The Wyche & the Guardswoman
Chapter 1

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Rape, Mind Control, Hypnosis, Drunk/Drugged, Magic, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, non-anthro, Incest, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Rough, Light Bond, Humiliation, Sadistic, Torture, Interracial, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Fisting, Sex Toys, Bestiality, Squirting, Lactation, Enema, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Double Penetration, Body Modification, Transformation,

Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Set in the WH40K universe this tells the torrid tale of the corruption and abuse of an heroic guardswoman at the hands of a depraved dark eldar wyche. A corruption the guardswoman isn't entirely reluctant about...

The Tyrannid Carnifex ripped apart the body of the Wyche between two of its massive talons with ease, casting aside the bloody remnants of her body as it roared in anger and pain.

The massed crowd of the arena howled in response, swept along in a tide of shared bloodlust and pain, the emotion imperceptibly lancing through them all, energising, rejuvenating and reinvigorating the depraved dark eldar assembled there.

The huge beast lumbered around, reliant even more on its sense of smell as its remaining eye swivelled in its head scouring around the combat arena for the remaining Wyche - the one who had plucked its other eye from the Carnifex's head and then casually back-flipped away from the enraged scything claws.

Hormagaunt and genestealer corpses littered the ground, their blood and detritus thick on the floor making footing treacherous for the unwary. The combat had been vicious and brutal - though amongst the chitinous shells of the tyrannids there also lay several lithe, virtually naked, alabaster forms of dark eldar Wyches whose skill and grace had failed in the face of increasing numbers and size of the sport released into the arena.

The Carnifex stopped as it saw the one who had caused it so much pain and taken its eye.

Rayvenne Malice stood haughtily amongst the carnage of the arena, his demeanour as casual and disinterested as a child being taken around a market by their mother.

He was tall, approximately 6' 8" and whilst still slender by human standards, was more heavily muscled than his fallen female Wyche rivals. His body was obliquely attired – his upper right body and left leg were protected by cruelly spiked ebony black armour which had an eerie luminescence to it, whilst the remaining parts of his body were entirely bare but for jet black tattoos which stood starkly against his white skin.

Rayvenne tossed his head contemptuously, a motion accentuated by the long blood red pony tail he sported from a top knot on his otherwise bare skull.

In one hand he held a wickedly barbed curving blade which seemed to absorb the very light around its keen edge, in his other hand he dangled the bloody eyeball of the Carnifex.

With a deliberate motion he dropped the eyeball onto the floor and slowly ground it under the heel of his armoured foot.

The crowd screamed in delight.

The Carnifex howled in response and charged thunderously towards Rayvenne like some maddened alien bull confronting a matador. But the Carnifex wasn't an unthinking beast, it was an alien bioengineered weapon and had self-aware full combat intelligence – its four taloned arms swung in unison in a complicated premeditated attacking pattern intended to rend the Wyche into a bloody mess.

With incredible economy of motion Rayvenne swayed, each talon missing him by the barest of fractions before he adroitly stepped inside of them all to plunge his blade deep into the skull of the Carnifex with a snarl.

The reaction from the crowd was instantaneous and riotous – screams mingling with cheers in unbridled emotion.

In the midst of it all Rayvenne stood with his arms aloft in a pose of triumph – a pose which was entirely contrived.

Rayvenne was bored.

High above the masses in one of the most luxuriously appointed private boxes, Lelith Hesperax - undisputed Succubus of the Cult of Strife – frowned at the tableaux below.

Their Cult may have won the gladiatorial show, but she was concerned.

Rayvenne was her favourite Wyche: he was by far the most skilled Wyche in her Cult second only to her in ability.

More importantly, as a male he could never challenge her for leadership and he would ensure fine gene stock to come for the Cult, even for her own offspring when she decided the time was right. But right now his body language spoke clearly to her, if not the assembled crowd, of disinterest and boredom – and that was deadly territory for a dark eldar to occupy.

Lilith turned her attention to the message which had been passed to her – it appeared that Archon K'shaic of the Bladed Lotus Kabal had encountered unexpectedly fierce resistance in a raid upon an Imperial System and was requesting the assistance of her Cult.

She tapped a cruelly tapered crimson finger nail against her luscious black tinted lips as she mused

"Maybe Rayvenne can rediscover his passion having sport with the mon-keighs..."

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