Chapter 50. The Rape of Talagon

*Disclaimer*

This chapter contains bondage, torture, rape, sodomy, disembowelment, dismemberment, emasculation, cannibalism, blood, gore, and interspecies sex. If any of this offends you, don't read past the comments about ornamentation.

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The sun had not yet risen like a fiery ball with blinding light over the fortress home of Lord Talagon. Already the servants of the fortress had been up and working for hours. Upon seeing the master of the house up and about, the few who met with his presence had the forethought to avert their eyes so as not to meet his gaze. Those who knew him knew he'd not retired to his bed as yet. The last thing any seasoned servant in this employ wanted was to be noticed, for abuse always followed.

Talagon entered the room he arranged for his unappreciative 'guest'. Aware of the rumored legendary strength of harpies, he took no chances when he moved Della up from the cage in the cellar. The standard lightweight pine door was replaced with a heavy oak door re-enforced with spruce crossbeams. A slight gesture with his wrist over the doorknob assured their privacy. Another flick of his free hand set the high placed wall sconces aflame. He was not fool enough to grant a taste of freedom to the winged wench. Prior to her capture, Talagon had the masons in to block in the large windows that normally afforded the room with natural light. It would take an ogre to break out of this room now. The capture and training of a harpy was a long, planned out step in the process of his conquest of the goblin-held lands. The fact that his trap ensnared the King's own guard was pure icing on the cake. Icing he would happily lick off his own fingers.

He took a long sip from the goblet he was holding as he watched his captive regain consciousness. The harpy wasn't his preference as far as females went. True, her bosom was still full and sat high on her ribcage, but that was about it. Like most of her species, this one's face was harsh beneath the tangled bramble of long black hair and her figure was far too gaunt for his liking. Granted, he had a hand in the state of her condition, for which he held no regrets, but then seducing a harpy was not in the original plans. Now, after a successful soirée with the Lady Rosalind, Talagon thought that perhaps there should be a slight addition to the plans. He leered at the winged female, wondering if she were too weak to be~ interesting.

He took another taste of the mead, pushing aside the wince that his throbbing head wanted to inflict upon his features. He kept his face schooled, the cynical mask most Fae wore at any Seelie court event. It would not do to show his hand to this creature~ here no one had the upper hand on the Fae. He watched as Della stirred on the straw pallet that she shredded and rearranged to be more of a mound than a mattress. Sparkling jet eyes regarded him from the floor. He marveled that even now her eyes could be so intense and violent in their feral gaze.

"Isn't it a bit early for you." She crinkled her nose, imperceptivity reading his scent.

"It's earlier than you think. I've had a bit of a late night at your former employer's expense." He enunciated carefully, making sure not to slur a syllable.

Della sat up from her makeshift nest and stretched out her wings, one of which caught on the chain that linked her neck to the wall. The old fool was wagging its tongue again. She would have to suffer through his pompousness for yet another day. She doubted that he would let her out on a tether today, in his attempts to 'train' her. "I meant the mead."

Talagon watched; the awe at the magnificence of her wings carefully concealed from his face. "Oh, this," Talagon shrugged and looked at his goblet as if for the first time realizing what it contained. "A bit of a tonic for my indulgences." The harpy continued stretching, as if unaware of the audience she had. "It was quite the event. I understand that the King's Tagaan made a run for her freedom." He chuckled maliciously.

Still stretching her legs, she maintained a jack-knife position. It had the desired effect of drawing her observer's eyes along the line of her strong thighs and away from her obscured face. "And?"

"Tut, tut, my dove of destruction," he teased. "Why so concerned over something that you are no longer responsible for?"

Della seethed. If it was a sex slave he wanted…"You shall pay for this, Talagon." Her body was tense with her aggression, but she did not lunge at him. She stood at the end of her restraints, her self-control at its limits with the chains that were around her wrists and neck.

"What? You think I had something to do with that?" He asked in a mockingly astounded tone. "I was merely a guest at a party. Nothing more last night. Now, be a calm birdie so I may grant you something to eat."

At this, Della stepped back, letting her chains go slack. Yes, he thought to himself, she was no more intelligent than an animal that could be trained with food for good behavior. He must remember to tell Chef to set aside some fresh guts for his 'guest'. He repressed a shudder realizing her preferences. "But on a different night," he paused to sip at his drink as he paced around her, "A much different night, not too far in the future…" Della cocked her head to one side, giving him a disbelieving expression, a silent challenge. He snickered at her as if he had heard a funny story. "It's not so impossible, bird," he taunted. "After all, history does repeat itself."

Playing dumb for a moment, to get a better reading of his intent and his exact physical condition she asked. "History?" as if she could not possibly know what he spoke of. It was for moments like this that Della remained in this fortress—for tidbits of information of what King Jareth's enemy had planned. Never before has he offered so much as a reason for her capture. Now with the sweet wine and his ego loosening his tongue, she baited him further for more story. "History?" If things were to come around full circle, then she already knew the outcome. Matron made sure she was aware of that. She was already contrite in her participation in the repeat of history a few months ago. She just might have the opportunity to twist things around to the Goblin King's favor, if she could just hold her fury in check to hear more of the story…

"Yes, history," he gave her the indolent answer wondering to himself just how much these creatures could comprehend and maintain. "A subject that is of great interest to me and some of my former associates." He heaved a heavy sigh, sipped the brew and began to expound, enjoying the sound of his voice echoing in the chamber. "Long ago, too long for one with your limited mental capacity to comprehend, there was another human Tagaan." He laughed to himself, remembering those days. "I had just recently been awarded these lands by Oberon, and found myself the reluctant neighbor of a Goblin ruffian who was boasting the prize of a mortal female. A love slave," he snickered. "As if a mortal could ever love a goblin." He laughed out loud now, harshly.

Della shrugged as if this information was of little interest to her.

"This Zoltarie," Talagon went on, somewhat taken with the telling of the tale, "Boasted and paraded this creature for one and all to see. She was in all ways his weakness." he shuddered. "Vile, really. I'm not even sure what was worse, the Goblin or the Mortal." In his mind's eye, he could see them, the Hobgoblin that ruled the kingdom of the Labyrinth with its myriad of creatures, goblin and other. Zoltarie was pure Hobgoblin, and in his own way rather an eye-catching and striking being. Not Fae Beautiful by any standard, but handsome in a primal and feral sort of way. Even the High King of the Fae seemed to be impressed by him and had made an effort to sign an accord with him. But then, it was well known that Oberon desired peace among the Underground Kingdoms. Zoltarie had been trained to be king of his people, his goblin people. He was violent, untamed, and extremely calculating~ a born leader of warlike creatures.

"Zoltarie," growled the Fae, now remembering the Hobgoblin's part in saving the Underground. "And his dirty bands of marauding goblins," the words were bitingly bitter. "If he'd kept his nose out of Fae business, we'd have far more land to our credit than we have now." More mead was poured into his mouth from the cup. "But no, the Hobgoblin had to go and play hero. Raiding the mortal realm for the needs of this one, causing even Avalon to owe him a debt," turning to the harpy, he gave a curt laugh. "One that was paid when the High King overlooked the little raid that captured the human Tagaan." He wiped the spittle that came out of his mouth on his sleeve. "A tasty little morsel if somewhat primitive, and covered in mortal filth."

Della had seen the drawings in the rookery, but kept that from the ranting Fae Lord.

"Zoltarie became besotted," he jeered. "That leggy little mortal female became his weak spot. He began to overlook his other women, including the little Fae creature who'd been awarded to him as a wife by the High King himself. Damned if I can recall her name," he muttered with a slight swagger. "The only thing that seemed to matter to the Goblin was that mortal, torturing her until she was broken," he snarled. "Why else would she refuse rescue?"

"Rescue?" repeated the harpy. Now the story was getting interesting.

"We offered her freedom, a chance to return to her own realm… and she refused us." One hand turned into a clenched fist. "Refused me," he corrected darkly. "Had it not been for the harpy guard's love of goat `meat," he chuckled, looking at what he took to be a dim witted harpy who'd fallen for the same bait. "Can always count on your animal instincts, can't we?"

Della watched, sensing he was becoming inebriated once more, more than just having a bit of the hair of the dog that had bit him. "You drugged the goat," she muttered.

Strutting now like a prideful peacock, he nodded. "Of course, and once we had the harpy out of the way, we swooped down upon the tower taking the bitch out the King's reach." He licked his lips. "After we rewarded ourselves," he recalled the gang rape of the Goblin's prized possession, "we needed to destroy the evidence," the screams of the human as she was allowed to fall to her death from the airborne backs of flying horses filled his ears once more. Finding the carcass was, I'm told, what sent that fool Zoltarie over the edge into the abyss of madness. His howling and gnashing of teeth could be heard for miles about. The wife he had tricked the High King into giving him fled for her life, never to be heard of again." His pleasure at the misfortune of the king was making him intoxicated with its memory. "He wandered about his kingdom at a loss for some months. He forgot his duties, an even ignored the summons. Shunning company and refusing to take nourishment. He vanished from the view of all, and was found dead in the caverns below his precious Labyrinth," Talagon growled suddenly angry. "That was when the first insults from the royal courts of Avalon came. When they gave what should by rights have been mine to fools who called themselves Goblin King." He breathed heavily, huffing and puffing as he spoke. "I had been granted these lands, flanking those of the Goblin, and by rights the lands of the Labyrinth should have gone to me! Had I been higher up in the royal caste, the Kingdom of the Labyrinth would have been given to me," he was bitter again. "As it will be this time, for once more a harpy guard has failed The Goblin King, and the Tagaan is once more vulnerable." His laugh was more of a cackle. "I wonder if this one will be as much fun as the last. Will her death screams be as pleasing to my ears?"

Della stared at the crowing old Fae Lord. If she were to strike, now would be the time. The old fool's reflexes were dulled with drink and he was still riding the high of is own ego. Besides, she had heard one too many insults to bear.

Although she felt light-headed from hunger, survival instincts older than the fortress she was imprisoned in drove her on. She was no stranger to hunger; Della was hatched during the early part of Jareth's reign over the Labyrinth while he still followed the edict of the Seelie Court. She was born into the lean times of the flock, when the now elders of the flock were still breeding. Her body was used to being wiry ropes of muscle and sinew connecting to bone, but now she was entering adulthood and the drive to pass along her heritage was overriding her need to live. Right now, her instinct wasn't crying out for food--it was crying out for seed.

Talagon's worst mistake in taking a harpy was the belief that he could tame her. Harpies cannot ever be tamed for they will bite the hand that attempts to feed them--literally. He looked at her, eyes slightly glassy from his wine. "And you will carry me up to the tower, so I may take a taste of what belongs only to your king. For that purpose, I've adorned you with such pretty chains."

He watched in amazement as she wriggled a finger beneath her collar. "I was never one for much adornment, m'lord," Della's voice grated against the respectful title, giving it a sinister sound. "In fact, I find that they just weigh me down."

With that, the dull, grey band that encircled her neck snapped open underneath the pressure from her finger. With a snarl, she lunged at her captor; arms extended, and pulled the chains free from their moorings in the stone wall. The force of the lunge was increased now that she was not hindered by her shackles.

Talagon gasped more from shock that Della attacked him than from having the wind knocked out of his lungs. The idea that someone, some creature, would attack a member of his species with such ferocity was incomprehensible. He was not prepared for her rush, nor were his reflexes sharp enough to deflect it with magic.

The precious metal goblet he was holding crashed against stone floor, splaying mead across the wall, as the pair fell to the ground. Della, dragging chains from her wrists, straddled the Fae, pinning his arms down with her knees.

"Fool though you may be, you're not fool enough to use iron for my shackles," she spat at him as she ripped the bracelets from her wrists. His eyes popped in amazement with the ease that the harpy broke through the titanium cuffs. "Can't let you be weakened now, can we?" Her reflective pupils constricted to slits within flinty eyes before they dilated with hunger. "No, we can't," she cooed. "We have something to do."

The winged woman sat back on her haunches, pinning the man to the floor as she opened a buckle at her waist. The next instant found Talagon beneath Della's clawed foot, the talon of one of her toes gently resting within the large link of his chain of office as she stood over him. His eyes were drawn to her jaundiced talons as they traced lines within the black down that covered her loins. Mesmerized by the actions of her human like hand, he was taken by surprise to hear the renting of cloth, and the feel of the cool air against his hips.

"Make it rise" she hissed as she cupped his manhood in her other hand. Della did not stop in her self-ministrations as he felt her talons hardened against the soft underbelly of his sac.

He closed his eyes as he swallowed dryly, reaching deep for the courage to speak. He dared not look at what this female was doing to herself least his body betray him. "Never," his voice, strong just moments ago in recounting history, was now no more that a dry whisper. Sharp pinpricks were defining exactly where her fingers were around his genitals.

"Come, come, m'lord," again, the distain of using formality with this man evident. "I would hate to exaggerate its length when I show it off on my wall!"

Talagon's eyes flew open with that statement. "You wouldn't…"

Della merely arched an eyebrow. She leaned in closer to his face, her lips hovering over his ear. "Show me. Convince me that I should take the whole package back to my flock." A small chuckle danced across it. "Perhaps I'll share."

The scent of her musk filled his nostrils and almost made him vomit. He focused on his breathing, calming his mind with little effect and soothing his stomach with ragged breaths. 'This can not be happening! I must get out from under her!', but he could feel her impatience as she manipulated his testes, each sharply honed talon in turn reaching deeper into his tender skin, her thumb tracing circles over the tops. Knowing that where there's life, there's hope, he vowed to get out of this alive so to exact revenge for this humiliation.

Swallowing down bile, he focused on the lessons he learned as a very young man in the company of his peers. The Fae have absolute control over their bodies and their environment, either with the use of will power or magic. With great restraint, Talagon relaxed his groin muscles and raced his blood to allow it to engorge his loins. The act brought him no relief, knowing who would be taking advantage of his abilities. His actions were confirmed with Della's trill.

"Very nice. Not a bad catch at all."

She removed her foot from his chest and straddled his hips, once again on her knees. She continued to stroke the soft feathers that covered her nether region with one hand while she guided his erection towards it. Again, Talagon's eyes flew open, this time in pleasurable surprise as he felt the tantalizing tickle of living feathers brush against his most sensitive spot. She did not guide him in just yet. She just allowed the tip to trace the outline her cloacae, letting her fluids lubricate him until he was dripping with desire himself. Slowly, aching warmth surrounded the bulb and Talagon was driven insane.

Now he understood what led animals to rut. The maddening heat exuding from her entire body, the smell of raw femininity clouding his mind, the enticing call of her womb created a primal urge within him to thrust, and to thrust deeply. However, Della was in control of this situation and her instincts kept her there.

She didn't even need to look at him to know what he wanted to do. Her eyes were shut in concentration, her focus on her hips. Rhythmically, she tilted them forward and back, arching her back to maximize the area of stimulation. She felt him squirm beneath her, reaching to delve deeper, but the vice-like grip of her knees on his hips restricted his movements. She continued to torment her previous tormentor.

Gently, the area of warmth traveled down the length of his penis. An anguished moan escaped his lips as he realized what was actually happening. It was no longer a threat—she was raping him, taking him within her for his degradation. He tried to separate his mind from his body, willing himself not to enjoy the feel of her virgin, toned muscles around him, but do to so was difficult. The sensations he was feeling were both familiar and new. The feel of a receptive woman with a ring of down preceding it. The progression halted when he felt the barrier of her maidenshead. He bit his lip, dreading the next step.

With a crow sounding more like victory rather that pain, Della impaled herself, and her maidenhood, upon Talagon.

Della's body pitched forward. Talagon moved his arms in an effort to keep her from falling too heavily on top of him, but her hands shot forward and pinned his shoulders to floor. He felt the sting of her talons as she gripped him, forcing him to pay attention to her. It was then he realized how intelligent she was. Forced to look into her eyes, he saw only deep pits of bestial drive, not the usual sparkle of repressed rage that he usually saw glinting from her obsidian-colored eyes. Again, he closed his eyes, this time to shield himself from further abasement.

He did not need his eyes open to know what the harpy was doing. The sensations from his body were more than adequate to fill him in where he refused his eyes to see. The bare skin of his groin was stimulated by the back and forth rubbing of her feathers as she ground her hips into his. His blood boiled and raced to the sound of her grunts and tongue clicks as she worked herself into a frenzied state. Welts were forming on the backside of his shoulders where her talons kneaded them in her passion. His hair lifted gently in time to the downstroke of her wings.

Now Talagon had a contradiction of sensations. He still had the wonderful feeling of being embedded within a woman--a woman who was controlling the pace, depth, and angle of his penetration--yet he felt no weight. The pressure on his hips and shoulders simply was no longer there. Realizing that this would probably be his only chance to break free from her grip, he bent his knees in preparation to buck her off.

To his chagrin, his hips responded, but not directly to his thoughts. Buck they did, to only thrust deeper into Della's teasing body. His hips thrust upwards, trying to catch the harpy and maintain their contact. She timed her wing beats to match his pace, downstroking on his advance, dropping on his recoup.

A gasp was forced from his throat with the next sensation. His eyelids flew open in an effort to dim the platinum blinding light that the pain caused him. He was rewarded with the view of Della, iridescent black wings outstretched and flapping to maintain her aloft, her legs bent like a dancing bird over its kill, her hand reaching beneath her and under him. The leverage that he sought and that his body used to betray him granted her access to his rectum. Access that she now used to probe his cavity with.

Her finger found its target. Wave after wave of pleasure shot through Talagon's body, coursing up his spine to his brain as she massaged his prostrate. He realized that his body could not withstand this onslaught for very much longer. He moaned in disgrace as he realized what his body was about to do, yet there was no way he could stop the gyrations and pounding his blood lust demanded. Like mercury in a thermometer that has been dipping in hot oil, blinding pleasure and white hot urge raced up his back, goaded faster by Della's palm pressing into his reservoir. The final insult came when at the point of his explosion, when the essence of his personality was overwhelmed by the hedonism of his body; she squeezed the seed out of his body, forcing it into hers.

Panting and drained, he lay exhausted beneath her still bobbing form. He was spent and emotionally beaten, yet the disgrace she had put him through only fanned the sparks of revenge that he had yet to plan. This was not the end of it, he promised to himself.

Still riding him and not quite done, she was lost somewhere between bliss and oblivion. Once he released his load, she removed her hand from beneath him. Placing both hands on his chest now, she used that leverage to create a bit more of a forceful bounce in her pace. Shocked, Talagon found his body responding by maintaining his arousal. Even if he did not move, she was not going to release him until she was finished.

"Tell me, Talagon," she hissed, barely looking at him as she addressed him. "Are you prepared to die?"

"Die? You said that you might share me with your flock!"

She was nearing her own climax. The pace she was setting for herself was frenetic and her breathing was in gasps and pants. Through his tunic, he felt her talons harden upon his chest. In spite of that, she still responded, her eyelids nearly closed in ecstasy. "And that I shall, but your heart shall always be mine!"

With that, Talagon felt the beginning contractions of her orgasm, just before her talons ripped through his tunic, into his chest. He screamed in agony as he felt her fingers plunge into his ribs, seeking out the beating life-force that lay within. His dying eyes beheld Della, in the throes of her first orgasm, her wings outstretched to their full glide length, with his heart still beating in her hand as she took a bite out of it.

She chewed the flesh of the still living organ in cadence with the rhythmic spasms that pulsed through her body. She continued her meal still astride her mate until every last bit was consumed and she sucked the gore off of her fingers. Only then did she rise, sated and filled, to the pile of straw that she had been forced to sleep on for the past week.

Drawn to the forbidden hallway in the East wing this silent dawn by the death cry, the servants of the household gathered outside the locked door. None dared to enter--they all knew what resided behind the oak barrier. Not even the kitchen servants have crossed that threshold with the bloody beverages their master would instruct them to bring and leave just outside. Now the passageway and the wing were silent. Hands that were wringing either aprons or vests were too busy to knock on the door to inquire after their master.

Della grabbed handfuls of straw bedding and scoured her legs of the fluids that were drying there before she donned her leather skirt. The sticky mess was uncomfortable in her feathers and she hoped that she would have a chance to bathe in the sands at the rookery before needing to report to the King. For although she was driven to mating with the old fool, if she had her choice, she would have tasted that which the King had flirted with her every so often. At least she wouldn't feel as soiled as she did. But for now, her blinding survival libido was calmed and she had information to impart – and a meal to deliver.

Her sense of smell alerted her to the visitors that were gathering outside the door. Buckling her skirt as she approached the door, she tested the latch, already knowing the answer. The silent hallway on the other side let out a tiny gasp as she rattled the handle ineffectively. A quick survey of the door and its hinges finalized her course of action.

Using her talons as grappling hooks, Della perched herself onto the plane of the door, her toes digging into the close-grained wood and supporting her weight easily. Arranging her hands over the uppermost hinge, the tips of her talons lodged around the joint where the metal was fastened to the wood. With a howl that rivaled the North Wind that she was used to riding, Della hardened her talons, allowing the energy from the Fae meat that she had just consumed support the growth in her fingers. As the talons hardened, they buried themselves deeper into the door, splintering the wood away from the hinge plate until the corner of the door was rent from its frame. Hopping down easily, she repeated the action twice more until the only thing the held the door upright was the magically fastened door jam.

The denizens of the fortress scurried into the crevasses created by the decorative pillars that lined the corridor when they heard the first thump of harpy's latching onto the door. Her screech froze them, rooting them to the stone, their eyes glued to the now seemingly fragile door. When the top corner listed off the frame, even the legs of the stoutest of the dwarves quaked. As the corner of torchlight became a triangle, then a full gap, none were able to move. It was one thing to be cowed by the cruel nature of the Fae, but to be faced with the rapaciousness of a harpy turned them all into creatures of prey.

Della turned to the corpse still cooling on the stone floor. The clicking of her toe talons were muffled as they stepped into the growing pool of blood that was staining the grout. With no effort, she lifted what was once Lord Morriagin of Talagon, overseer of the Northern Lands as bequeathed by the High King Oberon of Avalon, and draped him across her shoulders. Her toes left maroon spots as she crossed the space of her prison for the last time. Grasping the free edge of the last remaining obstruction to her freedom, Della peeled back the door, forcing the oak to snap away from the metal of the door knob plate.

The battlement shutters on the spacious window were kept open so that the natural light would illuminate the wing. The first pink rays of morning had already passed through the corridor and now cheery, bright light flooded a macabre scene. Small cries of distress and horror announced the exit of the harpy as she emerged from the room, the blood and gore of their master draping her like a cloak of red gossamer lace, covering her from shoulders to floor pooling and trailing behind her. The winged creature took in the scene before her. None would hinder her exit; she decided a few parting words to relieve them of their services were in order.

"You know," she stated in a conversational tone, "For as cruel of a bastard Lord Talagon was, he really did have a tender heart." She now stood a bit straighter; her wings held close to her body in attention, "By order of my position as Head of the Harpy Guard assigned to the Goblin King, I hereby declare you the property of King Jareth."

With that, she strode down the hall to the open window. With a light hop to the stone sill and a cry to the breeze, Della leaped into the sky and the glorious morning.