -
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