Aelindrach's Kiss.

"Hair up or down, my Archon?"

I watched in the mirror as Xivris ran her fingers through my hair, lifting it up from the severe, knife-like face that it framed. The Lhamaean consort-attendant had already applied dark skin pigments around my eyes and subtle blue tones beneath my cheekbones, draining what little colour it normally possessed. Pots of paints and dyes littered the rich, lacquered wood dressing table before me. Outside, through a crystalline window hidden behind curtains of tanned and dyed skin, the tinny howl of Commoragh's endless stream of air-traffic filled the silence.

It seemed like such a small thing to fret over, especially in the midst of such greater worries. My Kabal, the Bitter Kiss, was besieged and steadily losing the territory I had spent the best part of a hundred cycles conquering to Archon Mandulak, of the Viridian Blades. My fingers twitched at the thought of his name. Bile crept to the tip of my throat. Every counter-attack we launched was detected and eliminated. Every plan I devised was foreseen and countered. Someone within my Kabal was feeding him with information, and once I had them, I had long since resolved to make the Haemonculi's blades seem like a mercy.

I almost longed for the older days, when my concerns had been simple, visceral, and their consequences immediate and obvious. When I had the freedom to style myself however I wished, dressing in scavenged wychsuits and painting the pale skin it displayed with anarchic patterns invented on a whim, instead of worrying about the Dark City's ever-changing fashion trends. I glanced at the battered old Skyboard displayed on the wall, and the Hellglaive slung beneath it, and sighed.

"Up, I think." I frowned, trying to picture how I would look in my mind. Even the slightest misstep in Commorite politics could be lethal. Dress a certain way, fall out with the wrong social circles, and you can so easily find yourself shut out of the tenuous network of deals and alliances that keeps the Kabals from tearing one another apart. "Use the bone pins to hold it in place."

"Of course. And colour?"

"Leave it black. No." I shook my head. "Red highlights. They need to match my armour."

Xivris nodded and set to work, fussing around me with a dye comb. The sweet scent of the narcotic perfumes covering her barely-clad body filled the air, and I relaxed, breathing in deep lungfuls of the soothing drugs. When I rode with the Bloodwing gang and looked up at High Commoragh's mighty Kabalite towers, I never imagined power would have brought with it so much responsibility. It is a prison, in a way; every freedom it offers is poisoned by responsibility, the necessities of your subjects and the expectations of your peers. Perhaps it is a realization that every Archon, even the great Overtyrant himself, makes once they finally claw their way to the top of their Kabal.

And yet, not one of them would willingly give up their position. Pride, not to mention the necessity of securing access to greater and greater supplies of slaves to consume as one ages, compels us to cling on to our accomplishments no matter what.

I grunted and shook my head, dispelling the introspective nonsense that had crept up upon me. The past was irrelevant. Surviving the present was the only thing that mattered. Still, I glanced over at the Skyboard again, and my painted lips twisted up into a smile. When this is over, I thought, I must dig out the old Hellion leathers and take it out for a spin.

Suddenly, Xivris froze. The courtesan's painted skin was pimpled with gooseflesh. I clicked my fingers in irritation, and she shuddered.

"I'm not paying you to stand around, Lhamaean." I grated. "Get a move on."

 "Of course, Archon." The other woman sketched a humble bow, her jewellery rattling. "But, did you not feel that? The temperature changed."

I frowned as Xivris quickly finished setting the colours in my hair. She was right. Insulated within my undersuit and layers of barbed red armour, I hadn't noticed how cold the room had become. Spidery webs of permafrost crept across the mirror. Xivris glanced towards me, and while she made no sound, her posture radiated anxiety. The Lhamean's breath fogged the air, but she remained as motionless as a porcelain statue. With nothing to protect her from the sudden cold but her flimsy silks, I felt a brief flicker of respect for the courtesan.

Neither of us moved. Both of us heard the sound. It was soft, so soft that it would have gone unnoticed by a lesser creature. A gently susurrus, less than a whisper, the barest stirring of the air. A minute prior, Xivris and I had been alone in the room. I slipped my hand down, fingering the handle of the huskblade sheathed at my hip. Now, three creatures could clearly be heard drawing breath.

Xivris shifted her posture a fraction, her stance moving from anxious to questioning. Her fingers twitched, a fractional gesture behind her. I nodded, carefully masking the gnawing sense of uncertainty that had formed in my gut. It would not do to show weakness in front of the entity that had so suddenly arrived in my chambers.

"It would appear, Xivris," I announced, rising imperiously from the dresser and turning towards the center of the room, "that the emissary from Aelindrach has arrived sooner than expected."

The courtesan yelped and stumbled aside, grabbing for one of the long, venomous ritual knives her order habitually carried. The cold robbed her of her usual speed and grace, and I easily plucked the weapon from her shaking fingers and tossed it aside with a sneer of disdain.

The creature squatted in the center of the floor. It hunched like one of the great, black gargoyles that clung to High Commoragh's fortresses, but its shadowy body had none of their formidable solidity. Ebony skin rippled and flowed like molten wax, forming deep scars and lesions that glowed with a sickly inner light. The unearthly stillness of the thing was deeply unnerving, and I felt an uncomfortable kernel of fear growing within my long-jaded heart. There was no way of telling how long it had sat there, watching Xivris and I, nor how it had so easily penetrated the my defenses. The idea that it could have slipped in and out at any time since I had first made contact was not a comforting one, and my mind filled with ghastly images of it squatting atop my bed, staring at me as I slept.

"Mandrake," I hissed.

The Mandrake rose, its motions lazy and unhurried, as if it had every right in the galaxy to stand before me. It was male, tall and lithe, its body sculpted with lean, athletic musculature. A rough kilt of stitched hides hung around its waist, held together at the sides by thin strips of ligament, leaving its strong, powerful thighs bare. Silver rings decorated its fingers, and lank white hair, as fine as cobwebs and threaded with scrimshawed fingerbones, fell down around its shoulders.

Despite the creeping chill the creature exuded, my breath caught in my throat. Naked aside from the skins that protected its modesty, my eyes roamed over the flex and play of the Mandrake's muscles as it stood, stretching and rolling its shoulders like a man awakening from a long sleep. I cast a glance at Xivris, more to force my mind back to the present than out of any real sympathy for the Lhamaean. She had recovered her blade, but stood with her arms wrapped around herself, forlornly trying to ward off the cold despite her undress.

"Xivris, you may leave us." I said. "Re-arrange my schedule. Ensure I will not be disturbed." The other woman gave a small bow of thanks and scurried away, closing the door behind her with a heavy click.

"I see you received my summons." The Mandrake snapped to attention as I spoke. Its face was like a blank, featureless mask; a narrow wedge of black matter that suggested cheekbones and a narrow chin, decorated with a small nose and two recessed eyesockets that shone with lambent, green light. "I had not expected you to visit so soon."

It cocked its head, as if curious. The fluid, insubstantial flesh that made up its face peeled back like it had been parted with a scalpel, twisting into a mocking grin. Rows of sharp little teeth, pearly white against the black mass that surrounded them, glittered in the light.

"The Shrouded Claw found your offering most acceptable, Archon Selinda." The Mandrake's voice was as menacing and insubstantial as its body, a ghostly whisper that seemed to echo too long in the air. "I have been dispatched to declare terms."

"I should hope so." I replied. It had been a risk, marching the dozen most valuable slaves into the borders of Aelindrach, the shadowy sub-realm of Commoragh the Mandrakes claimed as their own. Each one had been branded with a message offering an alliance, but there was no telling whether or not the creatures would have found them, much less bothered to respond. The fact that they had lifted my spirits considerably. As much as I hated to admit it, it had been something of a last throw of the dice. "Do you have a name?"

The Mandrake grinned wider and shrugged. "Not one I care to share."

"So be it. What I require of you is simple." I said. "My Kabal is engaged in a turf war with Mandulak, of the Viridian Blade. One or more of my own has turned and is feeding him with information. You will find this person, or persons, and bring them to me alive. Once this is done, I grant you full dispensation to feast on Mandulak's Kabal in whichever way you choose. Drag the bastard's tower down to Aelindrach if it pleases you."

The runic etchings scrawled across the Mandrake's flesh flared, for a moment illuminating it's wiry musculature with haunting, green light. I took that to be a good sign.

"And in return?" It said.

I reached down to my belt and produced a small, crystal bottle. Unclean light swirled within, radiating an aura of potent misery that made my skin tingle and set my heart racing. Faint voices echoed from the vessel, tiny, whispered pleas and threats.

"I have procured, at great expense, the captive soul of the last house of Xilnan. A rare thing in itself, but there are many who would pay well to have him regenerated." I gave a cruel smile. "In addition, you may avail yourself of anything you find within Mandulak's tower. Slaves, goods, personnel. Anything."

They were generous terms. Extremely generous, but I had few options. For several heartbeats, there was silence as the Mandrake considered. The cold seemed to recede, then it spoke.

"We require one more thing to cement our alliance."

My smile flickered. Fool, I thought, you played your hand too early. They know how much you need them now, and will demand more. Forcing my bitterness down, I nodded and gestured for the Mandrake to continue.

"We wish for an Archon's pride."

The urge to laugh bubbled up inside me, rich and potent. The Mandrakes were well known for their love of the occult and the esoteric. I had no idea how they intended to extract such a thing, and I did not care.

"Very well. It appears our goals are aligned. When you find Mandulak, you need not return him to me alive. Do with him what you will. I ask only for a piece of his body, to confirm that he is dead."

The Mandrake slid closer, glowing tattoos sliding across its oily body. I felt the creature's chill wash over me as it grew more solid, more substantial, creeping under my armour like a cold sweat. It reached for me, corded muscles bunching and flexing under its black skin. Every instinct I had screamed at me to slap the Mandrake's hand away, or to step back and draw a weapon, but I crushed them with a thought. Even by the standards of the Dark City, Aelindrach's children were strange and unpredictable. Offending them risked not only cutting my Kabal off from the aid it required, but making another enemy as well. Its talons brushed against my cheek, tucked a stray lock of hair behind one pointed ear. Cool, slippery fingers stroked the length of my jaw.

"Payment must be taken in advance, Selinda. So it has always been, so it shall always be."

My expression grew thin and strained. The use of my given name, devoid of title, was grievously insulting. "Even if my Kabal possessed the time to find you another petty Archon in payment, we do not have the manpower to open up a second front, even against one of our inferiors." I replied. "We require your intercession now."

I hated how desperate the words sounded. It was almost a plea. The Mandrake pulled away and swirled around behind me, filling the air with its liquid chuckle. I felt its arms wrap around my waist, its icy breath against my neck, as it leaned over to whisper in my ear. Fury, sudden and violent, coursed through me. The assumption of the thing, daring to address me as an equal, to touch me as if we were lovers, curdled my blood. For a half-second, I would have gladly seen my Kabal torn down in flames, if only for the chance to nail the gutter-spawned, half-breed monster that had embraced me upon the prow of my Raider as a warning to the rest of its degenerate kind.

"Then you must pay us with your own, must you not?"

Despite all pretense of control, a tiny gasp slipped from between my lips as the Mandrake sunk its teeth into my ear. It nipped at the sensitive flesh with its fangs, each tiny sting followed by a cold breath that set my nerves aflame. Somehow, it continued to speak, its words just as clear as they had been before.

"Pay us with your warmth. Pay us with the sweat from your skin. Pay us with your guilt and your pleasure. Pay us with your submission."

I could feel hands, tugging at the clasps of my armour. The strong arms wrapped around my waist had not moved. Something hard and insistent pushed against the tight bodysuit stretched over my behind. My subconscious screamed, demanding that I take control of the situation even as conscious thought recoiled from what the thing was demanding of me.

"I am not your toy, Mandrake." I hissed. The words lacked conviction. My legs shook, and I cringed as the Mandrake reached the tip of my ear and gently savaged it, mauling the delicate tip with its lips. I could feel my skin flushing, and let out a hoarse pant as a shudder of pleasure coursed through me as its tongue lapped at the sensitive point. Out of the corners of my eyes, more of the shadowy creatures began to ooze into the room. They crawled from behind the curtains, from under the bed, flocking around me like crows around carrion. "I am not some...undercity whore, bartering herself for droughts of second-hand misery."

"But you were once. Before the palace, there was the brothel. Before power, there was service. Before others knelt before you, you knelt before them. You took what they gave and you thanked them for it." Another voice hissed. An icy tongue probed at my ear, and I choked down the low gasp that I felt bubbling inside me. Their hands were everywhere, clutching and caressing, worming under my plate, with nothing but the glossy black second skin I had donned to keep them from my flesh. My breastplate came away with a metallic clatter. "Refuse our terms and such could be what you return to. Would you see everything you have accomplished turned to ash and forgotten?"

"No." My voice was hoarse. Anger curdled in me still. I did not know how they had come to find out about that filthy, sordid part of my history, and my fury was tainted with a kernel of shame. It had been a hundred and fifty cycles past, a necessity for survival, but the thought of it still sickened me to my stomach. I felt myself tense, and knew the Mandrakes' grip upon me was not so strong that I could not have thrown them off if I wished it. The huskblade felt heavy at my hip, as if it were screaming out to be drawn and turned upon the flock of half-breed creatures. My mind filled with red haze, scenes of violence flashing before my eyes.

"Would you have us hired into Mandulak's service instead?" Another voice whispered mockingly. My greaves were gone. I had no memory of lifting my legs to slide them off, but I could feel their hands upon my calves, creeping up the length of my legs. Fingers knotted through mine, sliding away my gauntlets as easily as a Haemonculus might excise the skin from his Wracks.

"No!" I screwed my eyes shut, gritting me teeth in frustration. My heart raced. I had clawed my way up from nothing, from the gutters, to rule my Kabal. My mind rejected the idea of submitting to anything, to anyone short of Asdrubael Vect himself. The thought was poison. It was disease. It was something to be rejected on a fundamental level, to be denied utterly. But soon, I would have no Kabal left at all. The three hundred or so men and women who had pledged their service to me would be dead or forced into slavery of their own. Their lives meant nothing, but they were mine - my warriors, my property, to be used and expended at my whim alone.

"Do you consent?" The Mandrakes spoke together, their voices blending into a chorus of whispers.

I did not reply. Their grip had become hard. Long, strong fingers held my legs apart, my arms spreadeagled. Tongues slithered over the few patches of bare skin my undersuit exposed. I did not know how many of the Mandrakes there were now. At least half a dozen, I thought, but their number seemed to change every time I tried to take count. I felt sick with desperation and anger, beset by an awful, gnawing helplessness, the likes of which I had not felt since taking command of the Bitter Kiss. The urge to lash out, to kill and maim, to bestow a rich harvest of misery upon the unfair galaxy that had forced me to this point was almost irresistible.

"Do you consent?" They whispered again.

I lifted my head and opened my eyes. One of them - the first, I realized, recognizing the rings on his fingers and the bones in his hair - stood before me. His skin flowed and rippled like  liquid, yet the glow from the runic etchings traced over his skin threw the hard muscles beneath into stark relief. His eyes burned in his mouthless face. I met them, glaring at the creature with every ounce of fury I possessed, as if my bitterness could be hammered into a physical thing and driven through its eye-socket like a stiletto.

My lips twisted into a sneer, and I spat at it. The Mandrake flinched. It was a small triumph.

"Yes." I snarled. "I consent. Do with me what you wish, so long as you save my Kabal."

They laughed, dry and whispering, and flocked tighter in around me. Their touch became more intimate, more possessive, their muscular bodies rubbing against my own. A dozen or more arms wrapped around me, holding me restrained as their hands slid over my breasts, my belly, caressing my buttocks and thighs. Fingers teased through my hair. Fangs nipped at my ears, and cold, pale tongues lapped at my cheeks and my neck, tasting the sweat that blossomed across my skin. Through it all I remained still, eyes fixed dead ahead, staring blindly into the middle distance. I knew what was going to happen, and though that knowledge curdled in my stomach like rancid milk, I would not beg.  I would not suffer the indignity of pleading with the creatures for them to go easy on me.

A claw traced the length of my spine, slicing through the bodysuit, the sting of the razored point as it slid down to the small of my back sending a bitter, illict thrill through my body. The sound of the material ripping seemed deafening, for a moment drowning out the whispers and calls that echoed from all around. I snarled, the noise ugly and instinctive, as a strong arm wrapped tightly around my neck. My fingers clenched into fists and my muscles tightened in impotent fury as I felt myself being pulled backwards. Cold, oily fingers slid through the gash in my bodysuit. My skin tingled at their touch, nerves singing as the tight garment was stripped away, baring my smooth, pale flesh up for the pack of Mandrakes. The silver spikes that pierced my nipples shone green in the reflection of their writhing, glowing tattoos.

The first Mandrake leaned over me as the bodysuit was stripped away, watching as his kin sliced it apart, scattering the remains of the garment around the room as if they were baring me up for his inspection. His smile was like a rent in the flat wedge of his face. Strings of black, fluid matter dripped between his protoplasmic lips.

"You need not fight us, Selinda." He hissed. His hand circled my breast, his cloying fingers trailing across the bare expanse of my skin. Cool lips worked their way across my back. Tongues lapped at the inside of my thighs. Claws pricked at my ribs. A hundred different touches feathered my body at once. Had the situation been otherwise, the feeling would have been divine. To be fawned over, pleasured and sated by a dozen worshipers, each eager to seek out the secret places that drew the greatest reaction from me, was no unwelcome thought. "We shall take you this night, each and every one of us. Abandon your resentment. Give yourself willingly. Take Aelindrach into yourself, and revel in its kiss."

"You asked for my pride, creature." I spat the words back. "And I have surrendered it to you. But I will not give up my dignity by thanking you for it as well."

The creature's fingers moved to my nipple, grasping the spike of metal that had stabbed through the sensitive flesh. Around me, several of the Mandrakes had begun to back off, their lithe, shadowy forms slipping free from the kilts and tunics of flayed skin they wore. Their members were as dark and rune-etched as their bodies, each shaft of ebony flesh throbbing with anticipation. My breath caught as their leader gently tugged at the piercing. He pulled it, twisting it this way and that, watching curiously as I writhed in pleasure, struggling against the Mandrake holding my throat. The pulsing mass of his erection slid between my buttocks like a reminder of what was to come.

"Perhaps." The Mandrake replied mildly. "For now, we shall see how much of your gutter days you remember."

The arm around my neck vanished as if it had never existed. I had barely enough time to take a grateful breath before a pair of hands found my bare shoulders and pushed me down onto my knees. The Mandrakes clustered in tight once more, forming an inescapable prison of bare, toned legs and stiff, black cocks. They filled the air with the strange scent of their bodies; it was oily and unfamiliar, but unmistakably - even appealingly, I thought bitterly - masculine. They stank of forbidden things, of sin, of lines that should not have been crossed even in a city as soaked in depravity as Commoragh was. I glanced upwards. Every one of them was attractive, their slender bodies layered with tight, strong bands of muscle that rippled beneath their darkly glowing skin. Upon my knees before them they seemed huge, looming forwards, their pricks jutting towards me like a forest of spears.

Only their leader remained dressed, and a mote of cold fury churned in my belly at the realization of what that meant. I was to undress him as a sign of willingness, of acceptance, of submission. For a moment I felt that this was the real moment, the real act that would sign my pact with the creature, and I hesitated. Before the Archon, there had been the Hellion. Before the Hellion, there had been the whore, and now I found myself come full circle.

Would it be so bad, I thought? Cast the creatures away. Abandon the Kabal, let it collapse into the ruins of Lower Commoragh. Take up the glaive and the Skyboard again, live in the Undercity as an outcast queen. I discounted the thought as soon as it entered my mind. Few Hellions lasted long. Those that didn't die from their own gangland infights were conscripted by the Kabals and hurled suicidally ahead of their raiding parties. I had been lucky to claw my way from them and into the Bitter Kiss to begin with, least of all to come to rule them. That sacrifice was not worth one night of private humiliation.

Scowling in resignation, pushing the seething, wounded pride that demanded whatever ichor the creatures had instead of blood in repayment for their treatment, I reached for the strings that held the leading Mandrake's kilt together. My fingertips brushed over his slick skin as I untied the garment, sliding it down his powerfully built legs. His cock sprang upwards, every inch of it the same perfect, glistening black as the rest of him. Bands of craggy, glowing runes circled the shaft, squirming and reforming before my eyes.

I reached for him, placing one hand on his thigh. It was strong, surprisingly hard despite the his insubstantial nature, the skin as cool and damp as old stone. Long fingers wrapped around the Mandrake's prick. The creature jumped a little at the contact, stepping closer. The shining head brushing against my lips. Though the icy chill that had beset Xivris had mostly receded, I shivered as the Mandrake's intoxicating scent washed over me. My nipples were hard and sensitive as spikes, my skin spotted with gooseflesh. I hesitated once more, then wetted my lips with a practiced flick of the tongue. His cock hung in front of my face, the wide, black head seeming to block out everything around it. And so I grimaced, surrendered my pride, and took him into my mouth.

The Mandrake let out a long rumble of pleasure as I sank down his shaft, taking him to the base of my throat before sliding back up. The vibrations flowed through me, and I felt a mote of revulsion at the way they purred through my core, kindling the beat of warmth that the thousand kisses and caresses his pack of kin had planted there. His taste mirrored his sent; rich and alien, it poured onto my tongue as his first drop of precome blossomed inside the silken cave of my mouth. The creature brushed a hand through my hair, his claws tickling over my scalp as he guided my motions, sliding my head up and down his throbbing prick at a pace that was to his liking. His muscles tensed under my hand, one moment as pleasingly hard and sculpted as basalt, the next sickeningly fluid and protean.

He sighed again, his fingers tracing through my hair to brush against my face, gently locking beneath my chin. My head was tilted upwards, forced to gaze over the sculpted expanse of the creature's torso and meet his burning, eldritch gaze. His thumb stroked my cheek, and the prick trapped between my lips throbbed approvingly as I lapped at the underside of the head, tasting the strange fluids that beaded from its tip.

"A wonder you deigned to leave the flesh-pits, Selinda." The Mandrake dragged my name out, savouring the roll of it. I winced at the way it echoed long after he finished speaking, reverberating through my mind and obliterating any attempt I might have made at distancing myself from the situation. "Perhaps rulership was never meant for you. Perhaps you were simply made for a life spent on your knees?"

Bite him, I thought. Every part of me tensed, bitterness seething beneath my skin like acid. I could feel the thin skin of this cock between my lips, could imagine how fragile, how impermanent it was, and how easy it would be to castrate the thing out of sheer, unadulterated spite.

The chance was robbed from me. The lead Mandrake drew himself from my mouth, the head briefly bouncing against my cheekbone for a moment before he thrust me back into the pack of lustful, shadowy creatures. They descended on me like ravens, hands clutching at my naked body, grabbing my wrists and guiding them onto the owners' waiting pricks. Like the first they were slick and damp, and my hands began to glide over each virile shaft of black flesh with barely a thought, pausing only to spread a dollop of precome over the head or briefly wander over their powerful thighs and midriffs. More were thrust expectantly at my face, smearing glistening trails of their fluid over my sculpted cheekbones. They came at me from all angles, a  wall of shadow bodies and dark, heaving flesh. My hands danced here and there, webs of precome stretching between my slender fingers, but soon I had no choice but to part my lips once more and let the creatures take turns with my mouth.

One after the other, they presented themselves. Their claws slid through my hair and tickled my scalp as my head was jerked back and forth, oily fingers caressing the lengths of my ears as each shaft of cold, umbral flesh jabbed presumptuously towards my face to be suckled upon. My insides were tight with fury. If it was one - just their leader - that, perhaps, could have been tolerable. On a physical level, perhaps even pleasurable. The creatures, despite their otherworldly, protean natures, were not wholly unattractive. I tried to push some of the Mandrakes back, to concentrate on sating a few at once, but they flowed like ink back into every space I opened up in the crowd. One latched its hands around my head, its claws digging painfully as it forced its cock past my lips and into the tight, slick embrace of my throat.

It was brutal, mechanical work, lacking even the most basic and animalistic forms of passion. And yet my body ached with want, as if the cold fires that crawled over each of the Mandrakes had stolen inside me, kindling the nascent spark of need in my core into a desperate, burning urge. I could feel trails of sweat creeping down my pale, slender form, beads of saliva and spilled precome dripping onto my breasts and thighs as I swallowed hard, sucking the invading member down, and fought against the urge to wallow in the thick miasma of pleasure that crept through me. My chest heaved with the effort of forcing small, sharp breaths through my nose as the creature crushed my face against into its groin , hissing in pleasure, its cock throbbing urgently deep in my throat. Part of me yearned for the creature's release, to savour the richness of its taste, to feel the Mandrake's seed pooling in my belly.

Another knelt behind me, its arms circling my ribs, hands closing around my breasts. A tongue flicked over my ear, and I let out a thin, breathless whimper at the bright spark that crackled through my needy, sweat-streaked body at the touch of that damp, chill point against the delicate lobe. Fingers probed my entrance, sliding over my lips, curling in the wetness that gathered there.

"Does this remind you of the old days?" The voice drifted, echoed from the press above me. "How much time did you spend, face down in the Undercity's gutters? We tasted the dreams of one of your old suitors." Each sentence seemed to come from a different direction, bombarding me like a pack of rapid Ur-Ghuls, wearing away at my defenses. "We saw how far you were willing to go for each drop of suffering. We saw you lie with men and women and beasts, if only for another night's breath."

Fingers probed my entrance. I growled, muscles tense, torn between fighting down the dizzying waves of sensation that flowed upwards from that slick, tingling touch and indulging it to block out the mocking words, and the hideous memories the dragged into my mind. I shook, and told myself it was with rage alone. But as the Mandrake buried in my throat climaxed, and the sudden, singing mote of pain that came when his claws drew blood from my scalp slammed through me, my stubborn resistance failed and the pair of hooked fingers slid easy inside me. I clenched down with an instinctual, girlish squeal, my hot, silken walls drawing the invading digits deeper as pulse after pulse of thick, ropy seed pumped into my belly. Transfixed from either end, bombarded by a thousand different tastes and touches that billowed and multiplied inside me, I twisted, shuddered, screamed around the length of softening flesh in my mouth, and came.

The Mandrakes backed off at once, their hands vanishing from me like smoke. The prick lodged in my throat slithered free and the press of bodies lessened, until the only thing that remained was the pair of fingers trapped between my nethers. The twisted and curled, inching deeper as I sagged forwards, my toes spasming and fingers clawing up great handfuls of the carpet as the creature dragged me well over my peak. Wave after wave of crushing sensation pummeled me, smashing aside conscious thought, setting my whole body ablaze with a riot of torturous pleasure.

And then it stopped. In the blink of an eye, the fingers vanished, leaving me as in a prone, trembling heap in the middle of the floor. For several long heartbeats, I lay there in silence, shuddering through the last sparks of climax. I could feel the Mandrakes' myriad eyes on me, sense their hunger, knowing what was about to come next.

Slowly, eyes burning with fury, I pulled myself to my knees. Their leader stood over me. Beads of emerald fire dripped from his lithe, muscular body, his liquid skin swimming with angular runes. His face had reset back into its featureless, expressionless mask, and he held out his hand.

"I need your aid for many things, Mandrake." I snapped, forcing myself back to my feet. I staggered drunkenly, my legs weak and shaking, and had to catch hold of the bedpost for support. "Standing is not one of them."

The creatures had spread themselves out across the room, lounging insolently upon the furniture. Several had already congregated around the great four-poster bed in the center of the room, their blank faces eying me expectantly, while others squatting like apes upon shelves and picked idly through my belongings. Old trophies were plucked from their mounts and examined, oily fingers tested the edges of displayed weapons, and I had to fight down the urge to strangle the one which prodded curiously at my precious old Skyboard. There were about a dozen of them, I saw, though that number was rarely consistent from one moment to the next.

Their leader offered me his hand again. His mouth yawned open, a long, glowing tongue lapping at his needle-like fangs before I could throw the offer back in his face.

"Remember, Archon, this need not be a trial." He hissed. I raised an eyebrow at his use of my title, as if the creature had suddenly decided to respect my authority, which it returned by sweeping into an elaborate, pantomime bow. "We tasted your need. We know it is not yet sated. Come into the shadows with us and dance."

My eyes flickered down, towards the creature's outstretched hand. Lines of balefire glimmered there, crawling across the lines in its palm. I was aware, suddenly, that the pack of Mandrakes had ceased their meddling. Every pair of eyes, whether they were set in a faceless mask of a head, or a liquid face that shifted constantly between expressions, lay on me. My heart raced. The creature was right. For all the force of the climax it - and though I knew not how, I felt sure it was their leader who had done so - had wrung from my body, I still yearned for more, like a Wych running hard on her first drought of Adenalight. Pride warred with the dark, insistant urgings that slithered through my mind. The stubborn aggression that had dragged me up from the gutters fought with the mindless, hedonistic desires that, if only for one night, threatened to drag me back into them.

And then, suddenly, I laughed, though the sound was high and tinged with a lunatic's hysteria. The creature had demanded Pride in payment. Until I abandoned it, until I cast aside my reluctance and yielded willingly to their advances, they would not - perhaps even could not - leave.

I reached out and took the Mandrake's offered hand, shaking out my lank, sweaty hair as I did so, and allowed myself to be led atop the bed. The swarm of its kin dropped what they were doing and clustered around as I lay back, resting my head on the pillow and stretching my arms languidly out to my sides, fingers stroking across the cool, slick bodies that surrounded me. My mind spun, the last, bitter calls to resist echoing in my ears. Again and again, I thought; this is not what you are. This is everything you bit and clawed and fought to rise above.  You are an Archon now, not a common undercity whore, not any longer. You submit to no-one.

But it was a lie. Everyone in Commoragh submits to another, save the great Overtyrant Vect himself. No matter how hard one strives and how high one climbs, there is always another pair of boots above you waiting to be kissed. It was a bitter realization, but not one that lingered long. One of the Mandrakes crawled atop the bed. Its burning, green eyes looked me over with vicious, predatory hunger, and its long fingers slid under my thighs. My skin tingled where it touched me, and I sighed in pleasure as the creature parted my legs and advanced, crawling up the length of my prone body. Whisps of spidersweb hair tickled my aching, sensitive breasts. I reached up and embraced the creature, wrapping my arms around its powerful body, feeling its protean form writhe and shift between my fingers as the hard, cool shaft of its prick slipped easily inside me.

My body had been touched and teased for what felt like an eternity. Every inch of my porcelain flesh had been brushed or kissed or licked until I sang with arousal, and the raw, physical force of that thrust came as a revelation of ecstasy. I cried out, hugging the Mandrake tight and grinding against it, my hands roaming over the creature's back as it pushed me down into the bedsheets. My body sang with every possessive thrust, every motion of the creature's flowing, liquid body like a thousand lapping tongues upon my skin as it fucked me, driving itself into my heat with slow, powerful motions. I writhed beneath it, clenching my hot, silken walls around the cold flesh that had invaded me, reveling in the tingling, burning contrast that flowed through me. Others pressed in close, swarming around my head in a shadowy black flock, their own lengths offered up.

I met them with my hands and my lips, this time eagerly and without reservation, lavishing my attentions upon one or another for a moment before turning away. Always teasing, never sating, I could feel the urgency in each length of black flesh that passed my lips; the tension in each shaft, the need for release, and I laughed spitefully at the thought of tormenting the creatures just as they had done to me. The glowing flames that wreathed their bodies burned all the brighter, the crawling runes spiraling across their ebon bodies as their own fevers grew. I turned me head and grinned wickedly as one let out a low hiss, his cock throbbing urgently between my fingers as I stroked and tugged. At the last moment, as the first thick strings of his climax splashed across my cheek, I pushed his prick up against his torso, watching in glee as he painted his flexing, black chest with the remainder of his pearly load.

The Mandrake at work between my thighs lasted little longer. I felt him grow tight and tense inside me and pushed my face against the side of his head, whispering encouragement, urging him to fill me with his seed. As my nails bit eagerly into his sides, tarry blood dripping onto the sheets beneath us, I felt his climax and laughed with the debauched joy of it.

And so it went. They came at me in ones and twos, pulling me this way and that, as was their pleasure. Always there was an audience; some were content to watch, hunching nearby and drinking in the sight of their fellows rutting with the lady Archon who had summoned them, while others slithered in whenever my lips or fingers found themselves free. No part of my body was held sacred; when I first felt strong hands grasp my slender hips and roll me onto my knees, and the tip of another thick shaft pressing against my behind, I felt the urge to cry out in outrage. But the thought was smothered like an infant, tossed aside like a leaf in a hurricane, and I welcomed the slow, crushing feeling of the creature feeding its cock into me, grinning and chewing my lip, my eyes heavy and half-lidded with the pleasure of being so violated.

Commoragh's children are sybaritic by nature. Excess is carved into our blood and our bones, and I laughed with glee at the thought of what the Craftworld-kin denied themselves aboard their dusty, floating tombs. My heart raced with joy and my mind swam through an ocean of sin. She-Who-Thirsts was nothing, less than nothing - celestial afterbirth, cast aside at the moment our species came to true understanding of itself, barely worth thinking about. I beckoned forwards another of the Mandrakes as the one behind took my buttocks between its strong hands, forcefully spreading them as it drove itself deeper into my bowels, each thrust forcing a throaty sound of pleasure from my mouth. Sounds which were soon stifled as the second Mandrake's shaft passed my lips, the fleshy head tickling the back of my throat as I rocked back and forth between the two, crooning in satisfaction as a third slithered around me like a great serpent. Its cock lay half-flaccid against its thigh, and I yelped in surprise as its fingers slipped between my sopping lips, seemingly content to return the pleasure I had bestowed upon them - or, perhaps, eager to see me debase myself for them further. As the growing waves of my arousal reached their next peak, as my breath caught in my throat and my body shuddered in climax, as I felt pulses of thick, glutinous seed flood into my body and splatter across my face, I realized that, at least for now, I simply did not care.

One lover turned into another, and one climax flowed into another. Some of the Mandrakes came to me more than once, as I recognized the tang of my own juices upon some of the lengths that my tongue danced over. I rocked back and forth atop one, moaning encouragement as it tugged at my nipples, all the while alternating between servicing the two that stood either side my with mouth. Then I was lying upon my side, spooning with one of the creatures as it fucked me from behind, my leg held up so its kin could watch as the shadowy creature's length slid in and out of my aching, greedy folds. I devoured the sight of them just as they did me, my eyes roaming over the clusters of lithe, athletic bodies arrayed before me like slaves at a fleshmarket.

But all the way through it, their leader remained elusive. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of him flowing through the mass of beautiful, male bodies that surrounded my heaving, bucking form, identified only by the silver bands around his long limbs, or the carved bones in his hair. Other times I would see him plainly from the corner of my eye, lurking on the sidelines, watching and stroking himself, but not participating.

Then, finally, the creatures withdrew. I sagged backwards as they flitted away from the bed, my mind spinning, struggling to catch my breath, and saw their leader. He crouched at the foot of the bed, his cock hard, bobbing between his thighs. For a moment, the old anger returned; I had been dragged to this point against my wishes, no matter how gladly I ran onwards through the storm that had swept over me. I had been forced to give up my pride to him, to turn my back on the power and prestige I had spent my life cultivating and embrace the wanton, carnal thing I had once been to survive Commoragh's deepest, cruelest streets. But as he began to advance, crawling up the bed like a beast on all fours, my breath caught in my throat. His spectral eyes burned bright with want, with the eagerness of someone about to claim something long denied and I knew - for better or worse, this would be over soon.

As if on cue, two other Mandrakes detached themselves from the press. They enveloped me with their hands, long, strong fingers nursing the aches and exhaustion from my tired muscles, sharp claws tracing runic patterns in the sweat that glimmered on my pale skin. I felt myself pulled upright, eased onto my haunches as their leader rose up before me. He wrapped his arms around my hips, pulling me close, until the cool hardness of his shaft pressed tight against my belly.

"Do you see, Selindra?" He whispered. "It was not such a trial, was it?"

My eyes blazed, but my grin was ferocious, predatory. The Mandrake's cock twitched against me, and my body responded with an aching twinge of need. Every breath, every little motion, dragged my nipples over his chest. They burned as if pressed against ice, leaving me breathless with pleasure.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." I hissed. "Perhaps when this is done, and I no longer require your aid, I will have you and all your bastard kin slaughtered like animals for this affront."

"And perhaps we will spread news of this to every Archon of Low Commoragh." He replied. "Perhaps when this is done, we will return you to the gutters, to be put on show and bred by Ur-Ghuls and Khymerae for the amusement of others."

There was a moment's silence, as we stared into one another's eyes, searching for any sign of weakness or deception. I saw none in the Mandrake, and I do not believe he saw any in mine. The moment laughed and we laughed together, his voice dry and whispering, mine rich and silken. Then I leaned forwards, pressing my lips against the ragged slit that served as the creature's mouth, kissing him with fierce, overwhelming passion. He returned it and our tongues danced, even as he slid backwards, pulling me atop him.

"Fuck me," I said, whispering the words into the Mandrake's spidery white hair. Somehow, I knew that the two others with me on the bed heard as well. "Fuck me, hard. As hard as you can. Make me scream."

His muscles tensed beneath my thighs, his protean skin writhing eagerly as his hands found my hips, and the head of his cock brushed over my entrance. Another pair settled on my shoulders, and I sucked in an eager breath, my heart skipping with excitement as a second probed between my buttocks. The third, as silent as a specter, ghosted around besides me. His fingers ran through my hair, teasing out the lank, sweaty knots that had formed there, and I bowed my head to plant a succulant kiss upon the head of his thick, black cock.

Claws pricked my skin, sending tiny beads of pain shivering through my system. Thick, musky precome beaded before my waiting mouth, the scent as sweet and intoxicating as honeywine. Slow pressure built against the tight ring of my backside, a growing, teasing ache. It felt like my body was dancing on the edge of a razor, vibrating with barely shackled energy just waiting to be released. The Mandrakes swarmed around, maintaining a distance that could almost be called respectful, but never once tearing their haunting eyes away from my flushed, slender body. Then, without a moment's warning, their leader pulled me onto him, thrusting up into me with a single, powerful motion. His cock slipped easily into me, stabbing deep, until my his hips slapped against my thighs and his hilt ground against my entrance.

"Harder." I hissed. Waves of pleasure rolled through me, blossoming upwards until my stomach churned and my heart fluttered against my ribs. I hunched forwards, planting one hand on the Mandrake's lithe chest and wrapping the other around the burning prick before me for support. "Deeper. More."

The pressure between my buttocks became more insistent, the head of the second Mandrake's shaft easing the tight ring of muscle open with torturous patience. "By Lhilitu," I gasped, taking a sudden, sharp breath as I felt it giving way under the creature's relentless assault. "Keep going. Do not stop..."

The room was silent bar the sound of my fevered breathing. Slowly, slowly, it ground into me, until finally a sharp, shrill cry peirced the air, an the cool, black organ slid into my behind.

The feeling was divine; I felt so tight, so full, the twin shafts throbbing against one another deep inside me. I rolled my head back, arching my spine and tossing my hair over my shoulder so I could watch as the Mandrake eased deeper into me, marveling at the sight of him as he smoothly penetrated my rear passage. Every little movement, every breath, every heartbeat from the two slick, dark creatures sent a shudder of delight through me; the simple sensation of having them trapped inside my heat enough to set my body ablaze with want.

But it wasn't enough. "I gave you instructions. Clear ones." I rasped the words. "I am your Archon, and I expect them to be obeyed."

The third, final Mandrake tightened his grip on my hair, gathering it in his fist and pulling until it almost hurt. My head was pulled around, forced down, and I gave him a coy, teasing look as I wrapped my lips around the shaft.

"No, Selinda." A voice said. I could not tell if it came from their leader, from another of the Mandrakes, or from them all together. It swirled around me like smoke, coming from all directions at once. "Tonight, you are ours. Tonight, Aelindrach claims you. But we will not deny you any longer."

Together, the three of them began to move. They were not gentle. Their inky, shadowy flesh became suddenly, wonderfully hard, and every thrust sent a ringing slap through the room as their bodies met mine. My hair was twisted and wrenched, pulled so hard that sweet agony lanced down through my scalp, and I cried out around the swollen prick in my mouth as its twins hammered at my entrances. Everything - the troubles of my Kabal, the swarm of watching Mandrakes, the last few seeds of bitterness I held towards them - fell away in a rolling tide of brute stimulation, a searing mixture of dull, physical ache as I was stretched and savaged and wave after wave of sweet, singing pleasure. They moved in consort, one withdrawing as the other thrust forwards, each one feeling like it came harder and stabbed deeper than the one prior. I felt full, so wonderfully full, even as I jerked my head back and forth along the shaft trapped between my lips.

Every suitor I had taken since I came to power had held something back. He had been reluctant, unnerved by my position or afraid of some deception. Even Xivris was little more than a hired consort, paid well for her skills, but in the end just one more hireling. But in that moment, as I hung there, trapped between the three pistoning shafts that stabbed relentlessly into my writhing, bucking body, I felt a weight rise from my shoulders. Sweet release began to bubble up inside me, and I encouraged them on with my muffled moans and cries, moving my body in time with theirs as heat and light coiled inside, banishing the lesser aches and pains that nagged at the corners of my consciousness. The surging, throbbing prick trapped between my buttocks pulsed violently, the Mandrake wrapping his arms around my midriff and pulling me tight against him as he came, flooding my bowels with his thick, liquid warmth.

A moment later, the shaft between my mouth slipped free. My head was dragged up, my arms wrenched behind my back, and the wet, glistening black head thrust before my face. I knew what was coming and welcomed it, my chin raised and mouth opened as the first hot pulses splattered across it, painting my sharp, haughty face with seed.  But he was not the only one, and even as it retreated, the rest of the pack flocked onto the bed, crowding eagerly around me. One by one, as their leader thrust into me from below, coaxing my orgasm into being with every motion, his pack reached their own climaxes. Ropes of seed splashed over me, streaking across my high, angular cheekbones and dripping from my nose, gathering upon my eager tongue and rolling from my chin in long, pearly strings. I felt it in my hair, felt it tinging on my fluted ears, felt it splatter over my pert breasts trickle down my slim, toned stomach to pool in my bellybutton, and wallowed gleefully in the depravity.

And then, finally, as the last of the flock departed, the swelling bubble that had grown and grown inside me burst. I threw my head back, sending long strings of pearly seed flicking through the air, arched my back and howled in pleasure. My body rocked and convulsed, manicured fingernails slicing into the lead Mandrake's athletic chest, toes clenching as my mind turned white. My mind went white, conscious thought obliterated, every notion of pride and restraint swept away in the rampant torrent that swept through my system until it fed back in upon itself in a hurricane of sensory madness. I thrashed and bucked, dimly aware of the Mandrake beneath my thighs ejaculating deep inside me, pouring his seed into my aching, soiled body.

Breathing hard, mind spinning, I slid free of the pair of Mandrakes remaining, collapsing sideways onto the bed. Even then the aftershocks rolled through my body, leaving me weak and twitching. The slight contact of the silk sheets against my overstimulated nethers was enough to set off small, secondary climaxes, but for that moment, I was helpless to do anything by lie there and ride through the echoing waves of blissful agony.

Finally, sanity returned. I groaned. Blinked, then screwed my eyes shut, wiping them clear of the mess that remained cooling on my face. The Mandrakes had gone now, all of them save their leader. He had dressed once more, and sat hunched at the end of the bed.

I felt a faint stirring of nausea at the sight of him. Guilt is not an emotion many within Commoragh would admit to feeling, but I felt it then. As pleasurable as the experience had eventually been...it had not been my choice. I was something I was supposed to have abandoned, and the feeling of being forced back to that left me feeling unpleasantly vulnerable. For a few long seconds, though I sat upon silk stolen from a butchered Exodite colony, surrounded by dozens of weapons and hundreds of battle-trophies, with a small army gathered in the tower below, I felt like the same scared, strung-out girl I had been in the days after I crawled from my incubation chamber.

"There." I said. The musky taste of the Mandrakes' seed lingered, no matter how much I tried to lick from my lips. "It's done. You have my..." the word caught in my throat, but I spat it out. "Pride. Our agreement?"

"Paid in full." It replied. Runes swam over its flesh. The creature already looked less solid, less substantial, and I realized it was about to leave as well. The thought did not sadden me.

"Very well." I dismounted from the bed, wobbled, then righted myself and cleaned the worst of the drying seed from my face with a cloth from the dresser. "I will be holding a war council three days hence. You, or a representative of your clan, is expected to attend."

I pulled on a deep red gown of gossamer and turned, scowling bitterly, expecting a reply. There was none. The creature had vanished like the rest of its kin. I pursed my lips in irritation, turned to the window, and stared out over Mandulak's territory. The lights of his tower shone against the Dark City's jagged skyline, and a bleak, avaricious smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Everyone in Commoragh kisses the boot of the person above, I thought. But only for so long.