Background:
Two races, the Shirikai and Valadrians, have been at war. The Shirikai, let by Varanik, have invaded the Valadrian city of Dirath, defended by princess Oonagh. Oonagh is based on the German fantasy singer of the same name (Senta-Sofia Delliponti). In this story, she is a powerful sorceress, and famous and loved in Valadria for her beauty of voice and bright personality. She lead the defense of Dirath, where she engaged in a one-on-one magic duel with Varanik, and was brutally defeated. He had privately offered a generous resolution to the invasion -- the people's lives would be spared, and their wealth unplundered, but in return she would submit herself to be his personal concubine, reluctantly accepting defeat both on behalf of herself and also for everybody else who'd have suffered should she refused him.
The door to her bedchamber creaked open, pulling Oonagh from her troubled thoughts. The hours of waiting had done little to calm her nerves, each minute a reminder of the impending confrontation. She had been given time to wash and dress, the simple gown she wore now feeling more like a shroud than a garment of peace. When Varanik stepped inside, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his stern features, Oonagh felt a shiver of anticipation and dread. This was the first time she had seen him so closely, his presence as commanding in this intimate setting as it had been on the battlefield. His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that sent a jolt through her, the unspoken promise of dominance clear in his gaze. Her heart pounded as he approached, every step measured, purposeful, as if savoring the moment of final conquest.
His voice possessed an unfathomable depth, resonating like the peal of a resounding bell. It was ethereal, yet simultaneously soothing - and undeniably alluring. Oonagh felt an involuntary shiver course through her, her skin prickling against her will. She raised her gaze to meet his, her lips parting slightly, her expressive brown eyes reflecting a mixture of trepidation and appeasement.
"Do you regret your decision, Princess?" Varanik's voice was low, almost gentle, yet the power behind it was unmistakable.
Oonagh swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I did what I had to do for my people," she replied, trying to summon the strength that had once defined her.
Varanik nodded, a small, almost approving smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You are brave, Oonagh. But bravery alone will not shield you tonight."
He reached out, gently lifting her chin with a single finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Surrendering to me was just the beginning. Now, you will learn what true submission means."
Oonagh's breath hitched, her resolve wavering as his words sank in. "I... I understand," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Good," Varanik said, his smile widening. "Then let us begin."
He took her hand, leading her to the edge of the bed. Oonagh followed, her steps hesitant yet unresisting. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls as the flickering light from the torches cast an almost surreal glow. Varanik turned to face her, his expression a mix of sternness and curiosity.
"Remove your gown," he instructed, his tone brooking no defiance.
Oonagh's hands trembled slightly as she reached for the ties of her gown. With deliberate slowness, she untied the knots, the fabric slipping off her shoulders and pooling at her feet. She stood before him, vulnerable and exposed, her heart racing in her chest.
Varanik's gaze roamed over her, taking in every detail. "You are exquisite," he said, his voice a hushed whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. "And tonight, you will belong to me completely."
He stepped closer, his body radiating a heat that Oonagh could feel even before he touched her. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him with a possessive urgency. She could feel the strength in his grip, the undeniable authority that he wielded over her. As he leaned in, his lips brushed against her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
He kissed her hard, his lips almost brusing hers as he explored her mouth with a hunger that was both frightening and intensely thrilling. His hands traced the contours of her body with the same fervent urgency, caressing every curve as if committing them to memory. He then firmly pinned one of her wrists above her head, his other hand slipping beneath the hem of her skirt to gently stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
She gasped against his lips. Moving slowly up towards her waistband he paused at first when encountering fabric there, teasingly running his fingers along its edge before suddenly jerking it downwards without warning to yank off completely in one swift motion - exposing Oonagh fully.
With her clothing discarded, he pressed forward again so that their bodies became flush against each other. He ran kisses across Oonagh's neck as his hands expertly stroked her nipples and clitoris with perfect precision,never lingering too long, maintaining a delicate balance between intense pleasure and sweet torment.
Finally, with her body already trembling from his touch, and an overwhelming heat consuming them both, he moved lower still to position himself between Oonagh's legs. Her heart pounded. It was finally happening. His mouth found hers again as he entered her in one slow thrust. There was a hint of pain at first, but it quickly subsided. Oonagh tried to clear her mind, feeling humiliated by her own enjoyment, and trying to suppress it. But it was of no avail.
