Cruel Love's Discipline - Dani1322 (2024)

The early glow of sunlight began to infiltrate the room, its rays slipping through the cracks and casting a warm sheen over the papers on the desk. A pair of bewitching, deep crimson eyes met the same light and winced in discomfort. Instantly, the drow rose from her chair to shield her workspace from the intrusive brightness. Mornings in Menzoberranzan bore little difference from nights, and sunlight was a constant source of unease for her. The darkness was her sanctuary. Even on the surface, environments reminiscent of the Underdark provided her with a comforting familiarity.

Drawing the curtains closed, she sighed quietly. Another night had slipped by too quickly. The drow stood there for a moment, the weight of time's passage dawning upon her. But before she could delve into her thoughts, she sensed movement behind her. Minthara glanced over her shoulder, her gaze softening at the sight that greeted her—a silhouette that brightened her day in a more favorable way.

Against the headboard of the bed, two pale arms stretched languidly, their hands grazing the wood as they descended slowly toward their fae host. A raven-haired, gentle-looking half-elf blinked her amber eyes open and through her hazy morning vision, she discerned the form of her lover. The sight brought a faint, tender smile to her lips—a beacon of joy upon waking, far more welcomed than the dawn itself.

“Hi.”

A soft, breathy exhale. How endearing . A greeting so simple and carefree it almost irritated the drow with its childlike innocence. To an observer, this half-elf might appear weak and vulnerable, but that would be a grave underestimation. Diana was often misjudged, a tendency Minthara herself had fallen into during the early days of their relationship. A fae and a druid, she possessed a delicate beauty and an almost infuriating propensity for pleasing others, even when it did not benefit her in the slightest. Minthara couldn't help but worry how these traits might undermine their current political maneuvers in Baldur’s Gate. Their alliance had yielded moderate success in the wake of the Elder Brain's defeat, yet Minthara wondered if other factions viewed them as unbalanced, perceiving Diana's apparent "softness" as a liability to their ambitions. She was the face of their party, after all, and while her gentle charms endeared her to the citizens, there remained ample space for ignorance within their leagues. For a fleeting moment, Minthara toyed with the notion of how many diplomatic doors might have remained closed due to mere belittlement.

The drow shook her head, dispelling these thoughts as she turned to face her lover. The remnants of her night's work had tainted her perception of Diana. Though these thoughts had surfaced before, now they left a sharper sting.

"Hello, my love. I did not mean to wake you."

Her voice carried a duller tone than intended, her lingering concerns seeping into her words.

The dazed young woman chuckled softly, oblivious to Minthara’s inner conflict.

“You didn’t wake me. At least… I don’t think you did.”

Her voice was raspy yet light, clearly still caught in the remnants of her slumber. She hadn't slept in a few nights, and her awakenings were typically disoriented and sluggish. A yawn escaped her lips, her eyes momentarily closing from the weariness that clung to her. When she reopened them and met Minthara's cold gaze, a soft laugh bubbled up at her own absentmindedness. She wondered what expression she must have worn, seeing the unamused look on Minthara’s face. Was it her disheveled state that elicited such a gaze?

Minthara's mouth twitched into a half-smile, an involuntary response. She pivoted back to her tasks, organizing her desk as she spoke.

"Oh, I suppose we can blame the birdsong for coaxing you out of bed."

She teased in her typical regnant manner. As Minthara cleared her desk, she paused, a fleeting thought crossing her mind. A subtle test , she mused. Perhaps this would help to put her mind at ease.

Would Diana, in her vulnerable, dazed state, reveal her true nature? Would she succumb to instinct or demonstrate discipline and maturity?

When she spoke again, her voice was icy and gruff, her ruthless nature surfacing, though a trace of playfulness lingered in her words.

Minthara’s words cut through the air like a knife, and Diana’s brows knit together in confusion at the remarks. She sat up from the bed and huffed in disbelief. If the drow aimed to provoke a reaction, she had succeeded. Her lover's harsh words echoed in the half-elf’s head, each one louder than the last. Diana’s lingering drowsiness transformed into a simmering frustration. Her mind was a chaotic tumble of conflicting thoughts—some questioning why Minthara would say such things, others poised to defend herself, and a few ready to snap back with equal harshness. But it all hit her like an incoherent mess, amplifying her irritation.

For a moment, a wave of sadness washed over her, and Diana couldn't help but wonder if Minthara truly harbored such a low opinion of her. They had shared an intimate bond for so long, delving into each other's minds and bodies. Their connection was everything to her—a strong foundation built on honesty and passion, their hearts intricately entwined. Their union was a precious treasure, as they were two sides of the same coin, often displaying opposing mannerisms and viewpoints, yet finding solace and reliance in each other like the cycle of night and day. Understanding was the cornerstone of their relationship, yet Diana couldn't shake the thought that if she were still host to a tadpole, she might have attempted to peer into Minthara's mind at that very moment, yearning for clarity.

There was a kernel of truth in Minthara’s words, sentiments she had expressed in the past but in a less degrading manner. This time, however, there was an element to her tone that eluded the half-elf. This ambiguity only fueled the fires of Diana’s emotions, the mix of anger and hurt growing louder within her. Reacting purely on emotion, Diana’s face flushed with a tumultuous blend of indignation and sorrow.

Without a second thought, she seized a pillow and hurled it at Minthara, the soft projectile striking her on the back of the head. The act was impulsive, fueled by a desperate need to assert herself and to push back against the cutting words that had pierced her heart.

Minthara’s head snapped back after the impact, and Diana was met with a wide-eyed, searing, lethal glare. The drow’s furrowed eyebrows casted a shadow over her intense crimson gaze.

How unpredictable… impulsive… disappointing.

This was a scenario she hadn’t entertained—a reality that now unfolded before her. It was worse than she hoped for. The poor behavior irked the drow, and the fact that her lover behaved so rashly toward her was an affront that fueled her with an urge to correct that which was unruly; undisciplined.

Silence hung heavy in the air as fiery red eyes bore into the depths of Diana’s. In that moment, the half-elf understood that her actions would not go without consequence. The drow’s jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, one might think she would leap from her chair and pounce on her lover.

And indeed, she did.

In the blink of an eye, Minthara shot up from her chair. Diana reacted instinctively, moving like prey sensing danger, reaching a hand under her pillow, but before she could fully comprehend the situation, she found her arms pinned down to her sides. Her immediate impulse to free herself was further suppressed by Minthara’s knees constraining her legs.

“You insolent, pathetic, impudent child! You dare disrespect me with such a foolish act?”

Minthara's growl reverberated in the tense atmosphere of the room, her fury pulsating through her veins, strengthening her grip on Diana. With every word, her expression hardened, giving her sharp features an intimidating edge. She loomed over her lover, her presence dominating the space with a palpable menace.

Yet, despite being physically overpowered, Diana met Minthara's intense gaze with unyielding defiance. Her own eyes blazed with an inner fire, a determination that matched the drow's ferocity. The look seemed almost out of place on her soft features, yet it revealed a depth of strength and willpower. She was trying to keep up with Minthara, to show her she was not inferior. This only fueled the drow’s intensity, making the atmosphere in the room even more suffocating.

Before Minthara, Diana would not have had the same resolve. In many ways, she was mirroring the drow. Minthara was her mentor in many aspects, and their shared eye contact was an endless echo chamber of the same tune. A clash of wills, each daring the other to yield.

The half-elf broke this silent exchange briefly to glance down at her own hand. When she looked back, there was a newfound confidence in her gaze, and she spoke in a determined, if slightly strained, voice.

“I may have reacted poorly, and I may be an ‘insolent child’. But I still share a bed with a Baenrae.”

She accented the last word by pressing lightly against the side of Minthara’s thigh with a dagger she held in her right hand. The drow’s eyes widened, immediately snapping to the point of contact. The blade grazed Minthara’s skin, and though it wasn't held properly, it was sharp enough to leave a fine red line that soon began to sting. Minthara’s breath hitched as the cold steel of the blade pressed against her exposed flesh, a stark reminder of her lover’s defiant strength.

The drow couldn’t help but smirk in approval. This was not the kind of resilience she had expected from Diana after her not-so-subtle attempt to rile her up. But nonetheless, it was a welcome surprise. Somehow, after all they’d been through together, the half-elf still managed to astonish her. The dagger under the pillow was a trick she had instilled in the young woman long ago, and seeing it in action was delightful. There was a sense of pride within Minthara, and the fiery eyes that had been blazing with fury now held a different gleam as she looked back at her lover. Her voice lost the timbre of rage she displayed earlier, and her amusem*nt showed through her low, raspy tone.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“I would return the favor of your audacious scarring, but unfortunately for your pretty pale skin, you have quite the important meeting today.”

“If that hadn’t been the case…”

She inched closer, shaking and tightening her grip on Diana’s arms, forcing her to drop the blade. The half-elf whimpered, shutting her eyes in pain and when she opened them, she found Minthara even closer than before, their faces mere inches apart. Her shaken amber eyes reflected in Minthara’s.

“I would take great pleasure in scaring you ten times over for your little cheeky display.”

Minthara’s voice, low and guttural, carried a hint of arousal beneath its rough edge. It was a dangerous combination, a simmering passion mingling with the raw power she exuded. It sent shivers down Diana’s spine, awakening a primal urge within her that she struggled to suppress. Diana's ability to maintain a composed facade was far from her strongest trait, especially when her emotions surged with intensity. A part of her resented how easily she was willing to give herself up to the drow. She cursed her sexual inclinations for weakening her resolve. Despite the threats and the pain inflicted upon her, the half-elf's eyes shimmered with a longing for her drow lover’s punishment—a testament to her devotion to Minthara that transcended any conflict. In this moment, she found herself unable to muster the will to resist or exhibit defiance. Instead, she marveled at the way her lover overpowered her, finding solace in being at her mercy.

Minthara scoffed as she discerned Diana’s submissive desires, her arms softening under Minthara’s grip, her eyes pleading.

Ah, this fae is a simple creature.

Although Minthara’s influence had significantly molded her, Diana’s core essence remained unbreakable. This realization was not as disappointing as the drow had anticipated. It possessed an odd allure given the current circ*mstances. Minthara chuckled with a taunting tone, her voice dripping with derision.

" Oh , you poor thing..."

Minthara was acutely aware of her lover’s craving for domination—an aspect she exploited time and again. Witnessing Diana in a submissive state brought a sad*stic gleam to her smirk. She lowered herself to whisper in her lover’s ear, her voice sultry and intoxicating.

"What will I do with you?"

The drow’s breath was hot on her ear, inevitably sending shivers down Diana’s spine. She teetered between the urge to recoil from the overwhelming intensity and the desire to completely surrender to it. This filled her with a newfound distinct tension, though it would not linger for long. Her once alert eyes turned heavy and hazy and she released a deep exhale, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Through it, her body relinquished any remaining strength it harbored and this gave her the answers she was seeking. Thus, Diana allowed the sweet comfort of submission to envelop her. In this moment, she was utterly vulnerable. Minthara could do anything she desired, and Diana would let her. Such was the power the drow wielded over her.

The contrast from their earlier quarrel amused Minthara, and she reveled in her lover’s helpless, unreserved willingness. She sought to sate her own hunger by tasting the flesh of her beloved, relishing the power and control she held over Diana. Her tongue traced a sleek line up the pale woman’s neck, savoring her dearest sensitive skin. The drow pressed her lips on her delicate flesh, leaving behind a series of hot, wet kisses. In mere seconds the half-elf’s breaths became a labored mess. Her eyes closed in pure bliss as Minthara nibbled away at her neck. This was her luxury, her heavenly estate. She was at the drow’s mercy, and her lust only grew within her, vocalizing itself as a series of whimpers escaping her lips.

This taste, this scent, this wonderful melody… it all stirred something ravenous and dark within the drow and she shifted her hips, grinding her core against her lover.

Diana vocalized a moan, her eyes widening as she realized that her arms were still pinned to the bed. A consciousness that revealed itself to her when she tried to reach up to her lover’s hips. She was still immobile, and that recognition cemented her feelings of helplessness; a feeling she reveled in.

Minthara's lips twisted into a victorious, sad*stic smile at her lover’s inability, or perhaps, refusal to protest against the sensations. All her life she had been raised to dominate, and till this day she enjoyed doing so in all aspects. Her amusem*nt grew further when her lover moaned, the sound sending a thrill coursing through her. At her lover’s weakened state, a vicious urge stirred within her. She released her grip on Diana’s arms, instead swiftly grabbing her wrists together and pinning them firmly above her head.

The drow leaned back and paused for a moment, her predatory eyes roaming over Diana's delicate expression, drinking it in with her typical arrogance. Before her, the half-elf’s chest rhythmically rose and fell, her lips parted, and her eyes were soft and pleading. Minthara shifted her weight onto her right arm, using it to keep Diana’s wrists firmly pressed above her head. With the back of her free hand, she caressed the half-elf’s face with a tenderness that seemed almost menacing coming from someone of such ruthless nature. The touch was a cruel juxtaposition, soft yet filled with the promise of danger.

“So eager for my touch yet you tempt my wrath…”

“One could almost think…”

In a swift, precise movement, Minthara's free hand seized the same dagger that had once been used against her, pressing its cold blade against Diana’s neck. The half-elf recoiled from the blade with a sharp gasp, a flash of fear igniting in her eyes. The flesh that had been adorned with kisses now faced the threat of being marred forever.

“…that you want me to harm you.”

The young woman’s heart pounded at the proximity of the dagger, each beat reverberating through her tense body. Her once tranquil form, which had flowed with a blissful rhythm, was now rigid and wary. The morning had been a tumultuous journey through a vast range of emotions and physical states, but throughout, her blood had burned with a fiery intensity. Her eyes remained fixed on the steel that threatened her. Deep down, she did not truly believe that her lover would scar her this way, yet the threat was tangible, and she had witnessed Minthara commit far worse for lesser offenses.

Amidst the thickening tension, Diana locked eyes with her lover, and the world around her seemed to fall into a profound silence. Her own breathing became a distant echo, her heartbeat a muffled rhythm in her ears. She found herself sinking deeper into the sea of crimson that was Minthara’s gaze, where fear and lust coiled together, inseparable. Minthara’s beauty was undeniable, a glory Diana had witnessed countless times. But in this particular moment, she was positively divine—her strength, her ferocity, the looming threat of her might poised at Diana’s throat. The half-elf couldn't help but feel a perverse blessing in being the subject of such a dangerous gaze from such an extraordinary woman.

As she looked up at the deadly drow, she couldn’t suppress a smile that tugged at her lips.

"What a wonderful way to die."

Diana had a tendency to bring out surprising emotions within Minthara. The downpour of such feelings washed away the drow’s fierce expression like a gentle caress. The purity of Diana’s emotions was sobering. Minthara’s grip on the dagger faltered a fraction, her breath hitching at that tender expression on the half-elf’s face. The poor thing meant every word she had spoken, and under other circ*mstances, she would still die smiling if Minthara were to slice her neck open. They had discussed it before, how they would end each other if faced with an inescapable situation. Back then, Minthara had seen it in Diana’s eyes—the hesitation, the torment. The half-elf could not bear to live without her, a thought that troubled Minthara deeply.

Witnessing Diana’s growth had been both a joy and a revelation. To see how swiftly she learned, how eager she was to absorb everything from Minthara while maintaining an unwavering sense of self, was inspiring. Yet now, Minthara feared that Diana’s identity revolved too heavily around her. In many ways, Diana’s love was one of her greatest strengths and one of her most profound vulnerabilities. There was, however, a distinct allure in her devotion. Minthara felt a potent sense of power in knowing how thoroughly she had intoxicated the half-elf. Diana would live for her and die for her—a flawless devotee.

But their relationship was far from simple. Minthara reveled in being placed on a pedestal, but she could not regard Diana as a mere follower. Their bond was unlike any the drow had ever experienced, and at times, Minthara too, felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of their separation, whether by circ*mstance or death. Perhaps it was a deep sense of attachment that bound her to the half-elf, a sentiment both unfamiliar and undeniable.

Minthara sighed, realizing she was once again attempting to rationalize her emotions as she had done countless times before. Old habits die hard. Perhaps she should heed the lesson the half-elf had once imparted to her—of living in the moment. As she gazed down upon Diana, her mind laid at ease. She savored the look on her face, the heartfelt love in her eyes. Diana was no ordinary person, and this form of her affection was precious, something reserved solely for Minthara.

"You are fortunate to have me."

Her tone was firm, yet an unmistakable softness laced her voice. She allowed the words to linger in the air, inching closer to Diana with an almost tangible promise of a kiss. Diana's eyes fluttered closed, expectant and ready to embrace the moment.

Without warning, Minthara elevated her hips, her form towering over her lover. Diana’s eyes snapped open when she felt the sudden absence of the steel at her throat and the loss of Minthara's body pressing against her. Startled, her eyes followed the movement of the dagger, widening as they traced the line of Minthara’s newly exposed skin. The drow had lifted her nightgown, revealing the smooth expanse of her toned stomach, the dagger poised in her hand; a sight that made Diana’s breath catch at her throat. With deft precision, Minthara slid the blade between her own skin and the waistband of her underwear, effortlessly slicing through the fabric. A swift snap severed the band on the left, and Diana winced as the second snap on the right sent the garment cascading down her thighs. Her breath hitched at the sight, the anticipation coiling within her.

Minthara's expression was one of proud satisfaction as she pointed the blade back at her stunned lover. Her eyes meticulously searched for any hint of defiance as she released her grip on Diana’s wrists, guiding her hands to rest at her sides.

“Spread your legs.”

She ordered coldly, with no anticipation of disobedience.

Diana obeyed instantly. The half-elf was both startled and exhilarated by her lover’s unpredictable behavior. Minthara was truly a unique experience; danger, lust, and love assailed Diana mercilessly, causing her heart to race with anxious anticipation.

Minthara’s eyes were alluring and enigmatic, their mystery a weapon she wielded with delight against the anxious half-elf. She reveled in her control, feeling a devilish thrill as she observed Diana’s shameless obedience. Without uttering a word, she let a sad*stic smile creep across her face before spinning and plunging the dagger into the mattress, just between Diana’s legs. The half-elf yelped at the impact, the cold steel perilously close to her sex, embedded in such a way that any attempt to close her legs or squirm would risk slicing her thighs, or worse.

In an instant, Minthara was on top of Diana once again. This time, she made herself comfortable as she backed up her rear towards her lover. A satisfactory position that she has found herself in many, many times throughout her life. Before the half-elf could fully keep up, her breath caught in her throat as she was faced with an exquisite sight. Before her, a beautiful, glistening, entrancing feast. Her mouth watering, her lips instinctively parted, her anticipation palpable.

The drow arched her back, pinning the half-elf’s arms to the bed with her own in a firm yet delicate hold. Her grip seeking to temper any resistance the fae beneath her might show, as she balanced herself atop her lover's face. With her sultry voice, she commanded,

“Please me.”

Upon hearing her lover’s command, Diana closed her eyes and leaned in without hesitation. Instantly, the flavors on her tongue were delectable and intoxicating, like a drug she couldn't quit. She chased that familiar high, each taste more enchanting than the last, drawing her in deeper. As she pressed in further, Minthara responded with a guttural moan, pushing back against her. As if she had been wandering the desert for a thousand days, the half-elf drank the essence of her lover as if it were a scarce, precious elixir. She eagerly savored the sweetness that was so graciously given, every moment of the act invigorating her. Minthara's firm grip, the way she dominated her completely, added to the ecstasy. The taste of Minthara on her lips, her texture, her flavor, and the sounds of pleasure she made—all these elements wove a sensuous symphony. Her song held its own power, enchanting Diana entirely and making her own excitement pulse with desire.

Minthara, Minthara, Minthara…

To be at her service was its own reward, but to experience her like this was a gift like no other.

The seductive drow basked in the attention being lavished upon her, but she had no intention of remaining passive. She rocked her hips gently and let out a shaky moan, her eyes fluttering closed as her body shuddered in ecstasy. With a grip on Diana’s arms, she rode her face with unexpected softness. She did not doubt Diana's ability to maintain a more ferocious pace, but her own pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, and she intended to hold on to the moment for a little longer.

Despite being entranced as ever, Diana remained mindful of the trials weighing on her body. A passive fight against the urge to close her trembling legs and move her tension filled hips. Above all, she yearned to grasp Minthara’s hips, to feel the heat of her regal body beneath her fingertips. Through her touch she would be able to feel the drow’s muscles contracting and releasing in response to the pleasure coursing through her body, a dance that harmonized with her erotic song. Yet, the suppression that did not allow her to do as she wished seemed a punishment inflicted by her lover. Though for a punishment, it was surprisingly merciful coming from the deadly drow.

Minthara's eyes were shut, her brows knitted in concentration as Diana continued to weave her magic with her skilled tongue. Every lick and swipe sent surging waves of pleasure coursing through her. Each wave, a new tune in the sensual vocalization of her bliss. It was as if Diana was made for this purpose, and her efforts aroused Minthara to no end. The pleasure the half-elf bestowed was exquisite, and the drow luxuriated in her ownership over it, her grip on Diana tightening to a painful degree.

Mine…

With a deep exhale, the drow’s eyes slowly opened halfway, a confident, sultry gaze adorning her features. A devilish smirk played upon her lips as she savored the sensation of control, of power, the heady mix of lust and dominance consuming her. Minthara’s mind fogged over with ecstasy, unable to articulate any command but a guttural, primal demand.

“ More… ”

The drow used her grip on her lover to lean forward and push her hips further back. With parted lips, Diana welcomed the ambitious demand, delving deeper into the silky folds, her mouth delightedly full of Minthara. A sharp hiss echoed in the room, followed by an invigorated mix between a moan and a whimper, charmingly higher in pitch. The young woman turned her own dangerously rising excitement into energy to match the drow’s newly hastened pace. Her lover’s nectar was delectable, and with the adrenaline of the intimate moment, the half-elf felt as if she could do this indefinitely. Her own pleasure vocalized itself through a series of muffled whimpers under her lover, their vibrations adding layers to the sensations coursing through the drow. Minthara was ethereal, an image of erotic beauty. Her wondrous hips moved with an almost lyrical grace, her impeccable form enchantingly arched, her head thrown back in pleasure.

The impassioned drow conveyed a near animalistic desperation, a primal need driving her forward as she rode her lover’s mouth like it was her property. Through a particular measured suction from the half-elf, the rhythm faltered, the drow’s head dropping abruptly as all the tension drained completely from her neck. Her eyes were shut as if in a dream, whisked away from the world into a realm that enveloped her completely. A moment of profound silence enveloped the room, only to be broken by a riveting, luscious cry that reverberated through the air with captivating intensity. Minthara’s body was a wonderful spasming, twitching mess in a carnal serenade of panting moans. With each breathy note, the enthralling tune slowly dropped in pitch as her climax loosened its grasps on her. The drow’s body gradually came to a halt, her chest heaving and breathless. Diana separated from the throbbing sex with a long, thin line of saliva trailing from her swollen lips, and she gazed at her vicious masterpiece with hazy eyes.

Minthara's heartbeat rang in her ears, harmonizing with the rhythm of her deep, slow breaths. As she slowly blinked her eyes open, she found herself lying atop her treasured companion, her head resting gently on her lower stomach. She lingered there for a moment, her mind adrift in a haze of pleasure. A dashing, satisfied smile spread across her face as she felt a couple of short, tender kisses around her sensitive parts. Her hands moved to rest atop Diana’s, closing in a gentle, loving squeeze.

As she traced her thumb over her lover’s hand, the drow’s typically cold heart warmed delightfully. Impulses urged her to kiss and embrace her lover for this exquisite exchange. However, the feeling quickly faded when she glanced up at the dagger above her, its rigid blade a grim, bittersweet reminder. This was a tender moment, but Minthara wasn't about to overlook Diana's earlier offense by indulging her with affection. With an exhale, her usual stern demeanor settled back upon her, and she knew what she must do to discipline her wayward brat.

The drow swiftly rose and separated herself from her lover, briefly glancing down at the distinct red marks on her arms. The soft silks of her black night gown naturally shifted to cover the riches she had bared to her lover as she stood over the bed. She reached out to grab her sliced garments off the mattress as she spoke.

“I must bathe, and you must prepare for your meeting.”

Minthara stated plainly, a cut in the air that sliced brutally through the lingerings of her sensuous melodies. Without so much as a look into Diana’s eyes, she grabbed the impaled dagger off the mattress as walked away.

Diana, still in a hazy state, weakly shifted up from the bed and gazed at Minthara with wide, puppy-like eyes. Her parted lips, a gateway for her slow breaths, shimmered with the clear, glossy substance her lover had gifted her. She sat in silence as the moment settled—the rush, the passion, the fear, the love… their love.

This was not the first time such a tempest of emotions surged from their intimacy. Each new encounter like the last, a rush of adrenaline, an incredible high… with an occasional devastating come down. Minthara knew Diana well enough to understand how much it pained her when she walked away like this, and Diana was astute enough to realize that the drow was doing it intentionally.

A cruel punishment… She should have known that being restrained and used for pleasure wouldn't be the full extent of it.

Diana felt a gaping void, a desire left raw and aching. It wasn’t because her sexual needs were unmet or that her passion was unreciprocated; they’d played this game before. But those moments typically end with their bodies entwined for hours, an endless pursuit of pleasure, or enlightening conversations. These encounters were fleeting, of course, but each parting felt different. Sometimes, it was a natural separation of two halves that had strengthened each other; other times, it felt like a tearing of flesh. At best, Diana emerged a new woman, radiant and powerful. At worst, she found herself chasing a phantom piece of herself, taken by Minthara, in a desperate pursuit to feel whole again.

She closed her eyes as the familiar ache settled into her, a dark current flowing deeper with each breath. She grasped the sheets, trying her best to hold back the tears. It hurt, of course it did, but this measured pain was effective. She couldn't be angry at Minthara for it; she understood why she had gone this far. Her reaction had been foolish. But now, as clarity began to settle over her, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this punishment than the drow had revealed.

Diana opened her eyes softly, searching for Minthara. The drow was as casual as ever, sifting through Diana’s garments in their dresser. The sight of Minthara’s elegant fingers smoothing out the fabric stirred conflicting emotions in Diana; emotions that must have reflected on her face because Minthara raised an eyebrow when she glanced back at her.

"Feeling sentimental?" she teased, a mocking half-smile playing on her lips.

Ugh, evil… just awful.

Diana scoffed, avoiding Minthara’s mocking gaze. She was not about to sit and weep in front of the drow like she might have a few minutes ago. She refused to show weakness now, not after the drow’s cutting remarks had pierced her pride. Pathetic, childish, weak—those words echoed in her mind, stoking the fire of defiance within her.

No… she was better than that.

Licking her lips, Diana met Minthara’s gaze again, masking her vulnerability with a facade of calm indifference.

“No, just pensive. Reflecting.”

Her words came out more confidently than she felt, a shield against the vulnerability threatening to crack her resolve. It was the image she wanted to project—a woman in control, despite the storm of emotions raging within her. She was almost trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince Minthara.

The drow’s smirk deepened as she carefully arranged Diana’s garments on the bed. “Good. I am sure there is much for you to think about. But do prioritize accordingly. Do not let our quarrel distract you from more pressing matters.”

The drow’s voice was firm yet oddly gentle, a reminder wrapped in subtle understanding. Diana watched as Minthara meticulously straightened the clothing, her movements deliberate and precise. Only when satisfied did she meet Diana’s gaze once more.

“We will talk later,” Minthara reassured, her gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer. With a final glance, she straightened up and walked purposefully toward her desk, leaving Diana to her thoughts.

Diana looked down at the neatly arranged clothes, a tangible reminder of her responsibilities and the turmoil within her. She sighed heavily, shaking the unavoidable weight of her emotions. Just as she began to gather her resolve, a light yet solid thud struck her squarely in the face, causing her to recoil in surprise and discomfort.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the pillow now resting on her lap, the same one she had thrown at Minthara in frustration earlier. She glanced up to find Minthara standing tall beside her desk, a mischievous yet strangely alluring smirk gracing her features.

“Get to work,” Minthara commanded, her voice carrying a hint of challenge and amusem*nt.