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Your master tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you focused, mechanically, on sucking his cock. You’d done it enough times to have it down to a science, an almost passive activity you can do without thinking. The back and forth, the variation in suction, the places to grind your tongue. You’d think he’d get bored of it after a while, but high elves don’t do oral, making you something of a spectacle for this purpose. You find the whole thing a little amusing, to be honest. It’s not like you invented blowjobs; it was his idea in the first place. They clearly knew what they were, so if they were so damn interested in them, there was nothing stopping them from sucking or getting their other slaves to do so. They probably did, sometimes. But there was something particularly erotic or exotic or both, about getting a human to do it. You didn’t understand, but you also didn’t care.
Your master was an admiral, and often brought you with him for long voyages and tours of duty. It was, for the most part, a comfortable routine; your master was an easy man to serve and you’d been doing it for enough years now for it to feel practiced. Conveniently, high elves didn’t grow tired of things at the rate you’d expect. After five years, you were still a novelty. You suspected you’d grow old long before he grew bored of your mechanical cocksucking. Which was probably for the best, because the more he treasured you, the less you’d have to deal with days like today.
You didn’t mind serving your master. You didn’t mind serving on airships, even though you were terrified of most things, including heights, because you rarely saw the outside of the cabins. You did mind, however, when your master got in a certain good humor and decided to share his good fortune with some other high elf who’d gotten into his good graces. Or several other high elves. Like, for instance, the captains of every fucking ship currently in his fleet, all of whom were aboard the flagship, ostensibly for a strategy meeting and actually to enjoy the novelty of your mouth. One at a time if you were lucky.
Your master was getting his in first because you’d be spending the evening hopping from cabin room to cabin room to satisfy the unknown desires of every captain in the fleet, to celebrate their unprecedented routing of the pirates in the area. You could try to apply all the same techniques as you did for your master, but inevitably they all would want something different. You’d spend an exhausting evening choking down load after load and learning all sorts of useless techniques specific to men you’d hopefully never have to put your mouth on again. And you sure as hell wouldn’t get to sleep in tomorrow morning. You’d probably be trotted around serving breakfast to those same fucking elves while they made crass jokes at each other at your expense. There would definitely be more groping, like there had been at dinner.
You couldn’t wait for this night to be over, and that reflected in the speed and vigor with which you were sucking your master’s dick, willing him to just cum already so you could be send off to your first stranger of the night.
It wasn’t hell. There were a lot worse places than this in the world, especially for a human. Your master was a powerful man, and this sort of whim was a rarity from him. A lesser captain might have tossed you into the crew cabins to be used as entertainment to keep morale up, a thought that made you shudder with terror. Back in the capitol, you might have been placed at a high class brothel, made to service endless strangers night after night after night. And that was just options amongst the high elf empire. The life of a human on the surface chilled you even more. You had been lucky, one of few survivors of an orc raid on the wood elf village your family–the only humans–had taken refuge in years earlier. There would have probably been no survivors had the high elf knights not shown up when they did.
Your parents had been taken by the orcs, they said. You, still a small child, were taken in by the high elves, and raised to be a high-class slave. They called it servant, but you weren’t completely stupid, you knew what a slave was.
It was a shit life of sucking dick and serving arrogant high elves with superiority complexes they could barely be faulted for. That was what made it irritating; they were better. They could do magic and create technological wonders like these airships; they’d live for centuries if no one managed to kill them, compared to a human’s paltry 80-years-in-captivity. And so that was life for you, being useful to superior beings through the sheer convenience of them being really weird about oral sex. Better than orcs, better than dark elves, better than the surface world crawling with monster races that all wanted to rape, kill, and eat humans, in that order if you were lucky.
And so when your master came, you kept it in your mouth the way he liked, opened your mouth to let him see you drowning in his shimmering cum, swallowed, and opened again, waiting for his groan of satisfaction before moving to lick off the last drops of cum from his shrinking cock. He ran his fingers through your hair in a way that would make you shudder in delighted appreciation if you weren’t sulky about the night you were about to have. You tried not to visibly pout, keeping your face slave-neutral-pleasant as he sent you on your way to the first cabin of the night.
Another high elf. Another captain. Another smug sense of superiority. Another set of degrading words. This one wanted you to suck and tongue at his balls for way too goddamn long before even letting you get to sucking his cock, by which point his cock was leaking pearly cum that he had you lick up and swallow. He was enamored with your lips and tongue; if he’d had this treatment before, it was clearly not with enough frequency to no longer be novel. When he was about to cum, he had you suck just the tip and play with his balls, demanding you suck him dry, swallow every drop, then run your tongue against his slit, sucking hard. He shuddered and made noises that almost sounded weak, which was the only part of it that was even a little entertaining. And despite the fact that was supposed to be that, he made you sit on his lap while he pulled your shirt open and sucked and nibbled at your chest for a while after. Eventually, he let you leave to head to the next cabin.
This was exhausting. You couldn’t believe you had six more of these to get through tonight.
The next one pinned you up against the wall and thrust down your throat, delighted by the way you choked and gagged. You’d been hoping to go longer in the night before you ran into one of these. The repeated choking made your eyes water and, worse, your nose get all stuffy. You’d like for these guys to try sucking cock with a stuffed-up nose just once. It made everything unnecessarily difficult. Taking a cock into your throat was easy enough when you could breathe through your nose, but when you didn’t have that, what were you supposed to do?! Just suffocate? So annoying.
He slapped his cock on your face in-between violently shoving it down your throat, which was appreciated in that it at least let you get some air. You didn’t care for this kind of sadist, though, and when you weren’t just praying for him to finish already, you were a bit grateful for the fact that your master was more on the gentle side, his sadism very restricted and controlled by comparison. It wasn’t like he never wanted to see you choke, gag, or cry, but it wasn’t all the time. You could tell by the glint in this captain’s eyes that he would do far worse to you if he thought he could get away with it.
The way he pulled painfully at your perfectly cared-for hair as he came deep down your throat, denying you any ability to breathe for extended moments as he crushed your face against his pelvis, served as a reminder of how much worse your life could be. You had to practically crawl out of his room, and then had to pause outside to try and put yourself back together. You were wiping tears and snot off your face and trying to put your hair back in something resembling order when a guard approached to shoo you on your way.
You hated him as much as the captains, for seeing you like this and for not even letting you have a fucking minute to put yourself back together after such a rough throatfucking when you had more cocks to suck tonight, each of which was Schrodinger’s torturer. He must have seen something in your eyes, even though you’re normally good at keeping your expression neutral, because he hesitated.
“Wait,” he said, and you took a step backwards warily.
“Don’t get any ideas,” you warn him. “I belong to the admiral.”
He looked offended at that. “Not everyone is trying to fuck you.”
“I’m on orders from him, so don’t try to chase me out of the cabins,” you added, still suspicious of his intentions.
He mutters a few curses under his breath, which you find unprofessional. “Fine, just get to the next captain’s cock, then. Stupid slut.”
That stung, but as you turned to scurry down the narrow hallway, you could at least tell yourself that the wetness in your eyes was just left over from the throatfuck.
You were practically limping back to your master’s room after you serviced your (hopefully) last cock for the evening. Your throat hurt, unsurprisingly; your jaw hurt, also unsurprisingly. You’d been degraded and appreciated in not-even-close-to-equal amounts, but at least there had been some degree of appreciation from some of them. Most high elves take everything as their due for being born perfect immortal magical creators and not, as far as everyone seems to be concerned, one of the filthy little edible sex puppets that make up the human race. Small reason you were almost extinct.
You were exhausted. You were sore. You were more than a little miserable. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t noticed anything was up all night. Hadn’t wondered about the guard, hadn’t wondered about the quiet. You hadn’t wondered about anything other than when you would be able to sleep and for how long, until you put a hand on your master’s door to find it unlocked.
Normally, you would hear a little whir as the door automatically unlocked, reacting to the cuff on your right hand that served as a master key to all of the locks on the ship. Your master had had it crafted just for you, to give you easy access to the many places you needed to obtain access to as a creature with no access to high elven magic. But now, your hand came into contact with the knob, and there was no quiet whir of magic affecting gears. There was silence. You opened the door to find it not even latched. Your thoughts race back; you had closed it tightly when you’d left, hadn’t you? You knew you had. The damn things practically closed and latched on their own, anyway.
Your heart was thumping louder now than it had at any moment of having seven loads of cum dumped down your throat, between your lips, or onto your face. The hair all over your body was standing on end. Something felt wrong. Something felt very, very wrong. You entered your master’s room not even breathing, quiet as a dormouse, nerves on electric end.
Your master still sat on the chair by his desk where you’d serviced him earlier, but it was all wrong. His posture was slumped. Even when he fell asleep at his desk, which was rare, he never slumped down in his chair like that. As you inched closer, trembling, you caught his reflection in the small mirror sitting on his desk. His eyes were wide and unblinking. You felt bile rise in your throat and your feet stuck to the floor as if glued. Your legs threatened to give out from under you. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. One of the captains had choked you until you passed out and you were having a nightmare.
There was no sign of a struggle, but your master wasn’t breathing. You took a fumbling step backwards, and then another, and then another, until your back hit a wall. How could this have happened? High elves didn’t just suddenly die of health complications, they were fucking high elves! And he was still in his chair! How soon after you left… had it been minutes? An hour? Had your master been dying, dead, while you were choking on some useless captain’s cock–
The captains. You needed to alert the captains. You needed to raise the alarm, you needed to… you needed to do something, anything, that wasn’t standing here and panicking, mind frozen and puttering around in terrorized circles.
You stared at your master for a few long moments that stretched into an eternity, nothing but the quiet creaking of the airship around you. You couldn’t think; you couldn’t breathe. But you knew that you had to do something, and so you turned and ran down the hallway to the first captain’s room.
His door was unlocked. The man who had, maybe six hours ago, made you suck his balls and nurse on his cock, was lying dead, slumped on the ground, throat slit messily. This time, you did turn and puke, adding stomach acid and shimmering high elf cum to the mess pooling on the floor.
This was a nightmare. They were dead. They were all dead.
Except. Maybe.
Terror and adrenaline racing through your veins, you practically rocketed down the halls, racing for the last captain’s room, the man you’d just serviced, the man who might still be alive, who might be warned, who might be able to save you, the ship, the fleet, from whatever was going on. The man who’d spat in your mouth and made you swallow it, who’d moaned and stroked his cock while he made you tongue his perfect elven asshole. He’d cum on his stomach while you’d endlessly lapped at his ass and made you lick it up, then fucked your face and came a greedy second time down your throat, and clearly wished he could have kept you around for more, but dawn was coming, and now he was your last hope for an escape from this nightmare.
The door to his room was fully ajar. Before you could even get to it, a shape loomed in the doorway.
The guard from earlier, wiping shimmering high elf blood from a long knife or a short sword or…
It was really stupid to be wondering about the distinction between the two when you were about to die.
The high elf empire was no stranger to rebellions big and small. But you’d seen no real sign of them in your years of service, just heard whispers, read history. Their god had an enemy, after all, who was constantly corrupting citizens around the edges of his holy empire, inciting them to rebel. You’d known that. But you’d never once thought rebellion would touch your life. You had never thought you would see mutiny. But that guard who had called you a stupid slut was a high elf himself, and he had killed maybe everyone, and now he was going to kill you, because you were an idiot and he’d seen you and there was no running from a creature with magic. If he had any skill at all, he could freeze up your limbs or delude your mind with no effort at all. You had no defenses.
He stalked toward you, and you squeaked out, nonsensically: “Couldn’t you have at least killed me before I had to suck six fucking cocks?”
Great. As last words go, those were probably the worst ever in recorded history.
Inexplicably, the high elf sighed.
“You poor, pathetic thing. I did try to catch you earlier, you know. Maybe if you hadn’t been so aggressive, you wouldn’t have had to spend your night servicing spoiled brats. Can’t have been fun. They say your kind like it, but then, they say an awful lot of things, don’t they?”
“Are you going to kill me too?” you squeaked out, but the last few words were drowned out by a terrifyingly loud BOOM that shook the floor, the walls, the whole ship. The high elf had no issue staying upright, but you stumbled, slammed into a wall, and crumpled to the ground. It was frankly a miracle your legs held you up as long as they had.
“You should really get out of here,” the high elf informed you. You stared blankly up at him. “If we win, this ship is going to crash into the ocean. If we lose, you’re going to be the last person who saw seven dead nobles, who has a master key to all of their rooms. But it’s thanks to you–well, you and their own wretched horniness–that this was able to happen. And regardless of ‘loose ends,’ I really, really don’t want to kill you. So, my advice? Get gone, and get gone fast.”
And with that, he turned and ran. You stayed crumpled on the ground, staring blankly as the sounds of explosions and screams and the ozone stench of too much magic began to seep in from outside.
You’d only been on the deck of this ship a handful of times. Now, it would be full of war. Get gone? What a joke. Where were you meant to ‘get gone’ to? You were on an airship above the ocean, a human with no magic and whose primary skills were food preparation and cocksucking. If the rebels won, they apparently intended to crash the ship into the ocean, no doubt because it was a flagship and it couldn’t be controlled properly without the right bloodline and the right training and they’d probably just killed everyone nearby who had both.
The admiral–your master–was dead. And without him, every bad thing his ownership had kept at bay was coming rushing in all at once. You were on a ship full of rebels who would want to kill you and high elves who, if they survived, would certainly have you put to death. And you knew all about how traitors were put to death.
You mentioned earlier you were scared of heights (along with most things), right? You really had no desire to be thrown off of a floating city. You couldn’t be sure, but you figured the time it would take for you to hit the ground, when calculating for adrenaline-fueled horror, would be approximately all of eternity, and if you were going to go to hell, you’d rather not do it before dying.
Mind, you might not have a choice, but the thought was enough to get your wobbly legs back up under you.
The ship was shaking with the force of what you suspected were magical explosions, probably cannon fire amongst other things. The other ships in the fleet were probably infiltrated without their captains present, or potentially there are enemy ships. The pirates might have set a trap, or it might have been a last attempt at revenge after the routing of their hold of the area. You suspect the deck of the ship will be a death trap, but you’re kind of hoping it will be a Faster Death Trap than, say, being tortured for information and then hurled off the edge of a floating city. Being a human, your odds of being able to survive any kind of a battle are approximately nil, and you can’t exactly infiltrate a bunch of elven pirates with your stupid round ears.
Get gone. What a joke. There’s nowhere for you to get gone to but an early grave. Despite that thought, however, your legs carried you up towards the deck, a back way, a servant’s way. Last minute you elected to go through the water filtration area and not the engine, concerned that the engine itself might be a target of attack. But who the fuck would attack a water filtration area on a ship they wanted to crash? Approximately no one, it turned out, since it was empty, the sounds of explosions and screams muffled but echoing strangely in the mostly-metal space.
Maybe it’s the fact that at that point you’d been awake for about twenty-four hours, plus like, all the trauma, but none of what was happening felt real. When you emerged onto the deck, cautiously, and the sounds of turmoil grew even louder and more immediate, it still didn’t feel real. It felt more like you were on the stage of some war play back in the capitol, like the ones you used to attend with your master.
Your master, who was dead.
Yeah, that didn’t feel real either. Nothing did. You stood there, stupidly, on the deck, not moving. The only reason you weren’t in plain sight was because your idea of going out a back way, a servant’s way, had paid off. The little corner of deck you were standing on, near the stern, was… well, it sure wasn’t quiet, but it was free of combatants, for now.
What were you going to do?
You were on a ship that was in the middle of a massacre, and you were pretty sure your cuff had been instrumental in the slaughter of your master and his six captains. Best case scenario was that the soldiers would kill all the rebels, but then what? There was no good end for you. You knew that. You knew that. You stared, blankly, out at the thick cloud bank the ship was sailing through, which let you pretend you weren’t however far up into the air you were.
There was really no way out of this, was there? Your life had ended the second your master’s had. It was just a cruel joke that you’d been left breathing while already dead.
Maybe you’d already been dead when those orcs had raided your village, or when whatever had happened to your parents that sent them running through the woods while your mother was pregnant. Maybe this was just the fate of your pathetic, dying race, that had no place in this new world full of gods and monsters and magic.
An explosion wracked the ship, and a burst of burning hot air and smoke from the door behind you sent you tumbling forwards towards the stern, towards the high railing that served to keep idiots like you from tumbling to their deaths. You slammed into it, because it was designed for high elves upwards of six, seven feet, and you were just a fucking tiny, stupid, useless human.
The back of your neck felt a little singed, and you definitely smelled burning. Which was no wonder, because there was absolutely no mistaking what that explosion had been.
Yeah, good thing you hadn’t gone through the engine compartment. This ship was going down. But you? You weren’t going down with it. You weren’t sinking into the ocean, pulled to a drowning death by the force of the currents created by a sinking, burning high elf airship. You weren’t going to be one more dead human slave spending your eternity the way you’d spent your shitty life, surrounded by asshole high elves.
You were going to die, but you were going to die alone, far away from this shitty fucking ship and your stupid dead master.
Before you could think about it, you scrambled up the guard rail and, kicking off as hard as you could, flung yourself away from the ship and into the never-ending air.
The sensation of falling fucking sucked, but if you closed your eyes, at least you wouldn’t know when you were going to die.