Innocence Lost Ch. 04-05


Once more, Azlorik proved he indeed held her fate within his hands. Next time, he wouldn't be so lenient.

Chapter 5

With his point made and domination reaffirmed, Azlorik left his suite and headed to his brother's. He knocked loudly, almost pounding, and waited for his brother to appear. Tense moments passed with no answer. If that was the way the bastard was going to be, then so be it. He used a minor magical spell to open the door. He entered the suite quietly, surreptitiously searching each of the rooms for a certain item. When he found it, he slipped it into a pocket and went about his business. Azlesaonar was a fool. He should know better than to leave things carelessly lying around.

Leaving the room behind, he locked it and went in search of the compound for Azlesaonar. He found him in the training room, sparring with Matron Sabrae's latest Patron and current Weaponmaster of the House, Elamshin.

Azlorik chose to watch his brother fight, gauging his strengths and weaknesses. He was quick on the attack, too eager perhaps, and slow on the recovery of a block. He also seemed to not guard his left side very well. That knowledge might come in handy if it ever came down to a fight between them. Of course he preferred not to cross blades at all. He preferred the refinement of his spells. He had several in mind, all perfect to eliminate his brother.

Azlorik grinned smugly and cleared his throat once the two combatants had finished their bout. Azlesaonar left the sparring circle and grabbed up a cloth, wiping sweat from his brow.

"What brings you out of your lab, dear brother?" Azlesaonar asked, eyeing Azlorik carefully while gauging the nuances of his body language.

"The girl is mine. You would do well to remember that and stay away from her and out of my rooms." Azlorik stated. He wasn't going to beat around the bush with his twin.

Azlesaonar smiled. "Oh dear brother, jealous, are we? Afraid the darthiir might prefer me to you? And what would the Matron Mother think of your blatant disregard of her orders?"

"Telling Mother will not garner you what you seek. She would kill the darthiir."

"And punish you severely. Give me the girl and I will keep my mouth shut."

Azlorik laughed out loud. "I'd kill her before I gave her up. She is mine."

"I've seen what you've done to her. She deserves better than that, brother."

"What is she to you?" Azlorik questioned, intently watching his twin's every move. Every blink of an eye, every twitch of his black lips, and every breath were carefully stored to memory. What was Azlesaonar up to now?

"She is pleasing to the eye. I want her. I'd be willing to pay for her or give you something in return of equal value."

"No, brother. Mistale is mine and I'm keeping her. Stay out of my rooms, unless you are invited and stay away from Mistale. This is the one and only warning I shall give you." Azlorik turned on his heel and left the training room. He stopped long enough to cast a spell, teleporting himself to his own suites.

Mistale was still lying face down on the bed where he'd left her when he'd finished disciplining her. What a curious thing that his wretched twin was enamored with this pale scrap of filth that lay oozing blood and other thicker things upon his sheets.

He made his way over to a cabinet and pulled from within a few healing potions. The strength of each wasn't potent, but they would deny the spectre of infection or even death the chance of claiming her before he was ready to give her up. He returned to the bed and popped the stopper on one of the small vials, pouring it directly onto one of the worst lash marks.

Mistale hissed and shuddered as it woke her up. She cried out, flinching as he repeated the process a second and third time. "Stop," she croaked raggedly.

"Accept the healing now, slave, for I may not be so generous next time." Azlorik replied as he grabbed a drying cloth. He wiped away the oozing blood as well as some that had dried upon her flesh. "The worst of the lashes are looking better. Unless you wish to endure my tender ministrations again, you would do well to remember not to lie to me. And you will tell me immediately if someone other than I enter these rooms. Now get up. I wish to bathe. From the smell, you could use one too."

She sighed softly. A chance to bathe would be nice. Slowly moving her aching body from the bed, she followed behind him as they left his suite and traveled down a long dark hallway to a door. Azlorik opened the black marble door and ushered Mistale inside. The room was quite large with a bathing pool in the middle. Leafy plants stood in each of the four corners, while scenes of cavorting drow in various erotic poses were present on tapestries that lined three of the walls. Long low benches were placed around the pool while shelves full of different sized vials filled with bath oils, soaps, perfumes and lengths of toweling lined the fourth wall.

"Grab a soap vial from the shelf and a couple towels. Don't pick anything too feminine smelling," Azlorik warned as he shoved her in the direction of the wall.

Mistale spent a few minutes selecting a nice smelling scent, one that smelled fresh and clean as a snowbound winter's day and grabbed two long towels. Returning to the pool, she set both upon a bench and waited while Azlorik worked levers to fill the pool with warm water. Once it was full, he turned to her.

"Undress me, slave."

Fearing what he'd do if she disobeyed, she quickly did what he commanded. As she removed each piece of clothing, she carefully folded and placed it upon the bench.

"Get in, slave, and bring the soap."

Mistale inclined her head and entered the pool. She shuddered as the water hit her wounds and bit back a sob. Azlorik handed her a sponge.

"Wash me. Be gentle about it and be hasty as well. I have much to do this day besides dally with you."

Mistale dunked the sponge below the surface, wetting it thoroughly before grabbing the soap. She poured a few dollops onto the sponge and began to wash his skin. Scrubbing lightly in circles, she worked the sponge over his chest, down his arms, around to his back before dipping below the surface to wash his legs and buttocks. When she thought she was finished, he guided her hand to one last area. She blushed hotly as he worked her hand over his flaccid member and sacs. His eyes caught and held hers before he released her hand.

"You may wash yourself. If you need help with your back, I will wash it," Azlorik stated and watched as her mouth gaped open. "Take advantage of my generosity now, slave. I may not offer it again."

She nodded and washed quickly, gingerly running the sponge over the worst of her cuts and bruises. She handed it to him and presented her back. With a scowl, he took it from her and scrubbed her thoroughly. She yelped as the soap hit the raw wounds, scrambling away from him. Azlorik snickered and followed, cornering her. With one hand, he gripped her neck. With the other, he washed her back, bottom and legs.

With a stinging slap to her ass, he ushered her out of the pool and drained it. He wrapped her in a length of toweling, drying her tender skin. He grinned as he noted the angry bruises upon her. They were his marks and she was his slave. Never would he let her forget that.

"Dry me, slave then help me dress. I have other things to do today."

Mistale nodded, lowering her eyes while she gently rubbed the toweling over his onyx flesh. She patted the sensitive areas, knowing if she caused him any discomfort, he'd bestow ten times the pain upon her. When not so much as a drop of water remained, she picked up his trousers and slid them up his muscled legs once he'd stepped inside them. Next came his tunic and finally his boots.

"Put the soap vial back where you found it and place my towel in that basket. Another slave will gather it later. Come with me and don't tarry."

"Yes, Master," Mistale curtseyed before doing his bidding. She followed behind him, keeping in stride until they reached his suite. He let her in and followed behind her.

"Give me the towel, slave. You should be dry enough," Azlorik extended his hand. "I want you to strip the bed and replace everything you fouled with your dirty blood. Remake it and make sure there are no traces of filth. Then I want you to wait for me to return. Stand before the bed with your arms above your head and around the post. If I'm satisfied, you will not feel the bite of the whip."

She curtseyed and nodded once more, "Yes, Master."

"And one more thing, slave. You have not thanked me for allowing you to bathe."

Her eyes met his momentarily before dropping back down. "Thank you, Master. I appreciate that you allow me to be in your presence clean and mostly healed. May I use my magic to heal further?"

"Yes, slave, you may. Now kiss my feet."

Mistale dropped immediately, supplicating herself before him and kissed the tops of his boots. He let out an evil chuckle before lifting one foot and pushing her over with it. She sprawled haphazardly and yelped as she landed on her side, hitting one of the remaining lash marks.

Azlorik turned and left the room, locking it with a spell. He had plans for his slave upon his return.


Time ticked by slowly while Mistale waited for Azlorik to return. Her arms ached and legs tingled from standing in the same position for so long. When she could stand no more, she slumped against the post and closed her eyes.

It was in this position that Azlorik found her. He laid a stinging slap upon her ass to wake her up. She yelped from the pain as well as the surprise.

"I'm so sorry, Master," she whined, hating the sound of her voice as it left her mouth. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I became so tired."

She straightened under his scrutinizing gaze and waited for the punishment to come.

"The bed looks nice, slave. I'll forgive you for falling asleep while standing. I didn't tell you that you couldn't sleep. From here on out, there will be no falling asleep if I tell you to stand somewhere. Are we understood?"

She nodded her head before fixing her eyes on the floor once again. "Yes, Master."

"Undress me, slave, quickly." He instructed and watched her closely as she moved up to him. His tunic came off first, then his boots, lifting each foot from the ground to assist her in the task. Lastly came his breeches. She folded them all neatly upon a small table.

"Get on the bed, slave." Azlorik watched as she obeyed his order. She crawled into the middle of the oversized bed and lay in the middle. She let out a low hiss of discomfort before she made herself comfortable. "Not on your stomach, slave. Lie on your back."

She rolled over, hissing at the feel of her tender back against the sheets.

"Spread your legs," he spoke in low seductive tones. Mistale began to tremble but complied nonetheless. What did he want of her now? What was he going to do to her?

Azlorik crawled over her, looming above her. His eyes flicked up and down the length of her.

He heard Mistale gasp as he ran the nails of his left hand along the inside of her left leg, slowly, sharply, from just above her ankle to within a breath of the wetness gathering between her thighs. The glistening slit that punctuated the meeting of those slender thighs twitched as her body wept for the eluding digits, and her tiny cry brought a measure of satisfaction to him.

"Good slave," he purred as he slapped that shining slit sharply with the fingertips of his left hand. "Beg for it," he demanded to the moaned, guttural "aahhhhh" that followed. He finished by slapping his cupped palm solidly upon that twitching cleft.

"Master..." Mistale whimpered, "Please no, don't."

He chuckled wickedly. "Wrong answer, slave."

She sobbed again, wiping away the tears that welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

"Cease your crying before I make it worse," Azlorik snapped at her. He slapped his cupped palm upon her tender mound a few more times, feeling her moisten even more. He pinned her hands above her head and laid his whole body on the length of hers. She shook beneath him, remembering when he'd brutally ripped her innocence from her. "I said cease!"

His gaze pierced her deeply, watching as she trembled harder under him. He kissed her, fiercely claiming her mouth with his, ripping away her desire to fight. He grinned evilly, lifting himself from her, admiring the bruises that marred her flesh. His pride flared. They were his marks.

Azlorik's fingers roughly stroked through her hair, across her pale lips before caressing her cheek. He slid his hand down her neck. He smirked as he stroked her throat, pressing just enough to let her know that she breathed only because he allowed it. More tears spilled from her eyes, brought about by the fear of being so completely helpless.

Keeping his light grip on her throat he reached down and toyed with a nipple. She flinched automatically, a whispery whimper falling from her lips. Her nipple hardened under his touch. He grinned, releasing it and turned his attention to the other while his thumb slowly stroked her throat. She whimpered again as he pinched her nipples alternately until they both turned into aching little nubs.

Upon releasing her throat, he held her nipples between his finger and thumb of each hand, gradually squeezing tighter. He let the pressure mount, the pain increasing while pulling on them as well. She gasped and winced, biting her lip, stubbornly trying to keep from crying out. Twisting them he kept his eyes on her face, watching as her eyes teared up again, her jaw set determinedly. Little jerks, squeezing, twisting, constantly changing, never letting her get used to the feelings, Aslorik bestowed upon her one final vicious tweak. She screamed and arched her back, frantically hoping to buck him off.

"Stop!" She shrieked as tears rolled down her cheeks. He chuckled with delight. A satisfied smile crossed his lips and watched her for a moment, as if waiting for something. Bounding off the bed, he reached for one of the items he'd retrieved from the whipping post upon his return. Grasping the onyx flogger with soft braided leather strands, he held it up before her.

"I have a treat for you, slave," he all but purred with delight. He laid the flogger across her belly and grasped her arms, extending them up far enough to slip her wrists within cords tied to the bedposts. She arched her back, frantically trying to thwart him from tying her down. Despite her struggles, he managed quite nicely and moved his attentions to her legs that had begun to flail about. Mistale kicked, making his task more difficult. He snarled and muttered an arcane word. Her body froze, held in place by the spell's energy and soon he had her bound spread-eagle to the bedposts.

As the spell's effects wore off, she struggled, tugging frantically at the secure bonds. The only thing she succeeded in was making her wrists raw from the chafing of the cord.

"Be still, slave," he barked, drawing her gaze to him. Her eyes remained fixed on him as he slowly moved his hand up and down the length of his swollen cock. "You'll enjoy this, as will I."

Mistale whimpered, "Please, Master, don't hurt me again. I'll do anything you ask, just don't hurt me."

"Oh yes, I'll hurt you, but you'll enjoy it," he purred, his amber eyes burning with desire.

She sobbed and bucked against her ties that bound her. Azlorik picked up the flogger, and ran the strands through his fingers. She trembled as he draped the tails across her hip. He dragged the strands along her legs, the soft leather caressing her lightly. He pulled back, watching her suck in a breath and tense for the first blow she knew that was soon to come. He slowly lowered the flogger until the knotted tails tickled her glistening lips. Mistale moaned, knowing what was coming. Quickly he drew his arm back and swung, landing a tingling blow across her vulnerable stomach. She screamed as the strands lashed her sensitive belly and a fresh flow of tears ran down her cheeks.

He laid a latticework of red welts over her torso while she cried, moaning pathetically as he steadily moved down to her hips. The tails wrapped around her hips nicely as he striped them too, the pleasure and pain blurring as she writhed in her bonds. He worked each thigh on its own, letting the biting tails land as close to her cleft as possible. He continued to move down her legs, raining much lighter blows. He liked the look of the welts raising upon her flesh. She cringed pitifully when he paused at her feet, grinning evilly up at her. The first lash hit her tender sole. She screamed, thrashing against the restraints. He alternated from one foot to the other, the flogger's tails curling around to abuse the tops as well. To further the torture, he ran his fingers over her tender feet. She cried and tried to pull away, the tears that flowed freely from her stinging eyes had begun to wet the crimson silk sheets beneath her. He trailed the flogger up her body, deliberately dragging the tails across her weeping slit.

"Your pain is a delicacy to me. I find it very erotic," the words slid like silk from his ebony lips. He dangled the leather strands above one of her breasts, tickling her nipple with the knotted tips. His other hand moved to his engorged cock. He gripped the head and hissed as he squeezed very gently. His fingers came back slick with the fluid leaking from the tip. He wiped it across her mouth, letting her taste him. Her tongue flicked out. Again he fisted his cock, jacking it several times and moaned. His head dipped back while his hips jerked in rhythm with his thrusting hips. He knew his time was near. He pulled his hand away and shifted his focus back to her.

Showing her that cruel smile of his, he watched as she shuddered and arched her back, her struggles renewing. He lifted the flogger once more, bringing it down to lash the tender underside of her breasts. He switched to the top, raking the strands over her nipples then back to the underside, watching the knotted tails curl around her supple breasts. The blows were not all that hard, designed to sting, but seemed to hurt much more as she struggled to avoid them. With each swing the flogger found new flesh to mark, leaving her writhing and screaming hysterically.

"Scream for me, slave. Let me hear your delicious cries," Azlorik purred, his voice turning to pure honey.

Mistale obeyed, watching him as he tossed the leather flogger onto the floor. He picked up a second flogger and held it within her line of sight. She shivered as her eyes focused on the multitude of whispery silken strands that hung from its handle. With a flick of his wrist, it whipped through the air above in her a whoosh, its lighter than air wisps of fibers shimmering like jewels in the pale light of the room.

With a few licks of the silk flogger across her breasts, Azlorik grinned and watched her writhe, knowing he was causing lines of fire to erupt upon her abused skin. She squealed sharply as he dragged it across her mons, like strands of silk gliding over her. He swung the flogger and she screamed as a hundred stinging points lashed her nether lips. He laid seven light blows, watching her jerk and writhe under each lash, rolling her hips in attempt to avoid any more torture. "Stop, please," she cried pitifully, hating the sound of her own voice as it left her mouth.

Azlorik ignored her pleas and dragged the silken tails over her sensitive nether flesh once more, letting her feel their cool touch soothing and tickling the sting. She moaned and screamed as he switched back and forth, until her lips were very tender.

He gingerly touched her wet lips with his hand; his warm palm delightfully cool upon her burning sex. She groaned even as she pushed her hips up to receive him, pressing against his hand. Moving it, he traced her lips with just a finger. She clenched automatically, instinctively knowing what would come next. He shoved three fingers in suddenly, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She cried out as he pumped his fingers in her sweet tunnel, jerking her hips up to meet him. She was delightfully wetter than Azlorik expected her to be. He grinned as he felt her slicken even more. And just as she started to feel the blossoming of her first orgasm, he removed his hand completely, denying her. Mistale whimpered in frustration at the sudden withdrawal.

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