Categories > Books > Dragonlance
Marble and Granite
0 ReviewsIn the second book of Dragonlance Legends, our heroes get captured by the rogue half-ogre Steeltoe. He rides off with Crysania, and the next time we see her, her dress is ripped. Gasp! So I'm a per...
Crysania rode slung over the half-ogre's massive shoulder, her ankles held to his waist, with her hip nestled too intimately next to his jaw. The ride was far from comfortable: her blood pressed hard in her face and the jolting gallop of Steeltoe's big stallion was amplified, jarring her with every stride.
Humiliation and heart-numbing fear had turned her body to ice and her stomach to churning acid. She knew what Steeltoe and his men had planned for her, and she felt clammy with cold sweat while shuddering convulsively.
I must not allow myself to weaken, she told herself, closing her eyes. Even if they take my body, my mind and spirit are my own and Paladine's. They will never break my soul, no matter how badly they hurt my body. The flesh is weak, the spirit is strong. I can live through this.
I will, I must live through this.
Steeltoe rumbled a command to his horse, and the stallion slowed to a walk, blowing and tossing his head. Crysania's eyes flew open, the fear knotting anew in her, gripping her so tightly that she thought she would surely die of it, like an injured bird in the jaws of a cat.
Steeltoe reined in the stallion and dismounted. He took Crysania from his shoulder and set her down as easily as if she was a doll or a child. She came up to the bottom of his ribcage when they were both standing. They were completely alone, the sound of Steeltoe's men gone in the distance.
Her breath was fast and shallow. Her eyes could not focus. She stared past the brute's shoulder, refusing to look at him.
"You are a proud one, lady," Steeltoe observed, grinning horribly. "Think yourself far too good for the likes of me, do you not?"
Unconsciously her lip curled in a sneer, that defiant expression Raistlin used so often, and Steeltoe hit her.
Crysania's face rocked aside with the blow, tears of pain and rage springing to her eyes. She stayed turned, the flare of hurt on her cheek blooming, until Steeltoe gripped her chin and forced her head back towards him.
"I've got another theory," he whispered to her, his deep voice gentle, his eyes hard and mocking. "I believe you're a virgin. Am I right?"
Crysania could not hide her flush, could feel even her chest grow warm with blood. She closed her eyes.
"Well now," Steeltoe murmured. "A rare treat indeed that I get to initiate a virgin--at least, one as old as you. With that icy attitude, I can hardly blame the warrior and wizard for not taking care of you proper. Of course, perhaps they prefer each other!"
Crysania's gaze snapped to him, fury boiling up through her throat. Her hands clenched in her rage at this lout, this beast, speaking so of Raistlin and Caramon.
"My companions," she said, "are finer, more noble men than you could hope to aspire to. Ogre."
He hit her again, almost idly, grinning. "Perhaps," he mused, "but I'll wager they don't have nearly as much fun."
While she was still trying to recover from the blow, Steeltoe seized the front of her dress in his giant hand and pulled. The fabric came away as if it was no thicker than cobwebs, and Crysania found herself with breast bared. She cried out, unable to help it, trying to recover the tattered remnants.
Steeltoe caught her wrists, both in one of those massive hands, and held her arms outstretched above her head. She froze, reminding herself that he wanted her to struggle, and forced herself to breathe calmly, standing still.
With his free hand, Steeltoe loosed her breasts from the cloth, and cupped them both in turn. He squeezed the left one gently, making Crysania clench her jaw.
"Since you're so pure, lady," Steeltoe told her, squeezing her flesh rhythmically, "I thought I could teach you something before I took you back to camp. There won't be much time for lessons there, I'm afraid. Except the one lesson, which you'll learn very, very well." He grinned again, giving her breast a jiggling shake. To Crysania's chagrin, her nipple hardened.
"You see?" Steeltoe said, and began to run his thumb over the stiffened nub.
Crysania gasped sharply, heat again flooding her face and chest. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt before--electric and deeply, fiercely pleasurable. As Steeltoe continued the caresses, his brutal hands so gentle on her, a spot between her legs began to throb, and she bit her lip in an attempt to keep in a moan.
"Well, look at that," purred the half-ogre. "You're a good pupil after all."
She hated him then, in a crazed rush of passion that sprouted from the bottom of her soul, and she was ashamed of her weakness. She tried to regain her coolness, her compassion for all things no matter how vile or low, but the pleasure and the rage threw her into turmoil.
Steeltoe kept her like that, her hands above her head, his fingers pulling and rubbing at her nipples--first one, then the other--until she could not stop blushing and her lip was bleeding from biting it. A part of her she never thought she'd have a use for was throbbing and hot and seemed to be growing disturbingly slick.
The half-ogre shot her a glance she could only have called conspiratorial and bent his head. Crysania bit back a reflexive protest, and then, harder, swallowed a moan. Steeltoe was licking at her breasts, running his tongue in slow flicks over her nipple, suckling on it in long slow pulls, then switching back and forth between her breasts.
Crysania trembled, closing her eyes. Try as she might to fight off her physical reactions to Steeltoe's touch, she could not. Her body was awakening and hungry. It seemed years since she had felt the simplest pleasure, even that of clean hair or clothes. Now she was being ravished with a rich and terrifying sensation that she could not wish to give up.
Some terrible part of her whispered oh, if only it were Raistlin...
As Steeltoe's suckling grew firmer, he gripped her waist with one hand and used the other to play with the breast he was not mouthing. Crysania clenched her hands in his hair, unaware that she was pressing him closer to her breast, asking him to suck more, harder, more. She moaned, first soft, then louder as he responded to her needs with the skill of a longtime lover.
A sudden pressure between her legs made her gasp, and she realized Steeltoe had pressed his thumb there, his hand had stolen up her skirt without her noticing (or perhaps she'd wanted him to touch her there; perhaps she'd spread her legs for him). Now his callused thumb pressed on some wildly sensitive part of her, some hard little nub down there. Crysania whined low in her throat, half protest, half cajoling, and his fingers parted her nether lips to lay lengthwise within them. There his big fingers stroked, slipping up her just enough to make her eyes go wide with the pressure, then out, then again, and again, and again. He did not stop licking at her nipples, nor did his thumb stop the maddening pressure on that mysterious part of hers.
Some strange tension was within Crysania, an odd singing note like a violin string. She realized she was pressing Steeltoe's head to her breast, had parted her legs for him and was shamelessly rocking and thrusting her hips on his teasing hand, all the while moaning like a whore in heat. Horror and fury curled her lip and she began to fight him, pulling his hair, hammering on his shoulders with her fists. She couldn't kick, for in the position she'd gotten herself into, her legs were braced.
Steeltoe lifted his head from her, laughing, his gaze hot. "Well, you finally noticed that you like it too much, eh? No surprise to me, pure lady. Women are all the same, no matter what airs they put on. The most refined elf spreads her legs just as easily for me as a street girl, or a virgin marble witch."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to see his guts steaming on the ground, and the passion of her anger terrified her. Crysania stared at him in what she hoped was a cold and penetrating manner, but it merely made him laugh.
Steeltoe straightened up, and Crysania's eyes went wide at the giant bulge straining at his breeches. The organ within must have rivaled her forearm in length and thickness, and she watched in horrified fascination as it bobbed in time with Steeltoe's heartbeat.
"Impressive, eh?" he grinned, rubbing himself, gripping the thing's shaft through his breeches. "Don't worry, you'll get to see plenty of him later, and from what you've shown me here, I believe you'll like him once you get a taste of him." His grin became a leer, and Crysania clutched the ruins of her bodice to her saliva-slickened breasts, turning away from him.
He laughed again. "Ah, how I will enjoy watching the faces of your men as I fuck you in front of them, and as you come on me and scream for more. It will be the finest pleasure I've had in months. And once I'm done with you, my men will have you, and you'll like them by that point, too."
He grabbed her by the waist and Crysania hissed in revulsion, struggling now, but to no avail. Steeltoe threw her over his shoulder again, clamping her ankles firmly to his waist, and swung into the saddle.
Her humiliation before had been as nothing compared to this. How she wanted to see him bleeding, see him hurt, see him dead.
Paladine, forgive me, Crysania prayed. Forgive me for hating him, and forgive him for what he does to me. Forgive me. Forgive us.
But in her heart of hearts she didn't want to be forgiven. She wanted revenge.
Humiliation and heart-numbing fear had turned her body to ice and her stomach to churning acid. She knew what Steeltoe and his men had planned for her, and she felt clammy with cold sweat while shuddering convulsively.
I must not allow myself to weaken, she told herself, closing her eyes. Even if they take my body, my mind and spirit are my own and Paladine's. They will never break my soul, no matter how badly they hurt my body. The flesh is weak, the spirit is strong. I can live through this.
I will, I must live through this.
Steeltoe rumbled a command to his horse, and the stallion slowed to a walk, blowing and tossing his head. Crysania's eyes flew open, the fear knotting anew in her, gripping her so tightly that she thought she would surely die of it, like an injured bird in the jaws of a cat.
Steeltoe reined in the stallion and dismounted. He took Crysania from his shoulder and set her down as easily as if she was a doll or a child. She came up to the bottom of his ribcage when they were both standing. They were completely alone, the sound of Steeltoe's men gone in the distance.
Her breath was fast and shallow. Her eyes could not focus. She stared past the brute's shoulder, refusing to look at him.
"You are a proud one, lady," Steeltoe observed, grinning horribly. "Think yourself far too good for the likes of me, do you not?"
Unconsciously her lip curled in a sneer, that defiant expression Raistlin used so often, and Steeltoe hit her.
Crysania's face rocked aside with the blow, tears of pain and rage springing to her eyes. She stayed turned, the flare of hurt on her cheek blooming, until Steeltoe gripped her chin and forced her head back towards him.
"I've got another theory," he whispered to her, his deep voice gentle, his eyes hard and mocking. "I believe you're a virgin. Am I right?"
Crysania could not hide her flush, could feel even her chest grow warm with blood. She closed her eyes.
"Well now," Steeltoe murmured. "A rare treat indeed that I get to initiate a virgin--at least, one as old as you. With that icy attitude, I can hardly blame the warrior and wizard for not taking care of you proper. Of course, perhaps they prefer each other!"
Crysania's gaze snapped to him, fury boiling up through her throat. Her hands clenched in her rage at this lout, this beast, speaking so of Raistlin and Caramon.
"My companions," she said, "are finer, more noble men than you could hope to aspire to. Ogre."
He hit her again, almost idly, grinning. "Perhaps," he mused, "but I'll wager they don't have nearly as much fun."
While she was still trying to recover from the blow, Steeltoe seized the front of her dress in his giant hand and pulled. The fabric came away as if it was no thicker than cobwebs, and Crysania found herself with breast bared. She cried out, unable to help it, trying to recover the tattered remnants.
Steeltoe caught her wrists, both in one of those massive hands, and held her arms outstretched above her head. She froze, reminding herself that he wanted her to struggle, and forced herself to breathe calmly, standing still.
With his free hand, Steeltoe loosed her breasts from the cloth, and cupped them both in turn. He squeezed the left one gently, making Crysania clench her jaw.
"Since you're so pure, lady," Steeltoe told her, squeezing her flesh rhythmically, "I thought I could teach you something before I took you back to camp. There won't be much time for lessons there, I'm afraid. Except the one lesson, which you'll learn very, very well." He grinned again, giving her breast a jiggling shake. To Crysania's chagrin, her nipple hardened.
"You see?" Steeltoe said, and began to run his thumb over the stiffened nub.
Crysania gasped sharply, heat again flooding her face and chest. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt before--electric and deeply, fiercely pleasurable. As Steeltoe continued the caresses, his brutal hands so gentle on her, a spot between her legs began to throb, and she bit her lip in an attempt to keep in a moan.
"Well, look at that," purred the half-ogre. "You're a good pupil after all."
She hated him then, in a crazed rush of passion that sprouted from the bottom of her soul, and she was ashamed of her weakness. She tried to regain her coolness, her compassion for all things no matter how vile or low, but the pleasure and the rage threw her into turmoil.
Steeltoe kept her like that, her hands above her head, his fingers pulling and rubbing at her nipples--first one, then the other--until she could not stop blushing and her lip was bleeding from biting it. A part of her she never thought she'd have a use for was throbbing and hot and seemed to be growing disturbingly slick.
The half-ogre shot her a glance she could only have called conspiratorial and bent his head. Crysania bit back a reflexive protest, and then, harder, swallowed a moan. Steeltoe was licking at her breasts, running his tongue in slow flicks over her nipple, suckling on it in long slow pulls, then switching back and forth between her breasts.
Crysania trembled, closing her eyes. Try as she might to fight off her physical reactions to Steeltoe's touch, she could not. Her body was awakening and hungry. It seemed years since she had felt the simplest pleasure, even that of clean hair or clothes. Now she was being ravished with a rich and terrifying sensation that she could not wish to give up.
Some terrible part of her whispered oh, if only it were Raistlin...
As Steeltoe's suckling grew firmer, he gripped her waist with one hand and used the other to play with the breast he was not mouthing. Crysania clenched her hands in his hair, unaware that she was pressing him closer to her breast, asking him to suck more, harder, more. She moaned, first soft, then louder as he responded to her needs with the skill of a longtime lover.
A sudden pressure between her legs made her gasp, and she realized Steeltoe had pressed his thumb there, his hand had stolen up her skirt without her noticing (or perhaps she'd wanted him to touch her there; perhaps she'd spread her legs for him). Now his callused thumb pressed on some wildly sensitive part of her, some hard little nub down there. Crysania whined low in her throat, half protest, half cajoling, and his fingers parted her nether lips to lay lengthwise within them. There his big fingers stroked, slipping up her just enough to make her eyes go wide with the pressure, then out, then again, and again, and again. He did not stop licking at her nipples, nor did his thumb stop the maddening pressure on that mysterious part of hers.
Some strange tension was within Crysania, an odd singing note like a violin string. She realized she was pressing Steeltoe's head to her breast, had parted her legs for him and was shamelessly rocking and thrusting her hips on his teasing hand, all the while moaning like a whore in heat. Horror and fury curled her lip and she began to fight him, pulling his hair, hammering on his shoulders with her fists. She couldn't kick, for in the position she'd gotten herself into, her legs were braced.
Steeltoe lifted his head from her, laughing, his gaze hot. "Well, you finally noticed that you like it too much, eh? No surprise to me, pure lady. Women are all the same, no matter what airs they put on. The most refined elf spreads her legs just as easily for me as a street girl, or a virgin marble witch."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to see his guts steaming on the ground, and the passion of her anger terrified her. Crysania stared at him in what she hoped was a cold and penetrating manner, but it merely made him laugh.
Steeltoe straightened up, and Crysania's eyes went wide at the giant bulge straining at his breeches. The organ within must have rivaled her forearm in length and thickness, and she watched in horrified fascination as it bobbed in time with Steeltoe's heartbeat.
"Impressive, eh?" he grinned, rubbing himself, gripping the thing's shaft through his breeches. "Don't worry, you'll get to see plenty of him later, and from what you've shown me here, I believe you'll like him once you get a taste of him." His grin became a leer, and Crysania clutched the ruins of her bodice to her saliva-slickened breasts, turning away from him.
He laughed again. "Ah, how I will enjoy watching the faces of your men as I fuck you in front of them, and as you come on me and scream for more. It will be the finest pleasure I've had in months. And once I'm done with you, my men will have you, and you'll like them by that point, too."
He grabbed her by the waist and Crysania hissed in revulsion, struggling now, but to no avail. Steeltoe threw her over his shoulder again, clamping her ankles firmly to his waist, and swung into the saddle.
Her humiliation before had been as nothing compared to this. How she wanted to see him bleeding, see him hurt, see him dead.
Paladine, forgive me, Crysania prayed. Forgive me for hating him, and forgive him for what he does to me. Forgive me. Forgive us.
But in her heart of hearts she didn't want to be forgiven. She wanted revenge.
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