The Feud Ch. 03

"Go on," Staci cooed, "Taste it." She positioned herself to better recieve her new lover's mouth, but Anadia did not comply. Staci began with her fingers again, eliciting another sound of wild delight from the huntress's mouth. "Go ahead," she said, before flicking her tongue again, "It's okay. It tastes good. You taste good..."

"I.. I.." Anadia bit into her knuckle to keep from making any more noise, resisting the thrusting motion between her legs, but failing to in reality. Staci returned to feasting upon her like a rabid animal, clearly sensing that her Anadia was on the cusp of something intense—and she held onto that as she vigorously pushed the fel crystal into her body, letting it tease at her g-spot. Her muscles contracted and relaxed, squeezing upon the stone, and Anadia found that with just the right maneuvering she could guide her body home. The stimulation was enough: she shut out the eyes around her, the prisoners jerking themselves to her body, imagining the worst they could and would do to her at this moment.

It did not, however, keep out the voices. Her elven ears picked up all their lewd words; "Yeah, fuck yourself little elf," one laughed. Fragments reached her from all around.

".. can't wait for that tight cunt."

"You need one for your ass, too? I've got just the thing..." a whispery-voice offered.

".. Pretty face to cum on.."

The collective groaning could not drown out another growling laugh, "We'll have to take turns!"

Anadia focused harder. All breath stopped as her body tightened from jaw to toe, the stone pumping into her, vibrating wildly, ready to fill her body with fel energy. Then came the release—the pulsing pleasure, wave after wave of endorphins surging into her mind as she trembled into a rocking motion, unable to keep her hips from lifting off the ground, a rush of blood coursing into every limb, each finger, every toe.

A sudden gasp of air linked fantasy and reality.

Staci stopped, "What do you mean you don't want to?"

"I don't want to."

Anadia's fun had subsided so quickly that she did not notice, feel, or even care about the mana seeping into her bloodstream. She turned her head to the side and tried to cradle herself between the stone wall and filthy floor.

"I don't want to do it," she said to Staci.

"Wh—.. That is so like you to be selfish, Anadia."

Now it was Anadia who left stammering; "What do y—how, how am I self—"

"Our bond is sacred, unique. I take your virginity, and you don't even return the favor for me?"

"You've been with men..!"

"You know what I mean!" Staci's voice softened for a moment, "This is something special, something I only want to experience with my sister... Not with some other prissy slut. My twin.. my other half."

"But I don't," Anadia said, resolute, hesitant to even draw breath to keep from letting the fear in—Staci was exuding it like foul smoke from a funeral pyre. "I don't want this, I never really did," she continued, "We're sisters. That's all we are! And sometimes I wish we weren't even that!" She shut her legs and drew herself away from the priest, immediately grabbing for her clothing.

The rest hit her like a foggy blur. Staci's hands on her body, her words in her ears, a slap to the face; the two tumbled around naked in a violent tussle, becoming increasingly animalistic in their attacks—scratching, kicking, pulling hair. But at the end of the memory, Staci won. She always won. And as much as Anadia wished that she had been afflicted by some Mind Control spell, nothing of the sort was cast, but much was said that dragged her from willful defiance of Staci's will to lay on her back, with her mouth pressed tightly against her cunt, defeatedly tonguing her sister's depths.

"My friends and I always laughed about you being a lesbian.. Rejecting your studies to go and play out in the woods, hunting like the boys do. You have lots of friends, but none of them like you, do they?" She sighed, "Because they can tell... They can tell you're only interested in eating pussy."

Anadia's painful moan was stifled by Staci pulling her head tightly against her snatch, her fingers wrapped dispicably tight in her hair. She tried to resist, to push away from Staci, but failed still. She could only think of Staci and her snickering friends, their passive rejections, their direct insults, excluded when she tried so hard to fit in. They mocked her, and she allowed it, because it gave her a place as their clown and Anadia allowed it for the same reason she allowed her abuse- because deep, deep within the darkness inside of her, her desire flickered like a candle in the night, and it exposed her. Her reserved, forced lapping at Staci's cunt began as something for her sister's pleasure, a way to get her off so that she would stop sooner, but the shame of allowing it, of doing it at all turned her on, which in turned caused her to feel worse about herself, and spiraled into more shame.

Anadia withdrew the fel crystal from herself, now glassy, lifeless, and stickily wet. The same shame began to fill her. "Why have I done this?" she thought aloud. Thinking back to her sore jaw opened for her sister's hole, her head held firmly between her thighs, she understood-she wanted to fulfill her expectations. She wanted follow the path Staci had set for her, because she did not know her own. It was so much easier to stop resisting when someone else had decided her fate for her. And now, once more, it would happen again.

Two armor-clad guards opened the cell, the magical curtain falling down without sound. They approached her and, flanked by other prisoners, entered her cell. She knew why, what they wanted, and what they would do. Anadia was half-disrobed, unarmed, but she was not prey. They would know it. "I am a predator," she said to herself. Backed to the wall, hands held up like claws, she roared like a tigress, "I will fight until my last breath!"

Anadia opened her eyes to her cell once again, the cushion-less stone bench her resting place once more. A tray of food was upon her floor, 'oatmeal', cold, odorless, probably every bit as bland and pasty as it was in the dream. The nightmare.

She had exited it with her mind reeling with questions, trying desperately to piece together the puzzle. All she managed was a sense of awe at how disturbingly realistic the images were, and an empty, sickening weight in her chest like guilt. Memories of the match, her responsibilities, her duty to Errog, her partner, crashed into her and pushed her over the precipice into a chasm of tears. Quietly she wept, but she did not cease for what grew from seconds to minutes to what must have been an hour—crying, breathing, sobbing—hating herself, pitying herself, and wishing she were dead in an endless circle. She thought of how much she missed her parents, and what her father would say at a time like this, or if perhaps now her mother would spare a flicker of attention for her. But with or without them, Anadia had always taken the direction Staci set for her, followed the path laid out, fulfilled her expectations; it was so much better to have her acknowledgement than to wander aimlessly without it. When her parents had passed, Staci was her only family, her only link to them.

Could she really afford to sever that now, when she needed her help the most?

Anadia finally turned away from the wall, and looked back to the floor where the meal sat. Biting her lip and attempting to breathe through congestion, she sat up and cleaned the moisture from her eyes, staring at the bowl for minutes more. With time her emotions cooled, her senses sharpened, and she could sense the fel energy in the room. The dream had been right—about her cell, about her meal, and now about this. The blood elf slid off the bench and crawled toward the tray. Pausing to look around at the sparsely guarded Violet Hold, she dug into the oatmeal with her hands.

Nothing. No rod-shaped fel crystal was within the food, but the source was close. Immediate. How could this be? Anadia turned the bowl over the pour out the oatmeal and saw it. At the bottom of the bowl was a circular green crystal, embedded into the cheap tin. With some strength, she bent the bowl enough to force out the object, and much like in the dream, it felt like static in her hands. It was not pleasurable—in fact, it made her nervous, like an insect ready to bite, but the blood elf crossed the same threshold.

Anadia held it tight to her chest. The fel energy was significantly more savory in sober reality. She likened the difference to holding a delicious pastry and biting into it; though she did not consume the energy, one brought her much, much closer, with sensations far more varied, and a hundred times more vivid. She was so weak, and it was despicably easy to simply give in this one time, following Staci's direction just another step further before the match.

"Hand it over," a deep, raspy voice said from in front of her cell. The barrier was markedly faded—penetrable. Errog stepped through without difficulty and extended his hand to Anadia, his plate armor clinking with every movement.

Eyes wide with fear, she shook her head, as if playing dumb would get her far against the piercing blue eyes of the old death knight towering before her. He simply outstretched his steel-clad fingers further in wordless command. There was no hiding the glow of the fel crystal between her fingers. Anadia stood and revealed it in her palms, looking down as she clutched at the cloudy gem, pulling it away from her chest.

A pang of weakness.

She snapped her head back up at the orc with narrowed eyes. "No," she hissed. The voice was not her own—she was strapped to the back of her addiction, but her sadness couldn't be concealed. "I.. I can't. I can't do it, Errog. I need this."

He filled his chest and grimaced, the sharp tusks of his bottom jaw pressing tight against his dry upper lip. "Why, Anadia? You have no noble figure lavishing you with gifts or pressing a knife to your side, no reputation at risk more remarkable than any other gladiator, nor even a coin purse you care to fill. You have few friends, little romance, and—your sister be damned—you have no family. You may die, yes, but why—why, Anadia—why do you want to live?"

"Why am I fighting this match?" Anadia asked herself again. Swallowing her saliva, her sorrow, her fear, she lowered the crystal from her chest—then firmly placed it in Errog's hand.

"To become better than her."