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Showered in Elven Gold

This kinky elf queen loves humiliating her prisoners before she kills them.
Showered in Elven Gold

I lay in chains on a floor of polished pine, staring up at the Queen of the Northern Elves as she prepared to cut my throat.

Not my most dignified moment.

My name is Zey Dashett, and I’m an adventurer. Well, I was. I have a new job now, but that’s what this tale’s about, so I won’t spoil the ending. I’d been in plenty of scrapes in my thirty years on the road: I’ve dueled three goblins at once, stared down a charging orcish cavalry (those fucking war pigs they ride are big, let me tell you), and outrun an ogre. You always run from an ogre, unless you’re an idiot.
So how’d I end up at the mercy of a she-elf? Why was this slender little thing, barely five foot with no tits to speak of, the one who finally did for Zey Dashett?


To digress a moment: if you think it’s odd I was thinking of tits at a time like this, well, you didn’t have the view I did. The elf queen stood with her bare feet planted to either side of my chest, staring down at me with hate in her eyes. A long, thin knife glittered in her hand—a real throat-slitting motherfucker—and her fingers moved idly on the handle as she considered how best to make me bleed. But the thing was, her dress had fallen a little bit open.

It was a long-skirted gown, its hem almost brushing the floor, made of some thick cloth in imperial purple. I would’ve expected a queen to be demure, but no: the skirt had a long slit in it from hip to ankle. So the queen could strike sexily commanding poses at court, no doubt. Well, this slit had opened when she stepped over me—opened more than she intended, I mean—giving me on the floor a perfect view of one long, snow-white leg, the crease where her thigh met her crotch, a neat rectangle of trimmed white pubic hair, and the pink lips of her pussy.

That’s right: the Queen of the Northern Elves doesn’t wear panties. Tell your friends.
The queen snarled something in Elvish. It was pretty idiomatic and I hadn’t studied the northern dialect much at that point, but my best guess at a translation was “What the fuck are you looking at, human?”

“Heaven,” I replied, hoping she didn’t speak Common.

The reason I said that instead of something clever is, well… I have a thing for elves. You might even call it a fetish. Actually, you can definitely call it a fetish. I have other fetishes, too—but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

Yes, elven women: slim little bodies, slight, small-nippled breasts (though I’ve seen a big-titted elf girl and that’s nothing to sneeze at), wide hips under tiny waists… that’s my type. The northern elves in particular, well, they call them snow elves, and it’s not just because they live in the freezing lands beyond the Graythunder Range, where grass is just a rumor. You see, northern elves are as white as snow, from their hair to their skin and everything in between, with the exception of their pink nipples and vaginas.

Anyhow, Queen Cryselle—I only learned her name later, at the time I was calling her “Queen Why Am I So Horny When I’m About to Die”—Queen Cryselle was the most elven of them all. Getting a peek at her snatch was almost worth having my throat cut.


“Heaven?” she repeated in thick-tongued Common. “Why did you said this? That’s right, human, I spoke your shitty language.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. You don’t expect an elf queen to use the word “shitty.” How’d she even know it? Where would she learn that word? I started to wonder if there was more to Queen Cryselle than the whole cold-and-regal act.

“Why are you the fuck laughing?” the queen demanded, which only set me off again. As I lay there giggling, Cryselle made a frustrated gesture with her long knife and looked helplessly around at her courtiers. One of them shrugged.

Eventually my giggles died down. Wiping tears from my eyes, I said, “Your Common leaves a lot to be desired, your majesty.”

“Fuck you!” she said, and I was considering laughing at that, too, when I noticed the glittering tip of her blade about a finger’s length from my face.
“Shit,” I said.

“Now you have maked me angry,” said Queen Cryselle. I swear this is how she talked. “Death is too small for you, human. First, I will humiliate you before my court.”

Now what the fuck did that mean? Something in me was shouting a warning, but mostly I was happy to hear about anything that might delay my death a little longer.

Oh, I never told you why the queen wanted to kill me.

Well, I mentioned my elf fetish. The thing with a lust like mine is, you have to go where the women are. If I sat around in Zellway all day hoping for a wood elf to pop out of the forest and suck me off, I’d die from blue balls. No, I was wise enough not to waste time dreaming. Instead I followed my cock on a tour of the various elven kingdoms: the Blackthorn Forest (home of the aforementioned wood elves), the Desolate Sands (not as bad as they sound, especially when you’ve got a dusky-skinned and shaven-headed elf lass to show you around), Meriel-Under-the-Sea (where the girls are a little fishy, but they suck like remoras), and, of course, the Frozen North.

Now, different elves feel differently about humans, which is only to be expected. Same for the various elven communities. The Blackthorns live on the edge of the Lawful lands anyway, so they pretty much think of humans as stupid, short-eared elves. The sea elves are similar, they trade with human sailors all the time. In the Sands… well, there was a while I wasn’t sure those gals would let me go, we were having so much fun together.

The snow elves fucking hate humans. There’s a reason I left them for last.

Anyway, you can probably guess the rest. There I was, balls deep inside a little snow elf maiden on a bed of polar bear hides, when in walks her dad. It turns out Daddy is a duke or something, he passes word to the queen, and suddenly your pal Zey is next in line for a royal execution.

That about catches us up. Where was I? Right—Queen Cryselle said “I will humiliate you,” and all the courtly ladies standing around watching this travesty gave a little cheer. It seemed odd to me at the time, and some days it still does, but I’m getting used to it.

“Do you know how we humiliate in the Frozen North?” asked the queen. I could still see a hint of her pussy, and—I swear this is true—I could smell it now, too. She smelled like fresh snowfall and polar bear musk. Despite my impending death, my cock stiffened a bit.

“No, your majesty,” I said. I was curious where this was going. If I didn’t know better I’d have said the queen was getting turned on.

“We pee.”

“I—what?” I goggled up at her, searching for any sign she was fucking with me. Her face was deadly still, though, and I wondered if maybe she’d used the wrong word. “You pee?”

“Yes, human. You will be mark with my golden water before you are die.” Her Common was getting worse as she got worked up. “Now you are disgusted?”

Of all the damn things I could have said in that moment, my brain chose the truth, and I’m still grateful. “Not really,” I said.

Hey, I mentioned I had other fetishes.

Queen Cryselle’s fine white eyebrows drew together in confusion. “You are not ashame?”
“To be totally honest, your majesty, I’m pretty turned on.” I gestured at my crotch, where my growing erection was painfully obvious even through my thick fur pants. “See? I’d fucking love it if you peed on me.”

She considered me for a moment, her ice-blue eyes full of fury. The scent of her pussy grew stronger, in that way that only happens when a woman is wet. The thought occurred to me that maybe my fetish and her fetish were… compatible.

“Fuck you!” she said again, though with slightly less venom than last time. “You are trying the tricky. No fucking thanks you.”

Again I wondered where the hell she’d learned Common. But I didn’t have much time for wondering, because Queen Cryselle was pulling open that long cut in her skirt. There it was in all its glory: her tight slit with lips the pink of faded rose petals, crowned by a neatly trimmed line of white pubes that pointed to her pussy like a road sign. My cock was already stiff, but now it lurched up and strained so mightily against my pants I actually thought they might tear.

Cryselle reached down with one slim white hand and spread her pussy lips. Around us, her courtiers gave a sort of collective ahhh. I thanked every god I could think of for letting me get peed on by the Queen of the Northern Elves before I died.

Cryselle bent her knees a little. Then, as sudden as sunrise, a powerful line of hot golden piss streamed out of her hole and onto my chest. My cock throbbed in my pants, and I moaned a bit and shut my eyes, but they snapped open again a second later when I felt the queen’s stream move up my chest and over my throat to my chin.

“Fuck yes,” I said, and opened wide to receive Queen Cryselle’s golden blessing.

Hot pee filled my mouth so quickly I had to swallow some of it down just to make room for more. The tangy scent of it stung my nose. My cock was in agony now, begging to be hauled out and handled. I coughed a little and some royal piss spilled from my mouth and down my chin.

Staring fiercely into my eyes as she showered piss over me, Queen Cryselle said two words in Elvish. Actually, it was three words in Elvish, but in Common it was: “Fuck me.”

I’m pretty sure she didn’t think I could understand her, because when I replied “I’d love to” with a perfect High Elvish accent, she looked surprised as hell.

To her credit, the queen maintained her composure. Her spread pussy quivered, though, and the stream of pee that was still drenching my chest doubled in force. I reached up, which was tough to do with my wrists shackled together, and pulled my shirt open so her piss could rain down on my bare skin. It ran down the inside of my shirt, which was soaked now, and pooled in my belly button.

“I’d love to,” I repeated, though I think my accent was pretty poor since I was moaning when I said it.
The queen’s piss stream weakened, sputtered, and finally stopped, tracing a faint line down my stomach toward my crotch. For a long moment Cryselle just stood there, straddling my chest with her skirt wide open and her hands on either side of her pussy, a few droplets of pee leaking out to plop onto my bare skin.

She blinked as though coming back to reality, then raised her chin and glared around at her courtiers. “I have had enough of death today,” she said, which made me wonder how many people she’d killed before she got to me. Thankfully she was speaking High Elvish, not her northern dialect, so I caught every word. “Toss this human back in his cell. I’ll see to him tomorrow. And someone bring me a towel.”

* * *

Well, you can guess how the next few hours played out.

I was shoved into a desolate stone cell beneath the queen’s ice palace. A little while later my guard wandered away like he’d just remembered he left his lunch at home. A cloaked figure appeared from the shadows and unlocked the cell door. And when she pushed back her hood to reveal the short white hair and delicate features of Queen Cryselle, I did my best to look surprised.

“You will come with me,” she whispered.

“I’ll cum in you,” I said, but in Common. I don’t think she understood, and the pun didn’t really work across languages anyway.

She took my hand and led me down the dank and frigid hallways of her dungeon. Her skin was surprisingly warm, not the icy touch I was expecting, until I remembered the heat of her pee. My cock stirred at the thought.

* * *

After much sneaking and pretending the whole palace didn’t know what she was up to, Queen Cryselle got me to her bedchamber. She shut the pine door soundly behind us, whipped off her cloak, and said, “You intrigue me, human.”

“I get that a lot.” I dropped onto her bed—which was massive, by the way—and patted the spot next to me. “Come over here and let’s talk about it.”

She was still wearing her slitted purple dress, or one just like it. The long skirt swayed as she crossed to me. She reached out a little hand and caressed my jaw—then pulled back and gave me such a slap I saw stars.

“Never speak to a queen that way!” she barked. “Understand this, human. You are here, alive, for one reason only: my pleasure. My release.”

“That’s two reasons.”

“Don’t fucking argue!” she yelled in Common. Then, at a more controlled volume and in Elvish, she said, “If you please me, you will live. I have had human lovers before, and some have grown to a happy old age between my legs. You will be treated as an honored guest for all your days, and showered in gold.”
I snickered.

“I know what the fuck I said,” said the queen. “Now hear this, human: if you fail me…” She glanced meaningfully at a low table near the bed, and I saw her long knife glittering in the torchlight. “You die.”
Well. Never let it be said Zey Dashett runs from a challenge.

Now that we’re past the big reveal, let me tell you a little more about Queen Cryselle. I said she was the most elven of all, and I meant it. She was barely five feet tall, with slim rounded arms and narrow shoulders. Her face looked like it was chiseled from a block of ice: high, strong cheekbones, a sharp jawline tapering to a pointed chin, big pale blue eyes, and a little smattering of freckles like fallen stars across her pert nose. Her white hair was cut close to her head, in a fashionable style stolen from the pixies, and her long, pointed ears stuck out at just the right angle. She looked human enough you could imagine loving her, but alien enough you knew you’d never really understand her.

Now, all this was enough to make me lust for the queen like I had never lusted before. But when she stepped forward, put a hand on my chest, and tilted her head up for a kiss, I saw a little gap between her two front teeth, a tiny imperfection that hinted at a secret humanity in this icy monarch. That’s when I fell in love.

Our lips met and she immediately went to work, slipping her tongue into my mouth and nipping at my bottom lip. No delicate flower, my Cryselle. I know how to take a hint, so I grabbed her round little ass and crushed her against me. A moment later her hand was in my hair, grabbing and tugging. I slipped my mouth free of hers and kissed my way down her neck, across her pale collarbone, and towards her breasts.

“Fuck me,” she said, those three magic words.

Suddenly her dress was falling away, though I hadn’t seen her unclasp or untie anything. It pooled around her feet, revealing her naked body. And by all the gods, it was even better than I’d imagined. The soft curves of her arms were echoed in her legs, which were slim but well shaped. There was a wide, inviting gap between her thighs, a triangle of space that showed off her pussy lips to perfection, and her firm calves ran down to slender ankles and small feet. And her breasts—heaven was an understatement. They were small, just little swells atop her narrow ribcage, but they looked invitingly soft. Each was crowned by a tiny pink nipple that stood out from the white skin, pertly awaiting my mouth.

Now, the danger of my situation hadn’t completely escaped my mind, even if all my thinking blood had redirected to my iron-hard cock. I had to figure out how to please the Queen of the Northern Elves, and fast, or my blood would be somewhere else entirely: the floor. I pushed her gently away and worked slowly at the buttons of my shirt, buying a moment to consider.

So far, Cryselle had been bossy as hell. Not surprising, coming from a queen. But there was something underneath her aura of command that suggested she didn’t always want to be the one making the big decisions. A lot of powerful folks are like that: in the bedroom, they want someone else telling them what to do. But Cryselle didn’t strike me as quite that type, either. She wore power easily and had clearly enjoyed dominating me in her throne room. So she was changeable, a woman who switched back and forth between controller and controlled.

The only question was, which one was she tonight?

I let my shirt fall to the floor. “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” Cryselle’s voice quavered, just a little. Her nervousness urged me on.
“I got to taste your piss today. Now you get to taste mine. Get on your knees and open your mouth.”
My heart hammered. This was the make-or-break moment. If I guessed right, I was in for the best night of my life. If I was wrong, I was about to get the knife.

Cryselle knelt, tilted her head back, and let her mouth fall open.

Fuck yes.

Getting my cock out was no problem—it had been begging for release for hours. I stripped off my shirt and trews and kicked them aside. My shaft stood out like an iron spear, throwing a shadow over Cryselle’s upturned face. Next to this tiny elf it looked massive.

The challenge was peeing despite my raging erection, but I managed it. Partially it was the fear of death that made it happen, but mainly I was driven by an aching desire to see my piss drench that beautiful face, soak her hair, cascade down her slender body and drip between her legs.

I groaned in ecstasy as I let loose. My pee burst out in a stream even more powerful than Cryselle’s, hit her full in the face, and splashed over her breasts and onto the floor. She moaned, then gurgled as I aimed the stream directly into her open mouth.

One small hand dove between her legs and began working her pussy, alternately rubbing the lips and slipping inside them. I expected her to let some of my piss spill from her mouth, or at least to choke a little like I had, but instead the soft skin of her throat pulsed as she began gulping it down. I was pouring piss into her—I’d made sure to ask for plenty of cups of water during my few hours in the dungeon—and she was greedily drinking every drop.

I didn’t want it all to go down her throat. There was still my fantasy of seeing her dripping to consider. So I aimed the stream a little lower, hitting her in the hollow at the base of her neck. Piss sluiced down the divot between her breasts and ran over her flat stomach, then—thank you, gods—over her mound with its neat rectangle of hair, to patter onto the pine floor.

I could feel my load running out, but I still had one more job to do. I shifted my aim again, back to Cryselle’s face, but rather than targeting her mouth I let it spray across her face, splashing and dripping off her chin, cheeks, and forehead. Finally I raised my cock so my piss arced into her hair, adding just a touch of yellow to the white.

At last I ran dry. A few final drops spilled on the floor as I let go of my cock, but they were nothing compared to the piss dripping off the drenched queen. Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. Then she looked up at me with an expression that told me instantly I would survive the night.

“Fuck me,” she said.

I reached down and grabbed her around the ribcage. She weighed nearly nothing, at least not to me, and as I lifted her she let out a moan that told me she was looking forward to some rough handling. I glanced around the room for a place to throw her down. That big bed was my only option, and I hesitated—normally when I engage in piss play, I do it somewhere easy to wipe up.

Then I remembered Cryselle was a queen, with a fuckload of servants to do her cleaning for her.
I tossed her on the bed—she squealed when she landed—shoved her thighs apart, and rammed my cock inside her.

Piss dripped from her leg as I pushed it up to get a deeper angle. My other hand grabbed her ass, which was slick and wet. I lay on her with a damp thwack and got to work.

Her pussy was as tight as I had dreamed, clutching at my cock so hard I wondered for one delirious second if she was a virgin. No, obviously not, but she fucking felt like one. She was soft but powerful, so wet there would have been no friction if not for the desperate strength with which her pussy gripped me.
I got a good rhythm going, pounding her just fast enough that she couldn’t catch her breath. Her soft little tits jiggled with each stroke, and I ducked my head down and licked the piss off them, then sucked first on one nipple and then the other. Cryselle had been groaning somewhere deep in the back of her throat, but as I sucked her breasts and rammed her deep, that groan turned to a moan, which rose to a long sort of keening sound. I realized she was closing in on cumming, and decided she must enjoy getting her tits sucked as much as I liked doing it.

Cryselle’s keen became a scream, then she shrieked a long string of Elvish so rapid I couldn’t follow it. Her pussy’s grip on my cock tightened as her body tensed with climax, and it was just too much for me. I’d meant to go longer—still thinking about that knife, I guess—but she was squeezing the orgasm out of me as sure as milking a cow. I went with it.

I gave her a few final solid pumps, then grabbed her ass with both hands, slammed my cock as deep inside her as it would go, and held on for dear life as I rode out one of the most shattering orgasms I’ve ever had. My vision went black around the edges and crackled with flashes like lightning. Everything was soft and wet: her pussy around my shaft, her warm, piss-soaked body, and her mouth on mine when she rose up to kiss me as I dumped cum into her. I was groaning against her lips, a long, uncontrolled noise of animal pleasure that mimicked her earlier keening.

Then, after an eternity that felt like an instant, it was over. My body felt suddenly hollow and I fell on my side, then rolled onto my back, taking Cryselle with me. She lay panting against my chest, her fingers working spasmodically. I put a hand gently on the back of her head and stroked her hair. For the first time in a life of fucking elves, I thought perhaps I’d found one to match me.

“Well done, human,” she murmured into my shoulder. “You can live.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

“Me too.” Cryselle’s voice was thick with sleep. “I like you. I think I shall keep you.”

“I’m yours as long as you want me.”

“Good… that’s good.” She yawned and snuggled up against me, for all the world like any loving young farmwife in Eldea. As she drifted off to sleep, the last thing she said was, “Tomorrow night you’ll fuck my sister’s ass.”

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