Bog's World

Altogether elsewhere

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Dominatrix

Her head thumped. Tentatively she reached around touched the back of her head. Dried blood matted her hair together. She ached all over from being dragged through the streets unconscious by her ankles. Her body was a mass of bruising. Grazes stung. But she could see that she was now in had once been a vast, well appointed boudoir. Peering out of one eye she could see a male drow. He was wearing thick leather cuffs at his wrists and ankles, like she was. And a tight fitting metal collar. She fought the urge to reach up and touch the one at her own neck, unless it was enchanted to begin to shrink if she touched it herself.

The man’s lean black body glistened in the torchlight. He appeared barely conscious himself, as if he was drugged and just coming around. The rings on his cuffs were tied to bolts in the wall, so that his body formed an ‘x’. There was a chair behind him, forcing his hips to thrust forward. Someone else was in the room, someone in armour. She did not dare move, the longer she was believed to be unconscious, the better. Eventually the Black Heart walked into view, greasing a wide leathern phallus with an ornate tassel. Almost casually, the large warrior woman, the new Queen of Dezzavold, reached down between his legs and began to work the object into the man’s anus.

He murmured and began to come around a little faster. “Come on Kane, wake up damn you.” Her voice was rasping. As the dildo went in, so Kane’s own cock grew hard, swelling impressively as it came erect. For a moment, he reminded her of Kal. The Black Heart laughed and gave his hard on a not too playful slap. He cried out then. And he cried out again as tiny sprung jaws were fastened to his chest.

Kane is often tied. Maybe he is already quite sore from something. The Black Heart is not completely arse fixated – but she does like it hurting for Kane to sit down sometimes. And more than one of those magic plugs keeps him impressively hard for as long as it was in. A lot of the time his dominant hand is cuffed behind his back. Often he has to write cack-handed with a pen he has to dip into an inkwell. He has a time limit which is completely unachievable. The former master of all magic in Dezzavold is reduced to scribing for an illiterate barbarian queen. Sometimes he’s writing to try and avoid imprisonment as well as pain. Locked up starvation is all too popular with the Black Heart, who keeps two cages in her chambers and one on the balcony. The balcony cage is on a jig, so that with the merest push, the prisoner is dangling over the two hundred meter drop down into Dezzavold.

It is a very well designed cage. Egg shaped with spikes on the interior. Blunt spikes, but still spikes nonetheless. And too short to stand up in, too narrow to sit down in. The bars underfoot are not sharp, at least at first. But the whole thing is shaped so that the prisoner can only remain off the spikes in one position, braced in an uncomoftable half crouch. As the prisoners muscles and resolve fail, as they begin to succumb to the urge to rest, so they relax onto the spikes and are jerked awake once more. Kane is sometimes left in there for days.

When the Black Heart hasn’t got him spaced out of his mind on abyssal dust, Kane is almost constantly achy-crampy and trying to write enough lines fast enough to avoid going back in that cage where he can’t sit down in.

The Black Heart forces his head back by the hair. She puts her hands around his throat and his enraptured-eyes snap wide, wide open. She holds him there. Her hands around his neck. Not squeezing. No need. Takes nothing to be scary like this. Kane has seen her kill others like this, on a whim, her supposed allies and servitors. She is just letting him feel her hands on his neck. “Just know I’m always there” she seems to be saying. He can feel her skin on his. And a moment later, she moves her hands and cover his mouth and nose. Only careful. Only for seconds.

The Black Heart is a little drunk so the short strap is a better pick than her belt. Even though her belt is very beautiful. Drow skin; that of the late Queen, Kane’s lover.

Oh, yes. She is drunk. Giddy and high. Her voice coarse. “‘Cause, you know, hitting people is fun. Fun things are even funner when you’ve had a drink. They cooked me a nice meal. Small boy, I think. They bought a nice bottle of wine from the obscure place in the world above. What? I don’t get to drink it because I’m hoping for tears before bedtime.”

She rounds on Kane with his legs open and uses the short little strap on his inner thighs.

Drunk!

She hurts him a lot. He does this brave macho thing with his reactions. Shouting, barking and swearing at the pain like a soldier being forced to do push ups. That’s so nice. So masculine it’s almost camp. Everything the Black Heart appears to love. Butchy brutey.

The Black heart notices the naked surface elf in the corner and smiles a feral, predatory smile. The Black Heart enjoys seeing the fear in her eyes. She saunters over to where the new slave lies sprawled and squats down to cruelly grasp her face in one large hand. The pale girl whimpers as huge hand crushes her already bruised and grazed face, she looks up at the Black Heart. She is bigger than most men, muscle bound, broad shouldered and mighty thewed. Her mean expression betrays no great intellect, but an air of command. Her movements are efficient and her voice is un-naturally deep for a woman. “You will obey me in all things, yes ?” The pale girl manages a nod.

The Black Heart takes one hand and helps her up. The girl is unsure what is going on. The Black Heart still has hold of her right hand. “Obey…” with seeming indifference, she bends back the little and then the ring fingers until they snap. “…me.” Unable to suffer in silence, the girl from the world above cries out in agony.

The Black Heart is now obviously becoming aroused by watching the new girl slave suffer. The black giant grins manically as the pasty naked elf maiden cries and cowers. The Black Heart finds a length of rope and drops it on the floor in front of her.

Acting on the Black Heart’s instructions, with tears still streaming down her face, she releases Kane from the wall and connects his wrists together and runs the rope from one ankle round the back to the other one then to the centre back again and up to hold his wrists. The befuddled Kane is surprised to see another prisoner. As his vision slowly penetrates the fog of pain he realises that the newcomer is an elf maiden from the world above. When realises what it is he sees, he laughs at her. He laughs manically all the while she fumbles tying knots with her broken fingers.

But it works. He can’t move. The Black Heart leans back on her divan and purrs out her instructions. “Blindfold him and put a little bit gag in his mouth.” The gag doesn’t do much except make him unable to swallow his saliva. But really, that is enough for the Black Heart’s purposes.

At a nod from the Black Heart the slave pulls his head down by the hair and the Black heart reaches out and worries his bottom lip with her fingers until soft wettness drips from his mouth. There’s nothing he can do to stop it.

His thighs are held wide apart, still bruised and red. Flicking the strap, the Black Heart slaps the marks and where they were only red before some places turn purple. Little sunsets, thought the slave girl, knowing that the other two would not see the similarity, having never even been to the world above.

The Black Heart struts around Kane and eventually takes his blindfold off. She indicates to the tearful slave girl that she is to kneel in the centre of the chamber. Almost gently, but with a heavy air of threatened violence, she ties the blindfold around the slave’s face and orders her to sit with her hands clasped in the small of her back. Almost as an afterthought the Black Heart nudges her knees a little way apart with the toe of her boot as she stalks back to Kane. Carelessly, she cuts off the gag, slashing his face deeply. He sees her nostrils twitch as she smells hot blood.

For a long time the elf maiden from the world above listens to painful things happening to Kane. She cannot see, but she doesn’t need to. When the Black Heart is done, she lies on her back on Kane and puts her legs up on top of his, stretched wide around his bloodied body. The adamantine rings of her mail shirt dig and pinch Kane’s flesh as she moves. She uses the short strap again - that she had been using to hit his clamped nipples - to masturbate a little, then pushes it to Kane’s mouth, then back into herself.

She keeps doing it. Kane is staring at the white skinned elf maiden. She is poised with her taut body held alert, worry clearly on her face. Her knees are slightly apart but not enough to let Kane see what he wants. Where the Black Heart is dark, powerful and curvaceous, she is pale and slim. Her body has a smooth firmness that he finds stimulating, not the bulging musculature of their mistress, but the whipcord power of youth. The Black Heart’s muscles would be much easier to peel from her bones, he thinks to himself.

The Black Heart turns her head and licks the sweat and blood from the side of his face, bringing him back to the here and now. His erection strains against the weight of the mail coat laying on top of it, between him and the coat’s wearer. After a while the Black Heart has to switch to fingers because her sex is too precious and figety to let her masturbate properly with anything but her own hands.

She shudders with orgasm. Lying on top of Kane.

The Black Heart starts drinking water. At her instruction the untied but still leashed Kane makes her some tea. She doesn’t say anything at first, but he sees what the Black Heart is doing. He offers her some wine, but she takes water. Beer is the best thing. But they don’t have any beer. She drinks three pints of water. Something like that. It’s not an exact art, all she needs is to get to a point where she knows her bladder isn’t going to turn her down.

She sits on the sofa with her pet on a short lead. He is still naked and a lot still sore and the Black Heart says, ‘I’m going to piss on you.

The elf maiden from the world above jolts a little. Maybe it’s hearing the words.

The surface elf is naked on the floor, blindfolded with her hands clasped behind her back. At the touch of the strap, she obediently drops forward, the gentle pressure guiding her down until her chin is on the floor. The Black Heart stands over her and then it’s happening, easy and sure. Still fixated by the newcomer, Kane makes such a deep-down-real aroused noise as he feels the turmoil of emotions coming from the dominatrix and the slave. For the Black Heart, just releasing her bladder is like another orgasm.

Oh, piss. It’s been such a long time. It’s so good.

The Black Heart orders her slave to roll over a lie face up. She looks at the elf girl covered in her piss. Through her hair and round, clinging paths across her face. She is sobbing heavily behind the blindfold. The Black Heart is clearly enjoying her suffering.

Kane hasn’t been allowed to come for four years. The Black Heart thinks. Something like that. “I know, I am meant to be paying attention, but neglect is a perfectly valid form of abuse”. She tells him to roll around on the floor next to the new slave. Each of them can feel the heat from the other. Drenched in piss and laying in it.

After covering himself in third hand urine, The Black heart waves him awway from the slave and the Black Heart tells him to masturbate. He is careful not to look at the slave as to do so will result in a beating. He follows his mistress’ instructions. She tells him that he is not allowed to come. He knows better than to disobey, he gave up open defiance many years ago, he breaks down and weeps as he forces his hands away.

The Black Heart laughs at him and tells him that he is to clear up the mess whilst she is away.

The new prisoner is taken onto the balcony and shoved in to a cage. The cage is beautifully made, but it is a cage. She can only crouch within. The door is shut and the jig swung out. Within minutes her thighs are burning and back aching from maintaining the crouching position. The two bars that are the floor are beginning to dig into the balls of her feet but there is nowhere else to put them. The blind fold slips down around her neck.

She can see the city laid out before her, like a map picked out in minute pinpricks of light. She watches, feeling the cold air play over her exposed skin. She can hear the Black Heart using Kane inside. Riders on giant bats fly about, patrolling or running errands. Most land somewhere on the other side of the columnar fortress she was being dangled from. As she watches the dark underground city, miles below the surface, she wonders at the heat. Even given her current predicament, she wasn’t cold. The city must be a long way down. She fails to fight back what might be real tears when she realises how far away from home, how far away from friends she actually is. The Black Heart has driven herself to a noisy climax.

There is the sound of chains being moved about and of a slick body thumping into something hard (like the wall or the floor). Then the Black Heart is gone, out into her fortress, to rule an oppressed people. She looked at the cage. There was a simple bolt securing it. Normally, she’d never manage to fit one of her hands through to reach it. But with two broken fingers…


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