Prologue, Part 9
As you look across the wall of hulking green muscle surrounding your tiny group, as you listen to the rage-filled voices of countless orcs shouting, there is one thing that is obvious to you. This is all a contest of perception.
Varthurg can talk as big a game as he likes, but the fact that he's resorting to staged confrontations like this to try and build resentment against the queen means he can't just order the army to act in outright defiance of their goddess' Chosen One. Not yet, anyway. This is all designed to stoke the flames of their discontent, to make him seem like the better option, to push the orcs toward that point... but they still aren't quite there.
Which means you have a chance to turn his own game against him.
While the Warchief is focused on Kelissa, you glance over at Rysanial. You catch her eye, then make a subtle inclination of your head toward the Warchief's son. She understands your meaning immediately, and gives you a tiny, mischievous grin along with her tiny nod.
"Tell us!" Varthurg roars again. "Will the queen keep gathering these whores for her own amusement, while she prohibits us from taking our own?" Kelissa flinches, opening her mouth to reply—
"You really think your boy can handle one of the Witch Queen's servants?" asks Rysanial, her voice dripping with condescension as she steps in front of Kelissa, her posture equal parts seductive and taunting. "From where I stand, it looks to me like she's doing him a favor. He should probably stick to fucking helpless slaves in your camp, rather than trying to take on the kind of woman my mistress prefers for her service."
Just like that, all eyes are on her. Varthurg growls in outrage at this tiny female who dares oppose him so blatantly. It's a direct challenge to his authority that he cannot allow to stand. "Brave words from a bitch who hides behind her queen's protection," he snarls. "You wouldn't dare say that without her to keep you safe."
"Who's hiding?" Rysanial asks, walking right up to the Warchief, fluttering her eyes at him. "Didn't you just say you wanted the queen to provide one of her servants for you to fuck? Well here I am. Unless... it was all just talk?"
For a moment, Varthurg looks startled. It's clear that his plan had been to use the refusal of his demands to create outrage amongst the orcs at the perceived injustice toward them... but he hadn't expected any of the Witch Queen's servants to just agree to it. He recovers quickly, though. "Boy!" he shouts, his voice thick with fury. "Show this creature what happens to women who cross paths with an orc!"
The Warchief's son lumbers forward. You can still see annoyance in his eyes at being ordered around, but what predominates now is anger at how uppity this female is acting. The contrast between his towering frame and Rysanial's small body is almost comical, and you hear gloating laughter running through the watching warriors at how absurdly mismatched the contest appears to be.
You know, of course, know the truth. This contest is exactly as mismatched as it appears to be. Just not in the direction that it appears to be.
With a growl, the Warchief's son grabs Rysanial by the arm and yanks her over to a wooden craftsman's table at the edge of the courtyard. He bends her over it, crushing her face-down into it with his large hand as he brings out his cock, then pulls away her thong with a swipe of his hand. Varthurg, meanwhile, turns to address the watching orcs. Rysanial has taken some of the wind out of the sails of the outrage he'd hoped to create, but he tries to make use of this as well.
And since you know what's about to happen, you decide to let Varthurg dig himself a little deeper before you interject.
"You see?" the Warchief calls out, pointing behind him at his son. "You see what we can accomplish when we show no fear of the queen's wrath? She is all talk and no strength! Her servants cower before us when we assert ourselves, knowing that they are no match for our Orcish might!" Even as he says this, his son drives his thick cock with all his might deep into the succubus.
And then, with a strangled cry, he immediately cums. A shuddering, convulsing orgasm that shakes his whole body, pitching him forward over the demoness. He is barely able to hold himself upright with his shaking arms, as he stares down in incredulity at the tiny form beneath him. Rysanial, for her part, merely laces her fingers and rests her chin on them as she lays there, affecting a look of supreme boredom. "Really? Only one thrust?" she asks, disdain in her voice. Then she sighs.
Dead silence falls over the courtyard.
Both succubi and incubi possess supernaturally potent aphrodisiac qualities to all their fluids... and both are capable of regulating that potency. When you have intercourse with a mortal, the objective is usually to extract as much prolonged pleasure from them as possible, and so you almost always hold back a great deal. This time, however, Rysanial is not holding back nearly so much.
Nor does it end there. The orc's eyes bulge, and you imagine that Rysanial has begun to clamp down on his member with her folds, the combination of that stimulation and her secretions bringing him back to hardness in seconds. He looks down at her, his expression torn between conflicting emotions. Maddened lust from the aphrodisiac. Rage at his humiliation. And a hint of fear as he begins to suspect that he might be in over his head. The first two win out, however, and he grabs hold of her, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her sides as he begins to violently fuck her.
This time, he makes it three thrusts before coming.
Rysanial just lays there, barely showing any reaction to any of it, as though his efforts were inconsequential to her. You can hear murmurs start to spread through the watching orcs, and Varthurg turns to stare back on what is happening, his jaw dropping in disbelief.
His incomprehension is nothing compared to his son's, however. The orc was clearly expecting nothing more than a simple, easy rape of some weak servant girl. But his cock is now hardening yet again. And desperate to recover some of his pride, he makes another try at breaking this woman, despite how painful the repeated attempts are becoming for him.
This time he grabs Rysanial by the hair, yanking her head back as he drives his cock into her once, twice. But she only reacts with tolerant amusement, and you can tell that the orc is on the brink of going over the edge for a third time.
Then—with a weakened, wheezing shout that was probably meant to sound more impressive than it did—the orc slams Rysanial's face down into the table with all the strength he has left, breaking her nose.
He pulls her back and repeats the process twice more, leaving her face bloody and bruised in an attempt to wipe the smug look off her face. Kelissa gasps, and you have to grab her arm to stop her from running to the aid of the girl who had taken her place... though what she expected to accomplish you have no idea.
For your part... you wince. Not so much at the damage to Rysanial. It would take a lot more than that to cause serious harm to a demon with the level of regeneration that you two possess. But you can see the seething fury as it flashes through her eyes, and it almost makes you feel sorry for the poor bastard who was dumb enough to incur it.
Because now Rysanial is pissed.
The orc was already on the edge. Rysanial reaches behind herself, grabs the orc by the tunic, and pulls, impaling herself on his dick with a force that drives him into the most intense and painful orgasm yet. His convulsing body tries to slump over her, but she holds him up one-handed in a display of supernatural strength. She pulls herself almost completely off of him with agonizing slowness... then slams herself back, repeating that process once for each time he hit her, forcing him into an orgasm with every single one.
She isn't holding back at all now.
He's now come six times in less than a minute, her demonic power pushing his body to agonizing extremes that even his orcish biology should be utterly incapable of. You doubt there's any actual seed left in him anymore, but still she forces his dick to respond.
Nor is she done. With a shove, she pushes him over onto his back, the giant falling with an immense thud. She swings herself around the straddle him. Then, grabbing his cock and—impossibly—licking it to hardness yet again, she impales herself on it, riding him vigorously despite his pained, inarticulate moans. Even as she fucks him, her broken face is repairing itself before your very eyes.
By now, Varthurg has realized that his plan has gone very wrong. The murmurs from the watching warriors have turned into full-fledged mutters now, and he finally decides to take control over the situation. With a growl he strides forward, reaching out to pull Rysanial off his son and end the embarrassing display.
It's what you've been waiting for. You let him visibly commit to the action... and then you laugh.
There's an art to a good laugh. Conveying exactly the right amount of derision... and conveying it in a way that makes it feel obvious to everyone else that they should feel the same way. Done right, it can work in ways than words never could. Varthurg hesitates, giving you the chance to strike.
"What was it you were whining about earlier?" you ask, loud enough for everyone in the courtyard to hear. "Something about how that girl is a 'bitch who hides behind her queen's protection'? Well I don't see her hiding behind the queen... but it looks to me like your son is the bitch that you're trying to hide behind your protection. Or do you think it takes two orcs to even try to handle one little girl?"
The mutters are growing now. Varthurg stands there, trapped. If he goes through with stopping this, he'll confirm everything you just said about him in the eyes of the warriors. But if he doesn't, he'll have backed down in front of you. You let him hang there for another second, showing off his hesitation. Then—before he can actually make his decision—you turn to address the army directly.
"Don't tell me you're actually listening to those fools?" you ask, gesturing back toward Varthurg and his dominated son, incredulity in your voice. "What kind of traitor would try to drive a wedge between you against Melca's Chosen? Especially now, when the enemy is moving to destroy us all? The Witch Queen knows what the real threat is. And if she's ordered you to stop your raids, you can be sure she has a good reason. What's more important? Getting a few more slaves... or winning the war that's coming?"
"The queen... the queen will not lead us to victory over the humans!" Varthurg shouts, trying to regain control of a situation that is quickly slipping through his fingers. "She is weak, and cannot—"
"She can," you assert with finality, your words cutting through his increasingly-desperate bluster with the sheer force of your charisma. "And she will. She's already begun. Why do you think I'm here? She has summoned the power of Hell against the heroines that threaten you... and I assure you, Hell is coming for them."
A bit melodramatic for your taste. But it was aimed at the orcs—and they eat it up. You've got them in the palm of your hand right now, with every eye focused on you. "So watch closely what's about to happen," you say, projecting passion and resolve to your rapt audience. "Watch as your foes start to fall before your eyes. Because the Witch Queen's plan will work. And really... who else do you think can lead you to victory over enemies like that?"
You let that hang in the air for a few moments, before jerking your thumb back toward Varthurg and his broken, whimpering son. "Sure as Hell not them."
Varthurg splutters, but the tide has turned against him, and he knows it. The army is looking with disdain at the humiliating display before them. You don't wait to see how he tries to salvage the tattered shreds of his respect. Instead, you gesture your two allies forward. Kelissa follows as if in a daze, while Rysanial uncoils herself off the orc cock she'd been riding, recovers her discarded thong and re-ties it, then follows as well. The assembled orcs part before you, giving you a clear path to the tower that was your destination all along.
Only once you're inside the tower—and out of view—does Kelissa slump against the stone wall, her legs unable to sustain her anymore. She slides down to the floor, her breaths coming fast and shallow. It takes a while before she recovers enough to speak, but finally she looks up at you and Rysanial. "Thank... thank you..." she says, her breathing still uneven. "I... I thought I could handle it myself, but..."
She looks up at you and Rysanial, tears in her eyes. "He was right, you know. About the queen wanting to protect me. All the maids in the fortress... we used to be slaves in the orc camp. But she took us out of there. As many as she could justify. So when he asked that of me... I thought it was my chance to pay her back. I thought... it wouldn't be any worse than what they'd already done to me so many times before. It wouldn't even have been the first time I had to service the Warchief's son. Though I doubt he cared to remember my face."
Then she shakes her head. "But... when I had to face it again... after all this time..." She takes a ragged breath. "I... Thank you. You saved me. And not just that... you also did more to hurt the Warchief's campaign against her majesty than anything I could have done alone. Thank you."
Wiping her eyes, she stands shakily back to her feet, turning to lead the way to you destination once more. But then she pauses, looking back over her shoulder.
"I..." she begins hesitantly, her voice barely audible, a hint of fear creeping into her eyes. "I have to ask. Demons like you... If I weren't a servant of your mistress... if I didn't have the threat of her displeasure protecting me, and you had me alone... like... like you do right now... would you do the same to me thing as those orcs? If I was a girl you wanted, would you just... violate me? The same way they did?"
She clearly knows she can't expect an honest answer to the question, and she clearly knows by now that she couldn't do much against you no matter the answer. Still, it seems important to her—in this moment—that she at least try to ask.
