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dnd_drow

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She furrowed her brow, blush creeping to her cheeks already at his comment. "You don’t have to do this." Her voice was weak, and quiet, as to be expected.
Astarion raised a brow. "I know I don’t, darling. Consider it another "thank you’, for not killing me. And for giving me your delicious blood."
She let her hand go off the cloth at her neck, letting him take over again, closing her eyes as she let the potion do its work. The dizziness wasn't going away easily; Astarion really took quite a bit of her blood, but at the very least, he was sated for now. As she laid still on his lap, he'd gently wipe the remnants of blood off her neck, before pocketing the cloth once again. Her neck was incredibly sore, something she'd expect to become a regular occurrence. She was so tired, sleep could take her right there, not caring where she was. The room was so quiet, she could almost consider it a peaceful silence.
Astarion peered down at her, his ruby eyes tracing her expression, her form, everything he could see. Questions began to gnaw at his mind, as was the silence.
"I know I asked already, but why did you let me do this? What do you stand to gain?" His question hit her hard, but she was too exhausted to argue, or think of a clever response.
"Because you needed help." Her response came out in a slurred murmur. Her body was weak and needed rest, and sleep took her far too quickly. He was tempted to move, but something in him encouraged him to stay. He had hid such a secret from her, and she heard him out when she didn't need to, so he could stay just a while. At least until he was sure she was out of the woods.
He let out a sigh, and unknowingly to even him, a small smile began to curl on his lips. "You really are something, aren’t you."
He watched over her for a while as she slept, occasionally brushing his fingers through the loose strands of hair that never made it to her braid. When the sun was near rising, he carefully laid her back in her bedroll, tossing her blanket over her, and snuck back to his tent before the others would wake. In his heart though, he would have stayed until she awoke from her sleep, but perhaps the next time they met for a "late dinner’, he would.
 
You had not been sure what to expect from your first visit to the Underdark.
Your father asked you to encourage diplomatic relations where his sons could not, as none of the drow matriarchs would listen to your brothers. This was not usually your role, though. Your brothers and their pride had never allowed for them to let their baby sister do much of anything related to work. They always insisted that they carry the load of... well, everything.
But here, in the Underdark, you thrive where they failed. You know that some of this is owed simply to your gender, but you can’t help but give yourself a little pat on the back, because it is by your own efforts that you have gained favor with the Dark Queen herself.
You entice her with stories of what the Above can offer her if trade is established, and then, after you have talked her into her own bed (not something you planned on, but an effective method nonetheless), she offers you everything.
You can't say that you're particularly attracted to this woman. She is breathtakingly beautiful, but she is like poison. As long as it is poison you can tolerate, though, there will be jewels and silver and silks from the Underdark. And your family will be the first, the only, to trade with the Drow, because your father was the only one who dared to send a daughter instead of a son.
Panting, white hair tangled and sweat-slicked to her brow, the Dark Queen offers you her first true gift, the one that will establish the cultural crossover you know is necessary for this to work.
"You should have a male," she says, and the statement sounds so odd to you that you take a moment to comprehend it.
You’ve spent enough time in the Underdark to be familiar with drow women and their treatment of drow men. To each woman, there are at least three men. More, if the woman has any sort of power. You've no idea how they manage that imbalanced population, although you suspect that magic is involved. The queen boasts over a hundred men of her own, and all of their military males are technically hers also, although apparently they are attended by the priestesses.
The queen, you realize, is offering you social status that means something in the Underdark. She is offering you a male. She is offering you a slave.
You smile at her and imagine that this could all go very wrong if you aren't careful in accepting her "gift" of a person. You want to be sick.
"Yes," she says, as though you aren't imagining smothering her with a spidersilk pillow, "a strong, rebellious, young male. One that has not been broken in yet. You shall tame a male and I will be very pleased, and then you will have another male, and another. And then you will take them back with you to the Above, and all will see your power over them, and they will know me better."
This is meant to be a compliment and you know it, as disgusting as it is, but you are immediately more distracted by how she sucks your tit into her mouth and crooks her fingers inside your cunt.
You try to make yourself forget about the conversation— you fail— until she takes you down into an entirely different room among her private chambers that you had not seen before.
Here, you see two of her male slaves who are familiar to you, and one that is not. The two you know are strong, well-groomed, masculine creatures, but oddly demure, and you know that they’ve been trained since they were very young to act that way. The other one is bent over a cushioned bench, legs splayed, and you spot the glittering flash of a plug between his sculpted asscheeks. The first two sit on either side of him, well-mannered and poised, with their heads respectfully bowed and their hands clasped in their laps, which does little to hide the fact that their girthy cocks are held in painful chastity cages.
The room is just as interesting as the slaves, and you can immediately imagine what it is for. There is more than one bed in the room, but it is not made for comfort. There are instruments on the wall that, once, you would have assumed were only the worst of torture devices, but now you know... well, they are torture devices, to be sure, but not the kind that will cause any lasting damage unless used irresponsibly (the Dark Queen is not a responsible woman).
This room is for slaves. Breaking them in, punishing them; playing with them. It is a pastime you know the queen enjoys.
And it looks like it is your turn to partake.
The queen gestures to the unknown male presenting his ass to the room. Your gaze lingers on the even line of his taint down to his respectably heavy ballsack, and it’s then that you realize that he is trying to draw his legs together, but his ankles are chained to the floor in such a way that keeps his thighs from touching so that he must remain entirely exposed. You feel a terrible twist of sympathy for him, so strong that it hurts your gut. It seems as though he is not a volunteer to this way of life, whoever he is. But you can't say that you think any of them really are.
"Do you like him?" the queen asks. She shoos away her own male attendants to stand off to the sidelines. "He is for you. He’s a spoiled creature, and will need a firm hand, but he’s well-built, you see? Only the best for my sunshine."
"I like the parts of him I can see," you agree, and because you know what comes next, you fetch a thick, heavy strap from its place on the wall and come back to inspect your... male.
Do not cry. Do not fail.
He is incredibly well-built. Even better, you think, than many of the queen’s own males. She must have searched very hard to find one she thought would please you. And he does not have a mark on him, signifying that he has lived his life without the harsh beatings that you know most drow women bestow upon young, restless men. Either he is so very well-behaved and uninteresting that no woman ever thought to take a whip to his back... or he has been very sheltered. From the queen’s words, you suspect the latter.
You don’t bother looking at his face, yet. All drow seem extraordinarily beautiful to you, and you have no doubt that the queen has fetched you a spectacular creature. Instead, you kneel down and reach between his legs to pull his flaccid cock up for inspection.
So far, your new prize has been entirely silent. But at your touch on his intimate areas, you receive a sharp gasp and what sounds like what might be a muffled curse as his muscular thighs tense and his beautiful ass clenches. His breath comes a little faster, and you realize how terrified he must be. If he is as you think he is— spoiled, sheltered, unmarked— then he can only be afraid. In a society where women will casually castrate a misbehaving male slave because it is convenient to do so, you would also be afraid to be in his position.
"Hush," you say, as softly as you can. You give him a few gentle strokes, pleased with the velvety softness of his skin, and with his size. He seems to be a shower. "Hush, it’s alright."
That might not be the right thing to say, because you know that this might not be alright. In fact, you know that it won’t be. You are about to beat him. But you are also about to be his savior. He could have gone to any woman, but he is in your care, and any cruelty you must put upon him now is nothing compared to what a drow woman will do to him.
You rub his cock tenderly, hoping to coax out some arousal that might lessen the pain you know you’re about to inflict. You earn a weak throb and a twitch, but no more. He is too afraid. Or, perhaps, too angry. You don’t blame him.
You gently squeeze his large, smooth balls, which prompts a muffled whine from him, but you know you can't force this. You can see now that he's trembling. He won't become aroused like this, and you won't make him, even for his own good. You run your hands along the back of his muscled thighs, then up to his ass. It's very firm and delightfully round, and you know that, despite yourself, you... might enjoy spanking him. Hopefully he is like most of his kind, and will also enjoy being spanked.
(Even the queen had writhed for you, legs high in the air as you brought the belt she had given to you down upon her quaking ass. "I understand why some males enjoy that so much!" she whimpered, furiously rubbing at her own stinging cheeks like a little girl. The Dark Queen is as mysterious and magnificent as rumored to be, but she is also a brat and you once had a lady's maid exactly like her.)
He will not enjoy this as much as you would like for him to, you understand. This will not just be a spanking. This will be painful. This will be how you prove to the queen that you are like her, even if you hate it.
Spreading his cheeks, you find a quartz plug glittering at you. It looks very small, but it seems to be an irritation for the dark, tight pucker spasming around it. Well... that's something to work with other than beating him raw.
You want to break his restraints and take him far away. And you will. But only after the queen watches you do horrible things to him.
"Oil," you say to one of the queen's slaves.
The queen gives you a pleased hum when her slave sets an ornate glass bottle in your outstretched hand. You set it down, just for a moment, so that you can wiggle the plug from your male's clenched asshole. The pucker spasms and clamps down, a reaction the drow can't help and is probably hurting himself with, but the plug is wet and polished and it slips out with only a little prompting. You're surprised at the size– as long as a finger, and just as slender. You've seen the queen force plugs the size of fists into her males. You're not sure how this one even stayed inside. His ass should have pushed it right out.
"That one is just for decoration," she purrs, tugging one of her males down between her legs. He dutifully tucks himself under her shimmering spidersilk skirts, and by the cant of his head, he's probably suckling her clit like a lamb at its mother's teat, just as you had done the night before. "This male has never taken anything before. I wanted you to have the pleasure."
It would be a pleasure, you imagine, if you weren't expected to be cruel. You've taken pleasure in a few of the queen's males, but only the ones who wanted it. Only the ones who eyed you hungrily, who presented themselves eagerly; who boldly nipped and nuzzled and growled. They sighed and shivered at your gentle hands. They cried their gratitude when you removed them from chastity. They whispered forbidden worship into your ears when you allowed them to sink their unlocked cocks into your cunt. And you loved every moment of getting to show them what a kind lover was, even if they would never have it again.
This one is not eager for you. He is afraid. And you will not get to be kind, or else the queen will think you incapable, and this poor man will be left to her or some other drow woman who will ruin him.
You uncork the bottle, oil your left hand, and plunge two fingers into his asshole.
He lets out a raspy yelp, the most noise you’ve heard from him yet, and fails to squirm away from you. You are as gentle as you think you can afford to be, scissoring your fingers at a languid pace, but his ass clenches down tightly in rebellion against your intrusion and you don’t know how to force him to relax. There's no helping it. You'll do your best, but this is going to hurt him.
You pour more oil onto your hand and add a third finger.
Your drow's breathing comes quick and panicked and pained as the dark rim of his ass strains around your fingers. The oil is helping greatly, but he is tense and tight and this is surely causing him pain. He begins quietly crying when you add a fourth finger and you can only rub his ass consolingly.
"Go ahead and cry," you tell him. "That's alright."
The queen giggles.
His hole is painfully tight around your fingers. You glance over to the dildos and plugs on the far table. You would probably be using... several of those. Hopefully the queen will not suggest anything too outrageous. You don’t want to force anything two-headed or flared or barbed up a virgin asshole. You don't want to force anything at all.
But you catch a glance of a beautiful rose-quartz plug, polished smooth and as painfully wide with a curved length that will reach deep, and you know the queen set it out on purpose because she knew you would like the look of it. She already knows your preferences and you regret every moment spent with her. Your male will only leave the room today if that thing is in him. You eye it with morbid appreciation. It is... very large. Not something that he should have to take tonight, or anytime soon, but it is what it is and you cannot defy the queen, or even try.
You look down at the tight ass clenching around your fingers, and you make a decision.
You instruct the male who is not under the queen’s skirts to bring you several dildos of varying sizes. It is no surprise nor coincidence when the rose quartz plug is among the ones he offers you.
A relieved whine rises from your poor male when you remove your fingers from his ass. The pucker flutters and winks at you, dark and throbbing, and it tightens back down to a virgin clench almost immediately.
You pluck up the smallest dildo, a little wider than your four fingers managed to stretch and made of polished blue sandstone, and douse it in oil. It only takes one glance at the queen's hooded eyes for you to know that you will not be easing this gently into your male's ass. There has not been nearly enough screaming for her taste.
You line the dildo up and thrust it in with a single, brutal shove.
And there's the first scream.
This is terrible. You like giving a little pain, or even a lot, but only to a willing lover. This is not that. This is rape, and if you don’t do it, much worse will befall him. You hate it. But there's a growing ache in your nethers, because this man, yours, screams just the way you like to hear. You can't help enjoying it even as your mind rebels against it. By the end of this, you may hate yourself as much as you hate her.
The strap you had grabbed earlier is resting on your thigh now. You grip the handle, stand, and aim carefully.
The cracking sound and the wide stripe it leaves across your male's full ass is beautiful. But not as beautiful as his pained shriek, or the way his legs straighten out and tremble, or the way his back arches. You see the back of his head jerk up. He has long silver hair, typical of drow, and you can't wait to run your hands through it.
You swing the strap again. His reaction to the second strike is no less magnificent, and you feel yourself getting wet.
This is terrible, and abhorrent, and you can't stop it. You wish you could shut your body down, could keep your eyes from seeing how delicious this creature is, but he is gorgeous and this is the most horrid act you have ever participated in and you... you are aroused.
It will be over soon. It will be over soon. Satisfy the queen bitch and it will be over soon.
Again. His scream echoes through the chamber along with the queen's moans as her slave brings her to completion with his mouth.
Again. Again. Again. The snap of the strap against flesh is gorgeous, the firm roundness of his ass taking each strike beautifully, but your male's screams become more panicked, more agonized as he thrashes uselessly against his restraints. You can only hold back your own tears for this violation of his body and strike him again.
While the queen is panting and pulling her slave closer for another round, you take advantage of her distraction and stop the spanking so that you can carefully remove the dildo from your male's ass. He groans in pain, and you rub his heated asscheeks gently before slowly inserting the next dildo. You wince as you watch his pucker strain around the girth of the toy. His rim looks ready to pop. You give his balls an easy squeeze and rub his cockhead experimentally. He is so soft down here, the skin of his cock like silk. Drow cocks are not so different from human ones or even those of other elves, but they are certainly prettier. The skin is dusky blue and smooth, the ballsack full and unwrinkled, like a peach; the head tipped delicately but still flared for an easy but stimulating entry. Three soft ridges under the head are perfectly formed. The vein on the underside is thick and smooth.
"What a gorgeous cock," you say for the queen's benefit, stroking your male. He's still not aroused, as you expected, but if you can give him just a little pleasure to cling to, it might feel less like you're killing him.
The new dildo settles into place and his rim throbs visibly. You want to try to set it against his prostate, for his own sake, but wiggling the toy around now will probably only send him into further hysterics.
"Oh, yes," the queen sighs. She's more interested in the pain, but she seems mollified by your pleasure in her choice. "I would not have given you a substandard one. Would you like him hard? We have spider venom for that."
You have no idea what she means, but before you can say yes or no or anything at all, the queen's unoccupied slave has been ordered forward.
You think he'll put something in your male's mouth– some aphrodisiac from the venom, or something like that. But instead, he takes something palm-sized from a shelf, reaches past you to cup your male's balls, and before even thinking that you can prevent what is happening, the chamber is ringing with an excruciated shriek.
A spider stinger, complete with a hardened, glowing venom sac, had pierced the ballsack with its needle-like tip, and you watch in horrified fascination as venom immediately empties into your male.
His already-tight ballsack bulges painfully for a few moments so that you can see the green glow through his skin, and then it recedes, glow fading, and his pained sack returns to its normal size. The stinger barely left a mark, and there is no blood. You hold in a sigh of relief even as he cries pitifully, and you watch his sizeable cock begin to rapidly grow and harden. The ridges beneath the head swell, and the girth increases to the point of being... mouthwatering. 
You smile, exaggerating your pleasure to your small audience, and continue stroking the silk-skinned cock. You are not disappointed.
The cock jumps in your hand, and your male whines, high and so, so needy, wiggling his ass back towards you. And you hate how it was done, but you're grateful that he can have this. You rub his cockhead with one hand and play with the toy in his ass with the other. Tugging at his tight rim looks painful and would have had him screaming a moment ago, but he moans now.
He sounds like a whore.
You think you have the dildo pressuring his prostate when he starts whining.
You drop his cock and it slaps hard and wet against the bench. He cries out, hungry, and you have the strap biting his ass again. His desperate cries turn into pained screams, but his cock doesn't soften, and his hips sway forward and back with the strikes. He likes it.
At some point, you switch out the toy in his ass and encourage his pleasured moans as he pushes himself back on a new toy. It's too big for someone as green as him to take, but you have filled him with oil and rubbed his cockhead so that it weeps with precum. The widest part of the toy makes him scream as it's pushed past his stretched sphincter, and he moans pitifully when it's all finally in, but his cock still throbs at full mast.
The rose quartz plug is next. But this last toy hurt him so badly that even the aphrodisiac didn't help him take the worst of it, so you'll be waiting. But waiting means a different kind of pain.
You take the strap to the backs of his thighs. He thrashes, groaning deep and raw, but his hips still grind to the rhythm of the pain. You move up to his tender sit spots and he cries at each strike. He won't be sitting or even lying on his back anytime soon. He must feel like he's on fire. But you don’t want to put that awful plug in him, so you don't stop.
You wonder if you're being selfish. Maybe he would just want you to get it over with. But the queen is watching, taking pleasure from her slave's mouth again as she pinches her own tits in time with your strikes, so you don’t stop. You don’t dare. You concentrate on how beautiful his well-spanked ass is and think of how gently you'll treat him later.
The sound of the strike quickly loses appeal as the drow screams himself hoarse, and you're already counting down until you can stop when–
"Mistress, please! "
He sounds wrecked. His first words in all of this are to beg you .
You pretend to dab at sweat when you wipe away the tears you can't hold back anymore. The ten last strikes, hard and unmerciful, pull exhausted screams from a writhing body, and then you drop the strap.
"Turn him over," you order the slave who isn't between the queen's legs, and he does as he's told.
It's complicated but quick, a cinch allowing just enough slack in the chains binding your drow that he can be neatly flipped over onto his back and stretched over the bench like an offering. There's some maneuvering to get his arms into a position that won't dislocate his shoulders when the chains are pulled taut again, but the queen's slave knows what he's doing.
His cock springs up and slaps heavily against his stomach. It's dripping pearly precum onto his toned abs, and the sight is enticing, but your eyes are drawn upwards.
You see your male's face for the first time. He is the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life.
He's staring at you in shock, his mouth gaping open– he's probably never seen a person who wasn't drow. His cheeks are shiny with tears, his silver eyes are still watering, and there's blood smeared down his chin from where he's bitten his lip. He is so beautiful that it takes your breath away.
For the first time since beginning this terrible process, you're glad that you're already wet, if only because it allows you to mount him quickly. He is very large, but you've had more than your fair share of drow cock lately.
His large tip pressed against the folds of your pussy still makes you shiver.
You sink down on him, and he groans, silver eyes flashing. The groan turns into ragged, heavy panting, and he bucks up into your pussy without much provocation. His cock is hot inside you, pushing your walls apart with its satisfying girth, and you can feel the lovely rub of those ridges below the head.
Damn, he feels good.
You're tired and he's exhausted, but you set a pace that almost hurts you. The queen is still watching and you hate her, now, hate that she's made you do this, but your cunt still squeezes in pleasure around the large, dark cock. Your own orgasm isn’t terribly important beyond your need for her to see that you are pleased with your gift. You can fake it if you need to. What you need is for him to cum.
You lean down over his well-toned body and massage his nipples, occasionally pinching or twisting gently, but mostly squeezing his firm pectorals the same way you would handle breasts. You place your mouth on his pointed ear and suck it delicately between your teeth. He sobs.