Queen Yavara: Chapter 16 by White Walls

A literotic sexstories: Queen Yavara: Chapter 16 by White Walls ,

I changed the way a few things happen here, but mostly it’s the same as the original. I’d like to reiterate that the main plot has not changed, but the way certain things happen do, especially later in the story.

Chapter SixteenPRESTIRA

They tortured me all day. Hours and hours, I begged like a whore for them to make me come, but they just drove me to the brink, then stopped. They injected me with more poison when they were done, worsening the torment tenfold. I humiliated myself just for a touch; not even a fuck, but a caress, a slap, a punch. Every part of me was electrified, my nerves raging beneath the flesh, my synapses overloaded with sensation. I wasn’t Prestira anymore; I told them as much. “My name isn’t Prestira, it’s Fifty-One!” I cried when they asked who I was. I pissed all over myself just because they told me to. I enjoyed doing it. I enjoyed the humiliation because it meant they were paying attention to me, feeling me, penetrating me. They pet my head and told me I was a good girl. They promised to reward me. They said they’d let me come if I did something for them.

They took me up to the captain’s cabin. They chained my wrist shackles to the floor and bolted my ankles shackles with them, forcing me into a squatted position. Master Timothy Two-Shot came over to me. I begged for his cock. He sneered, and like the wonderful master he was, he pulled out his stinking meat and smeared it across my face. I quivered with delight, aroused beyond description to be so degraded, to have his scent saturate my sinuses. When he finally pressed his tip to my lips, I nearly cried with relief. I took him with a desperation I’d never known, worshipping every inch of him with my lips, tongue and throat. I stayed pressed against his crotch, swallowing continuously, massaging him with the muscles of my neck as I slurped his base. He tasted like he hadn’t washed in weeks. I’d never tasted anything so decadent in my life.

“Well, well, Fifty-One, you’re feeling friendly, ain’t ‘cha?” He laughed, stroking my hair.

I nodded around my consumption, unwilling to relent even an inch of him. I’m just your filthy cum-slave, Master. Please reward me for being such a good whore!

“I have a special task for you.” Master Two-Shot said, “I need you to give a friend of mine some information. If you make her happy, she’ll let you come. Does that sound fun?”

I nodded excitedly, keeping Master’s meat in my mouth.

“That’s a good girl, Fifty-One. Now, I’m going to pull out, because you’ll need to answer some questions.” He withdrew, and I cried out in dismay. “Don’t worry girl,” Master said, soothing me back to complacency with a stroking hand, “we’ll fill up every one of your holes later.”

Master moved out of the way, revealing the body-length iron-framed mirror behind him. There was a woman’s face in the glass. She looked familiar, but I didn’t know from where. She was a high-elf, her hair nearly white, her lips sheened red, her hooped earring dangling from her pointed ears. She wore an extravagant cream dress split with a neckline that extended to her pelvis, revealing the enticing expanse of her silken belly, and the inner portions of her ample breasts. She could be my mistress if she wanted.

“Prestira Rasloraca,” the woman smiled kindly, “I’ve been waiting to meet you for some time.”

“She goes by the name Fifty-One now.” Master Two-Shot said to the woman.

“Oh,” the woman raised her brows, “I must commend you on your results, Captain. I thought her will would be stronger than this.”

“She was tough,” Master chuckled, “but they all break in the end. Ask her anything.” Master pulled out a chrome cone from beneath his desk. It had a dull point, and was about six-inches wide at its base, and nine inches long. He placed it underneath me, the cold metal point pressing against my hot anus. I shuddered. I wanted to sit on it, to have its full length inside of me, to feel it stretch me until I tore, but Master kept me in the squatted position, and I had to obey Master.

“Fifty-One,” the woman asked me, “do you know who I am?”

“Master’s friend.” I responded.

“That’s right,” she smiled, “but I’m also a friend of someone you know. Do you know Yavara Tiadoa?”

“Yes.” I said, barely containing my mounting arousal. Oh, the way the point felt against me, pressing into the delicate filthy flesh of my shithole, teasing the pain, the pleasure.

“Well I’m her sister, and I’d very much like to know what you know about her. Every time you tell me something I like, your master will let you sit a little deeper on that cone. Think of it as a game; do you like games?

“Yes!” I cried with need, my pussy dribbling nectar down my spread legs. I needed it!

“Good,” Mistress Leveria smiled, “where is Zander Fredeon?”

“With the Terdini at the Gorge.” I responded, looking up at Master hopefully. He pushed down on my shoulders, forcing the cold point hard into my center, opening me, entering me. I shuddered with delight, my rim stretching deliciously with the shaking depression of my squat. I could feel the strain now, the slow escalation of pain that made the pleasure so much greater. He kept pushing, and I kept moaning. Eventually I was screaming, opened beyond what I thought my limits were, but I’d been trained all day, and the poison that ran through my veins elasticized my vile exit. My head flung back, and I let out a euphoric squeal. Master stopped me half way down.

“Thank you Master!” I screamed.

I heard Mistress Leveria laughing. It was a sound that was simultaneously melodic and sardonic, like girl’s titter void of all compassion. Such cruelty she was capable of; oh, how I wanted to be the subject that cruelty! Her mirth waned, her lovely features relaxing back into their amused set, her blue eye twinkling with pleasure. Her hand had snaked beneath the hem of her dress, and she touched herself as she watched me. “What is your relationship with Zander Fredeon?” Mistress Leveria asked.

“He was my husband!” I cried, my thighs grinding together with need, their inner portions saturated with my secretion.

“Oh?” Mistress Leveria seemed surprised, “Then you must know everything about him.”

“Yes!” I cried, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”

“Why did he betray the Highlands?”

“He never worked for the Highlands! His only betrayal was that of Alkandi, and he’s been trying to fix it ever since.” I said rapidly, wanting to get this cone deeper inside me as fast as possible.

“How has he lived this long?” Mistress Leveria pressed.

“He was granted agelessness by Alkandi’s astral spirit! Alkandi hasn’t moved on, it’s why she keeps coming back!”

Mistress Leveria pondered that for a moment. “What is Zander’s greatest weakness?”

“Me!” I screamed desperately. Mistress Leveria nodded to Master, and he pushed down on my shoulders again. Oh, sweet pain, sweet pressure and pleasure! I lowered my head and watched the cone disappear into me, appallingly fascinated by the sight of my own defilement. How did I do it? How could I do this to myself? But I knew the answer, and the questions blurred from my mind as the inferno raged in me. Microtears formed in my rectum, sending felicitous bolts of agony deep in my nethers. I gritted my teeth against the whine that hissed from my chest, a plea with myself to stop, to keep going, to ruin my shithole until I died of the greatest torture a woman could know! I squatted deeper, voracious in my masochism, feeling the cold point part my tender innards and make way for the excruciation that followed. It pressed against my cunt from the other side, thinning the membrane between my holes until I thought it might rend. Master grew impatient, and pushed me all the way down. My face snapped to the ceiling, my eyes trembling and gaping, my ovoid mouth coughing on a scream I could not give voice to. My vision hazed red, my blood beat in my ears, and I was nothing, nothing but the purest note of sensation. Agony and ecstasy suffused, my insides ruptured and raped to uncover such heinous delights. I came down from the precipice with a screech, wracked with spasms, convulsing and thrashing like an animal. My anus was open and quivering with tension, crowning the metal base that I’d sucked so ravenously into my insides. Mistress Leveria gawked at me, her pinky finger tracing her agape mouth, her other hand doing its work beneath her dress.

“Fifty-One,” Mistress Leveria said though her groans of pleasure, “do you still love Zander?”

“Yes!” I moaned, “I never stopped loving him!”

“Would you kill him for me?”

“I could not! I would try for you Mistress, but I would fail! He’s too strong!”

Mistress Leveria narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said you were his weakness.”

“Because I’m the only one who made him forget about Alkandi.” My head was light, drifting through the stages of consciousness, “Because I was the only other one he ever loved.”

A thin smile curved across Mistress Leveria’s face. She nodded to Master.

Master pulled out a fistful of long thin glass rods. He ran the length of one through my slit, the tantalizing cold sating my heat, the glass surface smearing with my lust. I panted with need, my eyes begging, my bottom lip quivering. He grinned down at me as he slowly pushed the rod deep inside. I whimpered when it touched my cervix, the cold tip threatening to invade my deepest sanctity. He held it in place while he pushed another one to equal depth. The rods began to vibrate, and my splayed squatting legs began to tremble. Each rod he pushed inside only exacerbated the vibrations, sending shocks of pleasure deep into my nethers, through the channels of my sex and into the holy chamber within, desecrating even that. Soon, I was filled until my lover’s lips were stretched thin to hold their contents, and my pussy was quaking with the nine rods imbedded within, each one pressing against my bottom. So deep, so deep! My head fell between my shoulders, and my brow furrowed in concentration as I watched the lass rod slowly ascend into me. The bunch of rods left me gaping grotesquely, my cunt nearly a circle of birthing glass tips, each one leaking droplets of my detestable pleasure. A puddle was forming between my heels, running along the cracks in the floor and circling the base of the cone that pierced me. My vision was a monochrome of red, my mind a chaos of ecstasy so terrible that I thought I’d die of it.