For My Ascension, I Ordered My Commanders to Stalk Me
Copyright© 2025 by Palescript
Chapter 17: The Sovereign’s Game
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 17: The Sovereign’s Game - Choose Your Own Synopsis: Black Flag: (least spoilers/you want the darkest ride): Libby's life as a small-town librarian is brought to an end the night two monsters masquerading as men drag her through a portal into Hell. Subjected to public humiliation and ritualized depravity beyond comprehension, Libby clings to one certainty: none of this is random cruelty. What purpose does it, and will she, ultimately serve in this terrible new world? Red Flag blurb is in the Preface.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Slavery BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Horror Paranormal Magic Demons BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Voyeurism Public Sex Royalty Violence
When Libby became aware of her body, the first thing she recognized was she was pressed against a warm, solid surface.
Her thoughts were slow to form, making it hard to anchor herself and piece together where she was. A disorienting sense of ... weightlessness made it feel like the world was tilting, and it took several heartbeats for her to realize someone’s arms were wrapped around her and fully supporting her limp frame. Her heavy head was lolling on what she thought might be their shoulder, her face tucked into the curve of their neck.
The second thing she registered was a restless discomfort in her lower half that was radiating a deep, persistent cramp. It was accompanied by a strange fullness, a foreign yet disturbingly intimate sensation that slowly glided through her insides.
A burst of incredulous laughter broke through her muddled awareness, rising above the layers of noise and reverberating off the surrounding walls.
Libby sluggishly lifted her head and blinked away the sting of the spotlights. Shapes began to solidify, and the oppressive grandeur of the arena reasserted itself around her: the sweep of its immense, crumbling walls, the rows upon rows of spectators packed into the ascending tiers, the muted glow of the moons hovering far above in the night sky.
She lowered her gaze and came face to face with Galen’s unwavering stare. He occupied the seat just beside her, his rigid jaw braced on a scarred fist. His slate-framed eyes were still missing their pupils, and the bottomless wells of ink were studying her with an intensity that felt clinical and alien.
His brow furrowed in concentration, and he leaned forward slightly. The din of the amphitheater faded to a distant hum, and her reality narrowed to the magnetic pull of his singular focus. Time felt like it was crawling to a standstill as those soulless eyes consumed her, weighing her against some criteria that only he could perceive.
She swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.
His eyes fell shut for a moment. After a pause that could have lasted seconds or minutes, he finally reopened them. His white pupils steadily resurfaced, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
Then he turned away from her without a word.
“Welcome back, princess,” came a low voice at her ear.
Libby startled and turned her head to find Fenrow peering down at her. As the realization that he was the one holding her in the snare of his arms bled across her face, his expression darkened with roguish pleasure. One of his arms was under her knees, her right shoulder was braced against the hard line of his chest, and her legs were left to swing free.
A quiet unease crept in when she became aware of just how much this position highlighted their disparity in size. His long fingers overlapped where they curved around her thigh, a complete, inescapable ring of warmth. His thumb was tracing patterns against her skin, the idle, possessive strokes suggesting he wasn’t even fully conscious he was doing it himself.
The rumbling laughter from before permeated through the static of her thoughts, and she turned her head to see Wrath in his seat. He was gripping his sides and cackling, shaking his horned head as he pointed at Galen, then at Libby.
“Fucking Hell! I sure as shit did not see that coming. Had my cock down her throat one second, and then the next Auric—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he used his fingers to imitate tentacles bursting from his mouth.
The memory suddenly crashed back into her along with a rush of nausea, leaving her dizzy and shaken to the marrow.
She could feel them. Feel Auric twitching in parts of her body she couldn’t name. Pulsating in spaces that shouldn’t exist.
Shock was the only thing keeping the deluge of fear from crashing against the fragile dam of her sanity. Her thoughts were disjointed and scattered, unable to form anything coherent beyond the immediate: breathe, survive this second, and don’t think about the next.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that covetous old bastard was looking to settle a score or two with me.” Asmodeus stowed his half-erect cock back into his armor and barked out an amused curse. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you tend to rack up grudges and a fuckload of unfinished business. It’s a hazard of the occupation, I’m afraid.”
“You know, I’ve always found Asmodeus’ taste in decor insufferably ostentatious,” Fenrow murmured in a register that only she could hear.
A geyser of flame chose that moment to erupt from the churning pool three stories below, sending an avalanche of fire arcing overhead. She froze in instinctive terror, but Fenrow’s hold on her never wavered, and he showed no outward sign of concern or alarm. Then the molten deluge harmlessly sloughed off an invisible dome she hadn’t realized was there until now, and slid back into the lake of lava beneath the disc.
“But to install a hundred-foot statue of himself?” Fenrow scoffed quietly, the air tickling the side of her neck. He was glancing at Wrath, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Galen. His gaze shifted to hers. “Now that’s just excessive, even by our standards.”
Pressed against him like this, Libby couldn’t help but notice that Fenrow sat with an almost preternatural stillness. There was no way to tell if it was because he was utterly at ease, or if it was a sort of ... predatory tension, a leashed malevolence held in check by discipline alone. She could feel the individual ridges of his abdominals flexing along her side with each measured breath. Sense the power coiled in his frame, drawn taut as a bowstring waiting for the command to release.
With a slow, controlled exhale, Fenrow leaned back in his seat, bringing Libby with him and shifting her weight to one arm. He held her immobile without effort, absently exploring her with his newly freed hand. She stiffened as he trailed the back of his knuckles down the line of her neck, across her collarbones, and between the swell of her breasts. He skated them lower over her ribs before moving to her plated abdomen, lightly raking the tips of his claws over her exposed skin and leather ties.
Libby wanted to protest, to ask him—no, to demand that he stop.
But if she spoke now, it would mean losing the only battle she stood a chance of winning.
A few feet away, the two demons continued their conversation, the subject nearly impossible for her to follow. Her gaze flitted from Fenrow, to Galen, and then to Asmodeus before rising to the screens where shifting images of the sovereigns loomed larger than life above the pit.
Pride’s glaring absence still nagged at her despite her attempts to dismiss it, and not for the first time, she found herself questioning why he wasn’t there. His promise was a small flame she couldn’t smother, no matter how many times she tried to do just that.
Had he truly been sincere? Would he really come back for her and take her away from this nightmare?
He’d given her no timeline or specifics. For all she knew, his words were nothing more than pretty lies he’d used to keep her compliant. Every demon she’d met had their own game they were playing, their own self-serving agenda. They might all have been wearing different masks, but deception and depravity were part of their nature, and the inherent cruelty that festered underneath remained the same.
“I hope you know this reckless little plot of yours has earned you a very long, very hard lesson in consequences, my dear,” Fenrow said quietly, as though he were stating an obvious fact. To their right, Wrath and Galen had changed the topic and were discussing military drills and the best use of ballistae.
She did not know what he was talking about, but she’d long since stopped trying to follow his deranged logic.
“That being said,” he continued, “there’s no denying that it’s successfully filled our empty coffers to the brim. And once this is all said and done, I think I already know how I’m going to spend some of it.”
His eyes took on a speculative gleam as they regarded Asmodeus’ armored statue. “After I’ve secured you behind every ward and lock known to demonkind, I’ll design a monument of even greater magnificence for you. I’ll have it built just beyond the outer gates and ensure it’s tall enough for you to see from the window of your bedchamber. What do you think, Libby?” His expression took on a fever-bright, maniacal fervor. “Doesn’t that sound marvelous?” he asked again, though it was more of a declaration than a question.
Fenrow’s next words came without his teasing lilt, the intensity that replaced his usual charm anything but playful.
“But before any of that happens, I’m going to spend a month fucking your cunt until I’ve ruined you for anyone else.” He slid his hand up her inner thigh, eliciting a shaky, startled gasp. “And once I’ve finally taken what you have deprived me of all these years, I will teach you the art of pleasure. Of fulfillment. Of all the things you’ve been so cruelly denied, princess.”
The world was taking on that hazy, dreamlike quality again. She could feel herself drifting away, her mind retreating to that numb, empty place where his words couldn’t reach her anymore.
Thinking about the future was too unbearable. Especially one in which her only reward for enduring this hell was spending what remained of her life trapped under the cage of his body, reduced to nothing more than a possession. An object he would use until he discarded her once he inevitably grew bored with her.
She was little more than a doll in his hands as he settled her head under his chin with a soft, contented sigh. His warm breath fanned across the top of her head, and his slow heartbeat thudded against her ribs.
The conversation happening mere feet away slowly filtered into her ears, and reality firmly dragged her back into the present.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Wrath admitted, replying to something Galen must have said. “With Velmion absent from the previous two Rites, we’ve had to get a little... creative.” He covered an eye with a large hand and cast the other towards the five sovereigns above, his expression one of resigned exasperation. “The first tribute wore a necklace socketed with gems made from Velmion’s vitalis. Then we tattooed the next one from neck to navel with ink distilled from his archived blood.”
Asmodeus sighed theatrically, and a wolfish grin slowly spread across his face as he leaned forward and clapped a heavy hand on Galen’s shoulder. “So when Chancellor Galenvael approached me with the brilliant idea of inviting my old friend Auric to satisfy the Rite’s requirement, well, you could say I was fucking delighted by the prospect. Sure beats the shit out of enchanted accessories and fancy tattoos.”
The dark elf didn’t so much as shift under the sovereign’s touch. He merely inclined his head in a gesture that acknowledged the compliment without indulging it.
“We’ve always isolated each sin and given them their moment in the spotlight,” the sovereign continued. “But to have one of the Original Seven corrupt the tribute with his vitalis during my round? Now that will corrupt her more than a horde of lesser demons ever could.”
“Precisely,” Galen replied, his tone almost conversational. He reclined in his seat, casually breaking the physical contact. “And after being sealed for over a millennium, one might say he was very keen to participate.”
“Excellent,” Wrath said with relish. “It will give my boys a worthy challenge. It’s hardly a proper hunt if they don’t have to work for it.”
“Indeed,” Galen said. “Easy prey makes for poor sport and even poorer entertainment—”
“Hey. Look at me, sweetheart,” Fenrow murmured, waiting until her glassy eyes found his. “I’m going to distract you for a while, okay? I promise to take care of everything. All you need to do is focus on me and how I’m going to make you feel.”
His glowing pupils slowly re-emerged from their lightless depths. They swept across her face, catalogued the flutter of her pulse, the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
“Now then,” Asmodeus said. “I think we’ve all been patient long enough. Please, Chancellor Fenrow. Why don’t you give us a proper look at that fascinating device of yours and show everyone what’s been keeping our tribute so very ... occupied?”
Libby barely registered the sovereign’s words or Fenrow’s response. Her blurred eyes were glazing over, her mind desperately searching for that familiar, hollow void.
Fenrow slowly turned her in his arms, facing her outward. He lowered her into the center of his lap and pulled her close, his hands moving with her and coming up to slide under the curve of her ass.
“I know, I know,” Fenrow cooed when she instinctively tried to twist away and curl in on herself. He tightened his hold on her legs and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s okay, my love. Just a little more, and then I’ll give you exactly what you need.”
Her bottom lip began to tremble as he slowly brought her knees towards her chest and folded her body in half. She tried to lock her thighs together, a final, futile barricade against the inevitable.
With gentle yet inexorable pressure, Fenrow drew her legs apart, revealing her chastity belt and the squirming tangle of Auric’s tentacles to the glare of the spotlights and the audience’s ravenous eyes.
An immediate wave of revulsion echoed from every tier of the amphitheater, thousands of voices united in horrified awe. Mortification flooded her chest and tightened like a vise around her ribs, leaving her gasping for air that wouldn’t come.
Then Libby made the mistake of glancing down and immediately wished she hadn’t. Many of Auric’s appendages had slipped free from behind the plate covering her sex. Some were languidly tasting the air, others were tightly constricted around her thighs, and two more were actively burrowing back into the slick, quivering nest it had made of her insides.
“Gods beneath and below.” Even Asmodeus seemed at a loss for words. “Well then. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like that before. Personally, I’m trying to decide if I’m disgusted or if I’m aroused. Both, I think?” He slowly shook his head. “You’ve outdone yourself, Chancellor. It’s utterly obscene, and I mean that as a compliment. I can’t wait to see it in action.”
Libby tried to look anywhere but at the cameras, the crowd, at the parasitic horror ravaging her lower half, but there was nowhere safe to look. Nowhere except into the abyssal depths of Fenrow’s unblinking eyes.
“When someone inspires your creativity,” Fenrow said to the sovereign, “you could say the work practically designs itself.”
The pale drow’s focus never drifted from her face as his fingers trailed down the plane of her stomach, glided over the golden plate cupping her mons, and found the circular aperture near the top. Her eyes followed his movements, her nerves caught somewhere between dread and a sickening sense of anticipation.
“How ... poetic. I suppose I’ll have to defer to your expertise on the matter,” Wrath replied smoothly, though his gaze suggested he saw nothing remarkable about the trembling mortal in Fenrow’s arms.
Galen said something in response, but Libby didn’t hear it because Fenrow had depressed a mechanism along the edge of the uppermost vent. She felt rather than heard a click, and could only watch with uncomprehending eyes as the hole widened and released a heavier flow of creamy discharge.
Before she could brace herself for it or understand what was happening, Fenrow slid a finger through the aperture and easily found her clit.
Her body jerked in his grasp, and she felt the vibration of his chuckle rumble through her back as he locked his arm under the crook of her knees.
“Alright, chancellors,” the sovereign said with a decisive slap of his thigh. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our chat, I think it’s time we gave our audience what they came for.”
The response from the demonic spectators was nearly deafening.
The red devil turned towards the cameras, another broad grin appearing on his face as he savored their reaction. ”What do you say? Shall we fucking turn up the heat?”
“Easy now,” Fenrow said when she tried to close her legs, his deep voice a low purr. “I know what you need right now, princess, even if you don’t know what that is yourself. So let me spoil you and give you something else to focus on. I want to show you how tender I can be when you’re not forcing my hand.”