Chapter Text
It took about two months for your new life to feel almost normal. You’ve tried to listen for any news of the war, the cult, anything but your captors are far to clever to say anything around you. All you can work out is that so far their conquest is exceeding their expectations
Most of the world domination is happening in far off lands now, requiring remote action and none of Durge’s particular skills. So they spend a lot of time in their villa - Enver had insisted the new rulers of Faerun had a fitting home to run the world from – idle and relaxed. Mostly that means fucking each other but at least twice a day they take turns fucking you too, ensuring you spent plenty of time full of their spend.
You’ve had one blood since you arrived, starting nearly a tenday into your captivity. A day after your blood began, Gortash had ushered you into the sitting room outside the Chosen’s bedroom. The room was lavishly decorated with the accumulated wealth of successful tyrants but that day there had been a new addition – a large black slate mounted on one wall.
Gortash snapped his gauntleted hand which had lit the slate up. On it settled an image – moving image you realize with horror showed your friends – clearly battered and bloodied – as they were forced into a small rectangular room. Durge followed in behind them, with a dozen guards.
“This device lets us see your little friends, kitten, all the way in the special prison we reinforced just for them. But that’s not it all. Durge~” the tyrant had practically sung. On the slate, the vision of Durge twitched in response before abruptly reached out and slapped Karlach clear across the face. The fiery tiefling had reacted in kind and you could do nothing but watch as she was pummeled into the ground by the Bhaalspawn before she was chained to the wall like the others.
“You swore they wouldn’t get hurt,” you had cried in despair.
“I said they’d live. But if you behave, then they will not be harmed,” Gortash had hummed before striding out of the chamber, a proud and triumphant tyrant. You have not had your blood since, and there has been an unspoken air of expectation amongst Faerûn’s soon to be conquerors and yourself over the last week that has only been growing.
Most days you stayed in the bedroom, trying to avoid seeing your chained companions or any of the tadpoled servants running blindly about. Despite the resounding success of their plan, the tyrants were often away issuing edicts or whatever else there was for them to do in this new illithid hell they were building.
Durge had actually been away for a few days, though you weren’t told why. The last few nights it had just been you and Gortash at the villa. He’d had you earlier that day, shortly after breakfast so he’d left you alone so far that night, merely settling next to you on the bed with a book. You stay curled on one side, facing away, when the door slams open.
There, framed in the doorway, is Durge – the same hulking draconic form as always.
“Ah, there you are my dear, welc-“ Gortash starts to stay only to trail off as he notices the odd way the Bhaalspawn is standing. Normally confident and strong, Durge seems to stumble into the room, one hand on his head, the other clutching his stomach. “What’s wrong?” demands the tyrant, sitting up. You raise your head watching the scene with caution.
“I’m not sure somethings diff-“ the dragonborn cuts off with a sharp growl, bending in half before erupting in a swell of viscous, red magic. Out of the almost blood like wave emerges a terrifying monstrous face, with four horns and sharp, limb-shredding teeth. Unbidden, you feel a scream come from your throat, drawing the creature that was once Durge’s attention.
Gortash curses next to you as the creature lunges, it’s four arms and massive legs easily allowing it to pin you to the bed. One hand land firmly on Gortash’s leg keeping him stuck to your side but the beast seems to only have eyes for you. It sniffs your hair, lowering its head down your body sniffing as it goes. It noses your thighs apart, at which point you find enough courage to meekly say, “Gortash,” as if the man frozen next you could do anything to stop Bhaal’s killing machine.
Enver does gently try to get its attention, softly saying, “Now Durge, think about-“ he’s cut off by a low growl from the creature.
It nuzzles its head between your legs, sniffing at your slit, before a long slick tongue slips between your lips. You keen and squirm away from the creature, which makes a sound almost like a laugh before pulling its head away, moving back up your body. There’s no violence in the motion, nothing threatening, it’s almost like Bhaal’s Chosen is curious or playful.
It presses its entire monstrous face into your lower stomach, nuzzling into you. It moves its arms to wrap around your waist in something like a hug while it continues to rub it’s face into your stomach. The rapid flutter of air out of the creature’s nose as it scents your stomach makes you jerk and you’re gently soothed by a soft humming noise.
You feel ice shoot through you as you realize the creature is sniffing - no scenting - your womb. Against your back, Gortash stiffens as must he reach the same conclusion. “Ah, well then it seems our efforts have been successful. I take it the child is yours then, Durge dear?”
The creature chitters excitedly, nuzzling harder at your stomach, ignoring the way you try to pull away with a whimper.
“I can’t birth a dragonborn!” You cry out, truly coming to realize the magnitude of that could mean for your body. Assuming dragonborns weren’t hatched from eggs or something worse.
“Ordinarily yes, but of course with the will of the gods anything is possible,” Gortash says, “Bhaal is ever so eager to have his line spread after all, it wouldn't do to have you ripped apart.”
The beast trills delightedly, pressing one more nuzzle to your stomach, odd spikes scraping uncomfortably. The beast’s lower horns are just wide enough to straddle either side of your hips, leaving you no room to twist and hide yourself as you burst into tears. Only the thought of what this thing could do to your friends stops you from trying anyway. The creature settles itself carefully between your legs, face pressed against your skin, humming in a way that might have been soothing from anything else.
Gortash watches carefully from the side, showing you the first kindness he had since you arrived by not pointing out your tears. The creature seems to fall asleep after an indeterminate amount of time, the humming trailing off to disgustingly steady breathes. You let your eyes slip closed rather than continue to watch it or Gortash.
Sometime later, the weight against your stomach shifts, another wave of magic sweeping through the room, this time smelling distinctly of iron. The now familiar scrape of dragonborn scales against your skin cause your eyes to flutter open, just as the man speaks in a very gravelly voice, “What happened?”
To the side Gortash stirs, subtly rolling his neck to dispel some lingering stiffness. He catches your eye with an expression of wicked delight on his face as he replies, “Do you want to tell him mommy, or should I?”
You’ve never seen anything so akin to hope and delight in Durge’s blood red eyes than in that moment, and that terrifies you more than any of the blood lust. He’s silent, motionless as the predator he is, for a long moment before he dives down. Like his monstrous form, Durge kisses your stomach reverently, soft gentle things that belong to relationships far purer than theirs. He goes lower, hands carefully guiding your thighs open as he goes, until the dragonborn is pressing soft kisses to your sensitive bud.
“Well done, mommy,” he whispers to your cunt, more reverent than you’d ever heard him except when Bhaal was mentioned. The gentleness makes your toes curl with tense pleasure but it wars with the revulsion pooling in your stomach at his words. Assuming the nausea in your stomach was coming from your feelings and not the Bhaalspawn growing inside you.
Durge nudges your cunt with his tongue and you jerk, drawn away from your inner debate again. You sob as that draconic tongue slips inside of you, pointed tip rubbing against your walls.
“Please, just stop,” you whimper quietly, fighting to pull away.
Durge pulls his head up slightly, but to look over your head to Gortash, who hums. “I suppose the kitten has earned a night’s rest, don’t you Durge? Your alter-ego scared our poor kitty something awful. Besides,” he places a hand on your stomach, “She has finally done her duty to our cause after all.”
Durge smiles wickedly, drawing back from your legs and climbing to the side of the bed, next to you and Gortash. “Only for the night, regular fucking is good for the pup and our dear mommy,” hums the Chosen with a leer, “Meanwhile, I can think of another way to celebrate…Daddy.”
Before you can blink, Gortash pushes you off of him leaning to the side to capture the twisted dragonborn in a harsh kiss. The pair pulls back long enough for Gortash to growl, “Say that again,” before they lock lips again, roaming hands quickly finding each other’s cocks. As the pair start frantically thrusting into each other, spewing a litany of dirty and violent words to each other right next to you, all you can do is curl up on your side and try not to think about the monster growing inside you.