Mannimarco's Vengeance

”I wonder”, Mannimarco mused, ”how would I get the most pleasure out of you?”

Medawen gave him a defiant look, then turned her head away. She pulled her legs together to hide the way her sex was pumping, her clitoris swollen, and the bed most likely soaked with her fluids. She had to admit that she was ready for mating, whether she wanted it or not. But she would not give Mannimarco the pleasure of discovering it.

”I could just take you, use you as I please. Tie you up and... Ravage you”, Mannimarco continued, leaning over her, placing his hands on the bed at her sides. ”Would you like that, little one?”

Yes, a voice inside her head said, but her will was still holding. She gave him an enraged glance.

”Oblivion take you!”, she hissed, and in a moment of courage she spat on his face.

Mannimarco didn't seem discouraged by that. Theatrically he wiped the spit from his face and smiled.

”Apparently not”, he said, drying his hand on his dark robe. ”We will do this the hard way then. Instead, I think I will make you beg for it. Oh yes, that's what we're going to do! And I know just the place to begin our little game.”

He raised his staff and then struck it hard to the ground, starting a black aura of shadow to expand from it.

All went black.

***

For a moment, there was only darkness, and whispers surrounding her. And in a flash of white, the darkness cleared.

She knew the place. She had been there before.

Coldharbour. The dark colors and the grim architecture she had fought to escape surrounded her once more. But how can this be?

”As it happens”, she heard Mannimarco speak somewhere close to her, ”Molag Bal is currently... Unavailable, due to the actions of a certain hero. He left this pocket of Oblivion quite unobserved.”

Full comprehension of her surroundings started to return. She realised she was lying down. She tried to rise. Something stopped her.

”Oh, yes, that”, Mannimarco said, appearing at her left. ”Just a little precaution, you surely understand. You did spit on my face, little one. That was very naughty of you.”

The silver colour in his hair gleamed bluish in the cold light of the Daedric flames. Medawen had to admit that he was absurdly attractive, even if he was a power-obsessed lunatic, and a dangerous necromancer. She tried to shift her mind out of these observations.

She inspected her position. She was located on a stone table with chains on every corner, her limbs secured with each one. She pulled at the chains. As she had suspected, they were too strong to escape from. The lenght of the chains allowed her limbs a little moving space, but not much. She was able to raise her knees up a little, but that made the chains on her hands pull tighter. She allowed it, because she wanted desperately to close her legs. They were spread very wide, and she grew even more uneasy when she noticed that the table made a curve towards her crotch, leaving an open space between her legs. It felt ominous somehow.

A loud lashing sound startled her from her observations. She saw Mannimarco walk around her, with something in his hands. She couldn't see the object, but it was likely what had made the sound.

”Are you ready to beg yet?”, he asked, circling around her with very slow steps, sliding his forefinger on her skin as he passed. He let his long nail occasionally scratch her, evoking shivers. ”Just say the words, and maybe I'll grant you a release. Come now. 'My lord Mannimarco, my master and conquerer, please ravage my little hole!'” he mimicked, and laughed a deep, malicious laugh when her face became crimson with embarrassment. Not a chance she would say such a thing. Mannimarco observed her silence.

”We shall play then, as you wish”, he said, and walked right towards the opening between her legs. He turned to face her. Now Medawen could see what he was holding in his hands. It was a long whip of sorts, the kind one would lash on a horse carriage. But the material didn't look like leather, not entirely – it had a sheen of reddish glow, though it looked solid enough. Mannimarco lifted it on the air for her to see, casually, like a collector showing a common artifact.

”Upon escaping this plane, Molag Bal left some of his toys for me to discover. I got quite familiar with their functions – unfortunately, as I first thought. But eventually I realised there was a good use waiting for them. This object works in a much similar way as an ordinary horsewhip, but its lash can be directed more elaborately, with concentration of magicka... Like this.”