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“I want this one.”
The way she danced across the guilded table tore a hole straight through the idea of comradery that was expected. Candle flames danced in the freezing breeze as her arms and legs contorted with each forward stretch, bones grinding against their sinews as her blade slit throats. Each stroke of her arm called more flames into silence, the welcoming warmth of the room falling victim to her grasp.
Blood painted the tablecloth shades of glorious red, mouths hanging agape as their heads flew back, hanging on by a thread as the deep cuts severed almost everything that held them there. The smell of heavy iron permeated around the madwoman as she continued her dance of death, smiling wider with each life she ended before her cold hands had cupped Minthara’s cheeks.
The paralytic agent coursing through her veins was bitter and crisp, fighting against the rage broiling within her. She could do nothing but watch as Orin slayed every assassin she’d taken with her, playing in their blood and innards before her attention was fully focused on her.
Sharp bits of broken glass scattered across the lake of gore forming on the table, all attendants but that of Ketheric at the opposite end murdered at Orin’s hand. Z’rell stood behind the general, emotionless just as he was as they watched her onslaught.
The blood of Minthara’s assassin's–the best the house of Menzoberranzan has ever raised–started congealing as it made its way through her elaborate dining plate, off the side of the table, and dripped ever so slowly into her lap. It was thick, warm, and would’ve been comforting had it been someone else's.
Minthara’s grip on the arms of her chair was frozen in time, her clasp on the edge beginning to dig into the skin of her palm with a sharp pain. Her eyes were the only part of her she still held control over, trying her best not to let them shake as she bore into Orin’s own while she held her cheeks. She could only imagine the shape of her face, the way it must have looked as she swallowed her first sip of wine before refusing to move all together.
She looked upon the dead who had been sworn to protect her, damning their souls to a bitter hell as she understood the bait she had taken, the game she’d played into just as they’d wanted her to. She looked to Ketheric, hearing his praise of her house and her stature and title with a new mind now.
She was a fool.
“It doesn’t become you to play with our prey,” Ketheric grumbled from his seat, his platemail clinking as it rubbed against itself while he crossed his legs, tapping an impatient finger on the table.
“Oh, grandfather spoiling our fun,” she hissed, her breath hot and acidic as it hit Minthara’s face, the smell of decay overwhelming. Orin dropped her hold on her cheeks, crouching on the table like a lioness, her hands covered in the blood of Minthara’s men, making swirls in the lake of it she’d created.
“Z’rell, take our prisoner down to–”
“No,” Orin snapped, her neck bending back to glare at Ketheric, “this one is mine. I’m taking her myself.”
—
Minthara was comfortable, but cold. For a while, she kept her eyes shut, willing every thought out of her head in hopes of being able to once again lose herself in the abyss of nothingness she’d come from. She held that emptiness for just a moment, the peace barely finding her before her sick voice cut through the abating silence.
“Sweet, sweet lamb,” she sang to her disciple, the stench of death beneath her words. “Primed for precious slaughter, born to be brought to me, born to be butchered, but–”
She felt herself to come to her body beside Orin’s words, the blood working its way through her veins never having felt so sweet. As she struggled to force her body to move, she felt the soft, wet flesh beneath her rubbing against her naked skin.
Fear invaded her mind then, warm rot worming its way between her skin, inside her very pores, the bed of dead meat she laid upon masking any other thought–any other senses–as she continued to struggle against restraints she couldn’t see. Time seemed to slow as Orin watched her struggle with attentive eyes, drinking in the sight before her.
The walls dripped with terror as Orin’s cold hands graced Minthara’s body, tentatively getting to know each and every nook and cranny. letting her movements wander the more Minthata seemed to resist.
“There is so much I’d like to do to you,” Orin whispered, crawling atop the flesh bed Minthara was strapped to, “if only She didn’t have a vision; a plan.”
Each touch sent a jolt through her body, her convulsions against her restraints only forming small bruises the more she pulled. Her mind raced through all of her worst possible fears, the worst torture she’d ever committed on another, the way Orin’s deep red blade looked as it flickered in the dim light, how it’d look while flaying her open…
But she wasn’t trained to give in; she wasn’t taught to let them see her weakness win.
Fire burnt through her as she realized the mistakes she’d made, those she’d walked straight to their deaths. She could feel the very weight of her house crumbling beneath her, her own life meaning nothing when it finally hung here in the balance. It didn’t matter how afraid she was to die; she wished now it’d come swiftly, knowing the horrors that would await.
“She calls to me to make you a True Soul,” she said, her sick smile growing wider. She leaned over Minthara, sitting atop her waist, finally daring to meet her gaze, “and so I shall comply.”
The weight of her cold body descended upon Minthara’s chest like cement pouring through its mould, perfectly meant to sit there yet heavy and nothing but dead weight holding her down. She breathed once, then twice, forcing the air into her lungs as the pressure of Orin seemed to slam into her at all once.
“She gives me leave to take you,” she giggled, leaning close to Minthara’s ear as she pressed a freezing lip to its shell before nibbling it with the tenderness of a forsaken lover. “Chosen’s favorite True Soul,” she sang, her lilt grating, “butcher’s favorite lamb.”
The pressure on her body shifted, Orin sitting up once again to let her hands gingerly grace across Minthara’s chest, tits, waist. Across her shoulders, collarbones, rubbing against her cheeks. They wouldn’t stop moving, discovering her, testing her, pushing her. The cold feel of her hard knuckle gracing across her exposed clit while it trailed up and down her thighs…
Minthara’s eyes went wide at the touch, sucking in a deep breath as she understood the extent of her tortue. The fire in her veins began to run cold, fear replacing the furrow in her brow with the thought of being forced to submit to her. She said nothing, but pulled against her restraints.
Orin’s sick smile only grew, her hands finally ceasing in their wandering as danger flashed in that glint in her eyes, crawling back off of Minthara and finally giving her a moment to catch her breath amongst all the tension.
She heard the ringing of metal dragging on rock as Orin’s feet made their way around the room, her laugh following each step as she stalked her prey.
“I’ll make you sing,” she said, stopping her pacing at Minthara’s feet, letting her hands climb their way up her legs but, this time, with intent. “And all will know of the ruin I’ll make of you.”
One dead hand gripped at her plush thigh, the other splayed its fingers through her folds, the hunger in her eyes showing how eager she was to rip her apart from the center. A sharp nail pulled her apart from herself, a yelp finally emerging from Minthara’s core as she shrieked against the sharp pain.
“Ah, and her voice finds itself,” Orin cooed, sliding two fingers inside before letting her nails sink deep into the thigh she was gripping, holding her leg to the side as she began her rampant assault, letting the soft trickle of blood from the puncture wounds flow over her palm as she plunged her fingers deeper and deeper with each flick of her wrist.
Minthara’s hips buckled as she winced against the pain, rage finding its way through her again as she resisted the assault. But the more she writhed, the more she moved, the harder Orin would grip, the deeper her fingers would find themselves in not just her cunt, but the flesh of her thigh.
“I have fun when you fight,” she giggled, leaning down to bite a chunk from her leg and humming to herself as she swallowed the bit, letting the blood drip from her chin as she smiled once again down at her victim.
Minthara gritted her teeth, clenched her eyes shut tight, and held her breath as she tugged again and again against the chains holding her down, willing for their release and losing herself in the pulsing of the forming bruises; anything was better than the onslaught of her own blood in her cunt, worked over and over by Orin’s unrelenting fingers.
She held herself in her mind, going over all the potential revenge she would one day inflict before the sharp drag of the blade caught her attention yet again. She stilled herself, shaking her head with what little movement her restraints allowed, the feel of her pussy clenching tight around Orin’s fingers sending a shiver up her spine and a hiss through her lips.
Orin let out a sickly moan, the feel of her rotting breath swirling through the room around her. The sight of Minthara’s blood as she let her blade glide through the soft purple skin of her thigh seemed to set her off into a spiral nothing could control.
Her breath became ragged. Her lungs heaved, growing heavy as they filled with the scent of iron. It was a sight to behold just how drunk she became from the pain she could inflict, from the blood staining her hands. Her giggles became resounding laughs, bouncing from each crevice of the stone walls surrounding them. The harder she gripped, the further she dragged her blade, the more lost she seemed to become in her art.
The more Orin flayed the skin of her legs, the harder she pushed with her fingers, digging one after another inside of Minthara’s cunt. Her steady breaths grew rigid the harder Orin pushed, only fueling her desire to further break her.
“Who would you have me be?” she asked between her sickening laughs, the feel of her cold hand between Minthara’s folds seeming to change as she heard a low and guttural groan accompanying the stretch and twisting of skin.
“One of the men you’ve killed, perhaps?” someone else’s voice said, anger and guilt tainting its words as it flicked its fingers inside of her before becoming someone else.
“Or a sister you’ve fought beside?” she said, the sick power of a dead warrior Minthara once knew causing her breath to falter.
“Maybe mummy dearest?” The voice was cold and unforgiving, one she knew all too well. Tears started to brim at her eyes as she closed them shut tight, pushing away the fake sound of her fake voice.
“Your false bitch goddess?” she laughed, her fingers in Minthara’s cunt becoming a sharp claw as it pulled against her insides, her hips bucking forward as the pain seared through her core while she screamed through her tears, only for Orin to change back to the beautifully sick visage of a woman that Minthara knew her to be.
“Or, perhaps,” she sang, twisting her hand through her mangled folds as she pushed it completely inside, enjoying the way Minthara continued to fight against her while her blood spilled from between her legs, “it’s simply me who you’re most afraid of.”
Minthara had the briefest of respites as Minthara withdrew her hand to climb atop her once again, the shine of her white skin making her sickly veins more prominent as she straddled her. With her blade in one hand and Minthara’s blood covering the other, she hummed a soft tune as she started rutting her hard length against the blood leaking from her folds.
She was eager, but patient. Orin took her blade and drew it upon Minthara’s waist, the jagged lines only being deep enough to sting as she worked her way over them once, then twice, then again, the searing tip of her cock pushing at Minthara’s entrance. She writhed there, humming with pleasure as she refused to push herself fully in, getting distracted by the beautiful scarlet lines. Minthara was her canvas, the blade her brush, and each stroke of it brought forth another cry of pain.
Minthara swore under her breath with each further drag, each soft push, whining as Orin’s cock slowly began pushing itself inside as she took her artist’s weapon and drew a line from her navel to her sternum, pushing harder the further she went.
“Maybe I’ll claim you for Bhaal,” she said, her other bloody hand grabbing Minthara’s chin, forcing her to look up at her, “making you a vessel for another murderous spawn,” she giggled. “How pleased He’d be to have such… noble lineage intertwined with his own,” she continued her ceaseless laughing.
The longer she rode her, the hotter the room seemed to become. The smell of the rotting pile of flesh beneath her only grew with each fowl movement made atop it, her own blood seeping between the skin of the already damned. She writhed against the pain of her cunt wrapped around Orin’s seemingly ever growing cock, her blood liberally coating each and flowing amonst the bed of rot they lay upon.
With each tug of her restraints, each whimper and growl of pain and noncompliance, it only lifted her further and further from herself. Orin’s relentless butchering continued through the layers of flayed skin, over cuts already made and against skin that was barely holding itself together. With each thrust inside of her, her pace quickened, fueled by her desire to wreak havoc upon her.
Minthara’s legs quivered in the restraints that held them apart, the pounding in her head matching the pressure in her chest; each strained gasp for breath only had her body shaking more, her cries and tears brewing a sweet song when mixed with her strained moans of pleasure.
Each sound had Orin’s knife making another mark, pulling away more skin. She treated the torture as a reward for her pleasure, of which she couldn’t help but hate herself for not being able to control. As her thighs fought against the restraints to snap shut and failed, Orin’s dagger-sharp grin only growing to see her fight against such a good fuck.
It was as Orin had taken her chin in her hands yet again, tilting her face forward ever so slightly to watch as the tears dripped from her eyes, that she seemed to slowly come undone. Her breathing–already hitched–folded in on itself, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull as her salty tears stained her cut-ridden chest, stinging as it washed over Orin’s creation. She gritted her teeth the higher she seemed to be thrown, her body convulsing in its chains as Orin rode her through her high. She cried out against her will, Orin’s laugh puncuating her cries.
While Minthara came hard beneath her, Orin widthdrew her blade. Her eyes glistened as they looked upon the blood dripping from it, her tongue flicking against it quickly at first, then with intent to savor the taste. She smiled down at Minthara, bringing the tip of the blade to her mouth and pressing it against her lip.
She rolled her hips into hers harder, the throbbing tip of her cock hitting the entrance of her cervix as her walls continued to pulse against it. She swore to herself, cried with how deeply she hated the pleasure she was taking, and the pleasure she was giving. Orin’s quickening pace faltered as she pushed the tip of her blade against Minthara’s lips harder, forcing her to open her mouth.
“Open,” she commanded behind her angry, crazed smile. Minthara choked through another sob as she convulsed yet again. The bit of blood dripped down her chin as her tongue met the blade. She swalllwed hard against the warm metal, shuddering at the taste of her own acidic blood in her mouth.
As it was pushed against her tongue, Orin leaned down against her chest, her free hand playing violently in the mess of skin and muscle and blood she’d created, the sting of the feeling driving Minthara to scream out yet again, cursing the woman as she pressed her harder against her bed of flesh beneath them.
“Sweet pet, sweet…” Orin muttered, her hot breath burning against Minthara’s neck. Her teeth graced her collarbone before gently clamping down, a deep moan falling between Orin’s lips and against Minthara’s bruising skin.
She let her fingers dig into the cuts she’d made, causing more hot blood to spill across her fingers as Minthara arched her back against the pain. As her tears mixed with more fresh blood, Orin let herself get lost in the taste as her tongue ran rampant over Minthara’s shaking body, another orgasm tearing through her as Orin pushed herself deeper inside still, finally, finally bottoming out.
She growled with assurance, the bloood painting her lips and tongue a horrid shade of dark, dark umber as she slammed them into Minthara’s own. forcing her to taste herself again but, this time, from Orin’s tongue. She bit down hard as she explored Minthara’s mouth, gripping her tight as the throbbing of her cock became quicker, harder to fight through.
“This’ll be the first of many times,” she huffed against the shell of Minthara’s ear, “that I get to spill Bhaal’s seed in you, little lamb,” she groaned, biting down on whatever flesh was closest to her mouth as she came deep inside her, smiling down at the tears she’d drawn out of her.
—
She didn’t know what she was laying upon, but the smell of it only became worse and worse as the puddle of her blood congealed beneath her. The dirt staining her face was only missing in the spots her tear stains had washed them away. Orin had left her where she’d first awoken, tellling her she was far from done with her yet.
Minthara didn’t know how much time had passed between the first round and what would soon become the second, but her neck snapped towards the groaning stone as the door of her cell was swung open.
Orin’s gentle saunter towards her had her pulling against the restraints she was left in, the red and swollen bits of her skin pinching between the leather cuffs. Minthara winced against the pain, her mouth openeing against her own volition before snapping it shut, refusing to say anything. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
Orin dared her to say the first word, looking upon her with an expecting glare. She jingled the small ring of dainty keys she held in her hands, winking at Minthara as she continued stalking towards her.
Minthara swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly and looking at her, then away, then meeting her gaze again. She seemed to enjoy her uncertainty; her fear.
She looked upon her with wonder, tracing the ugly cuts and gashees she left over he stomach, waist, chest, tits, thighs… She was covered in the crust of her own dried blood, the smell of her something to gag over. Her hair was matted to her head where she’d struggled against her mattress of flesh, her face contorted with something that could only be a mix of disgust, defiance, and fear, wrapped all up in one. Orin let out the softest of pleasured moans, her hair fluttering in the ghastly breeze that the open door had welcomed inside.
Orin huffed, annoyed with the silence of her pet. She rolled her eyes as she began to strip, knowing the only way she’d get her to make some noise would be through forcing her.
She approached where Minthara lay, gently shaking her head, tutting her tongue.
She jingled the keys again in her hand before bending forward, her perfectly rancid, gorgeously hideous naked facade the perfect show. She bent forward slowly, humming something to herself as she worked the keys into the lock of the leather straps keeping Minthara bound to the chains, somehow attached to the pile of corpses she laid upon.
“My poor, poor pet,” Orin cooed, moving from one ankle to the other, working her feet over in small circles and massaging the soles as she seemingly was helping blood work back into them after being restrained for so long. The swollen skin surrounded by deep red and purple bruising made her salivate, but she was patient, taking her time as she continued.
Minthara lay motionless upon her throne of death, her breath light and shuddering with each passing moment. The click of her bonds being undone made every muscle in her body tense, causing some of the deeper cuts to open back up a bit, small drops of blood starting to drip across her stomach.
Orin’s naked body was mesmerizing as she finally made her way to Minthara’s other hand, unlocking it from her straps and massaging her fingers, bringing them up to her lips and kissing them ever so softly as she rubbed life back into them, licking the bruised skin.
She looked upon her expectantly, knowing she wouldn’t say a word but wishing she would, anyway. “They say having favorites makes me weak,” she spat between her gentle kisses, “but it’s inspiring,” she hummed, “fulfilling. I wonder; what must it feel like to be my muse?”
Her tongue dragged against the palm of her hand, licking away the blood and grime and dragging it along her arm, the crest of her elbow, up to her shoulder. Minthara trembled against the feel of her lips, held in her grasp.
As she was slowly lifted to sit, her head swam with the sudden perssure of the dizziness of moving. She gripped onto Orin’s arm for support, flinching when she realized she’d been there to support her. Orin smiled her ghostly smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned closer to her.
“Here,” she said, “allow me.”
She stood and walked around the mound of meat Minthara sat upon. Now that she wasn’t forced to look straaight ahead, she saw the mangled bodies pileed beneath her, the flies and maggots working their ways through the edges of them. She gaggeg beside herself, spitting to the side before feeling Orin’s hands reach benath her arms,
For a moment, her touch remained gentle. Minthara let out first one breath, then another, Orin’s grip slowly hardening as she rutted her length against her ass, the feel of it slowly growing harder and longer against her.
Orin let out a soft sigh against the back of her neck, her tongue flicking against her skin. “How I wish you would speak to me, my little lamb,” she cooed, “to hear you curse my name, damn me to the hells…”
It was in that moment that Minthara’s undignified yet still stoic facade suddenly seemed to crack. The goading, the taunting, the way Orin’s cold hands wandered about her blood-covered skin. She knew Orin would be the kind to boast of her prize, exclaim over the terrors she brought her; so many knew what had been done to her. Minthara looked towards the opened door, the smallest of shivers gracing her skin as her brows furrowed against the breeze it let in once again.
Had she thought through her decision, she’d have known it never would have worked. But the instincts she’d so carefully honed had been destroyed by the days of starvation, pain, and fear; as soon as she’d registered that her restraints had been released and the door left open, she made a bolt towards her escape.
Her mind rushed for just the smallest bit of a second with the adrenaline of it, the last bit of fight her body had left pushing her forward with the deep huff of a hot breath. She’d had plenty of time to hate herself being tied up here, and got lost in the prospect of getting her moment of redemption.
Orin’s arm snapped forward as Minthara took the pitiful steps of a toddling infant, her limbs still sore and shaking and in no way fit to support her. As she stumbled, Orin’s claws snatched her skin, digging into cuts already made as she screamed while yanking her back towards her bed of rot.
Orin threw her amonst the pile of corpses, her body thudding against its slick surface. Her eyes flarring like that of an animal, she scrambled atop her, gripping her wrists atop the bruises still forming, sitting her weight on her back, letting her face get burried in the mess of decay beneath her.
As one hand kept its grip on Minthara’s wrists, the other took its claws to her back, raking down her skin with a quick slash and leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
“My lamb dares to run?” Orin screamed, slashing her once again as Minthara writhed beneath her against the pian, her muscles still tense from her feeble attempt at escape and her body still wanting to fight.
“She thinks it so easy to leave me?” She positioned her throbbing cock at the entrance of her ass, laughing when she started screaming against rotting skin in response.
“Look at you!” Orin said, releasing her grip on her wrists and grabbing a fistful of her wrecked hair, yanking her head back and smiling as she yelped. She leaned in, her lips against her ear as she held her there, her other hand reaching for her dagger.
“You’re being broken,” she muttered against her, “ruined. You lay here, my bloodied mess, amongst rotting corpses that you will one day join. Your disgrace will be unknown, as you’ll never have the pleasure of becoming more than what I’ll make you in the name of the Absolute.”
She giggled then, biting her ear before whispering, “My True Soul,” she breathed, “my bitch.”
Minthara screamed her first plea of resistance as Orin slammed into her ass, bottoming out with her first violent thrust and refusing to let up her pace from there. She shouted against each tug of her hair, her spit and tears pooling around the corners of her mouth as the stoic facade of silence she’d been keeping had finally started to crumble away.
Her arms flailed as she searched for anything other than a corpse to grip, trying and failing to pull herself away from Orin as she gripped her harder and pulled her back on her cock again and again.
“I’ll be dead before you own me,” she raged between her screams, her voice cracking as the pain of Orin tearing into her again and again only grew with each thrust.
Orin’s blade bit deep into her side, a thick gush of blood flooding down their thighs and onto the bodies beneath them. Minthara screamed against the pain, Orin’s fingers only gripping her tighter as she continue her useless struggle.
She laughed at her pitiful prey, bringing her blade across her stomach in the twisted line of a smile, from one hip to the next, “Your ungrateful cunt doesn’t deserve the pleasure of me,” she said betweeen gritted teeth hiding behind a sick smile, “You better start thanking me before I see fit to spill your innards for our guests,” she nodded towards the open door.
Minthara’s rage was eaten alive by her shame as she saw the onlookers standing there. Some were merely peaking around the doorframe, others inching forward with each passing moment. One had a hand deep inside their pants. All of their eyes were trained vicously on the scene unfolding before them, their hunger clear in the way they seemed to drink in Minthara’s helpeless flails and resistance.
Her cheeks went hot as blood continued to rage through her veins, spilling from her new wound. She opened her mouth to scream her hatred yet again, but saw the way they seemed to take pleasure in the idea of it. She swallowed her words, her breath hitching as she forced herself to deny them.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight as she fought against Orin’s grip of her hair to turn away, but failed. Orin only tutted in response, bringing her blade back to her waist.
“Thank me,” she demanded, her length slamming deep inside of Minthara’s ass again and again, each thrust causing her to whimper in pain now that her mouth was shut tight. The tears brimming in her eyes spilled over en mass, the pain building inside of her too much to bear as Orin somehow managed to pick up the pace.
The soft mutters and moans of the onlookers wafted their way to her ears. The harder she tried to push them away, the easier it was for them to chip away at the meagre defenses she had left. She refused to fully look at them, but felt the hunger in their gazes nonetheless. She pulled against Orin’s grip, screeching in pain as her blade cut deep into her side yet again. Words tried to work their way from her lips–
“Thank me!” Orin said, pushing her head down into the cold skin beneath her. She groaned and yelped and her arms flew to the side as she cried, feeling the glares and hating herself for her pitiful display of such a lack in restraint. She choked on her own sobs of self pity, barely able to mumble into the mattress as Orin’s blade pushed itself deeper, slowly beginning its journey across her waist yet again, running over the other slashes Orin had previously left and smearing her gore across herself.
“Th…Thank you,” she breathed amongst her tears.
Orin pulled her back up again, her rancid smile glowing with power as Minthara gasped for breath.
“Ohh,” Orin moaned with the strict haughtiness of hearing her give in; accepting her role. “You disgust me,” she spat, pulling her back further as her body seemed to slowly go limp against her own. Her tears were quiet whimpers amongst her louder chokes for breath, blood dripping from her waist, down her thighs, wetting the dried mess of it she’d been laying in for so long beneath her.
Orin fed on her crumbling conscious, drooling along with the voyeurers who’d started unapolegetically enjoying themselves along with their Chosen. Her voice seemed to deepen as she growled, spitting on Minthara’s open cut.
“You think you’re so worthy of sanctity?” she said, anger tainting her voice. “Of peace? Deserving of a child’s love, an obligation to be paid?” she questioned. She seemed to get lost in her anger the more she screamed, her voice cowering over the other’s moans of pleasure. She took her blade and held it against her throat, letting it just barely pierce the skin before drawing back and striking her,
Minthara’s cry of pain was music to Orin’s ears, only inspiring her to hit again.
She leaned forward, her grunts loud in Minthara’s ear as she rutted into her faster, barely pulling out before pushing her cock back inside, twisting it against her insides with each hot tug and rough pull.
“Tell me you deserve it,” she said, hammering away in her ass.
Minthara crumbled underneath knowing what a pitiful display she made of herself, all bent over and yanked back and crying while speared on the cock of someone she’d easily best in a fair fight. Her stomach coiled and clenched with her distatste for herself, the pain wrapping its gentle claws around her and dragging her deeper down into its pit of despair. She cried out to the onlookers, not daring to open her eyes but hoping–praying, even, to a Goddess she had already foresaken–to let someone see it in their heart to kill her now, and do it quickly.
Of course, that refuge never came.
The jeering and groaning mixing with the tear of her own flesh was a cocophany of horros, Minthara’s thoughts falling further into that fear growing inside of her that she thought mere moments ago she had conquered, that she could escape.
How wrong she’d been.
Orin groaned against her skin as she came inide Minthara’s tight virgin ass, rocking in her pleasure, never stopping as she continued to pump it deeper inside. Minthara cried as she felt her let loose, knowing the mess she was of her former self and despising herself for it.
“I…” she breathed between her choked sobs, “I deserve it.” She could taste the bile the words brought with them to the tip of her tongue.
Orin’s blade started snaking down her waste, making its way towards her cilt with a trail of her blood following in its wake. She continued her onslought of her ass, her cock only throbbing quicker the longer she continued her assault. She gripped Minthara’s throat, her grip an iron fist as it clasped her airway shut.
“Again,” she spat, “my rancid lamb, my worthless, sick excuse of a child.”
“I deserve it,” she barely managed to choke out, her eyes opening just slightly as they strained to see past her tears, past the blurred vision of being close to losing consciousness.
“And what do you say?” Orin quipped with a sly laugh, the sharp, throbbing pain of a thick needle being wrung through one of her nipples.
Minthara’s scream of pain was muffled by Orin’s tight grip of her throat, by the hard slapping of her skin on her ass. Tears fell liberally from her cheeks as her vision softly began to fade, barely even awake enough to comprehend the feel of the next thick rod of metal piercing through the same spot again, crossing over top of the first and liberally spouting blood as Orin continued to get more and more lost in Minthara’s pain.
Just as her vision faded to black, Orin’s grip loosened just a tad. She sucked in a deep gulp of air, coughing and choking on her drool as she fought her way back to feeling like she could breath.
She felt her own warm blood dripping down her chest, over the others that had barely even been given enough time to scab over on her waist. She writhed in Orin’s unrelenting grip, coughing out pleas that were barely heard.
Her grip began to tighten again as she came once more deep in her ass, letting the third and final needle pierce itself straight through the other two, tearing the pinched skin between them as it crossed over their center. As more of her blood trickled from the new set of wounds, her diziness came back with full force, but only for a moment before her vision began to blurr once more.
Orin’s claws sunk deep into the purple and blue bruised-stained skin of her neck. “What do you say?” she asked.
Minthara struggled to suck in enough air to barely rasp out her words.
“M…mummy… thank you, mummy,” she mumbled, so quiet she wasn’t even sure if Orin could hear her. Yet, she did, and she cackled her vicious laugh, the sound of it echoing through Minthara’s skull as her body became numb beneath her and she lost consciousness yet again.
—
The time between this last visit and Orin’s next was much longer than the first. It was intentional, and Minthara knew that. There was a part of leaving your torture victims in prologned periods of isolation as a means to attach them to you. She understood that the pain inflicted upon her, the shame and humiliation, was all a tactic to break her just as much as leaving her here was.
And yet, that knowledge didn’t save her from succumbing to it.
The next time she woke, her body was wrought with too much sensation for her to do much of anything other than moan in pain. The collar strapped around her neck had small metal pieces biting into her skin from every angle, the slick stickiness of her blood pooling at her collarbones and shoulders. It throbbed where it sat, moreso when she tried to force herself to sit up.
Her body contorted under the sudden change in pressure and weight, the collar tugging back on the thick, heavy chain that kept it attched to the floor. As she was pulled back, Minthara screamed to her empty cell, tears she didn’t even feel starting to brim in her eyes.
The freezing cold of the stone beneath her naked frame was the only relief she could find for her naked body, curling around herself as she whinced and whimpered with each tug and pull of her arms and legs. Her skin tore in the places she’d been cut, staining the stones beneath her. As the throbbing in her chest worsened, she dared to look down, only to see the horrors Orin had doned upon her.
The three needles piercing through her nipple were encrusted with her blood, as was the rest of her. The cuts were deep, jagged gashes painting her skin in hues of distorted, swollen lumps of ruined flesh and muscle. She didn’t recognize the skin holding her together; she’d never seen it in such a state before. The stinging pain searing through her gripped her straight to her core, her tears flowing freely now as she barely managed to wonder when Orin would return.
She was chained there to the floor for more days than she’d expected to survive without anything to eat. The longer she waited, the worse her conditon became. Her thoughts drifted, wandered, went to places she thought they’d never return to. In her dreamless haze of exhaustion and pain, she wished for nothing but death. It was the only thing that could preserve the morsel of dignity she felt she had left.
Orin’s reappearance was unplanned. Minthara was drifting in and out of her fits of sobbing and being lost in her starved state. At the sound of the stone door grinding its way open, she held her breath. As each muscle in her body tried to go tense, she shook where she lay.
The pounding in her skull was residual now, but only grew in intensity with each echoing step Orin made towards her.
Her breath was jagged, her brows furrowed. Each word she spoke had venom laced behind it, only giving way to the rage she radiated.
“On your back,” she spat at Minthara, quickly undressing and tossing her garments to the side with aggresion. When Minthara refused to move, she quickly took hold of the chain holding her collar, tugging it to the side to get her splayed on her bloody back.
Minthara whinced and cried out in pain, fresh blood beginning to seep from the sharp studs in the collar around her neck. As her shredded back was pulled against the grating stone, a smear of her blood left a trail in her wake.
Orin stepped forward, straddling Minthara as she stood above her. She shook her head as she spat at her again, taking in her broken, bloody, terrified visage.
She growled beneath her breath, her tongue quickly darting across her lips as a glint shone in her eyes.
She took her length in her hand, starting a slow rhythm of strokes as she looked down at a crying, destitute Minthara. Each glide against her cock had her bucking into her hand as she mumbled about Minthara’s disgust beneath her breath, giving her a swift kick to the side to watch her crumble underneath her foot.
Orin ground her teeth together, not satisfied with the amount of pain. “What do you say?” she asked, kicking her again and groaning as she worked over her tip with a tighter grip, a bit of precum just barely managing to drip onto Minthara’s crumpled, heaving body.
“Th… thank you, mummy,” she managed between a gasp and a cry, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the stone floor. She knew there was nothing she could do to prepare herself for what was to come.
Orin nodded above her before she crouched down, gripping either thigh in her hands and spreading her mangled legs, pulling her towards her again and gripping her harder when she dared to squirm against the pain.
She spat down at her crying figure as she positioned herself at the sopping entrance of her cunt, giggling beneath her breath when she realised just how ready for her she was.
“My pet’s perfect cunt,” she laughed crudely, pushing her tip inside and shuddering against Minthara’s crying figure, “so wet and eager to please,” she teased.
Orin took the briefest of moments to settle herself inside before violently bottoming out, her gaze devouring the way a broken Minthara looked as she writhed in her collar, deep on her cock. With a hand above either of her shoulders, she watched Minthara cry with each rapid thrust, her breath beginning to break. Orin leaned closer to her, her hot and rancid breath flush against Minthara’s skin. She leaned down as she thrusted deeper, groaning as her tongue worked its way over her jagged cuts, up her chest, her neck, and finally to her mouth.
The way Minthara looked beanath her had her breath hitching in her throat with each pump of her cock, the ruined image of her pet causing her blood to run hotter in her veins, her fingers to grip hard to the stone her hands rested on. Her growls became erratic, her eyes devouring every inch of Minthara she could see. The brutal pace of her mating press only quickened with each passing moment, Minthara’s whines and pleas becoming desperate cries as her cunt was worked over and over by Orin’s growing length.
“Again,” Orin said beneath her snarl, leaning forward yet again amidst another thrust to lick her dried and cracked blood from her neck.
Minthara stuttered, chocked out a brief moan. She felt her cunt twitched around Orin’s cock, hating herself for finding such sick pleasure.
“Thank you, mummy,” she cried softly, the feel of Orin’s tongue against her skin causing her to shake more violently beneath her. She tried to resist grabbing Orin’s arms to help hold herself steady, but reached for her, anyway, her tears trailing down her cheeks as she clung to her while she was plowed into again and again.
“What are you?” she breathed against her skin, sucking in the dank smell of her ruined body, congealed blood and all, drinking it in.
She rammed into Minthara again, her throbbing head already pounding against her cervix in a way she knew would leave a painful bruise.
“I’m…” she choked, sobbing into Orin’s soft tits as she picked up the pace, “I’m your bitch.”
Orin’s eyes went wide as her twisted smile overtook her face again, her hot moans echoing throughout the room. Her moans and grunts became a primal sort of rhythm as they mixed with the sounds of her hips slapping against Minthara’s spread legs. She laughed between thick breaths, her pupils dialating as her gaze bore down at what she’d made of Minthara.
At first, it was all subtle. The stretching and groaning of ripping and moving skin, grinding of bone against bone changing shape… it was lost to Minthara as she cried through her first bought of a pleasure high. She was quivering beneath Orin as she started to change, the pained grunts of her quick transformation getting louder and louder.
Between her broken sobs and tears, Minthara’s eyes oppened just enough, cleared just enough, to be able to make out the growing mass atopp her. She sucked in a gasp, whincing against the pain again as her back was dragged further across the stone floor.
Her eyes went wide as she started to feel the throbbing and aching growing between her legs. Her desperate whines were full of terror as she was pulled down from the high of her first orgasm, the shame she felt evaporating from her veins as it was quickly replaced with fear. What was once Orin’s hands were now claws, gripping at her legs and thighs and holding her down and in place the more she tried to kick and resist through her terror, a deep a guttural growl escaping Orin’s maw when she dared to try to kick her in the side.
The shaking from her pleasure was replaced with that of repulsion and fear as a long, thick strand of drool dripped from the opening of her snout and landed in a puddle on Minthara’s cut up chest, stinging as it found its way into her wounds. She whimpered against the pain, going tense as Orin’s grip on her legs became tighter, another set of claw-tipped arms joining the first in their tight hold.
They sat there, their breaths colliding, for what could have been hours, or mere seconds. Minthara held her breath as Orin continued to breath through the convulsions of her cunt around her throbbing cock, still getting larger as it sat deep inside of her.
She slowly laid her head back against the blood-stained stones, whincing as more tears dripping down her cheeks to meet the dirt. She shut her eyes tight as she felt the first bit of a tear ripping her apart from the center, the hard pressure of what could only be the slayer’s knot starting to form at the base of Orin’s cock.
She fought the urge to squirm, knowing it’d only cause more pain, but the push against her walls was deafening. Her breaths were each accompanied by terrified whines of pain, only feeding Orin’s need to ruin her more. There was a deep growl that escaped her maw as she ever so sliightly leaned forward, rocking her knot a bit further inside of her prey.
Minthara couldn’t help but to yelp out a cry of pain, which is exactly what Orin needed to be pushed over her edge. Her slayer form snarled into the empty cell as she began slamming her knot inside of her repeatedly, the blood mixing with Minthara’s slick as she continued to pound her only fueling her more. The smell of the iron in her blood made her heady, her wicked pace faltering more than once but never ceasing.
Her claws raked against the stone floors over and over, the horrid grinding of it ringing through Minthara’s skull each time they pulled by her ears. Each thrust into her bleeding and ripped cunt only had her shrieking louder, the divots Orin made beside her head in the stone growing deeper. She flailed beneath the slayer, lost in the sea of pain she never even imagined someone could experience.
As Orin’s knot continued to grow, Minthara’s struggling only grew more intense. She pushed against Orin’s arms and kicked out of her grasp, only for her to lay more of her weight atop her, pushing the breath out of her lungs as she continued slamming into her with each breath. As her knot slipped from inside her cunt, Minthara cried, only for her to slam it back inside with reckless abandon.
The harder she fought against the slayer, the tighter that coil in her cunt was wound. She cried at the thought of cumming around her cock again, blood spilling from her cunt and tears running down her face, but let go of the thought of fighting it. Orin’s slayer claws grabbed at her shoulders, sinking deep inside already broken skin, and Minthara came again.
She convulsed around her knot, Orin unable to fully pull out as she kept fucking her through her second orgasm. Her animalistic grunts of pleasure became more labored, the way Minthara’s walls felt around her milking her knot in such a way that brought her further and further to the edge of her own peak.
Orin’s second set of slayer arms wrapped themselves roughly around Minthara’s waist, yanking her forward and causing her to cry out amongst her moans of pleasure. She lifted her effortlessly, letting her have the smallest bit of a reprieve as she held her against her chest before slamming her body back down against the full length of her aching cock and swollen knot.
Minthara went limp against the slayer then, crying helplessly in between her moans and whimpers of pain as Orin used her body like a toy, lifting her as though she was weightless and spearing her on her cock over and over, letting the blood spilling from her cunt leave a small puddle on the floor beneath them.
The first time Orin came, there was a low groan to accompany it. She had Minthara’s limp body pressed hard against her hips, her arms swaying behind her as she couldn’t control them. Orin’s cum filled her cervix with one meagre load, the next sticky rope of it flowing out of her bloody cunt and onto either of their laps, dripping down Orin’s legs and settling in the puddle of blood.
At soime point, the infected needles burried through her nipple had been ripped clean, a new river of blood finding its way through the path of all the old ones and snaking down her waist again. She twitched as she was pumped full of cum, whimpering as she felt Orin’s knot twitch inside of her.
She was nothing but a whimpering mess when Orin started her assault again, each and every breath leaving Mintharta’s mouth nothing but a drooling moan accompanied by her tears of pain. Orin worked through her nonetheless, the way she looked half-dead on her cock only making her knot swell a bit more, her cries for breath pushing more and more of Orin’s cum back out of her stuffed womb and down the length of her cock.
She was in no state to keep track of her own name, nonetheless how many times Orin came inside of her. Each load of cum had her stretching around her more and more, each strained grunt of pleasure from Orin signaling another round. She’d been all but stretched to her limit and filled over and over to her brim by the time Orin finally lifted her off her shaft and let her drop limp to the blood, drool, and cum-stained floor.
She cried into the pool of spend and blood, her cheek against the stone as every inch of her body throbbed and screamed at her in pain. Orin’s hulking slayer form stood above her for a moment, her cock swaying just a bit in the open bit of acrid air between them before a clawed hand reached down and gripped Minthara by the hair.
She whimpered as she was lifted, but didn’t have the strength in her to voice out a cry. As the tears silently streamed down her face, Orin’s claws made a mess of themselves in her hair, forcing her to her knees before her.
She didn’t let Minthara take a breath before filling her throat. She slammed the back of her head into her hips with aggression, forcing Minthara’s nose up against her skin as she gagged and choked and drooled as she fought to catch a breath but was denied the pleasure. Orin twitched deep inside of her, making her gag again, only pulling back her head to slap the tip of her dick against her swollen tongue.
Minthara’s vision blurred as she coughed for air, a thick patch of her hair ripping into Orin’s claw as she pulled her forward again. With the tearing and guttural pain she felt with Orin burried deep in her cunt, she still wasn’t ready for the pain of her shoving deep down her throat again and again, being forced to take the full length of it. The corners of her lips tore as she was forced to down it, her tears dripping from her chin in time with her drool.
The buldge of her stomach started to fade ever so slightly as she shifted where she knelt per Orin’s tug, the feel of her cum flowing out of her in a thick, hot stream sending a shiver down her spine. As her body fought to push the mess of it out of her, she spasmed, her throat clenching around Orin’s cock.
It didn’t take long for Orin to use Minthara’s mouth to her satisfaction, pulling her limp body back and forth against her length as she cried and gagged around it, sobbing helpless tears as she struggled to keep her gaze from meeting Orin’s.
Orin’s cum flowed down her throat. Minthra choked on it but did as a good bitch does and swallowed eagerly in her cock-drunk state. That didn’t matter, though; it just kept coming, spilling down her throat, gagging up over her lips and down her chin, chest, tits…
She didn’t feel Orin release her grip, but certainly felt the hard stone beneath her face as it slammed against the stone. She cried as she coughed up more and more of Orin’s cum, laying limp in the mess of it all that she’d made. She didn’t know if her vision was blurred from the tears or the force of her head hitting the ground or the lack of air–maybe all three. She shivered as she tried but failed to turn herself over, only shuddering as she silently continued to sob.
She was numb. Broken. Ruined. Her body was left worthless in a pool of blood and cum, more of it streaming from between her legs as her cunt continued to twitch amongst the residual pain. Her body screamed with each breath, scabs peeling and cuts having been stretched open again in places they were barely allowed to heal in the first place. There was not a single thought in her brain but of how to please Orin, what to do to get her to stop, as she laid there on the floor.
She mumbled her praise to her mummy, thanked her over and over for giving her everything she deserved, but her throat was wrung dry and no sound would come out. She squealed and whimpered as she struggled to move her lips, barely able to make out the visage of the slayer slowly reverting into itself, Orin’s bloodied, twisted smile left where the maw once was.
She gasped again and again for breath amongst her wordless please, and Orin drank in her cries. She stood there above her, cock in hand, sighing as she threw her head back. She worked over herself with ease, teasing the head of her cock in all the right ways. With her pet so perfectly broken beneath her, it was easy to cum again.
She stood there with her cock in her hand until Minthara had fallen unconscious amongst her cries and pleas of anguish. She laughed to herself, proud in her triumph, the sweet, sweet sounds of Minthara’s broken whimpers the perfect melody.
She came on her until she could barely tell if she was still breathing. Her hair was plastered to her face, layered in her cum and Minthara’s own blood as it swirled in the pool of it all that she slept in. It was dripping from every divot her body made as it had contorted in on itself before she fell into unconsciousness, still leaking from her cunt and mouth, too. It burned and stung in her wounds, but she was too numbed from all the pain to even feel it as she drifted into the only place where she still held a shred of her former dignity.
“My princess, all dressed in white,” Orin muttered beneath a sick giggle, “ready for when they come to place you upon Her throne.”
She left the cell with a smirk on her face replacing the frown of anger she arrived with, but not before scooping a bit of her cum back inside Minthra’s shredded cunt. She pulled the stone door shut behind her.
—
Z’rell was tasked with preparing her for her induction. She was sent with a cleric and a superior potion of healing and told to make her presentable before splaying her out on a fresh bed of corpses.
The stoic dignity she held radiated from her very being as she stepped down the hall towards Minthara’s cell, not bothering to prepare herself for the sights she would see.
She’d seen it all. Ketheric was a creative man, if given the opportunity. And the few moments she spent with Balthazaar were… educational in the ways of torture, if nothing else.
But nothing could have prepared her for this.
She stopped in her tracks after finally getting sight of her, not recognizing the scattered mess on the floor she’d become. For a moment, she didn’t even see her amongst the pile of all the gore and cum. The air stank of decay and rot and sex, the very walls of the cell dripping with its condensation. The sack of bones and open gashes that Minthara had become was nothing that Z’rell had the capacity to fix.
The cleric got sick, but was slapped around until they had nothing more to give. The potion barely made a dent in the wounds, and what she really needed was a fucking bath…
She screamed for a team of cultists awaiting her commands, who managed to free her from her chains and get her settled someplace where proper healing to commence.
—
The more they tended to her, the more afraid she became.
What use did they have for her? What purpose could she possibly serve outside of being Orin’s personal pet?
She resisted for a while, only growing more and more disheartened the longer they pushed to treat her. She relinquished any shred of dignity that she thought she may have had left as she cried, letting them tend to her wounds and douse her in potions and remedies. The thought of getting pushed to this brink over and over, only to be mended and ruined again and again…
It didn’t take them long to stitch her back together. When they started feeding her, she had another thought of escape. She pushed it down to the back of her mind; she’d never entertain anything like that ever again.
She didn’t resist when Z’rell arrived to dress her. She sat compliantly as they moved her from one place to another, not remembering when it was that she’d fallen unconscious again only to wake chained atop the cold feeling of the bed of death she knew so well.
When she realized she’d been right at the thought of being healed only to be broken again, she cried. It was quiet, full of grief for the parts of herself she no longer knew. She let her arms rest limp in the bonds around her wrists, leaning her head against the corpses beneath her as hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
Then, the horridly familiar sound of the stone door grinding open.
Minthara didn’t brace herself, but rather lifted her tear-stained face, and looked towards where she knew her mummy would be coming to stalk her.
Instead, she was met with Ketheric and Z’rell flanking her on either side, a look of annnoyance on her face as she strode to Minthara’s bedside with purpose.
It was tense, but with a wave of Ketheric’s hand, Orin sighed and sat beside her.
“They’re spoiling our fun, little lamb,” she mumbled, shooting Z’rell a glare as she seemed to play with something wriggling between her fingers.
Minthara’s eyes were wide, but she remained attentive. She’d learned to listen.
“But I suppose the Absolute will grant her chosen the gifts she sees fit, in time,” she laughed, rolling her eyes as Ketheric glared at her.
She sighed, crawling atop the rotten bed and straddling Minthara, but this time with grace. Her body moved in fluid motions, knowing just wehre to sit and just how to smile down at her eager pet. The fear in Minthara’s eyes as she looked back up at her spoke of the volumes she’d done to get her here, perfectly sat underneath her, painted with perfectly placed strokes of her blade and made to sing her name.
She opened her palm above Minthara’s head, showing her the acrid tadpole squirming in her grip. It writhed in time with the pounding of Minthara’s fear, her breath only drawing its attention more as it quickened in pace. Orin couldn’t help but enjoy the squirming; her eyes were aglow with wonder to match Minthara’s desperation.
Orin’s eyes blew wide as she took in Minthara’s dying fortitude, growing addicted to the way she seemed to crack beneath the pressure of knowing what was to come. This was not a game to Orin; she’d already won the game. This was merely playing with her prize.
“When it’s over,” Orin cooed, bending forward to let her breath whisper sweetly in Minthara’s ear, “you’ll finally know what it truly means to worship, True Soul.”
Minthara didn’t struggle underneath Orin’s weight as she took her blade forward; only as she started peeeling back the hood of her eye did she start to scream. She thrashed abouut beneath her to no use, new bruises forming atop the freshly healed ones on her wrists and ankles. She screamed her throat bloody, but it was no use: the tadpole had already wormed its way into her brain.