Xyth stalked into his bedchambers, a permanent scowl on his face. The room was as he had left it. The immense oak desk in the corner held little in the way of clutter. Being a warrior, the desk was merely there to show his wealth, not his penchant for studies. The bed dominated the center of the room, raised on a small dais to attract attention. It was a large, round affair, with pillows of soft griffin down. It was easily large enough for an entire orgy of orgres, with room to spare.
And his prized possession chained next to it. She froze when she saw him, large eyes already wet with tears. Her skin was dark and rich. Xyth could already feel the burning need in his crotch. He grabbed on end of the chain and tugged sharply. The needle-sharp spikes on the collar dug into his pet. The bottle she had been painting her nails with fell over and stained the white carpet like blood. "Look at the mess!" he shrieked at her. "What is the meaning of this?!" His voice rose to a crescendo, shaking the very stone around them.
The pitiful Teir'Dal girl, barely into her 14th season didn't even try to resist. Xyth had bought her flesh 13 seasons ago, and long ago she had learned the pain associated with even the appearance of resistance. Though she had been willful in the past, the warrior knew that she had given over winning her independence and instead sought only to please him. It was all the more delicious knowing that she willingly defiled her own body just to continue at his side.
"I wished to make myself more attractive to m'Lordship," she whispered, taking care to avoid eye contact. She showed him her freshly painted nails.
Xyth grinned wickedly, then back-handed her with his mailed fist. There was a loud crunch as the side of her face restructured itself. Still, she emitted not a sound of pain, just merely removed the rags he allowed her for covering. Her once soft, perfect flesh was a chaotic pattern of burns, welts, and scars. Brands of a dozen House names (all those she had been "lent" out to, and those who owed him favors) were burned in various parts of her anatomy. The picture arouse the warrior all the more, and he motioned for her to disrobe him and continue to service him.
He allowed her to lay him down, not moving as she struggled to remove his clothing. When she had trouble removing some articles, she bent to retrieve a knife. It was a wicked looking sacrificial dagger that curved back on itself. Like most of his prized possessions (like the slave-girl herself), it was illegal to have, but that made it all the more worthwhile to him.
There was a brief moment of suspense as she held the knife above his heart, and Xyth felt his heart skip a beat. Then she was moving on, removing the last stubborn pieces of cloth from his well-muscled body. He knew she would never willingly harm him, he had her too frightened and too well-trained. Still, it was the thrill that he got off on.
When she had finished, he threw her down onto the bed and mounted her. He took her savagely, and when she had trouble getting lubricated, he used a knife to cut her labia, using the blood as lubricant. She seemed to enjoy it all the more, and soon she was screaming in ecstasy and clawing at his back. Xyth found the pain a surprising addition, and found himself in the grip of orgasm sooner than he had expected. His muscles in his abdomen contracted even as his back and neck muscles did so. He arched back, and moaned in pleasure as his semen burned into his victim.
But something was wrong. His muscles continued to contract and pull, twisting his mouth into a rictus snarl. His heart pounded in his temple, and his eyes saw nothing but red. His last vision was that of his beloved slave smiling wickedly.
She easily threw him off of her and stood for the first time on her own. Xyth's mind raced, searching for an answer to such inexplicable actions. And then, as his back arched to near breaking, he saw it. Lying on the floor, the paint his treacherous woman had used. Poisoned!
Without a word, his unnamed slave claimed possession of the key and unlocked the chain around her neck. With and audible click, she was free at last. She stayed long enough to gather a decent set of leather armor before closing the door behind her. There was a sharp cracking of bone as she did so. She never looked back to see her former master hewn in half by his own muscle spasms.
Thus was the Nameless Rogue born unto Neriak. May Innoruuk save you all.