I always hear the screams before I'm halfway down the stairs. That's how I know he's the best. Matron Gu'zlora made me administrator of her dungeon after one of our former patrons seriously displeased her. In regard to the dungeon, he interfered with an investigation and cost the dungeon master and my mother some credibility. I won't get into the gory details, but needless to say he didn't survive long as a guest in the dungeon. I assured Matron Gu'zlora that slip ups like his wouldn't happen again, and she trusted me enough to assign me the position. That's how Trog and I first met and got to know each other. I'd been down in the dungeon a number of times before, but never long enough to see him at work. The first time I actually witnessed him slowly torture a reluctant spy into submission, well, I was more than impressed. It wasn't just the usual perverse pleasure he got out of it, not that he didn't enjoy his work, but just something about his technique made it look to me more like art than work. He keeps a kind of serenity about him from the start, yet there is never any pity for his victims. My sister Verona says he looks bored, but she's never watched for very long. I find that constant, unyielding serenity too attractive. Perhaps it's my own slightly sadistic nature, but otherwise one wouldn't think us a good match just by seeing us. It's unusual, though not unheard of, for a drow noble to desire a non-drow mate. I personally could never find a drow male quite on my level. I couldn't stand their innate fear, unlike Verona, who thrives on it. Trog isn't afraid of my power, he thinks it's sexy.
I hadn't been the dungeon administrator long, yet it only took those few short weeks of watching him for me to know I wanted him. One day I headed down the stairs as usual, the screams of his victims sending shivers of excitement all through me. I arrived at the room where Trog had a prisoner strapped to a strange table with a large wheel at the head. There was a guard in the room also. Trog had one hand on the wheel and one on the table so that he was face to face with the prisoner, a small smile on his face as he antagonized his victim. He looked up as I came in and greeted me.
"Riala."
"Don't let me interrupt," I said. I stood next to the guard and watched as Trog slowly turned the wheel. I wasn't sure what that did, but the victim's already strained expression gave way to increasing panic, and then terror. I heard a loud popping sound, and he couldn't contain his scream. Trog stopped turning and glanced up at me.
"New toy?" I asked him slyly.
He grinned. "I love my work."
I turned to the guard. "Take the prisoner back to his cell and hang him by whatever functional appendages he still has, half an inch higher than his height, then remain outside and see that no one enters this room. I require a moment with the dungeon master."
The guard nodded and moved quickly to do as I'd said.
And then we were alone.
"Interesting device," I said slowly, sitting lightly on the edge of the table. "Where did you get it?"
"A surface merchant who deals with a merchant that comes down here. He got me a good deal, too. They call it the rack."
"How does it work?"
"Well you see how it's sectioned in the middle? The wheel controls mechanisms underneath that elongate the table and tighten the straps around the victim's hands and feet at the same time. They told me it would be painful, but I couldn't believe it popped his shoulder. That was too excellent."
I smiled and stood. "Show me."
"What?"
"Lay on the table so I can see how it works."
He looked at me, understandably confused. "Why not just bring in another prisoner?"
I walked around the table and faced him directly, my eyes locked on his. "Lay on the table," I said softly.
"Riala..."
"Do as I say, Trog, or I swear you will regret it."
I think my calmness shocked him. Still watching me, he lay on the table, and I proceeded to strap down his arms and legs. I turned the wheel to take up the slack.
"Trog the Dungeon Master. The most respected and dreaded dungeon master in all of Ched Nasad. Other matron mothers boast their daughters or their weapon masters. But Matron Gu'zlora Tay'ardi speaks highest of her dungeon master, causing ripples of jealousy within her three oldest daughters, and intrigue within her youngest." I climbed onto the table and stradled his legs, and slowly lowered myself so that I was sitting on his legs, cutting off the circulation to his feet. "What is it about you, Trog, that so fascinates me?" I drew my dagger and traced light pattern on his bare stomach with its tip. "Is it the way you operate, or the fact that it earns you such prestige? How does it feel to be one of the most privelaged males in the city?"
"At the moment, being in such a prone position, doesn't feel very privelaged."
I glared at him, and quickly slashed my blade across his green skin as I stood. I wasn't too concerned, it was only a flesh wound. I hopped down and came around to the head of the table, and gave the wheel a quick jerk, enough to make him wince slightly. He looked up at me, unsure of what to say. I pushed on the wheel again, but again he only winced.
"Still feel underprivelaged?" I asked, and before he could answer I bent down and kissed him passionately. I would say any pain he was feeling at that point was released through that kiss. His lips, his tongue, grew so forceful, mirroring my own desire. It seemed as if time had stopped. When I finally did stop to catch my breath, I said, "how about now?"
He smiled. "Untie me, Riala," he said urgently.
I almost made a comment on his ordering me around, but decided it wasn't necessary. I also considered leaving him tied up, figuring it could prove very interesting. But I untied him quickly instead. I wanted his hands free.
He sat up quickly and grabbed me around the waist with one hand. He brought me in front of him, and his other hand held the back of my head as he kissed me again. He started as forceful as before, but to my surprise he slowed, almost to the point of being tender. Actually, the real surprise was that I liked it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him gently for a while. It felt nice, warmer somehow than the pure lust I'd felt when I started this. I broke away and looked into his glowing red eyes, and I remembered that he can only see in the infrared spectrum.
"Did you want me, Trog?" I asked, my voice quiet.
"Yes," he said almost shyly, as if he were admitting a crime. "Since your first day down here."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I'm not stupid. No matter my job, I know the basic station my gender has earned me in this society. It wasn't my place to initiate anything." He stroked my face gently, his hands unusually soft given his profession. "But more than that I think, you are so beautiful and I'm, well, not. I felt I wasn't worthy of you."
"Well you're wrong. You have earned me, Trog. I am now yours."
He kissed me again, and picked me up around the waist, slowly leaning back onto the table, pulling me on top of him. The dungeon melted around us, and we proceeded to make the sweetest love the Underdark has ever seen. When it was done, and we held each other's panting, sweating bodies, he said to me, "I didn't think the drow heart was capable of this level of emotion."
"I didn't think so either." I smiled.
"Only the heart of Riala Tay'ardi is so dynamic as to be capable of the most sadictic tortures yet allow the most tender caring."
"I didn't think when I came in here that I loved you. Now I'm not sure what to think."
"Then don't think," he said, holding me closer, "just feel."
He knew how I was. He feared if I thought about it too much I might decide this had been a mistake, or worry that no one would accept us like this. My sisters, who already looked down upon me as a huge disappointment for not becoming a high priestess, would definitely not welcome this. They would think I'd done this only for the recognition of our mother, since she thought so highly of Trog. But I knew simple recognition wasn't their greatest fear. They were the most insistant that I become a priestess becasue they knew it would hinder me. But I became a mage instead, and my powers have grown greater than most of the priestesses in the city. They know it, and it scares them, because ther is nothing they could do should I decide to become the sole successor to my mother. Not that I have any such intentions, but with Trog as my mate, that is surely what they'll think.
"I don't care what they think," I said aloud.
He chuckled and kissed my forehead. "Good," he said.
He knew too, and still he didn't fear me for it. He's the only one who doesn't, maybe because he doesn't fear torture or death, or maybe because he knows I couldn't hurt him.
"We should go. We don't want to be late for the morning meeting."
"Just the thing to get my days started, your sisters playing matron mother in training, and a lot of empty reports from the rest of the house."
"Well when it's over we can come back down here and continue where we left off."
unfinished