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Thielwen's Dream

Thielwen groaned as she staggered into her chambers. When she clutched her belly, it was not, as had been the case recently, to feel for the life growing in her womb - but rather, to cradle her grumbling, discontent belly. She really shouldn't have risen to Lutra's teasing... spicy food just did not agree with her, a fact she was perfectly well aware of, and tonight's dinner had been eye-watering indeed. The Palace Chef was experimenting with some kind of dried jungle-fruits that had arrived on a ship from the Southern Continent, and become an instant hit amongst the refined palates of Mosvaruch. It had been tasty, oh yes, no question about that, but it had also burned.

Of course, the expansive dinner-table had held several other, less fiery dishes as well, but Lutra just had to start snickering about how she hadn't expected her to be a 'picky eater', what with the way she normally used her mouth... ugh. She should've just eaten one of the milder dishes with quiet dignity. She was good at quiet dignity. Instead, she'd wound up competing with the grinning Otterkin as to who could eat the most of the spicy soup without reaching for a glass of water. She had won, too, as she'd known she could - Lutra did not have her experience in tolerating pain - but it had been a pyrrhic victory indeed, and she feared that her first visit to the toilet in the morning might test even her pain-threshold.

For now, though, she needed to rest and let her body reluctantly digest its way through the smoldering contents of her stomach. Her after-dinner plans were officially canceled, she decided - an early night was in order. Closing the door behind her, she pulled off the simple dress she'd worn to dinner, relieved that her now-canceled plans meant she wasn't wearing anything else underneath it - she could just slip right under the covers of her big, luxuriously-soft bed and lay her head down on the pillow, breathing deeply and willing her body to relax, rest and recuperate.

It was dark all around her. Dark and cold. She felt dreadfully alone. Looking around, though, she saw shapes moving in the darkness, moving towards her. They did not feel friendly... indeed, there was a quiet malice in those shadows. Not the kind driven by immediate, fiery anger, but the slow, aged sort of hatred, the kind that built up over years and decades. As they got closer, she began to see them clearly, even though there still seemed to be no source of light, and when she slowly realized that she recognized them all, she fiercely wished that she was still alone in the darkness...

Right in front of her stood a pair of burly centaurs, their hides marred by harness-marks and their flanks lined by whip-welts. They had pulled the Royal Carriage that she had sometimes ridden in when she was young, along with the rest of her family. Next to them, a handful of humans wearing simple, white smocks were standing, clustered together - all of their faces vaguely familiar. She'd seen them moving around the old palace, sweeping floors and washing windows, cleaning the tables after a banquet, or weeding the plants in the expansive palace gardens. On their shoulders, she could see the edges of the whip-marks that had 'encouraged' them to see to their labors. She knew that there would be many more down the length of their backs. She had, herself, watched one of her sisters punish one of them, after he had brought her a lukewarm drink.

And there, on the other side, a proud Griffon, the feathers behind his beak bearing visible bridle-marks, and his belly scarred by spurs. Her Father had ridden that one on hunting-trips, she remembered. Next to him, a tall Lionkin, the fur on his neck thin where the collar had been, and the marks of a tight muzzle visible around his nose and mouth. She remembered him, remembered seeing the scars on his fingertips where his claws had been removed, and feeling slightly sick at the sight. An exotic pet, proudly shown off by a wealthy Baron that she had visited with her family.

Beyond him, it got even worse, and she felt the coiling horror in her chest grow thick and heavy. A pot-bellied Boarkin stood there, a silver knife and fork embedded in his shoulder, blood running down his chest from the wound. The accusation in his eyes made terrible memories flood back. A banquet at the house of a noble known for daring, exotic, innovative cuisine. Yes, she remembered... remembered wondering why a man with such a reputation would serve something as simple as pork-chops as the main course. They had been delicious, tender and succulent. It was only after the feast had ended that she heard some of the other guests talk about a tribe of pig-like Beastkin, and realized what she had eaten. She had fled to the nearest bathroom and stayed there for an hour while her stomach tied itself into knots. Now, though, she could taste it in her mouth again - sweet, succulent pork...

And yet, despite the rising gorge in her throat, the last one, furthest to the left, was somehow even worse. He looked vague and ghostly, a towering form clad in fur of black and white. His eyes gleamed like glass pearls, because that was exactly what they had been when she saw him - stuffed and mounted on a plinth, in her Father's trophy-room. One of the last, he had proudly told his hunting-buddies as they drank wine together. One of the last of the Badgerkin, fierce and ferocious warriors, now lost forever to the world.

Then, even as the nausea rose in her throat and the tears burned in her eyes, it somehow got worse. New figures appeared between the watchers, these even more familiar. Achidias was standing by the side of the two draft-Centaurs, looking down at the harness-marks with a deeply wrinkled brow. K'teshi was rubbing his beak sadly against the other Griffon's spur-lines. Lutra was holding the hand of the Lionkin, inspecting the scars of his declawing. She dared not look in the direction of the human slaves. She knew that any moment now, all of them - her dear friends and lovers - would turn and look at her, and finally see what she truly was, and they would despise her. They'd realize that she didn't deserve any of it, any of the warmth or the happiness or the pleasure, and they'd cast her out...

Overcome by the pain, she fell to her knees, hugging herself while the tears ran hotly down her face. No... it wasn't pain. Pain would have been a welcome distraction from this soul-tearing agony, this writhing mass of shame and self-loathing. She wasn't sure how long she kneeled there, crying and shaking. An eternity, or perhaps two? But then, a sound rose over her sobs, coming from somewhere behind. A sound of moaning, a sound of naked bodies colliding. A sound of pleasure and life. Hesitantly, she turned her head and wiped the tears from her eyes to look.

There, in the darkness, several beds stood under pillars of light. On each of them, Sayn, The Beastmaker, her Lady and Mistress... and on each of them, a different Consort. There she was, bent over the foot of the bed while Achidias mounted her. There, over the side with K'teshi on top. On her hands and knees in the middle of the bed, with Orichaniel clinging to her back. Tied to the headboard with silken ropes, while Lutra worked between her legs. Sitting astride Korlin's hips, bouncing up and down while the Kirin's slender-fingered hands toyed with her tits. On her back with her head hanging over the edge, upside-down and nearly covered by Slira's rear end as she worked her tongue and fingers into the Sirrush's cloaca. Even sitting, legs spread, on the edge in front of a barrel of water, with Aishee rearing out of it to bury her head between those thighs.

And yes, there she was - on her back, spreadeagled, with Thielwen herself laboring over her pussy, licking and sucking. The moment she recognized herself, there, all the images of the Beastmaker turned to face her at once, whispering from every mouth at the same time: "Do not forget what I taught you..." She blinked, and then she understood. The Beastmaker had taught her of sex, and the vast pleasures that could be found in it. From the simple, orgasmic joy brought about by stimulation of the genitals, to more complex pleasures that sprang from the mind, from acts of submission or humiliation or even from pain... yes... she remembered.

Turning around, away from the display, she saw the shadows that tormented her so again, and spread her arms. "Please, all of you!" She called. "I am not that person anymore! I have cast away the pride and arrogance of the Elves!" They looked at her, speculatively. "No pride?" They whispered back. She shook her head violently, then bowed it, leaning forwards to put her hands on the floor, leaning forwards until she could only see the darkness between her hands. "None..." she said, firmly. "And I will prove it with my body. Do whatever you please with me. Let me serve you in any way you desire. I will do so with a smile on my face."

She felt them, then, no longer standing in the distance, but clustered around her. Raising her head, just a bit, she could see hooves and claws and paws and feet in cheap, practical footwear all around her. More than there should have been. "You will serve us, yes..." the voices whispered, all around her. "All of us. Work off your countless sins." As she straightened up, she saw that there were far more than there had been. The knot of vaguely-familiar humans had multiplied into a horde, men and women alike, many of them faceless or nearly so - the entire servant-staff of the sprawling palace she had once called home. Beyond the two Centaurs who had pulled the Royal Carriage were all the other residents of the Royal Stables - from the starved-looking prize racers to the heavyset stallions who had been used to carry supplies to the palace kitchens and gardens. More Griffons, too - others that had been stabled at the palace for the use of swift couriers, and several that she remembered seeing ridden in an aerial race one time, their flanks deeply marked by riding-crops.

Even the Lionkin had been joined by a handful of other 'pets' - Wolfkin, Foxkin, Tigerkin, even a Birdkin with colorful plumage, all bearing the marks of captivity and abuse. And behind the Badgerkin, other figures loomed, even foggier - the vast, towering bulk of an Elephantkin, ivory tusks curving from his upper lip, and the broad-winged form of a Batkin who had once hung suspended near the roof of the trophy-room, ruby eyes glittering in the darkness, a frightful specter to a young girl. All gone, now. All lost. How could she possibly do enough, suffer enough, to make up for that?

Only the Boarkin, blessedly, still stood alone, looking down at her with deep-set piggy-eyes. Looking around at the others, he snorted loudly, snout vibrating. "My violation is greater than any. I claim her first." This, at last, was no omnidirectional whisper, but a gravelly voice coming from his throat only. The others, all around, nodded and stepped back, while he took a step forwards, glaring down at her past his bulging stomach. "The others will not soon be done with you..." he grunted, reaching down to wrap his thick sausage-fingers around her head. "And I will make sure that whatever they do to you, my taste will linger on your tongue through it all!"

His heavy hand pulled her head towards his groin, where a long, thick, pink cock with a strange, corkscrew-shaped head hung out from the thick flab of his belly and thighs. Fat, fat, fattened up for the slaughter, she thought maniacally as she opened her jaws. His cock smelled rancid, like old, unwashed bodies and stale sweat, but she eagerly welcomed it into her mouth, caressing it with her tongue. She could still taste it in the back of her throat - those sweet, juicy pork-chops - and anything, anything, was better than that.

She licked off the grime and the sweat, and whatever that slimy, bitter thing caught in the twists of his corkscrew head was. She pushed forwards, letting the long shaft into the depths of her throat, pushing, pushing, until her nose was lodged in the reeking, hairy skin-folds above its base, until all she could see was flabby pink skin. She could not breathe, her throat filled with hot, throbbing cock, but somehow she could still smell it with perfect clarity, the stench of someone who had been raised in a pen and whose first bath had come when his flesh was washed by the cook.

Two large, grimy hands gripped her head, held it firm, and moved it back and forth violently, plunging the corkscrew head repeatedly and roughly into her throat. She limply let him control her movements, focusing instead on her tongue, on licking and caressing every inch of the long, slick shaft as it passed through her mouth. After a bit, she heard a squealing sound from above, and felt something thick and hot begin to pour down her throat. Her head was immediately jerked back, leaving her lips wrapped around the last turn of the corkscrew head, while the thick, bitter seed spurted across her tongue.

She lapped it up and swallowed with glee, hoping that the sticky, salty-bitter slime would finally drown out that lingering taste in the back of her throat. "Enjoying the taste of me?" The gravelly voice asked from above, somewhat breathlessly, as the last few spurts scattered across her tongue and the throbbing head grew still again. With her mouth full, she could not speak, but she let her tongue caress the oddly-shaped edges of the head, picking up any stray traces of cum, by way of reply. A hoarse laughter resounded next. "Heh heh... well, either way, here's a second taste - a little something to wash it down with!"

The cockhead jerked again between her lips, and something thin, hot and acrid began to fill her mouth, rapidly drowning her tongue in its sour flavor. She swallowed it, swallowed his piss, just as eagerly as she had swallowed his cum. She felt the warmth flow down her throat, down her gullet, to settle in her stomach. Once the flow stilled, she once again let her tongue dance, quickly giving his cockhead yet another thorough cleaning. As he pushed her head away, clear of the shadow of his pot-belly, she smiled up at him, as she had promised.

He grunted and let go of her head, then turned around and bent over. His thick fingers now dug into his flabby rear instead, pulling his ass-cheeks apart and exposing the small, wrinkled hole right beneath the curly tail. "Time for dessert, then!" He rumbled, and she eagerly dived forwards, pushing her face into the gap, smelling the rankness of well-aged sweat. She lapped hungrily at the hole, caressing and massaging the sphincter, relaxing it... so that she could push her tongue into the center, deep as it could go, squirming around in there while her lips continued to stimulate the sphincter itself.

He let her continue until his asshole was thoroughly clean, and only then pushed her away and turned back around. Hands on his hips, he grinned down at her. "Now, THAT is how you eat a Boarkin... and don't you forget it!" She smiled broadly up at him, and whispered "Thank you..." even as he stepped back and melted into the shadows. Her mouth was thick with the taste of bitter cum, sour piss and unwashed ass - but there was nary a memory left of the taste of well-roast pork-chops.

The others were closing in around her again, but the humans reached her first, many dirty hands grabbing for her limbs, for her hair, pulling her forwards. "We want her next!" They called in a single voice. "Before you all stretch her too far to be any fun..." She let them pull her to her feet, stumbling along, her hair covering her eyes. When she lost her balance and fell to her knees again, it was on churned-up dirt. Looking up, blinking, she saw that she was in a forest-clearing. A large bonfire burned in the middle of it, and the humans were clustered around her, pulling her closer. There was a stench of blood and death in the air, and she could see from the shadows that there was a great light-source somewhere behind her and to the side - like a burning city, for example. She did not dare to look back, or indeed beyond the circle of the firelight at all.

They pulled her in, grabbing at her body, manhandling her, leering and grinning. Rough-spun brown trousers were pulled down and cast aside, revealing a selection of unwashed erections, some of them bearing warts, sores, or other signs of the sexual diseases that were rampant, and largely untreated, amongst the slaves. She felt fear, revulsion, confusion, horror, disgust, grief... and she let it roll through and over her and away. She was no inexperienced virgin, not anymore. She knew the ways and means of sex, knew her own body and its few limitations. There was nothing here to scare her, nothing she had not already mastered.

So she did not cry, or struggle, or fight, or scream. She served them willingly, putting her body at their disposal, encouraging them to use her freely. She pulled her flat buttocks apart so that they could enter her ass. She bounced up and down on warty cocks, begging them to fill her womb with their reeking cum. She sucked and licked anything that was put before her, be it an unwashed cock, a sweaty ball-sack, a reeking asshole, or a wet pussy that smelled like spoiled fish. There were women too, she vaguely realized - their faces a vague memory of maids and kitchen-hands.

Only one of them had a clear face - she remembered, suddenly, seeing the woman stagger out of one of her brothers' chambers, uniform in disarray and tears on her cheeks. And later, being pulled wide-eyed into a broom-closet by the same brother. She'd paused outside it, too young to understand, listening to the whimpers, the groans, and the muffled cries until she'd fled in terror. Later, she'd been hiding in a stairwell while the woman cried on the floor, rolled up in a ball, while her brother whipped the clothes right off her back, shouting that she was an 'ungrateful whore' who should have been proud that he gave a mere human such attention. She had not seen the woman again, except at a distance, carrying heavy sacks of feed in the stable. She'd gotten a new shirt, but there were scars on her arms as well.

Now, she was looking up at that same face - a beautiful face, twisted in an expression of hatred, long nails digging into her scalp and pulling her into a hairy crotch. There were whip marks there, too. She was moving her ass in little circles while her tongue worked, pleasuring a man beneath her and another behind her. Her nose was buried in the woman's bush, the smell dense and cloying, while her tongue worked busily - applying every trick she'd learned in her quest to master the noble art of cunnilingus. But while the woman's slit grew moist and soft under her tongue, filling her mouth with fresh, heady juices, there were no orgasmic contractions, and no softening in the woman's twisted grimace.

"You want me to feel good, little Princess?" The woman whispered harshly down at her, eyes hard. "You want to pleasure me, and earn my forgiveness?" She nodded, unwilling to abandon her labors long enough to speak. The woman's face twisted into a mocking grin. "Then you will have to take my pain unto yourself first. Until that is gone, I can feel no pleasure." She nodded again. The woman's grin grew wider. "So be it, then... take it! Take it all!"

She flinched as she felt the whip crack across her shoulders and back. More blows followed soon behind it, raining down on her back, leaving burning lines of pain behind. She kept her hips moving, kept her tongue moving, impaling herself on the cocks behind her, pleasuring the woman before her, even as the blows switched to her ass, painting it with criss-crossing lines. It wasn't like the paddle in the Beastmaker's hand, it wasn't a game, there was no gentleness behind those blows, no give, no mercy. They were designed to hurt her, to bend her, to make her submit.

Looking up, she watched the scars that marred the woman's bountiful breasts and flat, muscular stomach disappear, even as pain exploded across her own tits and belly. Her hands were on the woman's thighs, steadying herself while she worked, and she felt the marks on those long, shapely legs disappear as well, only to lash across her own bony thighs. Finally, the rough lines she could feel against her tongue, even against her nose as it rubbed against the skin hidden by the freely-growing bush of brown pubic-hair, disappeared as well. The pain exploding through her groin nearly made her buckle, but above her, the woman leaned back her head and moaned in orgasm, emitting a gush of clear liquid into Thielwen's busy mouth.

Her hands, however, remained closed around her head like a steel trap. She kept licking while the woman recovered from her climax, and then laughed with real delight. "Nicely done, Elf! I guess you are what your brother would have called a grateful whore!" Then she opened her bladder, filling Thielwen's mouth with hot piss, which she dutifully swallowed. It was not the first time she sampled that taste around that fire, and it did not seem likely to be the last.

While the woman released her and disappeared, the party continued. The men drank from clay bottles and sang rude, raucous songs while waiting their turn, and she was passed swiftly from hand to hand, always eagerly and unhesitatingly servicing whoever grabbed her, egging them on with her finest dirty-talk. Her pussy and ass were soon dripping with cum, and more of it filled her belly, along with several more bladderfuls of piss. Even so, she kept going, kept pleading with them to slam their hips into her ass, to fondle and squeeze her tits, to fill her, use her, pound her, fuck her. The whip-marks now covering her body continued to ache. The web of them that covered her buttocks flared with pain every time a pair of bony hips roughly rammed into them. The lines painted across her chest stung and ached when her breasts were manhandled. Her pussy sang out with pain for every thrust, every grind against a man's wiry pubic-hair. Still she persisted, calling on them to continue, to treat her roughly and not hold back...

Eventually, the fire began to die down, and the clay bottles rolled emptily beside it. The men and the women, one after the other, melted into the shadows of the surrounding forests. She heard sounds of laughter and song growing more distant, and found that she was alone by the dying embers. Her body ached, her holes in particular. Her stomach was full and rumbled and groaned. But the smell of blood and death had been overpowered by the smell of sweat and cum, so she breathed a sigh of relief and rested for the few minutes she was allowed, until the embers burned out and plunged her back into darkness.

As she opened her eyes again, she saw no more feet around her - only hooves, talons and paws. Looking up, she saw that she was surrounded by Centaurs and Griffons, and a whisper sounded from their mouths and beaks. "We will wait no longer. She must know our humiliation. She must know our pain." The Centaurs grabbed her with strong, rough hands, and lifted her up, then threw her into the air while Griffon-wings beat around her, lifting her higher. She felt that she was getting entangled in something - it wrapped around her limbs, around her chest, around her waist, tough and slightly elastic. She couldn't see what it was, until the darkness receded.

Then she saw that she was encased in a leather harness, one that restrained her arms and legs, her belly and her neck, and which ran between her breasts and below them, pushing them out. There was a bit between her teeth, keeping her head lifted and her tired jaws parted. She felt coarse hide against her back, a familiar sensation, and realized that she was strapped to the belly of a Centaur. His cock, long and thick, was buried in her sore asshole so deep that she could feel the edge of his sheath rub against her sphincter. With every measured step, she swung back and forth, bouncing against his cock.

Below her, she saw flat, nearly squared-off stones, set so tightly together that no weeds could grow between them. They seemed familiar and as she looked to the side, she realized why. This was the ancient capital of the Elves, the city she had been born and raised in! The buildings, just like she remembered them, beautiful and soaring, golden-roofed and gleaming. Elven citizens, richly dressed, walked the streets, often trailed by human slaves in rough garb carrying heavy bags or other burdens. Many of them stopped and stared as she was carried past them. Children often pointed and laughed. Her naked flesh, her humiliation, was on public display.

The Centaur kept cantering ahead, ignoring her, ignoring the watchers, ignoring the clatter of the carriage behind them. On and on they went, along the city's many wide avenues. Then he turned a corner, and she felt him shift above her, the chest becoming thicker and more muscular, the equine cock in her ass growing thicker and longer, pushing against the limits of her body, making her sphincter strain and twitch. They were off the avenues now, away from the soaring, golden-roofed houses. Long, simple buildings, dirty and often in a state of disrepair, dominated the roadside - slave-lodgings. The roads were gravel, and the Centaur's heavy hooves sent it scattering and flying, sometimes hitting her bare skin with a stinging impact. Humans lined the streets, looking tired and resigned, but they still had the energy to glare and spit as she rode by.

Past the gravel, the streets turned to dust and mud, splattering her as she was carried over it. The ride finally stopped in front of a dirty warehouse, and a group of slaves overseen by a whip-cracking overseer began to carry heavy sacks out to load on the Centaur's back. Each of them took the time to sneer dismissively down at her bound, mud-spattered body as they moved past. The Centaur ignored them, as he had ignored her for the entire ride. Hanging still, now, still impaled on his massive cock, she felt it jump and twitch slightly, and then a liquid warmth spread inside her strained intestines. The Centaur, it seemed, was taking advantage of his break to relieve himself.

Then the load was settled and tied down, and off they went again, riding through the muddy streets while she swung helplessly beneath him, feeling her intestines sloshing with hot piss. On and on, on and on, across mud and gravel and fitted pavements, the nature of the Centaur changing now and then, the equine cock always filling, blocking her ass. Always she was swinging back and forth, rubbing against it, not enough to get off, certainly not enough to get him off, but just enough to make her pussy glisten wetly for all to see. Drool dripped from her lips, around the bit which kept her from closing her mouth properly.

It seemed as if they were meant to cover every street in the sprawling city. On and on, on and on... the leather harness soon rubbing her raw, stinging painfully where it crossed her whip-marks. Her bladder ached and strained, until she had no choice but to empty it, pissing as she was carried through the streets, hearing laughter all around her. On and on, it was fatiguing, even hanging limply like that. Her arms and legs ached from being bent back and up around the Centaur's belly and chest, more when it was one of the big, broad-chested workers.

Then the road took her to the Hippodrome, with its vast, dusty track, and its stands filled with thousands of watchers, from the common Elves in the lower stands, to the nobles, waited on by human servants, under the colorful palanquins of the higher stands. The Royal Box gleamed golden, walled off from the rest. She could feel the Centaur's ribs against her back, but her buttocks barely touched his sunken belly. Then a snap sounded, and off they went, galloping along the track while the crowd roared.

She was being thrown back and forth with greater violence now, swinging by a foot or more as the Centaur stretched his legs. His cock wasn't too thick, but it was long and hard, and when she swung all the way back, his dangling ballsack would swing forwards to slap against her wet pussy. The tension that had built inside her with the long, slow hours of anal impalement was now rising, rising, growing until she came, moaning through her bit, orgasming in front of the roaring, laughing crowd. Then they crossed the finish-line and the Centaur stumbled to a half, breathing hard and gasping above her. A renewed heat and growing pressure spread through her belly as he, too, emptied his straining bladder into her.

Then off they went again, off the track, off the streets, out of the city, while her belly gurgled with every swinging motion. The Centaur above her was sturdier, now, and riding hard, crashing through the underbrush or making short leaps that sent her body back against his cock with jarringly brutality. Bushes, nettles, thistles swept past underneath her, scratching her body, her belly and her tits, leaving angry red marks that ached and stung and itched, but she could do nothing about it with her arms tied above her, locked in the harness that was steadily wearing her skin off.

They stopped in a clearing, and she saw that there were Griffons all around. "We've had our fun - she's all yours..." a gruff voice said from above. Then her back was pressed against soft fur and feathers instead of a Centaur's coarse coat, and the cock in her ass was shorter, pointier, with a large knot that swelled just inside her sphincter, locking it in place, sealing her shut. She was pressed fiercely back against it as the Griffon took to the air, up and away, until the trajectory leveled off and she found herself dangling in the air, looking down at the forest. The wingbeats above sent her swinging back and forth more violently than the Centaur's walks, and she felt the barb-like bristles of the Griffon's cockhead scratch against her overworked intestines.

Then they dived - and the chase was on, pursuing a deer through the woods, skimming the treetops. High branches whipped across her naked body and face, stinging like whips and leaving small leaves clinging to her sweaty, mud-spattered skin. Despite the pain, the rapid pace of the thrusts and the stimulating shape and texture of the Griffon-cock was lifting her towards a new orgasm - only for the growing mass of pleasure inside her to be shattered when a branch whipped between her spread legs, directly across her pussy, relighting and reinforcing the agony of the swollen whip-marks that still colored her labia.

The Griffon, meanwhile, had no such trouble, and she heard his keening cry from above as his cock throbbed inside her, adding thick spurts of hot, oozing cum to the gallon of piss that already filled her intestines. Then they were out of the woods, diving, diving, over the great, blue sea. They flew low over it, the Griffon's talons reaching down to draw white lines in the water, kicking up stinging, ice-cold sea-spray to pepper her body. Then they rose again, and she could see mermaids bobbing on the surface of the water, pointing up at her and giggling to one another. The climb pushed the Griffon's cock harshly into her again, filling her ass and adding pressure to the foaming, gurgling cocktail in her guts.

Then he dived once more, letting her swing forwards to watch the sea rapidly approach, his knot pulling painfully on her sphincter, making her ass deform and stretch outwards. He pulled up in the last possible second, the change of direction sending his cock surging forwards with bone-shaking force, even as her face, her tits and her swollen, cum-and-piss-filled belly dipped into the freezing sea, however briefly, sending a shock of agonizing cold through her even as bitter seawater flowed around the bit to fill her mouth. The mermaids applauded, enjoying the show, or perhaps just impressed by the Griffon's flying-skills.

She coughed and sputtered as they rose, the Griffon's powerful wings clawing for altitude, sending miniature shocks through her ass as she once again sat heavily on his cock. Once he was high enough, he dived again. And again. And again. Body drenched by freezing sea-water, the salt stinging in her wounds and in her whip-marks and in the harness-sores, coughing and spluttering to clear her nose and mouth, she came, shuddering, from the powerful thrusts and the constant tickling and teasing of the head-barbs. He wasn't far behind, and another heavy load of thick, hot cum pushed into her packed intestines, making her stomach-skin strain.

Up, up, into the air again, but now she flew away from the ocean, away from the forest, and back to the city. Dangling there, in the air, she was even more exposed than she had been in the streets. Everyone could see her, Elven Nobles and human slaves alike, as they looked up and pointed. They could see her pussy, see it dripping and throbbing with pleasure despite the red lines drawn across it by whip and by branch. They could see that she was no elegant princess, no, she was just a dirty, slutty whore, smiling through the bit between her teeth as the Griffon fucked her in midair, pounded her, made her cum again, made her guts twist and itch while she sprayed her orgasmic juices over the city.

Then they were off, away from the city, soaring over the land. Forests and lakes passed by beneath her, as she was carried from city to city, settlement to settlement, paraded before the entire Glorious Empire, while the leather straps began to draw blood from her abraded skin. More and more cum-loads filled her belly, until it swung heavily beneath her, dangling deeper than her tits, the skin marred by stretch-marks. It dragged along the ground when the Griffon landed, and bounced with every swing of her body as she was continuously pounded by the wingbeat-pace of the flight.

Finally, they flew beyond the land and sea, beyond the blue sky. Cold and weather-beaten, she was carried back into the darkness, and finally released from the harness to drop to the floor, where she quickly rolled over on her back, groaning. Looking down, she could see the marks, the welts, the bloodstains that the harness had left, on her limbs, on her alabaster skin, just like she had seen them on Centaurs and Griffons in her youth. With a content sigh, she laid down her head and watched as the last group gathered around her... the Beastkin, the pets and the trophies.

She felt a collar close around her neck, drawn tight, and a pull on the leash sent her scrambling to her feet. The insistent pull on the leash sent her stumbling forwards on stiff, sore legs, until finally she staggered face-first into a solid glass wall. Blinking, she saw that she was looking into a well-lit banquet-hall, filled with the cream of Elven society, her family included. They milled around, drinking from tiny glasses of strong, exotic drinks, and sampling the finger-food spread on the vast tables. The sight made her stomach rumble - she had only cum and piss to fill it with.

They were all pointing at a variety of glass display-cases standing around the hall, watching and laughing and swapping stories. Looking to the side, she realized that she, too, was in such a display-case, face and chest pressed against the glass. Her hips were pushed back by necessity, by her hugely-swollen belly. She felt a rough hand pull on her leash, tightening the choking-collar, and soft fur tickling her back and shoulders. She instinctively spread her legs, and felt a long, smooth cock slide into her pussy as the Lionkin mounted her, leaning over her, pressing her against the glass.

His face was next to hers, golden fur abraded where the muzzle had been, his breath misting the glass as he panted, as he bred her, while the audience drank from their little glasses and made idle conversation, watching and laughing. The bony spurs on his cockhead were rougher, harsher, bigger than the Griffons', tearing at her insides, mixing sharp lines of pain with the general pleasure. A scarred hand found her head, pushing it hard against the glass, and a rough, breathless voice whispered next to her ear. "How does it feel to be on display, then? To be nothing more than a showpiece, a parlor-decoration, a conversation-starter?"

She couldn't answer, could only moan in orgasm as she picked out familiar faces from the crowd. Her brothers, her sisters, her Father, surrounded by a coterie of women from his Harem, her mother among them, all clad in beautiful, elegant dresses. She heard the Lionkin groan, felt him slam his hips against her aching ass, felt his cum pour into her and fill her womb, and she looked around and realized that she was in all the display-cases, a different Beastkin sharing each with her, holding her leash, pushing her against the glass...

She was in the one with the Wolfkin, down on all fours, feeling his knot stretch her labia, sealing her snatch tight, ensuring that the hot, thin cum he pumped into her would stay there. He snarled as he continued to pound her. She was in the one with the Foxkin, on her knees, bent over as the leash and the collar pulled her into the red-furred crotch, her tongue dancing in the female Beastkin's pussy, then lower, to the tailhole, as the Foxkin leaned back against the glass wall, moaning. She remembered, now - seeing that Foxkin, her red fur freshly brushed, the collar on her throat gleaming with gemstones, being shown off by a fat old Count, who patted her on the head with obvious fondness, a glimmer in his eye. She remembered the beaten, hopeless look in the Foxkin's eyes.

She was in the one with the Tigerkin, back against the glass, legs wrapped around his waist as he railed her, his fingers digging into her ass-cheeks, letting her feel the scars on his fingertips. She held on to his neck and smiled up at him while he rammed his barb-tipped cock repeatedly into her, party-goers watching from several angles, surrounding the display-case. She was in the one with the Birdkin, kneeling behind her as she lifted her colorful tail, working her tongue into the moist cloaca, stimulating it with her fingers as well.

She was in the one with the Badgerkin, on her side on the floor, one leg in the air, held in a heavy, long-clawed paw, while he kneeled between her legs, pounding her with long, powerful strokes. His cock was thick and hard and hot inside her, but she could tell nothing else about it, nothing about its size and texture. His thrusts were making her swollen belly sway back and forth, and he growled at her while he fucked her, his glass eyes gleaming. "You will bear the children we will never have!" And she felt his seed boil into her, bubbling and seething like it was alive, invading her womb.

She was in the one with the Batkin, on her back, neck curving against the glass wall, legs spread wide and knees bent, holding them back with her hands while he covered her, leathery-furry, his face seemingly all nose and ears, both huge and fleshy and alien, while he panted above her. "Through your body, we will live again!" He hissed, showing long, pointy fangs, and filled her womb with more bubbling, surging sperm, furry loins moving jerkily.

And she was also in the biggest of the cases, the one that barely contained the gigantic bulk of the Elephantkin, held in a huge fist, pushed down on top of a massive, gray cock the size of her thighs. Her legs dangled uselessly beneath her, barely reaching past his knees as she was fully impaled, filled, stretched beyond measure. Her labia were strained into a thin line in order to reach all the way around the thick base of his cock, and she felt her ribs creak as they struggled to contain his tip. He bounced her up and down on it, each stroke more than two feet in length, her body and limbs shaking with each violent impact. He was not so much fucking her as simply using her limp body as a living masturbation-aid. She smiled shakily up at the huge, gray head, drawing shuddering breaths whenever his cock wasn't squeezing her lungs flat. "Your body creates life! Life we no longer have!" He trumpeted, and she felt her womb strain and stretch as a massive deluge filled it.

At the back of the hall, there was a wide, flat display-case with an inscribed plaque in front of it, and most of the guests clustered around it. Far from throwing amused gazes while occupied with finger-food, drinks, and amicable chatter, everyone there was watching intently, reading the plaque, pointing at the contents, explaining it to each other. All the really important people were there, watching - the Royal Family front and center, flanked by various high-ranking Nobles whose faces she vaguely recalled. And there she was, on her back, her legs spread wide and mounted in stirrups, her privates on full display, her back and head propped up on pillows so that she could see over her swollen belly.

Her belly was swaying and bouncing on its own, and inside, she could feel movement, lots of movement. She gasped as she felt her cervix pushed open from within, a fuzzy bulk filling her birth-canal, squeezing its way down. The fur tickled her, stimulated her, everywhere inside, making the pleasure rise. She came, spraying her juices across the inside of the glass, while her first cub was born, a tiny Lionkin still attached to his umbilical-cord, fur slick with slime and blood. A gray-furred wolf-cub followed, and a tiger-cub as well, and a fox-kit, red and white, and even a hard, thick-shelled egg. For each one she birthed, she moaned and came, thrashing orgasmicaly in front of them all.

Then a tiny badger slipped from her womb, his claws teasing the overstrained tissue as he emerged from between her labia. Behind him, a teeny bat, wings wet and wrinkled. Then her head flew back, her body convulsing, as she felt something huge and rough-skinned squeeze through her cervix, stretching and straining. It filled her entire birth-canal, made her hip-bones creak and bend, even as the trunk emerged from between her labia, sniffing at the air. Out it came, the elephant-calf, fighting for its freedom, pushing her open, stretching her beyond all reason, beyond any recovery.

As it finally rolled free and joined its many siblings on the floor, she knew that the audience could look straight into the yawning cavern between her legs, and up into the ruined vestiges of her womb, where a dozen umbilicals still connected. Sweat running from her brow, she closed her eyes and smiled broadly, knowing that she had not only earned some measure of absolution, but also undone at least a few of the evils of her people.

"Not yet..." said the voices from behind her, and she opened her eyes to see the three of them - the Badgerkin, the Batkin and the Elephantkin - standing behind her in the darkness. "Many more of our kin you must birth to restore us..." they whispered in unison. She nodded dreamily, blithely letting them pick up her body, and do with it what they wished. The pain, the humiliation, the ruination of her body, it was all a small price to pay, and she smiled happily at them as they filled her with their seed over and over, her belly growing rapidly again.

Dinner the next evening was pork-chops, with a delicate, herb-infused glaze. Thielwen looked at them for a moment, sighed, and poured salad on her plate. "Skipping the main course again, Princess Picky-Eater?" Lutra teased, leaning near, her own plate heavy with meat. Thielwen gave her a withering look, then sighed and shook her head. "I just don't like pork-chops. Haven't ever since I was a kid. And don't even think that you can lure me into some kind of eating-contest, I'm not going to fall for that one again..."

The energetic Otterkin laughed and leaned back in her chair. "Aw, you're no fun... but, hey, I wasn't gonna do something stupid like that again!" She grimaced. "I was a mess after you kicked my ass last night. Had to cancel some evening-plans, and I wound up having all kinds of crazy nightmares when I went to bed.Bleh! I like a bit of spice, but temperance in all things, right?" Thielwen laughed, spearing a bright-red cherry tomato on her fork. As she lifted it towards her face, though, she hesitated, a thoughtful look on her face.

"I think I had some weird dreams too..." she said, wrinkling her brow. It was all rather fuzzy and vague. "Weird and confusing." Then she grinned mischievously at Lutra, lifting an eyebrow. "Based on the state of my sheets when I woke up, though, I don't think it was a nightmare!" The Otterkin merrily laughed along with her, while they finished their respective meals. The salad, she decided, was really quite excellent, especially with the chef's newly-devised dressing, lightly spiced with Southern herbs.

At the end of the meal, she intercepted Silas as they crossed the hallway and reentered the Seraglio. "How's your bladder?" she asked him without preamble, and he lifted an eyebrow while wearing his customary, lightly-amused expression. "Half-full or thereabouts..." he drawled. "You looking for an after-dinner drink?" She grinned as they stepped through the door, into the garden, beautiful in the evening sunlight. Just a year or so ago, she would have blushed furiously at making such an overt statement. It was amazing what you could get used to...

"Not as such, no..." she said, pulling her lower lip. "I kind of had an... idea, that I want to try out. Call it an inspiration." The second eyebrow joined the first on Silas' brow, but he nodded readily. "I am at your service regardless, m'lady. And always happy ta learn somethin' new!" She grinned at him and gestured towards her chambers, then headed there with him trailing close behind her. She wasn't sure where the idea had come from, but now that it was in her head, she wouldn't rest until she'd tried it out... until she'd found out if it'd really feel the way she imagined it would...

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PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

Name: Thielwen Den'terra

Titles: Seventh Princess of the Royal House of Den'terra, Elven Consort to The Beastmaker

Age: 2000+ years (Culturally, Elves only keep track of birthdays up to 100, their age of majority. This may change in the near future.)

Sexual Profile: Fully Bisexual, with no apparent preference. Borderline Nymphomaniac due to centuries of pent-up sexual frustrations. Highly submissive and moderately masochistic. Particularly enjoys humiliation, with ass-licking and 'dirty talking' being favored methods.

Psychological Assessment: Thielwen likely suffers from long-untreated and unaddressed PTSD, grounded in her experiences during the Elven Civil War and the subsequent slave-uprisings. After so long, it is unlikely that anything can be done about it - the traits have been fully internalized into her personality, and the obvious symptoms have largely disappeared. Highly empathetic, she also suffers from a severe case of 'Elven Guilt', blaming herself for the many misdeeds of her species - a feeling that has clearly been magnified significantly by meeting and befriending members of other races. In combination, the two lead to severe insecurities about herself and her place in the world, though she appears highly adept at handling and hiding them.

Extrapolation: Her attraction towards submission and pain is likely founded in a subconscious conviction that she deserves to be punished, while her well-hidden lack of self-worth makes her feel more comfortable when she is entirely in somebody else's power, rather than having to think and act for herself. Her particular fondness of humiliation appears to be a part-subconscious, part-deliberate attempt to distance herself from her past, to become something as far away as possible from the Princess who watched quietly as her people subjugated, abused and murdered other races.

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