The training yards rang with the clash of steel and the yells of female warriors. Princess Dastiya, eldest daughter of Queen Sylene, looked down upon her elite combat unit as they trained, from her commander’s balcony above them, and was pleased.
The Steel Flowers were the most respected soldiers in Tylia. There were 314 of them in total – a holy number for the elves – and they were all women. Selected for their beauty, intelligence, and physical aptitude, each individual member of the Steel Flowers was a force to be reckoned with – at least in theory – and fanatically loyal to Princess Dastiya personally.
“Pathetic,” growled a bestial, guttural voice, and Dastiya looked up to discover with displeasure that she had been joined on her balcony by a beastfolk savage. His body was that of a muscular humanoid, but for his head, which was in the manner of a grey-furred wolf, and his hands, which were divided into five fingers like an elven hand, but covered in fur, and with each finger tipped with a sharp claw. He was taller than Dastiya by more than a head, broader across the shoulder, and, in the manner of his people, he was completely nude, with his monstrous cock dangling between his legs in a way that Dastiya couldn’t help but find oddly threatening.
“Can I help you… sir?” asked Dastiya. She hated this new commandment – that elves should call beastfolk “sir”, as a mark of respect and tolerance between their people. It was supposed to address the difficult history between the two peoples, and recognise the newfound importance of the beastfolk in reviving elven fertility – but Dastiya believed in none of that. To her mind, beastfolk were savages – little more than the animals they resembled – and in any sane world, their relationship to the elves would be as slaves and cattle.
She had tried to argue with her mother, Queen Sylene, over these new changes – or with her sister, Princess Liri, who sat on the Grand Council – but both had refused to take meetings with her. Neither would even look her in the eye these days. Privately, Dastiya wondered if her mother were losing her mind. The Queen had even gone so far as to begin baring her breasts when she held court, “in the manner of the beastfolk”, and the people were starting to mutter that Sylene had never been anything but an empty-headed slut for the late king to breed with.
“Princess Daksya,” growled the beastman.
Dastiya’s face reddened. Her name “the hope” – but the word the beastman had used, “Daksya”, meant “sword sheath” – or, colloquially, in the case of a female, “cocksleeve”.
And yet she was not supposed to object. Queen Sylene had issued an edict explaining that the beastfolk accent occasionally made it sound like they were mangling or mispronouncing elven words, and that she would view attempts to correct them as harassment and mockery, punishable in several ways, including potentially imprisonment.
So Dastiya swallowed her anger. “That’s me,” she replied. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Hunter of Bitches,” growled the beastman, with a smile. “An honourable name given me to by our lord Red Horn, after I personally tracked down three elven breeders who fled his harem, raped them, and returned them to him in chains.”
Dastiya’s eyes widened in horror. “You animals keep elves as slaves?” she said. “You raped them when they defied you? How does my mother allow you to walk free? I should kill you on the spot!”
Hunter of Bitches laughed. “Oh, the elven bitches may require chains and physical discipline to keep them submissive, Daksya,” he said, “but they are not unwilling. If they did not want to serve my lord Red Horn, then why were their elven cunts so wet for my cock when I tracked them down? In my experience, it is a game elven bitches play, where their mouths say no, but their fuckholes say yes.”
Dastiya could barely contain her outrage. “How dare you say such things?” she spat. “No elven woman would ever spread their legs for an… animal such as you.”
“Ah, that is what your face cunt says,” said Hunter of Bitches. “It is a shame we cannot see whether your pussy agrees, is it not?”
He laughed, and deliberately stared at her groin, and despite the fact it was well-covered by solid mythril armour, Dastiya squirmed – not least because she was suddenly aware that her pussy *was*, for some inexplicable reason, slightly wet. She couldn’t help but glance at Hunter of Bitches’ monstrous naked cock – which was twitching now, slightly, as if it could sense the wetness between her legs.
“If you continue to disrespect me,” she hissed at the beastman, “I will slay you where you stand – my mother be damned.”
The beastman just laughed at this, as if the very idea of her laying a hand on him was ridiculous. “You are a fun one, Princess Daksya,” he said. “I can tell you would be most enjoyable to rape. But I do not need to further disrespect you. I need only make a report to the cunt that birthed you – your Queen Syluin – about how you have been a racist bitch to me, and she will strip you of command over these ridiculous warrior dolls who train below.”
Dastiya trembled with fury. “Syluin” was the way the beastfolk mangled her mother’s name – it was a word that meant “bimbo”. “Cunt that birthed you” was simply their term for “mother”, and Sylene had made it clear that no elf was to object to it. And Hunter of Bitches was completely right. Dastiya’s mother had been very specific that Dastiya was responsible for upholding this disgusting new regime of “equality”, and that if Dastiya was not able to cooperate respectfully with beastfolk, then she would be relieved of her positions of responsibility.
Dastiya had worked all her life to be taken seriously as the greatest warrior of the realm, and the Steel Flowers looked to her as their inspiration and role model. To be dismissed from those honours was more shame than she could bear.
“Say you’re sorry, pretty little elven bitch,” said Hunter of Bitches. “Say you’re sorry, and that you’re a silly little elven whore, and that you will do as the cunt who birthed you ordered. Use those exact words.”
She glared at him, imagining twelve different ways that he might be tortured and executed. Her immediate favourite involved cutting off his bestial cock and feeding it to him as he screamed.
But instead she clenched her fists, and said – quietly, so that no one would possibly overheard – “I am sorry, sir. I’m a silly little elven whore. I will do as the cunt who birthed me ordered.”
Hunter of Bitches laughed, and reached out and patted her head with one furry paw, as though she were a pet or animal. “Well done, cunt,” he said. “I see even a stupid elven bitch can swallow her pride when she is made to see reason.”
It took every ounce of restraint she had not to grab his arm and break it.
“Why are you here?” she growled, instead.
“Have you not been told, Daksya?” said Hunter of Bitches. “I am your new advisor. I am to instruct you on the superior military practices of the Beastmen, and you are to put them into practice. Starting with this new armour.” He had been holding a sack in one hand, and now he tossed it to Dastiya’s feet, where it landed with a clang.
Dastiya bent and opened the sack. As the beastman had implied, it contained a full set of metal armour. It was attractive, she was forced to admit. It was of the finest elven craftsmanship, crafted from virgin mythril, and lacquered over in the royal colours of Tylia. She had rarely seen such beautiful metalworking, and yet….
“Is this a joke?” she asked. “It does not cover the breasts. Or the groin. Are there pieces missing?”
“No joke,” said Hunter of Bitches. “It is how the beastfolk armour our women. Females are not strong, but they are agile. The reduced weight will allow you to move faster.”
“But the breasts… and the groin… “ objected Dastiya. “It’s obscene.”
“An enemy who is looking at your udders is not looking at your eyes,” said Hunter of Bitches. All trace of his laughing tone was gone now. He was deadly serious. “An enemy who is not looking at your eyes is not reading your next action. It is an advantage. In addition, our women go into battle aroused. Their pheromones can be… distracting… for male warriors. I do not know if the cunts of elven bitches are so potent, but we shall see.”
He paused, and then added, “There is another reason, of course. When Beastmen defeat an enemy, they have two choices. If the enemy is a female, she can be raped and enslaved. She will survive, and may be traded back to her clan after the conflict has ended, albeit usually with a baby inside her. If an enemy is not a female – or if it is too difficult to rape her – then the enemy is slain on the spot. This armour design… will mean you are easy to rape in defeat, preserving your life, and giving you the opportunity to fight again another day.”
His smile returned suddenly, his tongue all but lolling out of his mouth in the manner of a dog, and he finished by saying, “But in any case, the main purpose of elven women, when they do not have a cock inside them, is to be decoration, and if your little collection of sex-dolls down there insist on dressing up as make-believe warriors, they may as well look attractive.”
Dastiya’s blood was boiling. “Make-believe warriors?” she spat. “These women are the finest soldiers in the known world!”
“Oh yes?” asked Hunter of Bitches. “And how many foes have they slain?”
Dastiya was taken aback. “Well.. none,” she admitted. “The elven world has been at peace for three generations. But their combat instruction…”
“Their combat instruction is play-acting for children,” said Hunter of Bitches. “My people would have them on all fours with a cock inside them within minutes of entering battle. Their skills are shameful, and they may as well be trying to slap the enemy unconscious with their udders, for all the actual good it will do them.”
“If we were fighting,” snarled Dastiya, “you would be dead before you drew a weapon.”
Hunter of Bitches moved faster than Dastiya could even see. His hands lashed out – and suddenly, her hair was being pulled backward by one powerful grey-furred hand,, and the other was at her throat – with a single razor-sharp claw pressed against her jugular.
“Then it is fortunate, elven bitch,” whispered the beastman, directly into her ear, “that my weapons do not need to be drawn.”
Dastiya thought about pulling the knife from her belt and using it on the beastman’s groin as he held her – but that claw against her jugular felt very serious. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that Hunter of Bitches wouldn’t slit her throat if she struggled, no matter what the consequences might be for him.
She wiggled slightly, hoping he would free her, but he did not.
“You know what to say,” said Hunter of Bitches. “And I will accept it again, but do not give me reason to ask you for it a third time.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped. “I’m a silly little elven whore. I will do as the cunt who birthed me ordered.”
Hunter of Bitches chuckled. His claw moved from her throat, to her shoulders – and then, with two neat movements, he sliced through the leather straps that held the top half of her armour in place. The mythril plates fell away, along with the cloth beneath them, and suddenly Dastiya was bare-titted before the revolting beastman’s gaze.
She clutched her arms over her breasts.
“Put on the new armour, princess bitch,” growled the beastman. “You can strip right here and now, in front of me. After all, your udders and fuckhole will still be on display once you are dressed. You will wear your new armour like a good slut, and be an example for your soldier-dolls. And then we will see about retraining them with more appropriate skills.”
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