15. Siderus

Ican feel my fingernails digging into my palms, drawing a bit of blood, as I hold the collar too firmly.

The stage lights, luminescent fairy lights in bright pastel colors, saturate and obscure my vision. The rhythmic trombone and saxophone playing through magical means traps me in a performance. Snobbish elven gazes and pitiful human glances reinforce my station and solidify my role.

I am Siderus Slayer, keeper of the Slayer legacy. This is Amaya Liaric, my vanquished pet.

"This party is a celebration!" Uncle's voice booms, deep as a frog's croak and loud as the calling of a siren.

I look down at Amaya, and I can see an epiphany overtake her. She didn't know what this celebration was. I can see her jaw clench, and her eyes lower farther to the ground.

"We have caught the Marquis!"

At this, I notice that Amaya fights against her restraints ever so slightly, as though simultaneously trying to break free to rush up and pummel Uncle but also trying to contain herself. I dig into my palms a little bloodier. Elven cheering fills the room, raucous like some kind of horrific piece of machinery.

"Imprisoned!" Uncle continues. "One of our enemies has been destroyed!"

I look sympathetically down at the woman on my leash, reduced to her most primal state. She's nearly snarling at this point but is trying to mask her rage. It's an animalistic tie, which unites us with the beasts. We look after our families.

"Keep it together," I urge her. I try to be quiet enough that nobody, even the elves standing next to me, looking lustfully at Amaya, will notice. Thankfully, nobody seems to regard either my lack of cheering or Amaya's subtly enraged demeanor with any suspicion.

From the stage, I notice Uncle leering at me.

"Of course, we owe this victory to careful planning and a little espionage, but without my grandson, Siderus, this mission might not have been a success!"

He raises the glass in his hand to the ceiling. I can feel him chiding me. It's the moment he finally acknowledges my competence, and like everything with him, he's creating more marionette strings between us.

"So please honormy grandson for his contributions. And while you're there, he might even let you play with his new toy!"

I feel Amaya tremble in my hands, then look at Uncle. He smiles at me, but I sense insincerity. For my own good, I nod and smile anyway, attempting to upsell my gratitude. Before I met Amaya, this would have been an honor.

I am not sure when I changed, or what changed me. Was it her eternal optimism and naivety? Was it my own guilt? Was I always simply complicit in my life, clinging to whatever aspects of it I had the power to change?

I am only certain that I don't want to be here. There's nothing romantic about any of this. This is perverse, an orgy that beckons me back to a past life I don't want to acknowledge.

To my right, I see a slender blonde human with a bruised torso and waist. She rides atop Shad, my uncle, whose gluttony and laziness have always been the subject of hushed conversations. She moans as her breasts sway and bounce with every upward thrust, the chains rattling in her wake.

As I survey them, watching her performance, I notice that the sex is theatrical and joyless. The only way for him to penetrate her with his very large, dry member must have been through force.

To my left, a crowd has gathered around a slightly curvier human brunette. The male elves brutishly slap her rear, leaving red handprints that signify their ownership, while the female elves kiss and fondle her bosom. As the men begin to undress and stroke themselves, I look away, catching a glimpse of my cousin Wisleath approaching.

"I suppose congratulations are in order!" He smiles toothily at me, revealing fangs like a leopard. "Good job toppling those Liaric traitors. I never cared for them."

Amaya shudders a little more insistently. I attempt to imitate a smile and say nothing else. Wisleath holds a leash in both hands, guiding a male human on his right, whose gray beard is overgrown and matted, and a woman on his left, whose eyes are glazed over and distant.

"In the spirit of celebration, I have a proposition for you," Wisleath presses. His eyes do not stray from Amaya's figure, and I know instantly what he wants. I see Uncle eyeing me still. He has left the stage and is standing around a human woman who is being viciously used by the crowd of elves.

"I'd love to hear it," I say with feigned enthusiasm. I wouldn't want to displease my uncle with poor etiquette.

"How would you feel if I borrowed your pet? I'd love to try her out… see how much she can take…"

"I'm sorry, no," I reply firmly. I've had my response prepared ever since Uncle announced to a room full of people that Amaya was fair game. I can feel Amaya looking up at me, but I rattle her leash slightly to remind her of her agreement.

"I'll have her back alive, of cour–"" He stops himself, caught by surprise at the rejection. Wisleath is not somebody who is used to rejection and tends to take it quite unfavorably when it's given. "What did you say?"

"No, Wisleath." My peripheral vision is still focused on Uncle, whose gaze has not left me. "This pet is my property. And in the Slayer family, honoring your property is a virtue. You may not fuck her. She is mine alone." Seeing his frustration, I add, "But thank you for asking."

I look over at Uncle, who nods and moves on to business I'd rather not acknowledge, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Wisleath is fuming. I can see the shadows in his eyes, his eagle-white bushy brows lowered to a dangerous point. My cousin is not somebody you want as an enemy.

"I'm sorry, Wisleath," I tell him. "Would you like to watch how I discipline her?"

Wisleath's spirits brighten at this. I feel Amaya shake at this, whether from arousal, terror, or a combination of the two, I'm not certain.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment.

I am Siderus Slayer, keeper of the Slayer legacy. I look down at my hand and the fiery brand that I accepted as part of this legacy. It represents my family name, a name I swore to uphold. While keeping Amaya leashed with one hand, I use the other hand to undo my sash and pull out my cock.

At first, she doesn't know what to do with it. I can see her eyes widen and her cheeks combust. She is red, like a fire. Next to her awestruck, innocent face, my veiny, throbbing member looks positively monstrous.

I am her monster.

Wisleath and his servants watch in fascination. In her hesitation, her mouth poses little resistance as I stuff myself inside her mouth. Without allowing her a moment to adjust, I seize a strand of her curly brown hair and pull her head forward with it, thrusting myself into her mouth.

I feel shameful and disgusting for becoming part of this spectacle. Around me, I feel throngs of people gathering to watch.

"You like that, slave?" I hear myself asking her. "Know your place!"

I take myself out of her mouth and slap her cheek with my member. She squints a little in pain as I hit her face with a satisfying smack.

"Your place is at my knees, sucking my cock!"

By now, the crowd around me is cheering. They don't understand what they're cheering for. They don't know that even now, she's fighting to see the family that my family brought to its knees. Nobody suspects that the Marquis's ‘deformed' secret, a subject of many whispers, is far more beautiful and radiant than any elf.

And she's mine alone.

At this point, Wisleath hands me a nipple clamp that securely fastens to her collar. I hear filth escaping my mouth that I'm ashamed to admit are my own words. I move down to her level, and for a moment, I look into her eyes.

In them, I see a fiery wrath warring with an overwhelming wave of humiliation. I caused that. I took her innocence about the world and seared it with the name of my family.

I lower myself beneath her, and in my hands, I take her bosom. I push on her peach-colored nipples then twist them, playing with them to the rhythm of her moans and the jeering of the crowd. I take her breasts in my hand, and I knead them and pull on them relentlessly until they are as red as her face, and the veins are as prominent as my member's. Then I take her nipples in between my fingers and pinch them in the clamps before pushing the pins through, locking them into place.

I am swollen, aching to burst. She tries to meet my gaze, but I cannot let them know what she means to me.

I think I'm in love with a human. I'm in love with Amaya.

Standing over her and looking at her heaving, penetrated breasts, and the subtle hints of desire in her pouty lips and piercing eyes, I explode, sending cascading jets of my shame and pride into her curly brown hair and onto her pleading face.