How boring it is, to have all of your desires handed to you.
This opulent chamber was stolen from the King of Ruin, and Van Baelsar had scarcely used it at all except to spend ‘quality time’ with his tribunus and adoptive daughter. And so this room, from its polished marble walls to its canopied bed, had been given to Zenos along with his title as Viceroy of Ala Mhigo.
Given to him along with everything else in his life. His birthright, his status, his rank, his dominion, his eventual throne… How he resented it.
Zenos lounged on an elegant, low-backed chaise couch, warming himself by the blazing hearth. In the dead of night, with a storm outside the palace windows, he’d stripped himself of all his armor and clothing as soon as he returned to his chambers from his attack on the Resistance headquarters, and asked for a courtesan to be sent up. Glancing at her kneeling form on the floor, he watched as she attended to him. He didn’t really care to know her name; she was pretty enough, but still a subservient Aan, and thus wholly unremarkable to her viceroy. The feeling of her hand pumping him, warm mouth and wet tongue worshipping him, the sensation of her suckling his glans like a babe at the teat… A pleasant enough feeling to keep him hard, but nothing truly titillating.
Pensively, he leaned his cheek into his knuckles and sighed. This arousal had plagued him ever since leaving the Reach, but he couldn’t determine the root of it. The attack he’d ordered proved to be a total bore; twenty years of oppression and mistreatment, he was expecting better. Half the savages that he’d set his hounds upon had turned tail as soon as they realized what was happening, and the other half that stayed to fight all went down with a single blow. The only two that even stood out against the cattle for slaughter were both still weaklings. The little blonde cow in red had spirit, clearly coming at him to kill, but it was outweighed by foolhardiness and idealism; no bloodlust or white-hot hatred powered her fists, instead the intent to mete out justice by striking him down. He would not be beaten by an opponent driven by concepts as empty as justice. Now the other…
One of the logs in the fireplace broke along the middle and split apart, and the sudden shuddering motion of the flame drew Zenos’ eye. And somehow, he was reminded of her.
He recognized who she was right away, of course. He’d seen the wanted posters the Empire had printed of her, and of all the accomplishments she’d garnered. The Warrior of Light. The Eikon-Slayer. Scourge of the XIVth. Both Van Baelsar and Van Hydrus, along with scores and scores of well-trained Imperial soldiers, all proved to be no match for her. Hearing the stories and songs writ about her, and knowing she was the darling of the Alliance, he knew he’d face her in the hunt sooner or later.
What a disappointment she was.
But at the same time…
Her weakness wasn’t for lack of trying. Once the girl saw her conjurer friend bleeding out on the ground, she screamed in fury and lunged at him, brandishing fire and ice and levin. Nor was she incompetent on the battlefield either. She was at least capable of steady spellcasting and dodging, running away from where she knew his strokes were going to fall; as expected of her gift with the Echo. But as much as she put up a fight, she could sling as many fireballs as she could at him but he’d still never feel a thing. Was this truly the living legend he’d heard his men whispering of in fear?
And yet… In spite of her lacking strength, she had the potential. Even as he dealt the final blow, slashing her across the face and slicing open her belly in a single stroke, a stroke powerful enough to break his first and favorite katana in half, the girl refused to yield. Even when she could barely stand, as her blood spilled from her gut and stained the sand. The look she gave him then… Yes, that was what quickened his blood. A look that burned hotter than any flame she could produce.
But a look was just that: a look. The hate was there, but not the strength. As much as he longed for someone that could truly rival him in any way, shape, or form… it wasn’t her.
So why was she still occupying his thoughts?
Zenos stared into nothing, racking his brain for the answer. The only satisfactory conclusion he could come to was, again, her potential. It was that she could be the Warrior he longed for. All she needed was to learn the rush of adrenaline, of sheer joy that could only be achieved in bloody, life-or-death combat. If she only knew the thrill of fighting not in the name of ideals as worthless as good or evil, but in the name of war and chaos itself…
And all at once, he found himself hoping that the injuries he’d dealt to her wouldn’t prove fatal. He wanted her to grow into a mindless killing machine that he could be proud to call a rival; nurture her through battle, bathe her in the blood of both her enemies and her friends. By spurring her on into hating him with every fiber of her being, he’d mold her into precisely everything he wanted her to become.
And oh, what a sight that beautiful, bloodthirsty beast would be.
There, his cock twitched, and grew even further erect. The courtesan (ha, he’d nearly forgotten she was here) lifted her head up in surprise at the sudden reaction. Zenos cast a cold glance down to her, and said, “You will stop when I tell you to, whore.” She all too eagerly obliged, with fear spurring on her fellating.
What a difference between a broken and unbroken woman, the prince thought with a sigh. His Warrior of Blood would never be so easily cowed. She’d try to bite him like the rabid animal she was. But that would be the whole excitement about shoving it in. He was plenty long enough for him to reach the back of her throat, and thick enough for her to be unable to close her jaw.
–Oh, now there’s an idea…
What would he do with this lovely monster once she’d been borne? He’d capture her and spirit her away from those pesky, insignificant insects she called friends, and keep her close by so he could do whatever he wanted with her. Maybe keep her locked in a cage, in this very room. Naked, of course, beasts had no need for clothing. And once they were alone at the end of the day, he’d let her out, and they could play. Breeding wasn’t high on his list of interests, but oh how he delighted in the carnality of raw, unfettered fucking. But she wouldn’t be broken after the first time he forced himself upon her, nor would she break any time after that, when their thrilling dances eventually became routine. In spite of that, she’d always find a way to keep it fun. She’d make an attempt on his life the only way she’d know how; without her weapons she’d be forced to make do with her teeth, and try her damndest to sink them into his veins and relish the taste of his blood. She’d try, they’d fight, and she’d get tantalizingly close, but all for naught.
Then it would be his turn. Closing his eyes to fully envelop himself in the fantasy, he envisioned the mouth around his length as his pet’s, and reaching forward, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her downwards, just as he thrust upwards. Oh, what wonderful noises she made as he fucked her throat; the gagging, the saliva, the desperate breaths! He laughed, delighted by the surging bliss in his heart, as his body indulged itself with raw pleasure. And all the while, she’d keep eye contact, still giving him that same hateful, disgusted look that affected him so.
But that would just be the beginning of the night’s fun. He’d turn her loose in the Royal Menagerie for a little game of Prey and Hunter. She would run and hide, but there were only so many places where she could find suitable cover. She’d be found so quickly it would be almost cute how she thought such a spot would work. And once she was cornered she’d lash out in whatever her primitive little mind saw fit; running, scratching, biting, hissing, spitting, it didn’t matter. The game would always end with him scooping her up off the ground, (“A-ah! What, Lord, Lord Zenos, what are you—?” “Say another word and I’ll sever your vocal cords.”) laying her back down on her front, (The courtesan whimpered, something his beastie would never do, but at least she stopped talking.) and yanking up her hips to have her backside in the air. (He remembered from the Reach, how his final blow upon her sent her flying backwards, and he got a full view of her shapely legs from her stockings to her underthings. While such fine clothes were wasted on a savage he would have to commend the seamstress nonetheless.)
She would squirm and thrash and try to break free from his tight grip, but as much as he adored her tenacity, he knew the trick to quelling her, like holding the scruff on a cat. Slapping her backside as hard as he could on both sides would make her gasp, (and not in pain, damned Aan…) followed by alternating faster slaps, until her arse was a lovely pink color. Actually no, pink wasn’t enough, he wanted it to run a most stunningly beautiful red. Zenos loved the idea of making people bleed with his bare hands, but the military insisted that he wore armor on his hands; but to appease him, the fingers of his gauntlets were given pointed tips. But there would be no need to wear armor while playing with his pet, so he’d do what he originally intended: file his own long nails into razor-sharp claws. And slowly, lovingly, languidly, he’d squeeze a handful of that pliant flesh and dig in his nails deep enough to draw blood. How beautiful, how thrilling the little red pearls would look, dripping down her hips, he couldn’t resist the temptation to lap it all up, and savor the warm, metallic taste.
And then he’d turn his eye upon his prize, dripping wet from his touch, because whyever would she not be getting off to this? He’d keep a tight hold on her legs so she could strain against him but not actually get away, and his free hand would caress her sex before slipping two fingers in. (She’s supposed to growl, not shudder, get it right you damned whore.) What exquisite juices stained his digits as he probed inside her, thrusting, twisting, reaching deeper and deeper. And how his heart would leap when as the days with her by his side turned to weeks and months, there’d be times where she’d bleed for him all on her own.
Once convinced he’d thoroughly worked her open to the point where penetration was at least possible, Zenos withdrew his hand from her and returned it to his length, taking the time to stroke the flames of his arousal. It went without saying that he was well-endowed, his girth more than wide enough to span the width of his palm, length spanning from his wrist to his fingertips. However much he’d prepared his dear savage, it would still be a tight fit… Oh well, pain would keep things interesting.
Zenos let go of her legs, only to this time pin her down by grabbing her by the nape and forcing her to the ground headfirst, while his other hand pulled her hips up to his level. Letting his phallus rest on her upraised taint, he leaned his towering form over her back and purred into her ear.
“Now, my beast, as irresistible as you might think this is, I want you to resist anyway. Don’t just lie there like a lump and let me do what I please. The only way I’ll get any release is if you struggle as much as you can and make me earn it.” His voice lowered even further into a growl. “Balk at me, fight me, loathe me…”
And he pictured her, struggling to breathe under the weight of his hand, her eyes burning with hate and disgust as she would look towards him hovering by her ear and spit on his face. (As much as it would have excited him, this was not accompanied by a real sensation.)
‘Good girl,’ he’d croon as he forced himself inside.
She howled in agony at the intruder stretching her to the point of tearing, (No, no, the courtesan did that, his pet was far too prideful to give him that satisfaction right out the gate) but he pressed on, pushing deeper with each thrust until he’d been completely sheathed. Her wetness constricted him, squeezed him, tight as a vice. But as rapturous as this felt, something was still off. She squirmed under his crushing weight, she cried out and gasped, but she wouldn’t actually fight.
His pet would fight tooth and nail every step of the way, not passively take his thrusts. She’d twist away, kick at him, try to push him off of her. And she’d almost succeed, come burningly close. But that would make the thrill of Zenos’ overpowering her all the more rewarding. Struggle as she might, (because the courtesan certainly wasn’t) he would take what he wanted, what he deserved, what he earned!
“Ah, ah, m-my lord…! Please, please stop, I-I’m, I beg of you, I can’t take much more…”
No, no, no… This was all wrong… His beloved monster would never, never beg like that… The very sound of the whore’s grating, insufferable, querulous mewling was all it took to break his immersion in this wonderful, glorious vision. The reality kept refusing to imitate his fantasy!
Zenos was forced to open his eyes, and seeing this cowering, undesirable Aan impaled upon his cock immediately caused his erection to flag. No, no, he couldn’t lose this…! He glared at her, looking at her face being crushed into the fabric of the sofa, and uttered a disgusted, bestial growl. Unceremoniously he unsheathed himself from the courtesan, tightening his grip on her neck, and he threw her to the side like a ragdoll, practically roaring, “Urrooaaggh...! You useless whore, get out!”
But the trembling Aan would not leave him be, instead remaining on the floor, prostrate and grovelling for him. “Pl-please forgive me, Lord Zenos, but what—”
She yelped, scrambling to her feet and running for her miserable life towards the chamber door. Damn it all, if his katana weren’t broken her gore would be staining the carpet right now.
Gaze pulling away from her, as if eye contact would dampen the fit of lust that had taken him over, he turned his eyes to the fire. And there, there was his beast, he could still feel the stirring heat from from her spells, her eyes, her hatred…!
In a heartbeat, Zenos was in front of the hearth, entranced with the visions dancing in his mind’s eye. He saw her in every delicious lick of flame; even when in a wild, untamable frenzy, she was possessed of such a powerful, captivating grace. Even the heat from the blazing fireplace brought to mind the desperate fury of her spells. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to feel her burning…
His cock twitched once more, and his hands obeyed its command, giving it a firm grip. Transfixed, he leaned his free arm onto the mantelpiece, and rested his forehead upon it. Gazing into the fire with half lidded eyes, Zenos could so clearly envision a new scenario.
Being bound by such cold, unyielding chains would not dampen his beast’s fury in the slightest. She would strain and scream in trying to stand to her full height, but the manacles on her wrists would keep her on her knees. What a pretty sight.
His cock would be dangerously close to her mouth, and to her snapping teeth, but that was half the fun, wasn’t it? Blood quickening, Zenos pumped himself harder and harder, helped along by his hips involuntarily thrusting in desperation to have his appetite sated. His length felt ripe to burst, so he squeezed it even tighter, never breaking eye contact with her.
He had never been so overtaken by such ravenous desire in his life as he did when he looked into her eyes. Such a carnal hatred, such barbaric rage, such an insatiable urge to kill…! The rest of his body tensed, muscles contracting as his arousal reached a fever pitch, wound tight as a bowstring, feeling a chill despite the heat. Finally he could feel himself coming close, he milked his erection as hard as he could, aiming downward at his pet, fully ready to take a mean-spirited pleasure from unloading his seed onto her defiant face…
…Until she bowed her head, flexed her arms, and mightily strained against her bonds. Zenos was about to laugh… until he saw the metal start to pull apart. Within seconds the chains were broken, and she lunged forward, teeth bared! A sudden, burning pain on his leg! His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor in slow motion. In that instant his entire body felt a sudden, overwhelming thrill; it was a rush of blood, a rush of fear, a rush of pure, ecstatic JOY…!
The ground rushed up to meet him. Beneath his knees was the cold stone floor of his room. The scathing pain on his leg remained; with the flare-up from the fire, an ember had sparked free and landed on him. And between his legs and the hearth was a long, winding trail of cum. So he orgasmed as he fell. Hmph. At least now the courtesan had gone and no one was around to have seen their prince falling so clumsily.
But still… what an ending to the fantasy. How his heart raced still, his mind’s eye still seeing her break free from seemingly indestructible bonds and immediately strike.
That was what he truly wanted from his Warrior of Blood. He could toy with her forever, take away all chance of her getting revenge and escaping his clutches, but she would still fight every single day. She’d never rest until she got what she so desperately craved: to devour him. To sink her fangs into his jugular and rip it clean out, to bathe and revel in the crimson shower spraying from his throat as he bled to death, eyeing for one last time the beautiful monster he created from that pathetic girl at the Reach…
Oh, such a thought lifted Zenos’ soul to the very heavens of bliss. He’d welcome her to try, every day, for the rest of his otherwise joyless life.
The sound of his semen sizzling on the burning logs brought him back to reality. And returning to the ground from his orgasmic ecstasy, that reality made him remember a cruel truth that proved his joy to be ephemeral…
… She wasn’t real.
That perfect, feral, bloodthirsty girl he’d been yearning for all night was only a wild fantasy. The real thing was probably still curled up in some corner of that rat hole the Resistance called a temple, crying and licking her wounds like a beaten dog. And if she were to face him again, she would likely be unchanged, still fighting for the sake of this worthless, meaningless world. How could she be so utterly blind to all her potential, if she were to only cut her ties, let go of her childish notions of being a hero, and learn to think like him…
Curse them. Curse her. Curse it all. Would he ever find someone, anyone as perfect as his fantasy? Someone who understood that his way of life was the only one that held any meaning? Such a beast could never exist…
This life was all a game to him. And all he wanted was a worthy opponent. If she wouldn’t play with him, he’d make her, whether she liked it or not.
Either she’d fight like a demon from the deepest pit of the Seventh Hell, or that would be the exact place he’d send her.
”Let her be mine, and mine alone...”