by Sarah Hawke
Serrane quickly got her answer. The moment the guards opened the door, she heard female screams echoing down from the upper levels. Whips cracked against flesh, and the shouts of drow interrogators quickly followed. Many of her fellow resistance fighters were almost certainly up there right now. It made her sick just thinking about it…
“You needn’t worry about visiting the prison,” Solemi said, stopping and pausing in the middle of the atrium. “General Nym keeps his breeding harem on the lower levels.”
Bile rose in Serrane’s throat. The drow really were every bit as barbaric and monstrous as the orc clans of the Shattered Peaks.
Solemi tugged on the leash again and dragged Serrane toward the steps leading down to the old dungeons. The Citadel had never been a cheerful place, obviously, but like everything else, the drow had made it far worse. The statues of the old human gods had been replaced by idols to the Spider Queen, and the bright lanterns had been replaced by dim magical torches that cast an eerie purple light across the black marble floor. Yet despite the deep, haunting shadows, Serrane could still make out dozens of dark elf soldiers leering hungrily at her highborn flesh just like back in the Black Palace.
“You’re lucky we’re not in Vel’shannar,” Solemi said when they began winding down a spiral staircase. “Slaves become public property if they are ever left unattended. These soldiers are used to having their way with any females we capture.”
The Throne Maiden chuckled to herself, and the echoes of her dark laughter reverberated through the entire stairwell. The girl really had been twisted by the Matron Mother. Perhaps there was no way to save her from the horrors she had endured after all…
There won’t be a way to save me, either—not unless I can figure out a way to get out of here.
Serrane grimaced at the thought. She tried to steel herself for the horrors ahead, knowing full well it probably wouldn’t work.
It didn’t.
“General Nym was happy to move his harem here to the surface,” Solemi said as she led Serrane out of the stairwell. “The conquest of Highwind has provided him a near infinite supply of breeding stock, as you can imagine.”
Serrane gasped despite herself. The old dungeons had always been bleak and dreary—they were an artifact of a past age when Highwind had been a very different place—but she couldn’t imagine they had ever been this depraved. The cells were filled with young females of many different races, most in varying stages of pregnancy. Many were chained to the walls, though others appeared to be roaming freely through the narrow corridors. The truly unlucky ones were in the process of being bred—or simply used—by drow males. The men snickered and joked as they enjoyed the spoils of their conquest, but the women…
Seeing them suffer was horrific enough, but hearing them suffer was actually worse. Serrane heard the echo of her failure in every whimper and every scream. All of these people had once been under her protection, and she had failed them utterly and completely.
Despair won’t help anyone, least of all me. I need to shut it out—I have to shut it out.
“Unlike the short-lived rivvil vermin who live on the surface, the drow have the luxury of thinking long-term,” Solemi said as they walked. “A highborn cunt like yourself should appreciate this. Nym and the other worthy males will create an army of half-breed slaves to wage war against the Spider Queen’s enemies. It may take decades, but the Matron Mother will eventually have an elite force capable of traveling beneath the sun.”
“How can you possibly support this?” Serrane stammered. “You were born here! These are your people!”
Solemi snorted contemptuously. “They aren’t my people any more than they are yours. The only difference is that they eventually learned to accept you. Half-bloods have never been welcomed in Highwind.”
The ranger shook her head. “The city’s treatment of refugees from the Winter War has been disgraceful, I agree,” she admitted. “But you can’t possibly believe that enslaving people is better!”
“I already told you what I believe,” Solemi said. “The drow nurture power—the humans of Highwind fear it. The mistress made me her slave, yes, but she still appreciates my abilities. Any mongrel strong enough to claim her power can still transcend her polluted blood.”
“Your blood is not ‘polluted.’ Listen to yourself! You’re better than this!”
“I am this,” Solemi insisted, jerking the leash again. “You could have great power here, too, if you merely supplicate yourself before the mistress. You could purify your own polluted blood by embracing your new destiny.”
Serrane shook her head even though the collar threatened to choke her. “I will never submit to this depravity!”
Solemi smiled wickedly. “Then your womb will serve the Matron Mother instead.”
The Throne Maiden veered left down the corridor leading to what had once been the special dungeon for oversized monsters. The cells were easily twice the size as the others, and most were currently holding three or four women at once. They weren’t pregnant—or at least, they weren’t showing yet—and many of them had the clean skin and desperate faces of new arrivals. Serrane could only assume this was a holding area for females who hadn’t yet been bred.
The corridor eventually ended in a wide, D-shaped room with even more cells, though these were empty. The semicircular area between them was not, however; it was furnished almost like a smaller version of the Matron Mother’s parlor. Both the pillory and the wooden rack were empty, though the latter had been fitted with leather stirrups and slightly inclined. Any female shackled upon it would have her legs lifted and splayed wide for the master of the harem to more easily inseminate her.
Icy horror gripped Serrane at the thought of her body being used as a drow incubator, but then she realized they weren’t alone. Another dark elf female emerged from the shadows of one of the open cells beside the rack and strutted forward. Like the Matron Mother, this woman was wearing thigh-high boots with preposterous stiletto heels, but unlike the Matron Mother, she wasn’t wearing anything else. The female’s gray torso was completely bare, revealing her breasts and swollen belly. She couldn’t have been more than a few weeks away from giving birth.
“So, the General’s new cunt has finally arrived,” the woman said, her voice dripping with contempt. Her features were remarkably similar to the Matron Mother’s; from a distance, the two women could have been twins.
“The mistress wants her new pet to understand the consequences should she remain obstinate,” Solemi said. “As you can see, the bitch has already been taught her first lesson.”
The pregnant drow reached out her fingers and lifted Serrane’s chin to inspect the dried seed staining her cheeks. “You had better get used to wearing the mark of the Spider Queen’s power upon your cursed pale flesh. My sister is quite fond of this particular training technique.”
Serrane frowned. Sister? The Matron Mother kept her own sister down in this horrible place?
“First Wife Laetharys is responsible for controlling and disciplining General Nym’s breeding harem,” Solemi said. “You may recall he has already expressed an interest in adding you to his collection.”
“Yes, he has,” Laetharys said, her blue eyes narrowing at the ranger. “He has yet to sire a mongrel highborn child, but don’t worry, cunt—he will plant one in your belly soon enough.”
Serrane glanced past the dark elf woman to the stirrups. Her mind flashed with images of being tied down while General Nym and a dozen other males took turns spilling inside her. The thought sent a dark shudder through her entire body.
And a warm, excited tingle through her quim.
Gods, what is wrong with me?!
“We might as well get her ready,” Laetharys said. “Put her in the—”
The First Wife paused when a rhythmic click of stiletto heels began echoing down the corridor behind them. Matron Mother Varassa Hu’nate appeared a few moments later with General Nym at her elbow.
“Sister,” Laethar
ys said, bowing. “I didn’t realize you would be along so quickly.”
“You honestly thought I would trust you alone with my new prize?” Varassa asked, her lips curling into a condescending sneer. “I will not allow her to be despoiled so easily.”
“I would never do anything without your permission, mistress.”
“Of course not,” the Matron Mother muttered. She strode forward and placed her palm upon her sister’s swollen belly. “You are coming along well. Our child shall join us soon.”
“Any day now,” Laetharys agreed.
Serrane glanced between the two drow women, her mouth falling open in horror and disgust. Our child? What kind of sick, twisted magic would allow one woman to impregnate another? And what kind of sick, twisted bitch would inseminate her own sister?
“This will be your fate, darthiir, should you refuse to serve me willingly,” Varassa said, glancing back over her shoulder to Serrane. “Are you prepared to spend the next century birthing warriors for my army?”
“Auta na fatanyu!” Serrane hissed.
Solemi jerked the leash taut, choking the ranger for several seconds before the Matron Mother snickered and raised her hand, signaling the girl to relent. Varassa sauntered closer, her metallic heels scraping on the floor, and placed her fingers upon Serrane’s seed-covered cheeks.
“Still insolent, I see,” Varassa said. “Good. I would have been greatly disappointed if you broke in a single night.”
“General Nym’s cock will be a fine teacher,” Laetharys said. “She is ripe and ready, sister. He could plant his seed now.”
Serrane pulled away from Varassa’s touch and swiveled her head to glare at the man looming behind her. Males rarely achieved high station in drow society—the Spider Queen only granted her power to females—and the fact that Nym commanded the forces of Vel’shannar was nothing short of remarkable. His ruthlessness had become legendary during the conquest of Highwind, and many of the resistance fighters feared him every bit as much as the Matron Mother. Serrane had tried to assassinate him countless times over the past few months.
Now her failure was complete. Nym had already spent several hours taunting her yesterday while his men paraded her through the city, and she could see the cruel, lustful glimmer in his faintly glowing red eyes. The thought of being forced to bear this monster’s child made Serrane sick with dread.
Yet the thought of him holding me down and forcing his cock inside me is actually making me wet…
“Let’s play a little game first, shall we?” Varassa suggested after a moment. “I still think this highborn cunt will make a fine Throne Maiden.”
“You can’t be serious,” Laetharys breathed. “She is flawless breeding stock. General Nym has more than earned the right to—”
“No one has earned anything unless I say they have,” Varassa interrupted, her voice like jagged ice. “You should understand that better than anyone, sister.”
The First Wife’s cheek twitched. “I meant no offense, Matron Mother. But surely you agree that this highborn whore should suffer. She has butchered scores of our soldiers!”
“Mostly males, all easily replaced,” Varassa said matter-of-factly, touching Serrane’s cheek again. “But a pureblood from Nelu’Thalas is a rare gift from the Spider Queen. I will not squander it so readily.”
The Matron Mother stared hard at her prey for several long seconds before she reached into a pouch at her hip and retrieved a slender hourglass. “The sands will determine your fate, cunt. If your skills are up to the challenge, then I will know you are worthy to serve as one of my Throne Maidens. If not…” She shrugged. “Well, then I may as well put you in stirrups and let the general here breed you tonight.”
Serrane gulped down a fresh wave of fear as she stared at the hourglass. She still wasn’t sure what this drow bitch was planning, but it obviously wasn’t going to be good. The ranger’s skin crawled in disgust while her quim tingled in anticipation…
“How do you wish to proceed, mistress?” General Nym asked. His fingers were twitching at his sides, and the bulge in his trousers was growing larger by the moment.
“Since your harem mistress is so concerned about your well-being, she will have the honor of preparing you for the game,” Varassa said, a dark smirk on her lips. “On your knees, sister.”
Laetharys’s cheek twitched again, annoyed but plainly unwilling to defy the Matron Mother. “As you wish, of course.”
The pregnant drow stepped in front of Nym and awkwardly sank to her knees. He grinned down at her and grabbed a thick handful of her silver-white hair as she reached into his trousers and withdrew his throbbing gray stem.
Varassa nodded. “Begin.”
Laetharys curled her fingers around Nym’s cock as she began slowly massaging the swollen tip with her tongue. The man groaned in delight, but he didn’t even look down at the kneeling drow woman. His red eyes locked upon Serrane.
“My sister was once First Daughter of Vel’shannar, if you can believe it,” Varassa commented snidely. “She commanded the former Matron Mother’s armies…right up until her incompetence finally got the better of her.”
Serrane could see the anger rippling through the First Wife’s body, but she didn’t stop or hesitate—she continued rolling Nym’s cock over her tongue and eventually swallowed him whole.
“Thankfully, Laetharys was always better with her lips than a sword,” Varassa went on. “She now serves me unquestioningly…as will you, my little highborn cunt.”
“This is sick,” Serrane spat. “How could you do this to your own sister?”
“Because she would do the same to me, given the chance,” the Matron Mother said, gently patting the back of her sister’s head. “Thankfully, the Spider Queen has granted her a new purpose.”
Varassa allowed Laetharys to lick and suck Nym for another minute before she snapped her fingers. The First Wife leaned back on her haunches, her lips wet with spittle, while Nym’s stiff cock bobbed barely an inch in front of her.
“The rules of the game are quite simple,” Varassa said. “The highborn cunt will swallow General Nym’s cock. If she can make him spill before the sands are spent, she will continue her training as a potential Throne Maiden.”
Laetharys glanced up, her eyes narrowed. “And if she can’t?”
“Then he will begin breeding her tonight,” Varassa said with a smirk.
Serrane scowled and glanced between the three drow. “I will never touch him without a blade in my hand!”
“Then you’re fortunate the stirrups are already prepared,” Varassa said, gesturing over her shoulder. “The choice is yours, cunt. I suggest you make your decision quickly.”
The Matron Mother flipped the hourglass and set it on the edge of the wooden rack. Serrane watched, mortified, as the white sands began to filter down to the bottom.
“Vel’bol natha waela elg’caress,” Laetharys snickered.
“She is not foolish,” Varassa corrected in the Common tongue. “She is proud and stubborn…or perhaps she simply yearns to be a submissive mother, like so many other pathetic surface females.”
The drow women shared a dark chuckle as Serrane’s eyes flicked between the stirrups and Nym’s wet, yearning cock. Her stomach twisted at the thought of pleasuring this monster…but she didn’t doubt for a moment that the Matron Mother would honor her threat.
“Time grows short,” Solemi whispered into her ear from behind. “The general is highly disciplined, and he is desperate to plant his seed in a highborn womb. He will not spill without effort—you had best begin quickly…”
Serrane closed her eyes and swore under her breath. Julian wasn’t going to burst through the door and save her—no one would. Her only chance of escaping this nightmare was to buy herself time to formulate a plan, and the only way to do that was to play along with the Matron Mother’s sick, twisted games.
“Le’thos,” she hissed as she dropped to her knees and lunged toward Nym’s cock. With her wrists still
webbed behind her back, she had no choice but to rely exclusively upon her lips and tongue. She fastened her eyes upon his as she lathered the tip, and he groaned when she swallowed the entire head.
“Good,” Varassa cooed, a knowing smirk on her lips. “That’s it, cunt. Show us how much of a whore you really are…”
Serrane ignored the taunt and focused upon her meal. She took Nym’s member deep, scorching him with the tight, sweltering inferno that was her throat, before she abruptly leaned back and licked up and down the full length of his shaft. She even gently sucked his testicles, and when he closed his eyes and grimaced, she thought she might be able to push him over the edge right then and there.
But Solemi was right: Nym wanted his prize more than anything, and he was disciplined enough to resist a quick finish. His eyes quickly reopened, and she could feel him release a slow breath and try to relax. He only needed to hold out for another minute or so—the hourglass was already half empty. Serrane would have to do more than lick and suck if she wanted to feel his seed rushing over her tongue.
“Phraktos, dosst we’ha zhah izznarg,” she breathed in the Drow tongue as she returned to lathering the swollen head. “Lueth dos tyav ji bwael.”
Nym’s eyes widened, and she felt his cock throb as a fresh wave of lust crashed over his face. Few males could resist compliments about the size and taste of their cock, especially dominant ones. And she’d had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to resist the sound of his dark speech from her lips.
“He won’t fall for such obvious tricks, you dumb highborn bitch,” Laetharys sneered from beside her.
“What trick, sister?” Varassa asked. “She is thoroughly soaked.”
The Matron Mother wasn’t wrong. Serrane could feel how wet she already was, and she couldn’t deny that a part of her was enjoying this. As a ranger, she lived to overcome challenges. This might not have been a traditional battlefield, but perhaps that didn’t really matter. The truth was that she had always enjoyed being on her knees before a powerful male, too.