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Love to Hate You	By : rufustehshinra Category: A through F > Forgotten Realms Views: 3613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Forgotten Realms or these characters and am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Love to Hate You
- 1
Note: I think that I'm really wanting to RP more with Pharaun (especially with a Quenthel, omg) and that's what is causing the onslaught of porn. I hope you all enjoy it; I'm not really used to writing het so any suggestions for improvement would be appreciated!
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He's always considered himself at least somewhat in control of any situation, any relationship, or any alliance, and it stings this time to think that he may no longer have the upper-hand. The whip-marks on the male's back still sting; his wounds tainted with the venom of Quenthel's snake-whip swell and ache. Pharaun pays them no mind. The venom will run its course; the wizard won't die from the poison. No, the real threat paces in front of him, her stiletto boots (impractical for travel "“ leave it to a priestess to wear heels on a long journey) click threateningly on the floor as she moves. Click... click... click... The sound echoes through Pharaun's thoughts, like a clock ticking down the moments until fresh pain is delivered.

Stronger than him, taller than him, but certainly not as good-looking as him, Quenthel stops in front of Pharaun and places her hands on her hips, her left hand holding her scourge. He keeps his eyes on the floor as any intelligent male would do and focuses on steadying his breathing and ignoring his body's reaction to Yngoth's bite. Taught and thick with tension and hatred, the silence stretches out between them. Pharaun knows she won't go too far with him; not because she doesn't want to, but because they both know that without him, the party will blunder and die. Without Pharaun's secret leadership and without his magic, the group may never know the answers to the questions that plague them.

He knows she hates him for that.

Quenthel cracks the whip again and he does not wince. How many times before has he been in this situation? His mother, his sisters, his female cousins, the priestesses at Arach-Tinilith.... Pharaun has been whipped by all of them at least twice, not to mention the many other priestesses that had seen fit to punish him over the years. The bite of the snakes that comprise the whip are a familiar pain, one easily dealt with by a male who had been through Sorcere. His Masters had been much more cruel. Bare flames had been pressed to his skin, he had been beaten and cut open, forced to concentrate through a thousand other grisly torments. The wizard is confident he can handle anything the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith throws at him.

Then her hand is fisting in his hair (ruining the elegant up-do, that bitch!) and Pharaun swears into the gag in his mouth, eyes snapping up to her face in a defiant "don't-you-dare!" glare that earns him a brutal backhand and leaves his head ringing and his face somewhere between numbness and a sharp stinging sensation. He glares harder at her, aware that it won't do any good "“ but if she isn't going to kill him, he might as well put up a fight. The bitch sets the whip aside, though well within Pharaun's line of sight so he can see the damn thing, and pulls a dagger from her belt. Her red eyes narrow in anger as she takes a step closer to the bound and gagged wizard. Eyeing the dagger warily, Pharaun tries to squirm back a little. Quenthel won't kill him, but that doesn't mean she can't harm him at all. The priestess hefts the blade in her hand and smirks. At any other time, perhaps, Pharaun might have found that attractive; now it just makes him want to summon a fireball to melt the look off her face.

Gently, as though she is caressing Danifae's cheek with her hand, Quenthel brushes the dull side of the blade over Pharaun's neck. Eyes wide, Pharaun freezes when she flips the blade over so that the sharp edge is pressing against his skin. He dares to meet her eyes. She laughs at him, perhaps seeing the fear in the younger male's eyes, and draws the dagger sharply over his cheek. Pharaun closes his eyes but does not flinch even as he feels the bite of the blade opening a wound in the flesh of his cheek, feels the drops of blood drip from the wound. He's had worse, of course, and Pharaun reminds himself that this pain and humiliation will pass just as it has a hundred times before. At least Quenthel has chosen to discipline him privately, away from the others. No one needs to see him in so vulnerable a state. He's almost thankful she has spared him that humiliation.

Almost.

The blade slides lower, its kiss more terrifying than that of the snake whip, and Pharaun has to force himself to keep his breathing slow. Quenthel will not see anymore of his fear if he has anything to say about it and he keeps his face expressionless even when the dagger slices through his tunic, cutting it in a line down the middle of his chest. That makes Pharaun wince, if only because that had been his favorite tunic, and he'll have to spend more time later to repair it. Now it has holes in the back from the snakes and he wonders if he ought to just toss the sentimental thing away.

Quenthel's hand tightens in his hair again, drawing Pharaun's attention away from his thoughts and back to the more pressing matter at hand. While he's been pondering the state of his shirt, Quenthel has gotten her clothes out of the way and Pharaun suddenly finds his mouth pressed against part of Quenthel's body he had never wanted to be close to. Ever. When she removes the gag from his mouth, Pharaun's fears are confirmed.

She's hairless, of course, which is better than Pharaun can testify to for any human female, but that doesn't make it any better. His mind casts back to the one time he's been placed on an altar to their Goddess and the harsh... attentions of Quenthel's older sister makes him try to pull away in a panic. The priestess doesn't allow it though, and her hand tightens in his hair so much that Pharaun is afraid she's going to pull off his scalp in a single tug. She presses his head closer, making it clear what she wants and Pharaun's tempted at first to bite it. That won't get him out of his though, so he keeps his mouth shut and his eyes averted in an angry glare.

Or at least, he keeps his mouth shut until the feeling of the dagger penetrating his right bicep makes him cry out in surprise and pain. "Do it," she hisses above him, in a tone that promises something far worse if he does not comply. Not wanting to find out what that something might be, Pharaun reluctantly obeys and slides his tongue between her folds while he tries not to think about how much she tastes like her sister and her eldest brother. The fact that he's been in this situation with three of the Baenre children is bad enough.

A gasp sounds from above him, which Pharaun assumes to mean that he's at least doing something right. It takes all of his willpower to ignore the terrible pain in his arm and concentrate on the task set for him by his mistress, but the Master of Sorcere manages. His tongue, experienced and long, presses into her folds. For a moment he half expects the thing to grow teeth and bite it off, but the silly fear passes quickly. Quenthel moans quietly and presses him closer. With his nose pressed against her clit and his mouth stuck inside her it's hard to draw air. The fact that she might let him suffocate down there crosses his mind and Pharaun battles back the fear even as he begins to fuck her with his tongue, paying careful attention to the noises coming from above him as he seeks out the place inside of her that will let him end this quickly.

She pulls the dagger from his arm and settles on holding it at his neck as the grip in his hair loosens a bit. Gasping for air, Pharaun pulls back just enough to breathe before the Baenre growls and pushes his head back into place. "I did not give you permission to stop!" she snaps, and cuts his shoulder as punishment.

Hissing in pain, Pharaun gets back to work, alternating between fucking her and teasing the rest of her pussy with his tongue. Quenthel allows him to pull back enough to breathe and so the wizard focuses on her clit for a moment while he concentrates on breathing and not thinking about this at all. His mind has separated itself from this now and he wishes that he was as drugged as he had been the last time he was with a Baenre priestess. There isn't enough alcohol amongst their small party to drown in after this is finished and Pharaun knows it.

After a few minutes that feel like excruciating hours, Quenthel is fairly dripping from his hard work and he thinks that perhaps this torment is nearly over. His face is covered in her juices and they sting the cut she had made on his cheek. Her legs are trembling and she seems on the verge of orgasm. Pharaun smirks and works her entrance harder... and then she pulls him away with a harsh tug on his hair that sends him falling onto his back, landing painfully on his bound hands and arms, too stunned to react as she tugs his trousers down and out of the way.

The priestess follows him down and gags Pharaun again before he has the chance to utter any spell. A muffled growl escapes him, earning him another backhand for his trouble. With one hand on his shoulder, Quenthel keeps the smaller male pinned to the ground before her and draws the blade down his chest. In the midst of attempting to struggle against her, the wizard freezes, eyes on the blade that could easily do more harm than good in this situation. He swallows nervously, fearing dearly for his cock. Quenthel's eyes follow Pharaun's down to his member and she laughs at him.

"For all your struggles, you do seem to be finding the situation... enjoyable, Master Mizzrym." He doesn't miss the way her tongue darts over her lips as she looks at it. The knife cuts into the skin of his chest and Pharaun hisses around the gag then tries to squirm away when Quenthel leans down to lap up the line of blood that's been drawn. It makes his cock strain harder and Pharaun finds that he suddenly hates the damnable thing. He doesn't want this, doesn't want to be touched by Quenthel, and hates the lack of control he's got in this situation. As though to mock his thoughts, his cock twitches as Quenthel and the dagger move lower, the latter leaving trails of blood for the former to lap up. Pharaun looks away as she runs the dull side of the blade up his length, body tensing in fear.

When she pulls away, relieved confusion overwhelms him. Pharaun dares to open his eyes to see what the high priestess is doing. With steady hands and a smirk that makes Pharaun concerned for his continued well-being, Quenthel is unbuckling her morning star. Well, he thinks to himself, That doesn't bode well.

And he's right because the bitch forces his legs apart and Pharaun swears into the gag, eyes wide, trying his best to squirm away. He manages to rolls onto his stomach and gets as far as his knees before she's on him, pinning him to the ground on his stomach. She bites his ear, drawing another muffled cry from the Master of Sorcere. Without any warning, she presses the handle of the weapon into his body.

Pharaun screams into the gag, praying frantically to his unlistening deity that perhaps Ryld will hear the commotion and come to his rescue, but no footsteps can be heard in the hallway. The inn is dead silent. He's on his own. Against his will, a choked sob comes to his throat and Pharaun squashes it. It hurts, it burns like hell, but he's not going to give her the satisfaction of tears. Drow don't cry, especially not in front of an enemy.

It's not like this is the first time it's ever happened.

Still, it's hard not to break in front of Quenthel, who is pressing the handle deeper into his body. Pharaun trembles in response, swearing in the Abyssal tongue through the gag as he tries to make himself adjust to the unwanted invasion. Deep breaths won't come, and Pharaun finds himself quickly losing control over his own mind. At least the pain has made his erection wilt a little.

With one hand on the handle, Quenthel roughly flips Pharaun onto his back. She straddles his waist, leaning one hand back to make sure her weapon is still positioned inside him and delighting in the groan of pain she draws from the dazed male. Once assured that everything is in place, Quenthel roughly grasps Pharaun's cock, stroking it until he's hard and aching and whimpering behind his gag. His eyes betray his emotions; Pharaun is no longer passive, and the emotions swirling in his red eyes beg Quenthel not to do it. She doesn't listen. Laughing at him, she positions the head of his swollen member at her entrance and presses down, taking him in easily. Pharaun tries to close his eyes and pretend its one of his favorite whores, but the tightness is too much, the weight too heavy. He swallows hard, keeping his eyes closed.

Anybody but her, he thinks to himself.

"Look at me!" Quenthel snaps and Pharaun's eyes obey without his consent. He watches as she raises herself up and then lowers herself down again, the pleasure mingling with the sharp pain in his rear to become something hated. It feels good, and he hates that. It hurts, and he hates that even more. Every time he tries to close his eyes and mind off to the sight of Quenthel riding him like a trained warrior on a pack lizard, she reaches back and fucks him hard with the painful morning star, its sharp edges scratching up the inside of his thighs and drawing whimpers of pain from behind the gag. The priestess hits him while she fucks him, and his resentment boils more with every strike of her hand, every cut of her dagger into his skin. It seems to go on for hours, Quenthel moaning above him as she uses him roughly. Pharaun feels his own body working against him, his cock close to bursting, but he doesn't dare release without her permission. He's heard of males being killed for that. Eventually Quenthel's movements grow jerky and frantic and Pharaun closes his eyes as he feels her cumming around his cock. The sensation of her juices on his dick and balls make him feel sick, weak, and it's all he can do not to puke into the gag.

Blessedly, she slides off of him immediately after. His member is throbbing, but she ignores it, removes the gag again and settles herself on his face. "Clean it up," she snaps, eyes blazing a warning to him. Pharaun obeys, his will exhausted, wanting to just get this over with now. He's done defying her if it means that she'll go away and leave him in peace. His tongue slides into her soaked folds, the taste of her mingled with that of his precum. He licks her clean until she seems satisfied, passively lowering his eyes as she cums on his face twice more.

"You've been relatively good," she tells him, her tone condescending. "At least you've proven that you have one use that isn't completely irritating."

He's not her whore, and he wants so badly to say it, but she's already replacing the gag so that he can't cast any spells (as if he had the energy now) and turning her attention to his body. Quenthel crouches down between his legs to free her weapon with a sharp tug that makes Pharaun dizzy with pain. He groans, eyes squinted shut.

Quenthel stands over him, hands on her hips, after she's collected her whip and adjusted her clothes. She kicks him in the side, then the stomach, making the wizard curl on the floor in pain. "Remember what you learned today, wizard, and it won't happen again... perhaps." Smirking, leaving him aroused, exposed, and still gagged and bound, Quenthel turns and leaves the room. The door remains open a crack, and Pharaun can't be bothered to move or to care who might come in after her and take advantage of his situation. Exhausted, he slumps on the floor, closes his eyes, and tries not to think.
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Love to Hate You