May 29th, 2015
Not a member of Pastebin yet? Sign Up, it unlocks many cool features!
  1. Skeetrik's nose twitched. It had been hours, and the wind still carried the bitter stink of fear-musk upon it. He could hear fighting in the distance and snapped his incisors at his companions, hurrying them both forwards with frantic jabs of his battered shortsword. The rout of the Skaven army had been a thing of utter pandemonium - clanrats scattering like dry sand as gleaming Elven cavalry brushed them aside, Rat Ogres bellowing as they were brought down by flight after flight of white-flecked arrows, the thunderous explosions as Skyre's warpstone wonder-weapons malfunctioned one after another in perfect, synchronized order. With their Warlord dead and their advantage of numbers lost, the remaining Skaven had abandoned the fight. Most had stampeded west in a mad panic, but the ragged survivors of a few clawpacks, Skeetrik's amongst them, had slipped through a gap in the elven battleline and scattered east in the hopes of finding a safe bolt-hole to hide in.
  3. Not, Skeetrik thought, that they were likely to find any. Once the terror incited by so much fear-musk being squirted had worn off, he had found himself lost in the middle of a forest with no-one but a half-wit and an animal at his side. Ferns and bushes dragged at his legs and tangled around his tail. Tall, mighty trees surrounded him, their craggy lower branches plucking at his rusty armour with every step and making him feel small. He took a few desultory swings at one with his sword and bared his teeth, sorely wishing he was back underground.
  5. "Stupid tree-things." He muttered. "You think to impede most-cunning Skeetrik's progress? Bah!"
  7. The Skaven rustled his sleek, black fur and twitched his ears, trying to look as tall and frightening as he could.
  9. "You not so tall-proud when Under-Empire gnaws on your roots. See how you poke and grasp then!"
  11. He jabbed his sword into the trunk of one ancient oak. Besides him, his first companion lifted his head.
  13. "Who you talking too, packleader-boss?"
  15. Skeetrik fought the urge to hide his face in his paws. Grikik was, by Skaven standards, huge - a head and shoulders taller than his own self and half again as broad, his patchy grey fur stretched over bulging muscles that would put a human to shame. But what the other Skaven had in body, he otherwise lacked in brains. Grikik was as dumb as a rat ogre.
  17. "No-one, fool-fool." Skeetrik chittered. "Just go back to march-marching."
  19. "But if no-one 'cept us is here-here," Grikik grumbled, heedless to the way his smaller companion was twitching in irritation, "Why you talk-talk so - "
  21. The last of Grikik's words were drowned out by Skeetrik's screech of frustration. Alarmed by the noise, a flock of pale, slender birds took flight, their wings rustling as they departed. Silence crept back into the wake of his exclamation, broken only by the soft sounds of the forest and the muted snuffle-bark of his Skeetrik's third companion.
  23. Gnawbone lifted nose nose and sniffed the air. Skeetrik smacked Grikik across the shoulders and pointed one of his claws towards the vicious wolf-rat. It was an unnatural creature, the product of Clan Moulder's insane breeding programs - a rat the size of a large dog, with a dog's long fur and fangs. That the creature was a mangy, parasite-ridden reject he'd found wandering the tunnels surrounding Hell Pit was besides the point. Gnawbone had served him with more loyalty than any other Skaven besides Grikik ever had. It had only tried to chew his throat out twice.
  25. "You smell something, boy?" Skeetrik said, lifting his own nose to the air and sniffing. His tail lashed and thumped the ground. The only thing he could smell was Elf. The whole island stank of elves. The Council of Thirteen had assured Warlord Gristlechewer that his army would be sufficient to conquer the Elf-thing's home, but Skeetrik was starting to think they might just have wanted the Warlord removed. Not that he felt any sympathy for him, or any of the other dead skaven, of course. He was just angry that his own life was going to be cut short as well when the elves finally tracked him down.
  27. The wolf-rat barked and lept forwards, skittering off through the trees with its wormlike tail lashing. Skeetrik hissed in surprise and scuttled after it, hoping Grikik would be too stupid to do anything except fall in behind him like he always did. Sure enough, a moment later, he heard his larger companion's heavy, flat-pawed steps catching up as they raced after the rabid animal, like runts chasing a fleeing carrier rat for sport.
  29. "Stupid-stupid beast!" He spat, bounding over a fallen log and hacking his way through the twisting thorn bush Gnawbone had darted under. "You wait-wait for master! WAIT-WAIT!"
  31. Abruptly, the forest ended, the trees giving way to a small clearing. Skeetrik let out a yelp and stumbled to a halt, his long toes digging into the soft earth as his arms pinwheeled madly for balance. The sound of rushing water filled his ears, but before he could concentrate upon it, Grikik arrived. Lacking Skeetrik's reflexes, the larger Skaven slammed into his clawleader's back, pitching them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs, lashing tails and snarling muzzles. Instinctively assuming some sort of treachery, Skeetrik twisted and lashed out, striking a blow across Grikik's sensitive nose and scrabbling for his dropped sword.
  33. Gnawbone's low growl made him stop. He bared his yellow, chisel-like teeth at Grikik and looked up.
  35. Before him, in the center of the clearing, a small waterfall fed into a pool of clear water. Lillies and water-reeds bobbed across the surface, and flying insects buzzed back and forth, dancing in the air. And in the pool, submerged up to her waist, was an Elf. Like all her kind she was tall and slender, her skin flawlessly pale and flawlessly smooth, a torrent of long, blonde hair clinging to her wet, naked body like a veil. Gnawbone stood at the edge of the water, his hackles raised and fangs bared. Her eyes flicked back and forth, from the wolf-rat to the pair of Clanrats disentangling themselves behind it.
  37. Neither of the two Skaven had mated before. Such privileges were restricted for the very highest-ranking members of Skaven society, the Grey Seers and Warlords, and their elite Stormvermin bodyguards. Grikik licked his lips, while Skeetrik leered and took a step forwards. The Elf moved back, the water rippling around her thighs. She did not look frightened, Skeetrik thought. Her delicate, fine-boned face was set hard, betraying nothing beyond an intense wariness.
  39. "I heard there were intruders upon Ulthuan." The Elf said. Grikik just stared at her, his eyes dull and uncomprehending of anything other than her sylph-like form. Skeetrik, however, knew just enough to understand her. "I did not think any would penetrate so deeply into the isle."
  41. "Yes-yes!" Skeetrik said, puffing his chest out and swinging his sword in what he thought was an intimidating manner. The Elf raised an eyebrow but otherwise remained as she was, staring defiantly at him. "Skeetrik the great's mighty army stands victorious, Elf-thing! Even now your weak-weak forces are flee-fleeing the field in disarray!"
  43. "An interesting story." The Elf replied. To Skeetrik's disgust, the corner of her mouth quirked up in an arrogant smile. "Since one of our Loremasters sent me a message not a few minutes before your arrival. He told me your army had been scattered and destroyed less than a mile from the beach you landed upon."
  45. She leaned back in the pool. Despite her nakedness and lack of weapons, a look of haughty amusement glittered in her eyes. "He told me that even now, my father leads the army in running down the bulk of the survivors. Ulthuan will not tolerate the children of chaos upon its shores, no matter how lowly and degenerate they may be."
  47. "Perhaps-perhaps." Skeetrik hissed back. His tail thumped against the ground in agitation. His forepaws clasped and unclasped madly, claws digging into his palms. The sight of the Elf enraged him. She was thin and weak and devoid of fur, but some dark part of his hindbrain hated her for being so...perfect. The urge to despoil, to tear down and befoul, that resonated though all Skavendom seethed through his wiry, black-furred body like poison. "But your army is not here, is it, Elf-thing? It is just you-you and Skeetrik, and Grikik, and Gnawbone. We could kill-kill you and feast on your bones."
  49. That, finally, wiped the smirk from her face. Though she remained defiant, the Elf nodded her head, as if conceding the point. "You have me at a disadvantage, I admit." She said.
  51. Grikik leaned in, his blunt, grey-furred muzzle looming over Skeetrik's shoulder. "What we gonna do with her, clawleader?" He said. "We gonna eat-eat her?"
  53. "No, fool-fool!" Skeetrik snapped. "We make her into slave-meat. More useful that way."
  55. "But-but, how we gonna get her back to Skavenblight?"
  57. Skeetrik let out a long howl of frustration and turned on his companion. "We're not going back-back to Skavenblight, idiot! Council of Thirteen sent us here to die-die! You think they will let tattletale witnesses roam tunnels freely? We must find-find ship and hurry-flee to-"
  59. In a way, Skeetrik was rather glad Grikik interrupted him, because he hadn't quite figured out the next step of his grand master plan. He was less pleased, however, when the larger Skaven hauled him around and pointed towards the Elf, who had risen from the pool and was backing towards the treeline.
  61. "Go-go!" He shrieked, slapping Grikik in the back of the head. "Get her! Gnawbone, fetch-fetch! Do not damage! DO NOT DAMAGE!"
  63. Gnawbone let out a low, chittering bark and burst into movement, loping towards the feeling Elf as fast as its mishapen legs could carry it. Grikik pounded after the Wolf-rat, his heavy armour clanking and jangling as he struggled to catch up. The Elf shot another look behind her, and Skeeltrick felt a surge of vicious gratification at the look of uncertainty that, finally, had appeared upon her slender features. She only hesitated for a second, but that heartbeat was all the time Gnawbone and Grikik needed to catch up. The Elf took another half-step towards the forest as if contemplating fleeing, then whipped around as the wolf-rat tensed its hind legs and sprang for her. Her foot came up, swinging around faster than Skeetrik could follow, and the Skaven winced at the meaty crack that eched through the clearing as it caught the beast in the ribs and flung it aside.
  65. "Idiots-idiots." He muttered, his ears drooping. "Mighty Skeetrik is surrounded by idiots."
  67. But Grikik had reached her now. For all her speed, the Elf was unarmed and unarmoured. She rained blows down upon the larger Skaven, her fists rattling off his armour, but he simply ploughed through them like one of Hell Pit's famous abominations on the rampage. She let out a strangled cry as he caught one of her forearms in his fist and dragged her forwards, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing the Elf forwards. She spat a curse and buckled, thrashing like an animal caught in a snare, but was helpless to prevent hersElf from being driven to her knees. Skeetrik's heart skipped a beat, and he eagerly scuttled forwards as Grikik pushed his knee into the woman's back, shoving her face-down into the earth.
  69. "Not so smart-cocky now, are you!" Skeetrik cried, an evil grin spreading over his snout. The Elf struggled and kicked, but was pinned beneath Grikik's armoured weight. "Now-now, Elf-thing, we talk-talk as equals, yes? You not look-look down your nose at Skeetrik any more."
  71. "I-" The Elf gasped in pain as Grikik twisted her arm, but she bared her teeth in a fierce, defiant snarl nonetheless. "I am Princess Elitha, daughter of Lord Varith Kalienil. Kill me and you will bring down a thousand deaths upon yourselves when my father finds you."
  73. Skeetrik's thin, pale tongue ran over his thin lips. He reached out, running his claws over Elitha's face, tracing the delicate point of her ear and the sharp lines of her jaw. Her skin was incredibly soft, free from the leathery blemishes and tumours that studded most Skaven's bodies. Conflicting instincts warred within his rattish mind. He knew that scouts would have been dispatched to hunt down the few Skaven who broke through the elves' rear lines, and that he needed to be moving again quickly before they caught up to him. But the sight of the beautiful, haughty Elf, humbled down in the dirt...it excited him. He felt himself stirring beneath his tatty loincloth, and a quick glance at Grikik's face suggested the other Skaven was feeling much the same.
  75. A foul, ugly grin spread across his muzzle.
  77. "Skeetrik has a proposal, Elf-meat." Skeetrik hissed, pushing his muzzle up against Elitha's face. She cringed backwards despite herself as the creature's rotten-meat breath washed over her, letting out a small groan of disgust. "Skeetrik will scurry-hurry away, if Elf-meat Elitha will do him one service before he goes."
  79. "Speak, then." She spat the words. "Or kill me now. But whatever you do, take your foul nose away from me."
  81. If anything, Skeetrik's grin only widened at her disgust. His ears twitched and his tail lashed eagerly. "You will be Skeetrik's breeder." He said, rolling the word around his mouth in perverse delight. "You will mate-mate with him and his companions. We will see-see how Elf-meat sneers after it has been rutted by low-lowly and degenerate Skaven, yes?"
  83. His claws wrapped around Elitha's pointed chin, lifting her head up towards his. Her hair fell in a tangle of knots around her face, and she stared at him in disbelief. For the first time since the Skaven had entered the clearing, she felt genuinely lost for words. Her mouth worked silently as her mind struggled to find something to fill it. "You - you want me to...lay with you? Both of you?"
  85. Skeetrik snorted. "Pretty-pretty words. Skeetrik wants you to be bred, Elf-thing. Fucked like beast-beast. But yes."
  87. Elitha felt a drop of something hot and wet land between her shoulders. She twisted as best she could and looked up. The larger, grey Skaven's mouth had fallen open, its long tongue lolling out over its broken tombstone teeth. Thick beads of saliva dripped from the thing's maw. One splattered against her cheek, sending a loathsome shudder running down her spine. Elitha had studied history, and she knew that, again and again, the downfall of her people had been pride. It was pride that had caused the Sundering and pride that had caused the War of the Beard. The presence of the Skaven alone made her bare skin crawl, but she also knew that her life was worth a hundred thousand of theirs. The idea of submitting to their desires pushed bile to the tip of her throat, but if it would ensure her survival...
  89. She shook her head. "You're insane. What's to stop you killing me afterwards?"
  91. Skeetrik laughed. "True-true, a promise-pledge from the Skaven is not worth much. But consider this, Elf-meat. There will be time before we are found, yes? Plenty of time to kill-kill you slowly if you refuse. If you agree, the worst-worst Skeetrik can do is shove his blade through your neck before flee-fleeing. Much cleaner."
  93. "I doubt that." Elitha said, her eyes running the length of the Skaven's rusted blade.
  95. "One more thing, then." The Skaven rummaged around in the filthy assortment of rags that made up its clothing for a moment, then pulled out a chip of flinty rock. Clenched in the Skaven's fist, it seemed to pulse and squirm, radiating an ugly green light that made Elitha's eyes ache to look upon. She grunted and turned away, squeezing her eyes shut. Warpstone was magic that had congealed in the dark places of the earth, turning solid and poisonous. The Skaven used it as a currency, a source of power, a weapon and for some of the most deranged, a foodstuff.
  97. "Yes-yes, Elf-meat." Skeetrik crowed. "We have warpstone, yes? Not much. But enough to poison this pretty glade. You refuse, we dig-dig, bury it deep. Or maybe Elf-meat would like this part of her burrow to turn-turn into swamp?"
  99. If not found quickly enough, the damage a piece of warpstone could do to an area would be almost impossible to heal. Worse, the land would grow sour and tainted, becoming a nexus where even more warpstone might form, destroying vast swathes of land and killing everything that dwelt upon it. Elitha wanted to retch. The stink of the two ratmen was overpowering - the sour reek of filthy, unwashed bodies, urine and rat droppings, undercut with the bitter musk that exuded from their scent-glands. The black one's claws pricked at her skin, and its red, beady eyes bored into her like murderous lanterns. Her mind felt like it was twisting in upon itsElf, assailing her with visions of those claws wrapped around her small breasts, tongues lapping at the nape of her neck, of...things probing into her most intimate spaces. She wanted to scream, or throw up, but she forced the emotions down with the same ruthless discipline she had used to crush her fear when serving her time on the battlefield amidst Ulthuan's militias.
  101. Just think of it as another battle, Elitha thought. She looked up, staring the Skaven in the eye.
  103. It looked back, already knowing what she was about to say, its wiry, black-bristled body virtually radiating with smug satisfaction.
  105. She said it anyway.
  107. "Fine. I agree to your terms." Elitha raised her head as high as she could, pushing hersElf as far from the ground as she could manage with the grey Skaven crouched on her back, trying to salvage at least some scraps of pride. Her voice was hard and cold, and she did not blink. "For the good of Ulthuan, I offer my body to you."
  109. "There-there. That not so hard, was it?" Skeetrik giggled. He leaned up and chattered something to his drooling companion, who obligingly released his grip on Elitha's arm and allowed her to stand, scuttling over to stand besides his compatriot. The two snapped and cackled at one another, making vulgar gestures and grinning avariciously at her as she picked herself up.
  111. Elitha winced and stretched, working the discomfort out of her body. The pair of Skaven ceased their chattering and turned to her, their beady eyes staring at her intently. For a moment, despite the nascent horror of her situation, Elitha felt a spark of amusement. They ogled her like adolescent boys hungry for their first taste of a woman's flesh, their gaze sweeping over the slender arc of her back, the taught muscles of her belly and the small, smooth curves of her hip and bust. Elitha licked her lips, a nascent thought blooming in the back of her head. A way to recover a drop of control, no matter how small it might be.
  113. "But there is one condition." She said, raising a finger. The black-furred Skaven immediately snapped out of his trance.
  115. "I do not think-think you have much room to bargain, Elf-thing." Skeetrik snapped. The hunger in his eyes made her stomach turn.
  117. "Call it an offer, then. A further concession on my part." Elitha said.
  119. Skeetrik cocked his head, then nodded, gesturing for her to continue.
  121. "The Warpstone. What is there to stop one of you burying it while I am..." she paused, searching for a word which would not make her want to gang. "Enaged, with the other?"
  123. The pair of Skaven turned to look at one another. Whether they genuinely hadn't thought of such a ruse themselves, or they had and were surprised she had realized, the Elf did not know.
  125. "I ask only that you surrender it to me. It will be placed out of both our reach. When you are finished, you may take it and leave." Elitha felt her gut clench, and she hesitated before speaking again. "With that...that distraction out of mind, I can give you my full attention."
  127. The Elf took a step towards the pair of monsters, sashaying her hips from side to side. Two ratty noses bobbed left and right, following her movements like a snake following a Cathayan charmer. She forced a smile over her face. "If you agree, you will find me a great deal more receptive to your advances than I would be otherwise."
  129. Skeetrik looked up at her, a hard, suspicious look in his eyes. His lips peeled back from his yellowed teeth in a snarl. Elitha held her breath, keeping her forced, sultry expression forced upon her face. Eventually, with slow, cautious movements, Skeetrik reached inside his rags and withdrew the shard of Warpstone. Elitha took a step aside and gestured over to the small pile of clothes she had left at the side of the pool before bathing.
  131. "Toss it there. Then we can..." her expression flickered. The Elf swallowed hard and forced the smile back to her face. "Begin."
  133. Black-fur gave her another look, then turned to Grikik and chattered out a string of harsh words. The larger Skaven took the shard of Warpstone and casually pitched it into the pile of discarded clothing.
  135. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless, Elitha thought. The Skaven had one less way of double-crossing her now, and there was the slim chance that, if they saw her co-operating willingly, they would be less cruel than they might otherwise be. But any feeling of success she might have felt was quashed the moment Grikik returned and began to pluck at his armour, long, clawed fingers unbuckling catches and tearing off moldy rags. Her heart sank. This is going to happen, she thought. The pair of Skaven divested the last of their garments and moved to flank her. Elitha refused to look down. She knew what she would find waiting for her. Every moment she could push that reality away was something to be cherished.
  137. "So," she said, her voice hoarse. "How do you want me?"
  139. Skeetrik seemed to ponder the question, his whiskers twitching. His coat was glossier and better kept that Grikik's, Elitha thought, though not by much. It was still thick with knots and filth. She supposed he was the younger, or perhaps simply vainer, or the two.
  141. "On your knees, Elf-meat." Skeetrik crowed suddenly. "You will kneel-kneel before mighty Skaven warriors and worship with pretty mouth-lips."
  143. Elitha choked down the sharp refusal that sprang to her lips. Instead, she forced another smile and bowed her head. "Of course," she whispered, then added, "Master."
  145. She sank smoothly to her knees as the pair of Skaven whooped and sniggered above her. They clustered in closer, furry thighs tickling her shoulders, closing around her in a prison of mangy, stinking hair. Their hindpaws kicked and scratched at the dirt. Something hot nudged against her cheek. Elitha took a deep breath through her mouth, trying to ignore the cloying stink of old sweat that clung to the ratmen, and slowly let it out. She could not put it off any further, and turned her head.
  147. They were larger than she had expected, yet not as monstrous as she had feared. The pair of organs that butted impatiently at her face were no larger or thicker than a well-endowed male Elf might sport, but they were more impressive than the stunted ratmen had any right to be. Each sported a bulge at the base and another halfway down the shaft, while the head terminated in a blunt flare surrounding a conical tip. Moving as if she were in a dream, Elitha reached first for one, then the other, wrapping her long, soft fingers around each verminous prick in turn. A rapid-fire heartbeat thrashed through each one, and their owners let out thin, shrill squeaks as she touched them.
  149. "What you wait for, Elf-meat?" Skeetrik hissed. His forepaw ran through her hair, pushing her towards his organ. "Suck-suck, like good slave."
  151. Elitha's lips were dry. She wetted them with a flick of her tongue and leaned in, her nose wrinkling at the awful, sour smell that eminated from the creature's loins. Her heart raced and her stomach clenched at the thought of what she was about to do. The Elf's mouth opened. Skeetrik froze, his eyes locked on the top of her head, as if he himself were dreaming, and any sudden motion might jerk him back to reality. The head of the Skaven's cock slipped into Elitha's mouth, and she closed her lips around his shaft. Her eyes rolled upwards, meeting the black-furred monster's vicious red gaze, and she sucked.
  153. It tasted bitter. Unwashed. Unclean. But she sucked, slipping her head further down, her lips smoothly parting around the bulge of his shaft, before gliding back up to pause at the flared rim. Again, she bobbed her head, the thick fur surrounding the Skaven's prick tickling her nose. Her tongue played over the shaft, and a drop of something thick and foul-tasting bloomed within her mouth. Elitha felt herself gag and screwed her eyes shut, forcing down the urge to vomit as the noxious taste of Skeetrik's precome spread across her palette. She dragged her head back until the horrid, dripping object popped free from her lips. Disgust and hatred saturating every fiber of her being, Elitha leaned in close to the length of turgid rat-flesh, breathed in the stink of it, felt the heat of it on her face, and nonetheless placed a delicate kiss upon its throbbing, drooling crown.
  155. Keep them busy, she thought. Every moment the pair of monsters dallied here brought the Elves that must be tracking them closer, and everything she did to keep them happy and entertained increased the chances of her living long enough to see her father's soldiers arrive. Elitha turned like a machine and engulfed Grikik's prick, while her slim fingers placated Skeetrik with the same gentle caresses that had stolen the breath of her past, gentler lovers.
  157. But while Skeetrik clung to some scant pretense of good grooming, his companion most certainly did not. The stink of his greasy, soiled fur hit her a moment after she took him into her mouth. He tasted of old, ground in sweat, and something worse; the bitterness made her retch and pull back, only to find her head trapped in a cage formed by Grikik's claws. He forced her back down, sniggering and gabbling in his native pidgin tongue. Her imagination tore at her, filling her mind with images of the brutish Skaven huddled in his burrow, frantically pleasuring himself, then simply leaving the emissions to dry into his skin...
  159. She tried to force her mind elsewhere, to concentrate on the grass and earth beneath her knees, the sound of birdsong and rushing water in the distance, anything - but it was crushing, inescapable, a wall of sensory horror that blotted out everything else. But worse was the realization that she could not pull back - her only option was to push forwards, to grind down the cold ball of shame that knotted in her guts and continue.
  161. Elitha sucked. She choked down the taste of old, spoiled seed and rancid sweat and sucked. Her head bobbed like a human alley-whore as the pair of Skaven cackled at her sudden enthusiasm - forced or otherwise - and clawed at her head. Skeetrik caught a handful of her hair and wrapped it around his prick, soiling her long, golden tresses with the mixture of precome and saliva that remained upon it from her previous ministrations. Grikik's gnarled fingers plucked and tweaked at her ears, making her cringe at the sudden, intense stimulation. A thin gruel of bitter precome oozed into her mouth, and she was almost disgusted at how grateful for it she was. It was, at least, fresh, and diluted the taste of old filth. She sucked harder, bathing the thing with her tongue, exploring every inch of the bulbous mass of flesh, daring to hope that she might nurse Grikik into climaxing early. The hot, lumpen thing pulsed grotesquely, throbbing in time with the rat-man's racing heartbeat.
  163. "Enough, Elf-meat." Skeetrik snapped and slapped her in the back of the head, then dragged her away from the other Skaven's dripping length. "You pay fool-Grikik too much attention. Skeetrik is clawleader. He claims first breeding rights."
  165. Elitha's stomach lurched. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand to hide the expression of despair that passed over her face. Endure, she told herself. You just have to endure. This will not last forever.
  167. "Does master Skeetrik wish to make use of those rights?" The Elf whispered, looking up at the Skaven through a veil of damp, soiled hair.
  169. The Skaven loomed over her, leering. His nose twitched. His tail twisted in the dirt like a thick, pink worm. Elitha's eyes were drawn, inexorably to the Skaven's still-hard cock. That's going to go inside me, she thought. Her mind spun. This thing - this filthy, rotten, chaos-tainted monster - was going to breed her, fuck her. Her, a princess of Ulthuan. And there was nothing she could do about it. She'd agreed to it. To protect the sanctity of her home, perhaps. But she had still agreed.
  171. Elitha cast a glance over to the shard of warpstone and felt her heart harden. Whatever happened to her, whatever she had to do, it served the greater purpose of her people. It was a scant comfort as the twitching, black-furred creature crouched down next to her, but at that moment, Elitha was grateful for it.
  173. "Oh yes-yes. Yes he does." Skeetrik hissed. He reached for her, then once again hesitated, as if unsure of where to place his hands. Elitha bit her lip, waiting like a condemned woman upon the headsman's block. Finally, the Skaven reached for her breast, clasping the small, sensitive mound of flesh in his callused hand. His broken nails pricked at her skin as he played with her, rolling her nipple between two of his fingers. Elitha let out a small gasp and shuddered. She knew that, sooner or later, her body would start to react, whether from the Skaven's experimental poking and prodding, or to ease the discomfort when he eventually pushed into her, but the idea of it was no less nauseating. She had agreed to their offer, but the idea that her own body would be complicit in their assaults...
  175. Another mote of noise slipped from between her lips. Skeetrik leaned in closer, until the tip of his rat-like face was inches away from her. "Elf-meat said she would be receptive." He said mockingly. "Yet she does none of the work. Does Elf-meat not-not wish to touch Skeetrik's mighty body? Does she wish to break-break her agreement?"
  177. "Of course." Elitha said. She reached for him, her hands shaking as they brushed over the top of the Skaven's greasy black fur. "I was just...stunned by you..your presence."
  179. She bit down a slightly manic laugh. It wasn't that far from the truth, after all. Her fingers pushed through the mass of dark, wiry fur that covered the Skaven's body and ran over the scabrous flesh beneath. Skeetrik trilled in pleasure as she touched him, her long, slender fingers caressing the ugly knots of muscle and tumorous growths that lurked beneath his fur. There is nothing about them that is attractive, Elitha thought, as she ran her hands over the Skaven's chest, bunching his fur between her fingers. Her head swam, and she cringed inside as a small flicker of her own pleasure bloomed through her system. It was as if they were ugliness made manifest. Skeetrik leaned in, his tongue oozing out of his mouth, and lapped cautiously at the Elf's smooth, pale flesh. It was long, and rough, and teased her skin in a way that sent ripples of horrid pleasure through her body. When it reached the underside of her breast, she could not hold back the sudden, breathy cry that lept to her lips.
  181. "You taste sweet, Elf-meat. Maybe we should have eat-eaten you after all?" Skeetrik giggled.
  183. Elitha froze, her eyes wide in fear. Keep him focused, she thought. Give him what you can afford, to make sure he doesn't take what you can't.
  185. Even so, it took every ounce of willpower Elitha had to lean backwards and open her legs for the monster. His eyes followed her, staring eagerly at the soft, pink folds that lay before him. "I'm sure many Skaven have tasted the flesh of my people. "She said, looking up at the ratman as he shuffled towards her. "But only that. How many of them have claimed it for their own? How many have - "
  187. The words caught in her throat. It felt like a wall of shame was bearing down on her. Even if her father's men did arrive in time, Elitha wondered how she would ever be able to look any of them in the eye again. "How many of them have mated with a Princess?"
  189. "Good-good point, Elf-meat. Skeetrik thinks he will be legend in warren-den one day." The black-furred Skaven flopped forward, his arms either side of her shoulders. His body pressed against her own, like she was being smothered by a filthy, soiled blanket. Skeetrik's thighs brushed against the inside of her legs, and Elitha let out a soft moan of disgust as she felt his bulbous, blunt prick bump against her mound. The Skaven's face was so close it blocked out everything else, drowning the world beneath the rotten stink of his breath and the horrid, gloating expression plastered over his muzzle. "You know-thing what Skeetrik thinks? Skeetrik thinks you are being very willing. Skeetrik think-thinks you must want it."
  191. Do not make me say it, Elitha thought. Of all the humilations, of all the indignities, please, please, don't make me say what you must be thinking.
  193. "Skeetrik wants you to ask for it." The Skaven licked her face, tasting the fear-sweat gathered upon her skin. "Skeetrik wants you to beg."
  195. The words came surprisingly easily, in the end. She recited them as if from a script, stilted and wooden, any amusement at how utterly, utterly absurd they were crushed beneath the humiliation she felt.
  197. "Please," she whispered. Skeetrik's cock twitched atop her body, as if pleased by her thin, plaintive words. "Please, fuck me, you stinking, rotten monster. Breed me like an animal."
  199. It was all Elitha could bring herself to say, but by the tide of chittering laughter that boiled from Skeetrik's filthy maw, it pleased him nonetheless. He reared up and barked something to his companion. Out of the corner of her eye, Elitha saw the larger Skaven sat on a rock nearby, one hand steadily pumping his cock as he awaited his turn. The wolf-rat had clambered back to its feet and flopped down near him, glaring at her with one rheumy eye. Elitha felt a spark of anger at the sight of the little horror. She thought her blow had killed the thing.
  201. "Well-well," Skeetrik said, his voice full of mock courtesy. "Who is Skeetrik to deny mighty Elf-meat princess?" His cock shifted, dragging clear of her mound to press against her entrance. Elitha's heart stopped. It's going to happen, she thought. This is really going to happen. She tried to take a breath, to close her eyes, to do anything which might prepare herself for the next few moments, but could not. She lay there as if paralyzed, teetering on the brink of a nightmare. "He only hope-thinks she enjoys it as much as he will."
  203. Skeetrik thrust. Elitha cried out in pain as the blunt head of the Skaven's shaft pushed against her entrance and bludgeoned its way past, sinking into the temple of her body like a battering ram. Her eyes ran down the length of their bodies to stare at the site of their union, as if unable to believe what was actually happening. The half of Skeetrik's length yet to invade her body glistened wetly, the bulging, pink flesh jutting grotesquely between her soft, pale skin and the Skaven's greasy fur.
  205. "Oh!" She gasped. Skeetrik jerked forwards again, shoving the bulging swell of his prick into her. There was pain - she was not ready for him, could not have been ready for him - but there was a horrible mote of pleasure there as well, buried deep beneath the crushing, stomach-churning feeling of her unprepared body being so roughly penetrated. Her legs shook, toes curling and digging into the soft grass beneath them. "Oh, Isha preserve me!"
  207. "Silence, Elf-meat!" The Skaven snapped. His head ducked towards her, his long tongue lapping greedily at her small breasts. "You are property of Horned Rat now. The only god you squeal-pray to is him!"
  209. Elitha's only reply was a hoarse, pained whimper. The thing invading her body throbbed abominably, filling her with awful heat as the Skaven finally forced the last inch of himself into her with a triumphant snicker. It felt huge, far larger than it actually was, the fat, blunt head of his cock stretching her innermost depths in ways that made her head spin. He paused, then, either to savour the moment or give the Elf time to fully appreciate what was about to happen to her. Then it began.
  211. Skeetrik's first two thrusts were clumsy, mistimed things as he tried to pull free and push roughly back in to her. His length grated along her inner walls, and Elthira squirmed and cried out in pain with each forceful penetration. And yet, with every movement the rat-man made, the pain lessened. Skeetrik's fur tickled her belly and her thighs, while his hot, tough tongue dragged against her sensitive nipples. Even the sharp pricks of his claws as he manhandled her sent perverse little flickers of pleasure through her body. Elthira desperately tried to cling onto that pain, to use it as an anchor, but it was no use. An Elf's body was a sensitive thing, always hungry for sensation. Every time Skeetrik pushed himself into her, every time Elthira felt his cock swell and throb inside her body, the pain faded a little more. Shame swept into its place.
  213. Elthira could feel her own wetness starting to build. She screamed inside her head, cursing her body for a traitor as it began to respond to the stimulation that had been unwillingly thrust upon it. She felt dirty. Soiled. Not just for what was happening to her, but for her own unwilling complicity. Her skin crawled as Skeetrik trilled in pleasure and drew away from her breasts, pushing his face up against hers.
  215. "How-how does it feel, Elf-meat?" He said, his nose twitching. "Skeetrick think-thinks you must be enjoying yourself."
  217. No, Elithra thought. I'm not, I'm not. But even that was only halfway towards the truth. Her body writhed with a mixture of horror and arousal, at once desperate to pull away, yet eager to push up against the creature that was breeding her in search of release from the maddening urge that was being forced upon her. Elthira felt a flush of anger, filling her with the urge to show a least a gem of resistance in the face of what was happening to her. She craned forwards, leaning into the Skaven's foul breath, her lips puckering as she prepared to spit in the monster that was violating her's face.
  219. She never got the chance. Skeetrik shoved her back into the grass, pinning her down and forcing his mouth atop hers in a grotesque parody of a kiss. His whiskers tickled Elthira's cheeks and his tongue licked eagerly at hers, his thick saliva drooling onto her chin and his teeth filling her mouth with the taste of rot. The Elf screamed in the back of her throat, a thin, shrill noise of horror as his claws caressed her hair and bit into her scalp. The Skaven's furry chest dragged over her nipples as he mated with her, his thrusts becoming quicker and easier as Elthira's body strove to rob the Elf of what little dignity she retained. The slick sounds of their aberrant union filled the glade, punctuated by the soft whap-whap-whap of the Skaven's furry testicles slapping against her sweat-soaked body.
  221. The only condolence Elthira had was that Skeetrik did not last long. With her body all but welcoming the stinking, verminous monster that was violating it with open arms, the Skaven's thrusts became faster and faster, harder and harder, the short-lived hyperactivity of his misbegotten people clouding any urge he might have had to draw out Eltihra's defilement for as long as possible. He finally broke their monstrous kiss and threw his head back, his maw opened wide and his tongue hanging free as he reached his climax. Trapped beneath his ropy, black-furred body, Elthira squirmed and gritted her teeth as the hot mass of flesh trapped in her body began to throb with desperate urgency.
  223. "Skeetrik will - Skeetrik will not be long-long, Elf-meat." The Skaven wheezed. His head drooped, his forehead meeting hers, beady red eyes boring into her own. "He wants you to whisper-tell him. Tell-tell him pretty Elf princess wants to feel-feel him inside her."
  225. It was like a hideous light at the end of the tunnel, promising release - if only temporarily - from what was being done to her, in exchange for another fraction of her pride. Elthira let out a muffled moan, biting down on her lip as another wave of sensation coarsed through her. The idea of being forced to climax by such a lowly creature made her stomach clench and knot. If she could avoid that, she would say whatever she had to.
  227. "Yes," she hissed, her voice breathy, coming in short, harsh pants. "Give it to me, you beast. Fill me with your rancid, animal seed."
  229. The words were just noise to her, meaningless strings of syllables spat out to earn herself a reprieve, no matter how absurd they were. Skeetrik chattered and snapped his jaws, his tail beating frantically against the ground. She felt him swell, suddenly, and for a moment time seemed to freeze - it's going to happen, Elthira thought, he's going to come, he's going to come inside me -
  231. And then there was heat, and pressure, and a sudden feeling of thick, glutinous liquid spilling into her as Skeetrik climaxed, driving his prick deep into her and pouring his seed into the vessel that was Elthira's body. He held here there, impaled upon him as his come lapped against her inner walls, his rat-like face screwed up in an expression Elthira might otherwise have found comical. Then he slumped back, withdrawing from her with a wet sucking noise and flopping down into the grass.
  233. She wanted to laugh. It was a sudden, insane feeling, but it swept through her nonetheless. I win, Elthira thought. She had walked into the monster's lair, seen the beast sated, and walked out again without having given up the last, tattered dregs of her pride. He had climaxed, she hadn't. Skeetrik waved her over and ordered her to clean his prick, sticky with her fluids and still dripping beads of thick, stringy come, and she went to him almost eagerly. I won, you lost, the thoughts ran around her head in circles as she lapped him clean, bathing his deflating cock with her tongue and swallowing down the globs of semen that clung to it. The Elf could feel the Skaven's seed congealing inside her and dripping down her long, smooth legs, but she didn't care. Halfway there, she told herself. Just one more.
  235. Grikik rose from his seat, hauling his heavy, grey-furred body back to its feet. The wolf-rat at his side hissed and scratched itsElf, giving the Elf a vindictive look as the second Skaven lumbered over. Elthira cleaned the last of the mess from Skeetrik's length and rose, her spirits deflating again as the larger of the two ambled up to her.
  237. "I had hoped for a moment to catch my breath," the Elf said. "But very well. We might as well get this over with."
  239. She moved to lay down upon the grass once more, only to be halted by a callused hand around her wrist. Grikik stared dumbly at her and tugged. He was strong - far stronger than Skeetrik was, and Elthira stumbled, pulled off-balance by the brute's strength.
  241. "Grikik is fool-fool." Skeetrik said. He snapped his fingers and called the wolf-rat to him, petting the beast's head while he watched the pair with amusement. "He only speak-squeaks Skaven language. Let him do what-what he wishes, he will not break-break such a prize."
  243. There was a heavy pause, then Skeetrik laughed horribly and added. "On purpose."
  245. Elthira bit down on the sharp response that jumped to her lips. She brushed her dirty, soiled hair away from her face and turned back to the second Skaven, forcing a sweet smile over her face. "Very well." She said. "Lead on."
  247. She was half-led, half-dragged from her spot by the side of the pool, to a shady area under the boughs of a looming willow tree. It was strangely comforting, almost private, half-hidden by the drooping leaves and the shadows they cast. Elthira obediently turned and bent towards it, assuming the Skaven wished to mate her up against the trunk, but earned only a stinging slap across the rear and a warning growl for her presumptions. Grikik ambled away, walking over to where he had undressed, and kicked through the pile of rags with his feet. He bent and retrieved something, then lumbered back over.
  249. It was a belt. The Skaven's nose twitched and he jabbed at her wrists, then again at one low-hanging branch. Elthira gave him a questioning look, then tentatively raised her arms. "Like this?" She said, crossing her wrists above the bough. It was almost too tall, forcing her to balance upon the tips of her toes in order to reach. The Elf half expected another painful blow signalling her misunderstanding, but instead Grikik began to bustle around her, wrapping the length of cracked, moldy leather around her wrists and binding them securely to the tree. She shuddered as he brushed up against her slender body. His fur was knotted and tangled with old grime, and her skin itched where it touched her. Grikik's tail slithered around her legs, the bald, scaly skin dragging across her ankles and the soles of her feet.
  251. Elthira looked up, apprehension filling her. The bindings bit painfully into her skin, and gave not the slightest bit when she tugged experimentally upon them. With Skeetrik, there had always been the chance, however slim, of trying to overpower him if she felt her life was in danger. But this? The breeze tickled over her bare, flushed skin, turning the sweat and the strings of Skeetrik's seed still clinging to her thighs momentarily to ice. Like this, she was truly helpless, denied even the fantasy of escape.
  253. She took a breath, steadying her nerves as Grikik finished his preparations and returned to face her. He was broader than his companion, taller despite the ever-present stoop of his spine, and she could see hard, lumpy muscles bulging and rippling under his fur. His ears were ragged and notched, and old scars had gouged chunks from his furry coat. The unwashed stink of his body hung around him like a shroud, and Elthira forced down the urge to vomit as she remembered the foul taste of him in her mouth. That same organ would soon be pushing into a far more intimate place, she thought, her stomach lurching. Skeetrik at least had been clean, or as close to it as Skaven were. Grikik's fingers circled her backside, his nails biting into her buttocks as he lifted the Elf from the ground and stepped into the space between her legs. With her wrists bound above her and her legs dangling uselessly, Elthira could do nothing but watch and wait as Grikik maneuvered her into position. His blunt cock butted against her entrance for a moment, its passage eased by the thick seed Skeetrik had filled her with, and slipped easily inside.
  255. Unlike his master, there was no sudden frenzy, no frantic violation of her body. Elithra let out a long, wavering groan as she began to slide down the Skaven's shaft, her own bodyweight slowly but surely impaling her upon the lumpen, misshapen thing. This time there was no pain, as much as the Elf found herself wishing for it. Her body still sung with the need for release, and the feeling of heat and pressure as Grikik's shaft slowly penetrated her, easing her open and gliding over her slick, aching inner walls was monstrous in its intensity. She writhed and panted, her bound wrists scraping painfully against the cracked leather and the wood they had been tied to, and could not help but arch her back and press her small, sensitive breasts into Grikik's rotten fur as she slid down to the very base of the Skaven's prick.
  257. He grinned, showing off teeth turned almost black with rot, and thrust up into her dangling body. Elthira let out a thin cry as he bounced her atop him, her fingers and toes grasping madly at air. Each short, sharp movement dragged the ratman's cockhead over her most sensitive places. She grasped and writhed, twisting and turning as best she could despite her restraints, desperately seeking to alter her position in some way. All the while, Grikik sniggered and gabbled at her in his pidgin language, lapping at her face and her breasts as she sound to escape the relentless, humiliating pressure of her approaching climax. As much as Elthira wished to turn away, pinned as she was between her bound arms above and the stinking prick rutting up into her from below, there was nothings she could do but hang there and endure the unwanted attention Grikik was lavishing upon her chest. Elthira threw her head back and moaned, a long, draw-out sound of need and horror alike as Grikik's tongue snaked up across her ear, teasing the sensitive tip.
  259. Just hold him a little longer, she thought. Elithra's legs kicked and shook, and it was only though a supreme effort of will that she kept the from closing around the Skaven's hairy back and dragging him deeper into her rebellious body's embrace. He can't last long. His people are greedy, impatient, and his own pleasure will soon be more important than your humiliation. And yet he continued, every movement of his hot, swollen organ scratching at the itch that raged inside her, driving her relentlessly towards a chasm of shame that Elthira thought she might never claw her way out of. The thought of the pair of Skaven taking her away with them clawed at her mind, despite the impossibility of them escaping Ulthuan with a prisoner. She saw herself dragged down into their tunnels, made to service their Seers and Warlords with her mouth for scraps of food, and forced to breed with slaves and monsters for their amusement. Elthira screwed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, choking down on the scream she could feel pushing against her throat as her climax built and built, relentlessly driven onwards by the endless, indefatigable thrusts of the reeking horror that was violating her.
  261. And then, suddenly, it was over. Grikik hissed and dug his fingernails into her backside, the sudden pain as her skin tore shocking her back to her senses just as the Skaven came inside her. Thick ropes of glutinous seed sprayed into her body, only to pour back out as Grikik released her and withdrew, dripping down her long, dangling legs to pool in the grass beneath her. Elthira shuddered and twitched as she felt it dripping from her sensitive lips, but it wasn't enough to finally push her beyond her strained, aching limits. Grikik reached past her and slashed through the belt that held her up, and Elithra tumbled down into the soft, loamy earth with a sigh that was almost akin to gratitude.
  263. She lay there for a moment, panting, feeling her abused, aching body settle and her wits return. It was over. Her nerves trembled and her muscles felt like jelly, her skin itched and she didn't think the feeling of befoulment that had settled upon her would ever quite leave, but it was over. A thin, manic smile crept over her face, and she dragged herself back to her feet. No matter what the pair of verminous monsters had done to her, Elthira refused to let their last words pass with her on her knees.
  265. "There. It's done." The Elf said. She swallowed hard and glared, her eyes gliding from Skeetrik to Grikik and back again. "Our...our bargain is complete. I suggest you take your things and leave. You've dallied here long enough. My father's men will surely not be far behind."
  267. "No-no, not quite done." Skeetrik shook his head. He held up three fingers, then lowered two of them. "Gnawbone has not yet had his turn-turn."
  269. "But there are only two of you." Elthira said. She felt a spark of anger kindle inside her breast. Had more of the Skaven's allies snuck up upon the clearing while she had been bound? She scanned the treeline, but could see nothing.
  271. "Skeetrik wonders why Elf-things think so much of themselves, when they are so very-very stupid." The black-furred Skaven tutted, his tail twitching in excitement. He lounged across the rocks at the side of the pool like a conquering barbarian king, one hand still petting the filthy rat-mongrel at his side, while his gnarled fingers tugged at his half-flaccid length. "Elf-meat will be bred by loyal Gnawbone next."
  273. The wolf-rat let out a thin, squeaking bark at the sound of its name. She could see something pink and bulbous hanging between its rear haunches.
  275. Elthira stared at Skeetrik. She stared at the horrible grin on his face, unable to accept what she had been told. Even after all she had been through, all that had been done to her, she could not comprehend what the Skaven wanted her to do.
  277. "You - you want me to..." Her eyes traveled down, coming to rest upon the mutant creature that sat between them. A rat the size of a large wolf, its great swathes of his fur had fallen out to reveal red, flaky skin inflamed with irritation. Elthira could almost imagine the parasites that infested the thing. It stared at her with grey, rheumy eyes, cracked, yellow fangs jutting over its lower lip and long strings of drool hanging fro its mouth. It was an animal - something less than an animal. "You want me...you think that...you expect me to be mounted by that, that think?"
  279. Elthira shook her head, her eyes wild, her hair flopping around her head. "No, no. That wasn't part of our deal." She said, jabbing a finger at Skeetrik. "I agreed to service you and your companion. That's all."
  281. Skeetrik's grin widened further. "No-no. Maybe Elf-meat forgets, but Skeetrik said she would be bred by his companions." He hissed the last word, drawing the plural out as long as he could. "Gnawbone is Skeetrik's oldest, most loyal companion. Skeetrik would not be so cruel-cruel as to deny him the same pleasures he and Grikik-fool shared."
  283. Elthira just stared. Her mind was blank, her stomach a tight knot of horror. Had he said that? Had she forgotten, or simply not realized when the black-furred monster had propositioned her in the first place. She couldn't remember.
  285. "Now-now." Skeetrik said. "Is pretty Elf-meat princess going to do what she agreed?" He flexed his claws and inclined his head towards where he had left his sword. "Or is-is she going a back on her deal-deal."
  287. Her lips were dry. Her tongue felt like a thick, dead slug in her mouth, and her body crawled at the prospect of what the Skaven wanted her to do. Elthira looked down at the wolf-rat. It glared back with an animal's idiot, mindless malice. Her eyes flicked up the Skeetrik's sword, then over to the shard of Warpstone, and the dire prospect it represented if the Skaven went through with their threats of burying it.
  289. Slowly, numbly, Elthira turned her back on the pair of Skaven and sank down onto all fours, obediently raising her hindquarters into the air. She heard soft footpads making their way towards her. Again and again, she told herself that she was dreaming, or that her father's men would arrive any second, that surely something - anything - would happen and spare her from this final cruelty. But the footsteps came on regardless, approaching her slowly, circling her prone, submissive form. It sniffed and snuffle, it's breath wheezing and labored. Ethira shuddered as she felt the wolf-rat brushing past her. She could almost imagine the parasites crawling through what remained of the beast's fur.
  291. It halted behind her. The Elf felt its cold, wet nose probe against her over-stimulated slit, the beast's tongue lapping at her folds, each rough, probing motion rekindling the arousal that had begun to flicker and die inside her. Even the pair of clanrats had fallen silent, too engrossed in what was happening before them to mock their victim further. Then the tongue departed, and Elthira began silently screaming in the back of her head. It's getting ready, she thought, it's taking a step backwards, trying to line it's body up with mine. Her heart raced in a mad panic.
  293. The wolf rat landed atop her with a heavy, meaty thud. Elthira cried out in disgust, her voice trembling as its foreclaws gripped her shoulders and its hind legs kicked and wheeled for balance. Cracked, grimy nails scratched and clawed as the aberrant creature sought to scrabble into a better position, digging furrows in the ground and opening up thin, painful gashes across her thighs and lower legs. Every instinct the Elf had screamed at her to struggle, to fight, to throw the greasy, diseased creature off her. Her shoulders bunched and her muscles tensed in readiness for a fight, but the thought of the warpstone shard crept into her mind like a poison. Elthira's fingers dug into Ulthuan's soft soil as she forced her instincts down, mercilessly quashing every trace of sanity, dignity, and self-respect she still possessed.
  295. Just one more, she told hersElf. It won't last forever. The wolf-rat let out a thin, wuffling squeak and shifted its weight, it's bald, malnourished underbelly finally coming to a comfortable rest upon the Elf's back. Its legs gripped her thighs tightly, wiry hair scratching at her skin, hindclaws finally finding purchase as long, too-human fingers wrapped around her shoulders. A soft moan slipped past the Elf's lips as she felt the animal's prick resting against her slick folds; the hot, swollen thing pointed straight downwards, every motion jolting it up and down, sliding through the mess left by her two prior abusers and the shameful wetness they had forced from her body. Elthira cried out again; a strangled, plaintive noise as her body shuddered with grotesque pleasure.
  297. "Elf-meat did speak-say she wished to be bred-bred like animal." Skeetrik giggled. "Skeetrik tried his best, but he think-thinks she may be about to get her wish."
  299. The wolf-rat's head jutted over Elthira's shoulder. Its whiskers tickled her cheek. One milky eye stared at her, full of mindless, animal malice. The creature pulled its hips back and thrust, its prick missing its target and skidding along the Elf's lips instead. Elthira sucked in a thin breath, only for it to be forced from her lungs in another hatefully needy whine as the wolf-rat repeated the motion. The angle's still wrong, she realised, the thought penetrating the veil of disgusted horror that had fallen over her mind. I have to turn my hips - I have to let it in. Her stomach lurched, and Elthira tasted bile in the back of her throat as she understood what that meant. She could not simply allow what was about to happen, to happen. The wolf-rat could not penetrate her without assistance. The pair of Clanrats sat aside, grinning wickedly, knowing just as she did that they would not help. She had to allow the creature into her body willingly.
  301. Elthira thought once more of the warpstone shard. She thought of the jagged, rusty blades stabbed into the soil. She thought of her father's men, who must surely, surely, be close by, who would find her if she could only hold out for just a little longer.
  303. And so it was that Princess Elthira Kalienil, daughter of Lord Varith Kalienil, swallowed the last dregs of her pride, raised her hips, and for the good of her home, allowed herself to be mated by a drooling, stinking, freak of an animal.
  305. Gnawbone sunk into her with a single savage thrust. His engorged, furry balls slapped against her clit as his shaft plunged into the Elf's body, filling her with sudden, animal heat. The wolf-rat was larger than the other two Skaven, and Elthira threw back her head and screamed as she felt herself being penetrated by the creature. Her arms trembled as she struggled to support the weight of the creature pushing down upon her as a wave of hideous pleasure cascaded through her body. She had been dancing upon the edge of her climax for so long, and the brute, unthinking force of the wolf-rat's length hilting itself inside her body finally pushed her beyond her limits of self-control.
  307. Elthira screamed again, screwing her eyes shut and giving voice to the monstrous cocktail of emotions that howled through her. Guilt, shame, and resentment spilled through her like poison as she came, the force of her orgasm washing through her like a crushing tide. Her back arched and Elthira felt her inner walls clench around the animal's prick as it mated with her, her body eagerly drinking in every manic, unthinking thrust even as her mind twisted in upon itself in horror. Skeetrik and Grikik were utterly silent, staring at the Elf's final desecration with rapt attention, silently stroking themselves as she writhed and cringed beneath the mangy creature.
  309. Claws dug at her shoulders, wiry hair grated against her thigh, and scabby flesh dragged over her back. The thing, the bloated, oversized animal prick in her body throbbed and pulsed, filling her with its foul heat. It's head lay alongside hers, thick strands of clear drool dripping from the wolf-rat's mouth, it's wheezes mingling with Elthira's breathless panting as she was mated. Her climax felt unending; it dragged on and on, flooding her body in waves, forced far beyond her control by the twisted animal that was violating her. Elthira was beyond rational thought; stars exploded in front of her vision, her fingers and toes clenched until her nails bit through the skin of her palms, her body rocked backwards in time with the wolf-rat's thrusts as she greedily devoured every ounce of twisted pleasure the beast was forcing upon her. And all the while her mind turned in upon itsElf; utter, all-consuming horror gnawed at the edge of her consciousness like a billion hungry rats, eager to sweep her mind away in a tide of guilt and shame.
  311. Liquid arousal dripped from the site of their union. The beast was relentless, its hind legs kicking and clawing at the ground as it struggled to maintain balance atop the bucking, twisting Elf. It threw its head back, rearing up and giving voice to a series of triumphant squeaks as its hips slapped against Elthira's flesh, as if the beast took some awful pleasure in so utterly soiling her. Finally, then, as she shook beneath it, the wolf-rat came. Physically and mentally exhausted, her mind reeling and her body only finally beginning to reach the end of her monstrous orgasm, Ethira could do nothing as the wolf-rat pinned her down and emptied itself into her. Thick, glutinous, animal seed filled her for the third and final time, painting her shuddering inner walls and gushing out over her overstimulated lips as Gnawbone finally withdrew.
  313. Elthira collapsed. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, that Skeetrik and Grikik had sated themselves and were already dressing. Good, she thought. It swam through her mind like something out of a dream; vague, hazy and indistinct, welcomed only as a sign that her ordeal was, finally, over. Good, they're going to go. Grikik received the warpstone shard and lumbered back to Skeetrik, offering it up like some religious totem. They paid her no heed, and for that, the Elf was glad. She wanted only to be left alone and forgotten.
  315. Skeetrik's ears twitched. She saw his head snap up, his pointed nose sniffing at the air. He half-turned, opening his mouth to speak to his companion, when a pair of arrows sang from the treeline. They plunged deep into Gnawbone's flank, spitting the creature straight through and pitching it to the ground in a lifeless heap. More arrows slashed towards the pair of Clanrats, one tearing a notch through Skeetrik's ear, another embedding itself in Grikik's shoulder with a thick smacking noise. The Skaven let out a shrill cry of fear, falling over themselves as they scrambled for cover. Elves began to spill from the treeline, some with bows and others carrying long spears, their blue and white robes stained with mud and the filth of battle. The sergeant's eyes met with hers, and the expression of pity on his face almost broke Elthira's heart. He spoke in neat, clipped words, sending a troop of men off after the Skaven as they broken and fled, before coming over to her side himself.
  317. Another of the elves removed his cloak and wrapped it around her. The sergeant moved to slide his arms beneath her and pick her up, but she pushed him away. She felt the need to stand. To show that she could, that she had been left neither broken nor helpless by her abuse. Though her legs shook and she wavered like a reed in the breeze, Elthira picked herself up, pulling the cloak tightly around her. It was not so dirty, and she breathed in the smell of warm cotton, trying to banish the unwashed stink of furry bodies from her mind.
  319. "My lady," the sergeant's face was pinched, his expression horrorstruck. "We knew that stragglers had fled this way and came as fast as we could when we heard your voice. I...I only wish we had found you sooner."
  321. Elthira licked her lips, trying to push the fog from her mind. "Need - I, I need two men. An escort, back home." She rasped. "And, send a runner. Tell them to send for a healer. I am not so badly hurt, but the, the wounds may be infected."
  323. The sergeant nodded and turned away. Elthira stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When he turned back, despite everything - the bloody scratches and weals dotted over her body, the filth in her hair, the dirt and shed fur and the gruel of sweat and fluids clinging to her skin - Elthira's eyes were hard. Uncomfortably so, the sergeant thought.
  325. "I want a horse prepared. And a bow. And a spear." She said. Elthira took a step, staggered drunkenly, but righted herself. Anger, cold, crushing anger, burned in her chest like a blade of ice, cutting through the fog of pain and horror that had descended upon her. Images of the pair of Skaven spitted by arrows and ground beneath the hooves of her horse flickered through her mind, each vicious fantasy a more effective salve for her wounds than anything Ulthuan's healers could present her with. "I gave up my pride and my dignity in return for my life, sergeant." She said. "Now, I intend to see them restored."
RAW Paste Data