Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*****
Marethil, aspiring drow matriarch and part-time queenmaker of the underground realms, looked curiously at the stranger in the appealingly minimalist mask. "So what should I call you?"
"Toranel."
That was so obviously a surface-dweller name that Marethil nearly doubled over at the humor in the pseudonym. "Toranel! I like your style, friend. Call me Sapphire. Is this your first time?"
"It is."
"Oh, you've a lot to experience here tonight. Welcome to the Masquerade!"
In years past, some long-dead matriarch of the drow had gotten tired of the constant power struggles and had started the tradition of meeting peacefully - relatively peacefully, they were drow after all and some amount of backstabbing was cultural - for a night of anonymous debauchery and excess. Since then the celebration had grown until its revels became known as a bacchanal of legendary proportions, the Sable Masquerade.
"You'll want to be careful, first-timer," Marethil noted conversationally to her new friend. "I remember when I was like you are now. It's pretty relaxing, actually, to just hang back and watch. The masks help too, although," she giggled, "just because we're wearing 'em doesn't mean we can't get in trouble. I remember last year, there was this one mistress, we caught her with - ah, you had to be there, it was hilarious."
The stranger calling herself Toranel nodded. "I'm sure."
"Your mask is really unique. I like it." Marethil had decorated her own with the gems that she loved best, sapphires sparkling in a deep blue sheen with the dim light of the underground city. It wasn't the most decadent example of drow fashion by a long shot, so her new friend's simple mask fascinated her. While her own sapphire-spangled mask left her mouth and jawline bare (for they were beautiful, Marethil thought, and she made that small concession to vanity), the angular, minimalist mask that the stranger wore was more of a full-face sort of affair. Straightforward in design, and it suited the atmosphere of the Masquerade very well.
"Thank you." The stranger tugged on the leash in her hand, and Marethil noticed for the first time the slave that was accompanying her.
"Oh." Marethil's breath caught in her throat. "What's her name?"
At the end of the leash was the most beautiful elf girl she'd ever seen. The drow were familiar with slaves from the surface, of course. What they didn't acquire through raiding, they took through trading, but as far as she knew there were still far more drow in the underground than any other civilized race, excepting maybe the vicious dwarves, and so to Marethil the elf was charmingly exotic.
"Her name is Aldrisa."
"Mm." Marethil wasn't paying much attention. She was more interested in letting her eyes run up and down the elf girl's body. Like most slaves at the Masquerade, Aldrisa was completely naked save her collar and the leash that ran to the hand of her mistress. What set her apart from the other slaves, at least the ones that Marethil had seen thus far, was her shock of bright red hair.
It occurred to Marethil that she probably had a thing for redheads.
"So," she said coyly, "my dear friend 'Toranel,' would you be willing to share?"
The red-haired slave blushed adorably at those words, though she looked to be already flustered by the intoxicating incense that suffused the Masquerade. Her mistress nodded. "Of course. You're more than welcome to play with Aldrisa here."
"Come with me. I have a private room just over this way." On a whim, Marethil reached out to possessively stroke the elf girl's ears before she started towards the room that she'd reserved at the start of the festivities.
For a second, the redheaded elf seemed to hesitate, but her mistress tugged at the leash and she trotted obediently along.
---
Toranel, I hope you know what you're doing.
It had seemed like the chance of a lifetime for an outlaw like herself. Get in, loot some jewelry from any drow that partied too hard to see straight, and get out. No risk, no fun, as they say. Of course, they needed appropriate disguises, and Aldrisa had known exactly what she was getting into when she drew up the plans. That's why she brought Toranel, her trusted second-in-command. Someone who could be relied upon to be sensible while the boss indulged some submissive fantasies.
Such as, for example, being made to kneel with her face between the thighs of a drow mistress who was thoroughly enjoying the dutiful labors of her tongue.
"Oooh," the drow sighed. "Your slave really knows her place."
Toranel - who, brazenly, had given her
own name
as a pseudonym for the night - was no doubt smirking underneath her disguise. "Thank you," she said to the drow in the sapphire mask. "I've made sure to train her well." She punctuated that remark with a slap to Aldrisa's ass, almost certainly just to hear her slightly muffled yelp.
"Mmm." The drow gently pulled her head away. "That's enough for now, pet."
Cool fingers caressed her face, brushing at her cheek, as the drow mistress gazed down at her with something like kindness. "You know," the drow breathed, "you're an absolutely marvelous creature."
Toranel had wandered off and thus did not see Aldrisa squirm under the compliment. Instead, she was inspecting some of the toys on display. "Hey, Sapphire," she called out to the drow, pointing to a set of heavy metal implements, "what're these?"
"Hm?" The drow looked up. "Oh, those are for special occasions and particularly recalcitrant males. I had them made custom. You've got good taste," she said, grinning. "Now that I think about it," she continued, looking down at Aldrisa, "there's a few things I'd like to see this one wearing." She patted the elf girl's head one last time before getting up. "Stay here for a bit, girl. I need to fetch some things."
Aldrisa had arrived at the Masquerade wearing a humiliatingly large phallic gag, something she'd chosen specifically because it would help her blend in with the depraved festivities and
absolutely no other reason
. The drow calling herself Sapphire had removed it in order to better enjoy her sapphic attentions, leaving only the slave collar. Now, after bustling around her shelves and crates of toys, she selected a dark red ball gag and fastened it in place, cooing delightedly. Accompanying it were nipple clamps of delicately wrought gold, featuring small gemstones - rubies? - dangling from tiny chains. Muttering something about matching hair colors, the drow finally decided on a set of pigments from a makeup kit which she then began applying to Aldrisa's face.
"And a touch here...there we go." Triumphantly, Sapphire grabbed a mirror and spun it around. "Look what an improvement I have wrought, my girl."
Aldrisa couldn't stop staring at herself. She looked like a whore. A very refined whore, to be fair. The drow's skilled hand had very expertly, very subtly enhanced her features. Her eyelashes were a bit darker than she remembered, more lustrous. The rest of her face was lightly touched. Due to her line of work, Aldrisa herself never really bothered with cosmetics, so it was hard for her to identify the specific flourishes that the drow had made beyond the most basic aspects of the foundation. It didn't help that the scents of the Masquerade, all heady incense and naked eroticism, were driving her to distraction.
What she definitely noticed was the lipstick, a brilliant shade of red that managed to complement both the ball gag and her own red hair. It was beautiful, and it made her look like a high-class courtesan, the sort who might be invited to society events by a wealthy noble but who would nonetheless end the night getting fucked silly in her customer's bed.
"So beautiful," the drow murmured. She turned to Toranel. "I'll buy her. Name a price."
Suddenly alert, Aldrisa flashed a warning look at her second-in-command, who, to her credit, responded immediately. "She's not for sale," Toranel calmly replied.
"I have gold." The drow hefted a clinking purse. "Or perhaps you would like something else?"
Toranel strolled over to where Aldrisa still knelt in front of the mirror, seemingly lost in thought. "Hmmm." A hand absently reached out to stroke her hair while her second-in-command considered the offer.
Toranel, you fool. Don't do anything stupid.
"Here's an alternative proposition." Toranel's hand had drifted so that she could fondle Aldrisa's pointed elfin ear. "To hell with the price. You make her cum ten times in as many minutes, and she's yours for free."
What?!
"Oh, a challenge!" The drow's eyes practically sparkled with glee. "The conditions?"
"It has to be you who makes her climax, of course. No bringing in a team of orcs to help. Although," her voice took on a mischievous bent, "there's nothing stopping you from doing that ten minutes from now. If you succeed."
"My friend, you've got yourself a deal. Let's get her prepared for the contest..."
Several positions were considered and rejected. Aldrisa finally found herself restrained on her back atop what appeared to be a specially designed bench with cuffs near the floor for her hands and feet. Arms above her head, legs spread, back arched, and every inch of her body exposed, the overall effect was one of complete helplessness. Her collar, too, was secured so that she could barely raise her head to see the drow rummaging through a nondescript chest.
"Found it." A crystal vial was now in the drow's hand, sloshing with some thin purple liquid. "I call it the Fool's Pleasure, bought it off some alchemist. This," the drow twirled the delicate vessel between her fingers, "isn't an aphrodisiac in the usual sense, it doesn't actually create lust, though one of the side effects of long-term use is increased sensitivity. Helpfully for our contest, the elixir simply decreases the amount of time needed to achieve climax." She sauntered back to where Aldrisa lay bound. "I typically use it to punish my male slaves when I'm feeling bored...although I'm sure it'll do nicely for this one." Pausing, she turned to Toranel. "This would be an acceptable aid for me, I hope? Not disqualifying?"
Toranel shrugged. "Sure, can't see why not." She'd found an hourglass, one of the smaller standardized ones that was in fashion, and was loading it with sand. "Ten minutes isn't that long at all. Go wild."
Dammit, Toranel.
