Actions

Work Header

Prisoner of the Eredar

Chapter Text

Kantaar had never led an easy life. As one of the Draenei, the exiled ones, he knew what it was like to feel hunted. Never safe, never peaceful. He had been born on Draenor on the plains of Nagrand, and since childhood he had been taught to be careful, always. He knew the land, and how do hide, and how to fight--especially against the Man’ari, the twisted Eredar that had submitted to Sargeras.
When young Draenei--especially young male Draenei--had started to disappear from his village, Kantaar had done what any smart Draenei would do. He’d heightened his caution, been extra careful on his hunts, and kept his wanderings very close to the village.

Which is why he is cursing himself so vehemently now.

The Man'ari had found him while he was out seeking herbs. He’d been knocked unconscious barely an instant after noticing the approach of the corrupted warriors. The last thing he saw was the red and black cloven hooves approaching across the grass before he lost consciousness completely.

Now, Kantaar is in a cell--a monstrous construction that reflected the demonic nature of those who had built it. Dim lights in shades of sickening greens are the only illumination. He can barely see anything, but he can hear plenty. Anguished cries and groans echo through his confined chamber. There must be other cells near his, containing other prisoners...perhaps the men who had gone missing from his village. Kantaar beseeches the Light to protect him, and his lost comrades, as he awaits what fate these Man'ari have in store for him.

The cell is very hot, enough to make Kantaar’s pale blue skin stand out with sweat. It’s enough to make him grateful that he has been stripped completely naked. He sits against the back wall of the cell, panting in the heat--but it doesn’t keep him from folding his knees close to his chest and hugging his arms around him. He knows how vulnerable he is to whatever torture the Man'ari are devising. From the sounds echoing around him, he knows it must be a terrible torture indeed. Every time one of his kin cries out, a horrified shiver runs down his spine, and he closes his silvery eyes tight.

Without the sun, Kantaar cannot tell the passage of time, but it seems like days before they finally come to him. The heavy door across from Kantaar opens, and two huge Man'ari men enter. They are dressed in full demonic plate, typical of their warriors. What is atypical are the vessels that they carry: what seem to be two huge pitchers of black ceramic. Kantaar presses himself against the wall as the door swings shut heavily behind them. The Man'ari approach, their huge hooves nearly making the ground tremble. They are so much larger than him. Kantaar pants like a terrified beast as they come closer, clinging in his heart to his faith in the Light.

One of the Man'ari sets down his earthen vessel on the ground and says something in the demonic tongue to his companion. He’s grinning, and Kantaar can see every one of his yellow fangs. The other nods, and the first Man'ari lunges forward to grab Kantaar. Kantaar struggles, but he is weak from hunger, thirst and constant fear. The Man'ari quickly subdues him and forces his arms behind his back. He shoves Kantaar down onto his knees, and grasps his arms harshly in one hand. He uses the other to grab Kantaar’s face and force it upward, towards the his companion. This Man'ari smiles at him, almost pleasantly, before raising the black jug he carries. Kantaar feels something shoved between his lips, and realizes that the Man'ari restraining him is forcing his mouth open. Kantaar can do little more than gag and drool as the Man'ari’s thumb is shoved between his jaws at the back of his mouth. His mouth is held open as surely as a wild dog’s would be.

The second Man'ari chuckles at Kantaar’s panic. “No struggles, little one,” he says in a deep, smooth voice, but it does nothing to soothe Kantaar’s dread. The vessel is raised to his gaping lips, and the Man'ari tilts it back to begin pouring its contents down Kantaar’s throat.

Kantaar coughs and gags. The liquid is warm, and cloyingly sweet. Kantaar tries to cough it out, but he can’t resist the sheer volume and the force of gravity. He is forced to swallow it or suffocate. Kantaar’s throat works again and again as he swallows the concoction. Gulp after gulp travels down his throat, causing his empty stomach to growl and groan as it is so rapidly filled. He coughs again, a weak noise of protest the loudest objection he can make. The Man'ari just chuckles again and continues to pour.
After a few moments, Kantaar’s eyes are wide and panicked. There is simply so much liquid! The vessel in the Man'ari’s hands is nearly the size of his own torso. How can he possibly be expected to swallow it all? Kantaar whimpers, causing the sweet liquid to bubble in his throat, but there is no end to the flow. Kantaar’s stomach gurgles again, and though he can feel his hunger being sated, he knows before long he will be stuffed full. And it just keeps coming, wave after wave of it, spilling down his throat and over his chin, dripping down his neck and chest.

Finally, the Man'ari tips back the vessel. It is empty. Kantaar can’t believe he’s swallowed the entire pitcher. In fact--there’s too much. It’s going to come back up. Kantaar gags, tears streaming down his cheeks. Before Kantaar can expel the huge amount of fluid, the Man'ari clamps his large hand over his mouth. “You will keep it down,” he commands. Kantaar struggles and spasms, fighting as his body works to rid itself of the immense amount of liquid.

Kantaar has no choice. Between the one Man'ari violently squeezing the lower half of his face, and the other now gripping his spasming throat, Kantaar cannot hope to vomit. The spasms wracking his body slowly still, and Kantaar is left feeling agonized and dizzy. It feels as though his entire digestive tract is on fire--and then, somehow--it cools. He’s left feeling numb on the inside; impossibly full, but somehow unhurt.

The Man'ari holding the vessel nods, satisfied. He sets it down. Kantaar is flooded with relief. His body is aching and sore and feels strangely soft on the inside. He sags, gasping for breath, but out of the corner of his eye he sees the Man'ari moving to pick up the second vessel. Kantaar raises his head again. “No! No, please!” he cries, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I cannot take any more!”

His protests are met only with a huge smile. “You will drink, precious,” the Man'ari says again in his low, almost melodic voice. “You will have your fill.”

With that, Kantaar’s mouth is forced open again, and the contents of the second vessel are poured mercilessly down his throat. This time, though, Kantaar doesn’t gag, or cough. He doesn’t feel the need to, somehow, even though the volume of fluid feels like even more than before. His stomach is gurgling in protest. He feels tight and stretched, but the pain he experienced before is gone. He’s simply full...and fuller, and fuller, and fuller…
Finally the second vessel is completely drained. The Man'ari drops it carelessly to the ground. Kantaar is not released, but left panting, his mouth still held open. The Man'ari restraining him says something in the demon language, but the other Man'ari simply laughs. “Not until he wants it,” he replies in Eredun, and his fel-green eyes flash to Kantaar with a wicked look.

Kantaar is dropped unceremoniously with a nonchalant comment from his captor. He only just manages to catch himself before he landed face first onto the dirty, hot ground. The Man'ari gather up their vessels and leave his cell, their footfalls echoing loud in Kantaar’s pounding head.

After a long moment, Kantaar forces himself to sit up. He looks down at his tortured body. His stomach is more than a little distended, bulging beneath his muscles to an obscene size. Kantaar feels his face heat with a blush. He looks almost pregnant, if only a few months along. He curls his arms around his middle, ashamed and frightened. The liquid sits heavily in his stomach, his insides churning with it. What was it, and why did they force-feed him so much?

 

Kantaar’s questions are not answered. He is left alone again, without food or water, for several days. For the most part, he feels drowsy and overly warm--hotter than he was before the liquid was forced into him. All he can do is laze in his cell, his mind hazy and weak. It seems more than just weakness brought on by hunger, something near-magical in nature. Within a day or two, however, Kantaar’s body has regained its natural shape, and he breathes easier now that he no longer feels so immense and stuffed.

Within a few days, the two Man'ari are back…and to Kantaar’s horror, they are bearing the same black vessels that they brought before. The process is short and businesslike this time. Kantaar is grabbed, restrained, and his mouth is pried open once again. He tries to plead with them, to ask for mercy, but everything he says is completely ignored. Once more the sweet liquid is poured down his throat, and Kantaar cannot even gag before he feels it begin to fill him up once more.
This time, though, it feels almost…silky, inside him. Could it just be his hunger making his body more readily accept the sweet liquid? It feels like melted honey running down his throat. It feels...it feels almost good. Kantaar’s eyes lid and he tilts his head back, as much as his captor will allow. With every swallow, the liquid grows more appetizing. He reassures himself that it must be his hunger, it must be--but all the while he drinks it down with almost no complaint. His stomach still feels huge and stretched and uncomfortable, but the second vessel is not nearly as painful as it was the first time. Once they have finally stuffed him full, the Man'ari exchange huge grins. The one who fed him the liquid even caresses his jaw before they pick up their pitchers and vanish again.

Kantaar is left alone once more, and once more his middle is hugely swollen. Kantaar groans as he settles back against the wall, his legs spread to accomodate his large belly. Instead of hiding it, this time, he gives it an experimental rub, running his palm over the tight skin. A full-body shiver runs through him, a pleasant shiver, and Kantaar is immediately wracked with horror and revulsion. What are they doing to him?!
The next few days are even more torturous than the first, for now something is different. Kantaar finds himself restless, though his mind feels even more clouded than it was before. He paces his cell, massaging his stomach--for although it makes him feel ashamed and sick, it also feels discomfitingly good. At one point, he finds himself growing hard from the mere act of rubbing his hands over his swollen middle. His mind drifts often to the next visit the Man'ari will make. He finds himself...looking forward to it.

When they come again, it’s almost as though they know. They saunter into his cell, and when the strong one grabs him, Kantaar doesn’t even struggle. He reaches for Kantaar’s mouth, but with a sick thrill of horror Kantaar finds that he has let it fall open himself.

“Good boy!” croons the one holding the black vessel, and he strokes Kantaar’s short horn with one hand. He is taller than the other, and his skin is a darker shade of red. Kantaar’s lips twitch a little in a smile. For some reason he likes pleasing this one.
When he raises the pitcher to Kantaar’s lips, Kantaar greedily drinks it down. The warmth and sweetness are no longer cloying, but delicious. It’s like he cannot get enough. He wants more, and more, his throat working eagerly as he devours the concoction. His stomach fills, bloating out once more, and Kantaar feels a surge of glee, knowing that he will soon be round and full once more. When the first vessel is empty, Kantaar shuffles forward on his knees, mouth open, eyes glassy, his tongue flat against his bottom lip. The Man'ari grins in obvious satisfaction, and feeds the eager Kantaar the second huge pitcher.

When both jars are empty, Kantaar is bloated full once more. He sighs, tipping his head back and licking the last of the honey-sweet juice from his lips. He looks down at his bulging stomach, and to his delight he sees that his cock has hardened. It rubs up against the bottom curve of his belly as he shifts, and a little moan escapes his lips.

The taller Man'ari stops at the door and looks back at him. He thrusts his jar at his companion and shoos him out of the room, then strides back towards Kantaar. He has slumped against the wall once more, legs spread, but he looks up at the Man'ari in uncertainty and fear.

“Go ahead, little one,” the Man'ari says in his low voice. “Enjoy. You will be ready soon...just have a little taste, for now.” He bends to stroke Kantaar’s horns once more, then runs a hand almost possessively over his distended belly… and then leaves.

 

By the Light, this shouldn’t be happening. He should not feel like this. Kantaar can’t help it, though. His erection is throbbing and he feels as if he will die if he doesn’t attend to it. Besides, crouching on all fours like this, his huge belly almost brushing the dirt, his hand furiously pumping at his cock… it just feels so good. Kantaar jerks himself hard and fast, his mind focused on nothing but getting off. He hasn’t come in so long, and oh… he feels so good inside. He feels like he’s full of velvet warmth. The liquid sloshes and gurgles in his stomach, a silky, soft presence making him heavy and hot. Kantaar comes with an anguished groan, coating his hand and his rounded stomach with thick splashes of cum. He slumps against the wall, satisfied and panting, but the silky feeling in his stomach remains. The desire in him is only banked, not extinguished...and Kantaar has a feeling that he will soon be hard again.

Kantaar does shift a little uncomfortably against the wall, for there’s an odd slickness beneath his tail that he doesn’t remember acquiring. He reaches back to wipe it away with his clean hand--and finds to his surprise that his ass cheeks and thighs are drenched. A little more probing proves that the wetness is emanating from his asshole, which feels oddly soft and loose. Kantaar feels himself blushing. It feels almost like...almost like a woman’s entrance when she is strongly aroused. It must have something to do with the delicious liquid they’d been feeding him, for he’d never felt something like that in himself before.

Kantaar tries to ignore it and coax himself to fall asleep--but his rest is anything but peaceful. Every few hours, he grows so aroused that he cannot do anything but masturbate, dizzily rubbing his stomach until another orgasm relieves him.

 

Kantaar had not seen the last of the tall Man'ari. He comes alone now, with only a small black jar, about the size of a table pitcher, every couple of days. He always feeds it to Kantaar--the Draenei is never permitted to hold the vessel himself. Every time, he seems very pleased with Kantaar’s willing reactions. Kantaar cannot help but smile and be docile for him, though he does wish that he had more to drink. He’s missing his round belly, though his intense sexual drive has not abated.

After a few visits, the Man'ari notices Kantaar’s disappointed rub of his flat stomach. “Do not worry, pet,” he says in his thickly accented voice. “You will soon be full again.” To Kantaar’s surprise, he hauls him to his feet by one horn. He reaches back to pull Kantaar’s tail up, and dips his broad, clawed fingers between Kantaar’s ass cheeks. Kantaar gasps and squirms in protest, but before he can do anything the Man'ari’s finger is sliding into his hole. He has no difficulty at all--his entrance has been constantly slick and wet these days. “Oh, very soon,” the Man'ari rumbles in Kantaar’s pointed ear. “You are ready now, my dear one.”

As he leaves, Kantaar can only stare after him in confused horniness. Ready for what, he has no idea.

Chapter Text

The next few days are torture for Kantaar--and not the kind of torture he would have imagined at the hands of the corrupted Man'ari.


It is though his body is no longer his own. He is filled with lust at every moment--even in his dreams. His cock is constantly iron hard, thick and dark navy with pent-up desire. To make matters worse, he is always wet as well. His asshole feels loose and soft, and he feels a peculiar ache inside. It doesn’t take him long to realize that ache is a bodily desire to be penetrated and filled. Slickness seems to flow from him constantly, trickling down his thighs, down his taint and over his overripe balls. Kantaar is in misery. He has never wanted to fuck so badly in his entire life--no, not fuck… be fucked.

In his more lucid moments, Kantaar tries to piece together the reason for his addled state. Why would the Man'ari want him to be this horny? What did the tall one mean by “ready”? He can only guess, and never for very long… it’s only a few hours at the most that he can stand not fucking himself on his own fingers. He only ever comes a few small spurts at a time, but the orgasms are the purest ecstasy he’s ever felt in his life. They are always accompanied, however, by a little rush of shame. He was a good Draenei before this, an upstanding young man. Whenever he thinks of whatever the Man'ari must have in store for him, he is filled with deep dread. That, and a sick, thrilling curiosity.


To Kantaar’s enormous relief, he is left in this pitiful state for only a few days. The tall Man'ari returns to his cell just as Kantaar had begun masturbating for what felt like the 100th time since he last slept. Instantly ashamed, Kantaar stops, a bright blush heating his face. His fingers are soaked with his own arousal, and his cock throbs painfully at the lack of touch.


The Man'ari smiles, showing his glimmering fangs. Kantaar notices that he doesn’t have a black vessel with him today. It makes his heart sink with disappointment. Instead, he is bearing black shackles, each set with a glowing, fel-green stone.


“Such an eager pup,” the Man'ari says. His voice, which had sounded so unpleasant to Kantaar before, is now deeply soothing. Kantaar finds his embarrassment fading away as his captor approaches him. “Your eagerness will serve me very well. Put out your hands, little one.”


Kantaar immediately rises from his knees and holds out his hands to the Man'ari. With a pleased twitch of his lips, the Man'ari fastens the shackles tight around his wrists. The fel magics in them make Kantaar’s body ache and his stomach churn.
“Come with me now,” the Man'ari says, and beckons with a crook of his finger. Kantaar stumbles forward, watching his jailor with wide eyes. He feels as though he would follow this demon to the ends of the earth.


Kantaar barely notices as they exit his cell, his prison for so many long weeks. His mind feels fuzzy and unfocused. He is mesmerized by the swishing of the Man'ari’s tail in front of him. They proceed down many twisting halls, all stinking of foetid, fel energy. Kantaar loses track of time, but he is panting by the time they finally reach their destination. A huge hall opens before them. Black pillars line the walls, reaching to a vaulted ceiling full of ever-shifting green and black clouds. Green lightning darts from one cloud to another with distant, echoing crackles.


The horrific majesty of the hall is not what catches Kantaar’s attention, though. At least a dozen Man'ari, some male, some female, are standing near the center of the hall, all clustered at the foot of a tall throne. Upon the throne sits one of the most horrendous demons Kantaar has ever seen. The bottom drops out of his stomach and he cannot restrain a little whimper.


“Hush,” his captor says sweetly, and yanks viciously on one of Kantaar’s jaw tendrils. Kantaar shuts his mouth so tight that his teeth grind together. His jaw tendrils are so sensitive that the pain of it brings tears to his eyes.
The Man'ari drags Kantaar forward to the foot of the throne. The others part to let them through. They eye Kantaar with appreciative leers, and Kantaar blushes again to be so clearly on display. His captor even seems to enjoy parading him in front of his comrades.


The demon in the throne leans forward as they approach. His huge black wings shuffle behind him as he grins down at the Man'ari and Kantaar. A cruel mirth sparkles in his hideously green eyes.


“Ah, Wrathguard Cil’donoc. You have brought your bride.” The demon’s voice is so deep and booming that Kantaar can feel it in his spine. He cannot keep himself from trembling, but through the fog of fear he wonders why the demon lord has spoken in Eredun.


“Yes, mighty Lord Akzal,” replies the Kantaar’s captor, apparently Cil’donoc. “I bring it forth for inspection. I think you will find it beautifully fertile and ripe to breed.”


Kantaar freezes, and for a moment the only sound he can hear is the pounding of his own pulse and wheeze of his breath. Breed? His trembling worsens and he feels as though he might faint.


“Very well,” the demon lord says. His grin turns into a vicious leer as he stands and descends from his throne. His huge hooves make a thunderous ringing noise on the golden stairs as he approaches. Kantaar is swaying on the spot now, his mouth dry. He can barely make himself look up at the monster approaching him. It towers over him, almost three times his own height. Kantaar’s breath comes in short, harsh gasps.


The demon lord stops in front of Cil’donoc and looks Kantaar over, stroking his horned chin with a massive clawed hand. He says something in Demonic to Cil’donoc, who nods. The Man’ari approaches Kantaar, grabs him by the shoulders, and shoves him onto the shining black floor.

“On your hands and knees, my pet,” he croons in Kantaar’s ear, and Kantaar is helpless to refuse him. He does as he is told, and shivers at the surprisingly cold marble beneath him.


The ground suddenly quakes as the demon lord kneels behind Kantaar. Before he has time to think, before he has time to breathe, Kantaar feels his tail grabbed and yanked up, exposing his ass for the entire room to see. The demon lord growls appreciatively, and without preamble, shoves his finger deep into Kantaar’s ass.


Kantaar yells in pain and shock. He’s never had something inside him bigger than his own fingers, and the demon lord’s digit is massive. He can feel his insides stretched and strained around the intrusion. His body throbs, it hurts so much…it feels so good… Kantaar can’t help it. He bows his head and gives a throaty whine. The ache he’d been feeling for days is finally being sated--that persistent need to be filled and fucked.


Laughter erupts among the Man’ari. Cil’donoc grins down at his prize, his eyes wide and hungry. The demon lord laughs as well, a deep booming sound that seems to shake the entire room. Kantaar is flooded with abject shame.


The demon withdraws his finger sharply from Kantaar, drawing another yelp of pain from him. He raises his hand to inspect his finger. It is wet with Kantaar’s viscous arousal, shining in the flickering light. He extends his forked tongue and licks up his finger, tasting Kantaar’s offering.


Another powerful chuckle booms out from the demon lord’s chest. “It is perfect,” he announces in Eredun. “Take it home and mark it, Wrathguard Cil’donoc. Enjoy your prize.”


Cil’donoc steps forward, leaving Kantaar still trembling on the floor. “If it please you, mighty lord,” he says, “I would be honored if you would permit me to mark it here. I enjoy having witnesses to my triumph.”


Kantaar’s mind is fuzzy with pain and shame, but fear is quickly sharpening his senses. Mark him?

 

The demon lord laughs again. “You were always one for a show,” he says. His voice makes Kantaar’s bones ache. “Very well, you have my permission.”


Cil’donoc bows, smiling. He then turns to Kantaar. “Up on your feet, my dear,” he says, and grabs onto one of Kantaar’s horns. He hauls him upright harshly, causing Kantaar to grit his teeth in pain once again. Still grasping Kantaar’s horn, Cil’donoc looks at the crowd of Man’ari around him and asks a question in Demonic. A Man’ari woman steps forward, smiling eagerly. She raises her hands and conjures a ball of fel energy between them. With a flick of her wrist, she directs the energy directly at Kantaar. Before he can move, Kantaar finds himself rising into the air, his hands pinned painfully behind his back with burning fel magic. He pants harshly, struggling against the pain and fear, but there is nothing he can do.


Cil’donoc approaches him, an oddly gentle smile on his face. He raises one hand, his obsidian claws gleaming. He brings the tip of his forefinger to his opposite wrist, and drags a smooth line through his own flesh. Black blood wells in the scratch. The Man’ari clustered around draw closer, their burning eyes eager. Cil’donoc dips his finger into his blood, and reaches out towards Kantaar’s stomach.


The pain of the first stroke is blinding. Kantaar lets out a strangled scream, watching in horror as Cil’donoc drags his fingertip across the plane of his abdomen. He leaves a curved, black line there, and before Kantaar’s eyes it sizzles and smokes, burning into his blue skin. Blistering pain sears as the line blends into Kantaar’s very skin. Cil’donoc smiles again, his expression full of pride, and dips his finger into the blood again.


With smooth, patient strokes, Cil’donoc proceeds to draw an intricate symbol across Kantaar’s stomach. Each time the blood marks him, Kantaar screams in pain, until tears flow down his cheeks unchecked. Finally, Cil’donoc has painted the entirety of the dark sigil. It spans the entirety of Kantaar’s middle, from just below his navel to the bottom of his ribcage. The black lines are indistinguishable from Kantaar’s own skin, as if he had been born with them, as if he had borne them his entire life. Kantaar looks into Cil’donoc’s face, his eyes still wet with tears. Please, by the Light, let it be over.


With a sweet, almost loving smile, Cil’donoc raises his blood-smeared finger to Kantaar’s mouth, and draws a searing line down the full curve of his bottom lip to the base of his chin, and Kantaar knows that he is well and truly marked.

Chapter Text

Kantaar stumbles after Cil’donoc, dazed with pain and exhaustion. He feels weak and drained. His skin still burns harshly where Cil’donoc had marked him with his own black blood, and his ass is sore and stretched from the violent intrusion of the demon lord’s finger. The Man’ari leading him seems immensely pleased with himself, and walks with a prideful gait that Kantaar can barely match.


It takes Kantaar a few minutes to realize that they are not returning to his cell. The corridor they are traversing is better lit, and the air is fresher. Kantaar is seized with fear that Cil’donoc may be leading him somewhere ever worse. But then again, that ritual had seemed to mean something. The demon lord had called Kantaar Cil’donoc’s bride. They’d pronounced him ready for breeding. The idea has Kantaar’s heart hammering in his chest. He has an idea of what that must mean, and it frightens him to his very core.


Kantaar is not able to dwell on this new fear for very long. They reach their destination within a few minutes walking. Cil’donoc stops before a huge black door, carved with fel runes. He makes a few gestures that Kantaar cannot follow, but knows must be magical in nature. The door swings open smoothly, and Cil’donoc pulls Kantaar along inside.


“Here we are, Ekliein,” Cil’donoc says in Kantaar’s ear. Kantaar shudders at the pet name, and Cil’donoc seems to notice it. He pets one of Kantaar’s sensitive jaw tendrils. “No no, no fussing. You are home now.”


The Man’ari smiles at Kantaar, but Kantaar finds it anything but reassuring. Home? His home is on Nagrand, in his village, not in this horrendous demonic hall. Kantaar keeps his mouth shut, however, and just stares back at Cil’donoc.


“Too shy to speak? That’s all right. Come in now.” Cil’donoc beckons to Kantaar, and the pull of the fel manacles around his wrists give Kantaar no choice but to follow him.


They cross what is evidently an atrium of some sort and enter a larger room. It looks nothing like any home Kantaar has ever seen, but somehow the word “home” projects itself into his mind. There are tables, chairs, a couch--even a fireplace built of black stone. Kantaar can see more doors leading to other rooms. Evidently this place is Cil’donoc’s lodging… and apparently now Kantaar’s, too. The Man’ari pauses to unfasten Kantaar’s bindings, and tosses the shackles away carelessly. Kantaar hugs his arms close to his body, still shivering.


Cil’donoc goes to a side table arranged with various plates and dishes. Kantaar catches the scent of food, and his stomach growls loudly. Cil’donoc looks up and smiles at him again. “Ah yes, you must be hungry...and I am eager to get started. Here, my pet.” Cil’donoc picks up a black pitcher, and Kantaar’s mouth instantly starts to water. Cil’donoc must have seen his desire in his expression, because he grins wickedly as he approaches Kantaar with the pitcher.


“Sit down,” he says, almost affectionately, and shoves Kantaar into one of the chairs. It’s surprisingly comfortable, but Kantaar’s mind is fixed on only one thing: the contents of that shining black pitcher. “Open your mouth now,” Cil’donoc croons, and Kantaar silently obeys. He looks up at Cil’donoc, his whole body starting to tingle in anticipation. “Good,” Cil’donoc purrs, and begins to feed Kantaar the ambrosial drink.


All of Kantaar’s fears and concerns melt away the instant the sweet liquid touches his tongue. He instantly sits forward in the chair to suck down the delicious drink. Cil’donoc watches in evident pleasure, his eyes narrowed to slits, as Kantaar eagerly gulps and gulps. A rush of euphoric tingles spreads from Kantaar’s stomach throughout his entire body as the liquid fills him. His eyes lid as he drinks, more and more, so eager for as much as he can get. He can feel it slosh inside him, his stomach gurgling as it is so rapidly filled. It’s heavenly, glorious, and when there is no more left, Kantaar feels as though he’s been filled with liquid bliss. He looks up at Cil’donoc again, parted lips shining with the sticky fluid, eyes hazy and unfocused. He feels so good, so full and sleepy.


Cil’donoc kneels down in front of him and places his hands on either side of Kantaar’s jaw. “You are mine now, Ekliein. You are my creature, my pet, my bride, my slave. You will do what I say. You will strive always to please me. Do you understand, little Draenei? Little pet?”


Kantaar nods drowsily. With his face so close, Kantaar sees Cil’donoc’s features much more clearly. He looks more like a Draenei than Kantaar had realized at first. Strong nose, full lips, high cheekbones…apart from the fel-green eyes, he’s almost handsome. Very handsome, actually. “Yes,” he murmurs, feeling his lips curve up into a smile.

Cil’donoc traces the black line down Kantaar’s lower lip. “I have marked you and made you mine. No Eredar can have you but me. No seed will grow in you but mine. Do you understand that?”


Kantaar’s brow creases. “Seed?” he mumbles, and Cil’donoc’s face breaks into a slow smile. He leans in and licks the last of the ambrosia from Kantaar’s lips. Kantaar shudders and gasps. The stroke of Man’ari’s tongue against his mouth sends a powerful zap of arousal straight down his spine. He can feel himself grow wetter against the chair beneath him.


“It’s time,” Cil’donoc murmurs against his lips. “I have waited for this moment for a long, long time, my pretty Draenei. Kantaar.”


Kantaar gasps again as Cil’donoc wraps his arms around him and lifts him bodily from the chair, as easily as if he had weighed nothing. Kantaar is a decent size for a healthy young Draenei, even with the weight he’d lost during his captivity, but Cil’donoc carries him with no effort at all. He strides through one of the doors and shuts it firmly behind him with a kick of his huge hoof.


They are in a bedroom now, Cil’donoc’s bedroom. The bed is huge, four-postered and draped with black and red curtains. There is a green fire burning brightly in the large fireplace. There is even, to Kantaar’s amazement and distant delight, a window--fitted with greenish, warped glass, but a window nonetheless. He has little time to process his surroundings, however, for Cil’donoc takes three great strides to the bed and throws him down onto it. Kantaar nearly loses his breath from the impact, even onto the soft surface, and he stares up at Cil’donoc with wide eyes, sprawled across the dark blankets. Cil’donoc looms over him, that familiar smile narrowing his burning eyes to slits.


He’s going to fuck me, Kantaar realizes, and smiles dazedly. Finally, he’s going to fuck me. Without a second thought, he legs his legs fall open. His cock, which had been in a half-hard state since the ambrosial drink, perks against his abdomen, quickly filling.


“Good boy,” Cil’donoc says, and Kantaar feels a strange rush of pride and happiness at the praise. The Man’ari begins to strip out of his armor slowly--far too slowly for Kantaar’s liking. The dark plate and heavy leather fall to the floor, revealing more and more of Cil’donoc’s blood red body. He’s marked with black tattoos, similar to the one Kantaar now bears on belly. The sight of his bulging, smooth muscles makes Kantaar begin to shake, and he finds his eyes inexorably drawn to his captor’s well-defined hips.


Cil’donoc smirks at his eagerness. “Let’s just see if you’re ready to take it first, precious,” he croons, and crawls onto the bed to loom over Kantaar. He reaches down between Kantaar’s legs, and unhesitatingly slides two fingers straight into his asshole. Kantaar gasps, but with pleasure rather than pain. He’s so slick that they sink in without a moment’s resistance. When Cil’donoc forces another finger in, Kantaar’s only reaction is a needy squirm and a mumbled plea for more.


“Good,” Cil’donoc purrs. He withdraws his fingers, much to Kantaar’s displeasure. He raises them to his lips and licks them clean. “Draenei brides taste so sweet,” he says with a deep sigh. He looks down at Kantaar and grins. “And you are such a juicy little fruit, begging to be plucked.”


Kantaar can only nod, mouth open, eyes feverish. He wants it more than he has wanted anything in his entire life.


Cil’donoc reaches down and begins to unfasten his leather wrappings. “It will likely only take one fuck to seed you,” he says, “but I will take you until that juicy fruit runs dry.” With that, he pulls aside his hide kilt, and frees his massive cock.


Kantaar has never seen anything so desirable. It looks almost like his own--full and thick, and ribbed down the sides of shaft--but Cil’donoc’s is flushed a beautiful scarlet, and nearly as big as Kantaar’s forearm. His balls are huge, weighty and ripe, and Kantaar swallows hard at the thought of them pumping into him. A pearl of pre-cum glistens at the flush tip, and Cil’donoc reaches down to swipe it up with his thumb. He holds it to Kantaar’s mouth, and Kantaar needs no prompting to lick it off. It tastes acrid and somehow spicy.


“There is a taste,” Cil’donoc says in a low voice. “Learn it well--for I intend to feed you full of it. Down your throat, into your cunt, until you are swollen with my brood.”


He grabs Cantair’s thigh with one huge hand and wrenches him up to expose his soft and soaking asshole. The other hand guides his enormous cock to that needy entrance, and in one, brutal thrust, he is buried inside Kantaar to the balls. Kantaar’s back arches off the bed and he moans in absolute bliss. Cil’donoc is enormous inside him, and Kantaar is distantly aware of some pain, but it is nothing compared to the joy of it. His insides are still silky and warm from the ambrosial drink, and they seem to glide and contour around Cil’donoc’s huge cock. He was made to accept this demon dick--to be its toy, its sleeve, its vessel.


Cil’donoc wastes no time. He sets up a vicious rhythm, pounding into Kantaar with monstrous force. Kantaar squirms and pants and croons, desperate to get fucked even harder. His hole squeezes tight around Cil’donoc’s member with every thrust inside. Cil’donoc seizes his other thigh and hoists Kantaar up to drive into him even deeper. Kantaar chokes, his eyelids fluttering. He can feel that Cil’donoc is going too deep, bruising his insides, hurting him, and he doesn’t care. He arches off the bed, moaning like a desperate whore, fingers digging into the bedsheets.


There had been a few girls in the village back home. Kantaar had bedded them gently, tenderly, and given them loving kisses afterwards. He had shyly flirted with the boys as well, but never gone further than kisses behind the trees. But in all his experience, Kantaar had never lusted like this.


He comes the first time within minutes. He begins panting harder, begging Cil’donoc, trying to grind harder against his cock, to take more inside. With a high-pitched groan he’s falls over the edge, his abdomen tensing and spasming with delirious tension. Only a few droplets of cum splash over his stomach, but his ass clenches and sucks at Cil’donoc’s cock until Kantaar can no longer breathe. Every ripple of his inner muscles sets his entire body ablaze with pleasure, wave after wave of it seizing him in rapturous torture.


Cil’donoc praises him the whole while, his green eyes burning with lust. “Good boy, good boy, so eager for me, take it all, sweet little bride...take it all and I’ll give you more.” The praise makes Kantaar’s entire body tremble with joy, but all he can do is nod at Cil’donoc, his master, silently begging him for more.


Kantaar comes again, and again. Cil’donoc is absolutely merciless, reaming Kantaar harder through each successive orgasm. Kantaar is sobbing by the fourth one, drenched in his own copious arousal and sweat. He feels so good he can’t contain it all. He doesn’t want it to end.


Finally, though, Cil’donoc bends down to Kantaar’s ear and gives it a possessive bite. “I’m going to come in you now,” he snarls lowly. “I’m going to seed you and breed you, my little Kantaar.”


“Yes,” is all Kantaar can say.


Cil’donoc straightens and grabs Kantaar’s hips. He gives several, shattering thrusts, fucking into Kantaar to a new depth. He strikes something inside Kantaar, something deep, and a clawing, vicious pleasure blooms inside him. Kantaar comes again, and wills his body to open more, give more. He gasps through the delirium, writhing on the bed like wild creature.


Cil’donoc comes with a roar. Kantaar feels his monstrous cock throb once, twice, and then the rush of hot semen begins to fill him, gushing into him like a flood. Kantaar can feel every pump spill inside, filling him just a little bit more, and his eyes roll back in his head. There’s an immense load--it feels almost as much as the ambrosia, and Kantaar feels a sick thrill to be filled the other way this time. He looks down at his stomach, and can see the huge swell of Cil’donoc’s cock twitching beneath his skin, stretching the black sigil around it. Kantaar whines and pets his stomach, caressing his master through his skin even as Cil’donoc continues to pump into him. He looks up at Cil’donoc’s face then, and the look of feral ecstasy in his eyes makes Kantaar smile. He does his best to work his exhausted inner muscles, milking Cil’donoc for every drop he has.


When Cil’donoc finally stops filling him, Kantaar is limp and boneless on the bed, a dazed smile on his lips. The Man’ari laughs as he slides his spent cock from Kantaar’s abused hole. Hot semen seeps out of him, but there is so much inside that it barely makes a difference. Kantaar’s stomach is slightly distended, Cil’donoc’s black sigil rounded out. Cil’donoc rubs a his hand over the swell, and Kantair whimpers. He’s so full--not as packed as he had been with the ambrosia before, but this feels like more, somehow. Heavier. His master’s cum.


Cil’donoc stretches and yawns, his huge cock still half-hard. He leans over Kantaar and caresses his chest and stomach again, and Kantaar gives him another dazed, adoring look. “Precious,” Cil’donoc says, grinning. “I did not plan to fuck you for so long, but you wanted it so much. I couldn’t deny such sweet begging.” He reaches between Kantaar’s legs and scoops up the palmful of cum that had leaked out of him. “But look what you’ve done...you’ve let my seed flow out. I will not accept that.”


He grabs Kantaar’s jaw tendril with his spare hand and tightens his grip cruelly. The pain makes Kantaar wince.

Kantaar looks up at Cil’donoc. The Man’ari’s eyes are full of a dangerous fel-light. Kantaar opens his mouth and lets his tongue slip out, past his painted lower lip. He bends his head to lap the demon seed up from Cil’donoc’s palm.


Good,” Cil’donoc growls in deep satisfaction. “Drink it all, my pet, and you will have much, much more.”

Chapter Text

Cil’donoc dresses himself in fresh clothing--sturdy black leather. Without another word to Kantaar he crosses to the door and leaves. Before he locks the door behind him, he looks over his shoulder and gives Kantaar a look that is at once possessive, sexual, and somehow affectionate.

Kantaar has a brief respite, lounging in Cil’donoc’s huge bed. He’s exhausted, his body sore and spent from the violent fuck he’d just recieved. His insides are still full of Cil’donoc’s demon cum, and it feels hot and heavy inside him. After the warning the Man’ari had given him, however, he is certain not to let any spill out. His ass is so loose from Cil’donoc’s enormous cock that he dares not move much until the muscles re-adapt and tighten once more.

The effects of the ambrosia are fading, and Kantaar’s mind is sharpening once more. The fear is beginning to creep back in. He knows why he is here, now--why Cil’donoc fed him and fucked him, and was so insistent that he not waste any of his seed. Kantaar is to--to bear some kind of brood. He is to be impregnated.

The very thought makes Kantaar blush hotly all the way down his chest. In his village at home, women were equals and partners. A baby was seen as a blessing, but only if the woman wanted it. There was no shame in sending a planted seed back to the embrace of the Light. They lived a difficult life out on the plains, and no woman was treated badly if she felt she could not be a mother. Still, Kantaar had known many babies born in the village. Everyone had celebrated births with joy and congratulations. Kantaar thought back to the happiness and unity a new life brought to the village… and it made him want to weep.

That was not to be his lot.

Kantaar had celebrated the creation and bearing of new children, but he had never desired it for himself. He had never wanted to carry young. But now... as Cil’donoc’s “bride”...he is to be made a--a mother. Kantaar raises his hand to lay it over his swollen, marked stomach, but with a shiver he finds he can’t bring himself to touch it. Will he slowly swell, his muscular abdomen distending and filling as some demonic creature grows inside him? Will he turn slave not only to Cil’donoc, but also to the monster using his body as its home?

A cold sweat breaks out over Kantaar’s body...but it is not only due to the horror. The image of himself, full and pregnant, sticks in his mind, and Kantaar cannot help but find the idea disgustingly, reprehensibly erotic. What is wrong with him? His insides churn and he can feel the still-warm cum inside him, slick and heavy. Is he already seeded? Is something already beginning to grow? Kantaar whimpers as he feels his cock harden against the silky sheets.

He wants it. He is a monster.

 

Cil’donoc doesn’t leave him alone with his anxiety for long. In less than an hour the Man’ari has returned, and this time he is bearing something with him. “I have a little present for you, my bride,” he croons as he shuts the door behind him. Kantaar pushes himself up onto his elbows off the bed to see what Cil’donoc has brought. His eyes widen with shock.

Cil’donoc is holding a chain, fine-linked and black as ebony. The links shimmer with as much luster as any piece of jewelry. Kantaar instinctively scoots back on the bed, backing away from his demonic captor. Cil’donoc only laughs and approaches, reaching the bed in a few large strides. “Don’t be shy, pet,” he says. “You will wear this for me. You are mine.”

“I-I don’t want to,” Kantaar stammers. “I’ll be good, I won’t run. Please don’t.”

“Now now, it’s not that bad,” Cil’donoc says. His voice is smooth and sweet, but there’s an steely undertone to it. He slides his large hands to the end of the chain, where a slim black collar hangs ominously. Kantaar shivers at the sight of it. “I will chain you to my bed, Kantaar, so that I may fuck you whenever I please. You like that, don’t you? You do want me to fuck you again.”

Kantaar swallows. His mouth is dry. He can’t deny it. Cil’donoc’s rough treatment had been the deepest and most sinful pleasure of his life. He can’t help but yearn for it again. But a chain...a true confinement to this fate...it frightens him. Cil’donoc smiles again and grabs Kantaar’s chin. He forces him to look up into his face; the face that seems so familiar, and yet so alien to Kantaar.

“You do want it. I can see it in your eyes. You were made for this, my little draenei.”

Before Kantaar can react, before he can even think, the cool metal collar slides around his neck. With a click, it is fastened tight. Cil’donoc lovingly runs his fingers over it, then down the chain itself that connects at the front of the collar. He gives it a little tug, and Kantaar is jerked forward. “Perfect.”

Cil’donoc bends down to link the chain to a metal ring at the foot of the bed. For one wild moment Kantaar thinks to bolt, to run for the door before the chain is surely attached. He goes so far as to shift on the bed, ready to jump up and run, but then there is another solid clink. Kantaar looks down to see the chain fastened securely. The fading green light of magic around it tells him Cil’donoc has welded it by magic. He is trapped.

Cil’donoc sits down on the bed beside him. “No fretting now,” he says, and runs his large hand down Kantaar’s back. His palm is warm and strong. “You have enough leeway to walk the room, and relieve yourself in the bathroom. I would not be cruel to my bride.” Cil’donoc leans in closer and runs his black tongue over Kantaar’s neck, just where the collar rests against his skin. “I will bring you food, and astral mead, and fuck you every day and night. You are not a prisoner, dear one, you are my pleasure and my delight. If you are good, I will give you everything you desire.” His sharp teeth graze over the shell of Kantaar’s ear to the pointed tip. “And if you are bad…I will punish you. I will hurt you. But rest assured, I will never kill you, not while my babe is growing inside you.”

Suddenly, Cil’donoc shoves Kantaar onto his back. He straddles Kantaar, just below his hips, and looks down at him thoughtfully. Both of the corrupted Eredar’s hands move to Kantaar’s marked belly. He traces over the black mark with his sharp nails, making Kantaar’s skin tingle pleasureably. Then he pets him, green eyes hooded and soft. His thumbs smooth over Kantaar’s belly.

“Are you already seeded, I wonder,” he says, in a voice as soft and dark as black velvet. Kantaar trembles, but he can’t tell if it’s from fear or excitement. “Is my child already made?”

Cil’donoc’s eyes raise to meet Kantaar’s. “I have waited long for this day, my Kantaar. It is an honor to be gifted a bride--and you are such a perfect...fertile...thing.” Cil’donoc inhales deeply as he speaks, as if he could smell Kantaar’s ripeness. “I was given the best of the crop. I know you will not keep me waiting long. But I will have to make certainty doubly sure.”

Cil’donoc climbs off him, and immediately grabs Kantaar and flips him over as easily as if he were a rag doll. Now on his stomach, Kantaar grasps at the sheets, beginning to shake in earnest now. His breath comes in pants as he feels Cil’donoc’s huge hands explore his lower back and ass, massaging his skin. He hasn’t had any of the ambrosial drink--astral mead?--in hours, but even without it he knows his asshole is wet and loose. His cock, too, is stiffening against the sheets. He is eager to be taken, so eager. By the Light, how far he has fallen already…

“When I put you on your stomach,” Cil’donoc says, tenderly, “you will present your ass to me, like the little broodmare you are. Show me your wet cunt, now.”

Trembling, Kantaar does as he is told, shifting his weight up to his knees to lift his ass in the air. Cil’donoc gives a growl of satisfaction and pulls Kantaar’s tail up and out of the way. “Ah,” he breathes, and without any preamble, grabs Kantaar’s ass cheeks, slips his thumbs into his soft entrance, and stretches him open. Kantaar gasps, unused to this new sensation of openness. He is still sore from the pounding he took earlier, but there is a deeper ache inside--that familiar yearning to be taken again.

“You’re dripping, my bride,” Cil’donoc coos. He leans in and licks into Kantaar, making him jump and cry out in surprise and need. He blushes to feel a tongue against such an intimate place, but he knows all he wants is more. Cil’donoc sits back and lets out a deep sigh. “So rich,” he says, with such feeling that his deep voice nearly breaks. “I was handsomely rewarded...blessed with a ripe little garden…”

The chain at Kantaar’s throat jerks as Cil’donoc seizes it. He leans down over Kantaar, pulling slowly at the chain until Kantaar is forced to arch his neck back. “Perhaps you will give me twins,” he says, his voice thick with lust and greed. “Or triplets. I want them all. And when you have given me one, I will fuck you over and over until you give me another. And another.”

Kantaar can only whimper. His mind is filled with the picture Cil’donoc paints. His belly stretched and heavy, stuffed full of his demon’s triplets. So big he can hardly walk. A rivulet of arousal courses down his inner thigh. “Yes,” he says, in a voice so weak and needy it’s almost a mewl. “Cil’donoc…please...”

The Man’ari laughs richly. “You would use my name? You think you have the right to use my name?” He licks between Kantaar’s shoulder blades, and then delivers a sharp little bite. “Very well...since you have been so good, you may call me Cil. But if you upset me, you may lose your right to speak at all. Is that clear, Kantaar?

“Yes,” Kantaar gasps. His breathing is slightly restricted by the pressure from the collar, but somehow he finds he doesn’t mind in the least. “Yes, Cil, please.”

“Good! Enough talk. I must breed you now. Now.”

Cil’s enormous shaft spears him open then. Both Draenei and Man’ari let out anguished groans--Kantaar’s needy, Cil’s deep and lustful. Cil remains nested inside Kantaar’s stretched channel for a long moment. Kantaar’s muscles twitch and tremble around him until finally the Man’ari withdraws...but Kantaar makes a whine of disappointment as he pulls all the way out, drawing himself out with an audible pop. Before Kantaar can plead with him again, Cil has plunged back in to the hilt. He continues this slow pace, rolling his hips from side to side, exploring Kantaar’s limits. Kantaar squirms and wriggles as his inner channel is stretched this way and that. His insides are sore and stretched already from the abuse they took earlier, but Kantaar ignores the pain. He rejoices in the warm, iron-hard shaft inside him instead. Cil fills him to his deepest limits--in fact, he forces those limits open.

Cil fucks him for longer this time. He seems to enjoy exploring and forcing Kantaar to stretch even more. It is not long, however, before he finds that miraculously blissful place inside Kantaar, the one he had never felt before Cil took him. Cil growls and crows with triumph as, every time he strikes it viciously with his cock, Kantaar moans piteously. Soon Kantaar is sweating and panting like a winded animal, unable to contain himself as he is subjected to such constant pleasure. Every one of Cil’s thrusts is accompanied by a lewd, thick squelch--as Kantaar’s hole is positively flowing with lubricating juice.

Kantaar comes quickly, his straining cock spurting a meager offering of cum, his ass squeezing Cil’s hard cock like a vice. His erection doesn’t flag--how could it, with Cil abusing that soft, molten core inside him? Kantaar is vaguely aware of his cries, begging Cil not to stop, begging him to give him more.

After Kantaar’s second white-out orgasm, even more powerful than the first, Cil leans down to murmur in his ear, his brutal pace slowing to a gentler rhythm. “Do you know what that is, my sweet thing?” he asks in a voice that makes Kantaar quiver with need. “That is your womb, your little tight womb. Shall I fill it with cum? Shall I breed you?”

Kantaar nods rapidly, the chain jingling almost musically. “Oh, please, please, Cil, give me your cum, breed me, I want--I want to do it--I want to make your child--”

“Since you asked so nicely, darling bride,” Cil rumbles. He leans back again and seizes Kantaar’s upraised hips. He thrusts in so powerfully that Kantaar rocks forward on the bed and struggles to breathe. That place--his womb--is subjected to a violent battering as Cil fucks him. Kantaar can do nothing but whine, and will himself to open and accept Cil’s coming seed. He truly, desperately wants it to take root, and he doesn’t even know why.

The Man’ari’s orgasm is titanic. Kantaar feels his huge cock throb inside him, feels his balls twitch and tighten against his backside, and then he finally gets what he wants. Thick, hot semen floods his channel, and Kantaar thinks he can actually feel it filling his womb this time. It’s enough to make his own body respond in kind, a deep but gentle climax seizing him. It causes his channel to clench and suck at Cil’s shaft, drawing more cum inside, as deep as it will go. Kantaar pants and sighs, rejoicing as his fel lover snarls in triumph above him.

It’s over all too soon. Kantaar’s insides feel soaked and saturated when Cil slides his cock free. He is so dazed that he can only lie there and gasp for breath for several long moments, his ass still raised, as if he were expecting another to come and try their own luck at breeding him.

“Oh, Ekliein,” Cil says fondly. He sounds winded too. “You take my cock so well. It gives me so much joy to watch you squirm and come on it.” He pats Kantaar’s ass, and he immediately lowers it, allowing himself to collapse onto the bed. “I have brought you something else, too, so that nothing is wasted.”

Kantaar gets a glimpse of a shiny, black object, narrow at the tip and flared at the base. Before he can properly identify it, Cil has lifted his tail once more and shoved it smoothly inside of him. “A plug to keep you nice and full,” Cil says with satisfaction.

He picks Kantaar up and pulls him into his lap. The chain jingles with the movement...and Kantaar finds that he doesn’t mind it as much anymore. “That’s better,” Cil says with a broad grin. “You just need a good fuck to keep you happy, don’t you.”

Kantaar lets his head rest against Cil’s broad chest. He’s exhausted and sore and he can feel Cil’s cum heavy and wet inside him. Tentitavely, he lays his palm over his slightly rounded abdomen. Flashes of excitement tingle through his limbs, and he finds that his fear and disgust are far diminished. He even smiles a little at the thought that he may soon be swelling with child. “I hope it is triplets,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

“Give me triplets, Ekliein,” Cil says, in a voice so dark and rich it makes Kantaar’s spine tingle, “and I will make you the most treasured, pampered bride that has ever been owned.”

Chapter Text

 

From then on, everything was different.

Kantaar had lost count of how long he has been in demons’ captivity. It could have been only a few weeks since he’d been kidnapped off the planes of Nagrand, or it could have been longer. He is slowly coming to the realization, however, that he doesn’t much care.

It’s not that Kantaar no longer missed his home. He thought of it often, with an ache of homesickness in his chest, but his desperation to return was slowly fading. Sometimes he was horrified with himself, sometimes he wondered if it was such a bad thing. For somehow, slowly, his life with Cil’donoc had become almost...enjoyable.

They’d established a pattern very quickly. Every evening, Cil’donoc would return to his home from whatever horrors occupied a Wrathguard every day. He’d tease and pet Kantaar, clearly always pleased to see him--and soon Kantaar was pleased to see him, too. Cil’donoc would bring Kantaar food, though the bulk of his diet consisted of the intoxicating astral mead. It wouldn’t take long after that for Kantaar to climb into Cil’s lap, horny and wet, and his demon master was always happy to oblige him. They’d fuck for hours, until Kantaar was thoroughly soaked with Cil’s cum, inside and out. Cil always made sure to plug Kantaar’s ass afterwards to contain his seed. It was certainly becoming more of a necessity, for Kantaar’s once tight hole was fucked open so often now that it was growing nice and loose.

Afterwards, to Kantaar’s initial surprise, Cil would pull him into his bed and soothe him to sleep in his arms with more petting and praise. It had been difficult for Kantaar to fall asleep there the first few nights, but eventually he had grown accustomed to--and even enjoyed--the demonic warmth of Cil’s large body wrapped around his own.

When morning came Kantaar was almost always awakened by Cil’s huge erection rubbing against his ass. Twice he awoke with Cil already sliding inside him; but his only response was to spread his legs further with a happy murmur. Their morning romp was always short, however, as Cil’donoc was always in a hurry to depart shortly after dawn. He left Kantaar food--though no mead. That seemed to be reserved for evenings only.

After Cil’s departure Kantaar would clean himself up in the bathroom. He tried not to look very often in the mirror--always apprehensive that he might notice his stomach beginning to round out. Apprehensive, but also excited...and that excitement frightened him. He did notice that healthy weight was returning to his limbs now that he was being fed again. It seemed also that his skin was smoother and softer now, and his entire form just a little...curvier. His hair even felt softer and silkier. Perhaps the astral mead had even more of an effect than he’d expected. He was becoming more like a pet every day.

After several days of this almost domestic pattern, Cil’donoc leaves Kantaar with his breakfast and departs for the day--but not without giving Kantaar’s short horns an affectionate tug. Kantaar sits up in bed as he hears the heavy door shut behind his master. He stares muzzily at the food left out for him, sleep still fogging his mind--though Cil had spent half an hour pounding him into the mattress. Slowly, Kantaar slips out of the bed and approaches the tray of food, his black chain trailing after him. A slick trail of Cil’s cum runs down the back of his thigh as he moved, but they were always less scrupulous in the mornings. Kantaar stares at the food in front of him: dark bread, cold roasted meat, and sweet black plums…and suddenly feels violently sick.

Kantaar flees to the bathroom. He’s on his knees in front of the toilet in moments, and just in time. He wretches until his stomach is completely empty, and all he can do is dry heave. When it’s finally over he remains on his hands and knees for several minutes, panting and trying to pull himself together. He gets to his feet shakily, and slowly turns towards the mirror. The glass is dark and slightly warped around the edges, but Kantaar can still look himself in the eye. He stares for a moment, wretched fear and unbridled excitement warring inside him. Slowly he places a hand over the black tattoo covering his abdomen.

It’s begun; he’s pregnant. He must be.

The rest of the day is torturous. Kantaar doesn’t feel physically ill any longer, but his mind is plagued with ceaseless anxiety. He paces the room, the shining black chain trailing after him as he tries to calm himself. His first fear is that he is pregnant, pregnant. It’s a perversion of nature that should never have occurred. What will happen to his body? What will this baby be, if it can even be called a baby?

Secondly, will Cil’donoc know, or he will find out, if Kantaar doesn’t tell him? What will he do when he does discover it? Will things go on in the semi-comfortable way they have done, or will Kantaar be shoved into a new prison? The unknown horror of this frightens Kantaar deeply, but he also finds himself fretting over something unexpected as well: will Cil’donoc cast him aside now and get a new bride, now that his task is complete?

Kantaar worries himself to exhaustion by mid-day--but his mind is made up. He must keep the pregnancy a secret from Cil for as long as he can, at least until he can determine what will happen to him. It’s dangerous, but what else can he do? He is at the mercy of the Man’ari and their demon rulers. He must know what will become of him, before it’s too late to make his escape.

Thinking about escape is another frightening prospect altogether. Not only for the danger of the act itself, but also for the reaction of his village, should he even make it home to them. What would they think of him if he returned to them, violated by demons, three months pregnant with a demon child? He can’t think of it.

Kantaar disposes of his uneaten breakfast the best he can. He can’t stomach it, and leaving it untouched would certainly clue the Man’ari in. He is sitting on the bed, trying to keep himself calm, when dusk arrives, and heralds Cil’donoc’s return with it.

The door opens. Cil’s heavy hoofbeats are followed by the sound of it swinging shut, and the loud click of the lock. He always locks the front door. “Ekliein,” comes the deep, musical voice. “I’ve returned to you.”

Cil appears in the bedroom doorway. He smiles and tilts his head, gazing at Kantaar. “You look troubled, little pet.”

“I missed you,” Kantaar says quickly, sitting up straighter. His heart is pounding, but he forces himself to breathe evenly. He mustn’t give any sign of unrest.

Cil tsks, his smile growing broader. He crosses the room to Kantaar and pulls him up into his arms. “Poor thing,” he rumbles, and bends his head to lick the juncture of Kantaar’s tendril and his jaw. Kantaar shivers with unexpected arousal. He can’t contain a little moan when Cil continues with kisses and sharp little bites down his neck towards his collarbone. The Man’ari always enjoys marking him this way.

“Mm, Kantaar, you smell...delicious,” Cil says, his lips running over Kantaar’s skin. “One might even say divine .” He chuckles and presses Kantaar closer to him, rubbing his growing erection against Kantaar’s hip. “Look how you’ve affected me already. You must be very fertile tonight! We must not let that go to waste.”

“No,” Kantaar murmurs, feeling dizzy with a combination of arousal and fear. “No, we mustn’t.”

Cil pulls away from him then and turns towards the door. “You will eat first. You must be remain healthy to conceive.”

“No!” Kantaar says quickly. He knows food will make him sick again. Cil’donoc rounds on him immediately, his burning eyes narrowed. Kantaar forces a smile, trying to look sweet and coquettish. “Just the mead, first? I missed you.”

Cil’s suspicious look changes to one of satisfaction. “So eager tonight, mm? You shall have extra then, pet.”

Kantaar falls back on the bed with relief as Cil leaves to fetch the mead. He fervently hopes that he won’t vomit that up too. To his greater relief, when Cil returns with the large black jar, the scent of it is as delicious as always. Perhaps even more so. Kantaar sits up again eagerly and opens his mouth, just as he always does. With a deeply pleased grin, Cil begins to pour it down his throat. Kantaar closes his eyes as the sweet ambrosia fills him. He drinks it down eagerly, swallowing huge gulps that feel heavy and warm in his stomach. When he has drunk every drop, Kantaar’s anxiety is gone. He feels only blissful numbness and arousal possess him.

“There,” Cil says in a soft, hoarse voice, gazing down at him. “I love the sight of you like this. So willing. Come here.” He loops Kantaar’s chain around his fist and gives it a little tug. Kantaar immediately crawls forward on the bed, his tail swaying eagerly. He’d been so worried before, but he doesn’t need to worry now. All he needs to do now is bend over and get fucked, and he has never wanted to do anything more.

Cil appears to have other plans, however. He seizes Kantaar and drags him off the bed, then forces him to bend over it, his legs spread. “I’m going to give you a treat, Ekliein, for being so good,” he purrs.

Kantaar can only make a little questioning noise into the bedcovers before Cil delivers on his promise. He feels Cil’s hot tongue at the base of his tail and a needy whine escapes him. It rises in pitch as Cil trails his tongue down between his cheeks to his already loose, dripping entrance. Instead of plunging in directly like Kantaar expects, however, Cil flickers his tongue around the softened edge. Kantaar grips at the bedcovers and makes a choked noise. Just that little tease felt so good.

It was apparently good for the Man’ari as well. He pulls back a little and says thickly, “ burning stars, I knew you would taste good tonight.” And then his tongue returns to Kantaar’s hole.

Now Kantaar experiences torture of an altogether different kind. Cil is intent on teasing him. He never thrusts his thick tongue inside, only licks around the edges, savoring and sucking at the waves of Kantaar’s arousal. Very soon Kantaar is near mad with the need to be penetrated. His ass is gaping open, slick juice flowing from him constantly. Cil licks up every drop of it, and Kantaar can feel the Man’ari’s own desperation in the increased pressure and quickness of his tongue.

For not the first time, Kantaar is reduced to begging. “ Please, Cil,” he whines, squirming on the bed. He’s so close to climax now that it seems to be pulsing through his entire body.

“Oh, darling, we’re not nearly done yet,” Cil says hoarsely, and without further warning he plunges two fingers deep inside Kantaar’s waiting hole.

He comes with a wail, his entire being seizing up with ecstasy. His orgasms had stopped producing cum days ago, but his balls still tighten and pulse against his body. The real euphoria comes from his ass spasming around Cil’s thick fingers--and when the Man’ari shoves in a third and begins to stretch his still-tightened muscles wide, Kantaar nearly blacks out from the pleasure. Tears spring to his eyes as Cil works him open even more…and the moment his tongue slips in around his fingers Kantaar is reduced to pitious, delirious sobs.

Cil pulls back again, but keeps his fingers buried deep inside. “There...there now,” he says, his voice low and thick with desire. “If only you could see yourself, my pet. You could easily take--take two.” The stutter the first time Kantaar has heard Cil lose his composure. He has always been entirely in control, even during the throes of deepest passion. That stammer is so endearing. Kantaar feels a flood of affection for Cil’donoc. He lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at the Man’ari.

“Master,” is all he says, soft and pleading, but it’s all the convincing that Cil’donoc needs. He withdraws his fingers and slides his cock in barely a second later. Kantaar slumps back on the bed, his mouth open in a euphoric sigh. This makes it all worth it.

Cil’donoc is savage from the first stroke. Kantaar is so wet and open that he meets with no resistance at all, allowing Cil to fuck him more brutally than he had ever done. The thick head of his cock strikes Kantaar’s womb on barely the third stroke, and Kantaar comes again with a  moan. This time, his orgasm just rolls on and on. Every time he starts to come down, Cil strikes a new angle, or growls something something filthy in his ear, and Kantaar is caught up in another wave.

The constant spasming of Kantaar’s wet channel makes quick work of Cil as well. He climaxes with a vicious snarl, one huge hand pinning Kantaar down to the bed. An enormous flood of cum begins to spurt out of him. It fills Kantaar’s womb in an instant and begins to drip out in slow pulses, mingling with Kantaar’s own thick juices. When he finally comes down, Cil swipes it up with his hand and brings it to Kantaar’s lips. He licks it all up eagerly. The acrid taste of Cil’s cum is nearly as delicious to him now as the mead.

Still breathing heavily, Cil plugs Kantaar’s ass and collapses onto the bed. He pulls him into his arms. He presses a lingering kiss to one of Kantaar’s blunt horns. “That was more than enough for triplets, don’t you think, my little bride?”

Kantaar closes his eyes. “Yes,” he murmurs. His stomach churns. He can’t bring himself to admit that Cil’s seed is already growing inside him. Light keep me safe, don’t abandon me here…

For the first time in his life, Kantaar does not feel the answering hum of the Light. It chills him to his very core.

Chapter Text

Kantaar is sick every morning for the next three days. He forces himself to eat on the second day, knowing the moment he began to look unhealthy, Cil’donoc would suspect something. While Cil’donoc is away, however, Kantaar’s worrying nearly destroys his health in any case. He checks his body every few hours to try and see if there is any change, any swelling around his middle. Would he even see anything this early? He has no idea. He had always expected to study the process of pregnancy when he married and chose to start a family. But would a Man’ari child even develop the same way? Would a child develop in his male body in the same way?

Kantaar had been subdued before, his natural personality diminished by the pressure of captivity, but now he has faded even more. Thankfully his secret pregnancy hormones have such an effect on Cil’donoc that the Man’ari doesn’t seem to notice. He can’t keep his hands off Kantaar, or his cock out of him. Not that Kantaar minds, of course...when he’s not overwhelmed with anxiety, he’s overwhelmed with lust. He barely needs the astral mead to get him viciously horny.

In the moments when they aren’t rutting like randy talbuks, Kantaar nervously attempts to ask Cil’donoc about what lay ahead.

“Are you worried, Ekliein?” Cil asks with a smirk. “Don’t fret. You will enjoy it.”

“But...what will happen? Will I stay with you?”

Cil snorts. “Do not be stupid. As if I would let my pregnant bride out of my sight, for some cockless runt to steal it away and claim my child as their own. Hush now, I’m going to sleep. Come here.”

It’s not the clear answer that he’d been hoping for, but Kantaar has no choice but to let himself be cuddled into Cil’s arms. The Man’ari always wants to sleep holding on to Kantaar--and perhaps he has just told Kantaar why. Kantaar had held an idea that “brides” were highly valuable before, but if Man’ari were willing to try and steal them from each other, they must be more precious than he’d thought. Kantaar couldn’t help but wonder why. What made a Draenei a more desirable mother than a Man’ari?

Despite continued attempts at questioning over the next week, Kantaar gets no satisfactory answers from Cil’donoc. Sometimes, before Cil’donoc leaves in the mornings, Kantaar nearly throws caution to the wind and reveals his secret. Sometimes the Man’ari is so affectionate that Kantaar feels he might be safe. But he knows he cannot trust his feelings; Cil’donoc is a corrupted being, twisted by fel energy. Kantaar will never be safe with him. And so he erases every bit of evidence he can, and forces himself to act as normal as he can...whatever “normal” is.

But he could not keep it a secret forever.

Kantaar had not had a good day. He’d felt ill from the moment he woke up, and had been plagued with frequent bouts of vomiting well past the morning. When dusk comes, however, he puts on a brave face and prepares for Cil’donoc’s return.

Kantaar hears the familiar hoofbeats, the drag of the door, and then the fond call of “Ekliein,”. He feels sweaty and ill, but forces himself to stand and peek through the bedroom door.

Cil’donoc beams at him and crosses to him immediately. He’s carrying a small box in one hand. He takes Kantaar’s chin in his free hand and tilts it up to look into Kantaar’s eyes. “I have a little gift for my bride,” he says. “I should not have bought it, but I can’t help it. I want my bride to be pretty.” He slides his hand along one of Kantaar’s jaw tendrils and gives it a light kiss at the tip. Kantaar shivers pleasantly. These moments with Cil are really quite nice, and confusingly so.

Cil trails his fingers back up the tendril until he reaches the worn gold band around its widest part. With a little painful tug, he pulls the ring off. Kantaar yelps and tries to shy away, but Cil still has a hold of his tendril. “No, no,” Cil reprimands lightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, pet, I’m giving you a gift.” He promptly tugs the band from Kantaar’s other tendril. Kantaar’s eyes sting, and not only from the pain. His father had given the bands to him once his tendrils had grown in long enough to wear ornamentS. Cil tosses them away carelessly and opens the small box he’d brought with him.

“Here we are,” he purrs, and lifts up a new set of bands. These ones are black, black and shining as the chain around Kantaar’s neck. They are, Kantaar has to admit, very pretty: a set of four, two large and two small, the larger ones each set with a small green stone. Kantaar stands still as Cil slips them onto his tendrils, one large and one small for each tendril. “Mm, lovely. A pretty gift for my pretty Kantaar,” he says, with a gentle smile.

Kantaar looks up into the Man’ari’s handsome face, and a little something stirs in his chest. “Thank you,” he says softly. Somehow the sting of losing his father’s gift is less painful.

Cil smiles wider. “What a dear creature you are. You’re welcome, pet. Now, step back so I can see the full effect.”

Kantaar does as he is told and steps back a few feet so that Cil can see all of him. Cil tilts his head to one side, still smiling, as he surveys Kantaar’s body. His gaze slides down Kantaar’s chest, and he says “I thought the color would suit your--”

Cil’donoc stops speaking abruptly. His fiery eyes widen in shock. Kantaar looks down as well, confused, and is struck with cold shock himself. The black tattoo Cil’donoc had traced across his stomach flickers with a very faint greenish glow. The color is not exactly fel-green, but...paler, brighter. It dims near instantly, but then flares again, on a different curve of the design.

Uncertain, Kantaar looks back at Cil. The Man’ari’s expression has twisted to rage. He advances on Kantaar and strikes him hard across the face. “ You deceitful slut ,” he snarls. “ You kept it from me!

Kantaar staggers, but Cil’donoc slaps him again, harder. “How long have you known? A week? Two?!” Kantaar stumbles back and trips on the rough floor. He hits the ground painfully. Cil’donoc steps forward, looming over Kantaar. His burning eyes seem to fill Kantaar’s vision: an endless fel fire, ready to consume him whole.

“I--I wasn’t certain,” Kantaar finally manages to say, staring up at his captor with wide eyes. “I felt ill, but--but I didn’t know what to do. I wanted t-to tell you but I was…” Kantaar trails off as he feels a slight tingling on his stomach. The strange light has reappeared, a little pulse flowing along the curves of his black tattoo. It fades again. He looks up at Cil’donoc, and to his deep shock, he sees the fury in the Man’ari’s eyes is fading.

Cil crosses the room and kneels down next to Kantaar on the floor. He brings his hand to Kantaar’s stomach and gently traces the tattooed lines with his claws. “You were frightened, I assume,” he says, and his voice is terse, but more gentle. “Little Draenei...how stupid you can be, sometimes. I told you I would not harm you.”

Kantaar’s smarting face and hip would protest otherwise, but Kantaar keeps his mouth shut. He keeps wary eyes on Cil’donoc’s face. The Man’ari continues to pet his stomach, making Kantaar’s skin twitch and quiver. The little light flares beneath Cil’s palm, and it brings a smile to his face. His black teeth gleam as brightly as Kantaar’s new jewelry. Cil bends over him and slides his arms around Kantaar’s waist to haul him into his lap. Kantaar makes a slight noise of protest, but subsides at Cil’s “hush.”

Cil arranges him comfortably in his lap, letting Kantaar’s chain drape over his shoulder. He reaches up and pets Kantaar’s face, looking up at him with an expression that Kantaar can’t quite comprehend. “My foolish little bride,” he says. “Do you know what we do to Draenei who do not cooperate? The infertile ones, the fighters, the weak-minded? They are our slaves and miners, the dirt beneath our hooves, and you? You are precious , my Kantaar, because you have my child in your womb, and you can make me many more.” He smiles then, almost fondly, and strokes his fingertips down Kantaar’s lips, over the black tattooed line. “You will stay beautiful and strong, while the other unfortunates of your race are reduced to feeble, broken creatures. I need you healthy and hardy...but I don’t need you happy.”

Kantaar swallows, hard. He knows what Cil’donoc means. The Krokul, the Broken Ones, the Draenei who have been severed from the Light and mutated into miserable reflections of the proud men and women they once were. He has long wondered if that is to be his fate, too, but...apparently not. “What do you mean?” he asks, in a small, hoarse voice.

“Thus far I have allowed you freedom, and affection, and comfort,” Cil’donoc says. “But if you should disobey me again, or keep secrets from me? I will take those things away. You will be shackled to my bed instead of chained. I will take my pleasure from you. You will birth and conceive my children, one after another, until your body is spent and broken and you are no use to me anymore.” As he speaks, Cil continues to pet Kantaar--his horns, his hair, his chest and arms. Kantaar trembles under his touch.

“But, my dear creature, if you are good...I will shower you with adoration and comforts. I will nurture you and our children, and worship you in my bed. You will be my most pampered and adored prince, and bear healthy, strong children for me.” Cil leans in and starts pressing kisses along Kantaar’s tendril, his lips soft and sensual. “This babe will be the first of many, well-loved children, my Kantaar. If you are good for me, I will be good to you. Yes?”
Kantaar’s eyes flutter closed. Perhaps it was just in comparison to becoming Krokul, or a slave for Cil’donoc to rape...but the picture Cil is painting for him does sound an appealing one. Adoration? Well-loved children? Wasn’t that what he wanted out of life anyway…? This is just...different. He just can’t let himself think on it too long. This is his reality now, he must embrace it to its fullest...or perish utterly.

“Yes,” Kantaar breathes, tilting his head down towards Cil’s. “Yes I--I want that.”

A gleaming, black smile breaks across Cil’donoc’s face. “Oh, little one, you don’t know how much I wanted you to say yes. I want to make you happy.” He rubs his huge palm over Kantaar’s middle, and Kantaar stutters out a little pleased noise. “And you are pregnant! I knew it would not take long. I am ecstatic, Kantaar. I am overjoyed. I have waited for this day for many ages. ” He licks Kantaar’s jaw, presses kisses beneath his ear, scrapes his teeth over the delicate skin of Kantaar’s neck. Kantaar can feel him growing hard beneath the curve of his ass. His own smaller cock is twitching to life against Cil’donoc’s abdomen.

“Oh,” Kantaar breathes. “Oh, Cil, yes… I-I h-have your child in me…” Shocks and shivers run up and down Kantaar’s spine as he finally admits it...and with the admission comes the joy and excitement he had not allowed himself to feel before. It’s a savage, lustful joy, nothing like Kantaar had ever felt in his life before; but that does not make it any less delicious. Still, he has to know. “H-how did you know? What is the glow on--on your mark?”

Cil’donoc chuckles against Kantaar’s collarbone, where he had been leaving a carefully crafted hickie. “That is our babe’s life, Kantaar. It is a little being forged of flesh and fel...a most miraculous thing indeed…” He turns his heat to nip at the underside of Kantaar’s chin, making Kantaar gasp with delight. “He or she will be a most powerful warrior in Lord Sargeras’ legion, my pet. Not converted to the fel, but born to it. A glory to behold.”

Kantaar draws in a shaky breath. The idea is both terrifying...and wonderful. His body tingles all over, and he can feel the little lights dancing on his skin. “Yes,” he murmurs.

“You’ve been very bad today, Kantaar,” Cil says, and there’s a hint of strain in his voice. Kantaar can feel the reason why: Cil’donoc’s erection is pressing hard against the seat of his tail. “But you have promised to be good, so I will forgive you, and fuck you.” Cil smiles against his skin. “And now that we have a babe to think of...you will ride my cock.”

“Yes, Cil,” Kantaar says, unable to keep from smiling himself. He spreads his legs to straddle Cil’s hips, already feeling slick arousal building between his cheeks.

Cil’donoc makes short work of maneuvering his clothing out of the way, though Kantaar doesn’t make it very easy for him, as he tries to rub and grind against him all the while. He’s almost ashamed that this perverse, horrifying journey he’s taking on is making him so damn wet. When Cil tosses his leather kilt aside and exposes his huge, engorged cock, Kantaar practically pounces on it. A moan escapes him as the head of the demonic prick slides against his soft, waiting entrance.

Cil watches Kantaar squirm with an almost lazy grin. “Those new cuffs really do suit you,” he muses as he teases Kantaar’s waiting opening. “You look like a proper bride now...I cannot wait to bring you out into society, little thing.”

Kantaar can only respond with a needy whine. He feels so empty! He reaches back and holds his tail out of the way, trying to show just how eager he is. “Please, now, please,” he murmurs, his eyes wide and begging. A fat drop of arousal rolls down the curve of his thigh and he moans.

“Sweet eager thing,” Cil croons, and puts an end to Kantaar’s misery. He spreads Kantaar’s ass cheeks with one huge hand, the other guiding his cock against his soft hole. With just a little nudge he pushes up and in, and Kantaar sinks down with a deep sigh of relief. The feeling of his insides spreading wetly over Cil’donoc’s monstrous member is near euphoric itself.

Ahn, ” Kantaar gasps, and grabs onto Cil’s shoulders to anchor himself. He keeps sliding down, and down, over the enormity of Cil’s cock, until his master is completely buried inside him.

“Oh, Kanti,” Cil murmurs, and Kantaar feels a flush darken his face and chest at the adorable nickname. “There is paradise inside you…” Without further warning he begins to buck his hips--not harshly, but just enough to press in as deep as possible. He strikes the entrance to Kantaar’s womb within the first few strokes. Oh, it feels so good...Kantaar lets his head fall back and lets himself be fucked. His stomach bulges out every time Cil thrusts in, which makes the little light dance as bright as a flickering flame.

It’s not long before Kantaar is reduced to a whorish mess. He clings to Cil, arms flung around his neck, ankles crossed behind his back, letting himself be brutally used right there on the floor. Now that his secret is known, though--now that all feels right, the act feels almost sacred. He is a willing vessel for Cil’donoc’s brood. This is...almost like a duty.

Cil surprises Kantaar by suddenly rising to his feet. He accomplishes it without sliding out of Kantaar even half an inch. Kantaar squawks, but Cil only chuckles and strides over to the bed. He lies Kantaar down on the edge of the bed, so that he can stand with his cock still buried inside his bride. “There now,” he says, panting and grinning, “now I can truly fill you up.”

Cil slides his hips back, and in one brutal, precise motion he snaps them back again. Kantaar howls and squirms back against it. The head of Cil’s cock had struck directly at his womb. He’s momentarily concerned for the battering it’s about to take, but it feels so sinfully good that the thought is instantly driven from his mind. Cil’donoc fucks him like an animal, and a prince; a whore and a sacred virgin. Kantaar can’t contain his cries in the least. He digs his fingers into Cil’s muscular arms and back, his thighs twitching and hips bucking.

Cil is clearly similarly affected. His face is contorted in pleasure, green eyes burning like the heart of fire. His gaze travels between Kantaar’s face and his tattooed stomach, and he periodically gasps and swallows. Kantaar knows him well enough by now to read his expression, but there’s something there now that he does not recognize. The Man’ari is overwhelmed with something, but Kantaar cannot tell what. He places his large, blood-red hand over Kantaar’s middle, and his thrusts shorten to tight snaps of his hips, barely allowing his cock to slip out before he rams it back in.
Cil’s dark lips part and he murmurs, in a soft, nearly tender voice “my bride, mine, my darling, full of my child…” Kantaar’s only response is an eager keen in the back of his throat. “I cannot wait to see you swell, see you grow heavy and ripe…” The tender tone is gone from his voice now--it’s raw, needy, hungry. “My Kantaar, my darling, I will give you--give you everything--!”

Kantaar arches up and clings to him, and Cil leans down to kiss and bite at his neck and his face, not just with his usual force but with passion. Kantaar moans and Cil wraps his arms around him. They crash into climax together. Kantaar’s insides twitch and convulse, sending bolts of ecstasy through his entire body, and he feels the warm rush of Cil’s seed filling him. Yes, he thinks, his neck arching back, mouth open in a silent cry. More, more, more!

Before either of them can catch their breath, Cil pulls back. He seizes Kantaar’s face in both hands and kisses him, hard and vicious and somehow loving. Kantaar moans, overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Cil breaks the kiss. He does not withdraw, but rests his forehead against Kantaar’s, letting their horns butt together gently.

“I meant what I said,” he says, his voice quiet and hoarse. “I will give you everything, Kantaar, if you give the same to me. Serve me, bear my children healthy and strong, and I will give you all that you desire...and more.”

Chapter Text

Life had become blissful.

At least, mostly blissful. Every moment that Kantaar spent with Cil’donoc was glorious. The Deathbringer doted on him now. He brought him rich and delicious food, bestowed gifts and jewelry on him, and spent long periods cuddling him in his huge arms. Kantaar was nearly dazed with the loving treatment. He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that he would be given such luxury in the captivity of twisted, demonic Man’ari.

It was luxury to Kantaar. He’d grown up with the shadow of the demons and the orcs over his head. He’d had a loving family, but life had been hard: scraping together crops at the mercy of the seasons, awaiting attack at any moment. There had been love, but also constant weariness, and never food or warmth to enough to go around.

But now, with Cil’donoc, Kantaar was a prince. It seemed he was Cil’donoc’s sole joy in life. Every night when the Deathbringer returned to him, Kantaar would spring up and hurry to him, and the Man’ari would pull him into his arms to give him fierce, affectionate kisses. Cil could often barely wait an hour before taking Kantaar to his bed (or the table, or a chair, or the floor, more than once). He fucked Kantaar with endless praise and devotion, and a few times even licked and sucked his ass for hours, wringing orgasm after orgasm from a blissed-out Kantaar.

But, not everything was so glorious. Kantaar was still very aware of what he was. He was no longer a slave, but he was definitely a pet. Cil’donoc had released the chain from the bed, but only to magically elongate it so that Kantaar could roam the entire apartment. He was not allowed clothing, or books, or any other entertainment--though Cil’donoc did give him spare parchment, upon which Kantaar drew landscapes, flowers, and mountains in charcoal. There was always plenty of charcoal available.

He drew Cil’donoc’s face, once, when the Man’ari was asleep. He hadn’t meant to give it to Cil, but he had discovered it. When he found it, Cil had looked at Kantaar in open astonishment, and a different kind of affection had crept into his eyes--not the possessive look one gives to a favorite pet, but a fiercer look that, to Kantaar, had felt more genuine.

One morning, Cil’donoc unfastens his chain and wraps it securely in his hands. Without further explanation, he takes Kantaar off, down the halls of the huge fortress. Kantaar feels himself begin to shake. It continues the entire way, as he frets over where Cil’donoc could be taking him. When the Man’ari spots this, he clucks his tongue and pets Kantaar’s horn. “Don’t be so missish,” he says, “we’re only going to the healer, my dear.”

As soon as they enter the infirmary, if one could call it that, Kantaar’s heart begins to race. The space is large, and full of beds set in black stone alcoves. The “healers” are all Man’ari themselves, of course. But, suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Kantaar catches sight of blue-gray among the red. Another young male Draenei.

Kantaar’s eyes widen hugely. It’s the first time he’s seen one of his own kind in weeks, perhaps months. Like him, the Draenei is marked with a black tattoo over his abdomen; like him, he has a black collar and chain around his neck. Unlike Kantaar, however, he is hugely pregnant--seemingly ready to burst any moment. His stomach is great and heavy, and the sigil drawn across it flickers with green light nigh-constantly. Before the two of them can make eye contact, Cil’donoc urges Kantaar onward, and the other Draenei vanishes out of sight. Kantaar stares after him, his chest burning with longing.

After that Kantaar stays silent and pale throughout the entire meeting with the physician. Cil’donoc seems irritable as well, though Kantaar could not tell why. He paces as the doctor examines Kantaar. Kantaar can’t help but squirm himself as the healer probes inside him, and runs his hands over Kantaar’s abdomen with fel magic gleaming between his fingers.

It isn’t until the doctor pronounced Kantaar’s babe healthy and fit that Cil’donoc’s shoulders slump in relief. Kantaar looks at him in surprise, and finally it dawns on him: Cil’donoc was nervous about his baby. It makes a warm kind of sensation stir in Kantaar’s stomach--though perhaps that was the growing babe shifting.

“Your bride will begin to show soon,” the healer says, speaking to Cil’donoc instead of Kantaar. “Rest, water, and healthy food will keep the babe strong. Don’t let your bride have any alcohol, mind...oh, and don’t fuck it too roughly or knock it around too much. A bruise here or there won’t matter, but take anything more vigorous to the fighting pits, mm?”

 

As they return to Cil’donoc’s apartments afterwards, Kantaar feels sick. The way the healer had talked about him, like he was little more than an animal, had brought back the reality of his situation. Cil’donoc may be treating him with a kind of affection and kindness now, but that may not be the case forever. Kantaar feels strangely hollow. There is an ache in his chest that he couldn’t describe.

Cil’donoc shuts the door tight and then immediately scoops Kantaar into his lap. “You are fretting, my dear,” he says, in a low and soothing voice. “What worries you?”

Kantaar bites his lip. Voicing any of his concerns to Cil’donoc would just be foolish. It would be like a mouse begging a cat not to eat it. A cat that had proven surprisingly friendly, but still. Instead he seeks out something else to say, something that had yet been weighing on his mind. “Why--why men?” he asks, looking up into Cil’donoc’s face. “Are the brides--are they all men?”

Cil’donoc smiles a little and strokes Kantaar’s hair back from his face, caressing the smooth ridges on his forehead. “Yes. Your women are too fragile to carry our seed. The first attempts destroyed the girls, and the babes often did not live. Thank the Great Lords that the astral mead has the right effect on your bodies.” He pets Kantaar’s stomach, which had started to become just a bit softer. The tiny fel light flickers along his symbol. “We’ve found a different use for your women now. They make excellent cows.”

Kantaar’s stomach churns, despite Cil’s soothing hand on his skin. “Cows?”

Cil makes a ‘mmm’ noise and tweaks Kantaar’s nipple. “The astral mead grants you a lovely womb, my pet, but you won’t produce enough milk to feed our baby. An annoying quirk of the alchemy, I suppose. So we shall feed our little one with milk from one of the pens.” Cil raises his eyes to Kantaar’s face and grins wickedly. “Perhaps we shall go and visit some time. Did you like tits, my darling, before I introduced you to my cock? Every cow has a pair of fat, glorious tits--and they moan so prettily when we milk them. For those without brides, going to the pens to fuck the cows is a popular pastime.”

Kantaar hurriedly complains of illness and scrambles to the bathroom to vomit--but it was horror, rather than illness, that had sickened him.

 

It’s difficult for Kantaar not to think of his fellow Draenei over the next week. What hells were they chained to? How many other brides were secreted away in these halls? Were they all treated as gently as him, or were others beaten and raped, as the doctor had suggested? Kantaar tries his best to focus on himself and his own situation, despite his feeling for his people. He has to survive, first.

The doctor had been right, though. Kantaar begins to show about a week after their visit. He’d been checking every day, half out of fear, half out of excitement--and the morning he noticed the flat plane of his abdomen had begun to curve out, those feelings jolted in him like a lightning bolt. He emerges from the bathroom, and shyly says, “Cil, look.”

The Man’ari had been lazing in bed for a few moments, idly stroking his enormous cock in preparation for their morning quickie. He glances over at Kantaar, head tilted, and then springs out of bed. “Look at you,” he purrs, and falls to his knees in front of Kantaar. He splays out both of his huge hands over Kantaar’s middle, and Kantaar shudders with delight. “Ah...my Eikliein...our babe is growing so well,” Cil murmurs. A tiny flicker of light flares and flows over the black tattoo. Cil chases it with his tongue, earning another shudder from Kantaar, and then leaves a kiss there.

“You’re growing so quickly,” Cil murmurs as he continues to kiss and caress Kantaar’s stomach. “I wonder if there are triplets in your womb…”

The next half hour is well spent. Kantaar bounces on Cil’s cock with the Man’ari relaxing back on the bed. Kantaar rolls and churns his hips, flexing his inner muscles, desperate to feel Cil’s hot seed pump into him...but the Man’ari has other plans. At the last moment he pushes Kantaar back on the bed and spills in thick, white splashes across Kantaar’s middle. The black tattoo is smeared with cum, and the little green light dances beneath it, almost in exhilaration.

“Tonight,” Cil murmurs in Kantaar’s ear, “I will bring you special gifts...it’s time we bring out my little bride, my darling Kanti.”

 

Before Cil’donoc leaves for his “workday”, half an hour later, he surprises Kantaar by bringing a sizeable jug of astral mead into the room. Kantaar has still not discovered where he keeps getting all of it. With a sweet smile, Cil brings the jar to Kantaar and tilts it up. “Drink, my dear. We have much to prepare for.”

“But aren’t you leaving for the day?” Kantaar asks--though his mouth is already falling open, ready to receive Cil’s offering.

“I am indeed,” Cil says patiently, tipping the jug even further towards Kantaar. He can see a little dome of shining liquid on the lip of the pitcher. He can’t help salivating. “This is to sustain you through until tonight.”

Kantaar hesitates then, though the desire for the mead is growing ever stronger. “What is tonight?”

“A very special occasion,” Cil replies, grinning brightly. “I am going to introduce you to my compatriots, little one.” And with that, he tips the jug the rest of the way forward, and begins pouring the mead into Kantaar’s waiting mouth.

It doesn’t take long for Kantaar to gulp down the entire jar. He’s grown used to it by now, and this jar wasn’t nearly the size of the first ones. Still, the moment the mead has settled in his belly, his body begins to tingle all over. He slumps back onto his elbows on the bed, his legs opening automatically. His cock is half-filled within seconds.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Cil says, setting aside the jar. “You must save it until tonight, Kantaar.”

“What?” Kantaar says muzzily, his mind warm and soft from the effect of the mead.

Cil takes his jaw gently in his large hand and looks down into his face, his bright green eyes meeting Kantaar’s silvery blue ones. “You will stay here and await my return--and until I do return, you will not touch yourself in any way. No fingers or toys in that sweet little ass of yours, no hands on that blue cock. You are not to come at all until I come home to you. Is that clear, Kanti?”

Oh no. The whine comes up from Kantaar’s throat unbidden. Cil’donoc seems delighted at his protest, however, and soothingly pets at his jaw tendrils. That only makes Kantaar squirm more, which only serves to please Cil further. “Why?” Kantaar manages to say through panting breaths. His ass, already loose and wet from their earlier fuck, is now completely soaked. His cock is straining hard against his abs. The mead in his stomach bubbles and rolls, filling him with sweet, penetrating heat.

“It’s as I said,” Cil says, in the manner of someone repeating something to a very slow person, “we have a special occasion tonight. A party of sorts. And you are the guest of honor, sweet bride.” He releases Kantaar’s jaw then, and stands up straight. “I will return home at my usual time. Remember--absolutely no touching yourself...and you promised to obey me.” A flicker of viciousness lights his eyes, and Kantaar swallows. He remembers that exchange very well. All he can do is nod.

“Very well,” Cil says cheerfully. “And don’t fret too much. I’m bringing you lovely presents!” With that, he turned and left Kantaar lying on the bed, completely, achingly unsatisfied.

 

The rest of the day was hellish. Kantaar could do little more than lie on the bed and squirm. He tried distracting himself with everything at his disposal: drawing, cleaning, gazing out the window, but his thoughts always turned back to sex. He wanted it so badly it felt like a fire under his skin. He was so hard he hurt, so wet he ached--and to top it off he was a mess. Little dribbles of pre-cum slid endlessly down his unceasingly hard shaft, and his empty channel was actually dripping with arousal. It ran down his legs, smooth and slick and viscous. The sweet smell of it seemed to ripen as the day went on, as if trying harder and harder to entice a mate to mount him.

Kantaar wanted to disobey Cil. He wanted to ride his fingers, a toy, anything long and hard. He wanted to come over and over again until the mead in his system had been spent, until his entire body was spent. It was the sweetest torture he had ever experienced.

When Cil’donoc finally arrives back to his apartments, Kantaar is stretched out on one of the chaises longues in the front room. His legs are open and waiting, head tilted back, pleading in his eyes. “Master,” he says, using the title he knows will rile Cil’donoc best, “please, I’ve been waiting so long…”

The expression on the Man’ari’s face is pure, vicious delight as he strides across the room to Kantaar. He leans down and kisses him, but not nearly as deeply as Kantaar desires. Just a brush of lips and tongue before pulling away. “Seven hells, my dear, you smell so good--I could sense you from the hall. But I am sorry, sweet creature; not yet. We have to get you ready for your Showing.”

Kantaar’s delight instantly crashes to the depths of despair. He murmurs a whine of protest, squirming on the wet patch he’d left on the chaise. “What is that?”  he asks, with the two brain cells left not focused on how much he wants Cil’donoc’s cock.

Cil sits down at the end of the chaise and sets down a leather bag in front of him. “Now that you are full and ripe with a healthy babe,” he says smugly, beginning to pull things out of the satchel, “I can formally present you to some officers of my choosing. It’s partially to prove that you are not a barren husk, nor I some impotent weakling…” He pauses to pull a beautiful, thick black chain from a soft leather pouch, “and partially to show you off.” He turns a wicked, almost loving smile on Kantaar then. “Now...it’s time to adorn my beautiful bride the way he was meant to be.”

First are the piercings. Kantaar’s ears are studded with two piercings apiece--black hoops for the lobes, and smaller studs for the upper cartilage. Then, partially to Kantaar’s horror, and partially to his delight, Cil pinches and tweaks his nipples erect, and then stabs a little black hoop through each. It hurts, very much, but in his over-sensitized state any stimulation feels good. Another black hoop goes through one of his nostrils, and two shining black bands are fitted around the base of his horns.

Next Cil’donoc braids Kantaar’s hair, with black and golden threads, tying them off with black beads. He gives Kantaar glimmering black hoof-plates to fit over his feet, which make his footsteps echo strangely.

The pièce de resistance is the simple black chain. Cil delicately threads it through the rings sunk through Kantaar’s nipples, and then clasps another ring near the tip of his tail. Slowly, he draws it tight, and then fastens it again, and Kantaar gasps with the combination of pain and pleasure. The chain binds his tail to the middle of his back, curving it up and away from his rear. It also tugs at his nipples, just on the side of pain. “W-what is it for?” Kantaar asks, near-dizzy with need and confusion.

“To keep your tail out of the way, my darling,” Cil’donoc says, his voice low and rich with lust. “I need that juicy ass of yours accessible at all times.”

A low murmur escapes Kantaar’s throat. “Cil, I am begging you--”

Cil leans in and gives Kantaar a deep, thorough kiss. “Patience, patience,” he says in that murmuring tone as he pulls away, leaving Kantaar gasping. “Soon I will take you, as hard as you please, where all can see and enjoy your pleasure.”

 

Despite the adornments Cil had decorated him with, Kantaar does not feel like a beauty as he walks after Cil down the twisting hallways. He feels like an absolute mess. Neither his erection nor his welling arousal have calmed, even though they are walking through a public space, and Kantaar’s face is hot with embarrassment. He caresses his swollen belly nervously, but he has to stop when he finds it too arousing as well. By all that is holy--or perhaps, unholy--he just wants to be touched.

“Come along now, pet,” Cil says cheerfully, tugging a little at the chain around Kantaar’s neck. Kantaar trots more quickly after him, and he can feel little drops of arousal dripping from his exposed ass and splashing on the dark floor. They pass a few other Man’ari in the halls, and they all give Cil approving, envious looks, and Kantaar lascivious leers. Kantaar’s blush grows even hotter, but for some reason he finds it a bit pleasing, to know that other demonkind are jealous of his master.

It feels like ages before they reach their destination, though Kantaar knows it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Cil’donoc pushes open a set of huge, black lacquered doors, and ushers Kantaar inside to the grand room beyond. It’s not a huge space, but the ceiling is high. Long tables are arranged in a semi-circle around a central, open space. Pillows and chaises fill the space between the tables. It takes Kantaar a moment to make out the people inside the room, as the light is dim, warm, and flickering. The instant his eyes adjust, he is hit with a jolt of arousal, shock, and surprise.

There are ten or so Man’ari, men and women, lounging around on the tables, enjoying rich food and drink. But in the center of the room, splayed out on the couches and pillows, are Draenei. Young, male Draenei. All naked, all adorned with black jewelry and finery, and all visibly pregnant. Brides. Kantaar’s mouth goes dry.

The brides are of all different shapes, skin tones, horn varieties. Kantaar recognizes the styles from nearby villages on Nagrand, but others are unknown to him. Each bride bears a black tattoo on his belly. Those less-far along show the occasional flicker of fel light, but there are two so heavy with child that their tattoos glow almost constantly green. All of their tails are bound up against their backs by means of chains tightened to their erect nipples.

What truly captures Kantaar’s attention, however, is the behavior of his kin. The center of the room is a den of pleasure. Some are sharing long, sensual kisses; others are stroking, kissing or licking each other’s rounded bellies. One Draenei is bracing himself on one of the chaises, his huge belly quivering as another bride kneels between his legs behind him, eating out his dripping ass. His face is glowing with perfect pleasure, and his eyes are fixed on a Man’ari lounging across the room, who is watching with a lazy smile.

Kantaar stands there gaping until Cil’donoc gives a little tug to his chain. “Excited, are you?” he rumbles in Kantaar’s ear. “Just wait until the real fun begins.”

“Deathbringer Cil’donoc!”

One of the Man’ari stands and sets down his wine glass. The others join him on their feet. “Welcome!” The others join in with whoops and choruses of “welcome” and “Deathbringer!” The brides look away from their activities and give Cil’donoc beatific smiles. Kantaar can see the foggy look of astral mead in their silver eyes.

“My friends,” Cil’donoc says, and begins to stride towards the head of the tables. He leads Kantaar along with him, and then pulls him in front of him. He wraps his arms around Kantaar’s middle and splays both hands out on his belly. There is an enthusiastic flicker of green light from his tattoo, and Kantaar shivers with pleasure. Cil’donoc begins to speak in Demonic, and Kantaar cannot follow what he is saying. With every word the other Man’ari focus their attention more on him. He can feel their eyes roving over every inch of his body. Cil rubs and strokes his stomach, encouraging more shivers from him. He then takes one of Kantaar’s hands and urges him to turn in a circle, showing off every inch of his body. Applause and cheering rise up from the Man’ari, and even the brides smile and clap for Kantaar. They seem to be watching him hungrily as well.

Cil’donoc says a few more words, and then turns his attention to Kantaar. “Now, my darling,” he says in a quiet tone. “Go along and have fun with the other brides while we feast. You may have as much mead as you like--there’s plenty about. When I am finished, I will mount you here, and spill my seed in you, and demonstrate what an eager bride you are. Then…” He leans in and licks along the shell of Kantaar’s ear. “I will let my most loyal friends have a turn with you. Expect to be taken many times tonight, sweet Kanti. But don’t worry--I will be watching all the while, and if anyone hurts you, I will kill them.”

An equal measure of horror and wild excitement rise in Kantaar’s chest. He gapes at Cil’donoc. A turn with him? Cil is going to turn him over to the other Man’ari, to be their sex toy as well? He almost reaches for Cil, to say no, he doesn’t want it, he only wants him! But something in him, some self-preservation instinct, tells him that it would be very, very bad to disobey Cil’donoc now. Instead, he makes himself smile, and says softly, “whatever you wish, Cil.”

“Good boy,” Cil purrs, in a deep and rumbling tone that Kantaar knows he is mightily pleased. “Now...go on. I want to watch you enjoy the other brides.” He turns Kantaar by the shoulders and gently nudges him down the few steps towards the, well, stage.

As Kantaar inches nervously forward, the other brides rise from their lounging positions and step forward. Kantaar barely has time to register what is happening before a beautiful, dark-skinned Draenei, seemingly 6 months along, draws him into his arms and a deep, loving kiss. Kantaar is momentarily stunned, but the mead that has been coursing through his system all day breaks down his resistance almost instantly. He moans into the other’s mouth, and eagerly kisses him back. He can feel hands trailing over his body, his stomach, trailing up the underside of his tail. His kiss with the dark-skinned bride parts with a little “chu” of mingled saliva, and a gentle hand turns Kantaar’s face away, towards another pair of soft, welcoming lips.

It doesn’t take long for Kantaar to start truly enjoying himself. He shares what feels like hundreds of kisses among the other brides, and soon he finds himself rubbing and gliding his swollen belly up against the others’. Their tight, round abdomens feel so good against his own. Someone tweaks his oversensitive nipples. Someone begins to lick between his ass cheeks. Someone caresses and tugs at his throbbing erection. He reciprocates, as best he can, and before long he’s got his lips wrapped around a hard cock while another bride pumps three fingers into his ass.

All the while, appreciative murmurs and whoops from the Man’ari accompany their play. Kantaar finds himself enjoying it. Reveling in it. He catches Cil’donoc’s eye whenever he can, his mouth around a sensitive nipple or his fingers buried in a slick, soft ass. Look how good I am, Cil, he hopes to say. Look what a good bride I am for you.

A voice in Eredun breaks through Kantaar’s pleasure-fogged reverie. One of the other Man’ari, a dangerously beautiful, muscular woman seated next to Cil’donoc, calls out “Elin, my pet. Go and educate the new blood for me. Get him ready for his master.”

Elin. Kantaar turns and looks up into the face of a bride he hadn’t yet seen. A very familiar face. Elin, the son of the village blacksmith, who had disappeared years ago and been given up for dead. There he is, smiling down at Kantaar, his dark blue skin marked by a jagged black tattoo. He had always been tall and muscular, but now, to Kantaar’s eyes, he looks positively beautiful. His dark hair cascades past his shoulders in shining waves, and his horns curve back from his forehead in a graceful arc. His most attractive feature, though, is the huge, round belly curving out from beneath his defined pecs. He is gloriously heavy with child. Kantaar’s eyes are drawn to his round, tight skin, and he can’t help but place both hands on it. He can practically feel the babe inside--unless that was just a pleasant gurgle of mead.

“Kantaar,” Elin says, and grins at him, foggy with lust. “Let me get you stretched and ready for your master.” He lofts a jug of mead and lifts it to Kantaar’s lips. Kantaar gulps it down, but Elin withdraws it before he can drink it all. Some of the golden liquid splashes over his chin and down his chest. Elin leans in and kisses it away, licking at Kantaar’s lips.

Back at home--back on Nagrand--Kantaar had always had a little crush on Elin. Now it seems a fantasy he’d never known he had is coming true. He moans into the other bride’s mouth and presses close to him, eager to feel that huge pregnant belly against his own.

When they part, lips sticky with mead, Kantaar says, “you’re so beautiful,” in a hushed voice.

“This is my fifth babe for Phaeza,” Elin says, looking over at his Man’ari master. The look of absolute devotion in his eyes is intoxicating. Kantaar is struck by how much the proud, boisterous Elin has changed since he last saw him.  “I hope to give her many more.” He looks back at Kantaar. “Open your legs, now.”

Kantaar obeys, spreading himself as wide as he can, making sure to position himself so that Cil’donoc and his friends can have the best view. He holds onto the back of a chaise with one hand, the other holding his cheeks open so Elin can have the best access possible. The other brides have ceased in their play, now only lounging cuddled with one another, absently petting bellies and horns.

Elin kneels, his belly huge and heavy in front of him. He takes a swallow of mead, and then pours some over his fingers. Then he reaches up and slides those slick fingers inside.

Kantaar’s moan is deep and longing. The mead applied directly to his asshole is the most erotic feeling he’s ever experienced. His muscles instantly relax, allowing Elin to push in three fingers without any effort. Then Elin’s tongue joins, licking around his puffy rim as he pushes and pulls his fingers. Kantaar whines, his body quivering. All he wants is more, deeper. He wants to be split open and filled. It’s so good that he barely notices when Elin adds a fourth finger. He wants it, his ass is hungry for it.

Then Elin pours more mead over his hand, and carefully slides his thumb in after the rest.

Kantaar gasps. He has a fist inside him. His insides feel like they’re being moulded around Elin’s hand. Elin pushes in further, and further, until his fist is pressing up against the entrance to Kantaar’s womb. He gently turns his hand, massaging, caressing that little space. Kantaar is gasping like a winded animal, clutching onto the chaise for support. It feels so good, so good, he begins to weep with the powerful feeling.

And then Elin gently extends the knuckle of his forefinger and plays directly with the tight entrance to Kantaar’s full womb. Kantaar nearly blacks out. It hurts, beautifully hurts, and he’s coming before he even realizes it’s happening. His ass clenches and quivers around the thick fist and forearm inside it. Suddenly there are lips and tongues caressing his aching nipples, a hand massaging his stomach--the other brides have joined in to pleasure him. Elin rubs harder with his knuckle and Kantaar is sure he is going to die. No one can feel this much bliss and survive. His cock jumps and throbs, balls squeezing in ecstasy though no cum spurts over his rounded tummy.

Kantaar looks over his shoulder, still climaxing in powerful waves, and he meets Cil’donoc’s eyes. The intense, ravenous look in those eyes makes his entire body spasm in ecstasy once more. Cil’donoc wants him. Kantaar mouths “master” and sees the shiver pass through Cil’s entire form.

“Excellent work, Elin,” the Man’ari called Phaeza says sweetly. “Such a good boy.”

Slowly, gently, Elin begins to withdraw his hand from Kantaar’s ass. He leaves kisses along the base of Kantaar’s tail as Kantaar whimpers. He feels so stretched, and the slide of Elin’s withdrawal is oddly as satisfying as the entry. Elin carefully draws his fingers out, one by one, until Kantaar is entirely empty. He blushes darkly--he can feel that his ass is gaping. Arousal and mead drip down his thighs in a steady flow. The appreciative murmur that comes up from the watching Man’ari only confirms this. Elin straightens up and pulls Kantaar into another kiss. The taste of mead lingers on their twining tongues. As he pulls away, Kantaar smiles dazedly at Elin.

“Time to take your bride, Cil’donoc,” the Man’ari called Phaeza croons. “He’s nice and ready for you now.”

Kantaar turns to see Cil’donoc rising from his seat of honor at the center of the table. The bulge of his enormous cock is  showing proudly through his leathers. Kantaar nearly salivates at the sight. He’s been waiting for this all day. Even Elin’s treatment can’t compare to what he’s about to experience. Kantaar steps back, smiling dazedly, and opens his arms for his master.