The Wizard Who Enslaved Herself
3
The academy’s main room was crowded with helpless women. Overhead, the vast ceiling loomed high amid the rafters and above the once powerful ladies held captive below. The Nyccleth women-wizards shivered, naked and in chains.
The once powerful wizards of the Nycclethnim Order squirmed, either already transformed or waiting to be transformed. Those in the latter category shivered in lines, partially from fright, mostly from the overwhelmingly obscene desires magically stirred in their flesh. They gasped. They writhed. Their sweat-coated bodies twisted in a humiliating mixture of fear and utmost arousal.
The leather-uniformed males surrounding them had taken advantage, naturally. Many of the captive ladies licked semen-stained lips; many walked awkwardly, as if the insides of their thighs were sore. Despite their absolute degradation, though, the fallen women had to fight not to purr with delight whenever any of the guards gazed upon their legs or ran a hand along their smooth and curvy backsides.
The Nycclethnim women moaned, unable not to beg for rape.
The former, on the other hand, all elfsluts now, squirmed in absolute happiness at their fate. They too showed signs of male usage; yet rather than seeming ashamed, these animal-creatures reveled and delighted, purred and stroked their plump, brassy bodies.
Carrisa, carried in the arms of men through this area of the guild-castle, moaned in anxiety and need.
Her mouth was dry. Horribly, she licked her lips. The taste of semen tingled on her tongue.
She tried to ignore her arousal. Her elf-heat. The Daoxechents who had captured her had played her body like a musical instrument, laying bare her soul with a precise and skillful application of teasing pleasure and excruciating denial. She was gasping from her rape still.
She writhed. Over and over her rape-captors had brought Carrisa to the edge of a titanic, monstrous climax, a cataclysmic orgasm, yet despite their manifold penetrations, their diverse depravities, despite her own abject sucking and kissing and licking, the woman-wizard had been unable to climax.
She knew the reason had to be the presence of the Pecthent woman who had stood and watched the whole ordeal. Somehow, the woman-wizard had done something . . . was still doing something.
Her nakedness. The tight hold her arms and legs (and why exactly did being bound in chains feel so horribly good!? so overwhelmingly sexy!?). The male soldiers around her looked marvelous.
And the taste in her mouth. No matter how many times she had tried to spit or clear her mouth with saliva, that horrible yet intoxicating taste of sperm just wouldn’t go away! At the same time, the urge between her legs kept increasing in intensity, and she moaned, refusing to accept what she was feeling, refusing to acknowledge the desire she felt, the arousal. She had never felt so, so . . . sensitive.
So sensuous, or so beautiful. So much like an elf . . . like a slave.
In her mind, Carrisa cursed the Daoxechents and Pecthentnim. How had they managed to find her, among all the other elves? Uncontrollably, the transformed wizard moaned like an animal in heat.
She wanted to be fucked. She wanted to be fucked so badly! The men eventually brought the squirming elf into a room the Nyccleth wizards had themselves used for carnal play, for an afternoon of delight with a newly transformed property girl, or some other slut and soon-to-be-slave.
The irony was not lost on Carrisa.
Waiting inside were two other women-wizards of the Pecthentnim Order. When that room had first been built, when this entire academy for training future guild-sisters of the Nycclethnim was built, such a vision as this would have been dismissed as the height of fancy. The Nycclethnim were invincible. The Pecthentnim were hags and store-keepers, sellers of charms and pendants. The two gray-garbed women were standing by the door, and when Carrisa’s group came in the three wizards, including the one who had followed, huddled together in quiet conversation.
Meanwhile, the two soldiers carried Carrisa to the slave-rack in the back of the room, the one near the bed which had hardly ever been used for sleeping. These men were not at all aggressive, nor had they been even earlier in their assault on her senses; yet they were firm in hand. They put the weeping elfmaid onto the vertical surface of the rack and strapped her into it, with the skill of long handling females and locking them into similar devices. They left her spread-eagled facing the rest of the room.
The threesome of wizards continued to talk for a moment while the soldiers waited. Then two of them separated and bowed to the remaining third. A second later the two soldiers did the same.
Then all four left, leaving Carrisa with what had to be the senior wizard of the group. She locked the door after them.
Carrisa could not speak. She could not draw magical power from the air. Her psychic senses were numb. She was utterly, completely powerless. And because of that she was more aroused than ever.
The shrouded figure turned to face Carrisa.
“I know who you were,” she said. The voice sounded much younger than Carrisa would have imagined coming from a senior wizard of the Pecthentnim. In fact, it sounded like a teenage girl’s. “You were the Woman-Wizard Carrisa of the Nycclethnim Order. You turned yourself into an elf as a disguise so you could escape our clutches.” Carrisa’s eyebrow-less eyes widened. She emitted a plaintive elfgasp of fear. “I’m sorry, but you really didn’t stand a chance.”
Instinctively, the elfmaid tried to pull on the wrist and ankle restraints. It was useless, though.
What came next completely astounded Carrisa. The heavily clothed wizard began disrobing. It was a lengthy process, involving the detaching of several buttons from about her hooded face, the pulling free of a stringed tie in the middle, and the shrugging of more than one layer of cloth off. The Pecthent’s hair, freed from its confines, at length proved to be long and blond, shiny and pretty. The Pecthent’s face, revealed at last, was exactly as young as the voice indicated it would be. In due course, what appeared to be a girl of no more than twenty stepped nude from the heavy bundles of gray cloth at her feet.
She was short and small breasted. All the same, she was a pretty thing, with a pixyish quality to her smile and slim frame. She looked exactly like the sort of girl the Pecthentnim made into sex slaves. For that matter, her flesh would have fetched a good price from the Nycclethnim, turned into a property girl.
“Your plan was doomed from the start, I’m afraid,” the woman-wizard (really, girl-wizard) said. She approached Carrisa and without the slightest hesitation took hold of her breasts, one in each hand. She unashamedly fondled Carrisa’s rack, eliciting incredible sensations and moans from the captive elfslut.
“Do you like that?” she asked. “Shall I continue?” Her voice wasn’t at all teasing, as almost any of Carrisa’s guild-sisters might have been (her associate, the Woman-Wizard and Arch-Enslaver, Noalassa, in particular, came to mind). The blond Pecthent was seriously asking the questions.
Carrisa couldn’t help but nod.
“Good. I’m glad. You’ll enjoy being an elf more, once we’ve eliminated that pesky identity still haunting you.” She released one tit and immediately moved the free hand to Carrisa’s pussy. Carrisa’s head tilted back in absolute pleasure as the wizard’s fingers slipped inside her, to manipulate her clitoris and massage her intimately.
“Do you know how we recognized you, even though you were an elf?” She stepped a little closer and gave Carrisa a long loving kiss upon the lips. She was delicious.
The nude woman-wizard pressed herself against Carrisa, her small breasts to the elf’s huge ones.
“Our Lords of Daox had a problem, you see. We would transform women into slave girls for them, the way you sisters of the Nycclethnim make your property girls. But unlike your unaging living dolls, our merchandise continued to grow old. It was upsetting. Men would discard their aging slaves after a few years. The crueler ones would actually kill them, can you imagine? If they were lucky, the poor dears ended up in cheap brothels or workhouses. But even that wasn’t a good solution. The Mark of Daox makes a woman wanton and obedient. Obedience is fine at any age, but a seventy-year old slut? Eighty years old?” The Pecthent shook her pretty head. She stepped away from Carrisa, and Carrisa’s elf body at once longed for her to return and resume pleasuring her. She whimpered in need and fear.
There were spells she could have cast. Defensive and offensive magic she could have employed, even without the ability to speak, had she still access to her powers. “Would you like me to lick you?” the Pecthent wizard asked, with much seriousness, and Carrisa nodded fervently. The blond girl looked relieved. She went to her knees and put her face between Carrisa’s legs.
Carrisa shuddered in ecstasy.
The woman-wizard continued to explain, amid pleasuring the helpless, squirming elfmaid.
“So, we looked for other solutions. There are means of slowing or even halting the aging process, as I’m sure you’re aware, but those are expensive and time-consuming, especially when applied to non-wizards. Eventually, we looked at the elves and the processes involved in transforming a human into an elf. We refined—hmmm, that’s lovely (smacking her lips)—we refined the process. We improved it. We speeded it up.
“Through the ingestion of an elixir we concocted, we made it so that even our masters could work the transformation.” Masters? Carrisa managed to think, in the few moments of clear thinking the girl’s extremely talented tongue and mouth did not steal from her.
“We discovered a beneficial side-effect, quite by accident. At first, all we wanted to do was turn our older slave girls into elves, to extend their lifespans overall, as well so that they would remain attractive, sexually desirable playthings.
“What we found was that, when transformed back into human beings . . . we were experimenting, you see . . . those women who had spent almost any time at all as elves came back young and rejuvenated, regardless of their original ages.” The wizard drew her face from Carrisa’s crotch. She continued to poke her with her fingers, though. “How old do I appear to you, hmmm? I’m over a hundred years old, not counting those years I’ve spent as an elf.”
She put a hand to Carrisa’s belly. With her other hand still partially inside her, the Pecthent began pumping Carrisa’s sex, soon bringing her to a screaming climax.
Waves of intense pleasure swept through the elf-transformed wizard.
“Don’t tell anyone, please,” she said, after she was through. She still knelt at Carrisa’s feet. “It’s a secret.” She giggled, the childlike tone belying her claimed age. “We now try to buy back any older Marked slaves we enchant and give them the elf elixir. Most, those we don’t keep as cows for breeding purposes or the elfstables, we eventually turn back into humans, after a few years, and re-tattoo them with the Mark of Daox. We also acquire wild elves and do the same thing. And at some point, of course, we started using the elixir ourselves.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her body.
“I love being an elfslut! I’ve done it four times so far.” She looked up at Carrisa again. “After a while, you learn to retain a bit of yourself during the elf-time, and afterwards, naturally, my guild-sisters and I retain our memories of it.
“Most people can’t tell one elf from another. But we can. It’s just experience. Nothing special. But like I said, your deception really didn’t stand a chance.”
There was a polite knock at the door. The Pecthentnim wizard got to her feet, without hurry. She turned and waved a wet hand at the clothes she had discarded. As if gathered by invisible servants, those thick robes and garments floated into the air and folded themselves up, then crossed the room to lie neatly on a footstool. Another wave of the wizard’s hand unlocked the door with a loud click.
A Daoxechent soldier entered. His brow lifted at seeing the two naked women, one strapped vertically to a table, the other smiling casually back at him; otherwise he seemed unsurprised.
“I take it this is the wizard who enslaved herself?” he asked, coming in. He removed his belt and sword and placed them on another table before joining the two of them.
The Pecthent wizard offhandedly pressed herself against the soldier’s body. His hand slipped down and came to rest possessively on her rump. She squirmed delightedly in his arms. “Mmhmm,” she whispered, utterly relaxed. “I was just about to call you, Master Keithom.” She reached up to take hold of his head.
She gave the soldier a long, lingering kiss. My juices are still on her lips, Carrisa thought, rather stupidly. She looked for and failed to see the tattooed Mark of Daox on the girl’s shoulder, the telltale indicator that she was a slave girl. Slaves can’t wield magic, she thought, anyway. At least, to the best of her knowledge they couldn’t. Certainly, no woman-wizard trained by the Nycclethnim could.
“What will you do with her?” the Daoxechent man asked, afterward. He stood in front of Carrisa. “I mean, you obviously won’t let her be a wizard again.” He gently gripped Carrisa’s face and turned it from one side to the other. She wanted him to fuck her.
“Well, if you like, I can give her the restoration elixir,” the nude wizard said, coming up beside him. Once more, she put her fingers inside Carrisa’s super-sensitive elf body, eliciting much excitement down below. “Once she’s human again, I can enchant her with a Mark. Would you like to add her to your stable?”
“I’m afraid I’m incapable of rendering a judgment on her flesh. Elves look alike to me.” He raised an eyebrow at the small wizard. “I leave the matter in your hands, Danee, as I always do. After all, she is a wizard, like you.”
“Then I think the best thing would be to leave her an elf. She’ll make a good breeding cow. I’ll have to stunt her mind first, though. I’ve been telling her secrets, and it’s not impossible that she might one day regain her memory and powers.”
“Have you been telling secrets again, Danee?” the Daoxechent man said. He gazed down at her with mock anger. “What are we going to do with you?”
“I know exactly what you can do to me, Master Keithom.” She tried to reach under his leathers and tickle him, and only with some difficulty did the soldier push her away from him. “Later,” he told her.
“Yes, master.” She pouted. Then she sighed, shrugged. “This way, too, I suppose I could examine the spell she used to retain her memories,” the wizard added, a moment later, a bit more seriously. “We might be able to draw something useful from it.”
“I bow, as always, to your superior wisdom,” the soldier said, and indeed he did just that. He grinned. “Are you going to play with her first?”
“Oh, yes,” the wizard, ‘Danee,’ said, shivering in happiness and anticipation. “Yes, I am.” Carrisa struggled in her restraints. “Would you like that?” the wizard asked her, turning to her. The tone of voice she used was the same one might employ in talking to a dog. “Would you like that?” She pinched Carrisa’s nipples, making her jump.
“When you’re done, bring her upstairs. I’ll give you both a thorough raping.” He came over to her. “I may even let a few of my men rape you again, if you’re good.” He touched her thighs intimately.
“I’ll be good,” the wizard said, quietly, lowering her eyes and putting her hands together humbly by her naked crotch. “I promise, Master Keithom.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously, though.
“I know,” the man said, then, laughing, he took the girl in his arms and gave her a long, loving embrace and kiss, which she responded to with equal fervor. In such dire need, Carrisa found herself jealous of the man’s attentions. What really occupied her thoughts, though, was the casual way they had discussed erasing her mind! Making her a broodmare for elves! No, no, she thought. I don’t want to be a cow!
She was a woman-wizard of the Nycclethnim Order! This was insufferable. People feared her!
Had she her powers, she could have easily slain this woman. And though he was only a man, she could still have used magic indirectly against him. What she really wanted, however, what her elf’s body truly needed, was for him to penetrate her with his great, big shaft. I can’t give in, she resisted. I can’t.
Taking his sword with him—both of them, in fact—the soldier left. “Danee” padded after him to the door like a lovesick puppy. After he was gone, the woman-wizard leaned her face against the door itself, breathing heavily, obviously missing him. Then, once more locking the door behind her, she pranced back over to Carrisa . . . literally “prancing,” once again like a guileless little girl on holiday.
Her laughter was high and sweet and without a trace of malice or irony.
“La la la la lah,” the wizard sang, putting her fingertips to the transformed elf’s forehead. Carrisa felt an immediate presence in her mind, a psychic “weight” of magic that she had been more than familiar with when she had had her powers. “Let’s see what we have here,” the Pecthent said pleasantly, “okay?”
When she spoke, she raised the timbre of her voice on that “okay,” making of it a light chirping sound. She gave another little girlish laugh. Carrisa tried to steel her mind, raising mental defenses that she had learned during her own apprenticeship and practiced throughout her life as a woman-wizard.
Even without magic, these tricks of the mind—these applications of iron will and formulaic recitation, of ego boost and mental barrier—should have allowed her some small measure of resistance.
“Should have.” Carrisa’s elfbody betrayed her at the first test.
All the Pecthent had to do to break the former wizard’s concentration was lightly pinch her nipples and lingeringly caress the lips of her pussy. Elves were just too sensitive for words. Carrisa’s whole form arched in sudden, mind-boggling elf-arousal, and in that moment of weakness the nude girl’s mental probe slipped inside her ego without an iota of difficulty.
Ah, interesting, the elfslut “heard,” telepathically. In basic structure, this Nycclethnim variant of the elf transformation is identical to our own. But you modified it, didn’t you? Aren’t you the clever one? The Pecthent’s face remained still. Inside, though, Carrisa could “see” the smile of her personality widen. It wasn’t an act, this mind-to-mind contact told Carrisa: the Pecthent really was as merrily ingenuous as she appeared.
Oh, please, please, she “told” her, through this link. I don’t want to be an elf anymore. I . . I’ll do anything you want. I want to be free.
“Oh, hush,” Danee told her, out loud. Instantly Carrisa’s mind went quiet. “Don’t be like that.”
Thought under this injunction became impossible. For a timeless interval, all Carrisa felt was the pleasure of her sluttish elfbody being manipulated, rather expertly . . . and then, just as suddenly the nude girl-wizard was pulling back from her, both physically and mentally. Minutes could have passed. It could have been hours, though. She couldn’t tell.
Between them, Carrisa could “see” a complicated framework mosaic, lines and numbers and symbols floating in the air. They weren’t really there, any of these things; but the telepathic rapport linking them together, with the girl-wizard’s mind clearly in control, translated them into an understandable image.
My spells, Carrisa thought, mind briefly clear again. Those are my spells. Danee tilted her head coquettishly, examining the floating designs. She clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, this is wonderful! You really are a brilliant spell-designer. Look here!” She pointed at one part, excited.
“Once your powers came back, all you would have had to do is activate this mental sequence, and you would be human again. It’s lovely. And here, this is how you managed to keep your mind intact. Wonderful.” Danee made a hand motion in the air. From her clothing bundle, a gold ring uncovered itself and flew across the room. The wizard put the ring on and used it to trace the floating symbology.
Emblematically, Carrisa knew, she was memorizing the spell. As she worked, the designs shrank and encoded themselves within the red jewel at the ring’s center. It glowed, forming an adjunct to her memory.
Don’t do this to me, Carrisa “thought” at her, as she did this. I don’t want to be a slave. I don’t deserve to be made a slave. A hypocrisy in this, in the face of all the women she herself had enslaved over the years, transformed into property girls and other slave forms, never crossed her mind.
“Oh, now,” Danee said, lowering her voice. She clicked her tongue at the elf. She came closer and touched the side of Carrisa’s face gently. Despite the tenderness of this gesture, it only enflamed Carrisa’s elf-appetites more so.
“The flaw in your spell’s design,” she said, completely ignoring Carrisa’s pleas, “is that you can only restore your human form if you have access to two separate things. Your mind and your powers.”
She stepped back again. “It’s really excellent work, despite this flaw. Your technique worked. I can reassure you of that. You did well. Your powers will eventually come back to you. In a few days.”
Days!? Carrisa thought, and the Pecthent wizard nodded, ‘hearing’ her.
“Days,” she confirmed. But then . . . there’s no hope now, Carrisa thought. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” Danee said. “By the time that happens, it won’t make a bit of difference to you.” Again, her voice rose on the syllable ‘bit.’ “You won’t even notice.” She shook her head, talking to a child.
It won’t make a bit of difference . . . because by then Carrisa knew she would only be a mindless elfmaid, an animal, and consequently lacking in the intellectual and psychic capacities to wield magic.
“I don’t think we’ll need to modify your spells at all, now” Danee told her. She licked her upper lip. “I’ll put a little invisible marker right here . . .” and she lightly touched Carrisa’s forehead, and the elfslut felt a brief heat of magic being applied, “. . and this will let any of my sisters in the future know never to give you the restoration elixir.” Carrisa shook her head wildly. Without memory or the will to use her powers, or without this restoration elixir, she would have to spend the rest of her life . . . as an elf.
I’m a member of the Nycclethnim! she screamed inside. Obey me! Go to your knees and obey me!
Danee took Carrisa’s face in the palms of her hands. Her touch was exhilarating. “You’re going to have so much fun! I wish I could join you.” Then the Pecthent closed her eyes, and she pressed her forehead against Carrisa’s. Carrisa tried to fight what was coming, but inside she knew it was hopeless.
Warmth—images and warmth, the warmth emanating from the images—spilled over from the woman-wizard’s forehead pressed against her own. The warmth enflamed the elf’s body. The warmth filled her with a burning appetite, a blazing need for skin on skin, a hot probing of her moist pussy, a searing thirst for cum. She imagined a juicy cock in her mouth, filling her mouth, spurting its delicious seed into her throat, and she wanted it, she wanted it so badly, she wanted it so much a part of her could actually already taste that cock, could already feel it pushing past her lips, could already experience her tongue licking and caressing that cock, and that cock tasted good! The warmth also enflamed the elf’s mind. The warmth called forth images of the elf on her back being plowed by a man, her plump elvish legs crossed over the small of his back, those legs squeezing the man, legs pulling the man deeper inside her, and that felt good. The warmth reminded the elf of how good sex was, how good fucking was, how good being fucked was . . . the goodness of being fucked by a man, her hands roaming over his back as he rode her, her eyes gazing into his as he claimed her for his own . . . the goodness too, though, of being fucked by a woman, mouth sucking fingers and toes and nipples and clits, the elf’s fingers inside her, her fingers inside the elf, their hard yet soft bodies—hard in all the right places, soft in all the good spots—merging as their heat and wetness blazed between them, making them one, the same way male penetration made man and woman one, and all this too was good. It felt good. It felt right. For a brief second, the elf tried to fight the images and the warmth. She tried to do something—summon a barrier inside her mind? make herself cold? exert willpower?—but none of those things felt right the way just fucking felt right; and besides it—whatever “it” was—was hard, like thinking was hard, thinking was so hard, thinking was impossible to do, thinking was . . . thinking was . . . hard. That was . . . that thing . . . was . . . hard. Better to accept warmth. Better to accept images. Better to accept . . . fucking.
Yeah, fucking was good. The elf liked to fuck. Fucking felt good. She liked to fuck.
The blond female was touching the elf’s head. She was a hot female. The elf couldn’t quite remember the female’s name, but she was hot. She tried to remember her own name, but it was hard. The elf wasn’t sure the effort was worth it. In fact, she was sure the effort wasn’t worth it. She was too hot.
The blond female whose name she couldn’t remember kissed her. The elf who couldn’t remember her own name responded, their lips joining, tongues stroking, heat rising. The blonde started at the elf’s mouth but didn’t stay there. She lovingly caressed the elf’s skin with her lips and tongue, playing downward to the elf’s throat, moving onto her huge bosom, and for a long time the blonde’s attention stayed there, covering the elf’s nipples and cleavage with her mouth. Thought ceased. There was sensation only . . . pleasurable sensation and warmth, ecstasy and warmth, tongues and kisses and warmth. How long? It became a moot point. Time condensed as the blonde sucked on and licked the elf’s breasts. The past was forgotten. The future did not exist. There was only the present. There were dreams only in the present, the elf’s life nothing but a dream in the present. She wasn’t kissed. She (Kiss). She wasn’t licked. She (Lick). In truth, it didn’t matter whether she (Kiss) or (Lick) or the blonde (Kiss) or (Lick). There was no difference between them. Their bodies merged as they fucked . . . no, they (Fuck). The bonds on the elf’s wrists and ankles snapped off. (Snap.) The elf reached for the blonde. (Reach). She kissed the blonde. (Kiss). The blonde placed the elf onto the floor. (Place.) (Fuck.) (Kiss.) She licked and gently bit her clitoris. (Lick.) (Clit.) She touched her breasts. (Breasts.) (Elf.) (Blonde.) (Kiss.) (Lick.) They rolled around on the floor, kissing and licking. (Kiss.) (Fuck.) (Fuck.) Their mouths joined together. (Lick). (Kiss.) Their pussies joined together. (Touch. Fuck.)
No past. No future. Only present.
Kiss. Lick. Fuck. Kiss. No thoughts, just impulses. Feelings. Actions. Lick. Suck. Fuck. Kiss. Lick. Fuck. Fuck. Wonderful.
Later, the blonde stopped fucking the elf, and she stopped the elf from fucking her. The elf was disappointed; but shortly enough she got over it, and she watched the blonde do things, which were wonderful.
Watching was wonderful. Playing with herself as she watched was wonderful. Everything was wonderful.
The blonde took a wet cloth and washed herself. Then she crossed the room and opened up a wooden chest. From the chest she took out a collar and chain. They were made of gold. Walking over, she put the collar around the unresisting throat of the elf. She attached the chain to the wall.
The elf tried to touch the blonde, but the blonde patted the elf on the head, and she quietly desisted.
The blonde waved her hands in the air. The elf watched as a set of metal shackles—iron this time, not gold—levitated out of the chest and floated over to the blonde.
The blonde stretched her hands out behind her at waist level, and as if guided by invisible hands the shackles attached themselves to her wrists. Then she knelt. Lifting her head once, she tilted her face slightly, smiling; and there was a loud “click” from the door.
She then lowered her head and waited. The elf tried to crawl over to the blonde, to fuck her; but the chain pulled up short, and unable to move past it she just curled up and went to sleep.
The elf woke when the door opened and a man came in. He was a man, and the elf wanted to fuck him. She stood and tried to caper over, but again the chain pulled up short. The elf didn’t understand this, so she just stood there, watching and listening.
The man and the blonde said things to one another. To the elf, the sounds they made meant nothing. Still, the sounds were wonderful, so she listened.
“Are you ready, Mistress Danee?”
“Yes, master.”
The man pulled the blonde to her feet. Taking a blindfold from his pocket, the man tied it around the blonde’s eyes. Her lips trembled, and when the man touched her intimately she gasped.
“You are wet.”
“Yes, master.” She was breathing heavily.
The man stood before the trembling blond girl. She looked helpless, and when the man lightly brushed his hand along the front of her naked body the blonde let out an involuntary groan and shuddered all over. He leaned forward and whispered something to her the elf could not hear. The blonde jumped and blushed redly.
She lowered her head and smiled. “Yes, master,” she said.
All this would have been quite mysterious to the elf if she had cared. But since she didn’t, couldn’t, she just watched delightedly. They were wonderful.
“When the captain is through with you, I’ll take you myself.” The man held the blonde by her arms. “I’ll use the girl-whip.”
“Yes, master.” She was squirming uncontrollably, thoroughly heated.
The man drew her toward the open door. “Stand here,” he told her, and she complied. The man came over to the elf and unhitched her chain. The elf reached for him. (Reach.) She wanted to take his clothes off. (Want. Take.) She wanted to fuck him. (Fuck.) But he pulled on her chain, and she stopped.
Pull. Touch. Walk. Obey. Pull. Walk. Drag.
The man dragged the elf to the door. He took the blonde’s shackles in his other hand, and then he roughly pulled both of them along with him.
(Giggle.) The elf giggled, and after a moment so too did the blonde. (Giggle.)
The elf did not think. She did not anticipate. She (Giggle). She (Walk). She (Touch), or at least tried to. She wanted to (Fuck). No thoughts disturbed the simple, beautiful placidity of her mind, only brief and quickly forgotten impressions of need and pleasure, happiness and want; and because of that, because there was only placidity and beauty in her empty little elfhead, everything was made placid and beautiful . . . wonderful.
The chain, dragging her down the hall . . . wonderful.
The blonde, walking beside her, giggling . . . wonderful.
The man, leading the two sluts to a thorough raping . . . wonderful.
Her life, the old one erased, the new one created . . . wonderful.
Enslavement . . . truly, truly wonderful.
Wizard. Elf. Slave. Happy. Forever.