Happy Anniversary

This story involves extreme sex acts, hermaphrodites, bloodplay, very violent anal sex, and severe painplay in a long-term consensual non-consent relationship. Readers are advised to use the appropriate caution in approaching the subject matter contained within. Similarly, if you dislike stories about elves, switch off now. I recognize that some readers may prefer that content of that nature remain strictly in the SF/Fantasy section, but the predominant theme and purpose of this story is BDSM-centric.

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Humming softly to herself, Hainora rose from the bathtub to dry off, taking the towel offered by her valet and bastard, Lian'thera, and patting herself down for the first few moments before permitting the young woman (almost, but not quite, her spitting image) to take over, raising her arms for her. It wasn't quite what she'd always imagined great wealth to be like, but it was close, and she'd grown to find the bevy of beautiful women bathing her grew surprisingly stale, intrusive, demanding. This, somehow, was better, she noted with a slight sense of bemusement. It didn't quite seem to square, but it was despite all reason.

One muscular leg raised up to the small stool beside the bath, permitting Lian'thera wordlessly to continue as her mistress considered her reflection. She was, truthfully, a gruesome sight naked. It was another of those things that didn't quite make sense. Scars were heroic, scars were celebrated. So why, for all the poet's praise, were they so abysmally ugly? Her body was a patchwork of them. There were burns, old cuts, the particularly grisly sunken mark of a gunshot wound that hadn't quite healed right in her right shoulder. Only a handful were what she'd call handsome, let alone inspirational. But they were there to stay, and tonight, she would have to tolerate being seen naked with them.

Lian'thera paused, glancing up for permission before brushing the towel thoroughly over Hainora's hefty cock and balls. They hung low between her powerfully built thighs, almost crudely large and somewhat at odds with the rest of her body in a way that made her seem like a caricature, like the ancient Highborne insult statues that used a large cock to mock the supposed bestial temperament of those they were made to mock. At least it felt good, she considered, compared to the scars. There was a certain satisfaction to the heft of her cock, if it had to be there, a certain sense of potency.

No. It was not a beautiful body, she thought to herself as Lian'thera moved from her balls to her tautly muscled backside, like those that surrounded her daily. It was not handsome, either. But it was strong, and tough, and it was her's for good or ill. There was no choice but to accept it, to sigh at the wreckage of her reflection and move on. When Lian'thera stepped to the array of perfumes, she raised a hand and shook her head. Not for tonight - it wouldn't do.

Lian'thera dressed her in silence afterwards, sensing her curious mood. It was no doubt less out of any empathy that she kept quiet - Hainora was not certain this particular bastard of her's had any at all - but a wish to avoid being roughly reprimanded and used. Whatever the real reason, she was glad of it. Nights like this came only rarely these days, and they left her in a strange state of agitation. She felt as if a great tiger or lion, stalking its prey, all tension and building anticipation of the kill, so tightly wound she felt as if she might scream. It was always the mark of an excellent evening, but it somehow made the waiting intolerably tense.

As the sun drew low to the horizon, she kissed her wife, Bliss, on the cheek and excused herself, leaving for the older house that lay in the woods behind the veritable palace she had built for her. It was a short walk, not more than ten minutes, but she took the opportunity for a cigarette on the way. Her limp kept her from rushing in any case, and forced her to take the slower path in life, even at moments like this. The last rays of the sun turned the marble and granite of the palatial home she was leaving as red as beaten copper, and gave a bloodied hue to the duck pond. It was appropriate, she thought, as she cast aside the stub of her unfiltered cigarette and ground it out before turning to continue along the rough path.

The old house in the woods was much more of an intimate home than the palace, and she still missed it sometimes. It would have been too cramped by far with the many children, and it already bore the signs of piecemeal construction - materials that didn't quite match, an asymmetrical floorplan, some peculiar angles that had been forced in order to fit an extra room. It was run down compared to the impeccable maintenance of the big house, but no wonder, when its sole permanent occupant had no stomach for most people. There was only a single maid-of-all-work there to attend to it, and visits sometimes from the carpenters to keep up the wood. But it was familiar, home-y, welcoming as she took the path up to it, secure in the knowledge that the maid and the little girl who lived there were gone for the night.

She went around the back, to the old door by the kitchen, and found it unlocked, as she expected. Inside, there were the lingering smells of a thousand old meals, mixed with the fresher scent of the simple meal waiting for them to eat later, stewing away. She took just a moment to enjoy it, to reminisce, before she raised her eyes from the old kitchen table with its burn scars and cut marks and scratches to the almost silent padding of bare feet along the hallway.

The elf who entered the kitchen was nude, her body lithe and richly tanned in a way that showed she spent most of her time that way. Her shock of coppery hair was smooth and neat for a change, carefully brushed for the night, and the thick leather collar around her throat had been polished for it. Like Hainora, she was covered in scars, though her's were small, the reminders of scrapes and bites in the wild and not the marks of a soldier. She was much shorter, more feminine even with so little fat on her frame, and when she padded closer with a delicate smile on her feline features, it made her heart soften for a moment.

But that wasn't how this worked, not with this feral elf who spent her time living like an animal. They didn't sit down to dinner after a night at the theatre for date night like she did with Bliss, or laugh and get stoned like their daughter and her wife. Hainora greeted the elf not with a kiss or an embrace, but a sudden punch to the belly as she neared, knocking the wind from her lungs and doubling her over. She knew it was wrong, that this wasn't how marriage was supposed to work - she had enough lingering bad memories from seeing her father beat her mother to feel disgust at herself - but her cock twitched all the same in her leather pants, began to swell. It only got harder as she followed up with a fist in that beautiful, silky copper hair and hauled the toned elf up on to the table, forcing her to bend over it, ass in the air.

No. This was how they worked. Explosively, violently, wretchedly. The elf struggled against her grip, even managed to push herself up off the tabletop for a moment until Hainora slammed her other fist into her back. It was a careful blow, just far enough above her kidney to keep from inflicting real injury, but it made the elf scream and spasm before going limp all the same, and then Hainora began. She seized the bottle of olive oil from the counter behind her and fished her cock from her trousers, working the last dregs into her rapidly stiffening erection, and as the elf panted and began to recover, entered her hard and fast, driving into her asshole without a chance for her to relax or open. Her screams bounced off the walls, shrill and painful to both their sensitive ears, and it only made her harder.

She bent forward, hunching over the smaller elf, and yanked her head back to whisper in her ear. "Happy anniversary, Sonsine." This was how they worked now, after decades together. It was a distant memory, the way they'd played when they were first together - the light spankings, the careful sodomy. Over the years, they'd fed each other's worst impulses, pushed the other to go harder and harder until now this was them, until it was unthinkable to go back to how it once was. Until a punch to the solar plexus was as good as a kiss, and a stiff behemoth of a cock up the ass without lube as sweet as an 'I love you'.

Beneath her, Sonsine whispered an agonized 'happy anniversary' back while her nails dug into the scratched wood of the table. There was a ring around the center of it of small crescents, all roughly the same distance in - the natural spot her arms fell whenever this happened, whenever she was used this way. Hainora reached down between them, feeling at the mix. It was sticky now. There was blood. She didn't stop - she thrust, hard and fast, into her wife, her pet, her masochistic treasure. Each hard stroke was met with a scream of pain as she battered the redhead's insides, and each grew a little easier as Sonsine opened up. Each scream eased off a little, until they dropped to pained cries and grunts, and she began to rock back into the forceful use.

Hainora didn't need to check. Between her legs, Sonsine was sopping wet. She craved the pain, desperately needed it, and when it began to die away, so would her pleasure. They were in the sweet spot, but it would fade soon if she did nothing. She paused in her thrusts, panting from the effort, and looked about the kitchen. The oven was too hot to use, even for them. But there - the sink. Wrapping her arms around Sonsine's shoulders and locking her hands together behind her back, she lifted her with a groan of effort, keeping her stuck on her cock, and staggered to the sink, releasing her against the wooden counter only to force her head under the water.

Her scream of shock and pain gurgled out through the liquid, and Hainora resumed her hard thrusts, pounding relentlessly into her pet. No one else would ever call it lovemaking if they saw it or heard it - but this was how it worked for them now. Pleasure bloomed through their bodies, steadily building, and when Hainora yanked Sonsine's head back out from the water to let her take a sputtering gasp, she mumbled out three words. 'Please don't stop.' Her desperate gasps turned back to gurgling as her head was forced under again, Hainora pounding harder into her. The sound of their congress bounced off the stone floor and walls, the thuds of hips into ass, the gasps for air, the moans, the scrabble of Sonsine's nails on the metal basin and the desperate patter of her feet against the stones as she fought instinctively for purchase to try and escape the torment that left her so desperately needy that her pussy outright dripped onto the flagstones.

Sonsine came first, her battered insides tensing and squeezing down despite the pain against Hainora. She knew the exact feeling, the exact twitches that always seemed to fire off in the same way for her wife's orgasms, and it gave her warning. She firmed her grip in Sonsine's hair, gritting her teeth to help focus even as she hissed hard for breath through them, keeping up her punishing, brutal pace - and as it hit, and her wife screamed under the surface of the water with her agonized pleasure, her insides tensing hard, spasmodic and frantic, she held her deeper for just a moment, pulling her free just before her lungs ran entirely free of air and she started sucking water in. Her scream turned to shuddering moans as she rocked back into Hainora, her legs shaking, muscles all over her body twitching and flexing with the same erratic spasms as her bruised rectum. It was always a hard one, the first, at least with treatment like this, and as it died down Sonsine's moans turned to grunts and gasps of pain.

Panting from the exertion of her rough use - now easier, somewhat, with her pet's hole relaxing again, slackening around her oversized cock - and grunting with pleasure and effort herself, Hainora shoved the redhead back under the water as she continued. Her own orgasm was building fast, balls drawing tight against her body, the desperate urge to keep going rising in her belly and mingling with the raw, radiant pleasure that seethed in every inch of her cock until finally, as Sonsine frantically struggled for air, she tensed up as well with a loud grunt, slamming in one final time while her cock leapt and jumped inside the elf, painting her bruised innards with thick ropes of semen.

She didn't spasm like Sonsine, never had - her orgasms made her tense and stay tensed for long, long moments instead. Under her hand, her wife grew increasingly frantic, struggling to push up as her lungs burnt and her own sense of desperate need reignited, chasing pleasure as well as oxygen, delighting in the raw, rough ache of her violated, abused asshole and the almost triumphant sensation of having brought her Mistress to orgasm. Spots danced before her eyes before Hainora finally relaxed her grip and let her push up from the water, coughing, gasping, and wiping a hand over her face. It did nothing, really, but somehow it made her feel like she could breathe again, legs still trembling.

Painfully, achingly, she edged forward from her mistress's cock, turning slowly over with a hiss once she had the leeway. Hainora raised an eyebrow but let her, laughing softly at the curious way she folded her leg up and to the side to keep it out of the way on the turn. It was a strange sensation, her wife rotating on her cock at this angle, and when Sonsine had finished her turn to stare up at her with tear-filled eyes and a smile, she leant in for a kiss, tender and gentle, at odds with the violent intercourse only moments before. It was a brief moment, sweet, almost innocent, lasting only a few heartbeats before they broke again and she pulled herself free completely, stepping back from the sink and clicking her fingers at the floor, where Sonsine almost gratefully drooped down onto her knees, staring up at her.

"Clean me." She ordered, voice firm but warm. Her wife and pet, so wild and untamed, viciously sadistic in her own right, obeyed her as faithfully as any hound could. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, Sonsine leant in and raised a hand, taking a grip at the base of her mistress's cock, extending her tongue and lapping along the side until she reached the uncut crown, shuddering softly at the taste of her own blood, her ass (kept meticulously clean, rinsed out only minutes before her mistress arrived, the taste was not unpleasant, but quite distinctive), and her mistress's cum. It coated the oversized member unevenly, but she lavished the same attention to each part of it, worshipping it without words, with only the focus of her tongue and her lips.

When Sonsine was done, she knelt back on her haunches. Others might have tried to ignore the throbbing pain, but she embraced it, and there was a sly smile of pleasure on her lips that Hainora still found charming even after so many years. It was enigmatic to anyone who didn't know its real cause, vaguely mysterious and wistful looking. She wondered, just for a moment, how many people had been deceived by it into thinking her wife was remembering some long ago love affair and not just leaning hard into a cut or a bruise. Moments like these were when she was most vividly aware of the beauty in her pet's features, the fine angles of her face. Eyes red with crying, hair soaked and dishevelled, the ugliness brought out the masterpiece. Each small imperfection and blemish only drew attention to the canvas it purported to mar and the basic beauty that lay under it. Her hand almost idly found a sensitive ear as she stared down, stroked along it, and when she was rewarded with an almost feline purr and nuzzle into her palm she smiled despite herself.

Yes. This was how they worked after all these years. Intimacy was intermingled with pain and violence for them, so inextricably tangled up tight that even if they'd wanted to undo the knots, they would never quite be able to. Screams brought smiles, and pain brought pleasure, and that was just how it was.

"Get up." Hainora ordered, withdrawing her hand. As Sonsine obeyed, she began to disrobe, unbuttoning her shirt - she refused to wear blouses on principal - and easing it off. Sonsine watched, silently, staring with her soft green eyes, waiting for permission with her hands at her sides. Hainora eased her boots off next, and her leather trousers, until she was as naked as her pet. She took a small, shuddering breath, suppressing the feeling of disgust at this body that never quite felt right, and nodded.

With permission granted, Sonsine stepped in to gently wrap her arms around her wife, tracing her fingers over the broad muscles of her back, over her shoulders, down her arms. She nuzzled warmly into her chest while Hainora closed her eyes, raising a hand to her soaked hair. After a long moment, with blood still oozing down her thighs, Sonsine whispered.

"I love you."

Hainora answered her with a rough kiss, cupping her chin and forcing her head up. Their lips parted, tongues meeting and dancing sinuously. Moments like this made Hainora feel at peace, loved, wanted. They helped fill a hole somewhere in here that made her need power, some dark place in her that grew out of her childhood, out of the famines of the war years and the pain of loneliness. It was more than erotic to her, even if the touch of Sonsine's tongue to her lips made her cock stir against the smaller elf's belly. It was nourishing somehow. Not having to hold back, to be gentle and soft (she knew, of course, that her idea of gentle was still most people's extremely rough and cruel; their idea of gentle in turn bored her near to tears, left her flaccid and dry) but to just be herself, nourished her.

Their kiss lasted a long time, and they broke for breath and nuzzled before continuing more than once. Her hands found Sonsine's ass, squeezing tight and bringing a pained moan and a little tremble to the redhead, and as their kiss drew on she started kneading and stroking at her strong, muscular buttocks. There wasn't much fat on either of them, and while Sonsine didn't spend as much time with weights as she did, the redhead's long runs and hikes had given her a fantastic backside and strong, powerful thighs. Every time she squeezed those firm cheeks, Sonsine whimpered again into their kiss, and shifted just a little - her toes curling and her back straightening ever so slightly and sweetly. It was a sadist's delight.

When they finally broke apart, Hainora turned her wife about without words, and pressed a finger between her cheeks, feeling at her puffy hole. For all Sonsine's hisses at the probing and the slow ooze of blood, there was no real injury - just a small split that bled, but wasn't serious enough to stop the rest of their evening. Even Bliss, who was not only their shared wife but also their doctor, was unlikely to voice a complaint or a concern about it. With a laugh, she drew her hand back and brought it down with a harsh crack across the redhead's right cheek, straightening up.

"Looks like you'll hold up for the weekend. We've got a way to go yet."

As she spoke, she casually took a fistful of Sonsine's hair again - by now thoroughly tangled between the water and the rough treatment - and without warning, turned to walk deeper into the house, dragging her pet along with her. The first few steps were clumsy, taken backwards with a whimper until the redhead managed to twist around and get her balance, following after her bent at an angle, breath ragged not with exertion or pain but excitement. Hainora felt it too, a coiling serpent in her belly that stirred at the thought of what came next, of the dull thud of fists and belts and the scent of blood, the taste of tears, the sound of screams and frantic begging in the same breath for mercy and for more.