Laaewin's house we shall go!

You wonder sometimes if you made a mistake.

Not in coming here to Elohin, but rather, coming to Elohin with her.

Caressing the sharpened blade of your wood axe, you almost struggle to recognize yourself in the weapon’s crude reflection.

Lines of fatigue and stress decorate your masculine features, either products of your long trek across the Dragon’s Spines or worse….’souvenirs’ from your (at times ****) cum offerings to help sustain the enslaved enchantress.

The last offering she had drained from your body had been a bountiful one indeed, demanding an even greater recovery window than the one before that.

It was the direct consequence of your bodily allowance to her, unfortunately, that had brought you here.

Sitting in the house of an elf who would never know the sweet sound or the luscious form of his wife ever again.

Only the cruel imitation that lured him into a lowered guard….and an erect cock.

Turning the blade over to inspect its other side, you can’t help but recall the sequences that brought you to this very spot, sitting in a handspun chair with your sword propped up on the table in front of you.

First, it was the knock upon the front door.

Just two taps with her knuckle was sufficient enough to summon the male elf to the door.

To his eyes, the scene outside his dwelling was perhaps within a certain realm of believability.

His beautiful elven wife standing outside, smiling at him endearingly while an apparently newly acquired human **** was within her firm grasp.

You didn’t much appreciate the way Anja’s fingers dug into your neck, but it was still the part you had to play.

Laaewin’s husband, for better or worse, was made a believing audience, granting us both entry into his abode.

And no sooner had he stepped back inside the dwelling, the demon was on him.

The second her lips clashed against his, you knew his fate was already sealed.

He had kissed his wife hundreds, if not thousands of times before.

Why should this feel any different, he probably thought to himself.

Anja, still in her disguised form, snapped over her shoulder for you to stay put in the den while they ‘celebrated’ her return to him.

If he was more observant, he could’ve seen the regret painted over your face.

If only.

The elven man, overcome with lust and misplaced love for the entity wearing the face and flesh of his beloved, barely paid you any mind anyways.

He carried her upstairs to the bedroom…..

… and then, the sound told the rest of the story.

First, there were those loud cries of passion, the outbursts of euphoric declaration mixed in with moans of surrender.

Those moans held for a moment, and then, turned to groans.

Groans that became grunts. Gasps.

And then, a haughty laughter out of nowhere, truly a devilish screech only possible through the mouth of a truly demented, godless creature.

You could’ve intervened, and perhaps you should’ve.

But something about that laugh, that wretched sound, told you even if you did rush up the stairs to appease your conscience, well...perhaps there wouldn’t be much left of him for you to save.

And so you sat down, resigned to the inevitability that someone else was sacrificed not for the success of your mission, but for the cruel sustenance of the demoness.

That laughter was then opposed by a truly haunting scream, one that pierced the air in the house for a painfully stretched out amount of times before finally (and mercifully) being silenced.

One last croak of life was all that your ears could detect.

And that brings you to the here and now.

Within a matter of minutes, if that, the female guard’s husband was no more.

His lover was the last face he saw before he met the same end that had befelled thousands of other men and women before him.

Before you.

And now…

Silence.

Oft times, the worst punishment of them all.

Your ears ache with that uncomfortable lull, a piercing reminder of just what Anja was capable of when you let her off her leash.

Fingers tightened around the handle to the sharpened weapon as the door upstairs slowly creaks open, wood scraping up against wood.

Gods forgive me.

A soft purring sound broke the silence, reminding you of a village cat that often liked to savor the aftertaste of his devoured meal when you threw it scraps.

Within seconds, that cooing turned to light padding down the steps.

Her laughter came next, a haunting melody that never ceased to unnerve you.

“Two elves in one day! Oh, the master’s generosity is much appreciated….” And then, her words come for you next.

Reluctantly, you lift your somber gaze up to witness her true form.

Her voluptuous body, pale-skinned as always, captures your eyes while the rest of her demonic features now reveal themselves: the twin horns adorning her forehead, leathery wings folded delicately along the curvature of her spine, that accursed tail hanging down between her legs with the fleshy tips.

Truly a mesmerizing, monstrous specimen, no matter your feelings on her true, heinous nature.

A nature only kept in check by your **** dominion over her. For now, at least.

“So, so appreciated,” she goes on to coo at you, whipping her crimson locks back so that you could see a single line of seed trickling down her painted lips.

It took a moment for the proper words to find you: