by Rowan Bree
You pass through a stone archway draped with black curtains. Beyond is a room filled with Order members and guests from the feast. Red candles are placed on different surfaces and in sconces, and an open space has been cleared in the middle of the room. A circular symbol is carved into the stone floor. Many of the nobles are in various states of undress, occupying themselves with the shackled slaves both human and demonic that are apparently here for their entertainment.
Your gaze falls on the king seated in a plush chair, a buxom woman bobbing her head between his legs. Beside him are several uncomfortable-looking guardsmen.
Vale emerges from another doorway and greets your guest. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he says, guiding Hawke to sit on a plush lounge chair and putting a drink in his hand. He then moves you away to talk in private.
“Did you know he was a chief when you chose him?” Vale looks sideways at the well-built man. You suspect he might be jealous.
“I thought he might be important,” you reply. “Did I do well?”
Vale lifts a gloved hand to your cheek. “You did perfectly, kitten.”
His touch makes you weak, as does his praise.
“He’ll make a perfect sacrifice.”
Vale shouts something in Dorian and the guests clear to the edges of the room, revealing a large circular symbol carved into the center of the stone floor. The king shoes away the woman sucking his cock and tucks himself back into his robes.
Vale stands in the center of the circle. “Dear guests, it’s time for the main event.”
Two mages escort Hawke from his seat to the center of the circle. He looks like he’s been drugged. There must have been something in the wine Vale gave him. The mages force the sea chief to kneel before Vale.
“As a gift of good faith from Doria to Tyven, I have offered the king that which he most desires in this world. I will give him his wife, the very queen who sadly passed away years ago.”
There are a few murmurs in the crowd, but not nearly as many as you would have expected. It seems the people of Tyven have come to accept the existence of dark magic ever since the creatures were let loose on their city. It is just as Vale planned.
“She will return to life as if she never left. She will not remember the suffering of death, only a long and peaceful sleep. The laws of magic are strict, however, and for every life we bring back we must sacrifice another.”
Vale removes a long dagger from the folds of his robe. He holds it out to you. The jewels on the pommel shine as if alive.
“Go on,” he says. “Let his blood flow free. Give Tyven back its queen.”
Sacrifice Hawke.
Refuse the dagger.
Another guard jostles against you and you let yourself fall onto James’s lap. He catches you, his white teeth sparkling. His eyes are sea foam blue.
“I apologize for my companions here,” he says. “They tend to get a bit rowdy at gatherings like this.”
He tries to talk to you but the other guards keep getting in the way, not listening when he tells them to mind their manners.
“I don’t think the men will give us any peace. How about I find you a bit later on?”
James gives you a kiss on the cheek and helps you get away from the table unscathed. The guards don’t seem too bothered. They’re already harassing a serving girl who strayed too close.
You find the bare-chested man still sitting where he was.
One of the women at his table wrestles the wine carafe from a serving girl and refills the man’s goblet. “Why don’t you come visit Hilfair sometime? We’re known for our rolling hills, deep valleys, and moist caves.”
You throw up a bit in your mouth.
“I prefer the sea myself,” the man replies politely. “It offers me the solitude I can’t find on land.”
The woman doesn’t seem to take the hint. “But surely a prince needs a princess,” she replies. “It would be a waste for a man like you to deprive yourself of a woman’s touch.” Her hand rests on his chest.
The man looks out towards the hall as if searching for a way out. His eyes catch yours. You smile.
“I’ve already met my princess,” he says extracting him from the touchy women. “And it looks like she’s just arrived.”
He makes his way towards you as the women look on in shock. When he gets close he says to you in a small voice, “I’m sorry to put you on the spot. Do you mind getting me out of here?”
You nod and the two of you move away from the table. When you’re fully out of earshot you ask him who he is.
“I’m Hawke, chief of the sea tribes. I usually avoid these kinds of affairs, but I was told the king had a big announcement to make tonight and I don’t like hearing news secondhand.”
A chief, you think. Vale would no doubt be pleased to exert his influence over the sea tribes.
“Do you want to go somewhere until then?” you ask. “There’s a bit of a private party going on upstairs that might be more to your liking. Only people of consequence are allowed so no women trying to grab for status.”
Hawke laughs. “If only my status was the only thing those women were after. Who are you, then, to know about such a party?”
You smile. “Someone of consequence,” you say.
Hawke rubs his chin. “I appreciate the invitation but I think I’ll stay with the masses. More anonymity, more places to hide.”
“Are you sure?” you ask.
Hawke nods. He turns to leave, but stops as if remembering something. His eyes furrow in concern. “You’re Dorian, right?”
“Why?” you ask in surprise. You know that most people are still suspicious of the Order and Doria in general. You need to be careful.
“Your necklace,” he says. “That stone can only be found in the caves there. I only ask because I’ve heard some things about Doria recently, and the Order. I know that not everyone who joins them does so willingly.” He gives you a meaningful look. “If you need a way out, just let me know. I can take you far from here where the Order won’t find you.”
He seems to think you’re here against your will. Maybe you could use this to your advantage. Or maybe you could accept his offer.
Trick him into going to Vale’s party.
Ask him for help.
You appreciate James’s attempts to keep the men off you, but you don’t feel comfortable sticking around any longer. You try to get away before any more of the men grab for you. But they aren’t willing to let you go so easily.
“You’re from Doria aren’t you?” one of the men asks you.
You tell him to leave you alone as a guard with a bushy beard grabs your breasts. “She’s one of them Order bitches,” he growls. “Like that one we caught the other night.”
He holds you by the arms while another lifts up your skirts to take a peek at what’s underneath.
James tries to stop them but a particularly large half-orc begins to draw his sword. They stare each other down but ultimately James yields.
“Let’s take ‘er outside,” the half-orc growls and you are lifted off your feet by the guards and taken from the hall.
None of the other guests spare you or your captors a passing glance as the guards do a good job of hiding you from view. You can’t even scream because of the hand clamped over your mouth. They take you out of the castle to a secluded part of the courtyard behind the guards’ barracks. They toss you to the dirt, jeering at you and tearing at your dress.
You hear the clatter of belt buckles and see the men close in around you. One of them, the half-orc from before, kneels and pushes your dress up above your waist. You try to cover yourself but he forces your hands away.
“I do like the nice tight cunts of noble women,” he says. He slides a finger along your pussy. “Though I don’t feel much like sticking my dick where the Order mages have stuck theirs.” He pushes his finger inside you and wiggles it around.
He pushes another finger inside
you and spreads your pussy so that all the men can see. He teases you with his other hand, sliding a finger in and out of your gaped opening.
“Any bets on how far she stretches?” the half-orc says. You quiver as he presses on something sensitive inside you.
An orc guard offers, “No more than the three fingers you’ve got in her. Two silver.”
“Four fingers,” another shouts.
“Plus two in her ass,” says another.
You feel a power welling up inside you like a ball of fire in your gut. It reminds you of that feeling you had after you completed the ritual with Vale. Something tells you if you unleashed it these men would all be sorry they ever messed with you.
Destroy the guards.
Endure their taunting.
You unleash your power, letting your rage wash over the guards. Black flames engulf them until not even their ash remains. You can hear their screams ringing in your ears long after the flames are gone.
You go back to the castle, but the doors are barred shut. The guards don't want to risk any creatures getting in and disrupting the feast. They don’t seem willing to make an exception for you until you give them a glimpse of the black flame you now command. They hastily open the doors for you and welcome you inside.
You can hear a distant church bell ringing the hour. It’s time for you to go upstairs and meet Vale.
Though Vale didn’t tell you exactly where the private party was being held, you seem to instinctively know where to go. You take the main staircase into the reaches of the castle, through the quiet and secluded corridors that only those intimate with the castle would know.
You pass through a stone archway draped with black curtains. Beyond it is a room filled with robed figures, along with some guests from the feast in their fine clothes. Red candles are placed on different surfaces and in sconces. Many of the nobles are in various states of undress, occupying themselves with the shackled slaves both human and demonic that are apparently here for their entertainment.
Your gaze falls on the king seated in a plush chair, a buxom woman bobbing her head between his legs. Beside him are several uncomfortable-looking guardsmen.
“Kitten,” Vale says extracting himself from a couple of scantily clad slaves. “You’re all alone. Where are the nobles you promised me?”
The fingertips of his leather gloves glisten in the candlelight. You try to swallow back the jealousy raging inside you.
You apologize for not doing what you were supposed to.
“It’s no matter,” Vale says. “Sybil’s been quite busy. And I’ve already got a way for you to make it up to me.”
He shouts something in Dorian and the guests clear to the edges of the room, revealing a large circular symbol carved into the center of the stone floor. The king shoes away the woman sucking his cock and tucks himself back into his robes.
Vale stands in the center of the circle. “Dear guests, it’s time for the main event.”
Two order members escort a shirtless man into the circle. It’s the same one you thought about recruiting earlier. He looks like he’s in an immense amount of pain. They force him to kneel before Vale.
“As a gift of good faith from Doria to Tyven, I have offered the king that which he most desires in this world. I will give him his wife, the very queen who sadly passed away years ago.”
There are a few murmurs in the crowd, but not nearly as many as you would have expected. It seems the people of Tyven have come to accept the existence of dark magic ever since the creatures were let loose on their city.
“She will return to life as if she never left. She will not remember the suffering of death, only a long and peaceful sleep. The laws of magic are strict, however, and for every life we bring back we must sacrifice another.”
Vale removes a long dagger from the folds of his robe. He holds it out to you. The jewels on the pommel shine as if alive.
“Go on,” he says. “Let his blood flow free. Give Tyven back its queen.”
Sacrifice the man.
Refuse the dagger.
You feel another finger pushing inside you. You bite back a moan, but you can’t mask your arousal.
The half-orc says, “Kent, you’re out two silver. And she’s getting mighty wet. Anyone wants to make a bet has to do it now.”
“Three in her ass.”
“And a bottle in her cunt.”
The last suggestion is the most popular, with the remaining guards throwing in their bet.
The half-orc closes the bets and puts his attention back on you. He pumps his fingers massaging your g-spot, while his free hand tears your dress down off your breasts. You start to shake as you come around the half-orc’s four fingers, drenching his hand and letting out a weak cry.
He chuckles and slides a wet finger into your ass. “Eric is out. Who had bets on one in her ass?”
“It was two,” the bearded guard corrects him.
You feel another finger slide in, and hope it will all be over soon when they find that you can’t stretch any further.
The half-orc starts to fuck you with his fingers, sliding one hand in while he pulls the other out. The constant stimulation only makes you hungry for more. You feel your ass relaxing and the half-orc does too. He adds another finger.
“Nathan’s out too. Who’s left?”
A few men raise their hands. The ones who suggested the bottle. There is no way something that big will fit inside you, not with your ass filled at the same time.
The half-orc fucks you to another orgasm, one that leaves you drained and quivering in the dirt. You are thankful when his fingers leave you. It seems your torture is over. That is, until one of the guards produces an empty bottle of ale. He hands it to the half-orc with a grin.
“If this goes inside her,” the half-orc says, “you split the pot three ways. I’ll throw in four silver of my own so you’ll each get six silver, minus your own bets. If not the eighteen silver goes to Herrick.”
“Get on with it,” one of the guards shouts.
You feel the wide end of the ale bottle pressing against your pussy. As aroused as you are, there is no way it is going to fit inside of you.
“Looks like Herrick’s the winner,” the half-orc says.
There are grumbles of displeasure among the other three.
“She isn’t wet enough,” one of them says.
“I’ll fix that,” another says, pushing the half-orc out of the way. He pulls his cock from his trousers and strokes it vigorously as he paws at your exposed body. He grunts and you feel a spurt of warmth on your pussy. He rubs his cock head against your opening as he continues to cum.
When he is done he looks towards the others. “It’s not gonna be enough. Get in there and help.”
The other two take turns prepping you for the bottle, coating you in their cum until your pussy is a slimy mess. Even some of the men who have already lost their bets join in for the fun of it. When the half-orc finally presses the cold glass against your pussy, you fear it will actually fit.
“You forgot the three in her ass,” one of the guards says. He must be Herrick, the only one hoping the glass bottle doesn’t fit. All the other guards watch with perverted fascination as the half-orc slips three fingers into your ass. You moan weakly, no longer able to control your reactions.
The bottle presses your opening, then slides in. The half-orc grins down at you. “I never would have thought,” he says. “You’re quite a loose little slut.”
He fucks you slowly with the bottle. You writhe and moan, your hips moving lewdly as if begging to be fucked harder even though you know it would break you. The guards call you all manner of names suggesting the reasons you’re able to fit so much inside you. Only you know how much of it is true.
The half-orc slides his fingers from your ass and thumbs your clit. You come instantly, overwhelmed with relief that your humiliation is finally over.
The cum-slick bottle falls from y
our used pussy as the half-orc goes to collect bets and count out the winnings. No one gives you a second thought. They leave you lying there in the dirt and go back to the party as if nothing happened.
You shakily get to your feet. The necklace around your neck has a faint red glow to it that dies back down after a few moments. Aside from your utter disgust, you seem otherwise unharmed.
You go back to the castle only to find the doors are barred shut. You can hear a distant church bell ringing the hour. Vale will be expecting you upstairs. You are about to go find another way in when the doors open to let a stumbling guest out. He’ll be lucky to make it home in his state. You slip through before the guards can notice.
To the party.
Though Vale didn’t tell you exactly where the private party was being held, you seem to instinctively know where to go. You take the main staircase into the reaches of the castle, through the quiet and secluded corridors that only those intimate with the castle would know.
You pass through a stone archway draped with black curtains. Beyond it is a room filled with robed figures, along with some guests from the feast in their fine clothes. Red candles are placed on different surfaces and in sconces. Many of the nobles are in various states of undress, occupying themselves with the shackled slaves both human and demonic that are apparently here for their entertainment.
Your gaze falls on the king seated in a plush chair, a buxom woman bobbing her head between his legs. Beside him are several uncomfortable-looking guardsmen.
“Kitten,” Vale says extracting himself from a couple of scantily clad slaves. “You’re all alone. Where are the nobles you promised me?”