The rest of the day passed in a similar haze.

We drank. We ate. We used the slaves.

The girl ‘Whore’ remained at my feet, a warm, willing hole I could sink into whenever the mood struck. Vespera was more practical, using the male slave simply to keep her cock satisfied while she observed the other patrons.

More patrons came and went, each one more colorful and depraved than the last.

A pair of dark-elf sisters strolled in around dusk—twins, judging by the matching silver piercings through their nipples and the identical cruel smirks.

They dragged behind them a human male on all fours; a thick iron chain linked from the heavy collar around his throat straight to the thick rings piercing the base of each sister’s clit. Every time one of them took a step, the chain tugged the other’s piercing, and the man was forced to crawl faster to keep the slack from pulling either woman painfully. They didn’t even glance at him. He was furniture. Mobile, whimpering furniture.

They claimed a low table near the center, ordered blood-wine by the pitcher, then casually flipped the man onto his back and used his face as a footrest while they drank and laughed. One sister eventually grew bored of just resting her boot on his mouth and simply sat down—full weight, no warm-up—grinding her cunt against his nose and lips until she came with a lazy yawn.

The other sister jerked herself off onto his chest at the same time, painting white ropes across old whip scars. Then, without a word, they both stood up, clipped the chain back to themselves, and dragged the sputtering, cum-drenched human out of the inn. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I watched the whole performance with idle appreciation while ‘Whore’ nursed me under the table with slow, devotional sucks. My cock was half-hard most of the time now—more maintenance erection than urgent need. The ale helped. The casual cruelty helped more.

Vespera eventually sent the male slave away with a negligent flick of her wrist. He crawled off immediately, semen still shining on his chin, heading toward the back where the innkeeper collected “used goods” for cleaning or re-breaking.

She leaned toward me, voice low enough that only I could hear over the background symphony of slapping flesh and muffled sobs.

“We’re being watched.”

I didn’t turn my head. I didn’t need to.

“The orange-haired one in the corner?” I murmured, taking another long swallow of ale.

Vespera gave the tiniest nod.

“Been here longer than us. Hasn’t ordered anything but water. Hasn’t touched a slave. Hasn’t even looked aroused. Just… observes.”

I let my gaze drift that way without being obvious.

She was striking—impossibly so, even by elven standards. Hair like molten copper poured down her back in a single thick braid that ended somewhere near her calves. Skin pale enough to almost glow in the dim lantern light. Eyes hidden behind a thin black blindfold embroidered with faint silver runes.

She wore what looked like a single piece of matte-black leather armor, cut high on the hips and low across the chest, but it wasn’t performative fetish wear. It was functional. The kind of thing you wear when you expect to draw blood and don’t want it staining anything sentimental.

A slender longsword rested against the wall beside her table—unusual. Most patrons here either went unarmed or carried something far more theatrical: whips, flails, barbed canes. A plain, well-used blade meant business, not theater. She wasn’t here for pleasure.

“Maybe she’s just a light eater,” I said casually, reaching down to stroke ‘Whore’s’ hair. The girl flinched at the sudden touch but quickly resumed her task with renewed desperation.

“Perhaps,” Vespera agreed. “Or perhaps she’s wondering why a moon elf and a dark elf are sitting together sharing slaves like old friends. Our people… do not mix well.”

That was true. The history between moon elves—self-proclaimed guardians of elven “purity”—and dark elves—embraces of everything the moon elves despised—was centuries of bloody warfare and mutual contempt. They weren’t particularly good neighbors.

“Let her wonder,” I said with a shrug. “It keeps things interesting.”

As if hearing me, the orange-haired elf rose smoothly, leaving coins on the table that gleamed like freshly drawn blood. She moved toward the exit with liquid grace, her steps unnervingly silent for someone wearing boots.

She passed within arm’s length of our table.

And she did not pass unnoticed by my cock.

It throbbed—a sudden, deep, almost painful pulse that had nothing to do with the warm mouth currently servicing it. It was… recognition. Resonance. The familiar primal hum of breeding.

The orange-haired elf possessed a great quality for breeding. That’s what my instincts screamed at me.

“Anyway,” I cleared my throat, pushing away the strange urge to follow her. “Let’s head to our room. I have some… ‘prayers’ to answer.”

“I’d be delighted,” Vespera replied, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face.

She then looked down at the human girl at my feet, her expression unreadable.

“You,” Vespera said, her voice cold and commanding. “You will serve as our personal ‘toilet’ for the night. Understand?”

‘Whore’ froze. Her eyes widened in a mixture of horror and resignation. Then, slowly, she nodded, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek.

“Good,” Vespera said, a satisfied smirk on her face as she stood up, her cock now fully erect and glistening in the dim light.

“Lead the way, Moon Sister.”

I smirked and stood up, my cock still hard as a rock, ‘Whore’ following behind us on her hands and knees like a loyal puppy.

The innkeeper gave us a key that looked more like a twisted piece of metal than a key and directed us to a room on the second floor.

The room was… surprisingly clean.

It was a small space, but it was well-furnished with a large, comfortable-looking bed in the center, a small table with two chairs in the corner, and a single window that looked out onto the dimly lit street below.

But the real feature of the room was the “decorations.”

The walls were lined with all sorts of BDSM equipment—whips, chains, paddles, cuffs, gags, and other, more… creative devices I didn’t recognize. And hanging from the ceiling was a complex system of ropes and pulleys, clearly designed for suspending a person in various… interesting positions.

“This is… very thoughtful,” I said, a wide, predatory grin on my face as I looked around the room.

“The innkeeper knows how to cater to her… discerning clientele,” Vespera replied, dark amusement in her tone.

“Well then,” I said, turning to the human girl who was now kneeling in the center of the room, her head bowed, her body trembling. “Wait outside.”

“Y-yes, mistress,” she stammered, her eyes wide with fear, as she crawled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Vespera and I looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between us. We didn’t need words. We knew what we both wanted. We knew what we both needed.

“So,” I said, my voice a low, seductive murmur as I slowly stalked toward her. “This is a gift from the goddess.”

From my inventory, I pulled out something I had been working on for the past three days.

“T-This…” Vespera stammered, her eyes wide as she stared at the object in my hand.

It was a golden statue. A statue of the goddess of breeding. A statue of me. But it was not like the other statues she was used to. This one was… different. It was bigger. More… detailed. And it had a… a special feature.

My face, my body, my ‘holy spear’—everything was perfectly carved. But the most interesting part was that it could absorb any liquid—the offering—and send it back to me.

“It’s beautiful,” Vespera breathed, her hands reaching out to touch the statue, her fingers tracing the delicate lines of my face.

“It’s more than beautiful, my dear Blade Dancer,” I purred, my lips curving into a slow, predatory smile. “The goddess has approved of your devotion. And she wants you to have this. A personal altar. For you to worship her. Whenever you… feel the need.”

I then placed the statue on the small table in the corner of the room, right in front of the window. The moonlight, which filtered through the leaves of the ancient tree, bathed the statue in a soft, ethereal glow.

“Go on,” I urged her, my voice a low, seductive murmur. “Offer your ‘liquid prayer’ to the goddess. Show her your devotion. Let her feel your desire.”

Vespera didn’t need to be told twice.

She knelt before the statue, her hands clasped together, her head bowed. She looked like a true devotee, a true believer.

She started to chant.

Her words were a mixture of the dark elf tongue and the old elven dialect, a language that was both beautiful and terrifying. It was a prayer to the goddess, a prayer of lust, of desire, of need.

Vespera’s chant slowed. Became breathier.

Her hands, usually so steady with a blade, were shaking as she reached for her own leather breeches. She didn’t take her eyes off the statue’s face—my face. With a sharp tug, she freed her cock, which was already weeping a clear, thick nectar.

“Oh, Goddess of the Endless Night, Mistress of the Sacred Seed…” she whispered, her voice cracking with a fervor that went beyond mere horniness. This was soul-deep. “Accept this humble offering from one who lives only to serve your hunger.”

She began to stroke herself with frantic, desperate energy, her hips bucking against the floorboards. I stood behind her, watching the play of muscles in her back, my own ‘holy spear’ pulsing in time with her movements. Through the statue, I could feel her. Not just the physical friction, but the raw, unadulterated need to be filled, to be owned, to be broken and remade in my image.

“More,” I commanded, my voice dropping into that resonant, divine register that no mortal—or elf—could resist. “Let it flow, Vespera. Empty yourself for the goddess.”

“Cum for her,” I whispered, my lips brushing against her pointed ear. “Give her everything.”

With a choked cry, she arched her back, her fingers digging into her thighs as she reached her peak. A thick, white arc of ‘liquid prayer’ splashed against the golden statue, coating the carved thighs and stomach of the icon.

The enchantment worked perfectly. Instead of dripping onto the table, the fluid was absorbed into the gold, disappearing into the metal with a faint, shimmering light.

Immediately, I felt it.

A rush of warmth flooded my real body—a direct injection of Vespera’s essence, filtered through the statue and delivered straight to my core. It was like drinking a shot of liquid fire. My power surged, my vision sharpened, and the hatred that usually simmered in my gut was momentarily drowned out by a wave of pure, divine ecstasy.

“Praise the goddess.”

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Book N 12 of “Morgana: The Mother Of All” [Chapter 441–480] [End Volume Four: The Goddess of Breeding]

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