16. Amaya

This must have been what Daddy tried to protect me from. These elves are savage beasts. Their civility is gone. Now, I feel like I'm faced with thousands of wolves, watching me with their oval eyes, drooling at my defilement. And Siderus is just one of the pack.

I feel the cool air against my bare skin. He's shorn the fabric from my body. It's just me, naked in this cold hall, with the mouths of those who destroyed my father's legacy all jeering.

Hope isn't lost. My brother could be somewhere in this very castle, I remind myself. My jaw is starting to hurt.

I can see the pleasure on Siderus's face, which he'd rather hide, as plainly as I can see through all of his masks, and that makes up for it somewhat. He'd like to think he's above me… that my body is a fine delicacy to sample… but at this moment, he is a part of me. He is inside me.

I just wish that he'd see that, too.

"Your place is at my knees, sucking my cock!" he shouts, to the uproar of elves around him.

He takes it out of my mouth and beats me in the face with it, hard. I feel tears well up. The pain is intense. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.

I take solace in knowing that I am not alone. I'm not the only one being used and stuffed for the sick enjoyment of the elven crowds. All around me are men and women forced to endure depraved acts for the satisfaction and status of their captors.

I only hope that the despair in their eyes masks a deeper purpose. I hope they have a family or a life that they can escape to, should they ever run into a spot of luck or mercy one day, and that it motivates them through these terrible moments.

The lanky, greedy elf who is Siderus's cousin brings over a metal apparatus. I notice, with some revulsion, that it's very similar to my collar in color. Siderus takes it in one hand and me in the other.

For a moment, he looks down at it, and he ponders. He manipulates the various interlocking devices with his fingers, then references me, gesturing in the air as if playing with my breasts. Briefly, his cock starts to slope toward the floor, as his mind plays with ways he could further break me down and defile me.

I wonder briefly whether he's let his sympathy get the better of him and he can't perform in front of this lust-driven hivemind anymore. The crowd does not lose patience.

Then I'm proven wrong. He crouches. I try to scream my emotions at him as he meets my eyes for an instant.

I'm enraged by this event. It brings shame and cruelty to my family.

I feel helpless in this crowd. I wish they weren't all looking at me as they would a delicious leg of chicken or an enticing commodity.

I just want him to gather my brother and flee with me to the wilds, where nobody would ever find us.

But this is lost on him.

He sinks down below me, and I feel him manipulating my breasts in front of all of these strangers. They look on in fascination. I swear I even see some of them masturbating, or else manipulating their genitals subtly for some other purpose.

Then I feel something cold jut into my nipples, and with a dawning realization, I see him placing the clamps onto me, the metal affixing itself unnaturally to my areolas. My breasts are sore and bruised, red like the shame and humiliation on my face.

As he's underneath me, I feel his cock gently caress my sex. I wonder if he's about to penetrate me in front of all of these people. I can feel myself dripping from the idea in spite of myself.

But with the nipple clamps affixed to my collar now, he stands up. My massive breasts are stretched and contorted beyond recognition. They itch, and I can feel blood pooling toward them, further stimulating them.

I realize that the pain is arousing me and that the more painful my breasts become, the more sensitive they become, creating an endless cycle of arousal. I am undulating my hips, I so badly want to be penetrated.

As I twist my waist, desperate for connection, he strokes his engorged shaft above me, its darkness a stark contrast to my marble skin. I want so desperately to look at him, but he evades my gaze as he mutters curse words under his breath and calls me a slut.

His moans are getting faster, his words angrier, and his pace more insistent now. The cheering has gotten louder, and the music is dull background noise. I reach for the balls underneath his cock and start to fondle them, then take one of them in my mouth. I'm not sure if I'm more aroused by the spectacle, the humiliation, or the pain, but something inside of me has broken.

Then he bursts. Streams of cum fire off, covering me in their warmth. I feel it land in my hair and coat my skin. The setting is not intimate – it's a sinful den – but I feel a connection to him, even in this environment. I am covered in his presence.

Partially closing one eye that is covered in his seed, I try one more time to look into his eyes to let him know that I'm okay. But he still won't see me. He avoids my gaze like I'm a medusa or a basilisk. I just want the warmth of our first time back. I long to be close to him again.

That night, I could sense a goodness in him that longed to escape, trapped behind the mask he wears for his family and his pride. But the more he shuts me out, the more I feel that part of him dying.

His cousin approaches to applaud the spectacle. My sex aches to be filled, but Siderus's organ is not at attention.

Then the mood shifts again. Wisleath approaches and tries to swat me on the ass, but Siderus seizes his hand, a furious look on his face.

"Don't you ever touch her!" he yells. "I told you she's mine!"

"Just look at her quivering, dripping pussy!" Wisleath yells back. "If you're not going to finish the job, what kind of khuzuth are you?"

The gathered crowd starts chanting for him to either fuck me or get out of the way. To my left, I notice the elves that surrounded the woman are finishing on her. There's a bliss on her face that disturbs me, but I feel envy rising in me, too.

He pushes me down and mounts me. I can't believe how wide he stretches me. I can't believe how big he's gotten, just at the suggestion that somebody else might take me.

Siderus pulls on my leash, which stretches my breasts even further. I don't want the pain to stop. I love the twisting, jerking motion with which he commands and reshapes my breasts. The feeling of the metal on my areolas intoxicates and refreshes me, making me more alert and aware of the sensations I'm experiencing.

My face presses into the cold floor, and I feel myself drooling, but I no longer care. The crowd around me is both invisible and omnipresent. I can feel them urging me on, but the only sensation that matters to me is how he stretches me out. The anger I feel in each of his thrusts, not at me but at his situation, reverberates through my core.

With every thrust, I feel my body spring into motion, cascading and rippling like a still pond colliding with a thrown stone. I feel truly alive.

I realize that my moans are almost deafening to me and that the crowd has gone silent as the brutal slap of his waist on my ass echoes through the room. I'm screaming now, and no elves are advancing toward me anymore. They simply marvel at how thoroughly Siderus has claimed me.

I can feel my body gripping him, begging for more. I look down and see my contorted breasts. Craning my neck, I see how wide he has stretched me, his siege weapon battering into my entrance.

I cry out as I come. My mind is wiped clean by his invasion, the sensations flooding through and systematically breaking me.

But he shows no signs of relenting. His performative cursing hasn't stopped. Momentarily, I'm returned to the scene – to hundreds of watching elves, all fixated on the curves and details of my body and the destruction of my innocence. He reminds me that I'm an object, meant to service and please his body.

His body tenses and my mind clouds up again. I feel him trying not to come inside of me, but it's what the crowd wants. They want to see me bent to his will and used for raw satisfaction. I am entertainment for them.

He pulls me back with his leash, jerking me back to him. I oblige, my breasts twisting and pulling in response. With one hand, he grabs a clump of my hair and pulls, then looks me in the eye.

His gaze is harsh and animalistic but also questioning. I cast an acknowledging glance and give him a subtle nod.

And he slides deep into me.