Editing Bride of Slaanesh

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(Only three known parts have been released)


== '''Part 1''' ==

The drums thundered. The air was alive with the sound, a rhythmic pounding that shook the black tower like the heartbeats of a thousand giants. Velina licked her plum-dark lips to moisten them. Her mother had already started the damn ceremony. No backing out now.
 
The maiden sorceress, hair as black as her horse’s mane, skin as pale as Kislevite snow, moved through her richly appointed chambers to the grand balcony. Khurresh was there, snorting, the pegasus’ dark body eclipsing the setting sun. She could mount him now, leap onto his back and take to the skies over Karond Kar, never to return. The idea held some appeal, but no true temptation. Abandon her wealth, her status, her power? Never.
 
As if sensing her wandering thoughts, Khurresh stamped a black hoof on the mosaic ground of the platform balcony. His great wings, thickly-muscled and night-black, spread wide and blocked more of the cityscape view. Velina smiled at her steed’s display, running a pale hand – the barest touch of her fingertips – down the thin, veined membranes of his batlike wings. Khurresh snorted again, its baleful red eyes staring at her with something strangely approaching affection. She smiled at its glare, kissing the single greyish horn that thrust from the equine forehead.
 
With a final sigh she turned from the view of Karond Kar, putting her back to the towers and the bladed central spire of the Tower of Despair, and re-entered her candle-lit chambers.
 
Bare feet whispering across the purple carpet, she stood before her altar; once decorated with the ritual blades and bone relics of Khaine worship, now almost empty as she accommodated her new faith. She took the one item in her hands, looking into the cold, dark liquid in the bronze chalice. It was an exquisite artefact and she felt the sorcery used in its enchantment tingling her fingertips. Along the sides of the goblet, female druchii were carved, each one naked, each one entwined in a pleasurable or painful embrace with a creature of another race.
 
Velina’s thumb touched her favourite piece, covering the image of a dark elf maiden on all fours, offering herself to the horned beastman that held her hips from behind. Without breaking her gaze from the cold blood in the chalice’s depths, she ran her thumb tip over the familiar image, feeling the dark elf maiden’s slender form and biting her lip at the sudden rush of anticipation building between her legs.
 
‘Show me my mother,’ she said softly. The old blood, leftover from the night before, rippled once but revealed nothing else. Velina swore. It twisted her lovely lips into a frown. She needed fresh blood; the urgency of the incessant drumming reminding her that she needed it now, now, now.
 
‘Xavaric?’ she called sweetly.
 
Her chamber door opened immediately, and one of her nine older brothers stepped in with a rustle of silver mail. Xavaric’s held was removed, revealing his sneering features and ice-blue eyes, though his expression softened as he saw his only sister, the youngest member of the family. He was the one appointed to guard her today. It was a duty he often enjoyed.
 
‘What is it, Velina? Is everything well? Don’t make me go to Mother with another delay.’ He rested his hands on his sword belt, shaking his head. ‘She killed a good slave last time. She is not in the mood to be trifled with tonight, sweet one.’
 
‘Blood, my brother.’ Velina purred her response, pouting as she displayed the chalice with its cold contents.
 
‘I will fetch a slave immediately, sister.’ He nodded curtly, offering her a polite bow. ‘And Velina, oh brightest jewel of the family?’
 
‘Yes?’
 
‘I wish you luck, Bride of Slaanesh.’ He left with a lingering backwards glance.
 
Velina licked her lips again, fighting down her secret thrill at the title, as well as her secret fears. It was tonight. No way around it. Tonight was the ritual, and by tomorrow morning – after nine hours of sweating, painful, pleasurable, aching, tiring, delicious carnality – she would be inducted as a ranking priestess within the Cult of Slaanesh. Her mother had fought hard for this honour. It would not do to let her down.
 
The drums pounded faster, in time with Velinda’s heart. She had never been touched the way she would be tonight. All her evenings with pleasure slaves… Yet she was still unclaimed by a man, still untouched in one very special way. That had been a vital part of her mother’s case to acquire this honour for her daughter. The Bride of Slaanesh had to be a virgin, and Velinda was just that, no matter how many times she had indulged her desire for brutish orc males, offering her snow-white peach of a backside to them and letting them enjoy her asshole before she inevitably slew them.
 
As soon as the slave entered, it knew it was dead. There were only two reasons Lady Velina summoned slaves. For their blood, to use in her black magic, and for pleasure. Both types of summons ended in death, and though the goblin prayed to its ridiculous, distant gods that it was being invited to spend its last hours mounting the ass of the beautiful young mistress of the household, it knew its odds were slim. Firstly, from the drums beating in the vast dungeons under the tower, it was obvious to the goblin that Lady Velina was soon to be taken downstairs for the ceremony. Secondly, the mistress favoured orcs. He was, last time he checked, not an orc.
 
As it turned out, the slave was right on all counts. Velina didn’t even greet the wretched creature. She just wiped her ritual kris dagger across its throat before the goblin had a chance to look afraid. Discoloured blood gushed onto the carpet (which Velina noticed with a pretty, princess-like scowl) and spurted onto her bare stomach (which turned her scowl into a smile at the pleasant warmth).
 
She let the blood flow in dark droplets down her body, and though she wasn’t nude, the black silk of her clinging blackless dress with its plunging neckline didn’t hide much. From her throat to her pelvis, the dress was open, revealing a deep slice of pale cleavage, her bare (and now bloodstained) flat stomach, and plunged low enough to reveal smooth skin where there should have been soft, downy panther-black fur. She had shaved for the ritual, of course.
 
The slave died, falling over and drenching her with a last few spurts of blood. Her think silk dress now showed twin nipple bumps as the blood on her chest cooled. They poked proudly, chunky as the very tip of her little fingers, into the delightfully soft material of her scandalous little robe. She did her best to ignore the sensation of her nipples hardening, and concentrated on the new blood in the chalice.
 
‘Show me my mother,’ she said again. And this time, it did.
 
An image resolved in the blood, murky from such a weak sacrifice but clear enough to see. Her mother stood in her own ritual robe similar to Velina’s, directing the course of the sacrifices on the altar, the cauldron of burning blood where the bodies were stewing, and the naked, sporting couples on the rune-etched tile floor all around.
 
Her mother sensed the scrying. She looked no older than her young daughter, of course. The yearly blood rites kept it so.
 
‘Velina, the hour draws nigh.’ Mother had a serpent’s voice. It always made her daughter shiver.
 
‘I am coming now.’
 
‘Good,’ her mother didn’t hide her displeasure at the delay. ‘The Dark Prince has chosen… Oh, he’s chosen such a husband for you tonight, my sweet.’
 
Velina’s pulse quickened again. ‘May I see, Mother?’
 
‘Just a taste, my dear. Just a glimpse.’
 
The image wavered, forming again into a scene of powerful, masculine horror. Towering above the druchii as they made love and killed each other on the floor was a daemon with black skin, at least eight feet tall. Its head was a horned ram’s visage, dark-eyed and sneering with amusement and anticipation. Its powerful torso was an image of iron-hard muscles, leading down to its black goat’s legs, each one thick and shaggy with dark fur. From between its legs hung a member the length of Velina’s forearm. It was soft, just hanging there.
 
Waiting for her.
 
‘Do you see him, my daughter?’
 
Velina couldn’t answer at first. Finally, her plum lips curled into a smile. ‘I am on my way.’
 
It was going to be quite a night.
 
Xavaric escorted her down through the tower and into the dungeons. Her beloved eldest brother was taking no chances – he kept his blade bared, gripped in his mailed fist. Household slaves openly fled before the pair. Household guards, stationed at each arched doorway, bowed their heads in honour of the bride and her guardian.
 
The great double doors leading into the ritual chamber were wide open. A thin pinkish mist coloured the air, scented of Lustrian blooms. Velina smiled at the rarity of the petals used in the incense tonight, smelling the exotic flora of the jungle depths mied with the coppery scent of blood. Venombloom powder and Heartbane resin. Her mother had truly spared no expense. The smell of the intoxicating poisons, weakened by druchii alchemy and mixed with powerful aphrodisiac stimulants, tickled her nose as she entered the chamber. Xavaric entered with her, blade in hand. If a rival from another bloodline was going to strike, there would be no more perfect moment than now. The insult to the Dark Prince would be…infinite.
 
‘I smell Bloodmist,’ the handsome warrior said, smiling slightly to his younger sister as she took in the scene. She nodded once, understanding. It was a narcotic used by lesser warriors to incite themselves into a frenzy before a battle. Seeing the violence of the couples writhing on the floor, and her mother’s cruel smile, it was easy to see why the elder sorceress had added that component to the ritual incense. It all added to the moment.
 
Velina stared for several moments, her senses awash in the scene of her coming desecration. Thirty elves lay together on the mosaic-encrusted floor, lost in the throes of passion, filling the chamber with cries of pain and pleasure. Blood ran freely down several bodies. Three corpses of slain ritualists lay naked against one wall, ready to be dragged into the great cauldron of boiling blood that was close to the centre of the orgiastic ceremony. Their passion (or the passion of others) had evidently been their end. Velina licked her dark lips, tasting the gold-flecked lipstick she had been ordered to use by her mother.
 
There he was. Or…there ‘it’ was. Her husband. It stood next to her mother, brutish arms crossed across its sweating, bare chest. As she entered, it turned its monstrous head towards her, watching silently. She felt her heart beat faster to fall under its gaze, and her legs shook for a moment. Xavaric, mindful of decorum, offered his free hand to steady her. She took it as if he were just guiding her into the room, and gave him a secret smile of thanks. He had always been her favourite, treating her like this.
 
But the writhing ritualists and her waiting husband were not the only others in the room. Other druchii stood in a ring around the edges of the circular chamber, some holding torches that burned a holy purple due to ritual powder added to the flames, others were nobles from other houses come to witness the wedding.
 
They had been waiting patiently for her, and while most took her entrance as the cue to disrobe and join in, finally giving in to their drug-heightened senses, several now converged on Velina.
 
Xavaric tensed, keeping them all at blade’s distance. ‘No closer. Greet the bride one at a time, if you please.’
 
Several of the nobles smirked at his overprotectiveness, but Velina’s blush betrayed her pleasure. Honoured by nobles… Requiring a bodyguard… And her brother was so diligent, playing the part perfectly. She could, under usual circumstances, destroy any of them on a whim, but she needed to save her powers. Already, she felt a guilty twinge for using her sorcery to contact her mother before.
 
The first noble approached. Thin-faced, gaunt even, dark eyes and a smirk he incorrectly assumed made him handsome to Velina.
 
‘Lord Cyriath,’ she inclined her head politely, her bright eyes never leaving his.
 
‘Velina…’ he began, coming to embrace her slender figure and muttering the traditional phrases of greeting. She felt her breasts crush gently against his robes, her nipples poking into the dark silk he wore. She knew he could feel that. ‘What an honour you do your family,’ he said. And then, in a whisper, his lips against her ear: ‘I’ve sacrificed fifty slaves to the Dark Prince tonight, hoping he would grant me the honour of being one of those who pleasure you before the final hour.’
 
She smiled at the incredible price he’d paid. Now this…this was true power.
 
‘I am flattered, my lord,’ she said, her voice a sensuous promise. ‘Do you believe you will be favoured?’
 
‘I have offered your mother another hundred slaves for your family’s iron mines, and the promise of my support in the next campaign of raids.’
 
Xavaric was growing agitated at the whispering, but Velina soothed him with a smile. She listened to Cyriath’s last words.
 
‘All of that, just to fuck you in the ass, young Velina.’
 
He stepped away. She met his eyes as he rejoined the crowd, and with a shy smile creeping across her lips, the sorceress nodded once, agreeing to his terms. He would have her tonight. She offered herself freely.
 
The next to greet her was Xanthya. Xavaric, may Slaanesh and Khaine both bless him, saw none of the danger here. Velina flicked a glance at her brother’s lustful gaze, travelling over Xanthya’s near-naked form. The Witch Elf stepped closer to the sorceress, the firelight glinting off both of their pale, exposed flesh.
 
So alike as to be twins, the cousins embraced with false warmth, Velina kissing Xanthya’s cheek as her cousin kissed hers.
 
‘I despise you, whore,’ Xanthya smiled sweetly as she whispered. ‘You are a filthy dog whose only pleasure comes from the fingers and tongues of greenskins.’
 
Velina purred into her cousin’s ear. ‘You want me. It pains everyone who sees it. So, so, so obvious, dear one.’
 
Xanthya kissed her cousin twice more, butterfly-soft, on her cheek, then her lips. ‘I’ll have you tonight, before your daemon rides you.’
 
‘If you beg, I might let you watch,’ the sorceress smiled back. They kissed again, tongue-tips touching for a moment, before Xanthya stepped away with a bitter scowl she tried valiantly to turn into a condescending smirk. Velina blew her a kiss, which Xanthya mimed catching and holding to her heart.
 
‘She is divine,’ breathed Xavaric.
 
Velina just chuckled softly.
 
One by one, she greeted the nobles and noblewomen. Many asked for her time and attention in the hours before the ritual’s completion, offering wealth and slaves to her family for the promise of her lips, her tongue, her asshole. None pleaded for her virginity. That belonged to her summoned consort, who watched the proceedings with inhuman patience, understanding nothing of the gathering except that it was owed a great deal of pleasure from the pale dark elf that had entered. He could smell her skin and the scent of her clean musk from between her legs. Its senses were attuned to such things. Its senses were attuned to her, in fact.
 
As Velina spoke with the nobles, it hungered for her, smelling her virginity with a daemonic sense. The sight of her pale body coupled with that sense forced a low growl in the beast’s throat. Velina’s mother swallowed and took a step away.
 
Finally, finally, it was done. The last of the nobles walked away. Xavaric sheathed his enchanted blade, dimming the glow as it slid into his scabbard. With trembling hands, he stood behind his sister and lightly swept her silk dress off her shoulders. It fell to the rune-marked floor, and Xavaric stepped away quickly, head bowed in respect.
 
Velina stood naked, her body painted with spiralling, twisting runic symbols that marked her as an offering to the Dark Prince.
 
Her figure was slim, yet utterly feminine, as if the elven-born bred females to inhuman standards of perfection that cried out in the desires of mortal men. Her limbs were slender, athletic, lightly muscular from weapons training and riding her pegasus Khurresh into battle. Her breasts were pale, pert mounds in the eerie purplish firelight, capped by large nipples with hard nubs poking out into the warm, narcotic-scented air. Her flat stomach showed hints of the muscle beneath, leading down to her slightly flared hips. Her sex, still undefiled, was as smooth as her lovely legs, her usual raven-dark silken pussy fur shaved in honour of her coming violation.
 
Every single soul in the chamber stared at her. Many of the nobles already engaged in their ritual sex simply stopped, watching the bride finally reveal herself. Velina offered a slight smile as she saw Xanthya and Lord Cyriath in each others’ arms on the floor by the altar, moving slowly yet both staring at her. He thrust in and out of the Witch Elf, paying no attention. She sweated under his efforts, but stared at her cousin as she stood naked, almost forgetting the lord who pounded into her with weaker and weaker strokes.
 
Most obvious of all was the daemon’s growl. It sent a minor tremor through the chamber, through the tower, through all of Karond Kar. The great beast watched its bride stand naked and revealed, and its member rose and swelled like a spear of meat.
 
Velina saw the monster’s reaction, the lance of dark flesh that was all for her. In eight hours, after she performed the exhausting matters of the ritual, it would he her duty to lay on the stone floor, witnessed by all who survived the night of bloodshed and pleasure, and let that creature claim her.
 
She met her mother’s envious eyes, and the older sorceress nodded. It was time to begin.
 
Velina met the eyes of Lord Corolus, who kneeled naked between the open legs of a bleeding priestess. He’d been one of the many who had begged to claim her. Velina watched as he pulled out of the other girl, ignoring her as soon as the bride glanced his way.
 
‘Lord Corolus,’ Verlina purred, sliding slowly to her knees. With deliberate poise and teasing slowness, she arched her back and presented her ass to him. The floor was cold, not just from the stone but because she was on her hands and knees in a pool of cooling blood. She had no idea whose blood. She didn’t care.
 
The lord stepped closer, looking down at her. ‘Yes, Lady Velina?’
 
She slowly moved her pale, tight ass from side to side, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘I believe you wanted something from me.’
 
The pause was long as her heart pounded hard. Then she smiled.
 
‘It’s yours. Take it.’
 
It tickled at first. Just the warm hardness of his swollen cock head, tickling her asshole. Velina almost smiled, but the expression died on her lips when she looked up, seeing the towering daemon across the room watching her every move through the haze of thin mist. And the mist… Khaine’s blood, it made her eyes nose tingle, made her heart beat faster and made the delightful ache between her legs become a painful physical need. Against her will, she blushed as a trickle of warm juice rand down her inner thigh. By the Prince…she’d never been so…so wet, so aching, so desperate to be touched.
 
The pressure started, and she let out a breathless ‘Oh!’ as Lord Corolus pushed into her. Velina bit her bottom lip, closing her eyes. The old bastard was going in dry. His fat cock head already stretched her asshole as he slowly pushed the first two inches into her. Velina’s hands tensed like claws on the blood-slick stone. She almost lost her balance on the slippery floor, jerked forward in a painful nudge as he gave her another inch. Khaine’s unholy fucking blood, he was hurting her…
 
‘L-lord,’ she looked over her shoulder, seeing his sweating face and rictus grin, feeling his bony hands gripping her ass cheeks and spreading them wide. ‘Lord, you may touch me…down there. Use my wetness on your fingers… It will make it easier to…’
 
He jerked his hips and violently sank another two inches into her. She let out an accidental cry, lost in the fevered moans of the chamber, and saw the old elven lord smirking.
 
‘Shut your mouth, Velina.’
 
She wanted to argue, wanted to fight him off, but she was too deep into the rite now. It had begun. To refuse pleasure or pain once joining the ritual was to insult to he Dark Prince. So instead, she clenched her teeth against the rising pain as he slid almost all the way in, and hissed at him.
 
‘You like that, old man?’ Her voice was acidic. ‘I can barely feel it.’
 
He licked his lips as their eyes met, and with a final thrust, his balls slapped against her shaven pussy and his pelvis smacked into her raised ass. She hated herself for crying out again.
 
‘Oh, I think you feel that, sorceress.’ He started to slide out now, setting his pace and enjoying her body, never once meeting her gaze again. She tried to challenge him, to enrage him, taunting him.
 
‘Faster, old man. Harder. This is your one chance to please me…’
 
Nothing drew his attention from fucking her ass and staring at her sweating back. Velina’s hand slipped on the floor again, and she lowered herself to her elbows, her arched back lifting her ass higher for him to abuse. It was starting to feel good now, the pure pain blooming with hints of pleasure. Velina let her body move in time with his thrusts, pushing her ass back against him each time he pounded into her.
 
Dizzy from the pain, the growing pleasure and the narcotic mist, she smiled to herself, also enjoying the cold blood turning her hands and forearms red. The sorceress licked the mosaic floor, tasting the cold blood with several flicks of her tongue.
 
Mmm. Human.
 
For a moment she had presence of mind to worry that her immaculately clean hair was swishing through the pool of blood on the floor, back and forth with each motion of the old lord behind her. She almost giggled. Such a foolish thing to be concerned about. She’d be much messier by dawn.
 
The thought drew her eyes back to her daemonic husband. It watched her, its member steel-hard and long as her brother’s sword now. She thought she saw the beast nod to her, but her view was blocked by another naked form.
 
‘Hello, love,’ murmured Xanthya. Kneeling by her cousin’s head, stroking Velina’s hair with gentle fingertips. Velina smiled up at her cousin, her chin and lips reddened by the blood she’d licked off the floor.
 
‘Hello, sister of…’ she winced, hissing as Corolus slammed into her with punishing force. Xanthya grinned, and Velina took a few moments to speak again. ‘Hello, sister of my heart.’
 
It was an awkward kiss. The sorceress, on her knees and elbows, was rocked back and forth by Corolus’ ungentle thrusts. Head raised, her cousin’s fingers tangled in her raven hair, Velina kissed Xanthya’s lips. Their breath mixed, hot and coppery, as the sorceress panted into her hated cousin’s face, so pale and flawless like her own. Velina hissed and winced again at a particularly powerful shove from behind.
 
‘That looks like it hurts, my love,’ the Witch Elf whispered with a smile, teasingly licking Velina’s plum-dark lips. Velina’s answer was a wordless snarl, almost feral, lost in the clash of pleasure and pain from the elderly lord driving into her tight asshole over and over and over. He was merciless, and she hated herself for loving it.
 
Xanthya wasn’t done teasing. She stroked her fingertips down her cousin’s naked, sweating back, down the slopes of her slender thighs, kissing Velina’s neck as she slipped her fingers between the sorceress’s open legs.
 
‘Mmm,’ she whispered into Velina’s neck, ‘I can feel that old bastard’s balls hitting my knuckles. Big. Swollen. He’ll fill you up with his seed, I’m sure. Until then, sweet sister of my heart…’
 
Velina trembled, shivering as her cousin’s deft fingertips slid between her pussy lips, teasing small circles around her juice-slick hole. She drew breath to curse her bitch of a cousin, even to speak a word of dark magic that would burn the whore’s worthless face clean off her skull…
 
…but her rage was lost in an instant. Xanthya’s fingers teased, circled, and slid in. Two fingers, up to the knuckles. Between the kisses on her throat, the hands on her hips, the fingers exploring her virgin hole and the thick cock pounding in and out of her ass, she couldn’t even think straight. They owned her, at least for the moment, and the young sorceress let them – she had no other choice.
 
‘Look how wet the Bride is,’ sneered Xanthya, licking her cousin’s cheek. ‘I may have to taste this.’ With deliberate slowness, she slid her two fingers from Velina’s cunt, holding them before her face. The sorceress felt a sudden stab of loss, missing her cousin’s touch, but she’d swear allegiance to the Phoenix Throne before she admitted that to Xanthya.
 
The Witch Elf examined her glistening fingers, smelling them with a smile. ‘My, my, what a lovely scent, dear cousin Velina.’ She theatrically licked the juice from her fingers, making soft ‘Mmm’ sounds, while her free hand slid down her own sweat-slick body, down her muscled stomach, her fingertips sliding through her patch of downy black fur to slide into her own pussy.
 
Once she was done with her licking performance, she withdrew the fingers from her lips. ‘It’s only fair that you taste me now, love,’ Xanthya said with a dark smile over her angelic features.
 
Hearing this, seeing it all, Lord Corolus intensified his strokes, powering in and out of her and doing his best to hold her still as she trembled and writhed from the flinching stabs of pain.
 
Xanthya slipped her fingers from between her legs. They too glistened with sticky wetness. The Witch Elf held the three warm fingers before Velina’s lips. With each thrust of the nobleman’s cock, she jerked forward, her lips bumping her cousin’s fingers, leaving a thin, sticky string between her mouth and Xanthya’s hand.
 
‘Lick it. Taste me,’ Xanthya said, now using her free hand to stroke Velina’s hanging, shaking breasts. Velina smiled, filling her eyes with every ounce of her loathing, unwilling to lose this little test of hatred. She opened her lovely lips, and took her cousin’s fingers into her mouth, sucking them the way she sucked the cocks of her rare human slaves.
 
‘Khaine’s blood, I hate you, Velina,’ her cousin hissed. The sorceress smiled slightly as she sucked, her drug-heightened senses relishing the tangy taste of Xanthya’s pussy on her tongue. She wanted more. She wanted to taste more so desperately, she almost begged. She would have, if Xanthya hadn’t been taken away at that moment.
 
The Witch Elf was dragged gently back, a few feet away, in another elf’s arms. Velina glanced over her shoulder, her ass so achingly numb now she could barely feel the wealthy old lord brutalising it. He grinned at her, finally making eye contact again, and she turned away from him, not willing to show him her angry blush.
 
Xanthya was back. She faced her cousin now, on her hands and knees, sharing the pool of blood with the sorceress. Behind her raised ass, the heir to another noble house was positioning himself to slide into her. Velina clenched her teeth, despising the near-mirror image of the scene, and powerless as both men lifted the females they were fucking, gentle nudging them closer to one another.
 
Xanthya’s smile said it all. She loved this. And against her sense and reason, Velina’s lips met her cousin’s. Their tongues met a moment later, sliding around each other in fierce competition to be the most aggressive, the dominant force of the kiss. Meanwhile, the two lords fucked the beautiful cousins, smiling to each other over the girls’ arched backs.
 
Chants sounded from the edges of the chamber. The torches flared in gauntleted hands. The rite had begun in earnest.
 
Time passed in a haze of pleasure and pain, of voices barely heard and a hundred lovers all blurring into one. Even when it ended, she was assaulted by a storm of memory, the freshness and vividness of what happened making the scenes swirl through her thoughts in a flood of images.
 
Velina was sore, sore to her bones. She ached in a way she’d never hurt before, the muscles of her backside and spine seemed on fire, and the dizziness in her mind wouldn’t end, wouldn’t slow down. Her back bled from fingernail scratches. Her eyes ached from crying, her throat was dry from her moans and screams. The pale skin of her ass was raw with red hand marks from slaps, and marks where at least three men had bitten her. Her left nipple oozed blood from where another girl (Xanthya? Was it Xanthya? That…that bitch…) had bitten hard enough to break the skin.
 
Her tongue was thick with the taste of the sweet-scented mist in the air. Breathless, sweating despite the altar of cold stone she lay upon, Velina raised a trembling hand to her burning forehead. As her fingertips brushed her cheek, she felt the sticky warmth left there by the last man to use her. The memory swirled unformed behind her eyes. Who had it been? Someone young, strong… Someone who had talked to her and stroked her hair as he painted her face with his love-gift…
 
Khaine’s blood, no. She remembered his face now, remembered his closed eyes and whispered words as she sucked, looking up at him from his lap. Her lips closed like a noose around his swollen cock head, and her tongue had swirled fast circles around the meat as she’d sucked gently, her head bobbing up and down, up and down…

The memory rose to the fore of her shattered thoughts. She remembered the first spurt in her mouth, the salty gooeyness hitting the back of her throat, and her instinctive swallow so she wouldn’t choke. More followed – lots more – thick strings of cum that spurted from his twitching rod between her lips. Mouth full, dizzy and dazed, Velina had lifted her head to have time to swallow and breathe. The rest had hit her face, and he’d stroked her hair with one hand, pointing his cock at her face with the other. The impacts were hot, generous loads and she’d smiled through her full mouth, meeting her brother’s eyes.
 
Khaine’s blood, not Xavaric. She… She didn’t feel the revulsion she’d expected. Rolling to her side on the stone altar, she peered through the thickening drug mist to find him in the crowd of souls that ringed her. It took a while for her chaotic senses to pick him out, but there he was. He offered her a slight nod and a smile. Another memory came back to her as she saw his bloody, naked torso. He’d killed someone. He had slain someone for her.
 
The knight… What was his name? Tellios…that was it. Lord Tellios. So handsome, so strong, still reeking of the exotic, lovely poisons secreted by his bestial mount. Velina remembered him from a ball held in the Tower of Despair itself, thrown to celebrate…whose birthday? A wedding? The truth escaped her addled mind. But she remembered him, and remembered seeing him standing tall and proud in his plate armour. He was a Cold One Knight, honoured by the lords of the city. But the narcotics had taken a hold of him. He had almost defiled her, almost ruining her for the great rite.
 
They struggled as she lay under him. He was choking her, his warrior’s hands wrapped around her throat. His iron-hard shaft had withdrawn from her aching asshole and now banged between her legs, missing its soft, wet target in his mindless haste. She tried in vain to call for help, but no breath would come. She couldn’t even see past his leering, wrathful face. She wasn’t even worrying about the rite now; she was panicked and in fear for her life. Under him, with the powerful knight laying atop her between her open legs, the most resistance she could offer was to let her numb legs slide from around his hips.
 
He entered her. His manic thrusting had finally hit home, snagging her tight hole at a bad angle, and she screamed breathlessly as he parted her pussy lips with the thrust, the tip of his shaft sinking into her and twitching as she tightened around him.
 
Just an inch, she knew. Was that enough? She couldn’t care; she couldn’t even breathe. Blackness crept in at the edges of her already strained senses. And suddenly it was over, as quickly as it had started. The handsome, noble knight fell limp on her, crushing her with his weight until a mailed fist tangled in the corpse’s hair and wrenched the body away.
 
Xavaric had stood over her, his sword glistening red from his precise thrust sideways through the knight’s neck. It took Velina two dozen beats of her racing heart to realise her throat and breasts were drenched in the dead man’s blood.
 
She also remembered Xanthya’s laughter, broken and exhausted but no less full of amusement for all the Witch Elf’s own weariness. She was riding a lord Velina hadn’t recognised, and the cousins’ eyes had met again. Bitterness beamed between their gazes, before Xavaric had knelt down to see if she was alright. And that was when she’d… Oh, Murder God, she’d…
 
The growl brought her back to the present, to the world of violet mist and aching flesh. A shadow resolved out of the sweet fog: horned, powerful, and inhuman. With a shivering breath, Velina closed her eyes, tilted her head back and arched her spine, thrusting her pert breasts upward.
 
It was time.
 
The daemon was still wreathed in mist, but she heard it draw breath – three great animal snuffling sounds. It was trying to sense something, she knew. Or was it just savouring the mist?
 
Her mother’s voice slipped into her mind with a pulse of telepathic sorcery. ‘Open your legs, sweet one. It wishes to smell your purity.’
 
With a dancer’s grace, her long legs glided open, her sweating skin whispering on the stone altar as Velina revealed herself to her new master. It took a step forward, coils of pinkish fog trailing from its mighty body, and it made a sound Velina would remember to her dying day. A wet thunderous growl, coming over and again in short bursts. As it took a deep breath, it growled like this several times.
 
It was… It was laughing.
 
The world grew dark as the daemon towered over her. She could smell it now: it reeked of blood and pain, the maddening scent of burning cities with the tingling aura of untold secrets. It was like nothing she could describe, and she felt her tortured body responding again, nipples hardening under the strange sensation, and the tingle between her legs returning as she exposed herself.
 
‘Be ready,’ her mother’s voice said in a blur of importance.
 
She heard her brother speak her name, then many other voices suddenly raised in chanting. Her lover, her husband, ascended the altar to kneel between her legs. Its goatish eyes burned violent red, and those scarlet orbs were all she could see in the imposing silhouette that darkened everything else. She had a momentary bolt of fear and confusion. It was huge. It would kill her… It would surely kill her.
 
Without meaning to, she closed her legs. Or at least, she tried to. Before her knees could touch, the beast’s great paw batted them open again with bruising force.
 
‘Speak the words!’ her mother psychically sent. ‘Now!’
 
‘I offer myself to the Dark Prince, as his consort this night. Does he accept the gift of my house and bloodline?’
 
Velina looked up at the hellish creature, resting her hands on her knees and opening her legs as wide as she could. The creature breathed once, the burning air reeking of ashes and the sweat of mortals.
 
She had her answer a moment later.



== '''Part 2''' ==


Velina screamed.
 
It was a sound often heard in the cities of Naggaroth, yet this one was different, and utterly rarer. Not only because it emerged from a druchii mouth, but because the laughter of dark elves didn’t follow in its wake.
 
Nothing did, except for another scream torn from the lips of the beautiful sorceress.
 
She screamed her throat raw, tasting blood on her tongue, hearing the endless, hostile chorus of the ritualists and witnesses chanting like sinister percussion to her howls. Her entire world contracted to the sensation of searing, tearing agony between her legs and pushing up into her stomach.
 
Instinct took over, forcing her body into fight or flight. She could do neither. Crushed under the beast’s weight, there was no way to move. She realised with sick, dizzying dread that she was impaled in place – literally impaled – on its pulsing, thickly-veined shaft.
 
It hadn’t hurt for the first few moments. Her heart had beat faster at the touch of the weighty lance of flesh. She had almost purred at the rich, meaty smell rising from the sword-long member resting against the tender pink skin of her pussy. She’d felt herself getting wetter at that smell, like it was the scent of lust itself, sending little pleasure shocks through her loins.
 
The beast had lowered onto her, darkening her senses in a cover of oiled muscles, stinging sweat and shaggy fur that smelled of blood. She had time to clutch at the brute’s shoulders, holding onto his slick flesh for what precious little support it provided.
 
Then the daemon had entered her. The single thrust had not been deep – at least not relatively. More than half of the beast’s shaft still lay outside the screaming druchii female. Velina had no idea of the size beyond something vast and invasive forcing her body open to accept it. With no idea how to react, with no capacity to deal with the pain, she’d felt herself accidentally tightening her stomach muscles in a futile attempt to block the beast’s thrust. The daemon brayed at that, roaring its lust at the delicious wet friction and sinking in deeper despite her tightness and pathetic resistance.
 
Through the terror and confusion, her mother’s psychic voice: ‘It is pleased! You please it, my daughter!’
 
Velina screamed again as a shaft the width of her brother’s muscular forearm slid punishingly deeper into her. She cried out, babbling nonsense, weeping about being split in half. All she heard in reply was laughter, the cruel laughter of her people, and the beast’s grunts becoming fiercer. It was enjoying her. She felt it hardening within her loins and stomach, the rough skin of its shaft with its rope-like veins sending her wild with panic and pain as it began to withdraw for the first time.
 
The sharp agony of desecration receded to be replaced by a throbbing ache of aftermath and loss that was almost as bad. Velina trembled, feeling herself on the edge of losing control of her thoughts, her body, of everything. For the first time since the daemon had defiled her, she opened her eyes. A thick string of discoloured drool fell from its snarling lips to land on her breast, coating the nipple in slime. The great beast raised itself off her, the fist-sized head of its mammoth member sliding out of her tight hole with a sucking pop sound. This, too, made her cry out.
 
For several beats of her frenzied heart, Velina thought it was over. In the chaos of her thoughts, she’d forgotten what came next. The reminder came when the beast stood by the altar, its blade-long shaft twitching in time to its daemonic bloodflow, shining with her juices and… The sorceress took in shivering breaths as she looked at her virginal blood marking the beast’s cock.
 
Slowly, her pale fingers reached out to touch the pulsing spear of veined meat. She stroked it, hating and relishing its steel hardness, flushed with pleasure that it was her body that caused this reaction in so mighty a creature, but almost broken by the agony it inflicted upon her. And now, more ritual. She prayed silently to recall the exact words as they slurred from her. Pain and the drug-rich mist stole her senses, and she had to fight to speak clearly. Her eyes met the red orbs of the daemon.
 
‘I…offer you this blood, as proof of my purity.’
 
She inched closer, her dark lips planting the softest of kisses on the burning meat of its shaft. She felt her mouth grow hot as she tasted her own blood and juices. The rite called for a kiss – just a single kiss, to symbolically bless the beast’s claiming of her virginity. Velina, wet with sweat and blinking back tears in the purple mist, was all too aware of the eyes resting upon her. Not just her family’s, but the daemon’s as well. She…she wanted to please it. And while she wanted to impress her bloodline and glory in her position in front of the other nobles, she was secretly shocked at how she also ached to please this hellish creature, to win its true favour and please it as it desired.
 
So she licked. She swept her tongue along its hot flesh, taking long, hard licks without once breaking eye contact with the beast. At first she tasted herself – her juices and her blood. But the beast’s musky scent was overpoweringly addictive this close, and while there was no hope she could fit the meaty pole in her mouth, she sprinkled delicate kisses all over the bloody head, cleaning it with her lips. And after she was done, she licked it from thick base to swollen tip, pausing to suck softly on the sides.
 
The daemon shuddered at her efforts, letting out an animalistic grunt. Velina gasped as a shot of thin, blackish liquid trickled from the slit in its cock head. This she intercepted with more quick licks, tasting the creature’s precum and feeling flooded with joy at causing such a reaction. She smiled as she licked: this, too, was power.
 
Velina couldn’t resist. Naked, bathed in sweat and blood, licking the pulsing rod of a daemon summoned only for her, she looked past the hulking body and met her cousin’s eyes. Her smile was richly sincere as she took one long winding lick up to the beast’s fistlike cock head, and winked at Xanthya with her mouth still open, still tasking the hot meat. The Witch Elf ground her teeth together at her cousin’s wink, cursing in silence.
 
Velina looked back up into her master’s eyes, ignoring all else but her need to please it.
 
Her mother’s psychic reprimand broke through her mounting passion.
 
‘Velina, stop that! It must release itself within you, you stupid whore!’
 
The daemon’s purpose seemed to have dimmed, as it stood there, grunting softly and shivering under the tiny elf girl’s attentions.
 
‘But mother… The taste, mother. Just a minute more. It’s like nothing I-’
 
‘Now, you little slut! If you ruin this, I’ll feed your eyes to the house slaves!’
 
Velina broke her licks and kisses with a reluctant pout. The daemon shook its horned head, like a snorting bull, and growled deeply from the pit of its belly. The sorceress stood on the stone altar, raising herself achingly to her feet and trying hard not to limp. With her bare feet on the stone, she was almost as tall as her daemon lover.
 
‘Sit, great lord, emissary of the Dark Prince. Let your wife please you. And if she pleases you, then bless her with your seed.’
 
With ponderous slowness, the daemon sat on the altar, its shaft still pointing straight up like a thick spear. This was it, Velina knew. This was the moment where everything mattered. She stood above the sitting beast, her feet either side of its thighs. Slowly, with infinite care, she lowered herself down.
 
The juicy sound of her pussy lips parting for his shaft made her blush, but with her hands on his heaving shoulders, she lowered her ass inch by inch, willingly impaling herself and taking in as much as she could handle.
 
Her mother’s psychic plea was urgent. ‘More, my sweet. Please, that is barely a hand’s size inside you.’
 
Velina looked into the beast’s eyes, half-standing, straddling his spearlike member, and sliding down its leathery shaft until she felt it bumping deep within her stomach. It hurt, it hurt like no pain had ever hurt before, but she was in control now, and Velina delighted in pain when she was the one in control of it.
 
‘Good… good girl,’ her mother whispered. Velina cut the telepathic link with a moment’s willpower. Irritating crone, always interrupting.
 
It was awkward positioning, but Velina moved her hips sinuously, tightening herself around the huge cock impaling her. She gracefully slid up and down with gentle intensity as her hips swung from side to side. All the while, she met her husband’s eyes. It grunted, its breaths coming faster and faster as she moved her dancelike moves, her every action focused on milking his massive spear into her belly.
 
With a forceful growl, it reached behind her and jammed a thick middle finger up into her asshole. She bit her lip and smiled at the delicious pain, kissing the monster on its goatish nose.
 
‘I love that,’ she whispered. ‘Master.’
 
And still she moved.
 
The daemon released without the warnings a mortal would give. The first sign Velina knew her efforts were working was a primeval roar from the beast’s throat, aimed up at the chamber ceiling. She was so scared that she froze the movements of her circling hips, and that’s when she felt the first of the burning hot seed splash into her.
 
The first spurt hit her like a punch, forcing her to expel a pained breath, as boiling hot ooze shot into her body. She took the second blast, feeling its lumpy thickness like a full stomach after a meal. The third hit her insides with such force, she feared she’d throw up. Her pussy was locked tight around the member that stretched it so forcefully, so nothing ran out until she – in a panic – lifted herself up. As she stood, a gush of daemonic black seed hissed down her legs, coating them in thick, dark slime.
 
There were cries of joy and blessing said in her name, but she heard none of them. She was focused on the erupting lance beneath her. The fourth shot powered out like a bolt of liquid lightning, smacking into her chest and breasts with slapping force. She cried out in girlish giggles at the sight, forgetting all her pain as the beast gripped its member and aimed it at her naked body. The fifth, sixth and seventh spurts smacked into her, literally drenching her skin from thighs to shoulders with dark ooze. She ran a fingertip over her perky nipple, gathering a drip of the slime, and sucked I from her finger. It tasted of lust and power and heat and sugar and…
 
Velina turned her head slowly, looking over her shoulder at the gathered crowd. In the silence that followed, she smiled gently.
 
‘Everyone leave. I wish to be alone with my husband.’
 
The rite completed, her wish was obeyed. She cleared her throat, still shy about this matter despite what had transpired. ‘Not…you, Xavaric.’
 
Her brother froze, and their eyes met. ‘Sister?’
 
She licked another finger clean of dark sperm, looking between her daemonic lover and her bloodstained brother. ‘You stay, Xavaric. Watch me.’ She bit her lip. ‘Watch over me, I mean. Stand guard.’
 
He nodded, hiding his smile. The room fell dark as the chamber doors closed, signalling an end to the ritual.



== '''Part 3''' ==


Velina ran her fingertips through her raven-dark hair, watching as the warriors rounded up the prisoners. The men of the Empire were beaten and bloody, but not entirely stripped of their spirit. Several still railed curses and oaths at their captors. Evidently the reality of their situation had not sunk in yet. Bitter words would never spare them a life of slavery and pain in the towers of Karond Kar. Nothing would, short of a miracle from their wretched god, Sigmar.
 
But it amused the sorceress to watch them use up their impotent wrath. She enjoyed to see them break, loved to watch their spirits finally fading as the truth sank in, cold and unchanging.
 
As they filed past Velina in chains, flanked by corsairs in the black and crimson colours of House Venomspire, many of the new slaves turned to look at her. Velina’s dark-eyed gaze met each of theirs as she silently made her judgements. There, one with a strong back who might be useful for the iron mines. There, one who was likely too old for anything more useful than meat for the Cold One stables. And there, one with an admirable upper body he was almost certainly bound for work on the docks as a cargo slave. Velina’s family, like most of the noble bloodlines in Karond Kar, had an extensive fleet. Decent dock slaves were worth a great deal.
 
She had dismounted from Khurresh, her black pegasus, and the beast stood at her left shoulder, snorting with ill temper at the humans. Only an hour before, she had ridden the equine monster into battle against these wretches, falling from the sky like a thunderclap to kill the humans with flashing hooves, while she had unleashed an ash-tasting display of unholy magic.
 
Khurresh was a primal creature, feeling little more than fury in the presence of those it had been slaying a short time before. Velina chuckled at its restlessness and stroked the thick, greyish horn jutting from her steed’s forehead. She whispered soothing words in the vile tongue of her people, before turning back to the file of prisoners shambling past her.
 
And oh, how they hated her. Those who locked gaze with her stared with anger of their own, helpless as it was. But she was not blind. She saw what else whipped through their thoughts as they glared her way. It was clear to the sorceress even without reading their minds: they desired her. Even defeated, injured, exhausted and facing a life of tormented slavery… They wanted her.
 
The thought made her pulse quicken. By human standards, the black silk robe she wore was scandalous, with a plunging neckline displaying milk-white cleavage, thin enough to easily reveal the twin bumps of her fingertip-hard nipples under the soft material. While the robe reached her ankles, it featured long slits up both sides all the way to her hips, displaying her long, slender legs to delicious effect.
 
She revelled in their harmless spite, relishing their shameful lusts as well. Silly creatures, really.
 
One, however, showed a pleasing amount of backbone. As he passed, trudging in his shackles, he sneered in her direction and swore at her in his nasal bray of a language. Khurresh stamped an iron-shod hoof. Velina smiled to the angry slave and calmed her steed with a touch of her hand down his nose. She spoke little of the human tongues, but enough to know the slave had named her a whore and accused her of mating with her pegasus.
 
She gave him a girlish smile and a dignified curtsey. He had, after all, guessed well.
 
Without warning, he spat at her. With inhuman speed and grace, she caught the gobbet of bloody saliva on her tongue, swallowing it immediately with a purr. The human roared at her, and was cuffed to his knees by a corsair’s sword pommel. Velina smiled at the warrior’s fervour, and as the parade of slaves moved on, she blew a kiss to the human that had tried to offend her. He clenched his teeth and swore he would kill her one day. That also made her smile. She liked the passionate ones.
 
‘You are teasing the livestock, sister,’ said her brother Varien, as he stepped next to her. Varien was the youngest of the males in the family, though still older than her by several years. She did not speak with him much (for he was almost always away from Karond Kar, making war on the hated kin-scum of Ulthuan) but she appreciated the gifts he gave her each time he returned from one of his campaigns.
 
The last time he returned from the shores of their ancient homeland, he had offered her a necklace of ruby and silver that had graced the throat of a handmaiden of the Everqueen herself. Its value was beyond measure, and she had been at a loss how to thank him. As always, with his confident grace, he had merely smiled his proud smile and said no thanks were necessary. He loved to spoil her, he said. No more, no less.
 
She wore the necklace now. Her fingers toyed with a dangling ruby teardrop, one of three that hung between her breasts on an ornate web of silver chains. Despite the relic’s worth (a dozen noblewomen had offered enough coin to keep the bloodline’s fleet at sail for a decade) it amused Velina to wear the priceless trinket on the battlefield. She liked risk. It thrilled her.
 
‘The livestock…’ she smiled as she looked up at him. ‘Brother, why are you here? Is not this tedious raiding below you?’
 
His lips twisted into a bitter smile. ‘We both know it is. But many of my force are fresh blood. We are here to train them against easy prey before they face the trials of Ulthuan.’
 
Velian smiled and stroked her stoic brother’s cheek. ‘Your knights keep staring at me,’ she pointed out demurely.
 
‘And you love it, so don’t pretend to complain.’ He chuckled, moving her hand away with his gauntlet. ‘Sister, do not take one as a lover while we are away from Karond Kar. I want my men to focus on the battles to come, not on the promise that lies between your legs.’
 
She bit her bottom lip, half-shy, half-trying not to laugh.
 
‘I am serious, Velina,’ Varien warned. She nodded, still fighting the shy smile. ‘Take that slave as a lover. The untamed one.’
 
‘As you wish, brother.’
 
Perhaps she would. The thought had crossed her mind. As she mused over a way to go about it (would she let him mount her in front of the other slaves? The idea teased her imagination…) her brother asked something she had been expecting him to ask for over a month.
 
‘Your wedding night, Velina. I am sorry I missed it. But tell me something now: is it true that you and Xavaric…’ he trailed off.
 
She didn’t mean to smile. She couldn’t help it. Memories of the night and the morning after flashed through her mind, forcing the smile to her lips. With dawn, the ritual was over, the offering complete, and her husband had faded back to the hell realm from which he’d been summoned. Yet Velina and Xavaric had stayed within the chamber together until the early afternoon.
 
‘Is it true that Xavaric and I…?’ she asked teasingly.
 
Varien was not one to be teased. ‘Has he ridden you?’
 
Velina could never lie to him. Her plum-dark lips shaped into a lovely smile, she nodded. ‘He has.’ She felt her heart hammering as she looked up into Varien’s eyes and confessed. ‘He has… And…with great vigour.’
 
Varien said nothing. Velina asked softly, ‘Jealous, brother?’
 
Varien snorted and turned away, striding back to his gathered knights as they sat astride their Cold Ones. Velina’s smile was all for herself.
 
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Jealous.’
 
Velina was many things: a promising sorceress; an honoured priestess in the Cult of Pleasure; a skilled staff-fighter and (usually) a dutiful daughter. As the only daughter of the bloodline, she was a treasure to the house and family, adored by her nine older brothers and seen as a potent political asset by her parents. Her role in the ritual the previous month as the Bride of Slaanesh had bolstered her bloodline’s fortunes and status immeasurably.
 
She was, however, extremely wilful. With the knowledge she would be forgiven for an army of sins, Velina was used to getting her way first and arranging her false apologies later – if they were even necessary.
 
So when her brother warned her not to take one of his knights as a lover, it took her less than six hours to ignore his wishes completely. She lay in her small chamber aboard her brother’s ship, the grand reaver vessel Wrath of the Forsaken. And as she lay on her bed, watching the moon rise through her open window, she made the decision to ignore her elder brother’s commands. His reasons made no sense, anyway. She told herself that again and again as she left her room, barefoot and robed in a near-transparent violet silk nightgown.
 
The five-strong regiment was called, in typical melodrama for her brother Varien, the Spiteful Vigil. The Spiteful Vigil took its name from their ceaseless raids on the coast of Ulthuan, where Varien was forever engaged in doing what harm he could to his people’s former kin.
 
It was a war Velina herself was keen to join. She’d never seen a High Elf die, never tasted their blood on her lips while one thrashed under her dagger in its throat. It was one of her favourite fantasies. She’d been daydreaming about it an hour before. Her fingers were still scented of the musk between her legs as she’d stroked herself while imagining it.
 
And tonight’s amusement would win a few more voices to her favour. The next time Varien set sail for a real war, there would be more cries of support for his sorceress sister to stand with them on the shores of Ulthuan. She smiled at the thought, and made her way down to the cargo hold, ignoring the common sailors that stared after her, paying no attention to how they leered at her slim, ghost-pale figure in the gauzy nightdress.
 
The cargo hold was dark, lit only by the moonlight falling in through the closed ceiling grates. Her silent footfalls took her through the slave pens, where she paused only long enough to greet the slavemaster politely. It was Halath, one of her brother’s knights. Still in his battle armour, she noticed.
 
‘Bored, Lady Velina?’ the slavemaster asked, inclining his head at the male slaves chained to the wall. His voice betrayed his good breeding, and that was to be expected, for watching over a raid’s slaves was not a job to be left to a peon.
 
She didn’t answer at once. Her glinting eyes swept slowly across the row of tormented men, until she saw the one that had spat at her. He scowled, no doubt believing his expression made him look fierce. Chained to a wall and clad in bloody rags, he looked nothing more than ridiculous to the sorceress.
 
‘Yes, Halath. Extremely bored. But I am only down here to tend to my steed.’
 
Halath was noble-born himself, and inducted into the Cult of Pleasure three years before. He had been at Velina’s wedding night, and still thought often of her performance. But his father had pressed him into guard duty that night, and he’d witnessed the entire ritual without getting to touch her once.
 
‘As you wish, Lady.’ He took a risk then, knowing it might offend her but certain it would be worth the danger. ‘If…you need me, just call.’
 
Velina worked her dark lips into her sweetest pout, looking up at him with her fingertips on his breastplate as she stood on her tiptoes.
 
‘What are you insinuating, dear Halath? Hmm?’
 
Halath swallowed. ‘Nothing, Lady Velina. Nothing at all.’
 
‘You are thinking powerful thoughts,’ she whispered into his lips. ‘I sense them. What would they be? Don’t make me come in there and steal them from you. Speak them and appease my curiosity, hmm?’
 
He knew she was perfectly capable of it. And he knew she would do it on a whim if she cared to.
 
‘I was simply recalling you wedding night last month,’ he said, proud of how he kept the tremble from his voice. ‘You did your bloodline much honour.’
 
She kissed him. Not as a lover, but as a friend might kiss another friend, on the cheek, the barest brush of her lips. ‘Keep dreaming of me, dear Halath. Tonight, though? Come to the stables in…say, ten minutes?’ She stroked the tip of his nose, lowering herself off her tiptoes. ‘I will need your help.’
 
He cast a glance at her pert backside as she walked on. The nightdress really hid nothing. It was like staring at a white peach in tight violet silk. Velina smiled to herself as she moved through the lower deck of the ship. Her trap was baited. Halath’s passions were up. Turning another corner, she reached the part of the hold which had been converted into the stables.
 
It stank. The smell was thick and pervasive; bestial, reptilian, with the tangy scent of the poisons leaking from the Cold Ones’ scaled skin. A row of stalls held the slumbering Cold Ones, their great bodies motionless except for slow, heavy breathing. Velina passed them (but not before checking to see each huge beast was chained to its own steel post) and moved down to the horses.
 
The dark steeds snuffled and whickered at her approach, as if in greeting. She cast a glance over her shoulder, then stepped into the largest of the horse stalls, her bare feet crunching on the straw. Khurresh, her beloved pegasus, snorted to see her. Its red eyes focused on its mistress and it shook its batlike wings, clearly hoping to be led from this constricting place.
 
‘I know, baby,’ she soothed her mount, running her fingertips down his horn and along his nose. ‘I know, I know. You’ll fly tomorrow, I promise.’
 
The beast was ill-tempered, stamping its hooves and tossing its head gently. Velina tongued her front teeth, almost abandoning her intentions. A glance under Khurresh’s stomach dissuaded her from changing her mind, though.
 
‘Hush, Khurresh,’ she kissed his nose, her heart pounding behind her ribs. ‘Shhh, now. Let me say sorry for keeping you trapped here.’
 
Velina moved into the stall, her tongue making a slow circuit of her lips to moisten them. Khurresh was just a beast, but it was trained enough to know what was coming. It was not the first time its mistress had done this.
 
The sorceress sank to her knees in the straw, shedding her mist-thin robe and kneeling naked beneath her pegasus. The cold air coupled with her own wickedness hardened her chunky nipples, and she breathed deeply at the rising, pulsing tingle between her legs. With trembling hands, she reached to take the heavy weight of Khurresh’s arm-length member.
 
Her head came up.
 
Her mouth opened.
 
And Velina sucked
 
She was, in all ways, a selfish creature. It was not within her to please others with no hope of pleasure herself.
 
The times on evenings past when she’d done this, when she’d hefted the considerable weight in her hands and let her lips and tongue do their wicked work, she had been enticing Khurresh on for her own gain, not for the pegasus’ satisfaction. Once its shaft was tough enough and the beast was stamping and snorting with the frustrated need to release, Velina would always slow down, lapping at the dark meat of its cock like she was tasting some delicious fruit with a hundred gentle licks. It drove her steed into a skittish temper, and that was exactly how she needed him. Once Khurresh’s primitive mind was afire with its base passions, Velina would get what she wanted.
 
She always needed help, of course. Household guards would lift her, hold her in position. Some nights, if she was feeling generous or lost in sensation, she would let them touch her as they held her, and kiss them while Khurresh grunted violently, its powerful thrusts making her eyes water and ensuring she’d be walking with a limp for several days.
 
Even supported by her loyal family guards, Velina could never take all of Khurresh’s shaft inside her. She was slender and young, and a metre of arm-thick horseflesh would be her end as surely as an arrow in the heart on the battlefield. She was, however, trying harder each time. She was up to a foot last time she tried: twelve inches of stinking, pounding meat that threatened to split her in two and flooded her insides with great gushes of salty beast-seed.
 
Her parents would be so proud.
 
Tonight was different, though. As she knelt beneath her mount, each kiss bringing it closer to its bestial frustrations, her tongue tracing Slaaneshi runic patterns on its hot, dark flesh, she was merely biding her time. Velina had known her brother’s companions for many years. She’d heard tell of their tastes from bribed servants, from other lovers among the Cult of Pleasure, even from household slaves she’d forced into speaking after the Spiteful Vigil had stayed within the family tower.
 
It had been one of her own household guards that confessed Knight-Lord Halath often asked about the evenings Velina spent pleasuring her pegasus. She planned to make that little slice of research pay off tonight. Ten minutes, Velina had told him. Ten minutes before Halath was due to come into the stables to aid her.
 
Velina heard his footsteps enter the stable, hearing the clink of his spurs. It had been no more than five minutes, surely. The knight was keen.
 
The sorceress hummed a druchii lullaby as she sucked, a wordless version of a song sang by mothers to pray their children were not taken on Death Knight by the Brides of Khaine. She hummed, she sucked, she licked, utterly uncaring of how the vibrations from her lips and tongue sent thrills through her mount’s muscled form. Velina’s mind was elsewhere.
 
‘Busy, Lady?’ Halath’s voice came from behind her. She kept her eyes closed, turning her head slightly so he could see her mouth open wide, lips pressing down on the animal’s flesh. Her answer was a gentle, distracted ‘Mmhmm’ as she sucked.
 
He made no effort to leave. Velina continued for a several more seconds, theatrically sucking now, making soft, wet noises. Finally she stopped, planting one last kiss on the beast’s shaft tip, and looking over her bare shoulder at the knight. Halath stood at the entrance to the stall, arms crossed over his breastplate.
 
‘Can I help you, sir knight?’ she asked, sweet as sugar, her tone as false as it was adorable. The straw she was kneeling on was making her legs and ass itch now. She’d be glad to leave here.
 
‘You were the one to summon me. I came as requested.’
 
Velina licked her lips thoughtfully, taking away the last of Khurresh’s taste. ‘That’s right, I did. How forgetful of me.’
 
With slow grace, she rose to her feet, still wearing only the moonlight that beamed in through the portholes. She padded across the straw, her hips swinging, loving how the knight’s eyes immediately dropped to her naked figure. Men. So weak.
 
She knew she was beautiful. She’d always known, from her childhood when older men would make the most inappropriate suggestions to the pretty young girl.
 
But she would have been surprised to know just how radiant she appeared to Halath. His gaze ran up her slender legs, his warrior’s eye taking in her muscle tone, seeing she was a keen rider despite her leisurely lifestyle. Her hips were slightly flared but still slim, and it took great effort to force his attention away from her mound, topped as it was by a neat V of silky black fur, shaved and trimmed with loving precision. He smirked as he wondered if the V shape was merely to accentuate her form and point between her legs, or if it was in honour of her own name. Knowing Velina, likely both.
 
Her breasts were large for her kind but not out of proportion with her slender form. They bounced softly as she walked, the barest movement, her wine-red nipples poking out proudly. She rested a hand on her hip as she stood before him, unashamed at her own nakedness. Loving it, in fact.
 
‘Did you know,’ she asked casually, ‘that my beloved brother warned me I was not to seek any of the Spiteful Vigil as a lover?’
 
Halath nodded. ‘We were similarly warned.’
 
‘I know Varien. I imagine your warning was less polite than mine. He is awfully…possessive, sometimes.’
 
Halath nodded again. ‘Yes, he did drive the point home with some colourful expressions.’ The knight smiled, not rising to her bait. Varien had actually said “If any one of you lays a finger on my sister’s skin, I’ll feed you your own eyes and piss in the empty sockets.” But Halath kept a diplomatic silence on that. Velina was already a spoiled bitch. He didn’t want to fuel her irritating vanity, he just wanted to enjoy the Venomspire’s delicious daughter and have a story to tell others afterwards. Already, he was dwelling on thoughts of the performance she’d so obviously arranged for him. Little Velina, sucking on the dirty cock of a great beast of war. He shivered involuntarily. She was perfection.
 
‘And do you intend to obey my brother, Halath?’ she looked up into his eyes as she spoke. He found his throat tightening. She was beyond pretty or attractive; this close, her beauty was devastating.
 
‘The young sorceress of my commander’s bloodline makes it difficult to resist.’
 
‘You are lucky I am feeling merciful. I can make it so much more difficult.’
 
Halath performed a mocking courtly bow. As he rose, her fingertip pressed to his lips.
 
‘Halath of the Spiteful Vigil, if you want what you see before you, come to my chamber at the chime of midnight. Now nod if you understand.’
 
The knight nodded Velina’s fingertip stayed where it was, and Halath smelled a heady mix of horseflesh utterly overpowered by her own feminine scent. She’d been stroking herself… The realisation made him breathe deeply, inhaling her, and that made her smile in turn.
 
‘Do not worry, my brave knight. My brother will not hear of this.’ With those words she turned to leave, picking up her nightdress as slipping it down over her body as if it offered any protection from watching eyes. She spoke as she walked away, glancing over her shoulder.
 
‘Come to me at midnight, and be sure to bring your whip. You will…have a mount provided for you.’
 
Velina smiled to herself as she made her way back up to the top deck. There, she would seek out Jeddis, the second of her brother’s knights, the one charged with the honour of bearing the regiment’s banner. He would be on watch at the ship’s prow.
 
One down, she said softly, thinking of Halath and his midnight arrival.
 
One down, three to go.


[[Category:NSFW]]   [[Category:Stories]]  [[Category:Warhammer Fantasy]] [[Category:Chaos]]