Duke Diablo
4th Level Red Feather
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Okay, this is my first completely m/f story, which also happens to be the 10th chapter of Enterion. Enjoy.
Enterion, Chapter 10
As Markara woke up, she realized she was in a dungeon. Her hands were chained high above her head, her ankles chained to the floor, and, naturally, all of her clothes were taken away. Knowing that this was not the time to panic, she tried remembering how she got there in the first place. Her memory was still fuzzy... she remembered Alanor saving her from the evil Sylvana, showing her to a safe hiding place. Then, after resting, spending the day underground, she continued traveling through the night until she reached another village. She barely managed to buy supplies before a mob was formed to impale her, torture her or kill her in some other way. Then, traveling further towards Iltarian, she reached another village in a few days. Again, new mob, running out with just enough time to buy provisions. This happened two more times before she, exhausted from running, fell asleep under the roots of an oak. And the next thing she knew, she woke up in a dungeon. Hmm... now this was confusing. Who did this to her and why? Well, it would be best to run away without having an answer to those questions, as these kind of answers more often than not came with substantial amount of pain, something Markara certainly wished to avoid.
She looked around to try and get a grip on her surroundings. Of course, a dungeon... dark, scary, filled with various torture tools, and, of course, rats and other filthy creatures. Typical, Markara thought, sighing.
Ah, well, now it was time to wait for whoever captured her to show his or her face. No doubt there will be tortures, infernal and painful, with certain death awaiting in the end. She sighed again... she was so sick and tired of it, not being accepted anywhere, constantly being put in chains and ropes, just for being a dark elf. She remembered Alanor's words: stay the way you are. Change the world. She smirked at that thought. It was easy for him to say. He was a day elf, tall, muscular, handsome... damn it, he was no fun! Even in this situation, she couldn't be mat at her hero, not after that kiss, not after that look in his eyes. Just thinking about him made the beautiful drow maiden feel butterflies in her stomack. Yes... for him, it would be worth becoming a real, normal, daylight elf. He was her savior... but, by saving her, he also took something from her... her heart. She knew that, from the moment their lips met, she could love no other man than the golden-haired Alanor.
But then, her thoughts turned dark. She cursed herself for a fool, having time to think about men while being chained to a wall, ready to face certain torture. Besides, a guy like him has certainly forgot about a girl like her. What would she have to offer to him? Her love? Like he wasn't getting that from hundreds of girls, she mused. Girls whose eyes and hair weren't white, girls whose skin wasn't jet-black, and most of all, girls who could walk in daylight. No, she thought, it would be best for her to die in this dungeon, for she knew that she could never, in all of her immortal life, forget about her knight in shining armor, nor could she stop loving him.
«Good morning.»
A voice brought Markara down from her thoughts. She was back in her cell, struggling to free herself from whatever was to come. Before she finds out, if at all possible. However, she knew she was too late as she saw the image of her captor in front of herself. Seeing him, she was surprised, to say the least. He was a drow... a dark elf, of all the races! Still shocked, Markara studied him from head to heels to see if her eyes decieved her, but there was no mistaking it. His long, silver hair, jet-black skin and white eyes, coupled with elven features clearly stated the man's race. And his clothes, black, silky sleeveless gown and boots made of leather darker than even the man's skin, along with a set of rings made of purest white gold gave out his noble status. Damn it, Markara thought. She knew she was in for a rough time, as dark elven nobles excelled in cruelty and torture techniques. She remebered her days in the village, when slaves would be tortured in public, for the amusement of masses. Lots of them begged for death before it was over. Remembering those ordeals made the chained maiden shake in fear.
Seeing her fear, the drow nobleman laughed wholeheartedly. Only now did Markara see that his face was not at all ugly... in fact, he was rather attractive, especially in combination with his muscular arms, that were proudly hanging from the sleeveless gown. And he seemed amused by her situation.
«Milady seems a bit tense», he said, straightening out. Markara waited for him to continue, but he didn't.
«Of course I'm tense», she said, breaking a short silence that followed after the man's last statement. «Care to explain why are you holding me here, and like this?»
«By that, you must probably mean why I removed your clothes and placed you in chains», he replied, ever-so-gallantly. «Well, yes, I suppose you do have a right to know, being that you are going to become my wife, after all.»
«Say what?!», Markara's eyes opened wide as she heard the man say this. He couldn't be serious.
«Well, I did undress you to check out your body... you had a pretty face, and I wanted to check out if the rest of you was as beautiful.» The man was honest, but he made no sense. Then, he continued: «And besides, it would be such a pain to undress you while you were chained.»
«And why did you chain me?», Markara asked, her patience obviously thin.
«Well, in case you refuse to marry me», the man smiled merrily, showing two rows of crystal-white teeth. However, his prisoner didn't think it funny. She knew what it meant: either she will marry him, or he will torture her until she accepts.
«What would you get by marrying me?», she asked. «I'd never be a humble, loving wife that way.»
«Maybe not loving, but humble yes, definitely», the man said, smile not vaning from his face. «Either you'd do exactly what I say, the way I say it, or you'd end up back here for some additional... treatments.» The man wriggled his fingers to accent this threat, coming close to the chained beauty that was struggling to escape the bonds. «Come on, you seem reasonable enough to see that, in the end, nobody benefits from long-lasting persuasions... especially not you.»
By this time, he was already dangerously close to the chained maiden's naked, helpless, beautiful body. Markara's cheeks started blushing as a realization struck her: all of her body parts were exposed to the stranger, even her intimate ones.
The stranger took notice of her embarassment, noting with that smile that seemed unable to come off his face: «Oh, you are a shy one. Bet you are still a virgin. Even better that way. At least I know that I'll be the best man that came between these two pretties.» Saying so, he touched the drow-woman's inner tights, making her twitch in her bonds.
«You may take me», she said defiantly, «but I will never give myself willingly.»
«I would beg to differ», the nobleman said, taking out two black feathers, placing them in front of his captive's eyes. «I have ways of making you comply. Do not make me use them, darling... sorry, what did you say your name was?»
«Markara», the woman bearing that name replied. «Remember it well, as it is the name of the woman that will be your death.»
«I'd rather it be the name of the woman that will be my little plaything», the drow replied, his two feathers nesting themselves in Markara's smooth, exposed armpits. As soon as they touched her skin, the ticklish drow girl started struggling in her bonds, jerking away, but to no avail. No matter what side her body tried to run to, a feather was there, waiting for it, welcoming the softness of her skin with it's delicate, ticklish touch.
«No! No!», Markara shouted out, quickly shutting her mouth afterwards to avoid bursting into laughter. She knew she couldn't hide her ticklishness, no matter how hard she tried, so she decided to preserve strength, as she knew she was going to need it. Truth be told, she was a bit surprised by the man's technique, as she was expecting knives, whips, hooks and hot coals, but she had learned, on her own sensitive skin, that tickling can be as horrible a torture as any. There was nothing to laugh about, but she knew she was going to do just that.... and in immense quantities.
«Hahahahaha....», drow girl let her sweet laughter spill all over the empty room, echoing against the lonely walls, returning to her ears manyfold, filling her with dread of what was to come. She knew it was going to get worse as time goes by... she just didn't want to know how.
«Oh, yes, pardon my rudeness, lady Markara», the drow noble spoke, still concentrated on making long, slow, calculated strokes with his two feathers all over his beautiful captive's dark, smooth armpits, «I haven't even introduced myself to you yet. My name is Tramriz of the House Lod'Dannar, or as some call me, Deadly Spider.»
«Hahahahaha... who cares.... hahahaha...?», Markara tried to be proud in these trying times. She knew that, eventually, she'll do anything to stop the torture, but she sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight. No... for Alanor, she will fight to her last ounce of strength.
«I see milady doesn't feel like passing the time in a pleasant chat», Tramriz noted without any specific reaction, carrying the tickling on as usual. The black feathers were going up and down, up and down, gently kissing the soft, ticklish skin that was offered to them, driving the captive woman crazy already. «Then I will just carry everything out in silence. Feel free to say 'I will marry you' at any time you feel like it.»
«Hahahahahahaha....», Markara didn't reply. She preferred it that way. At least she didn't have to listen to this guy any more. However, the feathers were there, constantly, tickling her, probing, making fun of her helpless situation. She tried all she could... twitching, pulling at her bonds, twisting her body, but nothing helped. The feathers always found their way into those two little ticklish craters, sending their owner into a state of helpless laughter. This torture wasn't very intense, but it was lasting, constant, never-ending. Markara knew her body could take this for days... maybe even weeks, but she wasn't so sure about the mind. And, what was worse, she knew that her tormentor was only warming up.
And so, the tickle-torture went on and on, feathers tickling Markara in an endless loop, their trajectory never changing, driving the beauty desperate, not being able to see a way out of this hellish situation... unless, of course, she accepted to marry the guy. Her sweet laughter was resounding through the lonely room, the walls returning the favor by laughing with her... or to her, she wasn't sure. Slowly, but surely, she got more and more tired, laughing becoming greater and greater strain, even in this light tempo. The man did not allow any pauses... and, in his oppinion, there was no need of one: Markara could take this for much, much longer without fainting. No matter how long the noble tickled, if he kept on like this, she could keep conscious for days, her never-ending torment slowly increasing in intensity as her body became more and more tired... and more and more sensitive. Yes, Tramriz knew what the feather's touch did all to well, knowing that, slowly, his wife-to-be was going to notice it as well, not being able not to notice the erotic touch that the feather carried with it. And he was right.
As time slowly passed in tickling, the white-haired girl's nipples started stiffening slowly, the woman unsuccessfuly trying to block out the sensation of pleasure that came along as the companion of tickling, unnoticeable at first, but growing more and more powerful with each passing moment of the torture.
And moments did indeed pass. Stroke by stroke, three hours passed in non-stop tickling. By now, Markara's nipples were as stiff as they could get, the woman already weary, but horny at the same time. No matter how hard her mind fought, the body responded to the constant stream of erotic impulses that were coursing throughout it, starting at the armpits, at the point where the soft tip of the black feather touched the skin, and quickly spreading all over. At this moment, she already felt a warm sensation in her crotch, making it ever-so-sensitive and making it start secreting slightly, giving away the state her body was in, trapped between tickling and pleasure, between heaven and hell.
Markara's tormentor pretended he didn't notice it, but she was sure he was fully aware of the position he was putting her in. That was what made it even worse, she knew. She knew he was fully aware that she couldn't go on like this forever. He, on the other hand, could.
«Hahahahahaha.... I'll... never... hahaha... marry you!», she said, trying to make him stop. Much to her surprise, the man did stop, putting the feathers down. Markara smirked, thankful, as her body was returning to normal. A part of her was sad, but her mind was grateful. «See? I told you, I'm not so easy to break.»
However, her smile froze as the man's fingers slowly approached her exposed waist, wriggling in air, exposing their intent: further tickling of the restrained maiden.
«What are you doing?», she said, struggling to escape. «No! No! Don't tickle me any more plehehehehease!»
Before she could finish the sentence, Markara started laughing, as the black-skinned nobleman's fingers started to wriggle all over her waist, going from her belly to her sides in an ever-so-slow motion, but wriggling all the way, tickling like crazy. Now, this was intense. The exiled dark elf started laughing from the depths of her throat, struggling hard in her bonds, trying to put her ticklish waist out of the harm's way. She couldn't do it.
«Hahahahaha... dahahahamn yohohohou!», she shouted out at her captor, who was diligently doing his job of driving her crazy with tickling. No matter what she tried, she couldn't escape, and the fact that she had to take this for much longer instilled a lot of dread in her. But, for Alanor, she thought, it was worth it. She didn't care if she had to walk through hell and back, but she decided that Alanor will be her in the end. He will be her everything, and so will she be to him, no matter the race, no matter the differences, and no matter what girls wanted him... she would destroy anyone who stood in her path. This new resolution further strengthened her resolve, returning her former morale as she started to think of a plan to escape this torment.
And so she thought, all the while being tickled. It certainly took her long, as even after another three hours, she was still being tickled on her waist, already exhausted by the long tickling. Her lungs and muscles ached, and air was becoming an issue, as her mind started blurring. But, no matter what, she thought, she had to endure. Or... did she? Looking at her surroundings, Markara thought of a plan.
* * *
«Aieehehehehe... all right... hahahahaha.... I'll marry you! Ahahaha! Anything, just stop! Hahahaha! Please, stop!», Markara shouted out suddenly, drawing out a smile from Deadly Spider Tramriz. It certainly took her time to break, he thought. Eight hours. He must have tickled her the whole day, and it was certainly dark outside now. Perfect. His new wife... His first wife broke just in time for a little evening stroll.
«Excellent», he said, grinning. «I knew you would come to your senses. Do you see now how a little persiuasion can take you a long way?»
«Anything... just stop...», Markara repeated in a begging tone. However, she wasn't unchained right away.
«Nah-ah-ah», the male said, waving his finger. «I need to know you're being honest. To demonstrate: ask me to tickle you some more.»
«No... please... no...», the beauty begged. «Please... I'll do anything... anything you ask, just don't tickle me any more. Brand me, whip me, cut me... anything, just not that.»
Tramriz seemed statisfied with an answer. If she complied or flat-out refused, he would have known it's a trick... a trick to release her. Being a dark elf himself, he was fully aware of the treachery his kin was capable of.
«All right... I'll let you go...», he said, slowly unlatching Markara's cuffs at wrists and ankles. She was so beautiful, he thought... perhaps the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Each and every part of her was perfect: her face was beautiful, flawless, untainted by the usual vileness that other drow females exposed, her body slim and beautifully curved, extending to long, delicate legs which ended in a pair of cute, perfectly sculpted feet. And this goddess... this gods' gift to mere ants crawling all over Enterion, was soon to be his. He had to draw on all of his strength to remain calm, for he was afraid he could cry from happiness. At last, after those long years of exile from his own kin, has he found himself somebody he can at least talk to... somebody who, he felt, could understand how a non-violent, sensitive drow would feel in this world, where there is no place for their kin in the surface world. That was why he was forced to flee into this dungeon, even though he, himself, resented pain.
«Um... um...», he heard Markara's voice suddenly, her whole body shaking in order to get out of her bonds pretty soon. All the cuffs were removed now, and the drow girl jumped to the side. With a fearful look on her face, she pointed out at something behind Tramriz. «Wh... who is that?»
* * *
«Wh... who is that?», Markara asked in fear as she observed a tall, muscular figure coming into the chamber. Her captor didn't have to say anything, for she recognized the creature as an orc. But, what was an orc doing here?
«Markara of the drow race», the big orc in leather armor spoke out. «I am Grushunk Bladesong of the Bloodhounds, and I have come to take you away on behalf of lady Sylvana.»
Sylvana? Oh, no... not her! Markara still remembered that sadism, that evil in the woman's eyes. The fact that she would send a Bloodhound out for her meant that she was intent on finishing what she started around that village... and making Markara wish she had died there.
Just as she thought she was lost, Tramriz stood in front of her, with two swords drawn.
«Don't you dare touching her!», he said, bravely confronting the orc. «She is my wife-to-be.»
The orc looked him like a beast looks someone who stood between him and his prey.
«Didn't they teach you never to stand between a Bloodhound and his mark?», the orc said, charging the elf with his sword drawn out. Deadly Spider didn't even try to evade the charge. He waited for the orc to come at the striking range, when he would dodge his attack and make one of his own. One precise strike was enough to win this match, he knew.
Too bad that strike wasn't his.
As soon as the orc came within striking range, the dark elf started his dodging manuever. However, the swiftness and skill with which the hunter attacked have surprised him, making it impossible for him to evade the blow. He expected the orc to slash him, but that was just a feint. Making a perfect shot for his belly, the orc impaled him on his greatsword, the other end of the sword coming out at the other side of the dark elf. It was an efficient, yet stupid move, as both of the orc's hands were on his blade... too far away to protect his neck from the dagger Markara had thrown at him the very instance he impaled the elf. Both warriors fell to the ground, bleeding to their deaths.
Small change of plans, Markara thought. The brute did her work of slaying the drow noble, but she did have to use the dagger, which was placed on a table near to her bonds, to kill him. The very same dagger that was meant for Deadly Spider's backs. It was clear to her now, if she wanted to reach Iltarian... if she wanted to turn into a 'real' elf and win Alanor, she would have to fight whoever stood in her way. From now on, whoever came at her with the sword would be greeted by the sword, she said. Thinking about that, she thought she could use a pair, as well as some clothes and armor. Well, swords could easily be taken care of, she thought as she reached for her former captor's corpse. However, as she was reaching out for it, she felt his hand grabbing him by her wrist.
«I...just wanted... to have somebody... to... love me...», he said, coughing up some blood, finally dying. Scared, Markara jumped, but she made herself remove his swords. She felt sorry for the man, but there was nothing she could do to help him... even if he was alive now, her heart still belonged to Alanor. She knew how he felt, though, so, in her heart, she forgave him for what he did to her. Kissing her finger and placing it on the dead man's cheek, she finally left the room where so many death happened.
Finding a good armor and some clothes wasn't as hard as Markara thought it would be. Tramriz did have a well-taken-care-of brown leather armor, coupled with leather pants and boots of matching color... and they were of her size. For her travels, Markara placed a hood on herself, trying to conceal her features from now on. She found out that her calculations were correct: she did stall the torture enough for the sun to set, proving that Tramriz's 'good morning' did indeed mean it was morning. That was what she called luck... if only it was of some use to her. Her original plan was trying to find some blunt object without having to resort to dagger, hence the need of a night... so she could run away before her captor regains consciousness. However, being that she was the only one alive at the moment, she was in no rush. However, knowing that standing in one place did nobody any good, and being that she did go through all that torture, she decided to start immediately, despite the sore muscles. As the ruined watchtower that Tramriz used as home slowly sank into the horizon behind her, she was repeating her new motto in her thoughts, steeling herself: Come at me with a sword, and with a sword you will be greeted.
Enterion, Chapter 10
As Markara woke up, she realized she was in a dungeon. Her hands were chained high above her head, her ankles chained to the floor, and, naturally, all of her clothes were taken away. Knowing that this was not the time to panic, she tried remembering how she got there in the first place. Her memory was still fuzzy... she remembered Alanor saving her from the evil Sylvana, showing her to a safe hiding place. Then, after resting, spending the day underground, she continued traveling through the night until she reached another village. She barely managed to buy supplies before a mob was formed to impale her, torture her or kill her in some other way. Then, traveling further towards Iltarian, she reached another village in a few days. Again, new mob, running out with just enough time to buy provisions. This happened two more times before she, exhausted from running, fell asleep under the roots of an oak. And the next thing she knew, she woke up in a dungeon. Hmm... now this was confusing. Who did this to her and why? Well, it would be best to run away without having an answer to those questions, as these kind of answers more often than not came with substantial amount of pain, something Markara certainly wished to avoid.
She looked around to try and get a grip on her surroundings. Of course, a dungeon... dark, scary, filled with various torture tools, and, of course, rats and other filthy creatures. Typical, Markara thought, sighing.
Ah, well, now it was time to wait for whoever captured her to show his or her face. No doubt there will be tortures, infernal and painful, with certain death awaiting in the end. She sighed again... she was so sick and tired of it, not being accepted anywhere, constantly being put in chains and ropes, just for being a dark elf. She remembered Alanor's words: stay the way you are. Change the world. She smirked at that thought. It was easy for him to say. He was a day elf, tall, muscular, handsome... damn it, he was no fun! Even in this situation, she couldn't be mat at her hero, not after that kiss, not after that look in his eyes. Just thinking about him made the beautiful drow maiden feel butterflies in her stomack. Yes... for him, it would be worth becoming a real, normal, daylight elf. He was her savior... but, by saving her, he also took something from her... her heart. She knew that, from the moment their lips met, she could love no other man than the golden-haired Alanor.
But then, her thoughts turned dark. She cursed herself for a fool, having time to think about men while being chained to a wall, ready to face certain torture. Besides, a guy like him has certainly forgot about a girl like her. What would she have to offer to him? Her love? Like he wasn't getting that from hundreds of girls, she mused. Girls whose eyes and hair weren't white, girls whose skin wasn't jet-black, and most of all, girls who could walk in daylight. No, she thought, it would be best for her to die in this dungeon, for she knew that she could never, in all of her immortal life, forget about her knight in shining armor, nor could she stop loving him.
«Good morning.»
A voice brought Markara down from her thoughts. She was back in her cell, struggling to free herself from whatever was to come. Before she finds out, if at all possible. However, she knew she was too late as she saw the image of her captor in front of herself. Seeing him, she was surprised, to say the least. He was a drow... a dark elf, of all the races! Still shocked, Markara studied him from head to heels to see if her eyes decieved her, but there was no mistaking it. His long, silver hair, jet-black skin and white eyes, coupled with elven features clearly stated the man's race. And his clothes, black, silky sleeveless gown and boots made of leather darker than even the man's skin, along with a set of rings made of purest white gold gave out his noble status. Damn it, Markara thought. She knew she was in for a rough time, as dark elven nobles excelled in cruelty and torture techniques. She remebered her days in the village, when slaves would be tortured in public, for the amusement of masses. Lots of them begged for death before it was over. Remembering those ordeals made the chained maiden shake in fear.
Seeing her fear, the drow nobleman laughed wholeheartedly. Only now did Markara see that his face was not at all ugly... in fact, he was rather attractive, especially in combination with his muscular arms, that were proudly hanging from the sleeveless gown. And he seemed amused by her situation.
«Milady seems a bit tense», he said, straightening out. Markara waited for him to continue, but he didn't.
«Of course I'm tense», she said, breaking a short silence that followed after the man's last statement. «Care to explain why are you holding me here, and like this?»
«By that, you must probably mean why I removed your clothes and placed you in chains», he replied, ever-so-gallantly. «Well, yes, I suppose you do have a right to know, being that you are going to become my wife, after all.»
«Say what?!», Markara's eyes opened wide as she heard the man say this. He couldn't be serious.
«Well, I did undress you to check out your body... you had a pretty face, and I wanted to check out if the rest of you was as beautiful.» The man was honest, but he made no sense. Then, he continued: «And besides, it would be such a pain to undress you while you were chained.»
«And why did you chain me?», Markara asked, her patience obviously thin.
«Well, in case you refuse to marry me», the man smiled merrily, showing two rows of crystal-white teeth. However, his prisoner didn't think it funny. She knew what it meant: either she will marry him, or he will torture her until she accepts.
«What would you get by marrying me?», she asked. «I'd never be a humble, loving wife that way.»
«Maybe not loving, but humble yes, definitely», the man said, smile not vaning from his face. «Either you'd do exactly what I say, the way I say it, or you'd end up back here for some additional... treatments.» The man wriggled his fingers to accent this threat, coming close to the chained beauty that was struggling to escape the bonds. «Come on, you seem reasonable enough to see that, in the end, nobody benefits from long-lasting persuasions... especially not you.»
By this time, he was already dangerously close to the chained maiden's naked, helpless, beautiful body. Markara's cheeks started blushing as a realization struck her: all of her body parts were exposed to the stranger, even her intimate ones.
The stranger took notice of her embarassment, noting with that smile that seemed unable to come off his face: «Oh, you are a shy one. Bet you are still a virgin. Even better that way. At least I know that I'll be the best man that came between these two pretties.» Saying so, he touched the drow-woman's inner tights, making her twitch in her bonds.
«You may take me», she said defiantly, «but I will never give myself willingly.»
«I would beg to differ», the nobleman said, taking out two black feathers, placing them in front of his captive's eyes. «I have ways of making you comply. Do not make me use them, darling... sorry, what did you say your name was?»
«Markara», the woman bearing that name replied. «Remember it well, as it is the name of the woman that will be your death.»
«I'd rather it be the name of the woman that will be my little plaything», the drow replied, his two feathers nesting themselves in Markara's smooth, exposed armpits. As soon as they touched her skin, the ticklish drow girl started struggling in her bonds, jerking away, but to no avail. No matter what side her body tried to run to, a feather was there, waiting for it, welcoming the softness of her skin with it's delicate, ticklish touch.
«No! No!», Markara shouted out, quickly shutting her mouth afterwards to avoid bursting into laughter. She knew she couldn't hide her ticklishness, no matter how hard she tried, so she decided to preserve strength, as she knew she was going to need it. Truth be told, she was a bit surprised by the man's technique, as she was expecting knives, whips, hooks and hot coals, but she had learned, on her own sensitive skin, that tickling can be as horrible a torture as any. There was nothing to laugh about, but she knew she was going to do just that.... and in immense quantities.
«Hahahahaha....», drow girl let her sweet laughter spill all over the empty room, echoing against the lonely walls, returning to her ears manyfold, filling her with dread of what was to come. She knew it was going to get worse as time goes by... she just didn't want to know how.
«Oh, yes, pardon my rudeness, lady Markara», the drow noble spoke, still concentrated on making long, slow, calculated strokes with his two feathers all over his beautiful captive's dark, smooth armpits, «I haven't even introduced myself to you yet. My name is Tramriz of the House Lod'Dannar, or as some call me, Deadly Spider.»
«Hahahahaha... who cares.... hahahaha...?», Markara tried to be proud in these trying times. She knew that, eventually, she'll do anything to stop the torture, but she sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight. No... for Alanor, she will fight to her last ounce of strength.
«I see milady doesn't feel like passing the time in a pleasant chat», Tramriz noted without any specific reaction, carrying the tickling on as usual. The black feathers were going up and down, up and down, gently kissing the soft, ticklish skin that was offered to them, driving the captive woman crazy already. «Then I will just carry everything out in silence. Feel free to say 'I will marry you' at any time you feel like it.»
«Hahahahahahaha....», Markara didn't reply. She preferred it that way. At least she didn't have to listen to this guy any more. However, the feathers were there, constantly, tickling her, probing, making fun of her helpless situation. She tried all she could... twitching, pulling at her bonds, twisting her body, but nothing helped. The feathers always found their way into those two little ticklish craters, sending their owner into a state of helpless laughter. This torture wasn't very intense, but it was lasting, constant, never-ending. Markara knew her body could take this for days... maybe even weeks, but she wasn't so sure about the mind. And, what was worse, she knew that her tormentor was only warming up.
And so, the tickle-torture went on and on, feathers tickling Markara in an endless loop, their trajectory never changing, driving the beauty desperate, not being able to see a way out of this hellish situation... unless, of course, she accepted to marry the guy. Her sweet laughter was resounding through the lonely room, the walls returning the favor by laughing with her... or to her, she wasn't sure. Slowly, but surely, she got more and more tired, laughing becoming greater and greater strain, even in this light tempo. The man did not allow any pauses... and, in his oppinion, there was no need of one: Markara could take this for much, much longer without fainting. No matter how long the noble tickled, if he kept on like this, she could keep conscious for days, her never-ending torment slowly increasing in intensity as her body became more and more tired... and more and more sensitive. Yes, Tramriz knew what the feather's touch did all to well, knowing that, slowly, his wife-to-be was going to notice it as well, not being able not to notice the erotic touch that the feather carried with it. And he was right.
As time slowly passed in tickling, the white-haired girl's nipples started stiffening slowly, the woman unsuccessfuly trying to block out the sensation of pleasure that came along as the companion of tickling, unnoticeable at first, but growing more and more powerful with each passing moment of the torture.
And moments did indeed pass. Stroke by stroke, three hours passed in non-stop tickling. By now, Markara's nipples were as stiff as they could get, the woman already weary, but horny at the same time. No matter how hard her mind fought, the body responded to the constant stream of erotic impulses that were coursing throughout it, starting at the armpits, at the point where the soft tip of the black feather touched the skin, and quickly spreading all over. At this moment, she already felt a warm sensation in her crotch, making it ever-so-sensitive and making it start secreting slightly, giving away the state her body was in, trapped between tickling and pleasure, between heaven and hell.
Markara's tormentor pretended he didn't notice it, but she was sure he was fully aware of the position he was putting her in. That was what made it even worse, she knew. She knew he was fully aware that she couldn't go on like this forever. He, on the other hand, could.
«Hahahahahaha.... I'll... never... hahaha... marry you!», she said, trying to make him stop. Much to her surprise, the man did stop, putting the feathers down. Markara smirked, thankful, as her body was returning to normal. A part of her was sad, but her mind was grateful. «See? I told you, I'm not so easy to break.»
However, her smile froze as the man's fingers slowly approached her exposed waist, wriggling in air, exposing their intent: further tickling of the restrained maiden.
«What are you doing?», she said, struggling to escape. «No! No! Don't tickle me any more plehehehehease!»
Before she could finish the sentence, Markara started laughing, as the black-skinned nobleman's fingers started to wriggle all over her waist, going from her belly to her sides in an ever-so-slow motion, but wriggling all the way, tickling like crazy. Now, this was intense. The exiled dark elf started laughing from the depths of her throat, struggling hard in her bonds, trying to put her ticklish waist out of the harm's way. She couldn't do it.
«Hahahahaha... dahahahamn yohohohou!», she shouted out at her captor, who was diligently doing his job of driving her crazy with tickling. No matter what she tried, she couldn't escape, and the fact that she had to take this for much longer instilled a lot of dread in her. But, for Alanor, she thought, it was worth it. She didn't care if she had to walk through hell and back, but she decided that Alanor will be her in the end. He will be her everything, and so will she be to him, no matter the race, no matter the differences, and no matter what girls wanted him... she would destroy anyone who stood in her path. This new resolution further strengthened her resolve, returning her former morale as she started to think of a plan to escape this torment.
And so she thought, all the while being tickled. It certainly took her long, as even after another three hours, she was still being tickled on her waist, already exhausted by the long tickling. Her lungs and muscles ached, and air was becoming an issue, as her mind started blurring. But, no matter what, she thought, she had to endure. Or... did she? Looking at her surroundings, Markara thought of a plan.
* * *
«Aieehehehehe... all right... hahahahaha.... I'll marry you! Ahahaha! Anything, just stop! Hahahaha! Please, stop!», Markara shouted out suddenly, drawing out a smile from Deadly Spider Tramriz. It certainly took her time to break, he thought. Eight hours. He must have tickled her the whole day, and it was certainly dark outside now. Perfect. His new wife... His first wife broke just in time for a little evening stroll.
«Excellent», he said, grinning. «I knew you would come to your senses. Do you see now how a little persiuasion can take you a long way?»
«Anything... just stop...», Markara repeated in a begging tone. However, she wasn't unchained right away.
«Nah-ah-ah», the male said, waving his finger. «I need to know you're being honest. To demonstrate: ask me to tickle you some more.»
«No... please... no...», the beauty begged. «Please... I'll do anything... anything you ask, just don't tickle me any more. Brand me, whip me, cut me... anything, just not that.»
Tramriz seemed statisfied with an answer. If she complied or flat-out refused, he would have known it's a trick... a trick to release her. Being a dark elf himself, he was fully aware of the treachery his kin was capable of.
«All right... I'll let you go...», he said, slowly unlatching Markara's cuffs at wrists and ankles. She was so beautiful, he thought... perhaps the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Each and every part of her was perfect: her face was beautiful, flawless, untainted by the usual vileness that other drow females exposed, her body slim and beautifully curved, extending to long, delicate legs which ended in a pair of cute, perfectly sculpted feet. And this goddess... this gods' gift to mere ants crawling all over Enterion, was soon to be his. He had to draw on all of his strength to remain calm, for he was afraid he could cry from happiness. At last, after those long years of exile from his own kin, has he found himself somebody he can at least talk to... somebody who, he felt, could understand how a non-violent, sensitive drow would feel in this world, where there is no place for their kin in the surface world. That was why he was forced to flee into this dungeon, even though he, himself, resented pain.
«Um... um...», he heard Markara's voice suddenly, her whole body shaking in order to get out of her bonds pretty soon. All the cuffs were removed now, and the drow girl jumped to the side. With a fearful look on her face, she pointed out at something behind Tramriz. «Wh... who is that?»
* * *
«Wh... who is that?», Markara asked in fear as she observed a tall, muscular figure coming into the chamber. Her captor didn't have to say anything, for she recognized the creature as an orc. But, what was an orc doing here?
«Markara of the drow race», the big orc in leather armor spoke out. «I am Grushunk Bladesong of the Bloodhounds, and I have come to take you away on behalf of lady Sylvana.»
Sylvana? Oh, no... not her! Markara still remembered that sadism, that evil in the woman's eyes. The fact that she would send a Bloodhound out for her meant that she was intent on finishing what she started around that village... and making Markara wish she had died there.
Just as she thought she was lost, Tramriz stood in front of her, with two swords drawn.
«Don't you dare touching her!», he said, bravely confronting the orc. «She is my wife-to-be.»
The orc looked him like a beast looks someone who stood between him and his prey.
«Didn't they teach you never to stand between a Bloodhound and his mark?», the orc said, charging the elf with his sword drawn out. Deadly Spider didn't even try to evade the charge. He waited for the orc to come at the striking range, when he would dodge his attack and make one of his own. One precise strike was enough to win this match, he knew.
Too bad that strike wasn't his.
As soon as the orc came within striking range, the dark elf started his dodging manuever. However, the swiftness and skill with which the hunter attacked have surprised him, making it impossible for him to evade the blow. He expected the orc to slash him, but that was just a feint. Making a perfect shot for his belly, the orc impaled him on his greatsword, the other end of the sword coming out at the other side of the dark elf. It was an efficient, yet stupid move, as both of the orc's hands were on his blade... too far away to protect his neck from the dagger Markara had thrown at him the very instance he impaled the elf. Both warriors fell to the ground, bleeding to their deaths.
Small change of plans, Markara thought. The brute did her work of slaying the drow noble, but she did have to use the dagger, which was placed on a table near to her bonds, to kill him. The very same dagger that was meant for Deadly Spider's backs. It was clear to her now, if she wanted to reach Iltarian... if she wanted to turn into a 'real' elf and win Alanor, she would have to fight whoever stood in her way. From now on, whoever came at her with the sword would be greeted by the sword, she said. Thinking about that, she thought she could use a pair, as well as some clothes and armor. Well, swords could easily be taken care of, she thought as she reached for her former captor's corpse. However, as she was reaching out for it, she felt his hand grabbing him by her wrist.
«I...just wanted... to have somebody... to... love me...», he said, coughing up some blood, finally dying. Scared, Markara jumped, but she made herself remove his swords. She felt sorry for the man, but there was nothing she could do to help him... even if he was alive now, her heart still belonged to Alanor. She knew how he felt, though, so, in her heart, she forgave him for what he did to her. Kissing her finger and placing it on the dead man's cheek, she finally left the room where so many death happened.
Finding a good armor and some clothes wasn't as hard as Markara thought it would be. Tramriz did have a well-taken-care-of brown leather armor, coupled with leather pants and boots of matching color... and they were of her size. For her travels, Markara placed a hood on herself, trying to conceal her features from now on. She found out that her calculations were correct: she did stall the torture enough for the sun to set, proving that Tramriz's 'good morning' did indeed mean it was morning. That was what she called luck... if only it was of some use to her. Her original plan was trying to find some blunt object without having to resort to dagger, hence the need of a night... so she could run away before her captor regains consciousness. However, being that she was the only one alive at the moment, she was in no rush. However, knowing that standing in one place did nobody any good, and being that she did go through all that torture, she decided to start immediately, despite the sore muscles. As the ruined watchtower that Tramriz used as home slowly sank into the horizon behind her, she was repeating her new motto in her thoughts, steeling herself: Come at me with a sword, and with a sword you will be greeted.
