tagSci-Fi & FantasyInnocence Lost Ch. 04-05

Innocence Lost Ch. 04-05


Chapter 4

A week passed before Azlorik and Mistale reached the immense cavern that was home to the Dark Elf city of T'larghaun. Each day was fraught with more peril than Mistale had expected. Her body bore the scars of Azlorik's brutality. His cruelty knew no bounds. Azlorik no longer needed to use his magic to command her to do his bidding. He was confident he had browbeaten her into submission. She had ceased fighting him. He smiled widely at the thought of how quickly the spark had left her eyes, her insolence disintegrating under the power of his authority over her. And when he attached the slave collar and chain around her neck that he purchased from a small group of duergar they'd encountered, they both knew his domination of her was complete. She belonged to him.

He led her through the streets of T'larghaun, occasionally greeting someone along the way. And through the various conversations, he learned it was a rival house that had paid Grumazz to eliminate him. He then knew there had to be a spy within his house. Being the oldest male child of Matron Sabrae and a top graduate of Sorcere, he often faced assassination attempts from those who wished to eradicate House Dryaalis and take the position of third house of T'larghaun. Matron Sabrae ruled the triad council alongside Matron Kiaran of House T'sarran, the first house and Matron Liilys of House Agrach Dyrr, the second house.

It wasn't long before he entered the Dryaalis complex and made his way to Matron Sabrae. He found her in the chapel, kneeling before an altar dedicated to Lloth, alongside his four sisters, also priestesses of the Spider Queen. He ordered Mistale to prostrate herself before the Matron while he went down on one knee and waited until she acknowledged his presence.

"Ilharess Ilhar (Matron Mother), I bring grave news." He began, knowing that bearing such often brought the bearer excruciating punishment.

"What is it now?" She replied, haughtily raising an eyebrow. "I sent you on your mission nearly two weeks ago. You should've been back by now. I thought you of all males wouldn't fail me. I shall remember never to send a male ever again."

"Ilharess Ilhar," he bowed lower. "I have the information you sought and more. It is indeed as you suspected. House Naerth is plotting against us. They plan to strike within a ten-day. My delay was not due to being unable to gather the information. It could be contributed to House Kilsek purchasing the services of the dreaded Grumazz to kill me. The abomination thought to lure me to the surface. He would have succeeded if it weren't for this darthiir who found and healed me."

Azlorik rose to his feet and kicked her in the ribs. She let out a cry of pain, curling into a ball. "For the pathetic beings largesse, she is now my slave. I have great plans for her. She could be of some help against our enemies."

Matron Sabrae rolled her red eyes at her oldest son. "Is that all you have to report?"

"Yes, Ilharess Ilhar."

"Then you have failed me. I can't be concerned with Kilsek's vendetta against you. That has to do to the fact that you're a better wizard than Matron Chandara's precious little Miz'ri. Any Matron who sends a daughter to the wizard school instead of grooming her as a priestess of the Spider Queen is an incompetent Matron. Now, Azlorik, give me one reason why I shouldn't sacrifice your worthless hide to our Queen and I might feel generous enough to save your life."

Azlorik lowered his eyes for a moment, frantically thinking. "Killing me would leave you without a competent Archmage in the house. Surely you wouldn't rely on my twin to head up our forces when and if House Naerth makes its attack. All Azlesaonar can do is hide in shadows. I can be the shadow they'll encounter. And I can be the death of them. My twin is more incompetent than I am."

Matron Sabrae marched over to her oldest son and slapped him viciously for the audacity to speak such words. "We shall see, Azlorik. We shall see. Now take your slave to the pit and give her over to H'reir. Be thankful I haven't saw fit to turn you over to him as well."

Azlorik inclined his head dutifully as he stood up. Grabbing Mistale by the hair, he yanked her to her feet and shoved her to the door. He had no intention of obeying the Matron Mother. He knew what he was risking by disobeying. Mistale belonged to him and he was determined to keep her. He enjoyed the feeling of domination he held over her. Thus he made his way to the wing that housed him and his twin brother's rooms and shoved her inside his.

She hit the floor in a heap and cried out in pain. She felt a momentary surge of defiance and glared up at him before struggling to reach for her. There wasn't a spot on her body that didn't ache from his cruelty and abuse. The only solace he afforded her was when he allowed her to sleep.

"Get up, waele." When she did as he ordered, he grabbed her by the hair and marched her to a cage. He opened the door, shoved her inside and locked it. "I'll take care of you later, slave."

Then he was gone.

Mistale curled herself into a ball and wept for all she lost. If only she could transform herself into something small, then she'd make her escape. She needed to be away from him before he made good on his threats to kill her, before he took the punishment he gave her too far. She whispered a few prayers to her Goddess and conjured her most powerful healing spell, and touched the places on her body that hurt the most.

She knew her back had to be striped with welts and cuts from the whip he'd used on her a few days before. He'd purchased it along with the collar she wore from the duergar they'd encountered. Mistale hung her head, sobbing into the crook of her arm as she recalled how Azlorik had allowed each one of the disgusting smelling deep dwarves to use her body in anyway they saw fit as long as they had to gold to pay for it. Azlorik charged an outrageous price, but after haggling with each one of the five dwarves he received the payment he wanted.

Afterwards she ached in places she hadn't realized could hurt so much. They left her bloodied and bruised and stinking from their combined release. She despised how they had made her feel, despised Azlorik even more for allowing it, and worst yet, making money off her suffering. Though she vowed to kill him for his transgressions against her, death was too good for him. She wanted him to suffer the way she had. She wanted him to feel her pain. And most of all, she wanted him to feel what it was like to be violated in the basest way as she had. It became her oath, the mantra that supported her.


Mistale remained confined to Azlorik's rooms. Mostly he kept her in the cage, except at night when he let her sleep in his bed with him. She had grown accustomed to feeling his warmth next to her. She felt at ease when she lay beside him. It became almost comforting. In sleep, his facial features took on a calm appearance. It was the only time he struck her as being pleasant. Part of her wished he could be that way all the time. Part of her wanted him to take it easy with her, to give her time to adjust to their volatile relationship. And part of her wished he wasn't so sadistic.

Azlorik had left early one morning. She knew it was morning due to the magical fire that burned inside a golden bowl that was a pale shade of green. Bright yellow marked midday while deep blue told her it was midnight. She had thought it odd when he didn't lock her in the cage, but let her roam around the suite.

Each of the five rooms was fairly large with lush carpets covering the black granite floors. Wall hangings depicting various spiders resting within sinister looking webs, of arcane mysteries and battles against her surfacer kin covered the stone walls. Mostly the rooms were dark, though a pale violet light filtered from somewhere, giving her enough light to see by.

She wandered the space of the connecting rooms. The second held what she thought might be an alchemist's lab as well as bookshelves, and large carved granite desk. The third room held Azlorik's four-poster bed, an altar, and an armoire of clothing. The fourth room housed several comfortable chairs near a fireplace that burned with a strange green flame. It had to be magical fire. The oddest thing about the room was the marble double door in the middle of one of the walls. The door was locked and made Mistale curious as to where it went or what was on the other side. The fifth room housed her cage along with various other implements of torture. Obscured by a large ornate screen was the one that troubled her the most. It was a tall slender post with rings at various heights. Hanging from several of the rings were whips of all sizes, from multi-stranded floggers to leather monstrosities as thick as her wrist. Azlorik had used a whip on her, but he preferred using his hands as the means to punish her. His oft times brutal slaps to the tender parts of her body made her scream in agony. She hated him for the abuse he bestowed upon her, hated that he felt the need to torment her just because she didn't belong to his race.

Racing away from the room, Mistale grabbed hold of the handle on the door, yanking at it in hopes that it would open. She cursed vehemently when it remained closed. Damn that bastard! She hated him, hated him with every fiber of her being. Nothing less than his screaming death at her hands would make her happy. She kicked the door, hitting it repeatedly with her fists until her knuckles became bloody and raw. She screamed out, venting her frustrations before throwing herself onto the bed. Deep wracking sobs rocked her petite form and soaked the burgundy silk of the pillows. She would never be free. She knew she'd die here, either by Azlorik's hand or another's. It wasn't the fate she thought she'd have.

With nothing to do, she sought solace in a deep reverie. Hours later, when she awoke, she looked up into a pair of blue eyes and an inquisitive smile. She scooted away from him. This male looked exactly like Azlorik, but she knew he wasn't. Mirth shined within his eyes and radiated in his smile.

"Who are you?" Mistale murmured, cautiously. Her eyes never left his.

"Azlesaonar," he softly replied, looking her up and down. "You must be Mistale."

She nodded in acquiescence, still eyeing him warily.

"Azlorik is my brother. We're twins, if you hadn't guessed. I've heard all about you, how he caught and enslaved you. You hate him for it, don't you? You'd like to see him dead, no?"

Mistale shook her head frantically. "Go away!"

"I haven't come to hurt you, lotha uss (little one). Mayhap I can help you." Azlesaonar purred as he drank in the sight of her naked body from head to toe. He carefully catalogued each bruise and cut, storing that information away for a later time. He knew their Matron Mother had ordered his brother to be rid of her, but Azlorik had disobeyed her and had been keeping her in his room. "It's a curious thing that dear Azlorik would flagrantly disregard the Matron's commands where you are concerned. He must feel his toy is more important."

"Ele? Ele orn'la dos xun nindel? Vel'bol orn'la nindel inbau dos? (Why? Why would you do that? What would that get you?)"

"Distrustful, are we?" Azlesaonar clucked his tongue and slid fully onto the bed, trapping her next to the wooden headboard.

"Of your kind, yes."

Azlesaonar chuckled, "Xuil bwael sanrr, siyo (With good reason, yes)?"

"Why do you care? This could easily be a trap for me to fall in so my dear Master can use it against me in order to further his sadistic games." Mistale retorted and squirmed away from him. She found her way off the bed and headed into one of the other rooms, searching for somewhere to hide.

"You can run all you like, but there isn't anywhere for you to go nor is there anywhere for you to hide that I couldn't find you, little one. I'm not here to hurt you. I told you that already. No, I want you for myself." Azlesaonar stalked after Mistale, finding her kneeling behind the screen that hid the whipping post. "I could get you out of here, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

She shook her head. "You'll just hurt me like your brother has. I want to be free to see the sun again and feel the warm breeze on my face. I want to run with the wolves. I want to be free of the pain and agony. Don't offer me what isn't yours to give. Master will know. He always knows."

"Brou (Pity)," he sighed. "I rather thought you'd be smart enough to take my offer, but since you seem to enjoy pain over gentility, then I shall leave you to your pathetic existence. I could've made you my queen. I could've kept you safe." Azlesaonar inclined his head and turned away from her. He left the room as silently as he entered it, leaving no trace that he'd been there. He hoped she'd come to her senses before his twin killed her. Such a waste of precious life.

Mistale curled in a ball, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. How could she trust one of his kind? How could she trust her tormenter's brother? Wouldn't he do the same to her? Subjugation of her will to his fiendish appetites. He wouldn't be any different. He wasn't any different. He merely wanted to sucker her in so he could hurt her later. The Dark elves were well known for their cruelty. Azlorik was no different and neither was Azlesaonar, she presumed.

Her ears perked up as someone entered the room. She remained behind the screen, hoping it wasn't any other members of Azlorik's wretched family. Then she heard his voice. He called her name as he wandered through the rooms. She darted to her cage and stood near it, her eyes glued to the carpet as he approached her.

"There you are, slave. It's a good thing you showed yourself. I wasn't in the mood to play hide and seek." Azlorik purred, carefully looking her up and down. "Go to the bed, but don't get on it. I want you to stand by one of the posts at the corner of the mattress."

Mistale trembled, wondering what he had in mind this time. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath before stiffly walking to the bedpost. Behind her, Azlorik removed a whip from a ring on the post and grabbed a length of black cord. He followed her into the bedroom, watching her every move closely. He tossed the whip onto the bed, and then stood before her.

"Press yourself to the post, slave." Azlorik demanded, his amber eyes smoldering with dark fire. "Face first."

She hastened to obey, pressing her against the solid post. Dread filled her. She knew what was coming.

"Grasp the pole with your hands above your head quickly, slave. My patience is running thin."

She obeyed, trembling visibly. He stepped into her, pressing against her back as he reached up to tie her hands to the post. Shaking, she let a small noise slip from between her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take the whip from its nest among the blankets.

She jumped when he nudged the small of her back. As he dragged it upwards, she realized it was the tightly coiled length that he caressed her skin with. The leather glided up her spine and over her bare shoulder. He stepped in and pushed it under her chin, using the taut curve to lift her chin and turn her sideways so she could see him.

"I know my brother was in this room. I can feel his presence," he said, voice flat, at odds with the fire in his eyes. "You will tell me what he wanted."

When she opened her mouth to deny the charge, he shoved the whip at her, just enough to close her jaw. The fire in his eyes burned brightly, consuming him.

"Don't lie to me, slave."

Denial welled in her eyes, and she frantically searched for a plausible explanation. Her mind ran around in circles as she thought hard on her predicament, but no answer was forthcoming. She yelped in pain as he sharply bit her earlobe, sinking his teeth into the meat of it. His sharpened fingernails of his right hand dug into her hip, scoring her flesh as he raked them around front to her navel.

"You know what's coming, don't you, slave? You know you've displeased me. You can't hide anything from me. Tell me what my brother wanted. Tell me and I may go easy on you." He hissed his venomous words in her ear.

Mistale shook her head, continuing to refute his charge that Azlesaonar had come to see her. She couldn't admit it. She wouldn't. She couldn't allow her one ray of hope to be extinguished. That she had refuted Azlesaonar's desire to take her away weighed heavy on her mind. Why hadn't she believed him? She could've escaped Azlorik. If only she had trusted the blue eyed male who'd come to her.

"By your silence, slave, you leave me no other choice. You will suffer for it. I'm going to use this whip on you. I'm going to whip every inch of the pale flesh on your back. I'm going to watch you writhe in agony while listening to your delicious screams. Such pleasant music to my ears, slave."

She cringed at the intensity in his voice, still so close to her ear. His hand slid between her thighs from behind, dipping into her cleft. His fingers plucked at her nether lips, finding them dry. Her fear had inhibited her once again. Azlorik delved deeper, spreading her lips and invading her channel.

"I'm going to flay your disgustingly pale flesh wide open, slave." Her channel clenched around his invading fingers. "I'm going to make it run red with your blood, and when it's all said and done, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are mine. I hold your fate in my hands. You would do well to remember that."

She let out a whimper of fright, struggling frantically against the strap that bound her to the bed. She didn't want this, but she couldn't tell him the truth, either. He'd only make it worse.

Then he was gone, her ragged cry following him. She heard the swish of the whip. Knew what it meant. Knew it would hurt.

"Scream, whore," The whip cracked, not on her flesh but in the air somewhere behind her. "I want to hear you scream."

Thwack! Crack!

She desperately tried to fight the urge but ended up screaming pitifully as burning pain blossomed upon her back. She screamed at the utter agony ripping through her flesh.

Swish! Hiss! Thwack! Crack!

Another scream. By the gods, what torment! She pressed the bedpost between her breasts, wrapping her arms as best she could around the sturdy post. It became her only lifeline as pain exploded in her back.

Swish! Hiss! Thwack! Crack!

In rapid succession, the whip laid into her back and buttocks several more times. Tears poured down her face into her screaming mouth. She writhed like he'd said she would, unable to remain still. She thrashed about for him, knowing he watched. Knowing he reveled in her suffering. She knew her pain was a potent turn on for him. She'd never known anyone as sadistic as Azlorik.

The swish-crack halted with a purr from Azlorik's throat. Mistale clutched the bedpost, sobbing hoarsely. Her back and buttocks were one solid flame. Cruel hands bit into her tortured flesh before releasing the cord that secured her hands, but she continued to clutch the post. Her death grip was all that kept her from melting into a mass of agony upon his carpet. The same cruel hands picked her up bodily, forcing her to release the post. He roughly threw her face-first into the blankets. She screamed when Azlorik covered her with his body, pressing his chest into the burn on her back, stilling her frantic protests.

After pummeling some of the more tender gashes, he pulled away long enough to strip off his clothing. Then he tore her legs open and shoved himself into her channel. She shrieked, unable to withstand the pain of his body pressed against the bloody wounds made by the whip. He shoved hard, his cock stretching her tight passage, thrusting hard and deep until she could no longer withstand the pain and agony. Oblivion took her, welcoming her into the arms of darkness.

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