Devotion

What the hell just...?

Lena stood, wet from the rain and naked in the forest of Deadwind Pass.  Krastos was moving, albeit slowly and, she noticed, with effort.  He had just secured her arms behind her, binding them together with leather and lashing them to the back of elementium collar he had fused around her neck months before.  She blushed deeply and fidgeted, struggling against the bonds and looking up at him in humiliation, the weight of her arms around her neck pulling her upright, forcing her to be on display, made even more shameful for his semen still running down between her legs.  The natural curvature of the draenei's spine was accentuated, her flat, smooth belly rounded as she was leaned back by her position, her full breasts forced forward and upward.  He looked her up and down, a wicked smile touching his eyes, and she knew he was pleased.

To the ring on the front of the collar, Kras tied another length of leather rope and began walking, tugging on it and pulling her along.  She resisted at first, then slowly took one step, and then another, looking over at her talbuk, Pryt, who rarely needed leading to follow her.

Her back stung as the rain pounded the open wounds there.  She clenched her teeth, but smiled, for the pain was a sweet reminder that he had taken her, pushed her up against the tree, and claimed her.  She belonged to him, wholly.  Besides, it couldn't have hurt nearly as bad as Krastos's wounds when she had found him here in the forest.  And, if she was truly honest with herself, what most would consider painful, she often considered beautiful, freeing, and calming.  To have it caused or administered by her loving Master, it bordered on euphoria.

She had to slow her natural pace to not overtake his labored strides, and she watched him worriedly, hoping he wouldn't exhaust himself, or open his not-quite-closed wounds.  Lena desperately wanted to ask if he planned on marching her like this the whole way to Stormwind, and had to remind herself to breathe, so overcome with the anxiety of that idea was she.  But she kept quiet.  It is not my place to ask why my Master does what he does.  She repeated this to herself over and over, trying to convince herself that he would never risk her reputation with the Sha'nash and their allies.

They moved at a glacial pace for the entire day, and with each passing moment, Lena allowed herself to relax incrementally, as if realizing that Deadwind Pass was all but abandoned these days.  They had yet to see anything larger than a rabbit in hours.  Every so often, Kras would stop, push her roughly up against a tree or a particularly flat rock face, or force her to the ground, and tease her endlessly.  He would drag his roughened fingertips along her skin, or torture one nipple at a time, or force her legs apart and shove his fingers deep inside her.  Several times, he would pull the rope downward, giving her no choice but to fall to her knees as to save her neck.  She looked up at him with such embarrassment that he would smile, stroke her cheek, and play with her soaked hair for a moment before pulling her head to his cock, which she would eagerly pull into her mouth.  My little Lena, he would groan, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her off before she got too carried away.

Finally, he stopped in a small grove of trees, halting her, placing a finger under her chin and raising her head before taking a step away to summon the elements and coaxing a small campfire out of a pile of soaked, nearly rotting wood.  He took a blanket from the bags Pryt had carried alongside them patiently all day, and laid it out beside the fire.  She stood, waiting, knowing that if she even moved a muscle, he would be disappointed.  She stood for what felt like hours, watching him sit by the fire.  The rain continued to fall as the darkness of night closed in on them.  Her eyes locked on the flames, even as she shivered, and she managed to resist the temptation to throw herself toward the fire.  She snuck a look at him, peering out of the corner of her eye at his handome, but ancient and heavily weathered features.  They revealed nothing, and a flicker of disappointment flitted across her own face as she resumed watching the fire.

Lena.

His deep rumble of a voice made her start, and she looked to him.  Come here, he said, not meeting her gaze.  He was as entranced as she was by the flame.  She stepped closer and stopped at the edge of the blanket, not wanting to muddy it any more with her hooves.  Kneel.  She dropped to her knees behind him, finally noticing how her body ached from being in restraints all day.

He rose with some effort, and she heard him groan softly, though he tried to hide his own pain.  Stepping behind her, he lifted the soaking blanket of her hair and untied the leather from her collar, releasing the tension of her arms being held up.  Reaching down, he released the binds on her arms, allowing her to stretch them.  Lena sat, letting her body relax for a few moments as she felt him towering over her.  Even naked and vulnerable, lost in the woods, she was safe here.  After a few minutes, he stepped in front of her, pulling her arms forward and binding them together, letting them rest on her thighs.  She frowned as she watched him, and lowered her head, mentally preparing her body for a long night of being restrained, but he lifted her chin with a finger.  Look at me, pet.  She managed to raise her eyes to his, and was surprised to find kindness there.  He looked at her for a long moment and seemed to evaluate her, and her every action and thought and word since the day they met, and nodded once.

You are mine.