Title: Take Me or Set Me Free
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Warning: Sex, violence, cursing abuse
Disclaimer: Blizzard owns World of Warcraft and my undivided attention.
Summary: A short story of Illidan and his strange relationship with the lead succubus of his harem. She wishes to be free, but will gladly settle for a warlock of her own, or Illidan as her mate.
Notes: I am a morbid writer, but my mind tends to get ahead of my typing- if it seems awkward in any place, please feel free to let me know.
Lairazaeith sighed, narrowing her eyes as she braced herself for the abuse that was inevitable. True to her expectations, the hoof collided with her lower back, and an audible snap rang through the cold stone room, followed by the even colder laughter that accompanied the wet thud her body made as it fell on the marble floor. Claws snaked through her hair and one claw ripped cruelly into the sensitive base of her left horn as the large hand dragged her up into the air by her head. Unable to contain her pain, Laira uttered a wailing shriek of pain. A chuckle vibrated through the chest of the demon and reverberated through his arm and into the helpless female.
Lairazaeith was secretly glad her back was broken. Her tail had long been cut off slowly, piece by piece; her hooves had been smashed and left to fester, cuts covered her pale silvery blue skin, and her digitigrade legs had been broken at the second ‘knee’. Her face was battered, cut and bloody, her horns smashed- one had been broken off completely, and now she had a claw digging into the base of the remaining horn. Her clavicle was broken in three places; her bare breasts were ravaged beyond recognition, and blood was steadily streaming from the ruined nether between her legs. Her wings were shredded, one lying helplessly on the floor, the other hanging against her rump, dislocated from its socket. Having her spine severed finally gave her relief from pain from the waist down.
Aside from that one scream, Laira refused to cry. She refused to give the bastard who tortured her satisfaction. Her glowing violet eyes glared at him from underneath thick black locks that once were wavy and full of body, but were now limp and drenched with blood. One of her own fangs was embedded in her swollen and split bottom lip, but she made no move to spit it out, her eyes fixated on the smoldering gaze of the creature that was not demon, not elf, but something more- betrayed and betrayer, hunter and hunted, demon lord and misplaced elf. The arcane markings on his face and chest, trailing down his stomach fascinated and terrified her. His face, incredibly handsome, allured and repulsed her. Were she not a beaten pulp in his hands, she would dare to say that she would have chosen him as a mate of her own. However, she would never choose this monster, this man, this hybrid as her own after the abuse he had bestowed upon her.
Lairazaeith the Siren was a powerful succubus, and was at one time, in charge of her own small pack of male demons, and she enjoyed her life, and the position she held. She answered to no man, and she was answered to by males of many races and breeding. She made her mates squirm with a look, writhe in tension with a soft coo, and nearly made them explode with a soft song. Then, Illidan summoned her and her sisters to serve him.
The temple was full of prospective victims, all soldiers brimming with lust long pent up, aged to perfection like a sweet vintage wine, all in the prime of their vitality and virility, their blood flavored and scented with bloodlust, tidings of war, and the fel energy of Shadowmoon Valley. It was a banquet, aromatic and visually enticing, tempting in every sense. Laira and her sisters were eager to set themselves upon the men, to feast on their vitality, their tantric energy, their sweet rich blood, but Illidan had not summoned them to feast on the soldiers.
The soldiers had brought women of their own respective races, cheaply purchased as they passed near vagrant camps in Terokkar Forest. The men were strong and virile; it was no challenge for them to find a partner with whom to share carnal pleasure in the dark warmth of their sheets in the sweet fel heat of the night. Illidan, however handsome and devilishly charming, was too harsh and frightening in his ways to woo a woman, and word of his earlier attempts spread quickly enough to prevent another mortal woman from ever parting her legs for him again; he could scarce get the hardest of whores to come to his wing of the temple, let alone his room. So Illidan called female demons to make up a harem for his own carnal pleasures, and Lairazaeith had been chosen quickly as his favorite.
The relationship between them at first had been carnal, luscious and enticing with power struggles lacing it all together in a searing hot bow of passion- the two of them clawing at each other, trying to show dominance over the other, claws raking across supple backs, fingers caressing hypersensitive members, hot wet lips suckling on pebbling hard nipples, sheer raw male power burying itself into dangerously honeyed velvet nether. The act was primal unbridled and raw in its debauchery, and it only fueled the fire- that would soon change to a flame of a different element.
Illidan soon began to become more in touch with the violent sadistic side of his inner demon. He began to delight in hurting Laira, rending the flesh of her back, ripping the tender membranes of her wings, and ripping at her throat with his teeth. It was wonderful at first for Laira, but Illidan began to underestimate his own strength, and was completely destroying her every night, and it only stoked his passion and his ego. Soon he stopped keeping the passion in it all together, only hurting her for pleasure, at the same time torturing her primal needs as a succubus, teasing her by stroking his swollen member while he had her shackled to his throne, ripping at her hair or wings, letting his burning seed spill into her wounds, causing even more agony, laughing as he got up and left her in unfulfilled lustful agony and agonizing pain.
Lairazaeith could no longer stand being put away under the hands of her demonic healer, her lust unquenched and her pride battered, the other succubae laughing at her, mocking the glory she had once had. It was after Illidan made her beg him to spill his seed in her eyes that she vowed to escape and reclaim her glory as an untamable succubus, the illustrious Lairazaeith the Siren. It was her escape attempt that had earned her this horrible beating she was receiving now.
“You know you’re my favorite. The others scream too much. Makes it boring. You, on the other hand, don’t scream much. Makes it all the more delicious when you finally do.” The Demon Lord said in his smooth deep voice, leering at her as she dangled from his hand. He suddenly frowned, anger, hatred, passion and lust wrestling in a tangle of emotions over his face. He pulled her to him, their faces scant inches apart. His breath, hot and fetid, reeking of blood and acidic liquor, washed over her face. His tongue flicked out and he licked her split lip, knocking the fang from the tender flesh, the tooth falling to the floor with a gentle clatter.
“I won’t let you go. You’re mine, and always will be. The strongest, prettiest, and most dangerous little spitfire in my temple; did you honestly think I’d let you go?”
Lairazaeith was silent, not rewarding him with a response. Her eyes remained focused on the throbbing member in between his muscular thighs, and inwardly, she cursed herself. Even now, completely broken, she couldn’t help her nature, and remained focused on the main source of her torture: the throbbing glistening erection that she desperately wanted buried in her ruined nether. Illidan himself was fighting the same desire; his member seemed to strain upwards towards the agonizing succubus, liquid beading on the swollen tip. Finally, Laira forced herself to tear her eyes away from the enticing sight of his manhood and looked into his smoldering gaze. With what almost seemed like a smile of respect, Illidan grabbed her waist with his free hand, moved the other hand from her head to her hips, and sheathed himself inside her, letting forth a roar of primal lust. Despite having her back broken and losing most feeling from the waist down, she could feel his member inside her. No amount of damage could take away the sense of sex away from a succubus, especially Lairazaeith the Siren.
Laira finally shrieked, her cry piercing Illidan to the core, and she forced strength into her arms in order to claw at the sensitive webbing of his wings where the membrane met his back. Illidan let forth another roar, his great horned head tossing back like an incensed stallion, nostrils flaring as he nearly snorted for breath, his teeth gritted in a feral snarl. He thrust his hips repeatedly in a primitive repetitive motion, and the ruined wing flopped noisily against Laira’s rump. In aggravated annoyance, Illidan grabbed hold of the offending appendage and wrenched it off in a single motion. Laira screamed, her voice sounding like a harpy, a rough shrill sound, and she dipped her head to bite Illidan’s shoulder at the base of his neck with her remaining fangs. Illidan grunted and returned the favor, biting at her already bruised shoulder. The two made guttural sounds of pleasure and pain; delighting in the agony they were giving each other, and the taste of one another’s blood inflaming their senses.
Around them, muttering and glaring in the shadows, the other succubae watched in furious jealousy, and Laira glared at them in smug, triumphant anger over Illidan’s shoulder, digging her claws into his back, soliciting more groans from the hybrid. She smirked after releasing her hold on his neck, lapping at the blood that flowed with a slender dark violet tongue as the Lord of the Outlands pounded into her nether.
You thought I was done? He’s never done with me. I am his favorite, and though I hate him, he is mine, and you will never be as good as I am. You are expendable. I am not, Laira crowed to herself in triumph.
Illidan let out a roar that shook the temple to its foundation, hot thick seed shooting into Laira. He trembled, so great was the force of his orgasm. Despite being useless from the waist down, Laira held onto the Demon Lord with all the strength she could muster as her own orgasm shook her to her very core. The tantric energy revitalized her, filling her with warmth, and slowly her wounds began to heal. Illidan sat back in his throne, watching in smug contentment as she healed herself with the tantric energy he had finally rewarded her with. Laira closed her eyes halfway in the swoon of her afterglow, feeling the juices of their tryst flowing from her womb and onto Illidan’s stomach and thighs. She dipped her fingers into the fluid and delicately placed the wet fingertips in her mouth, licking them clean, savoring the flavor that would never be replicated- the flavor of her and Illidan Stormrage. Illidan watched her flick her tongue over her fingertips, a satisfied purring growl issuing from his throat.
“I will always have a hold on you, Lairazaeith. You are mine, and always will be,” Illidan rumbled, reaching out and pulling her to his chest, smirking as her wings slowly reformed between his fingers.
The warmth of the afterglow quickly faded from her, but Laira kept her expression constant, feigning the part of the satisfied submissive consort. She dipped her fingers in their seed once more, and traced her fingers along the fel markings on his chest, leaving a silvery trail on the green tattoos. Illidan read her silence as submission, and lifted her off his hips, his member sliding out with a wet slick sound. He simply looked down at her, and Laira knew what was expected of her. She went to her knees after Illidan set her on her newly mended hooves, taking his member in her hands and bringing it close to her mouth. Illidan smirked at her, and inside, she fumed with humiliated rage as she had no choice but to clean his member with her tongue, and hated herself for enjoying it.
Mark my words, Illidan Stormrage. You will be my mate, or I will be free. Mark my words.