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Hours? A day, perhaps? Surely not more than that.
However long it’s been since Gale has seen anything but his weak, nude body and the chains that bind him to the cold floor of his cell, it’s enough that the orb has grown ravenous. It burns inside him, twisting its tendrils in his chest and up his neck, throbbing behind his weary eye.
The scorching pain is somehow sharp and dull at once. He’s used to it, and yet he’ll never be used to carrying that ever-present reminder of his folly.
It needs to consume an artifact, and soon. If it doesn’t, he’ll take more than just this cursed goblin camp out in the explosion. A fitting result for all of his mistakes, but not one he relishes the thought of. Better than turning into a mindflayer, at least.
Still, he doesn’t want to die. Not here, where the air is thick with the smell of decaying meat and there’s a perpetual dripping sound from some unseen leak. Not in this vulnerable position, stuck on his aching knees with his legs splayed and his arms chained to the floor at his sides. Not with a drying spot of piss on the floor beneath him. Alone. Denigrated.
He glances down at his hands, hoping he can channel just the faintest bit of Weave. Impossible. The bindings are sturdy, he’s unrested, and his orb is insatiable—sapping his body’s energy to lash out against it. Screaming. Pulsing.
It’s exhausting, and his tired body slumps forward, cheek against stone. The cold of it is almost a relief against the orb’s sting. Almost. Something makes him perk up.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Gale hears footsteps—hard boots on stone—before he sees anything. One of the guards, probably. If it’s to be death, he hopes it will be quick, but he’s heard enough torture coming from the other cells that he knows it won’t be. He comes back into a seat on his knees to face it.
When a figure rounds the corner and appears in the doorway, he thinks he must have died already. That, or he’s delirious.
Minthara—the Nightwarden herself—moves in front of him and gazes down on Gale with her uniquely intense expression of disdain. Curled lips. Scowl lines. From her face, he knows she loathes everything about him. His humanity. His masculinity. His magehood and ties to Mystra’s divinity. It’s all fodder for her contempt.
Vexingly, she’s wearing nothing but those clacking boots. Drow-made, they’re an elegant blend of leather and spidersilk, and they have an electric energy his orb can sense. Their sharp angles point upward, toward her bare, succulent thigh. There’s a soft glisten of sweat to her wisteria skin, and it’s all exposed—toned abs, muscular arms, gorgeously round breasts.
“You’re staring, wizard.”
“A…pologies,” Gale says. His voice is cracked, broken. His frail body longs for water as much as his orb longs for an artifact. “How… long…?”
“The better part of a day,” Minthara says succinctly.
“Where… are the others?”
Minthara raises a hand and makes a curling motion with two fingers.
On her command, Shadowheart and Lae’zel step into view on either side of her, bringing with their cold expressions a sense of doom. They’ve sided with Minthara.
More intriguingly, they’ve clearly been enjoying each other’s company, as the only thing either woman is wearing is a strap-on. Lae’zel’s harness is formed from haphazard, criss-crossing scraps of brown leather, and her carefully crafted cock is as lithe as she is. Shadowheart’s harness is high-waisted chainmail that hugs tightly at her belly and thighs, but otherwise dangles in loose arcs that softly clink. Elegant. So too is her thick purple cock, which is flared to be widest at its base.
“The vampire is out feeding,” Minthara says. “As for the tiefling and the devil… that’s between them and their chosen gods. The question now is: what do we do with you?”
Gale swallows, and his mouth is so dry there’s almost nothing. He’s far less bothered by the loss of his companions than he wishes he was. His concern is reserved for himself. If his allies have chosen Minthara, so be it. He now needs them to choose to keep him alive, and to keep his orb satisfied.
Between his legs, his loathsome cock steals every last bit of energy he has to rise. Gale tries to ignore his body’s response to the three naked women in front of him as he pleads his case.
“I think you’ll find it… beneficial… to have a wizard on your side…”
“Chk,” Lae’zel sneers. “We don’t need the liability.”
Shadowheart nods. “I agree. Feeding that orb is a costly endeavor… one we can do without.”
They talk about him as if he’s not sitting right in front of them, chained to a stone floor—as if he’s entirely beneath consideration. To them, he is. Gale isn’t sure he can change their minds.
He tries. “As a former archmage, I—”
“Your companions have read me in on your condition,” Minthara says, stepping closer. “Before I make a decision, I’d like to see for myself how deep this hunger of yours goes.”
She lifts a leg and plants a boot on his shoulder. Its hard sole presses down on his shoulder blade, and he can feel the crackle of its arcane energy mocking him. The orb in his chest begs for it, stinging and contorting, growling with hunger. If it could reach out to touch the enchanted leather, it would. But all it knows is the same thing Gale knows: how to yearn, how to crave, how to remain dissatisfied. Like him, its desire is its ruin.
Minthara could plunge her heel into his chest and kick his heart aside. In mere hours, the orb would want more.
In spite of himself, Gale wants more too. He wants to follow her faint, tangy musk to its source and get his lips on her folds, wants to trail his tongue along them and let it dart inside her, to taste the slick fluid he can see glistening even in the cell's dim, miserable lighting. He’s starved as much as his orb, and has been for years.
He leans his head into the boot’s fanned spidersilk padding, almost nuzzling it. “Please.”
“These boots have what you require,” Minthara says. It’s not a question.
“Yes,” he rasps.
“And what will you do to earn them?” she asks.
“Anything.”
In response to his desperation, a malicious smirk spreads across her face. “We shall see.”
Nose first, Gale’s face trails after the boot as it leaves his shoulder. Minthara steps back and points to him, and Gale swallows, unsure of her plans. A bit frightened, a bit excited.
“Shadowheart,” she says. “Beneath him.”
Her order is obeyed, as all of her orders are. It’s a wonder to behold, really. Such power and beauty in one mortal being. Gale’s stiff cock bobs against his stomach as he watches everything come into place.
Shadowheart’s gorgeously soft, strapped up body steps toward him. First, she sits on the floor, bringing with her a heady waft of night orchids. Legs first, she slides beneath him, scooting until she’s lying flat on her back with her fat cock aligned with his hole. Up close, he sees the dildo is even bigger than it seemed from afar. Even in his Blackstaff days, he never had anything like it.
It shines with slick, either Lae’zel’s or Minthara’s—maybe both. He throbs at the thought of it, but if he’s meant to take it, Gale isn’t sure he can.
“Go on,” Minthara directs.
He swallows. “I, ah…”
“Is something the matter?” Minthara asks coolly.
“Pathetic creature,” spits Lae’zel. Leaned against a wall with her arms crossed, she watches in curious amusement as Minthara steps toward Gale again.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
This time, her boots remain on the floor as she squats then drops to her knees astride Shadowheart’s face. She’s in the same position as Gale, facing him, but they are not equals.
There’s a soft lapping sound where Shadowheart has begun kissing and sucking at purple folds. Minthara doesn’t react. Her eyes remain steely, focused on Gale, as she slowly grinds against Shadowheart’s face.
“Do you not know how to ride a cock?” she asks.
There’s wet squelching beneath Minthara as her juices glide across Shadowheart’s lips.
Gale swallows. “It’s been a while and… well, some oil wouldn’t be remiss…”
Lae’zel interrupts. “This is'tark is soft. Among my people, he’d have been purged before he even reached puberty.”
“Agreed,” Minthara says, smiling right at him, gauging his reaction to her cruel words. “In Menzoberranzan, after a House has two sons, each subsequent male-born child is slaughtered at birth, as it is useless, even for breeding. You have the aura of a third child about you.”
He’s not going to get any sympathy, he knows. Nor any oil. His orb stirs, as though it’s trying to pull him toward the boots on Minthara’s feet. It yearns to endure.
The sloshy sounds continue, and they seem especially cruel. All of that slick fluid, just out of reach. Not for him, no matter how much he’d love to taste them.
If there’s a way to survive, to endear himself enough to be kept alive, it’s through compliance. Gale must show that he can follow Minthara’s orders. He must do what he failed to do for Mystra and obey. Take what he is given, demand no more.
So he does. Gritting his teeth, he bears down on Shadowheart’s cock, lining it up perfectly. It’s somewhat slick at least, and he’s able to work just a bit inside himself.
Thrilling agony courses through his body, as potent as that caused by the orb.
It’s been ages since he was stretched for anyone, since he touched anyone. What he and Mystra had was beyond physical, the mingling of their very essences. This is harsh. Crude. Thrilling. Gale bites his lip and strains to push Shadowheart’s cock deeper inside himself.
After just the head of it, he’s groaning and sweating. He’s broken the skin on his lip and can taste iron on his tongue.
Minthara shakes her head. “Is that all you can take, wizard?”
“H–hardly,” he rasps.
Watching as Minthara rocks her cunt against Shadowheart’s face, as her battle-hardened hands knead pale, voluptuous breasts, Gale is almost painfully hard. He’s also determined.
An awful gasp escapes through his teeth as he forces himself lower, stretching himself further and further on Shadowheart’s strap-on. The pain is searing. Sweat beads down his forehead as the purple dildo finally bottoms out inside him.
It feels awful and incredible at once.
Still stirred by Minthara’s boots, the orb pulses some more. Competing sensations wage war on Gale’s body. His cock. The chains. The orb.
It’s all too much. It's dizzying. Gale was already exhausted when the women arrived. Planted on Shadowheart’s massive cock, he slumps forward again, almost wheezing his breaths as his head thumps against Minthara’s warm bosom.
A mistake. Weakness. Her hands leave Shadowheart’s breasts and violently push him away. He falls to a seat with Shadowheart deep inside him.
“Touch me again and I’ll slit your throat,” Minthara snaps.
Gods help him, Gale feels his cock leaking. “Yes, Min—”
“You will call me Nightwarden.”
“Yes, Nightwarden.”
“Now ride that cock.”
Despite all the pain and exhaustion, Gale gets to work. He wants to survive. His burning thighs want it enough to power his movements. His aching ass wants it enough to endure deep pulling and stretching.
It’s about more than survival, too. The drow in front of Gale is studying him, and he’s also studying her. Her thighs stiffen, just for a moment. Her breath catches. She grinds harder against Shadowheart’s mouth. But all the while, her face remains unmoved.
He wants to know Minthara better. He’s fascinated by her.
“Like you mean it,” she says. Another command.
He wants to please her.
Encouraged to make a show of it, Gale does just that. He works through the agony to set a pace. Up and down on his searing thighs, rattling his chains with the motion—Clink. Clink. Clink. Soon he’s riding Shadowheart’s huge cock with aplomb, huffing his breaths and groaning each time he bottoms out.
“Lae’zel,” Minthara says sharply.
The Githyanki warrior moves away from the wall and stands at attention. That Minthara can command someone as unassailable as Lae’zel… it gets Gale even more stirred up. He’s moving fast enough that his cock slaps against his stomach, and he can feel how soaked it’s become as it stickies the soft hairs on his lower belly.
“You wish for me to gut him?” Lae’zel asks.
She chuckles. “Not yet. Get behind the wizard.”
Lae’zel’s eyes shift back and forth in consideration before she realizes exactly what Minthara wants from her. Once she does, she steps behind Gale and nimbly squats. Her hard knees slot against the backs of his, her shins planting atop his calves. Though Lae’zel is diminutive in stature, she is robust. The full weight of her muscular body bears down on Gale’s legs, and they scream with pain. There’s an otherworldly scent to her, and he glances over his shoulder to catch stronger wafts of something mysterious mixed with grass and leather.
His eyes face forward once more.
“You will take both of them at once,” Minthara says to Gale, “and if you touch me, I will kill you.”
A tricky prospect, to say the least.
Gale hears Lae’zel spit, and feels firm wetness against his already stuffed hole. If he were going to make this any easier on himself, he’d need to lean forward. But then he’d risk touching Minthara. He’d risk death.
It takes every bit of his willpower to remain as he is—upright, straddling Shadowheart—as Lae’zel maneuvers behind him. She’s agile enough that she finds some angle, folds herself backwards just so that she can slip her thin cock inside him next to Shadowheart’s.
“Agggggggh—” Gale groans in pain. Satisfying pain, but pain nevertheless.
There’s so much pulling it must be tearing. He's wrecked. His vision is hazy.
Minthara simply stares at him, her expressionless face taunting him. There’s a hint of something happening. Her chest heaves slightly. Her thighs pulse just the slightest. Her lower lip shakes exactly once. It’s been a while, but Gale is certain she’s enjoying Shadowheart’s tongue, and that she’s disguising that fact from him. Minthara’s pleasure isn’t for him.
“Good girl,” Minthara says sharply, patting Shadowheart once at the side of her ribcage.
While Lae’zel’s faster-moving cock fills Gale with agony and ecstasy, he glances down at the slick fluid shining on Shadowheart’s nodding chin. His gaze moves upward along the violet-grey curves of Minthara’s body. It’s not his to enjoy, but he wishes it were. He yearns to know her long, pointed ears and swanlike neck. His balls ache with a need to probe her hot, wet cunt.
Fingers, tongue, cock. It wouldn’t matter.
She’s magnetic. She’s the embodiment of power. If he weren’t chained to the floor, Gale isn’t sure he could resist reaching out and touching her—trying to squeeze her breasts, pinch her hip bones, drag his wanting fingers along the inside of her thigh until they found her seeping folds. Since he wants to live, it’s for the best that he’s restrained. She would be the death of him. She might still.
He moans slightly, and Minthara’s lip curls with amusement.
“You can withstand more than I thought,” she says matter-of-factly. Not impressed, merely observant.
“I don’t have much choice,” he says, devoting his energy into staying upright. If he moves, he could accidentally touch Minthara. Game over. So he stays put, bearing it as Lae’zel and Shadowheart work up into him—not quite synchronized, which makes their thrusts more painful. It also makes them more interesting.
“You most certainly have a choice,” Minthara chides. “You could choose death.”
“Not to my taste—” Gale chokes out.
“But this is.”
Her eyes flit to where Gale is dripping. A thin strand of precum strings like a spiderweb from his slit to Shadowheart’s heaving stomach, tensing and loosing, threatening to snap with each plunge she makes into him.
It feels like a mistake to admit he’s enjoying the battle of two dildos abrasively rubbing against each other inside him, but Gale nods. He’s gone from being untouched for ages to feeling a fullness that borders on too much. It’s obscene. It’s thrilling.
Minthara scoffs. “Enjoy yourself or don’t. Your pleasure is irrelevant. It’s your compliance I seek.”
“Tell me what to do,” he blurts, eager to please.
It’s deplorable in light of what Minthara has done to the others, what he knows she’s done to the Emerald Grove. He should join her reluctantly, at best, just for survival. He should be plotting how he’ll take her down, assuming he survives long enough to satisfy his orb and rest.
And yet.
She smirks slightly. “Take what they give you and await my orders.”
A squishy sort of sound accompanies Lae’zel shifting behind him, relieving some of the pressure as her cock slips out of his hole. Shadowheart jerks hard upward and mumbles something into Minthara’s folds.
Minthara stands, leaving Gale entirely in the care of the others.
Sllllk. Slllllk. Sllllllk.
Lae’zel’s fingers are inside Shadowheart, working so that she arches upward, fucking hard into Gale. He can breathe somewhat easier knowing he won’t touch Minthara if he falls forward from exhaustion. At the same time, having her and her delectable boots further away is agony. She stands where Lae’zel once did, observing them.
Glancing down, Gale can see Shadowheart’s soaked face. She’s not looking at him. Her eyelids flutter and her lips tremble at whatever Lae’zel is doing inside her. Her ample chest swells and recedes, hard and sharp breaths.
When he turns back to Minthara, he sees a trail of slick dripping down her inner thigh.
It’s that tiny visual that finally takes him over the edge. With a harsh groan, Gale bursts, shooting three thick ropes of cum across Shadowheart’s stomach. She’s too busy coming for Lae’zel to pay it any attention at all.
Gale’s relief is short-lived.
“It is my understanding,” Minthara says, “that the human refractory period could make continuing painful for you.”
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Gale is in a daze, drooling unintelligible mumbles when Minthara steps toward him again. She bends down and he can smell her sharp, mossy scent so potently he can almost taste her as she unchains him from the floor. Her movements are swift, elegant.
He looks up at her with nothing less than awe.
She looks down at him with nothing at all.
“Use him until he cries,” she says.
“With pleasure,” Shadowheart says, her words husky through her soaked lips.
She pulls out of Gale and slides away, bringing herself in front of him. He could move now, but he stays right where Minthara left him: on his knees.
Until he cries.
He's certain if he does that, he’ll secure his end. No. There can be no crying. He has to prove he’s as resilient as he claims to be, that he has something to offer.
The aching emptiness in Gale is immediately replaced with pain as Lae’zel casts a Githyanki mage hand to take the place of Shadowheart’s cock. It’s thicker and longer—much bigger than his own mage hand—and it plunges deep within Gale to begin fisting him. A series of pitiful yelps are all that escape his lips. Lae'zel slides her lithe strap-on in alongside the hand, and Gale forces his tears back as he takes everything she can give him.
Aggressively, she hisses something in her foreign tongue as she fucks him with abandon.
Shadowheart is seated in front of him, her face still glistening with Minthara's juices, and she begins pulling at his exhausted foreskin. The head of his limp, spent cock is orblike in its oversensitive sting. Her other hand drifts to his mouth, and soon three of her fingers are inside, pressing down on his tongue and offering it the faintest, tangy taste of Lae’zel—a remnant of what they’d been getting up to before they came to his cell.
Gale doesn’t think he can take all of this, but he has to. He wants to. He shuts his eyes as yet another surge of violent heat courses through his chest. It’s too much.
“Please,” he whines. “The orb—”
The orb stirs more potently, and Gale knows Minthara has come closer before he even opens his eyes to see it. She stands above him, casting Shadowheart’s fingers aside.
While Shadowheart makes every effort to torture his aching genitals—squeezing his balls as hard as she can without damaging them, pressing her hard fingernails into the tender skin beneath them—Minthara returns her boot to his shoulder. She observes Lae’zel and Shadowheart with a semi-pleased expression.
Lae’zel notices, and she takes it as inspiration to begin violently pulling Gale’s hair while she fucks him. Her strong hands want him in one direction. The orb wants him in the other. His body is a battleground.
It’s too much. Every part of him cries out for relief. Gale hears the pathetic whimpering sound he’s making against his will and presumes he’s as good as doomed. His aching cock is hard again, but he knows it can’t do anything with that but yearn, crave, and be dissatisfied. Not yet.
Minthara’s heel digs in.
“Show me how badly you want these boots,” she says.
Her foot kicks upward, poking his mouth with the boot’s toe box.
Gale opens wide, taking the dirty leather into his mouth. Earthy mud and sharp blood alike scrape across the surface of his tongue, leaving hard, crumbly filth in their wake. It’s disgusting, but so is he. Gale Dekarios, the man more interested in his own survival than the fates of his companions—the man so swiftly enamored by a naked drow that he’d do anything for her.
He kisses her boot. Not the short peck of someone who just wants to get this over with. No, he kisses every bit of surface he can get his mouth on and licks his tongue into every grimy crevice. He looks up at Minthara with a worshipful gaze as he makes out with her enchanted footwear.
Something hot and wet slips around his cock, and he realizes it’s Shadowheart’s mouth. Devoted to ruining him—devoted to Minthara—she sucks hard at his sensitive head.
He mewls loudly. They have him everywhere. Lae’zel claiming his ass. Shadowheart seizing his cock. Minthara’s boot inching toward the back of his throat. The orb tangles within his body and it’s too much. It’s just too much.
Still, there are no tears. Gale is shaking. His vision clouds, turning the spidersilk before his eyes to a soft, dark blur. He cannot cry. He won’t.
Before he gets the chance, he passes out. It's a brief reprieve.
They're still claiming him. In and out of consciousness, there’s nothing, then everything, then nothing again. Over and over, he’s theirs and he’s gone. He’s definitely lost. He feels the wet streams running down his cheeks during a moment of lucidity.
Somehow, they don't damn him.
“We can make use of this one,” Minthara says at some point.
As he slips out of consciousness once more, Gale looks forward to it.
For Minthara, he'd do anything. Anything at all.