Editing Bride of Slaanesh (section)

== '''Part 3''' ==


Velina ran her fingertips through her raven-dark hair, watching as the warriors rounded up the prisoners. The men of the Empire were beaten and bloody, but not entirely stripped of their spirit. Several still railed curses and oaths at their captors. Evidently the reality of their situation had not sunk in yet. Bitter words would never spare them a life of slavery and pain in the towers of Karond Kar. Nothing would, short of a miracle from their wretched god, Sigmar.
 
But it amused the sorceress to watch them use up their impotent wrath. She enjoyed to see them break, loved to watch their spirits finally fading as the truth sank in, cold and unchanging.
 
As they filed past Velina in chains, flanked by corsairs in the black and crimson colours of House Venomspire, many of the new slaves turned to look at her. Velina’s dark-eyed gaze met each of theirs as she silently made her judgements. There, one with a strong back who might be useful for the iron mines. There, one who was likely too old for anything more useful than meat for the Cold One stables. And there, one with an admirable upper body he was almost certainly bound for work on the docks as a cargo slave. Velina’s family, like most of the noble bloodlines in Karond Kar, had an extensive fleet. Decent dock slaves were worth a great deal.
 
She had dismounted from Khurresh, her black pegasus, and the beast stood at her left shoulder, snorting with ill temper at the humans. Only an hour before, she had ridden the equine monster into battle against these wretches, falling from the sky like a thunderclap to kill the humans with flashing hooves, while she had unleashed an ash-tasting display of unholy magic.
 
Khurresh was a primal creature, feeling little more than fury in the presence of those it had been slaying a short time before. Velina chuckled at its restlessness and stroked the thick, greyish horn jutting from her steed’s forehead. She whispered soothing words in the vile tongue of her people, before turning back to the file of prisoners shambling past her.
 
And oh, how they hated her. Those who locked gaze with her stared with anger of their own, helpless as it was. But she was not blind. She saw what else whipped through their thoughts as they glared her way. It was clear to the sorceress even without reading their minds: they desired her. Even defeated, injured, exhausted and facing a life of tormented slavery… They wanted her.
 
The thought made her pulse quicken. By human standards, the black silk robe she wore was scandalous, with a plunging neckline displaying milk-white cleavage, thin enough to easily reveal the twin bumps of her fingertip-hard nipples under the soft material. While the robe reached her ankles, it featured long slits up both sides all the way to her hips, displaying her long, slender legs to delicious effect.
 
She revelled in their harmless spite, relishing their shameful lusts as well. Silly creatures, really.
 
One, however, showed a pleasing amount of backbone. As he passed, trudging in his shackles, he sneered in her direction and swore at her in his nasal bray of a language. Khurresh stamped an iron-shod hoof. Velina smiled to the angry slave and calmed her steed with a touch of her hand down his nose. She spoke little of the human tongues, but enough to know the slave had named her a whore and accused her of mating with her pegasus.
 
She gave him a girlish smile and a dignified curtsey. He had, after all, guessed well.
 
Without warning, he spat at her. With inhuman speed and grace, she caught the gobbet of bloody saliva on her tongue, swallowing it immediately with a purr. The human roared at her, and was cuffed to his knees by a corsair’s sword pommel. Velina smiled at the warrior’s fervour, and as the parade of slaves moved on, she blew a kiss to the human that had tried to offend her. He clenched his teeth and swore he would kill her one day. That also made her smile. She liked the passionate ones.
 
‘You are teasing the livestock, sister,’ said her brother Varien, as he stepped next to her. Varien was the youngest of the males in the family, though still older than her by several years. She did not speak with him much (for he was almost always away from Karond Kar, making war on the hated kin-scum of Ulthuan) but she appreciated the gifts he gave her each time he returned from one of his campaigns.
 
The last time he returned from the shores of their ancient homeland, he had offered her a necklace of ruby and silver that had graced the throat of a handmaiden of the Everqueen herself. Its value was beyond measure, and she had been at a loss how to thank him. As always, with his confident grace, he had merely smiled his proud smile and said no thanks were necessary. He loved to spoil her, he said. No more, no less.
 
She wore the necklace now. Her fingers toyed with a dangling ruby teardrop, one of three that hung between her breasts on an ornate web of silver chains. Despite the relic’s worth (a dozen noblewomen had offered enough coin to keep the bloodline’s fleet at sail for a decade) it amused Velina to wear the priceless trinket on the battlefield. She liked risk. It thrilled her.
 
‘The livestock…’ she smiled as she looked up at him. ‘Brother, why are you here? Is not this tedious raiding below you?’
 
His lips twisted into a bitter smile. ‘We both know it is. But many of my force are fresh blood. We are here to train them against easy prey before they face the trials of Ulthuan.’
 
Velian smiled and stroked her stoic brother’s cheek. ‘Your knights keep staring at me,’ she pointed out demurely.
 
‘And you love it, so don’t pretend to complain.’ He chuckled, moving her hand away with his gauntlet. ‘Sister, do not take one as a lover while we are away from Karond Kar. I want my men to focus on the battles to come, not on the promise that lies between your legs.’
 
She bit her bottom lip, half-shy, half-trying not to laugh.
 
‘I am serious, Velina,’ Varien warned. She nodded, still fighting the shy smile. ‘Take that slave as a lover. The untamed one.’
 
‘As you wish, brother.’
 
Perhaps she would. The thought had crossed her mind. As she mused over a way to go about it (would she let him mount her in front of the other slaves? The idea teased her imagination…) her brother asked something she had been expecting him to ask for over a month.
 
‘Your wedding night, Velina. I am sorry I missed it. But tell me something now: is it true that you and Xavaric…’ he trailed off.
 
She didn’t mean to smile. She couldn’t help it. Memories of the night and the morning after flashed through her mind, forcing the smile to her lips. With dawn, the ritual was over, the offering complete, and her husband had faded back to the hell realm from which he’d been summoned. Yet Velina and Xavaric had stayed within the chamber together until the early afternoon.
 
‘Is it true that Xavaric and I…?’ she asked teasingly.
 
Varien was not one to be teased. ‘Has he ridden you?’
 
Velina could never lie to him. Her plum-dark lips shaped into a lovely smile, she nodded. ‘He has.’ She felt her heart hammering as she looked up into Varien’s eyes and confessed. ‘He has… And…with great vigour.’
 
Varien said nothing. Velina asked softly, ‘Jealous, brother?’
 
Varien snorted and turned away, striding back to his gathered knights as they sat astride their Cold Ones. Velina’s smile was all for herself.
 
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Jealous.’
 
Velina was many things: a promising sorceress; an honoured priestess in the Cult of Pleasure; a skilled staff-fighter and (usually) a dutiful daughter. As the only daughter of the bloodline, she was a treasure to the house and family, adored by her nine older brothers and seen as a potent political asset by her parents. Her role in the ritual the previous month as the Bride of Slaanesh had bolstered her bloodline’s fortunes and status immeasurably.
 
She was, however, extremely wilful. With the knowledge she would be forgiven for an army of sins, Velina was used to getting her way first and arranging her false apologies later – if they were even necessary.
 
So when her brother warned her not to take one of his knights as a lover, it took her less than six hours to ignore his wishes completely. She lay in her small chamber aboard her brother’s ship, the grand reaver vessel Wrath of the Forsaken. And as she lay on her bed, watching the moon rise through her open window, she made the decision to ignore her elder brother’s commands. His reasons made no sense, anyway. She told herself that again and again as she left her room, barefoot and robed in a near-transparent violet silk nightgown.
 
The five-strong regiment was called, in typical melodrama for her brother Varien, the Spiteful Vigil. The Spiteful Vigil took its name from their ceaseless raids on the coast of Ulthuan, where Varien was forever engaged in doing what harm he could to his people’s former kin.
 
It was a war Velina herself was keen to join. She’d never seen a High Elf die, never tasted their blood on her lips while one thrashed under her dagger in its throat. It was one of her favourite fantasies. She’d been daydreaming about it an hour before. Her fingers were still scented of the musk between her legs as she’d stroked herself while imagining it.
 
And tonight’s amusement would win a few more voices to her favour. The next time Varien set sail for a real war, there would be more cries of support for his sorceress sister to stand with them on the shores of Ulthuan. She smiled at the thought, and made her way down to the cargo hold, ignoring the common sailors that stared after her, paying no attention to how they leered at her slim, ghost-pale figure in the gauzy nightdress.
 
The cargo hold was dark, lit only by the moonlight falling in through the closed ceiling grates. Her silent footfalls took her through the slave pens, where she paused only long enough to greet the slavemaster politely. It was Halath, one of her brother’s knights. Still in his battle armour, she noticed.
 
‘Bored, Lady Velina?’ the slavemaster asked, inclining his head at the male slaves chained to the wall. His voice betrayed his good breeding, and that was to be expected, for watching over a raid’s slaves was not a job to be left to a peon.
 
She didn’t answer at once. Her glinting eyes swept slowly across the row of tormented men, until she saw the one that had spat at her. He scowled, no doubt believing his expression made him look fierce. Chained to a wall and clad in bloody rags, he looked nothing more than ridiculous to the sorceress.
 
‘Yes, Halath. Extremely bored. But I am only down here to tend to my steed.’
 
Halath was noble-born himself, and inducted into the Cult of Pleasure three years before. He had been at Velina’s wedding night, and still thought often of her performance. But his father had pressed him into guard duty that night, and he’d witnessed the entire ritual without getting to touch her once.
 
‘As you wish, Lady.’ He took a risk then, knowing it might offend her but certain it would be worth the danger. ‘If…you need me, just call.’
 
Velina worked her dark lips into her sweetest pout, looking up at him with her fingertips on his breastplate as she stood on her tiptoes.
 
‘What are you insinuating, dear Halath? Hmm?’
 
Halath swallowed. ‘Nothing, Lady Velina. Nothing at all.’
 
‘You are thinking powerful thoughts,’ she whispered into his lips. ‘I sense them. What would they be? Don’t make me come in there and steal them from you. Speak them and appease my curiosity, hmm?’
 
He knew she was perfectly capable of it. And he knew she would do it on a whim if she cared to.
 
‘I was simply recalling you wedding night last month,’ he said, proud of how he kept the tremble from his voice. ‘You did your bloodline much honour.’
 
She kissed him. Not as a lover, but as a friend might kiss another friend, on the cheek, the barest brush of her lips. ‘Keep dreaming of me, dear Halath. Tonight, though? Come to the stables in…say, ten minutes?’ She stroked the tip of his nose, lowering herself off her tiptoes. ‘I will need your help.’
 
He cast a glance at her pert backside as she walked on. The nightdress really hid nothing. It was like staring at a white peach in tight violet silk. Velina smiled to herself as she moved through the lower deck of the ship. Her trap was baited. Halath’s passions were up. Turning another corner, she reached the part of the hold which had been converted into the stables.
 
It stank. The smell was thick and pervasive; bestial, reptilian, with the tangy scent of the poisons leaking from the Cold Ones’ scaled skin. A row of stalls held the slumbering Cold Ones, their great bodies motionless except for slow, heavy breathing. Velina passed them (but not before checking to see each huge beast was chained to its own steel post) and moved down to the horses.
 
The dark steeds snuffled and whickered at her approach, as if in greeting. She cast a glance over her shoulder, then stepped into the largest of the horse stalls, her bare feet crunching on the straw. Khurresh, her beloved pegasus, snorted to see her. Its red eyes focused on its mistress and it shook its batlike wings, clearly hoping to be led from this constricting place.
 
‘I know, baby,’ she soothed her mount, running her fingertips down his horn and along his nose. ‘I know, I know. You’ll fly tomorrow, I promise.’
 
The beast was ill-tempered, stamping its hooves and tossing its head gently. Velina tongued her front teeth, almost abandoning her intentions. A glance under Khurresh’s stomach dissuaded her from changing her mind, though.
 
‘Hush, Khurresh,’ she kissed his nose, her heart pounding behind her ribs. ‘Shhh, now. Let me say sorry for keeping you trapped here.’
 
Velina moved into the stall, her tongue making a slow circuit of her lips to moisten them. Khurresh was just a beast, but it was trained enough to know what was coming. It was not the first time its mistress had done this.
 
The sorceress sank to her knees in the straw, shedding her mist-thin robe and kneeling naked beneath her pegasus. The cold air coupled with her own wickedness hardened her chunky nipples, and she breathed deeply at the rising, pulsing tingle between her legs. With trembling hands, she reached to take the heavy weight of Khurresh’s arm-length member.
 
Her head came up.
 
Her mouth opened.
 
And Velina sucked
 
She was, in all ways, a selfish creature. It was not within her to please others with no hope of pleasure herself.
 
The times on evenings past when she’d done this, when she’d hefted the considerable weight in her hands and let her lips and tongue do their wicked work, she had been enticing Khurresh on for her own gain, not for the pegasus’ satisfaction. Once its shaft was tough enough and the beast was stamping and snorting with the frustrated need to release, Velina would always slow down, lapping at the dark meat of its cock like she was tasting some delicious fruit with a hundred gentle licks. It drove her steed into a skittish temper, and that was exactly how she needed him. Once Khurresh’s primitive mind was afire with its base passions, Velina would get what she wanted.
 
She always needed help, of course. Household guards would lift her, hold her in position. Some nights, if she was feeling generous or lost in sensation, she would let them touch her as they held her, and kiss them while Khurresh grunted violently, its powerful thrusts making her eyes water and ensuring she’d be walking with a limp for several days.
 
Even supported by her loyal family guards, Velina could never take all of Khurresh’s shaft inside her. She was slender and young, and a metre of arm-thick horseflesh would be her end as surely as an arrow in the heart on the battlefield. She was, however, trying harder each time. She was up to a foot last time she tried: twelve inches of stinking, pounding meat that threatened to split her in two and flooded her insides with great gushes of salty beast-seed.
 
Her parents would be so proud.
 
Tonight was different, though. As she knelt beneath her mount, each kiss bringing it closer to its bestial frustrations, her tongue tracing Slaaneshi runic patterns on its hot, dark flesh, she was merely biding her time. Velina had known her brother’s companions for many years. She’d heard tell of their tastes from bribed servants, from other lovers among the Cult of Pleasure, even from household slaves she’d forced into speaking after the Spiteful Vigil had stayed within the family tower.
 
It had been one of her own household guards that confessed Knight-Lord Halath often asked about the evenings Velina spent pleasuring her pegasus. She planned to make that little slice of research pay off tonight. Ten minutes, Velina had told him. Ten minutes before Halath was due to come into the stables to aid her.
 
Velina heard his footsteps enter the stable, hearing the clink of his spurs. It had been no more than five minutes, surely. The knight was keen.
 
The sorceress hummed a druchii lullaby as she sucked, a wordless version of a song sang by mothers to pray their children were not taken on Death Knight by the Brides of Khaine. She hummed, she sucked, she licked, utterly uncaring of how the vibrations from her lips and tongue sent thrills through her mount’s muscled form. Velina’s mind was elsewhere.
 
‘Busy, Lady?’ Halath’s voice came from behind her. She kept her eyes closed, turning her head slightly so he could see her mouth open wide, lips pressing down on the animal’s flesh. Her answer was a gentle, distracted ‘Mmhmm’ as she sucked.
 
He made no effort to leave. Velina continued for a several more seconds, theatrically sucking now, making soft, wet noises. Finally she stopped, planting one last kiss on the beast’s shaft tip, and looking over her bare shoulder at the knight. Halath stood at the entrance to the stall, arms crossed over his breastplate.
 
‘Can I help you, sir knight?’ she asked, sweet as sugar, her tone as false as it was adorable. The straw she was kneeling on was making her legs and ass itch now. She’d be glad to leave here.
 
‘You were the one to summon me. I came as requested.’
 
Velina licked her lips thoughtfully, taking away the last of Khurresh’s taste. ‘That’s right, I did. How forgetful of me.’
 
With slow grace, she rose to her feet, still wearing only the moonlight that beamed in through the portholes. She padded across the straw, her hips swinging, loving how the knight’s eyes immediately dropped to her naked figure. Men. So weak.
 
She knew she was beautiful. She’d always known, from her childhood when older men would make the most inappropriate suggestions to the pretty young girl.
 
But she would have been surprised to know just how radiant she appeared to Halath. His gaze ran up her slender legs, his warrior’s eye taking in her muscle tone, seeing she was a keen rider despite her leisurely lifestyle. Her hips were slightly flared but still slim, and it took great effort to force his attention away from her mound, topped as it was by a neat V of silky black fur, shaved and trimmed with loving precision. He smirked as he wondered if the V shape was merely to accentuate her form and point between her legs, or if it was in honour of her own name. Knowing Velina, likely both.
 
Her breasts were large for her kind but not out of proportion with her slender form. They bounced softly as she walked, the barest movement, her wine-red nipples poking out proudly. She rested a hand on her hip as she stood before him, unashamed at her own nakedness. Loving it, in fact.
 
‘Did you know,’ she asked casually, ‘that my beloved brother warned me I was not to seek any of the Spiteful Vigil as a lover?’
 
Halath nodded. ‘We were similarly warned.’
 
‘I know Varien. I imagine your warning was less polite than mine. He is awfully…possessive, sometimes.’
 
Halath nodded again. ‘Yes, he did drive the point home with some colourful expressions.’ The knight smiled, not rising to her bait. Varien had actually said “If any one of you lays a finger on my sister’s skin, I’ll feed you your own eyes and piss in the empty sockets.” But Halath kept a diplomatic silence on that. Velina was already a spoiled bitch. He didn’t want to fuel her irritating vanity, he just wanted to enjoy the Venomspire’s delicious daughter and have a story to tell others afterwards. Already, he was dwelling on thoughts of the performance she’d so obviously arranged for him. Little Velina, sucking on the dirty cock of a great beast of war. He shivered involuntarily. She was perfection.
 
‘And do you intend to obey my brother, Halath?’ she looked up into his eyes as she spoke. He found his throat tightening. She was beyond pretty or attractive; this close, her beauty was devastating.
 
‘The young sorceress of my commander’s bloodline makes it difficult to resist.’
 
‘You are lucky I am feeling merciful. I can make it so much more difficult.’
 
Halath performed a mocking courtly bow. As he rose, her fingertip pressed to his lips.
 
‘Halath of the Spiteful Vigil, if you want what you see before you, come to my chamber at the chime of midnight. Now nod if you understand.’
 
The knight nodded Velina’s fingertip stayed where it was, and Halath smelled a heady mix of horseflesh utterly overpowered by her own feminine scent. She’d been stroking herself… The realisation made him breathe deeply, inhaling her, and that made her smile in turn.
 
‘Do not worry, my brave knight. My brother will not hear of this.’ With those words she turned to leave, picking up her nightdress as slipping it down over her body as if it offered any protection from watching eyes. She spoke as she walked away, glancing over her shoulder.
 
‘Come to me at midnight, and be sure to bring your whip. You will…have a mount provided for you.’
 
Velina smiled to herself as she made her way back up to the top deck. There, she would seek out Jeddis, the second of her brother’s knights, the one charged with the honour of bearing the regiment’s banner. He would be on watch at the ship’s prow.
 
One down, she said softly, thinking of Halath and his midnight arrival.
 
One down, three to go.


[[Category:NSFW]]   [[Category:Stories]]  [[Category:Warhammer Fantasy]] [[Category:Chaos]]