Chains - MULTIPLE ROUTES

The rattling of chains isn't what wakes you up, that would be the yanking of the clasp around your neck. You gasp for air as your slumber is broken by animalistic treatment. You rise in a panic, ready to turn and pound on whatever it is that's attacking you. You whip around and lurch at the captor behind you. The hooded elf in your gaze stands at least three feet below you, you see terrified eyes peeking out from their face wraps and mop of sandy hair for a moment as they grasp the iron rod in their hands and braces it. You feel the metal collar around your neck slam into your windpipe and knock you back onto the ground. The elves aside you and behind you laugh wildly as the one before you tries to slow their racing heartbeat.

"Careful Ardenne, you almost wet yourself in terror." One of them calls. Their voice is lilting and feminine.

The terrified one glares at her comrades and gives the rod in her hands a firm tug, pulling at your collar.

"Stand up, Orc, we reach the capital today." She says, trying to sound commanding.

You pull yourself up slowly and follow your captors as they attach your collar to the back of their wagon. Shortly after it begins to trudge forward again and you're to choose between following it and having your head wrenched from your shoulders. You choose to follow it. The light forest you woke up in slowly gives way to peaceful plains. It's the first time you've been somewhere with so little cover, you'd feel exposed if you didn't already feel that way. The inability to turn and scan your surroundings argues with a hunter/warrior instinct deep inside of your brain.

The elven women that lead you through this foreign land talk passively as you travel. When they decide to speak in a language you can understand, everything is guarded and professional. When they speak in their foreign tongue, they laugh and stare at you with jokes and tales you're not allowed to hear. It's a lonely experience, you try not to focus on their words. You take stock of your new body, already being worn in through the aches and pains of your travel. Even if these are the shortest elf women in existence, you'll almost certainly tower over any others you meet by at least a foot. The tallest among them can't be more than the average height for a human. The shortest barely passes above your new navel. If you had to guess, you would probably be one of the tallest humans alive. That is, if you were still human.

Your new body, in spite of your staggering height, is a lot greener and leaner than you're used to. Your skin is fern green on average, mottled with vibrant lime and deep pine hues. Your face is human enough, aside from the pair of tusky teeth the come out of your lower jaw. The absolute hive of stormy red-and-black hair around your head hadn't ever been cut, now your head is shaved bare. It makes you feel uniquely cold, but you can only marvel at how much lighter on your feet you seem. Your unbound arms and legs are sculpted seemingly out of pure muscle and sinew, but they hang all but useless due to the simple ingenuity of your bindings. Beneath your patchwork of hides and leathers, any exposed skin similarly ripples with honed strength. Your breasts are bound tight to your broad chest, as has been taught to the female warriors of your tribe since their creation. Your cock swings heavily between your legs in your patchwork skirt, there were no lessons on what to do with that.

The slaves in the cart that leads you try their best not to make eye contact. There's an unhappy assortment of human, dwarf, and all manner of goblin and lower race in cages in the back. It seems like your captors didn't have cages in your size. The only one that acknowledges your existence is a stumpy-little Kobold that looks up from chewing on his peeling scales and catches your gaze.

"Green-green, do you speak?"

You nod.

"You have name-name?"

You reflect for a minute before responding. "Yreda."

The kobold cackles "No more green-green name-name when bought. Remember name-name well, new master-master won't."

One of the elf captors strikes the side of his cage with a spear. "If I have to hear more lizard talk I'll throw you in a river."

The Kobold hisses and mutters to himself sulkily, he goes back to chewing his scales.

The capital seat of the Elven Empire comes over the horizon with the rising sun and the shimmering of a massive magic field. As soon as it enters sight your captors let out a series of excited cheers and yips. The wagon speeds up and you stumble as you try to keep behind it. As it grows into view you can only marvel, a city that drowns out the horizon behind it. One without walls or guards either, so assured of its greatness as to stand daring outsiders for . The shimmering magical barrier extends to a mile outside of it, when you pass through you understand immediately why it needs no defense. The weight of the magic hits you like a charging bull. A dark veil slides over your vision, leaving you in murky blackness. You have but to stumble blindly along behind the wagon. You hear a few panicked noises from the slaves in the cart followed by the telltale banging of spears hitting cage bars in a call for silence.

The cart stops when the din of the waking city sits just outside of vision. You hear grumbling as a new voice enters the scene. he speaks in a dialect that is unmistakably elven, but somehow your brain is able to translate for you.

"How many?"

"Twelve in the cages, plus the orc." One of your captors replies.

"I don't do orcs."

"We'll pay triple, she's a special case."

The new voice grumbles again. When he comes back you hear it nearby, whispering words of power. You feel elven hands sliding the patchwork of furs covering your chest off. You immediately lash out at where you think they are but only end up swinging wildly. You feel multiples bodies throw their weight against you and bend you over the back of the cart. They manage to strip your top down to the bindings wrapped around your bust. You feel a cold knife press into your back and a second later they don't even leave you with those. Your large green breasts fall out and hang freely. The chill of the wind hits you, it's far colder here than what you're used to back at home.

You're hit suddenly with enough pain to buckle your knees. You scream out to anybody who will hear and thrash as a pair of fingers hotter than burning coals trace a design between your shoulder blades at the base of your neck. The second it's over, your vision starts to return slowly. You're left with a throbbing agony on your back as the bodies let off of you. You want to get up and wring the throats of whoever is responsible, but all you can do is try to wobble back to your feet. With your returned vision you can only watch as the elves proceed down the cart, one of them in a long robe grumbles as he gives each of the captives a quick poke in the spine. Each gasps or shrieks, but doesn't seem to have as bad of an experience as you did. You can't help but notice that the male elf stands a full couple of heads shorter than the shortest female.

The grumbling little man finishes his work and collects his payment. He immediately disappears back inside his shack without a word. The cart drags back on, leading you into the city proper.

The entirety of your time traveling down main streets is spent receiving leering glances and unwanted prods. A diverse collection of races all come out to see the new slaves when they hear and almost all of the attention turns to you. The adults all look on and speak in whispers, the children are far bolden. Some of them throw things at the cart to try to get a reaction. They laugh and make faces. A couple of bold ones run up and grab hold of one of the furs of your skirt. You whip around to stop them, but the fabric tears as one of your captors urges them away. They laugh and disappear back into the crowd, fighting over the torn scrap. The crowds only grow as the city grows tighter and more industrious around you.

Finally, the cart turns into a large building, the massive doors close behind you. In the sudden darkness, you can only make out the path into a torchlit room. When you get there it balloons out into a large chamber. A small group of elves waits for the cart to stop, surrounded on all sides by empty cages. When it does, your wrists and ankles are cuffed to your collar. The other slaves are unloaded and cuffed similarly. Unlike you, each is undressed roughly as they're bound and their clothes tossed in a haphazard pile. The head slaver approaches the group of people.

"Inventory?" A bored-looking elven woman asks.

"12 in the cages, all servile races. 5 women, 7 men."

"And the orc, female?"

"Special, need to speak to Erana about her."

The bored woman raises her eyebrows sarcastically "How special?"

Your lead captor gestures over her shoulder. One of her lackeys slips a knife into the leather band keeping your skirt together. You're helpless to stop it from falling to the floor, exposing your gargantuan flaccid cock.

The bored woman blinks and looks away, then looks back. The boredom leaves her face.

"You don't say. Have her cleaned then brought to Erana, quickly."

You're pushed roughly along into an attached room. The last of the other prisoners are leaving as you enter. The sole captor still guiding you pushes you along and hooks to a pole in the center of the room. She sheds her face wrap and you recognize the one that you frightened this morning. Her tomboyish short hair and dirty face look uncertain. She grabs a tube and icy water comes blasting out of it. You can't do anything to avoid the torrent and shriek as it hits your body. She sprays you head to toe and circles around you. She quickly blasts your ass and then stops the water.

"Do I have to clean its... cock?" She shouts, adding the last word hesitantly and shamefully.

"I'll do it if she doesn't want to." One of the voices outside giggles.

"Fully cleaned Ardenne, fit for Erana's office."

Ardenne sighs and grabs a rag from one of the benches. She dunks it in a bucket of water and scrubs it roughly over your head and your face. She scrubs down your body, spreading sudsy bubbles over your toned muscles and carefully avoiding your cock until she has no other option.

She presses her face close to yours "It gets hard, I cut it off, got that?" She snarls performatively.

You try your best to take her threat seriously as she drags the starchy rag over your cock and balls, covering them in suds. Were it not for the nervous awkwardness of the situation and your shivering in the wet cold you could have found the situation erotic. She quickly peels your foreskin back and scrubs around your cockhead before throwing the rag down and spraying you with water again.

"She's done, can I go home now?"

You're led naked through the tight hallways of the stone building. Every time the women pass you they look you up and down and descend into whispers and laughter. With your arms behind your back, you don't even have the option of covering up.

When you enter the office, Erana is speaking to your lead captor.

"Well then, let's see if your demands are as big as your prize." Erana says in a coldly playful voice.

The slavers who flank you on either side push you forward, keeping a tight grasp on the rods around your collar. Erana takes one look at you and stands up from her desk.

"By Domina." She gasps.

Erana is old, old enough to have started looking old. Considering her species's natural longevity, there was a good chance she predated the empire forming. Despite ornate clothing and jewelry, her body is thin enough to look starved. She circles to you, jewelry clattering and jingling as she does. Her sunflower-blonde hair is decorated in bangles and jewels that don't fully hide the grey that's appearing. Her face is extremely sharp, with eyes that seem like they can peel the skin from bone. However, her expression is soft, marveling at you.

"I told no lie, my lady." Your captor says proudly.

Erana circles you, despite not saying a word it's a noisy process. She brushes her hands over your pronounced abs, pinches your ass slightly, and pokes at your breasts.

"My first husband left me for an orcish woman." Erana remarks. "Looking back I should have left him for one instead." Erana cradles your heavy balls in her hands and lifts them gently. She lets them drop with a slap and then grabs your cock, slapping it against her other hand.

"Is she fertile?" Erana asks clinically with her hands full of orc dick.

"We did not check." Your lead captor answers flatly.

Erana continues to play with your cock absentmindedly as she looks up into your eyes "Are you fertile?"

You open your mouth but she squeezes your cock painfully tight.

"Nod or shake your head, do not speak." She says, suddenly cold as ice.

You nod.

She scoffs "Pity. I'm required by law to sell you, you would have made a most excellent retirement gift." She releases your cock and it twitches lewdly against your will. She slaps it idly.

"Set the starting price at 3,000 velors." She tells one of her lackeys as she returns to her seat.

"My-my lady?" The lackey sputters. "Not even the ruined queen sold for half as much."

Erana turns to them "You heard me, if we can't sell her she defaults back to my possession, see that she doesn't sell."

"Y-yes, domina." She answers. "Her name?"

Erana looks at you for a moment before responding "Cent." Her lackeys all laugh.

As you leave Erana's office you're finally offered a piece of fabric to cover yourself. It isn't much, when you wrap it around your breasts it doesn't cover your cock. You decide that hiding your cock might be the more valuable use so you tie it into a makeshift skirt. After descending several sets of stairs you arrive in a room where the other slaves quietly wait. Several of them are being attended to by servants, almost all of their own kind so as to best cover any blemishes and pretty them up. There are no orcish servants, fortunately, so you're left to sit alone until a heavyset elven man comes out into the room. He's large enough to jiggle and sway as he walks, a rare sight even among the very wealthy elves. He goes among each and introduces himself, flanked on all sides by aides. When he arrives at you he feigns fainting.

"Oh, the most brutish and terrifying warrior I've ever seen stands before me." He says performatively, he immediately switches to a professional tone. "Leading with the breasts is a good touch, fangs could use work, resting bitch face is a problem, what's her starting price?"

"3,000 velors." One of his aides tells him.

He whips around "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Domina's orders, she wants a no-sell."

"And why not?"

"Wants to keep this one, and agreed to pay the captor half of the profit."

The fat man laughs "That sounds exactly like the nutty old bitch. Alright, no-sell it is." He looks at you again with a very different expression.

"Fangs are good, jut them out more if you can. Leading with the tits is a bad move, too nice. Can we move her wrap to her tits?"

His aid reaches down and pulls the cloth from your waist. The second he catches sight of your beastly cock he smacks a hand over his mouth.

"What did you say his name was?" He asks his aide.

"Cent, sir." The aide responds.

"Erana named him after her favorite horse?"

"Yes sir."

"Of course she did, okay, new plan. Put the wrap back over her waist."

You can hear a crowd begin to form just outside. They cheer and chant for the show to begin.

The fat man feigns swooning. "You hear that slaves? My audience demands my presence. Which one of you wants to be the opening act?"

Nobody responds. He sighs and leaves through the door with light coming leaking through. When he emerges you hear the crowd begin to roar. Every few minutes one of the aides will bring out a new to sell and he'll go into a dramatic performance about their rarity and value. No lasts five minutes before a buyer is found and none goes for less than double their starting price. Finally, you're all that's left.

"To conclude today, my dearest friends, we have the rarest of all livestock. Our brave knights have come back from the jungles of Ka'ilrana with a prize that has never graced the capital before." The man on stage continues to bellow. You consider resisting the aides who come to lead you out, but there's nowhere to run. They lead you blinking out into the noon sun of the market square. As you step your way onto the stage the crowd becomes hushed, shocked to see you. The fat man doesn't miss a beat.

"An Orc, my dear friends, but this one is unlike any you have seen before. Long have scholars wondered as to the organization of the orc society. Long has it remained cloaked in the fog of mystery, but for the first time before you today, we see a true matriarch. Capturing her was no small feat my friends, several brave women lost their lives in the attempt, but here our prize is no worse for wear."

The fat man lies as naturally as he breathes, that isn't how any of that happened. You walked into an obvious trap because you were hungry, and you were no matriarch. You were banished, now you're here. Even in the noon summer sun you can't help but shiver. This place is nothing like the rainforest you called home.

The fat man waddles over to you and yanks the fabric covering you away. You're left standing exposed on stage. The crowd gasps and screams, immediately descending into arguments and chaos.

"BEHOLD." The fat man continues, his voice growing louder when he presses a glowing fingertip to his throat. "Only every one hundred years is one born. Tougher than any beast, more resilient than forged steel. The matriarch you see has likely bred every woman in her tribe and their daughters after them. And if not for the brave efforts of our most wonderful girls, who knows how many more gentle elves she might have preyed upon? At her last moment, instead of fighting back, she attempted to herself upon our brave Ardenne, only being stopped just short by the valiant efforts of the noble Charelian mercenary team. This is an untamable beast, I tell you! As a result, we will be demanding our highest starting price, buyer beware!"

While he has some of the crowd hanging on his every word, others seem more fixated on you. Some look at you with adoration or open-faced lust, others look ready to charge the podium and take for your fictional crimes.

"For the bold domina, the starting price is a mighty 3,000 velors!" The fat man bellows.

Immediately the crowd churns and buzzes with anger. It's clearly a ludicrous price. Somebody in the crowd correctly shouts that this is a sham auction and catches an elbow from one of your captors wearing plainclothes as a result. Actually, on second glance, you notice a whole lot of your captors in the crowd posing as bidders. It seems like there's no such thing as a fair contest here... The extremely wealthy bidders in the back all sit in lavish suites transported on the backs of slaves. They fan themselves and sit in the shade. Some seem disinterested, others seem to be seriously considering it.