Tributes to the Dark Elves Pt. 02

"Eight hundred for both!" An older dark elven lady in thick fur robes waved, raising a small sign.

"Nine hundred for both!" Another dark elven lady joined the shouts, and voices became a crescendo, both humans shivering at the values put on their bodies to a new life full of decadent servitude...

*-*-*-*

When the last gavel dropped, gold coins and chained youth changed hands, the poor humans entered the underworld city's slave underclass...

Some drudged, some toiled, and some entertained, as good looks, physique, and fortune let them...

The poor human youth, parcelled and given as slaves to the dark-skinned, ivory-haired elves had joined the slave underclass...Living and working naked save for chains, seen but not heard most of the time...

*-*-*-*

"You are mine, get it?!" The short and stacked dark elven brat scolded her new purchase.

She had pooled her belongings and had amassed a nice sum, finally buying a human man as a sex slave... He was handsome, standing before her with his shackles unlocked, unsure what to do.

"You will do as I say, or...I'll be very cross with you! I will say such things you will cry!" Her soft, full face was red from exertion. "No dessert! You will sleep on my second-worst mattress! I will...I will spank you!"

The dark elven cutie was almost half the young man Peter's size, purple-black skin graced by a shiny white mane of hair reaching to her ass.

He was smiling, only to infuriate his new mistress further.

"What is wrong with you!" The dark elf squeaked. "I am...VERY STRICT! RESPECT MY AUTHORITY!" Her small, almond eyes gleamed with magical light, fairy fire dancing on her fingertips until the young man knelt and kissed her hand. Her mien melted into a confused, yet pleased expression.

"I will do everything you say, mistress." He spoke with a soft voice, the dark elf exhaling in relaxation.

This would be good.

They understood each other. The boy had found the softest, sweetest blueberry pie in this corner of the Underworld, which would create a large brood of elflings with him.

*-*-*-*

He was always naked. They were fully dressed. They were all taller than her, treating her in an almost big sisterly way, but mostly in a dismissive, distant way.

Talk about luck: in a world of monstergirls, end up the only male slave unfortunate enough to be sent to work a guardhouse full of mostly sapphic dark elves. The girls had raised a mighty stink, saying when the state brought mostly female slaves, why in the name of Demon Queen did they assign a male slave to a guardhouse whose crew preferred girls?

"You wanted someone to clean up the place, the state has assigned you a slave on sale. Stop complaining." Told the bureaucrat. "And don't tell me you don't fancy men, he can be good in bed off-duty."

"You could at least send a nice-looking human girl too! We don't mind boys but we prefer girls!" Had complained the captain, weaker this time, seeing the boy was good enough. Tall and well-built to climb to change night lights, and with a decent appearance.

"Buy with your own money: the military has budgeted for one slave per guardhouse annually. Human girls are cheap, they go for 250 gold pieces a head, and some are real pretty."

"Balls." Spat the guard captain, earning a humorless laugh from the bureaucrat.

"He has two, I checked."

The guard girls sighed, tying their ivory hair and putting up their elegant, high-heeled armor before setting for duty, leaving the young boy with slave shorts, a broom, and a bored captain, a dark elven girl who sighed and shook her head. She pointed at the dirty floor, then the tool closet, and sat down at her desk, attending to reports and ignoring the young man.

"Get to work, boy. We'll get you a bedroll and some food after the shift. No, you stay naked." She frowned at him. "This will make you feel who is in charge. We'll see if you earn clothes."

Days passed.

The boy learned to clean the floors, feeling awkward and shy at the stares of beautiful dark-elven girls who mostly ignored him, and talked to each other during their resting time. At the end of what passed for a day in the underground city of the dark elves, the captain would clip a chain on his leash, and take him to eat at the mess hall where he sat in a corner and ate his mushroom stew and bread, trying not to act aroused in the presence of cocky, underdressed, and friendly dark elven women getting touchy-feeling with another.

Next week, the captain gave him a new job. He would be following her, changing the magic lights' dials at the end of a "day" since the dark elves used magic lamps and the life cycle of strange, bioluminescent flowers to simulate and keep track of the sun.

The life of a slave was not too enjoyable. Constant work if you didn't want a whip, riding crop, or paddle on your behind, and *absolutely* not touching any free without permission. Worse: the Svartalvar treated slave girls gentler than men. He had to follow the captain like a dog, his poor, unattended erection raging as he saw her leather thong stretch her round, plush ass as she walked. He couldn't believe dark elves wore so little and flaunted their bodies, and loved to tease him. Even the guardswomen at the little, cramped station he lived in, those who preferred women, loved to tease him.

"Tell me, who is prettier, her or me?"

That was a trick question earning him an outraged spank from either party, making his hardon worse and making the dark elves giggle. Or...

"Do you masturbate?"

"How many times per week?"

"Do you think of us when you masturbate? Or human women?"

It made a poor young man melt under the sheer anxiety of answering, sexual bondage be damned.

The captain, whose name he could pronounce something like Ellis, (or was it Eli'ce?), would wave them off whenever she caught them, telling him to get back to work.

As time passed, she started to protect him. She would keep him close, ruffling his head whenever he did a job well, and eventually handing him a set of warm clothes, a simple, thick, woolen shirt, and an equally thick pair of shorts as well as sandals.

"From now on, I'll take you with me to change the street lights." She had told him one day, ignoring his stares at her back armor. It was a leather armor that was shaped like a thong to accentuate her buttocks, like many dark elves loved to flaunt. An hour later, she had tapped him on the forehead as the boy was half-asleep after a round of sweeping the floors.

"Get up. Lamp duty." She clipped a chain on his collar and pulled, softly at first, then rougher as he rose slowly. "Don't wear anything yet, you have to walk naked in public to get used to your new life."

"But..." He was already covering his genitals when laughing elven guard girls passed him by, throwing lewd stares at him. Eli'ce cut him short:

"No buts. New slaves have to be publicly naked to get them used to being property, and defenseless. Soon, you won't even realize you are naked. You are just our property to work for us, and entertain us..." Her words were strict and confident, and she looked down on him with a dark, domineering stare.

"Yes, ma'am..." He slurred and corrected himself as Eli'ce frowned and raised a hand with a half smile as if she was going to slap him. "Yes, mistress." He mumbled, hurrying up to dress and grab lamp-changing tools from the supply closet.

"Good. I don't tolerate ill-discipline, slave or subordinate." She pulled him like a dog to lead him outside after letting him wear sandals for his feet. "Let's go. I'll tell you what to do on the way."

And so, the boy's life of servitude went on: she dragged him by the leash, pointing at every lamp starting from the one in front of the guard house. One by one, she made him climb each one, instructing him to turn the dials and flowery protrusions on the semi-organic, magical, flowery lamps to change the color and glow. The boy was light and athletic, and he could do it well, Eli'ce noted, satisfied that at least this was something he could do.

And it was amusing eye candy to walk a naked boy on her leash like a pet. It made her feel powerful, her almost ancestral, ingrained feelings present in all dark elves giving her feelings of deep satisfaction.

One by one, she'd slap his ass if he was distracted, otherwise, point toward the lamps that had to be changed. They would be greeted by citizens, who would stare with a grin at the naked boy trying to cover himself blushing, but after several encounters, had given up, hanging his head in shame as he worked naked in full view of dark elves who pretty much ignored him.

He was just a slave, and that was it.

The turning point came when he was sitting in the guard tower after having cleaned the desks and floors with a mop, trying not to masturbate as the most beautiful, underdressed dark-elven females worked, chatted, laughed, and ignored him.

"Oi, slave boy." A soft, high-pitched elven voice roused him. A small purse and a pair of brown shorts fell on his lap. It was Eli'ce, smiling in her armor.

"Get dressed. You are up for the donut run. One for each, plus coffee." She went on as she was absentmindedly playing with her whip. "Tell Garyu to put the coffee in double paper cups, one inside the other or I'll kick her ass from Chel'drai to Dulluzuth."

So he went, his erection calming, yet the collar on his neck always remained. Eli'ce had written his name without changing it on the leather band, even attaching a small insignia of the city's banner. It meant one thing:

"This boy is property of the city guardswomen. If you hurt him, you die."

She had...adorned his collar. The silken coating of the insignia felt soft. Out of her pocket, of all things.

The small food vendor was across the street, a goblin eatery with many pastries and hot beverages for sale. The goblin vendor raised her brows at the sight of the half-naked slave male approaching with a purse, wearing an apron one size too small for her.

"What is it, human?"

*-*-*-*

Dear God, the donuts and the coffee were hot!

When he returned with bags and a tray with haphazardly tied coffee cups, he was panting in exertion and whimpering in pain from the tiny splashes of steaming hot beverages.

When he arrived at the guardhouse, the eager guardswomen, dark elves to the last girl, snatched the cups and paper-wrapped pastries like hungry piranhas, thin ebon hands grabbing their lunch, chattering amongst themselves in flowery Elven, leaving the half-naked, burned young man sighing in relief.

Eli'ce raised her brows as she cradled her snack in her hands, and pondered. Looking around at the scantily dressed guardswomen, she lifted her brows, and decided to ask in a gentle voice, realizing the sheer submissiveness of the boy having ruined his moment of whatever passed for camaraderie with his mistresses:

"Why haven't you bought one for yourself?"

She softly stared into the boy's eyes, her soft, delicate dark elven face trying to figure out why a slave wouldn't use a handout to buy a snack:

"Skimming the purse to buy for freedom or something?" She repeated in her angelic voice, sounding concerned. As silence and awkward stare went on, her confused features melted into amused relief. Dark purple lips parted in a smile, revealing pure white teeth:

"You were supposed to buy one for yourself too."

The dark elves giggled, laughing as they ate, staring at the silly human male who didn't know what to do. He already saw himself as less than them, and they understood, chuckling in patronizing pity.

Eli'ce smiled, her face showing an expression of kindness and understanding:

"We'll sort that out after snacking is done. Wilfred, was it?"

She smiled, and slowly broke her pie in two, pushing in the slave boy's hand.

"Here. I'm not that hungry..."

The other guards started grinning and looking meaningfully at each other before an angry snarl made them get back to eating and doing paperwork, Eli'ce sharing her food and coffee with the guardhouse's janitor slave and waving them off.

*-*-*-*

When the guards changed shifts, Wilfred was supposed to go to his small cell and sleep in a tiny bed like a cat.

He felt a gentle hand of a dark elf on his shoulder.

"Boy." Eli'ce was behind him, her face donning a mask of caring. "Let's eat outside. I'm not leaving you with stale bread and water in your slave box." He deserved better, she thought internally. Time to get him a meat pie, maybe a sandwich, and some ale...

Eli'ce thought to herself, afterward, the guard tower will be full of the other girls, her eyes squinting as she was lost deep in thoughts, Wilfred slowly following her like a lost dog. The dark elf scratched her ear, as the eatery came in sight, amongst a dozen others: goblin and orc "fast-food" workers (Eli'ce couldn't make heads or tails of the newfangled words coming from the surface)

"I can take him home." She thought. "It's not unusual for public slaves to stay at the assigned locale's houses, though it gets abused as they are often made to work for free." She knew a few arguments rising from another district where the guard captain took the slaves home and worked them to exhaustion as housekeepers. It had raised a mighty stink with the marshall...

And when at home...perhaps...

Eli'ce looked him over. He was surprisingly sturdy and actually slouched: when upright, he could be taller than her: slavery and suppression did that.

...could she?

From a perspective, it was legal and even encouraged to sleep with slaves for bonding, essence need, and rewarding them for good work.

And he was pretty cute.

...

And she felt...kind of...fanning herself and feeling very acutely aware...she had to admit she felt slightly horny.

Why not? She was entitled to the state slaves.

*-*-*-*

They sat down at one of the moderately-priced vendors where goblin women made buns with pulled pork, cucumbers, pickled radishes, and Goddess knows what else. They had ordered a sandwich for each, patiently waiting for the food to arrive.

Wilfred was clad in a simple pair of shorts and a flimsy shirt, Eli'ce keeping him under her wings and holding his side like a big sister. The underground city's food court was a chaotic jumble of shouts, orders, running and cursing, orc and goblin cooks and waitresses taking and delivering orders by the second, with the occasional human slave girl chopping vegetables in the background. They sat under a giant mushroom, Eli'ce having her back against the gigantic plant and eyeing the people around her, Wilfred quietly sitting and resting with his head against the mushroom as well.

"Time to eat!" Eli'ce beamed at the goblin waitress, shorter than her chair, who quickly brought the plate with two giant sandwiches and scurried away.

Eli'ce grabbed hers and took the biggest bite she could. Goblins knew how to make this "fast-food", the bread literally crackling as she bit, insides soft and hot, outside hotter and crispy!

"Wilfred? What's wrong?"

Eli'ce frowned as he slowly stopped eating and started fishing out the pickles. The dark elf's eyes narrowed.

"That green shortstack dumbass..." She growled, bolting to her feet.

"Miss! Mistress! It's alright..."

She would have none of Wilfred's protests as she stomped her way across the hungry customers.

"Outta my way!"

The goblin sandwich maker rolled her eyes, holding her nose as she had to go through the tirade of the "bitch-dark-elf-with-stick-up-her-ass"...

"EXCUSE ME!" The dark elven captain started her haranguing, her arms crossed, with Wilfred behind him, slouching in shame. "MY SLAVE WANTED NO PICKLES!"

*-*-*-*

After a few minutes of pointless arguing (which was of no import to listen, much less remember), she took Wilfred's leash and led him to her home, a cozy apartment room in a five-story mega stalactite carved over the ages, tall enough to fit five households and made of the sturdiest basalt. Eli'ce and her neighbor, another, older dark elven lady spent several minutes talking to each other as Wilfred waited behind her, dying of shame.

The lady had her pet waiting behind her, a human girl Wilfred knew from the surface, apparently taken last year into slavery and molded to the lady's fancies. She wore only a thong, her hair, now dyed blue it seemed, let down with her bangs hiding her shameful face; she was looking down with hands folded before her in humility carrying a basket of groceries, her mouth silenced and covered with a mask gag, and her enlarged breasts pierced with a golden chain connecting her nipples. She knew Wilfred: her face was beet red, weakly trying to hide her face. They left, the girl briefly stealing a glance at Wilfred and blinking before she disappeared behind the closing door, the last thing Wilfred saw was her pale ass with the word "SLAVE" tattooed on her right cheek.

"Do you know how to use the heating runes? If not, I'll tell you." She asked Wilfred, gesturing him to sit on a long couch. "Rest. You can sleep here for the weekend. I'll bring you tea."

Wilfred watched her work: the dark elves had water plumbing and magical means of warming their food and homes, it seemed. They were truly a mighty species. The house was surreal: it was illuminated by bioluminescent house plants and bulbous flowers hanging from the ceiling, and furniture was grown rather than built. Living roots formed tables and a small bookshelf was built from a pale, shining, silvery alloy housing many tomes. The whole apartment was a bizarre mix of living and industrious, carved into ancient rocks. The Dokkalvar (or Svartalvar, depending on who named them) were hedonistic, yet magical and respectful of nature. Of course, they had humans as pets, slaves, and servants, but as companions and lovers as well. Wilfred had to admit, that his slave bed in the guard house was softer than the beds of human nobility even though he was chained to it by his feet as he slept.

They lounged lazily, sighing in relief at the quietness of the underworld's corners, Eli'ce wearing only her silk shirt and leather trousers with her armor tossed in a corner, her hair now loose, her face taking a gentle expression now that they were alone.

"Thanks, Mistress." Wilfred could only say that, emotions between shame, arousal, and shock not helping his apparent erection, which Eli'ce seemed to enjoy watching with an indulgent smile. Her hands cradling her cup, she stared into his eyes, and spoke with a gentle voice:

"You stared at Lady Olna's pet slave. You know her?"

He nodded.

"I see..." She answered dryly and changed the subject. The girl was made into an exotic sex toy, not someone productive to the dark elven race. She did not dislike or was cruel to slaves, but for Eli'ce, slaves were just that:

They were supposed to work.

They were "unfortunate people" (the Dokkalf code was evolved enough to regard them as such) who had to work things and jobs too good for prouder dark elves. They serve, and in return, are fed and sheltered. But that girl was like a high-end fetish prostitute to amuse older ladies. Some ladies went even further and made living sexy, erotic items of furniture out of human girls taken from the surface instead of making them do something useful like mining, digging, building, cleaning, and cooking. The decadence did not amuse her, making poor things stay for days with resin-hardened bodies, if not months, in contorted positions.

Eli'ce respected the resilient and obedient nature of the dwarven slave women, who, after losing skirmishes in the caverns, were brought to the city to put to work. That she could understand, the victor claiming their bodies instead of needless killing and making practical use of them: the dark elves even supplied the dwarven slave women human husbands and beer and eventually traded most of them back for captives of their own or ransom money paid in ingots only the dwarves themselves could produce. Eli'ce had her own weapons and armor forged by dwarven slave women and held her grudging respect for their race.