A fantasy in nine acts.
Imagine an Amberdown and the characters from
Beth's Summer Break
in a universe at a slight tangent to this one.
Imagine Bethany Hamilton really
is
an Elfin Princess...
Rated 'Adult Only' for descriptions of extreme violence and depraved sexual acts.
Contains foul language, drug and alcohol consumption and cute little elfin tails.
Act 1 -- Voice of Treason
Princess Bethan stood up in the saddle and waved back at Samir, trailing some distance behind her. Her long brown hair was streaming out behind her as Shadow, her beautiful white unicorn, ate up the ground along the lakeside. Samir waved back, his own hair almost as long as Bethan's as his black unicorn Sasha struggled to keep up with the pace.
As Bethan turned back and resumed her riding position, her smile faded as she saw flames leaping up from the soaring towers of Amberdown in the distance. "Not again," she thought. This was happening far too often.
As she turned back to Samir, his image faded and she heard the harsh, echoing sound of the outer cell door opening. As she was dragged from her fitful sleep, she felt the rough cot beneath her, hay prickling her unmercifully, unseen insects biting. She took in her filthy, stained once-white shift, the stench of the rudimentary 'comfort' facilities in the corner of the cell, the dank walls and worst of all, the thick iron bars and large wooden door set with a series of un-pickable locks.
Yes, it was happening far too often. Every morning now in fact. The same dream, reliving the moment when everything changed. She had not seen Samir since - she didn't know if he still lived. She had lost count of the days. Early on she had tried to keep track of them by scratching sets of five-bar gates on the wall behind her cot, but after a few sets of five she had given up in tears. She feared that if she kept going, she would end up centuries from now as an old woman with a million small marks on the walls.
The shackles on her wrists and ankles chafed. They were heavy and unmerciful; she could barely walk due to the shortness of the chains linking her legs - her wrists were hardly any more mobile. It was all she could do to raise them to her mouth to eat or drink.
Not that there was much to eat or drink.
Bethan had lost track of how many times she had tried to smash her own brains out on the cell walls, but whatever enchantment was in place meant that each time she tried, a proliferation of spongy moss bloomed from the wet stones, blocking her movement and leaving her weeping in frustration.
Time after time, she had clawed at the collar that was tightly fused to her throat, inhibiting her ability to cast spells. Djinna had told her it could never be separated from her now it was in place. It was part of her, woven into her flesh. In more peaceful times she would have relished the feel of it, but the hold it had over her powers sickened her.
She sometimes thought it may have been feeding her some sort of soporific, but she doubted Djinna would want her to be sedated. She would want her to feel everything, every humiliation, every indignity. It was what conquerors lived for, making their vanquished foes suffer.
The door to her cell opened and she saw the dark, squat bulk of the guard in the doorway, his face covered by a leather mask. It was the moment each day she dreaded. She still couldn't tell them apart - which one would it be? 'On Your Knees' or 'Lucky Elf-Bitch'?
The guard walked in and placed a skin of water on the small table next to her cot. It would be warm and brackish as usual and she was convinced there was something unpleasant in there. Some stale bread and dried meat accompanied it.
A meal fit for a princess, but of course first she had to show her gratitude at such largesse.
It was 'On Your Knees.' He pointed to the floor and she knelt obediently as she had done so many times before, trying to ignore the roughness of the cell floor on her bare knees, her bonds making every movement difficult and painful. The first time, he had threatened her with what would happen if she bit him with her sharp little fangs. She knew they'd grow back, but the pain and ignominy of having them pulled out with rusty pliers did not appeal. At least he was usually quicker than his compatriot, who liked to alternate between what he called her 'elfin bucket' and her back passage. She was apparently a 'lucky elf-bitch' to have the pleasure of his company.
He moved towards her and she took his pathetic excuse for a manhood in her beautiful mouth and went off into pleasanter places, imagining it was Samir's huge member that she was accommodating. A few thrusts and a guttural grunt and he was done. She swallowed the acrid semen -- it tasted horrible compared to Samir's sweet nectar, but mercifully there was a lot less of it. She winced as her gripped her elongated, pointed and delicate elfin ears and twisted them as he came.
His filthy hands added more grime to her already matted hair. She gasped and came up for air as he withdrew. He pointed at her meal on the table. His voice was rough and unpleasant. "Good girl. I ain't pissed in it today."
He turned and made for the door. He glanced back, tucking himself away. "Not bad... for an animal..."
Bethan brought herself back to the horror of the present and with her hands shaking from shame and the weight of the chains, drank some of the bitter water. The rest could wait for later.
Two floors above her cell, in decidedly more salubrious surroundings, Djinna cupped her voluptuous breasts in her hands as she slowly bucked herself up and down on Samir's huge cock. She hated these effete elves, but she had to wonder how those skinny, pale, elfin women could take such monstrous appendages without any apparent ill effects. They looked like they should be torn apart. Samir was filling her like no-one from her own race had ever done. They were an enigma, these elves and she was determined to get to their secrets. They lived for a thousand years -- almost immortal in human terms. It was why she was here. She was forty one in human years, still a stunning specimen, with lustrous long blonde hair and breasts that had conquered as many kingdoms as her band of Amazon warriors. She'd find out their secrets alright, and she'd live for another nine hundred years and more. There were so many more puny races to enslave.
Bethan had wondered if Samir was still alive. He was, but in his drugged state, he barely registered the fact that the woman who had conquered the realm that he and his beloved Bethan had ruled over with such a benign hand was using him as a sex toy, pleasuring herself on his massive, engorged member at her will.
As Djinna rode Samir, her advisor and confidante Josefyn was watching intently from across the room. Her catlike green eyes were dilated from her constant use of pepper-spice, her shining red hair tumbling around her shoulders. In one hand, she held a glass of elfwine; the other was digging deeply between her open legs, into the soft downy fur that covered her lower half.
Djinna picked up her own glass of elfwine and raised it to her friend. "To conquest!"
Josefyn took a sip and purred, a sound that Djinna never tired of hearing. A lovely, deep, satisfying sound that vibrated in her chest, a sound of pure lust. "To subjugation," she sighed and looked at the glass. "They are indeed a useless race, but they make fine wine."
Djinna doubled her efforts on Samir and drank again. "And some do have other uses!" Another drink, another raise of the glass. "To having a jackboot on the throats of this pathetic race. To bending them to our will. To using their resources for our own ends. To using them as a resource!" She tossed back the last of the liquid, throwing the crystal glass across the room, laughing as the delicate elfin artefact shattered against the wall.
Josefyn drained her own glass and extricated her long dextrous fingers from her nether regions. She unfurled herself and slowly walked over to Djinna. She was still purring and Djinna knew what that meant. She shivered at the prospect of those sharp little teeth going to work on her.
