Dralan [On Hold]

Forty-Four

Phlague

He licked his lips and slid his tongue against his teeth with a sinister smirk as the Mihr beneath him cried softly and collapsed on the ground. She rolled over like the used vessel she was, weak and crippled from her service to him.

He watched her naked and bruised body shiver in the cold, curling up as he circled her.

He would deal with her later.

Retreating in his post-feeding bliss, he sauntered up to his bed and laid down, watching his art on the wall. A new player to the game stood chained with her pert ass faced out towards him, taunting him.

The other young female had finally succumb to her injuries a week ago. She had been replaced before the hour had run out.

That was the thing about females - the thing the foolish Dralan hadn't learned yet.

They were all disposable. Every single one of them. Sure, some were prettier than others, but what purpose did their looks serve when all they were meant to was serve them with their insides?

The insides of their mouth. The insides of their pussy. The inside of their tight, puckered asses.

And most importantly, their blood.

- The foolish Lady Kahtrina had learnt that the hard way.

A lazy, malignant smile tugged on the edge of his lip as he remembered her cries.

Oh, she had been divine. One of his greatest masterpieces. The disappointment of learning his males had brought him the wrong female was quickly erased as she turned out to be a plenteous challenge.

For hours, she had screamed and taken his cock while he had harvested her blood with his dagger. For every disobedient twitch, he had corrected her and taught her the laws of her gender.

Submission. Submission. Submission.

Once he realized she was never going to talk, there was just one thing to do. It was a pity to maul such a beautiful female, but like previously stated; her beauty meant nothing if she couldn't submit to his commands.

He had asked her. About the Dralan's Mihrisa. Asked what she looked like, asked how deeply the Dralan was caring for her. Was she protected? Was he keeping her captive like his last female?

The redheaded female had kept her mouth shut, so he had been forced to take other measures to use to teach her her lessons;

- If she didn't speak for him, she spoke for no one.

Growling, he despised how the foolishness of his males and the stubbornness of the lady Kahtrina had set back his plan another few weeks. It was an intolerable wait. Waiting for the Dralan to screw up, waiting for news from his males about his little Mihrisa.

Oh, when he got his hands on her...

Phlague chuckled silently to himself and sat up, feeling his loins stir with need.

He would rip her apart. He would fuck her to her death, and if luck would have it, he would make the incompetent Dralan watch; watch as he made her beg his name, watch as he ripped everyone of her teeth out and shoved his cock down her throat, watch her lose consciousness as he sucked her dry while pumping her full.

He could already feel the Dralan's wrath and picture his face as he watched his precious source of life lose her own.

- It would be the day he finally ascended the throne.

But sadly, until that day, all he could do was tediously wait.

Snarling, he stood up and stalked up to his beautiful art and gripped the new female in his collection. She awoke from a weakened slumber, gasping when she felt his palm smooth over her rear, taking in the softness of her plump flesh. He would rip her open soon enough. Oh, the beauty...

But beauty was nothing.

What he needed—what this kingdom needed—was submission.