The answer arrived soon enough. The slim stick of soap, which was tied to a string with a ball at either end to enable a bather to keep better track of it. Two thumbs sank into Laya’s anus, spreading it slowly. She groaned in agony that was part and parcel of her titillation. He maneuvered his hand to hold agape the opening, and inserted the soap into her ass with the other. Not content with that, he followed the soap with his fingers, jabbing it deeper and deeper inside her. Tears stung her eyes even as she thrilled at how opened and used she felt, in both passages, totally at his mercy. He could do with her whatever he pleased.
It pleased him to yank the cord on the soap and jerk it out of her with a quick snap that made her scream again and buckle. His hand on her ass steadied her, though once she had stilled, that same hand spanked her smartly for her outburst. He rinsed off the soap in the water and let it float there.
He leaned forward. Echoes of her dream of flying returned to her, to feel the skin of his sleek, broad chest pressed against her bare back. He gripped her breasts like handles to keep his balance while he positioned his cock at the entrance to her ass. His huge member, so much larger than any phallus she had worn on the chastity belt in the Garden, so much longer than the scrub brush handle, so much thicker than the bar of soap, this beast forced its head into her tight opening. Because he had soaped her up, he was able to impel himself forward.
A kind of half-wail of pain, half ululation of desire emerged from her throat. He stretched her so wide in such an unaccustomed place. What made the sensation all the more exquisite was the feel of the handle in her pussy at the same time. Pierced twice over, his twice over, his to use and fill and fuck.
Akraz began to enter her ass, fucking her truly, as he would have her pussy. The inner touch felt completely different, and yet what remained the same was that he branded her with his long, ruthless strokes, claiming the most secret parts of her with the kiss of his cock. His hands milked her breasts. He squeezed and twisted, tugged down and pushed in the nipples.
Faster now. A discovery delighted her. As the pace of his thrusts picked up, the scrub brush jerked in her slit, and the bristles of the brush outside her cleft tickled up over her clit. A scream of animal pleasure built up on her throat. She would not be able to contain it. The entire manor would hear her shameless cries of rapture.
Something gagged her scream. The soap—he had freed one hand from her breast to push the soap into her mouth. He held the string on either side and jerked it up as one would bridle a horse. She now had a bit in her mouth, a handle up her cunt, bristles on her clit, and his cock in her ass. The soap freed her. When she climaxed she held nothing back, though the sound emerged now as more of a whinny than a scream. Since he gave her no respite, after her first orgasm, she came again almost immediately, and then, in an agony of overstimulation, a third and forth time in unbelievably quick succession.
He rode her to a gallop and his own climax. This he did not deposit in her ass. After a decisive withdrawal, his final act was to spank her with his rod in a frenzy of slaps that culminated in a spew of cum all over her buttocks and back.
They both collapsed into the water. Laya floated in a dream of satiation, too weak to even remove the scrub brush, though she did spit out the soap. It was left to Akraz to slip the brush from her cunt. He massaged her cleft, and pressed his thumb into her clit. She came again in his hand. Cooing, she cuddled up against him. He sat against the step and rocked her.
“By the Thirteen Hells, Laya,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “I did not mean to turn this sanctuary of innocence and light into a fetish chamber for rites of the Dark God.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked in surprise. “That what we do together is a rite of the Dark God?”
“What else? It is a dark, mindless lust that drives me to take you like that.”
It stung.
“I didn’t know you saw it that way,” she said. “It isn’t that way for me. On the contrary. Because it was you, because I knew you acted from—” she paused; she had almost said “love” and yet she knew no such thing. ”Because I knew you acted from a desire to protect me or pleasure me, or both, I knew that what we had enveloped us in the Light, even when we had to perform in the darkest of places for the darkest of men.
“You keep saying you are a creature of the darkness,” she went on, passionately, “but I have seen no evidence of that. I have seen in you a creature of the Light, raised in darkness, shackled in it, even, yet not subdued by it, not subsumed.”
He hugged her and kissed her hair. He sighed. “I wish I saw what you saw, Laya. But there is so much you still don’t know about me. One day, I will disappoint you and then you will see the truth about me. You said it yourself. The Deep Fire of the Dark God has tainted me, and there is no magic we mere mortals can wield that can overpower the magic crafted by the hand of one of the gods.”
With this despairing speech, he stood, dried himself with a cloth draped over the wooden screen, and dressed himself quickly. He looked heartbreakingly handsome in his scarlet and gold tunic and armor.
“Akraz!” Laya clutched the drying cloth around her torso. She raced to his side. “Be careful. You must come back to me.”
“No, Laya,” he said quietly. “Whether I fall in this battle or no, I do know this. You shall never see me again.”
He bent to press his lips like a prayer against hers. He smiled a sad little smile. “I love you. I have loved you from the start. I will love you beyond the day the Dark God consumes my soul in hell.”
And then the Goblin General, Akraz the Terrible, marched away to war.
Laya did not expect trouble—all her fears centered on Akraz and the others at the site of the trap set for the wizard’s army—but she donned her leaf-link chain mail and took up her bow to keep vigil with the other two dozen elves of the home defense garrison. They were all the force left to defend Sylvindell. They worked in pairs, stationed high in the trees, upon special platforms built to survey the surrounding forest.
Out of habit, Laya scanned the horizon. A glint caught her eye. Only metal reflected back sunlight like that. She touched her companion’s shoulder and pointed.
“I don’t see anything,” he began. Then more glints sparkled through the tree cover and it was obvious to both of them what it must be. His face turned ashen. “Gods of Light! How many are there?”
“An army’s worth,” Laya said grimly. Even as she spoke, she notched an arrow into her bow. “Zathstragomal did not direct his goblins to the decoy point. He sent them straight here. He knew exactly where to find our city. We have been betrayed.”
I have been betrayed.
Only Akraz could have informed his master of the location of Sylvindell. And then, to rub fat into the fire, he had lured the bulk of the citadel’s defenses away on a wild goose chase. No wonder he had warned her that he would soon disappoint her. No wonder he had promised he would never see her again.
You bastard. You bastard. How long had he planned this betrayal? How deep did his plotting go? That melodrama with Strathgora—had they staged it together, the wizard’s general and the wizard’s daughter, to provide a plausible means to let the dupe elf maid seemingly escape? In Zathstragomal’s dungeon, when he’d begged her to trust him with the city’s secrets, had he even then served only his master’s will?
When he had made love to her in his den, had he already been laughing secretly at her gullibility?
You love-blind fool. You made yourself his willing slave, though he warned you of his true loyalties again and again. Fool, fool, fool! All of Chavana will pay the price for your lovesick naivety!