Queen Yavara Ch 02

ELENA

I peered through the brush, the pine needles tickling my face. The morning sun cast speckled rays through the green canopy, and bathed my target in a golden aura. I supposed the man was beautiful. His face was chiseled with elegant features, his hair was a mess of blond, and his body was bronze and lean, toned to perfection. His ears came to points in the elven fashion, but his stature was more human. He lounged nakedly in the clearing, dipping his toes in the babbling stream and plucking idly at the grass. He seemed the picture of nonchalance, but I knew better. When his eyes connected with mine, he knew as well.

"I should've known Adarian would send you." The incubus laughed. It was a jolly sound, rich and baritone. It might've made another girl weak in the knees.

"You're not as subtle as you once were, Verto." I said keeping my arrow notched as I exited the brush.

"I know, I got lazy." Verto pouted his full lips.

"Where is she?" I asked, stopping ten paces away.

"Lydia!" Verto called over his shoulder. From the forest, a dawn-elf emerged. She had sun-kissed skin, red hair, sharp features, and dazzling green eyes. She was naked, and her nubile body was a feast of slender curves and supple creases. She hardly acknowledged me, and instead devoted her adoring attention to her captor. But Verto hadn't taken his eyes off me, and smirked triumphantly when I felt the color rush to my cheeks.

"I swear Ranger Straltaira, if I but had a single breast, you'd never be able to resist me."

"If you had but a single brain, maybe you'd be able to escape me." I said, levelling the arrowhead at his neck. Lydia predictably leapt to the defense of her master, sprawling her teenage body over his and screaming bloody murder.

"Good god shut her up!" I hissed, my eyes dancing around the edge of the clearing. There were far greater threats than incubi this far into the Great Forest. Verto silenced his paramour with a touch of his fingers, and her body turned liquid against his. If I was being honest, I envied the power.

"You've always been fair with me, Ranger Straltaira." Verto said, keeping himself shielded with his captive, "I never take from the Highlands, but I still need to feed. You understand, right?"

"I don't begin to understand you." I said, keeping up my cautious advance.

"Are you going to take me in this time?" Verto asked, tactfully situating himself behind the dawn-elf.

"You knew the rules."

"Her kind and yours are hardy the same." Verto insisted.

"She's still an elf."

"Your kind only make that distinction when it's convenient." Verto sneered, "The dawn-bloods live in these woods; they rejected your sovereignty!"

"I'm not here for a political debate, Verto. You're coming with me."

"I'm not going back to Castle Thorum." Verto said darkly. Lydia plastered herself to her lover, her possessed eyes staring without fear into mine. Her legs tensed as I neared, poised to leap at me. I knew she'd fight tooth and nail for Verto; I'd seen the savagery incubi slaves were capable of when pressed by their masters. I stopped five paces away, and steadied my aim.

"Are you going to resist me?" I asked Verto. The implication wasn't lost on him. Yes, I had been fair with the incubus, fairer than most rangers would have been, but I had my limits. Verto narrowed his eyes, the round pupils turning to their true slits. I slowly elevated my steadying hand, my fingers tensed about the drawn string.

He's a monster.

I thought,

He's a mindless beast undeserving of mercy.

But even in my most callous mindset, I could not convince myself of it. I took no joy in what I was about to do.

An eagle screeched overhead, cutting through the air like a knife. My eyes darted upward, catching sight of the avian as it neared. Its head was laden with a green cowl, and its talons clutched a wooden tube. It circled the three of us, then descended. I took five steps back from Verto and his guardian, and lowered my bow to raise an arm. The eagle perched on the proffered limb, and I retrieved the message from its talons. I read it. I read it again. I read it a third time, hoping vainly that my eyes were deceiving me, but no, they were keener than they'd ever been.

"Ranger?" Verto asked. I never answered his question. I turned from the incubus and his victim, and sprinted into the forest without a look back.

Yavara.

YAVARA

I was in a chair. No, it was a stool, akin to a barstool. I was naked, seated demurely upon the stool with stiff royal posture. Before me was a body-length mirror, its frame wrought-iron and imposing, its glass reflecting my blue eyes, blonde hair, soft features and perfect curves. Blackness was all around me, amorphous shadows tickling my periphery, but I was not afraid. I felt... right.

I'm dreaming.

I thought.

You are,

a familiar voice answered,

but the mind and reality are not separate. For thoughts bring pain and pleasure as assuredly as the touch of another.

There was a face behind me in the reflection. It was beautiful, angular and fierce, canvased with bronze flesh, maned with black hair, and adorned with blazing orange eyes. It seemed familiar, but I did not know why. Orange eyes? An elf with dark skin and black hair? Where had I heard of such a thing? I felt the press of her body against mine, and my mind went numb. Her flesh was supple and warm, her breasts pillowing softly against my shoulder-blades, her belly radiating into my back. My stiff posture failed, and I succumbed to the lassitude her touch compelled, falling into her with a soft cry. She laughed sweetly, threateningly, a sound that leaked into my ear and melted into my consciousness. Desire swelled with in me, hot and desperate. I mewled for her, shifting my hips in a whorish dance upon the stool, looking up at my molester with big, begging eyes.

Please!

I thought.

What do you want, Yavara?

The woman smiled, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

You.

I hissed, arching my back to present my body, hope brimming from my face.

Me?

The woman laughed. I was no longer seated upon the stool, but in her lap upon a great black throne. The mirror before us revealed my vulnerable perch; my thicker legs straddled about her slender ones, my back resting upon her torso, my head lying placidly upon her shoulder. I became aware that I was exposing myself to her, and the sight of my blushing wet womanhood caused an odd surge of shame to subdue my desire. I closed my legs. Noble women do not sit with open legs; it's improper.

I thought you wanted me?

The woman whispered teasingly in my ear.

Who are you?

I managed to ask.

Me.

The woman's tongue grazed my earlobe,

Us.

Her hand slithered between my shut thighs,

You.

What?

My mind was fevered. Fear, desire, propriety, lechery, shame, lust; they mingled with the jumbled hurricane of my thoughts. There was a dichotomy to me, a splitting of myself into selves. I could feel it becoming more pronounced with every second.

You are a so confused, Yavara.

The woman's voice sounded sorrowful. Her elegant hands slid down the crease of my thighs, compelling me open them.

No!

I cried, battling the part of me that coveted her touch more than anything. Her orange eyes glimmered in the mirror, assessing my splayed nudity. Shameful, so shameful to be like this. Part of me loved the shame. And as much as I detested to be so intimately weak, that same part of me delighted in my captivity. What would this woman do to me? I was so

helpless

to stop her. But the woman did not touch my flower, much to my combined relief and disappointment. Her hands followed the wrinkle of my thighs, passing the slit between. Her smile grew devious over my shoulder, and my eyes went wide.

Her fingers traversed my crack, spread me open, and exposed my lewd button. It was dilated and swollen, and so tender to her touch. She circled my anus with a single finger, and I couldn't help myself. My hips circled with it, my body dancing to the touch of her, compelled like a puppet. My eyes drooped in surrender, and my teeth pressed into my lip.

So much confusion,

the woman's voice was tender now, like a mother's whisper,

so much uncertainty. But it all goes away now, doesn't it? This feels so right to you.

Yes.

I said breathily, reaching back to spread myself, praying for her penetration.

A princess of the Highlands, a prim maiden of propriety and honor.

The woman chuckled,

You are not that, Yavara. You're a debased slut who wants nothing more than to be fucked hard from where you shit. You'll let anyone have a turn, just so long as they give you what you crave.

Yes!

I screamed it now, begging with my body,

I'm a shameful anal whore! Please fuck my slutty asshole!

Oh, my rim was twitching now, coiling and dilating with every caress of her finger. It was tortuous, unbearable, and so

good

. The strength vanished from my legs, and I sprawled languorously across the woman's lap, unable to continue my needful dance, stuck paralytically in a state of unending desire. When my eyes refocused, my reflection revealed that they were orange, the same orange as the woman's, and there was a streak of black corrupting my blonde hair, the same black as the woman's.

This is you now, Yavara.

The woman's voice was a whisper in my head,

Stuck between your two selves, teetering at the brink. One side of you is Princess Tiadoa, daughter of the Highlands; this side is a lie. It is who you think you should be.

And the other side?

I didn't care what her answer was. I just needed to be invaded.

Me.

The woman pushed her entire hand inside me,

Us.

I screamed in abject agony and ecstasy,

You.

I lost my mind. When it came back to me before my waking moments, the dream had been forgotten.

The sound of songbirds woke me from my deep slumber. I sat up from the make-shift bed of elk hide Brock had prepared for me the night before, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I was still naked and covered with the evidence of the previous night's passion, and was glad to see that Brock had thoughtfully left a wet cloth beside my bed. My dress was torn to shreds and covered in dirt and dried fluids, but Brock had left she-orc clothing next to the cloth. I put on the garb after washing myself, only to realize that these "clothes" were barely more than leather straps. They effectively hid my areolas and vaginal lips, but nothing more, and the loin strap was completely swallowed by my backside. I sighed as I hooked the belt through a punched hole.

I guess orc women don't believe in modesty.

Brock laid next to me, his muscled torso rising and falling with deep, loud snores. I could tell he was having a good dream, because his massive gift stood in defiance of the morning. I admired the sight, fondly recounting the night before. I'd been raped; horrifically, violently violated, and I'd loved it. There was no lingering mental trauma, nor even an ounce of regret in me. There was only a small touch of shame that I'd so easily thrown my pride to the wind; I should've made him work harder for it. Oh, what pleasures Brock had forced into me with this very tool, and it was mine, mine if I wanted it! I'd always been adventurous, and my new lascivious nature compelled me to bold action.

I crawled over to my breakfast, my hips swaying behind me like some jungle cat stalking her prey. My hands gently moved up his inner thighs, enjoying the contours of his muscles before reaching his balls. I cradled them in both my hands, gently massaging them, and stifling a giggle when Brock moaned in his sleep. My hands worked their way to the head of his penis, where white precum frothed deliciously. I lubricated my hands with it, taking a moment to lick some from my finger, closing my eyes to savor the taste. I began stroking his cock with one hand as my other massaged his heavy orbs, taking care not to wake him just yet.

This is so much fun!

I thought with glee.

You know what to do.

My lecherous counterpart answered. I grinned.

My lips trembled with excitement as I lowered them to his head, my mouth watering. I carefully wrapped my lips around his crease, making sure my grip was air-tight before I began my consumption. I took him inch by inch until I reached my throat, tonguing the underside of his shaft with wriggling massages.

Time to wake up, Brock!

I forced his thick cock past the resistance of my throat, deep into my esophagus. I suppressed a gag before continuing downward until I could feel his soft balls resting on my chin. I savored the feeling of him inside of me, the smell of sex that still wafted from his loins, lingering from the night before. I looked up to see Brock's eyes opening, their black irises staring back at me.

"Queen Yavara," Brock murmured through a hoarse moan, "you are the born ruler of Alkandra; you do not need to suck on the lowly cock of some orc chieftain anymore."

I knew the stories; they were children's tales meant to scare elflings lest they wander into the Great Forest. A reincarnated dark-elf of terrible power, hell-bent on vengeance against the Highland Kingdom. It was absurd, but it didn't surprise me that simple tribesmen held the story as prophecy, waiting for a scion to deliver them from obscurity. But we were a thousand years from the days of Alkandi the Terrible, and I had no interest in roleplaying this morning. I slowly withdrew from Brock, my lips still sealed tightly, a vulgar sucking sound accompanying a low moan that ascended from my chest. I placed Brock's upon my face, the shaft resting on my cheek while my fingers toyed with his swollen head.

"I am no Queen, Brock. I am a princess of the Highlands, and after my fun is over here," I smiled seductively while slowly stroking his shaft, "I will return there, and figure out what mad wizard put such a curse on me."

I crawled up Brock's legs, my left hand still gently grasping his cock. I straddled him, my right hand tracing the ripples of his muscled chest. I pushed the she-orc strap that covered my openings to the side, but left the "bra" that covered my nipples and held my ample breasts high on my chest. Placing his throbbing cock between my asscheeks, I grinded slowly, feeling him rub against my pussy and asshole. My body reacted instantly, oozing lust from petals which flushed with want. But I would keep my virginity (as it was), and only offer Brock what he'd already stolen. Truth be told, I doubted I could ever garner such delights from my womanhood; a debased whore such as myself was made to revel in the filthy and wrong. For that was what I was, and so I whole-heartedly accepted the woman who had blossomed from my sexual awakening. The very idea of the lows I would delve to aroused me beyond control, and I pressed his tip to my winking sphincter.

"But until then, I'm going to enjoy every second of this lowly, orc cock." I said, smiling devilishly, and squatted. A moan leaked from my lips as I took him, enjoying the pain of my splitting insides. I let him stretch my asshole to capacity, sliding into my taut filth until my legs turned to jelly with the pleasure of it, and gave out. Brock's cock plunged into me. I gasped in pain and pleasure, delighting in the depths of his penetration, the girth of his tortuous reaming. He gripped my asscheeks and spread them wide, stretching my anus even more, sending a lightning bolt of pain up my spine. I let out a cry as I savored the roughness of it, grinding my hips while I pressed myself to him, trying to take every inch. He gripped me by the neck and pushed me upright, his thick hand squeezing the air out of me. I squeaked about my constriction, my face darkening, but my expression wrought with slutty gratitude. His free hand gripped one of my breasts, the thumb pushing onto my erect nipple. I choked out a cry of pleasure from my closed windpipe, then grabbed his hand and guided it downward toward my crotch, my eyes pleading with him to play with me. Brock stopped short of my unoccupied slit, then brought his hand around to my backside. I cried out as Brock slipped one finger alongside his cock, stretching my rim even more. Brock didn't heed my exclamation, but drove his other three fingers in, pulling on my fleshy walls. Oh god, how I loved it! The pain and pleasure, the way he ignored my protests and raped of me what was left to be raped. Tears streaked down my cheeks, and I undulated my hips in ardent reaction, nodding obediently and whimpering my delight.

"Getting her loosened up for me, Brock?"

Brock released my throat just as my head snapped around. Behind me stood a man, adorned with a cloak made of bear fur, the head of the beast acting as a hood. He was at least six and a half feet tall, a thick black beard wrapping his face, his eyes baring white irises. In his hand was a staff, a crooked piece of wood with a crowned skull at its peak.

"Princess Yavara Tiadoa," he spoke, "we have much to discuss."

ZANDER

I stared at the Dark Queen, her eyes blazing orange, her skin pale, a section of black hair streaking through a mess of blonde. She was in good shape for a high-elf, her arms and back toned and muscled. I couldn't help but linger on her ass; it was full and thick, the only imperfection being the giant orc dick stuck inside of it.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Brock growled.

"The high-elves have been systematically destroying Alkandran ruins for centuries. I don't have many portals left." I responded.

Yavara looked at me, then at Brock. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Brock? Or is he just going to join in?"

Brock looked at me with an irritated expression. "Queen Yavara, this is Zander, wizard of the land-of-shit-timing, and if you wish, I'm sure he would join us."

I smirked at Brock's angry face before returning my attention to Yavara. "As much as I would love to, Your Highness, I did not travel a hundred miles in the dead of night to cross swords with an orc."

Yavara swiveled around on Brock, anchoring her feet outside of the orc's knees, everything spread out for the world to see. She was panting heavily, moaning as she adjusted herself on Brock, her body a marvel of jiggling motion.

My god she is beautiful. The most beautiful incarnation since Alkandi herself. And such power... She is the one. She has to be.

"Zander?" Yavara inquired through her moans, "As in 'Zander Fredeon?' My father named you as one of the Highland's closest allies."

"And indeed, I am." I replied, "And will remain so, if it is your wish."

Yavara didn't seem to hear me, but instead ogled the erection I could not conceal in my robes. "And what is your wish, Zander?"

"Whatever your wish is, Your Highness."

Yavara grinned hungrily up at me. "Well Zander, why don't you come over here? Your "queen" wishes to know what wizard tastes like."

Though every inch of my primal being demanded that I comply with the young queen's request, I willed myself to stay on task. Time was of the absolute essence. I had missed all the signs for this incarnation, though now that her identity was revealed, it didn't surprise me that they'd eluded me. Who would have thought that the good and pure Queen Trenaria Tiadoa had sullied her womb? It was an interesting question, but the answer was useless. The years I would've had grooming young Yavara were lost. She was already a woman, almost past the point of pliability. Almost too late.

"My queen, I came here to help you take your rightful place on the Black Throne. Time is of the essence; your reappearance will be noticed before long, and you have more enemies than can be counted." I said.