Innocence Lost Ch. 07-08byLady_Blackhawk©
Mistale stretched under the weight of soft fur blankets, luxuriating in their warmth. She hugged the pillow wrapped in her arms and snuggled into it contentedly. The pillow exhaled and hugged back. Her eyes flew open and connected with those of Azlorik's.
"Master!" She cried, embracing him tighter, wrapping her arms and legs around him tightly. "You're alive!" It wasn't that he was alive that excited her. It was the fact that she'd still have the opportunity to kill him herself. She longed for that moment, craved it more than any she'd ever hoped for.
Azlorik cocked an eyebrow and pulled away from her. What had brought on such joy to his usually sedate little slave girl? That quandary puzzled him. "Yes, I'm alive. Is there any reason why I shouldn't be, slave?"
She licked her lips and exhaled nervously. She had to tell him the truth this time. She couldn't bear another beating with the whips. "Your twin. He came in here. He tried to bed me. He spoke of arranging your death. He said he could keep me safe from the Matron."
"I am aware of that, slave. His trap failed. Grumazz is dead. Is there anything else I should know?"
Mistale shook her head, unable to think of anything else. He watched her closely, scrutinizing her every move, every blink of the eye, and every breath she inhaled. She was telling the truth this time yet something malicious still festered within her. She was still plotting her revenge against him. He could easily decipher her wayward thoughts and chuckled to himself. She still sought his death and nothing less than delivering it herself would suffice for her.
"You're learning your place then, slave, and for that I shall grant you a boon. Tell me what you desire and I will consider bringing it to fruition for you," he purred as he covered her with his body.
She flinched, looking away. "I ask for nothing, Master. There is nothing I desire. Nothing short of my freedom." Nothing short of your death.
He turned her face back to his and focused upon her blazing emerald eyes. "I won't grant you that, but I have something else in mind. Come with me, slave."
He pulled her off the bed and drew a couple scrolls from within a case. He concentrated on one, chanting the words upon it. And with a flourish of hands, the room around them disappeared. When she'd finally reoriented herself, she exclaimed with glee. A warm brisk breeze wafted across her face while silvery moonlight fell upon the darkness surrounding them.
He'd brought them to the forest she'd been in when she caught the scent of something amiss. This was the forest she'd viewed the Orcs in, the very same she'd hunted wild game. The place she'd gathered her herbs to heal Azlorik with. She danced around the small clearing, delighting in the moon and stars above her.
Azlorik watched her every move intently. He gave her time to frolic and play before he swept her back to his suites. "You have not thanked me yet for my generosity."
Mistale threw her arms around him and pressed herself against him, kissing him breathlessly. He pushed her away roughly. "That is enough, slave. I suppose I will have to teach you what I mean by a proper thank you, but not at this moment. There is something I must see to. I expect you to be kneeling in front of the bed when I return. Then I shall instruct you on proper thanks."
Mistale shivered. He made it sound so ominous. "Yes, Master," she curtseyed and knelt down in front of the bed. "I shall be right here when you return."
He patted the top of her head. "Good slave." And then he was gone.
Azlorik paused before the door of his brother's rooms, mentally considering whether he should blow them wide open or not. The choice was made for him when the double door's swung wide open. Azlorik could see Azlesaonar standing in the middle of the room before him, poised to strike like a coiled snake.
Azlorik marched into the room and pulled the heads of the Orcs from his pack. He tossed each one of them at his twin's feet. "You'll have to try harder next time, dear brother. Grumazz failed. Grumazz is nothing but a pile of fine dust upon the cavern floor." He drew the weapons from the pack, holding each within his hands.
"You are full of surprises, aren't you, my twin? I must have underestimated you this time. Fear not, I won't make that mistake again. If you'd have given me the girl like I asked for, this wouldn't be a problem."
"Says you? I don't believe that you really desire my slave, so tell me the real reason you want her so bad."
Azlesaonar shook his head. "That's my business, but let's just say I see something special in her. Now get out before I spill your secret to Matron Mother. I will have her, brother. You mark my words."
Azlorik laughed and threw an insolent grin at his brother. "Not if I kill her first." Then he disappeared from sight completely.
Azlesaonar hissed, calling upon the purple flames to outline his brother's retreating form, but he was nowhere to be seen. He hissed in frustration and kicked one of the Orc heads, watching it roll across the floor. He'd kill his brother, he would succeed, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
"I'll be gone a few days, slave," Azlorik informed Mistale one morning several days later. "You'll have some peace for a while. I give you run of the suite, but you will not be able to leave here. Nor will anyone else be able to enter. This especially means by brother. But if some miracle that someone does invade these rooms and you fail to tell me upon my return, then it will not bode well for you. You will suffer greatly as will the one who foolishly came in here. I give you permission to use whatever magic you have to feed yourself and heal your wounds. I expect a pleasant greeting when I get return."
She nodded her head. "Yes, Master."
"I've created a room you can bathe in, which is through those doors. They are unlocked now. I give you permission to wear this in my absence, but you may not have it on when I return. Are we understood, slave?" Azlorik barked, outlining his wishes for her.
She curtseyed before him, accepting the silky dressing gown from him. "Yes, Master, it will be so."
"Now little Mistale, give your Master a kiss," he purred sensuously.
She gaped at him for a moment, gaped because he'd used her name instead of referring to her as 'slave.' She recovered quickly and wrapped her arms around him, offering up her lips to him for a tender kiss. He deepened it, his tongue invading her mouth. His arms caressed her, drawing her very close to him. "Good slave," he murmured against her mouth before he pulled away from her. He stroked her hips and bottom very possessively. "I shall return. Do not disappoint me."
She nodded and watched as he left the room. Azlorik stopped a moment to magically ward the door and room, making it impenetrable. If all went well, Matron Mother would be very pleased. He knew he dared not fail this time. Too much was at stake. Surely Matron Mother would make good on her threat to kill him or worse yet, turn him into a drider. He certainly didn't want that.
Casting another spell, he teleported himself out of the Dryaalis complex and headed across the cavern that housed the City of T'larghaun. He knew his mission wouldn't be easy. He cast another teleport, hoping to throw off anyone who might be watching or following. This time he made the jump to a side cavern where within waited a small band of highly trained houseless Drow males. These rebels, exiles and renegades only gave their allegiance if the price was right. He'd paid them what they asked, knowing they were expendable, but would get the job done.
He pulled out a map of the Naerth complex, laying it upon a flat topped rock, and outlined his plan. He made sure members of the attack squad knew exactly what their goal was. He knew what he had to do. The Matron would be pleased that he launched a surprise attack against House Naerth before they could mobilize against House Dryaalis. She would be even more pleased when he gave her the ultimate gift.
A day stretched into two and then three. Boredom set in as Mistale wandered through the suite of rooms. She'd read every book Azlorik owned. She'd brewed a few draughts with his more than ample supply of ingredients. She'd smiled as she found the recipe book on how to turn certain spells into potent potions. A wide smile came over her and a feeling of accomplishment filled her as she poured her latest potion into a vial. She just hoped it worked. She needed it work.
Drinking it down, she gave it time to do what it was supposed to do. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated. Fly, she whispered and spread her wings, flying from one room to another before perching upon the cage Azlorik had kept her in at the very beginning. Joy spread through her. She dropped to the floor and focused her energies. This time she transformed into a wolf. Loping into the bathing room, she peered into a large mirror that covered one entire wall. I've done it! She yipped and howled, bounding about the room excitedly.
I've done it!
And hopefully Azlorik would be none the wiser. Mistale needed to keep this a secret from him until the time was right. He mustn't know. He mustn't suspect.
Her thoughts turned to her handsome master. Soon he would no longer be the one in control. Soon Azlorik would pay for all he'd done to her. She transformed back into herself and preened before the mirror. Most of the bruises had healed, her skin once again looked like pale moonlight. She shifted in the mirror and noted how even the scars on her back had faded away, smoothed over by her magic. Soon she would bear no trace of Azlorik on her body.
Mistale sauntered back into the bedroom and squeaked in fear as she came face to face with five Dark elf females, one of which she recognized as Azlorik's mother.
"What do we have here?" The purr of her voice slipped over Mistale like silk.
Mistale immediately dropped to the ground, supplicating herself before the Matron.
"Take her. I'll deal with Azlorik when he returns," Matron Sabrae smiled wickedly. The snake headed whip wriggled and writhed from its sheath at her hip.
Four days later, Azlorik returned to his rooms, feeling utterly triumphant and carrying a leather pack full of goodies for the Matron. He was tired, but the coup had been successful.
"Mistale," he called out, his brow furrowing. He was met with abject silence. He frantically searched each and every room in his suite, checking the armoire and even beneath the bed, but found all of it empty. His rage flared. He left his rooms behind, heading for the chapel. His twin had better not have stolen his property.
He stormed into the chapel, forgoing the niceties of bowing and scraping piteously before the Matron Mother. "Where is she?" Azlorik demanded, angrily.
The veil of his sisters parted behind Matron Sabrae, revealing a bloodied scrap of elvenkind shackled at the wrists and ankles to a standing X. The Matron advanced on her belligerent son, slashing the exposed skin of his chest with her writhing nine-headed snake whip. "Kneel," she countered, lashing him a second time when he didn't obey quickly enough.
With a snarl, Azlorik went down on bended knee before her. He lowered his rage filled eyes.
"I ordered you to be rid of that iblith, but she's still alive. Why is that, waela jaluk (stupid male)? Give me one reason not to disintegrate both of you?" She tapped her spiky black high heels on the floor while tapping her writhing snake headed whip against her thigh.
From his leather pack, he pulled six wooden boxes and opened each of them, setting them on the altar before the Matron. "This is why you will not kill me. We need not worry about the attack from House Naerth," he grabbed the head of Matron Mother Narcelia Naerth and laid it out before his mother, her face a wretched mask of pain locked in death.
"How is this possible, Azlorik?" A wicked grin crossed the Matron's face. "And why didn't you clear this with me first? How many of our slaves did you sacrifice in this bloody coup?"
"No slaves, Matron Mother, but I have added to ours exponentially with the addition of House Naerth's. I hired a band of highly skilled mercenaries. We attacked quickly and efficiently, taking out the Matron and her daughters first. With no one to give orders, the clean up was a piece of cake. I made it seem like an unfortunate accident happened within the Naerth complex so no one would point a finger at you, Matron Mother."
She smiled approvingly, but continued her interrogation. "And what of the mercenaries? I don't want them perpetrating this kind of attack on us."
"They won't because they're all dead by my hand." Azlorik grinned evilly. "Now do you still wish to kill my slave?"
"Why is the bit of filth important to you?" Matron Sabrae cocked an eyebrow while peaking into each of the boxes at the heads of the Naerth daughters and sons, priestess daughter Valas, Z'ress and her twin brother Zeerith, Balaena and Alystin. Each were gruesomely mangled and bloodied. A satisfied smile crossed Matron Sabrae's face.
"Matron Mother, before I answer your question, may I ask one of my own?"
"As long as it isn't a stupid question."
He inclined his head and gave the phrasing of his inquiry some thought. "How is it you learned that I'd kept Mistale?"
"Ahlysaaria mentioned you'd warded your rooms. I wanted to know why."
Azlorik turned his gaze to his older sister, scrutinizing her thoroughly. He noted she held the chain that was fastened to Mistale's collar.
"You went to great lengths to keep this flagrant duplicity from me, dalharuk (son). The wretched kivvil (surfacer) must mean something to you. If I allow you to keep her, what will you do with her?"
Azlorik knew where this conversation was heading. He knew all too well what the Matron wished to do with Mistale, but he was unwilling to give her up just yet. He hadn't squeezed every ounce of fire from her yet. Only then would he sell her. "Usstan orn ser ilta 'zil ussta zil (I will keep her as my consort). Il quallar uns'aa (she pleases me)."
Matron Sabrae raised an eyebrow at him again. "And do you think this to be a wise decision?"
"I've been training her to the whip. She's beginning to accept and enjoy it. Azlesaonar wants her for himself. He says she is pleasing to the eye and that's why he desires her, but I believe that is false. If she becomes my consort, then she is more than just a slave. She has more value to me and to the house than just being a slave. She is a competent healer. Plus she is oh so fun to toy with." Azlorik replied, knowing that his honesty could backfire upon him. He knew it all depended on how generous the Matron was feeling and how appreciative she was of eliminating a rival house.
"You wish her to have certain rights amongst us?" Ahlysaaria spoke up after a nod from Matron Sabrae.
"She is a darthirii, one of our surfacer cousins. Any dalhar (child) that came from the union would be raised with the best interest of the house in mind. She was untouched before me. Why does my personal slave matter when I've brought hundreds of kobolds, svirfneblin, goblins, orcs and even rivvil (human) slaves to our house, all compliments of House Naerth? Matron Mother Narcelia's patron Qua'laen is also one of the slaves."
Matron Sabrae cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing further. Delight seemed to twinkle in her red eyes.
"And if she expects to be treated as an equal?" Ahlysaaria asked, mildly unsatisfied with her brother's answer.
"She will not. I will make sure of that. Her place is in my bed and that is where she will stay. I can confine her to my rooms to further the assurance that she will not expect equal treatment from us. She knows her place. Shall I demonstrate?"
Both Matron Sabrae and her oldest daughter grinned at the same time. "Yes, demonstrate, and it had better be good." The Matron purred, motioning to Ahlysaaria to let Mistale off her leash.
Ahlysaaria yanked the leash loose, removed the shackles and shoved Mistale towards Azlorik. She yelped as she stumbled, scrambling over to Azlorik. She licked her lips, knowing what he wanted. He showed her this was the proper way to show her thanks to him.
She reached for the drawstrings on his black breeches, nimbly untying them. She tried to control her shaky fingers as she unlaced the drawstrings on his pants. Once loosened she shoved them down to his knees, and fisted the swollen cock with both hands. She licked her lips nervously in anticipation, her mind running in circles because there was an audience. Before it had only been him and her. The dark elves habit of being blatantly and openly sexual had shocked her. Her kind weren't this free and open. She blushed bright red as she recalled being forced to watch Matron Sabrae and her patron protector, Elamshin copulate upon the altar here in the chapel. A groan escaped her lips. She knew what would happen if she failed her Master. If the Matron Mother didn't kill her, Azlorik certainly would.
She drew in a deep breath. Concentrate on the task at hand, she repeated over and over. Mistale adjusted her hold on the silken heat of Azlorik's cock and urged the smooth head to her lips. Azlorik grabbed hold of her head, moaning and entwining his fingers through her silky tresses. Mistale spared him a brief glance, but returned her full attention to the cock in her mouth.
She slid her hand to the base, and her fist brushed the bare skin of Azlorik's groin. Mistale laved the head of Azlorik's cock with her tongue, tickling the spot just underneath the head. Keeping her mouth wet, she slid her lips and tongue down the shaft, urging Azlorik's hips closer to her mouth by squeezing a firm ass cheek with her other hand.
"Ahhhhhhhhh," Azlorik moaned, his hips rolling easily under Mistale's guidance. A string of words spilled from Azlorik's mouth, none of them coherent. The tone, however, sounded like cursing. So Mistale figured by that, and by the way Azlorik's hips kept rolling for her, that she was doing all right. Perhaps he wouldn't beat her senselessly once he had her alone.
Mistale hummed and wetly sucked her way back to the tip. She began sucking, up and down, slurping, letting Azlorik hear it, and letting her tongue rasp the sensitive skin. She jacked her hand up and down the length of his shaft; occasionally peaking to see just how much Azlorik liked what she was doing. He seemed to like it all. The cursing continued, and his hips started to snap, groin pressing against the hand Mistale had clasped around the base of his cock.
Mistale growled, loving the low rasp in Azlorik's voice. She spat on her hand and jerked Azlorik's throbbing cock. That was it. Azlorik cried out, hips twitching violently. Everything squeezed, and warm cum shot out into Mistale's slurping mouth. She hastily licked him clean, savoring the pungent flavor of his release. Azlorik hissed, and Mistale released him, a smile on her face as she licked her lips once again.
He stroked her hair and allowed her to pull his pants back up and retie them. He turned his gaze to the Matron and grinned wickedly. "Was my demonstration sufficient?"
"For now, my son, you may keep the iblith kivvil. Truthfully I don't see why you desire her pale flesh. You could have taken one of darling Narcelia's daughters as your plaything. Valas always was quite comely. Not so much now, though. Now get her out of my sight and make sure you bathe her thoroughly. Her stench offends me."
Azlorik bowed respectfully and pulled Mistale along with him until they reached his rooms. He shoved her none too gently into the room, slamming the door behind them. Mistale squawked when she noticed that look on his face. She trembled and prostrated herself at his feet, kissing the top of his boots frantically. He snarled and kicked her, knocking her off balance. "Get out of my sight until you've bathed, waele ssindossa (stupid whore)."