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To Dominate and Submit

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"Excuse me, miss. Do you know anything about this residence?"

 

"No, I'm sorry. Can't say I know anything about it… just the rumor here and there."

 

"I see. Nothing I haven't heard as well I'm sure, but they all lead me to believe this house to be home to daedra worshipers. Nasty cretins, the lot of them. Never met one I didn't loath."

 

"... do you need some help?"

 

Damned, how she regretted that offer now. Had she even bothered to ask his name before she murdered him? Or did she and just… forgot it? Was it that? What a hero that would have made her. Truly.

 

"Detestable," she murmured, feeling lower than the bones of her thieving ancestors as the blood of the man still flowed, creating a wide puddle of reflective death. The heavy crimson oozed into the cracks of the stone floor; hot wet on cold hardness. Droplets from her dagger still dripped, painting star patterns upon the floors with steady, loud taps.

 

"I win." She said to the still quivering baskets and flying cutlery. The forks and knives twirled erratically before dropping in a clatter. A plate swerved like an arrow, skimming close to her nose before shattering against the wall. Sweat formed on her brow and upper lip as she masked the fear. Once again, she reminded herself of the mistake she'd made by entering this house of horror.

 

"Yes," that drawl, so sinister and amused made her insides writhe, "your reward is waiting for you mortal. Further down..."

 

She didn't dare try the door at her back again. The shock of power she'd felt the first time she'd attempted escape was still numbing her fingers and prickling her knuckles. The disembodied voice rumbled – a noise insistent – and she walked further through the rooms and corridors despite the increasing dread in her chest. It felt like every step she took made some mass of worms in her body multiply. Never before had she felt terror such as this… never before had something had such utter control over her. It left her helpless to defy and escape… and that was what was most terrifying than the mystery of what was… further down.

 

The heavy Dwarven door, previously locked, eased open before her fingertips could reach the rich metal. It screeched as softly as a suffocating bird, and perhaps even more horrifying was the rush of moist air that flooded her nostrils. The air smelled and felt like the opening to a cave; a derelict cave full of stale death.

 

"Yesss… further. Into the bowls."

 

It was like a knife slipping down her throat and flaying the soft tissue inside her lungs every time that voice rang as if whatever it was was behind her, in front of her, inside her...following and watching and waiting. 

 

More than once she paused around a dark corner, only to feel a maddening vibration under her feet, forcing her footfalls methodically until the excavated opening of a tunnel brought that heavy stench of old blood and something… equally rancid to her senses.

 

"So close," hot breath down her neck forced her down the tunnel with her heart racing one step ahead, "Your prize is waitinnnng."

 

A turn and she saw the altar – the black, thorny altar with shifting liquid the color of oil upon water, but the smell told her it was blood, from… something, someone. Her heart swam in her ears. The adrenaline coursed like a rapid stream and each breath felt smaller and smaller until she crept upon the black pedestal and the cage sprung up and captured her with a velocity that took the rest of her breath for itself.

 

"Fooool." That voice would destroy her before her own terror would, she realized, half-feral with fear and sweat-inducing hysteria. Her fingers sought out the bars shaped like swords and grasped them without care to the edges digging into her slick palms. This was like a night terror, one that wouldn't wane… and… by the Gods… why would anyone worship something so… so…

 

"Did you think Molag Bal – The Lord of Domination – would so easily reward you?"

 

The edge of the bars sliced her palm when she hefted her body against the cage, her mind flooding with scenarios perverse and painful, and perhaps ridiculously horrifying. The pain and distinct feel of her blood spilling down her arm and the bar cleared her mind enough that she thought wrong enough to sneer at the moving pool of essence, and the glimmering mace twirling slow enough that she couldn't be sure if it was twirling at all.

 

"What' do you see from that little cage? Speak!" Her gut went sour suddenly, that heat she'd felt upon her neck saturated her leather armor, her hair, her exposed skin and even between her legs where she felt whatever small shred of control she had wilt and die. The fear felt mailable suddenly, splashing inside her belly and making her limbs shake. This had to have been what elk felt right before she took her knife to their throats… pure unadulterated helplessness.

 

A cage. Yes, she was trapped and before her...? A mace. An altar…

 

"SPEAK!" The voice stabbed an answer out of her, possibly the wrong one.

 

"Altar! An… altar," she shuddered out past the clog in her throat and the sudden hot flush of prickly air around her. The bars, so jagged and menacing ushered in a sense of claustrophobia and impuissance that was making her palms run down the sharp edge of daedric metal, cutting herself and forcing away the miasma of something repressed and disgraceful from her mind.

 

"Yes it's an all'tar. Men would come and sacrifice the wretched in my name. The weak would be punished by the strong," every drawling syllable would marry with the now audible drops and slips of her own blood, orchestrating the music between them that suddenly festered a slippery sort of terror than fixated her gaze upon the shifting pool, "But… a Daedric Lord haaas hiss enemies, and my rival Boethia had her priest desecrate the all'tar." There was a snarl, more ethereal than real at the end of the ghostly words.

 

A growing pause, with nothing but the sound of her spilled blood and the raw heat growing dense inside her containment was her response.

 

"To regain the freedom you so desperately crave, you should speeeak up mortalll."

 

The voice. By the Nines, she pleaded as the dread grew… addictive. Something thick was wringing its way down her belly, slipping past the molded fear where it nestled between her thighs, sprouting a color of shame and abject horror over her cheeks. Suddenly it was herself that she feared, her sudden descending tickle and how everything thrummed with a delectable sensation of… domination.

 

"L-let me go," she stuttered, realizing how pathetic she sounded and yet...not caring a damn. All she wanted was out. Away. Freedom. And she didn't want to hear another mouth-less word from this Lord. Not one more…

 

"Ahhh...pitiful. How very...expecteh'd. But you will not deny Molag Bal. Ruler of Coldharbour. Lord of Domination. Prince of Rape, " visions of crying women and pumping hips filled her mind and she whimpered audibly, "I will not be… ignored."

 

No. This Daedric Prince was un-ignorable… so abominably, wretchedly un-ignorable. And it was pure arousal dripping between her legs the moment the phantasmal breath, so hot and cloying, skimmed over her body like a soak.

 

Desperation took over in an instant.

 

Pulling and yanking at the now slippery bars, slicing her flesh all the more and feverishly gasping in a useless endeavor was not her most flattering moment in life. But the sudden throb growing and stinging her senses made all thoughts of pride and decency give way to self-preservation. This was pure madness!

 

"I won't have any part of this!" She shrieked on a sudden cry and jumped the side of the cage, banging her ribs into a spike, making her sputter in pain and yet she couldn't stop drastically fighting against the cage, no matter how little it moved or how loud the calm, demeaning laughter rose in her ears. "Bestow your own revenge… and," the thin cotton of her smalls dampened in her sensuous panic and she gasped low, " and let me go!"

 

"Revenge?" another earthquake of a chuckle, "No, I want… submission..."

 

She sucked in her lower lip, her eyes burning as the standing pool of water upon the altar started to shake softly in time with a low vibration echoing in her chest. Immediately she felt out of breath, more cornered than ever before.

 

Gasping, with her cheeks pressed hard between the sharp bars, she felt her knees go weak and her body, slowly sink.

 

"Ahhh..." and then another, more sharp, resounding chuckle brought wet tears to the webs of her lashes. Warmth curled in her belly again, stronger this time and a breathy moan were perhaps, her worst mistake of all – it was undeniable proof of the seedy reactions happening inside her.

 

It was… confirmation.

 

"Mortals have not come to my altar for this in too longgg," the Lord's voice sliced and soothed with each word; a cut healed only to be re-cut again and again until the muscles under her skin felt as unstable as a broken hive of bees, "Hold still. I am… coming for y'eww."

 

The standing pool of broken, watery blood shook and began to sluggishly drip upwards, splattering along the cave's ceiling as if the world had suddenly flipped upside down. A shudder around her yanked a seething noise from her throat as the oily, blood painted water pooled above her, leaving the altar empty and void of anything, just a dark pit where some slithering sound seeped from.

 

She'd seen Sanguine, Sheogorath...and the Daedra of Mehrunes Dagon… but… but the three, claw-fitted fingers that reached from that cavern of nothing, down from within that altar, made her freeze as if never before had she laid eyes upon anything but another Nord.

 

Her eyes glazed over the thick inhuman arm and the sharp shoulder that perked forth, followed by a head, muzzled with something more Dragon-like than anything else. Against physical ability, a beast flooded out from that hole, obscured by a miasma of that blood-colored oil while it gathered tall and large before her. She saw the eyes though, the primal eyes so void and yet so bright staring right at her. Were these the eyes of Molag Bal? - or was this some beast summoned from Oblivion to rape her as one of his many names suggested?

 

The creature was huge and radiated that thick airy heat that'd teased her before. It smelt like the ancient embers of the Skyforge, with the unmistakable scent of musty bones.

 

"So easy to move you mortaallls like a pawn. Force y'eww," the beast's long muzzle of teeth and scale didn't move as the silken voice coiled around her, as if both disembodiment and beast were of different planes, "However, far more fun to… dominate."

 

There was a dragging sound as the beast circled her in her cage, in her confinement. It was a thick sound, like a tail sliding behind the stone under its feet. She followed it's gaze, turning around with it and sweating finally as those eyes added to the hot fear the voice produced. This was Molag Bal, and yet… yet it wasn't…

 

"How do you intend to escape without making an… agreement?" that silken voice eased just as menacingly between her thighs as any eager hand, "Without submitting?" A rippling sound brought her eyes upwards. The upside-down pool of red quivered with each word uttered in every direction, "Come. Tell Molag Bal what frightens you so..."

 

A heavy snort snatched her attention from the standing pool - writhing and twitching like a thick almost gelatinous substance - to the heavy muzzled beast boring its demeaning gaze through her skull.

 

Through the inky miasma two heavy, dagger-sharp horns jutted upwards, curved and dark from the beasts head.

 

She whimpered like the suffering, for this had to have been worse than pain. This pleasure, so unwanted and frightening in its voidness, was heinous. What was worse was the roll and tide of the feeling. It would come crashing, only to slither away into pure terror, then creep forth again no less strong and fulfilling until retreating again, leaving her breathless and needful.

 

"So base. Primal. I will make you bend to meeee..."

 

Tears of frustration flooded past the dam of her lashes, one wet trail gleaming down her cheek to curl around the ball of her chin. She moaned, lips shivering and knees unstable as the pleasure groped between her legs, inside her like some invisible snake. "G-gods..."

 

Spiteful, gleeful, and dark laughter sprung all around her – loud and rapturous. It felt good, and she let her eyes close as the euphoria swam up and down her belly like a caress. One of her hands slid off the bar, immediately seeking out the straps to her leather trousers as the desperate need grew unfathomable inside. Dimly, she knew that self-pleasure over such a ghastly situation as this was something she'd regret the rest of her life, but the need… she couldn't stand it any longer.

 

Just as her leathers loosened, her heart dropped in her gullet as the maw of the scaled beast shoved its long snarling jaws between the sharp daggers. Teeth snapped and searing saliva flung against her, driving her body cowering – and yet still reeling from the pleasure – into the back of her mocking cage.

 

She screamed; pure and animalistic.

 

"I will eat y'eww… if you relieve yourself," she swallowed the bile of her fear down just before it reached the back of her tongue, "My warninnng..." A long, split tongue, so big she could count the bulbous taste buds if given the time, reached out and waggled just beyond the reach of her stomach. The warning was clear indeed, but her fingers remained itchy upon the bars she grasped behind her. In this moment of ecstasy, terror, and mockery, she entertained taking that chance...but a steady chuckle gave her a dull resonance of pleasure and she arched back forgetting her defiance. The point had come where she moaned freely as Molag Bal essentially brought her closer and closer to the dreaded release with every sinister word.

 

"Come over freely. Give me your loyalty and you will find completion mortalll."

 

She could feel it. The claustrophobia, the containment, the slippery coils of pleasure teasing her so close it hurt every second she didn't find a release for that building tension. What would it hurt? - she gasped while trying to think of the difference here between what she'd done for the other Lords. None of them had trapped her, or in turn, used this guilty pleasure of hers to their advantage, but whatever Molag Bal originally had planned for her couldn't have been any more torturous than this.

 

So death would probably be part of his plan, but death... death she could deal with as long as this plight found an end. As long as she could come undone.

 

"What say y'ew...?" The voice gave her another lick and she shuddered her answer without another thought, "Have i-it, my loyalty. Y-you have it!"

 

The beast smiled a dragon's grin, tongue snaking out again to wrap around one of the dagger-like bars she'd sliced her palm on before, soaking up the blood and drooling as a robust thrum rushed up her shins, thighs and between her thighs, bringing in a thick, long rush of scratchy heat.

 

A rip of guttural noises left her throat as she came, "Enjooyyy… Relish. This is a taste of your reward."

 

The vibrations, the touch of the voice and the slithering gaze of the beast lapping up her dried blood destroyed the build-up of tension, crumbled it in the worst and best of ways that left her near sobbing in release as the throbbing orgasm peaked and slowly...so slowly subsided.

 

As her knees buckled, sending her to a mess upon the hot, black pedestal, the sharp bars delved back into the ground from wherever they'd come. That caged, trapped feeling was gone immediately, along with the cloying heat and the snarling beast. It vanished, and one eye on the ceiling proved that the blood pool was gone too, back in the cup of the altar under the twirling mace as if it'd never moved at all.

 

"Brush away that weakness now mortalll. I want the priest who did this, keeps me trapped between two sellvvves. Bend his knee and give me his sooo'ul before I lose patience."

 

The voice still curled and caressed, but she couldn't find the strength to resist or relish. Merely, she nodded, sweaty and hot, staring at the mist heavy above the oil pool and the rusted mace.

 

Molag Bal had her full, unbridled attention this time.