Innocence Lost Ch. 02-03

Azlorik laughed maniacally. "Such naughty words, ssinjin uss (sweet one), but that isn't a fate one normally wishes upon themselves, not from one of my kind."

His blade sliced into her flesh. Azlorik watched intently, utterly fascinated by the blood pouring from the wound. Mistale screamed as cold air stung the ragged edges of her tattered flesh. Gripping her hands, he jerked them above her head, holding them in place with one hand while he reached for another weapon. He palmed his dagger and held it up in the air. Light reflected off the silver blade as he plunged it down and spread her palms out flat. She screamed and began to struggle as she realized his intentions. He meant to pin her down. Mistale bucked her torso and flailed her legs, hoping to dislodge him, but Azlorik held fast and slammed the blade through both her hands. A horrific shriek of utter pain ripped from her throat, assailing his sensitive ears. He growled, backhanding her across the face viciously.

"Is this what it will take to get it through your thick skull that I AM your master?"

Azlorik tore her linen gown, ripping it down the front. His eyes flicked over her trembling flesh, tuning out her wretched sobs. "I have no real desire for your pale flesh. The sight disgusts me, but it would seem that you require total domination. As your Master, I shall dispense it."

Azlorik wedged himself between her flailing legs. His thin lips were curled provocatively in anticipation of what he would do next. Despite her struggles and loud sobs of pain, he swiped the swollen head of his cock over her slit and positioned himself at the entrance to her channel. He plunged inside with one brutal thrust, seating himself to the hilt and tearing her virginal barrier. Blood seeped around his invading member, moistening the passage. Mistale screamed and bucked, tears wetting her cheeks thoroughly. He licked the side of her face, drinking her tears, and slammed her head into the floor several times. Her eyes started to glaze over from the pain of her pinned hands. The dagger tore her flesh even more, which made his enjoyment evermore clear. He chuckled, enjoying her pain.

Agony burned through her. Azlorik's body slamming into hers was the horror of her first time. She could feel the blood of her virginity trickling down her inner thigh when he lifted it over his shoulder and slammed into her rapidly. He slapped her chest and her thigh, raising livid welts upon her ivory skin. He buried himself into her over and over again. Then he threw his head back and pulled out of her bloodied sheath, bellowing loudly as he spewed his seed against her thigh.

He jerked the dagger out of her pinned hands, ripping another scream of agony from her lips. He plunged the blade into the fire, allowing it to redden with heat before pressing it to the jagged wound within her left palm. She screamed again before slipping into the glorious embrace of darkness.

O.O

A hard slap tore Mistale from blessed oblivion. She let slip a startled squeak from her throat as her eyes fought to focus upon her tormentor. He sneered down at her as he straddled her waist. She tried to move her tortured hands and sobbed brokenly. "Why?"

"Your misery makes me happy." Azlorik grinned wickedly. "You have slept long enough. Three days and three nights I've waited on you to wake up. I can wait no longer. We must go. There is food on the fire. Not as good as what you are capable of producing, but food nonetheless. Get up and eat. Then we'll be on our way."

Mistale nodded, forcing herself to sit up. She cried out as pain zinged through her ravaged palms. "May I heal myself, Master?" She turned her pleading emerald eyes upon him.

"Very well, slave. Then you will eat, pack your belongings, and we shall go." Azlorik replied as he gathered his possessions and stowed them away in a worn leather backpack. He watched as a grimace spread across her angular features while she summoned a healing light to her hands and pressed them together. The jagged wounds coalesced and beads of sweat broke out above her upper lip.

Mistale used every bit healing magic she possessed to heal the wounds he'd caused upon her body. Though she knew it would not restore her innocence or heal the damage to her soul, it lent her perseverance. If this was the worst he would do to her, then she knew she'd survive anything else her threw at her. That feeling filled her completely. She was a survivor and that was something he could not take from her. That knowledge was strong in her and would sustain her through the unknown. She leveled a knowing look upon him. Someday, somehow, she would be free of him and it was then she would make him pay for all he'd done. An eye for an eye, she silently vowed.

O.O

The moon shone brightly from its perch amongst the heavens. Azlorik took a moment to gaze upon it with wonder before he turned to Mistale. "Take a good look at it, for this will be the last time you behold it. Once we've made our way into the moonless dark, it'll fade away and become a mere memory; much like the rest of your life, slave."

Mistale shivered snuggling into the cloak he'd given her to cover her naked body. It wasn't the chill of the night that caused her to tremble so much. The mere thought of never seeing the moon, the stars, and the warm sun on her skin, of never feeling the gentle caress of the fragrant breeze on her face became the true cause. The drow was firmly behind that.

"Come, girl. We must've tarry. There's a hidden entrance in a cave not too far from here, but we must be very silent. Grumazz often makes camp within it. A confrontation with him isn't in my plans this night."

"Who is Grumazz?" She asked softly, taking a few steps closer to Azlorik, pretending to be fearful. "Is he the Orc that nearly killed you?"

Azlorik snarled low in his throat at her. Amber eyes, framed by snow white eyebrows, narrowed dangerously. "Grumazz is much worse than a mere Orc. The Orcs weren't searching for me. It was not they that nearly sent me screaming to the heart of the Demonweb Pits. Grumazz is half-dragon and half-troll, an abomination by any definition."

"He is the one responsible for your near death." Mistale concluded, watching his face carefully. Rage filled his eyes, turning his face into a harsh mask. Raising his hand, he struck her as hard as he could and watched as the impact sent her reeling to the soft earth. Mistale whimpered, wiping fresh blood away from her busted lip.

"Get up and keep your tongue behind your teeth. You are NOT to speak unless given permission, only when I address you. And you WILL begin and/or end every sentence with Master. Are we understood, slave?"

Mistale trembled like a leaf on a tree during a fierce wind. "Yes, Master."

"Now get up and be silent."

She nodded as she favored her split lip and swollen mouth and climbed to her feet. She followed behind him quietly with one hand clutching his pack. He sneaked up to the entrance of the cave and slipped through the tangle of vines shielding it from sight. He scanned the dark interior carefully before he turned back to her. "I sense something. Stay close to me. I'm going to cast a spell on us both to make us invisible. Hold still."

He muttered a few words before touching them both, causing their bodies to turn translucent. He gripped her hand, pulling her forward, and ducked through another narrow crevice. Mistale could see a larger cavern before her. They entered it and crossed the wide expanse, slipping passed another side cavern, which from within came a deep rumbling sound. He steered her away from the cavern and down a long natural passageway.

Mistale noticed the gradual slope of the tunnel and realized they were heading downwards, deeper into the earth. She sighed deeply, clutching Azlorik's arm even tighter. What will become of me? Will I always be slave to a dark elf who holds dominion over my life or death? She gazed up into the hard visage of his face. Will I ever be free of him?

"Ser phor!" He growled at her. "Don't dawdle, stupid."

Keep up! Don't dawdle! Stupid! Her mind screamed in exasperation. Damn him! I should kill him!

Azlorik chuckled, slowing his stride. "You could try, slave, but I doubt you could succeed!"

Realization set into Mistale. He knew her thoughts. Was nothing of hers sacred? Did he have to have control over everything of hers? Was nothing her own? She couldn't take it much longer. He had to get it out of his head that she was his slave. She lashed out at him, her palms pummeling his arms and chest.

"Enough, slave," Azlorik commanded, becoming irritated by her erratic flailing. Just in time, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of her right arm swinging up, as she attempted to land a solid blow to his head. He slammed her forcibly against the wall of the tunnel and held her by both wrists with one hand above her head. Then he brought his free hand up to seize her face, forcing her to look at him while ending her struggles quickly. "You're making me angry and you don't like it when I'm angry. You tend to get hurt."

Mistale struggled wildly. "No, let go."

"I see I haven't broken you yet, slave. I'll have to try harder." Azlorik could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest and hear the sound of her ragged and barely controlled breathing in his ear. Grabbing her wrists in one fluid motion, he threw her to the ground and covered her body with his own. She shrieked in objection, making her hands into fists and hitting him while her legs flailed about. Azlorik managed to open the front of his pants as Mistale landed a few hits to his upper torso. "Vost dosst malarin (Cease your fighting)!"

She flagrantly disobeyed, continuing to fend him off. She didn't want this. She didn't want him touching her. Then she felt her body seize up as arcane words spilled from his lips.

Azlorik let out a chuckle and glanced down at her prone form. Nudging her legs apart, he slipped between them. "I warned you, stupid. Now be a good girl and take your punishment."

Her channel resisted the invasion of his member. She whimpered in pain before he covered her mouth with his hand and shoved harder into her. Tears leaked down Mistale's cheeks. She sobbed behind his hand as Azlorik cruelly thrust himself within her tight channel.

It was over as quickly as it began. The drow male pulled out, spewing his seed upon the rocky surface and delivered a solid punch to her midsection. She let out a shriek only to have it silenced by his hand again.

"Shut up, stupid whore," he growled and righted his pants. "If you persist in this insolent behavior, I will kill you."

Mistale clutched the wall in her attempt to stand up. Her groin hurt badly as did her abdomen. Her lower lip and chin quivered. She couldn't go on like this. Sooner or later her time would come, she was sure of it. At some point, he would let his guard down and she would make her escape. She forced herself not to believe him. He wouldn't kill her. He's bluffing, she decided.

His voice reached her ears low and dark, "You displease me with your defiant thoughts, slave." Mistale trembled visibly in response as he yanked her on her feet. She kept her eyes lowered dutifully, unable to look at him in fear of what other punishment he would administer to her. Azlorik took a step towards her and, instinctively, Mistale took a step back, gulping her apprehension. His hand lashed out, and at first she turned her head with the thought that he was going to strike her, but instead she felt his fingers curl around her chin in a callous grip, yanking her towards him, lifting her eyes to meet his own. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into those vibrant eyes, those deep amber orbs that froze her where she stood. His eyes were angry, she noticed, the flames of rage sparking and flashing within their depths while his body remained rigid, showing no intentions to yield.

"Get out of my head!" Mistale demanded loudly. Azlorik silenced her with a vicious slap. "Do you wish to bring the wrath of Grumazz upon us? I would leave you at his tender mercy. I'd watch as he ripped you limb from limb, consuming each and every inch of your disgusting pale flesh. Of course that would come after he raped you time and time again. He'd bathe in your blood. I think I would enjoy watching that. Yes, that'd be quite entertaining."

Mistale's skin paled even more. She dropped her head, covering her face with her hands, and bit back a sob. He was so cruel. She couldn't go on like this. Already the thought of being underground, far away from the sun, the bright blue sky and the fragrant air brought a sharp pang to her heart. "How can you be so cruel? Let me go, please!"

"You know nothing of cruel, little druid. Now cease this behavior and follow me. I'll leave you behind to become food for the Illithids if you fail to keep up." Azlorik sneered, yanking her forward.

"Illithids don't come this close to the surface," she retorted, stumbling along behind him. "But the duergar do. They are the notorious slavers selling witless surfacers like you into slavery or worse yet, becoming food for an Illithid."

Mistale shook her head at his taunt. "Don't listen to him," she whispered to herself over and over again. It became her silent mantra. Just ignore his cruel taunts.

O.O

Mistale stumbled upon the rocky uneven ground, clutching Azlorik to remain upright. He groused at her menacingly, shaking her off before he continued on his way and growled a command for her to keep up. She hastened her step, feeling her way along the lightless tunnel wall. When they reached an intersection, Azlorik took a moment to explore. The path to the east had suffered a cave in while the path to the south was draped in long stringy webs. He looked back at Mistale and grinned evilly. "There's our path," he stated and waited for her reaction. She trembled and pressed herself against him. Of the two, he seemed the safer bet, though she was severely beginning to doubt that. "You can't be serious!"

He leveled a satisfied smirk upon her, telling her everything she needed to know. "You'll want to beware the spitting spiders. I seriously doubt you'd enjoy becoming dinner."

Mistale squealed in fright before chastising herself. He's bluffing. You're a druid. You can handle a few spiders. Just think fire. Vermin that dwelled in darkness would hate the bright light of a flame.

Azlorik snickered openly, "Come along, slave." Hours passed while Mistale trudged along, sometimes falling behind his quickened trace. They had descended deeper and deeper into the dark depths he called home. She breathed a sigh of relief as he called her to stop and pushed her into a small side cavern hidden amongst a jumble of fallen rocks and rubble. A circular ring of stones was located near the back of the cave well out of view of the entrance. A small stack of mushroom stalks lay near the ring. Azlorik directed her to it and barked a command to light a fire for them. With a sigh, Mistale obeyed him, unwilling to draw his wrath at the moment. He watched her every move, his eyes fixed upon her. He found her defiance to be delicious. It allowed him to feed off her anger. It kept her off-balance and unawares of what was truly going on.

Once she had the fire going, she poured water into her cook pot to heat. A nice cup of tea would calm her nerves and make her feel better. She surreptitiously watched Azlorik through the veil of her hair that she'd allowed to fall into her face. For a drow male, he was quite handsome, though the perpetual scowl upon his face hindered his true beauty. And he was the same height as she. That puzzled her. Most of the warriors from her village were taller, but it must not be so for her dark cousins.

She pondered the way he had treated her. It was a violent mix of derision and control. Mistale could only guess that it had to do with the way males were treated within his race. She shivered and pushed the thought aside, but it persisted, worming its way through her mind. Had someone stronger or more dominant done to him what he had done to her? She knew it was possible within his race. It occurred between the same sexes of her own kind often enough.

A splash of the boiling water upon her skin seared her flesh and brought her away from her contemplative thoughts. She cried out and rubbed her hand the water had splashed upon.

"Pay attention, stupid," Azlorik grumbled at her. "I'd actually like to eat, and not watch the water boil away to nothing."

Mistale nodded in acquiesce and added the last few chunks of meat and vegetables to it. Next came the herbs and lastly a hint of magic to infuse it with healing goodness. As it simmered she spread out their bedrolls and soft fur blankets.

"Remove your cloak, slave. While we are camping and once we reach my home, you will remain in a state of undress. I will not afford you the chance to conceal a weapon of any kind. Be quick about it. Your inability to complete a task efficiently is trying my patience." Azlorik sneered at her contemptuously.

She balked at his command almost immediately, leveling upon him angered eyes. "NO! I won't remove the meager covering you allow me for you or anyone. I have no desire to be naked in front of you or to be raped by you since you can't control your deviant need for superiority."

"You will do it!" He made a few hand movements and muttered a few arcane words. She knew enough about the mysteries of the weave to know he was casting a spell, a powerful spell. "Remove the cloak, slave."

Though she fought the power, it overcame her willpower to resist. She felt compelled to do as he bid. Quickly she slipped out of the dark green cloak and the leather boots, neatly folding them near her pack.

"Serve me some food, slave. Do you have any more of that Mead?"

"No, it is all gone, Master." Mistale removed the bowls she kept in a separate pouch within her pack and spooned some out for him, handing it to him. Then she sat quietly.

"This is too hot for me to eat. Come to me, slave. You will cool each and every bite while it rests on the spoon before lifting it to my mouth. Make sure nothing spills. I'd hate to be burned and moreover, you won't like your punishment." Mistale submitted to his will, cooling each spoonful of food before she lifted it to his lips for admittance.

"One more thing, slave," he spoke up after swallowing the last spoonful. "I would some cold water to drink, and you will give it to me. Pour the water into the glass, use your druidic magic to make the water like ice and hold it to my lips."

She nodded dutifully and followed his commands. When he pushed the cup aside, she sat quietly before him. Azlorik watched her intently, his eyes flicking over her pale skin. Despite all her defiance, he missed the verbal sparring and their constant battle of wits. For a darthiir, she was quite amusing and oh so enjoyable to toy with.

"Slave, remove my clothing," Azlorik stood up and walked to the bedrolls. "I wish to rest."

His command halted her where she stood. A look of determination came over her face. She fought to be free of his hold on her. Undressing him was not a task she would willingly do nor was it something she felt comfortable with. She had to resist that command. The trauma of him ripping her innocence away so brutally remained in her mind, battling his command.

"Slave, I order you to undress me now." Azlorik roared as he grabbed hold of her. He forced a violent wave of magic at her that compelled her even harder to do his bidding. She had no choice. With nimble hands, she gently pulled his tunic over his head before reaching for the waist of his trousers. Her fingers trembled as she worked on the ties that held them secure at his slender waist. Despite the command, she couldn't look at him.