The House Undivided

Trigger Warning: NonCon, Incest, Drow based degeneracy.

The conquering hero in his blackened plate, with his sword thrown across his back, upon his ebon steed with his retinue in tow had returned to Waterdeep.

Or that's what he blithely relayed to one of the guardsmen at the entrance to the city of Waterdeep upon his return to the city, a strangely formal thing considering the breadth of his adventures. The Drow very much yearned for a simple return, to eat his food, to drink his wine, to fuck his slave girls, and then to sleep in his own bed. The Guards had hailed him at the gates, his reputation having long since preceded him, the armed men showing a healthy amount of caution in their questioning of him before releasing him into the city.

Even if he did find it odd that they spoke on how happy they were that he was back so that he could rein in what was going on in his quarter.

He found it incredibly odd, what in the nine hells and the infinite demons that spawned within those infernal planes were they speaking on?

Still, it was good to be back. He could count on the City Guard to have supported his daughter in her ruling of his villa within the city as Lady of the Manor.

His progeny, his currently only living heir. He'd seen to her schooling, to her training, having molded the bizarre child into someone worthy of their family name; surely the girl could only have flourished under those conditions during his two year long absence.

So one could imagine the absolutely dour look upon his striking visage when he returned to his villa and saw the bacchanalian state of things, as if it'd been one continuous party since he'd left.

That's where he was now, feeling the weight of having an unworthy spawn as an heir, and the dire, deep seated desire to go back and time and use her mother's mouth to catch his seed rather than breeding her and producing whatever failure had turned his villa, a testament to his fortitude and success since leaving the Underdark, into a den of depravity.

Not that he had a problem with depravity, but to be conducting it in such an embarrassing way that even the guards at the front gate knew of it and felt safe speaking on it? That, that, was something that Rolen couldn't let go. Maybe that's why when he entered his villa with the full force of the retinue that'd come home with him, he immediately set to clear his hard fought for home.

It'd taken just a few moments. Anyone that was actually willing to fight those armed men folded within moments from having to actually fight real soldiers, to cross blades with people that were experienced beyond dark alleyways and within an hour Rolen found himself in his study with the entirety of the situation at hand.

If they wanted to revel in filth like wretched slaves to their own lust and addictions, then his men would force them to clean and organize like slaves did. Besides, what was their recourse? To break away and plead their cases before the very guards that they'd be vexing this entire time? Unlikely.

...but that wasn't what weighed on the Drow Noble's mind, no.

He was waiting on the last two of his men to bring a certain someone to him. His daughter had been responsible for this, but why? How? He didn't know, not yet, but the reasons why weren't nearly as important as the deed itself, and for that? For that, he had a simple solution: let the punishment fit the crime.

He hadn't raised his daughter in Drow society, but now it was time to expose her to the traditional way of doing things, since she wanted to break with his ways and bring shame onto their house.

The guards brought Ophelia in and pushed her towards the desk before slamming the door to stand guard on the other side. She looked less than enthused, with her ebon skin and platinum hair, her red eyes narrowing as she beheld her father. She'd grown into a curvy thing, even with the horns that would have gotten her discarded by the elders, she was the epitome of what a Drow Matriarch should look like, if she would have had the discipline and resolve that he'd desperately tried to impose upon her.

A figure that resembled an hourglass, with sculpted calves unhindered by garments, shown off to the naked eye with her supple onyx skin and toned muscles. Her thick thighs and generous, child bearing hips that were almost obscene in how they were allowed to be shown off by her sideless skirt that more resembled a silk loincloth than actual clothes. She was a great beauty by any standard, even more so by the same culture that would have struck her down by those slight imperfections curling up from her hairline like a primal crown bestowed by a primordial god.

It made Rolen all the more furious, especially with the arrogance on her face that dared to hold him in contempt, as if he was an interloper in his own home.

His eyes met hers, and despite his rolling anger that was building? There was a smidgen of pride in the fact that his daughter had found the bravery to oppose his wishes, even if he was about to smash that bravery.

"I thought you wouldn't return, Father."

"Have you known me to break my word, Ophelia?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then you know what's coming." It was like dropping a weight he'd been carrying as he stood, fingertips still on the desk. Ophelia's response was to simply raise her chin in an act of defiance. She had no other options, after all, using her magics would only prompt a lethal response from the man across from her, but still, she didn't buckle from fear like one might expect.

It earned her the barest amount of good will, even if it was what she was supposed to do.

He moved, she countered. He came across with a smack so hard that it resonated through the entirety of the villa, hard enough that a second smack followed when she hit the floor, and he was on her. His weight dropped onto her frame, she resisted. Fists plowed against the tunic he wore, knuckles finding purchase against a musculature that could best be described as linen wrapped stone, causing tension in her wrists from each attempt. She was the picture of barely contained fury but just like the mountain before the storm, he didn't yield to all the howling of the wind.

A hand lashed outward, catching her by the throat as steely digits dug into the sides of it, eyes narrowing in scrutiny, in disgust of his progeny that lay before her and the instinctive elfen urge to hurt what defied him rose up inside of him sulfurous bile. Still, he leaned down and his face was inches from hers, speaking to her once again. "Since my daughter wishes to act like a wanton whore with no breeding, I'll fuck and breed her like one until she understands her newfound place." Spitting directly into her face, earning a scream from her, as nail tipped fingers tried to claw his eyes out.

They were unsuccessful.

Strong hands, capable hands, lethal hands, they rolled her onto her stomach, pushing only to yank those hips up and flip her little loin cloth above her full derriere. It was a sight, fat padded muscle, two perfect ebon globes of flesh that he just wrenched apart and spat between, pushing in that wad of spit with his thumb much to her protest, screaming that he was a would be catamite for working on sodomizing her. He just acted on making her an honest woman as he tugged that throbbing piece of fuckmeat from beneath his deerskin breeches, a far cry from the armor he'd rode in wearing.

Another wad of spit, this time on the head of that fearsome cock. "No!" Ophelia screamed, trying to pull away. He just leapt onto her, plunging that head between her cheeks, wiggling it in much to her cacophony of screams, which got so shrill that they without sound, especially as that head breached her, red eyes tight with tears. He didn't hilt himself in, no. He pulled out almost immediately. She relaxed, thinking it was over only to go quiet with wide eyes and an open mouth when he SLAMMED that battering ram back into her, even deeper this time.

Only for him to leave her open, gaping, empty.

It was the calm in the eye of the storm because he was ravaging her again, and again, and again. He wanted this to hurt, to prove a point to that ungrateful brat. He kept her open, kept her pucker a bright red against the black by driving that cock into her only to pull it all the way out on the return stroke. Brutal, shallow, and with enough force to drag her full tits against the rug on the study's stone floor. Sounds of despair, of agony left her full lips as her fists pounded onto the ground, trying to claw her way away to no avail before the screams devolved into whimpers, the strength starting to leave her body until she could do nothing.

Do nothing but take it, anyways.

Rolen's own moans were fierce, guttural, sounds more akin to what a predator would make when tearing into its prey. His hands gripped her waist, squeezing it, his thumbs shifting to the sacral dimples at the small of her back while his fingers rolled astride her hips. Even as much as he'd like to prolong this, the excitement, the feel of his daughter's taut asshole being stretched in ways that it'd never been stretched before was downright euphoric. Heavenly, a prize that'd almost made this worthwhile.

Still, even as his balls clapped against those puffy netherlips and his engorged cock beat in her asshole until there was little resistance left, he wasn't done. Not even as.. Oh, there it was. Bliss. He felt his throbbing cock erupt at the tip as he poured out load after load into her, stuffing his seed uselessly up into her bowels. "What a waste, but the next one won't be." Muttering to himself as he pushed her off of him, letting her fall into the floor, lifting up to his feet and letting the rest of his spunk drip to the floor off of that stained, half hard cock's head.

He wasn't done, of course, oh no. That was something his dear Ophelia would soon find out. "We're done, Dear Daughter." Mocking, patronizing her as he walked to where her head laid and jerked her up by her marble colored mane with a squeal leaving her. A shouted 'no' came barreling from her lips, only to have the cock that was just lodged deep up her ass. She protested, trying to purse her lips, but when the second no was shouted? He simply stuffed himself into her lips. "Bite down, I'll remove every last one of those precious teeth, Girl." That at least seemed to soothe the savage beast as he used her mouth like a scouring pad, particularly her tongue.

She tried to protest, to beg, but he already had her mouth lugged with that fat, ebon, cock; it was a monstrosity onto itself, a fact that Rolen often took pride in. He watched as her cheeks bulged, her jaw was forced to stretch wide to accommodate him, to take in the cock that she didn't want, that had just been entombed in her ass, in her own bowels, tasting herself in ways that she'd never planned to or imagined doing and yet was being forced to all the same. Tears welled up in those eyes, being forced to look up at him in how he held her head in his capable hands.

Back, and then forward. Out, only to be slammed back in. Over, and over, he used her mouth and throat like his personal cocksleeve to work his cock back to being erect until it was soaked in her spit, until he could see the bulge of himself in her throat as she was forced to take him from head to root in each agonizing stroke.

"Such an obedient slut when pressure is applied. I wonder if you'd be better off as breeding stock than my actual heir." The words gave her a panic'd look, those red eyes unable to widen even further. It was exactly what he wanted, especially as he pulled his cock from her lips, drool still attachin' him to her mouth.

"Father, wait. I--"

SMACK! He introduced her to his hand again, sending her back to the carpet upon his stone floor.

"Slaves don't speak, Girl, and until you've earned your place back in this house? That's what you are. A slave, breeding stock."

"Bu--"

"No. I've allowed you too many indulgences already."

Indeed he had, at least by his own culture's standard, matriarchal or no. His cock dripping with her spit, with the essence of what'd been in the deep recesses of her throat. He didn't hesitate to pick her back up off of that floor that he'd just smacked her to by her hair, practically shoving over that ironwood desk. A hard smack was given to her abused ass, that precious hole hidden between her cheeks still gaping and leaking with his previously spilled seed. His cock was gripped and put to those netherlips. He nudged them open with a swipe, pushing his hips forward, drawing her apart while pushing in, making her take him.

Hard, slow, deep. Agonizingly deep. Brutally deep. His entrance wasn't fast, it was slow, and it was deliberate, he took his time in the final defilement of his daughter as he took her like a slut from behind. When her head hit the desk in defeat, he gripped that hair at the root and JERKED back on it, fingers using her mane like reins, forcing her to look up at the mirror he kept to the side to make sure that there were no blindspots in his study.

No, he wanted her to watch what was happening, to see the full view of him mounting her like a bitch in a hound's breeding pen.

Hard. Slow. Deep. That's how it was until it wasn't. His cock stretching her around it like a fist fitting into a glove; the ways that he distended her insides with his girth, the way he went in deeper than either beast or man ever had with each slow rolling, slow burning, stroke that felt like the physical manifestation of thunder across the plains.

She might've protested, but her eyes were nearly crossed with pleasure, her tongue lolling out with each lewd clap of flesh on flesh. "Nngh. I.. Oh. Oh gods. I.."

"You what?" He interrogated, his other hand, the one not wrapped up in her hair brought down discipline with a fierce smack to her upturned rear. "You *WHAT* Ophelia?!"

"Breed me, Please. Please, Father. Please, Daddy. Gods, just.. Fucking breed me!" Screaming, lost in the feelings, between hating her father's guts only to have him now churning her guts, it was a taboo bliss she couldn't deny. Rolen was only urged to go faster, to go harder, to teach her the lesson of the day, but it seemed as if she was enjoying it.

That's why he slid an arm under her legs, letting her go only to bring an arm down to match it. Slowly, snaking his arms beneath her, under her, through her limbs until his hands could clasp behind her head, hoisting her up into the air with her ankles posed right next to her ears. His muscles bulged, biceps flexed, powerfully corded forearms showing the veins beneath the skin with how they pressed up. She was kept aloft with nothing more to keep her up beyond his own raw muscle. He hefted her up, dragging her up that onyx obelisk only to bring her back down with gravity's help before repeating. He used her like a toy, like a cocksleeve that'd been born and bred with nothing beyond this purpose, pumping her up before dropping her back down to be impaled to the root and hilt, pushing until the head of his cock hit to her womb's entrance, causing a yelp from the pain that erupted within her.

For a moment, Ophelia had to wonder, was he trying to fuck her or split her up the middle with his cunt wrecking cock?

The answer, it seemed, came next right as he felt that second wind pass him and the build up began to happen again. His muscles tightened, his cock wasn't just throbbing. It was pulsing. It was begging for release. He barely gave her a moment's notice before he dropped down onto that nearby chair, keeping her legs locked in place and his cock snuggled up to her cervix as it erupted the second time.

He shot that seed deep into her, he flooded her with it as practical pints came from him, emptying those swollen balls that'd been the size of goose eggs, putting every last drop of jism he had left into his daughter who was cockdrunk and dumb with her tongue hanging from her mouth as her father undoubtably put the seed of the next generation of their house into her before cruelly letting her drop to the floor, sliding off of that deflating cock with a trail of his cum leaking from her busted cunt..

A booted foot hit her right on the ass, finishing her slide off into the floor before a nerveless hand reached for the flagon and the jug of wine to refresh himself while he tried to catch his breath.

"You may still end up as nothing more than a broodwhore, my daughter, you have a lot of making up to do to get back within my graces." Were the last the words Ophelia heard before she slunk off to darkness, finally passing out at her father's feet.

As for Rolen, he simply drank his wine and basked in the after glow of what he'd done.

A conquering hero indeed.