Círdan had planned everything for tonight.
He'd researched techniques, studied positions, prepared his quarters with wine and soft candlelight. Tonight would be different. Tonight he would make Valeria feel what he'd failed to give her yesterday. Tonight he would prove he was more than just another inadequate elf.
The knock on his door shattered those delusions.
A royal guard stood in the corridor, face impassive. "His Majesty requests your immediate presence."
Círdan's blood turned to ice. "Now? It's nearly midnight—"
"Immediately," the guard repeated.
The King knew. Of course he knew. Círdan's hands trembled as he fastened his uniform, his mind racing through excuses, explanations, anything that might save him from whatever judgment awaited.
The guard led him through passages Círdan had never seen in three centuries of service. Down stone stairs that curved deeper into the palace foundations. The air grew warmer, heavy with something he couldn't identify.
Then he heard it. Distant at first, but growing clearer with each descending step.
Moaning. Grunting. The wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh.
"What is this place?" Círdan asked, though part of him already knew he didn't want the answer.
The guard said nothing, stopping before an ornate door that looked absurdly elegant against the rough stone walls. He opened it, gestured Círdan inside, then closed and locked it behind him.
The sounds became crystal clear.
Círdan's eyes needed a moment to adjust. The room was unexpectedly luxurious—rich carpets, velvet furniture, warm lighting from enchanted sconces. Like a lord's private study, elegant and refined.
Except for what occupied the center.
"Ah, Círdan. Right on time." The King's voice came from a high-backed chair positioned to overlook the scene. He held a wine glass, relaxed and comfortable, as if watching a theatrical performance. "Please, sit. Have wine. Enjoy the show."
Círdan couldn't move. Couldn't process what he was seeing.
Valeria was on a large bed in the center of the room.
She wasn't alone.
Six men surrounded her—all human, all massive compared to elven standards. Soldiers by their build, though they wore no uniforms now. Just naked, muscled bodies using her with casual efficiency.
She was on her hands and knees, and Círdan's mind struggled to comprehend the scene.
One man knelt behind her, hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her pussy with brutal, measured thrusts. Another stood before her, cock buried in her throat as she gagged and drooled around him. Her hands worked mechanically on two more shafts, stroking with practiced rhythm. The remaining two waited nearby, stroking themselves lazily while discussing her body as if she wasn't even there.
"The tits are nice, but I prefer the ass—"
"You'll get your turn. I'm going for that mouth next. Want to see if she can take it as deep as Marcus is giving it—"
"Think the husband knows she's built for this?"
Laughter. Crude, dismissive laughter.
And through it all, Valeria's muffled moans.
"I believe you were expecting to see Captain Valeria tonight?" The King's voice cut through Círdan's shock. "Well, here she is. Though I'm afraid she's rather... occupied at the moment."
Círdan finally found his voice. "What is this? What have you done to her?"
"Done to her?" The King laughed. "Look at her hips, Círdan. Watch how she pushes back to meet each thrust. Does that look like something being done *to* her?"
It was true. Despite the overwhelming nature of what was happening, Valeria's body moved with purpose. Her hips rocked back against the man behind her, taking him deeper. Her throat relaxed to accommodate the cock fucking it. Her hands never stopped their rhythmic stroking.
This wasn't force. This was practice. Training. *Addiction*.
"Come, sit." The King gestured to an empty chair beside him. "You wanted a second chance to impress her, didn't you? I thought you should see what 'impressive' actually looks like."
Círdan's legs moved without his permission, carrying him to the chair. He collapsed into it, unable to look away from the bed.
"How long has she—"
"Been here tonight? Three hours. Been part of the program? Since that first night you watched through my door." The King sipped his wine. "You didn't think you were the only one I allowed to witness her corruption, did you?"
On the bed, the man in Valeria's pussy grunted, thrusting hard three more times before pulling out. Círdan watched in horrified fascination as cum poured from her used hole, running down her thighs in thick streams.
She whimpered at the loss.
Another man immediately took his place, sliding into her without preamble. She moaned around the cock in her throat, the sound one of relief rather than protest.
"Watch carefully," the King said. "This is what you could never give her. What your best friend could never give her. This is what she needs now."
The man fucking her throat pulled out suddenly, and Valeria gasped for air, drool and precum connecting her lips to his cock.
"Please," she gasped. "Please don't stop—"
"Don't stop what?" The man grinned, stroking himself just inches from her face.
"Don't stop using me. I need it. Need to be filled—"
"Beg better."
"Please!" Her voice broke with genuine desperation. "Please fuck my throat. I'm nothing without it. I need your cock. I need all of you. Please, I'll do anything—"
He shoved back into her mouth, and she accepted him with a moan that sounded distinctly like gratitude.
Círdan felt his cock harden painfully against his breeches. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be aroused by watching his best friend's wife beg to be used by strangers.
The King noticed. "Go ahead. Touch yourself. Everyone else is enjoying the show."
"I can't—I won't—"
"You will." The King's voice held absolute certainty. "Because despite your guilt, despite your loyalty to Aelindor, you're more aroused right now than you've ever been. Aren't you?"
Círdan's hand moved to his breeches before he could stop himself.
On the bed, the man behind Valeria changed his angle, and her entire body went rigid.
The cock slipped from her mouth as she screamed—genuine, overwhelming pleasure.
"FUCK! Yes, right there, don't stop, DON'T STOP—"
Her pussy clenched visibly around the cock inside her, her whole body convulsing as orgasm tore through her. The men laughed, watching her come apart.
"That's four," one of them said. "Told you we could get her to five."
"Give me ten minutes with that ass and I'll get her to six."
Valeria collapsed forward, barely catching herself, breathing hard. The man inside her hadn't stopped moving, fucking her through the aftershocks.
Círdan stared in devastation. The woman who couldn't orgasm with him—who'd made him feel inadequate and worthless—had just come *screaming* on a stranger's cock.
"She never came with you, did she?" The King's voice was almost gentle. "Not even close. But watch—she'll come again in a few minutes. These men know exactly how to use her properly. They've been trained for it."
"Trained?" The word came out strangled.
"Of course. The breeding program requires specific techniques. These men are from the human territories, sent here as part of a treaty arrangement. Among other diplomatic purposes, they help ensure our elven women are... properly seeded."
The casual way he said it made Círdan's stomach turn even as his hand continued stroking himself.
One of the waiting men lay down on the bed. "Alright, let's try something new."
Valeria was positioned over him, guided to sink down onto his cock. She moaned as he filled her, her head falling back.
Then another man approached from behind.
Círdan realized with shock what they intended.
"Wait," Valeria gasped, real fear in her voice for the first time. "I've never—both at the same time—I can't—"
"You can," the King called out, his voice carrying absolute authority. "You were made for this, Valeria. Your body will accept what it's given."
The second man pressed against her already-filled pussy. She whimpered as he began pushing in alongside the first.
"Too much, it's too much, I can't take—"
"Breathe," the King commanded. "Accept it. Let them in."
Círdan watched in horrified fascination as two cocks slowly, inexorably, stretched Valeria beyond what should be possible. Her face contorted—pain and overwhelming sensation mixing—but her hips kept moving, kept trying to accommodate them.
"That's it," the man beneath her encouraged. "Just relax. Let us fill you completely."
Something shifted. Valeria's scream of pain transformed into a moan of shocking pleasure.
"Oh gods," she sobbed. "Oh gods, oh GODS—"
They began moving in rhythm, both cocks working in her stretched pussy, and Valeria shattered.
Her fifth orgasm was violent, her whole body convulsing between the two men, sounds of pure animal pleasure tearing from her throat. Not words. Not even screams. Just raw, primal ecstasy.
Círdan came in his hand, the shame of it mixing with unwanted pleasure as he watched Valeria experience something he could never, would never be able to give her.
The King set down his wine glass. "You understand now, don't you? What she's become. What she needs. You and Aelindor are relics of inadequacy. These men—this program—this is her future."
On the bed, the men were finishing. One pulled out of Valeria's impossibly stretched pussy, spraying cum across her back. The other followed, adding to the mess. More came forward, covering her face, her breasts, every inch of skin.
She accepted it all with what looked disturbingly like bliss, her tongue out to catch what she could reach.
When they were done, she collapsed onto the bed—covered in sweat and cum, breathing hard, a smile on her ruined face.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Not thanking the men who'd used her. Thanking the King for providing them.
The men dressed and left through a side door, leaving Círdan and the King alone with Valeria's cum-covered form.
"This is the breeding program," the King said conversationally. "These men—and others like them—have been seeding her for weeks now. She's almost certainly pregnant already. Could be mine. Could be one of theirs. Could be that human boy she corrupted first. Doesn't really matter. Aelindor will raise it as his own, never knowing his heir is half-human."
Círdan couldn't speak. Couldn't process.
"You wanted a second chance tonight. Now you understand why you'll never be enough. Why Aelindor will never be enough. She's been remade, Círdan. Fundamentally changed. Her body doesn't respond to elven men anymore. We're too small. Too gentle. Too civilized for what she's become."
On the bed, Valeria stirred, turning her head to look at Círdan. Cum dripped from her face as she smiled.
"Did you enjoy the show?" Her voice was hoarse from the throatfucking, but steady.
He had. Gods help him, he had.
The King stood, refilling his wine. "You have a choice now, Círdan. You can leave here, keep her secret, and occasionally have access to her used body—always knowing you're inadequate. Or..."
"Or?" Círdan's voice was barely a whisper.
"Or you can help me expand the program. There are other elven women in the guard. Other wives. Other daughters of noble houses. You recruit them. You help me build the next generation of this kingdom—stronger, better, freed from the weakness of pure bloodlines. And in exchange, you get to watch. To participate. To be part of something greater than your pathetic little friendship."
Círdan thought of Aelindor. His best friend for three hundred years. Who trusted him. Who confided in him. Who had no idea his wife was being bred like livestock while his closest companion watched and came.
He thought of Valeria, transformed from proud captain to cum-covered breeding whore, smiling like she'd found her true purpose.
He thought of other women he knew. Other wives. Other friends who trusted him.
And he heard himself say: "What do you need me to do?"
The King's smile was triumphant. "Welcome to the program, Círdan. I think you'll find your new role quite... satisfying."
Valeria laughed from the bed, the sound broken and delighted. "He'll be perfect. Almost as perfect as Aelindor will be when he finally learns the truth."
"When?" Círdan turned to her in shock.
"Of course, *when*," the King said. "Did you think we'd keep this secret forever? No, eventually Aelindor will learn everything. And it will destroy him so completely that he'll either kill himself or beg to serve. Either outcome serves my purposes."
Círdan felt the last piece of his soul die.
"But first," the King continued, "we have work to do. I believe you know a young guardswoman named Sylara? Recently married, quite beautiful. I think she'd be perfect for the program. And since you've trained with her husband, you'll know exactly how to approach her..."
As the King detailed his plans, Valeria rose from the bed and moved to a washing basin, cleaning herself with practiced efficiency. Tomorrow she'd return to her quarters. Kiss Aelindor goodnight. Let him touch her with other men's seed still deep inside her womb.
And Círdan would help recruit the next victim, becoming the monster he'd once condemned.
The breeding program was growing.
And Aelindor still suspected nothing.
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