Tributes to the Dark Elves Pt. 02

Unless she did something drastic, she would lose. Not her life, the dark elves had a shred of decency, but it would not look good for her owner so early.

Throwing herself at the free gladiatrix, Alize jumped and slammed herself against the dark elf gladiatrix raising her whip again. Using her body like a ram, she raised her shield to wrap the swinging whip around it, her knuckles burning as the skin was sliced and waves of pain pounded in her hands. Her sword hand, still free, kept slicing at the gladiatrix's body, making her growl in pain and kick Alize's foot, sending both parties sprawling and locked in each other's embrace. Alize used all her breath to come out on top, punching and kicking the dark elf gladiatrix' face and belly with her shield and sword pommel, her back burning in pain as the dark elf kept swinging her arms, and managing to free the whip, as well as clawing Alize's back like a cat and whipping her bare skin at the same time.

Yelling like a raging boar, Alize swung her shield on the dark elf's cheek, and felt all tension release: she was knocked out cold to the cold booing of the crowd.

Standing up in pain and labored breaths, she realized that the dwarven woman managed to choke the last whip-wielding dark-elven slut, raising her bruised face and smiling in triumph, only for her eyes to go white with a harsh thudding sound.

The last gladiatrix managed to knock out the bandit twins and knocked out the dwarf with a swing of her staff behind her.

Now it was for keeps: one from each team, the trumpets blared, the crowd yelling at the gladiatrixes.

Both naked gladiatrixes circled each other, drums and trumpets starting an almost tribal melody. Alize flinched a few times when the more experienced gladiatrix made a few jabs with a grin, her sweaty body glistening, her large breasts swinging with every step to the crowd's delight.

Alize on the other hand, needed every second to recover from the pain of severe whipping, and kept guard until the dark elf grabbed her staff, swinging with all her strength to stun the human. Raising her shield, Alize felt immense pain, her arm aching to the bone from the sheer force of the swing. Using the last vestiges of her focus and stamina, she jabbed with the blunt end of her sword to hurt the dark elf, who stumbled back with a frustrated, pained grunt. Using this rare opening, Alize swung her shield and sword with all the energy she could muster, using both as blunt instruments to pummel the dark elf into submission.

As luck would have it, the dark elf tripped on the dwarf's discarded war hammer and fell flat on her ass. This was the moment.

Alize jumped over the sleeping dwarven woman's enormous breasts and landed on top of the struggling gladiatrix, slamming her shield and sword down like a pair of hammers, all the time trying to block out the pain from the staff's painful jabs between her breasts and legs. One desperate scream and a shield slam later, the last gladiatrix went still.

The blaring trumpets signaled her victory, Alize panting, her breasts glistening with sweat, and despite her denial, her shaven pussy felt wet and hot with arousal. Gasping for air, she stood up, surveying the arena with seven people knocked out, and her being the only victor, sweat already burning her skin in pain.

It was not merely excitement that made her this way. As she raised her sword and started smiling, Alize realized the cheers, the raining flower petals, and the screaming of the crowd were for her. The other eight combatants groaned, runes at the edge of the Arena glowing as magic healed them just enough to stumble to their cells. The dark elves in disgrace, the barely conscious blue team in subdued pyrrhic triumph.

They were cheering her victory, her beauty, and her muscular nudity reminiscent of Hellas' Amazon warriors' statues. She felt like one of them, victorious, aroused, triumphant, the Lanista smiling at her. Several minutes later, emerging from another tunnel, the stern guardswomen escorted her back inside the arena as another bout was announced, removing Alize's sword and shield from her wrist cuffs, locking the cuffs together behind her wrists, and marching her back to her cell.

Once she had arrived passing other cell doors and had arrived at her own, slapping Alize's ass (and earning a glare), the dark-elven guardswoman pushed inside her cell and ordered her to push her wrists back through the slot to unlock Alize's wrists now that she was safely inside.

"We'll send a slave to massage you." The guard spoke before leaving, her voice terse with envy. Alize was certain the dark elf had her eye on the beautiful human and would have wanted to do it herself.

Alize's cell, which was to be her room for a long time, was furnished with a comfortable bed (the Dark Elven Lanista was stern, not overly cruel), stocked with cherry-flavored healing potions, a few books, and plenty of dried food. Alize realized the bed and amenities were padded after she had won, freshly delivered.

The steel door provided privacy for her small toilet seat, surprisingly with good plumbing, and fresh air from cool, barred ventilation shafts on the roof. Alize could hear her fellow gladiatrixes' pained moans, squeals, and protests from the next cells, mostly regarding the healing poultices laid on their bruised bodies and complaints: the pain of rapid regeneration regarding torn and bruised tissue was no laughing matter, rapid healing was a quick, but painful thing. She only wondered what became of the defeated dark-elven slaves, hopefully, the Lanista would not whip them. The angry tirade of the dark-elven trainer she heard confirmed her hopes:

"You dumb bitches are only good for sex! I armed you with THREE whips, WHIPS against naked flesh, and what, YOU FORGOT TO DUCK A DWARF SHE-COW'S SLOW MALLET? DISTRACTED BY HER HUGE TITS? YOU WEREN'T EVEN NEEDED TO WIN, JUST ENTERTAIN THE CROWD THREE MORE ROUNDS!" Alize flinched at the angry voice coming from the ventilation shafts. "Whipping your pain-loving asses would be a waste, I hope the bruises remind you of your humiliation today! Lose like this again and I'll sell your lazy asses to the mines and make you dig SHIT SEWERS! EVEN A HUMAN BROTHEL ON THE SURFACE WOULD BE A REWARD FOR YOU!"

The cell doors in the distance slammed shut.

Ouch.

As Alize relaxed on her belly half an hour later, a young, pale elf slave girl, naked as she was except for the iron collar on her neck, the elf's gentle hands oiling, rubbing, and massaging her bruised, tired muscles, she drifted into a gentle sleep, realizing that even if the Lanista would one day free her...

...she had come to enjoy this.

Perhaps she would stay as a freedwoman and keep on fighting?

Time will tell.

*-*-*-*

EPILOGUE:

Life was good in Chel'drai.

Slaves trickled to the endless, hungry caverns of the dark elves in chain gangs, marched under whips and paddles, crops and hand to sate the city's desire for cheap labor and sex. Some had turned out to be even reliable enough to support guards and soldiers; they were employed with chained leashes like dogs, particularly bandit women captured from the surface with no ties to anyone and willing to dirty their hands in return for good food, off-duty booze and guaranteed life with no law hunting them. The occasional guard patrolling the caverns or streets had the occasional slave troop led on a chain leash like a beast: naked, muzzled, muscular human women with weapons and magic tattoos to provide protection against magic wearing only a slave collar and boots to protect their feet.

The city's waste management became phenomenal: slaves with protective clothing rowed barges with refuse that couldn't be recycled, to be burned or dumped into lava fissures far away from the city, at the end of subterranean rivers where whirling, leviathan tides disappeared into the world's deepest crevices. It was dirty work, but the slaves were content: most of the heavy lifting was done by cranes, and they could sleep and bathe all "day"(or what passed for a day underground) until traffic and crowds were out of the way.

Appearances had to be kept: it was everything for a dark elf.

Past the basalt gates inlaid with golden stripes started the city's majestic streets, embracing circular, tall spires housing hundreds of citizens and shops, the dark elves living and working with harmony and peace, surrounded by their slaves. The slaves were anything between sad and happy, tending to their mistresses and maintaining the city's cleanliness and order. The first district right past the entrance housed countless cafes, inns, fashion stores, and luxury stores, underdressed or naked slaves working endlessly.

A naked, black-haired, pale human girl was carrying a large silver tray with drinks, bringing the lounging dark elven ladies their order, her eyes hidden by her long, black bangs, her large breasts softly shaking as she approached, left the goblets of wine and left with a red-faced curtsy. A trio of dark-elven musicians was playing a series of enchanted instruments, a fusion between the classy string instruments and dark, almost tribal-era drums, and a nude blonde human woman dancing on a pit of sand to amuse the patrons. Here, a keen observer could see Eli'ce and her colleagues laughing and drinking tea, Wilfred serving them clad in a humble, light brown slave tunic and trousers.

The other guardswomen kept quiet, knowing smiles as they noticed Eli'ce doting on the slave she kept for herself and pulled to her arms as they sat, feeding him pastries by hand. The proud captain was in love, even though it started as purely carnal.

More dark-elven ladies passed the Entertainment district, walking leisurely with their human slaves, the majority being female, leashed to their wrists.

The higher-priced clothing stores were patronized by wealthy, older ladies, the mannequins carrying the clothing being slave girls of all races frozen by magic and rope bindings.

The jewelry stores on the other hand were worked by a mix of elegant dark-elven citizens working the fabulous jewellery and dwarven slave women preparing the precious metals tirelessly with legs shackled to the tables. A small, bespectacled, beautifully freckled ginger dwarven girl kept tapping the golden bands into beautiful rings, her huge breasts jiggling with every beat of the hammer. She was on her knees like good little slaves were, her big butt bearing the proud mark of a voluntary slave on her right cheek, burned by hot metal. Her mistress, a fur-wearing, elderly dark elf leaned and wiped her sweat, kissing her lips and forehead to praise her for a work well done, taking the still-warm rings and handing them to the dark elven gemologists to bejewel the pure gold into works of elegance.

The bellows of the jewelers' furnace providing the heat were worked by two young human women. Young tomboys, feet shackled to each other as they tirelessly pumped the bellows, their nude, muscular bodies glistening in the light of the inferno, buttocks tattooed with the insignia of the shop. Their faces were red with shame, pleasure, and exertion: the mistress had plugged their butts with vibrating toys to give them a measure of relaxation during work, as well as breaking their pride and prudishness.

Past the luxury goods' bustling alleys was the enormous arena, always in an uproar for new gladiatorial battles, aggressive slaves pitted against each other, and dark-elven citizens with blades and sticks. Today, a grand battle of sixteen human girls, nude and armed with blunted wooden swords fought against each other as the crowd cheered and enjoyed the clashes and screams, clerics healing the wounded with shimmering rays announcing the losers' shameful retreat.

The Arena basement on the other hand housed cells full of gladiatrix slaves, working out or resting between fights. Each gladiatrix was carefully screened for aggressive or rebellious traits to make sure no unwilling, terrified young women would be abused. Criminal bandits, angry, defiant slaves who wanted to work off their mad beating others (particularly their dark elf captors), and the rare, willing glory-hound slave girls who accepted their fate but wanted to become free, rich, and/or famous filled the cells. Even a few formerly free volunteer humans were housed, trained, and cared for, to the amusement of the crowds, the rarest of them being young men who would be rewarded with a dominant display of sex as the crowd cheered them plowing the losers in full public, or humiliated by the women they lost to.

The crowd didn't care who won and lost save for gambling. Naked slaves fighting each other, wrestling each other, the eroticized fights, the violent action, and sexual exertion were all that mattered. Yet, a new gladiatrix named Alize was already carving herself a place as her final opponent raised her hands in submission and screamed in frustration, body bruised and cut:

The new human girl had beaten a dark elven free woman in gladiatorial combat! Naked, sweating, and bruised, Alize raised her sword and smiled in pride, cheers erupting and flowers starting to land around her, followed by silver coins. Already she started to feel comfortable naked in public, more so when her gladiatrix tattoo on her buttocks, and additional star tattoos signifying victory drew looks of admiration. That evening, when she would be given ten percent of her winnings as a handout and would be allowed to wander in the city(though still not allowed to wear anything save for her slave collar and a flimsy loincloth), she would be stopped and admired by the passing dark elves, who would look at her tattoos on her upper leg signifying her victories, some elderly dark elven ladies suggesting she should stay at their homes and copulate with their male slaves to bear children. Alize would feel a lewd, newly discovered pleasure mixed with pride when she was relaxing at an inn where slaves were allowed when she would be approached by a dark elven artist, a young girl who would quickly capture her likeliness with magical instruments on vellum artworks.

Past the noise of the Arena, rougher, less pleasant but no crueler districts and workplaces dotted the endless volcanic plains of the city. The slaves here were less pretty human girls that ended up being sold for their physical endurance and hard work, as well as monstergirl races of high physical strength. Stone quarries, mines, and farms (especially mushroom plantations) covered every uninhabited space. These were worked by the tireless throngs of thrall girls, the majority human, though some tamed she-orcs, ogres, and Oni slave women were present. Fully naked save for sandals, face masks against dust and gloves, grunting and heaving, the slaves of the dark elves worked under whip and chains, carefully applied to energize the most erogenous, tender areas of the poor bodies and render them docile with pleasure.

The overseer, a young dark elven woman with a demeanor that seemed more overcompensating, clad in a black leather outfit that hugged her curves and made her look more lewd than intimidating watched over rows of chained, nude, strong slave women hew rock, tap gem seams and carry cartfuls of ores to the lava furnaces. Once in a while, she would strike a defenseless, dawdling slave's body with a loud crack and make her moan in pleasure mixed with pain:

"Get back to work, or the next one will be only painful!" She sneered at the dawdling slave girl, leaving a small, light red mark on her asscheek.

"Sorry mistress!" The shocked, yet aroused human girl gulped, digging faster, her breasts jumping with every swing of the pickaxe, her dust-stained, toned frame covered with sweat.

The loud wail of a whistle would signal the end of a shift. Sighing in fatigue and helpless arousal, the groaning slaves would slowly gather, pile their sweat-stained tools in a heap, to line up like lambs to receive bowls full of mushroom and cave-wheat stew.

Sitting side by side, the naked slaves would eat with slow deliberation, tired, yet well-fed, wooden spoons scooping the rich, fragrant stew, feeding, hungry, beautiful mouths. After that came the group showers, everyone scrubbing themselves and each other with varying levels of intimacy under steel pipes heated by the magmatic heat, until they would be herded into wide bunk beds, to fall asleep in each other's arms. Love and intimacy's comfort were not discouraged: the dark elves would periodically give the slave barracks jars of relaxing balms so that the poor things could rub each other to soothe the fatigue of hard, tiring slave labor. As the tired, thoroughly dominated slaves slept, they dreamed of the next Sunday when the hard-working would be given day passes to join the weekly orgies at the temple or mingle with other slaves in the city's relaxation baths. After all, being the pragmatic villains they were, the dark elves encouraged pregnancy for a year of light work and eventual serfdom, a step up in the hierarchy coming with a small cottage and permission to start a human family.

The plantations were milder: poor, homely peasant girls did what they did on the surface, only with more control and no clothes: farming. Wearing nothing but their chains, poor human girls dug, planted, and harvested the fluorescent, shimmering, mysterious crops native to the magical caves; a work with much less exertion than the mines, yet with less pecunium: most would spend the rest of their lives in Cheldrai, hopefully eventually marrying a human man the dark elves would be generous enough to assign them to breed future generations.

The city was now truly wealthy, growing fat and elegant on the backs of countless slaves taken as payment from the surface.

Inside the palace surrounding the endless hubbub of the dark elven metropolis, the dark-elven court was having the time of their life. The ladies laughed and drank, discussed and sniped on the lower floor of the circular palace; the sheer, titanic pillar of obsidian darker than the darkest night, carved with magic and pickaxes of countless slaves and reworked with shiny minerals. Reaching an almost unrealistic height inside the colossal cave network, it was the beating heart of the dark and elegant Dark Elven Queendom, its high heels standing on the bare backs of countless slaves, its magical branches sprouting from its sides and digging into the upper ceiling of the caves like the claws of a dragon.

The party was abuzz with discussions, the dark-elven nobility served by naked human slave girls holding silver trays full of drinks, with dwarven slave women scurrying for refills in a gallery of pale flesh on display for the pleasure of the decadent court. The slaves looked down, some were inexperienced and wanted to just sink into the earth and be forgotten from the shame, and some were frozen in awe: so thunderstruck were they at serving a beautiful, superior species. A silk-clad human slave girl played a harp, flanked by two blindfolded nude dark elven slaves playing flutes. Set on a small wooden display, a sex play was set for the amusement of the bored dark-elven women watching in mild interest smoking fragrant pipes: a young, handsome human male brought from the surface was taking a freckled, curvy dwarven girl, the couple making love as the dwarf hid her face in the pillows set for them on all fours, the young man thrusting with hard, loud slaps behind her. On another display, a pale blonde elf was kneeling, hands tied behind her back, sucking off a swarthy human male slave, with the decadent dark elven audience betting on how long the poor young man will last before depositing his loins into the bulging throat of the sweating elven girl.

Adding to the excessive decadence, some tables were fashioned from slave girls, wooden frames set with dwarven or human girls on all fours with added surfaces so the ladies could set their drinks and chat, gagged, groaning human slave girls providing light from above, suspended by their hands and feet on their bellies on chandelier frames with candles stuck in their nether orifices and tied to their bodies. Unknown to an ignorant surfacer, the girls were in orgasmic bliss: no work with savage submission, and unknown pleasures filled them.