What if the Primarchs were Women?

Deep in the beating heart of the Imperium of Man that was the Imperial throne-world of Terra, within the vaulted halls of the mountainous Imperial Palace, the Empress of Mankind sat brooding atop her Golden Throne, flanked by her ever-loyal and immortal Custodes guard. Despite its seemingly innocuous name, the Golden Throne was far more than a symbolic seat of power for the Master of Mankind. It was a mountainous machine of mile-long cables and pulsing conduits, built during the Dark Age of Technology before the Men of Iron rebelled and the Old Night began. Its original purpose was lost to time, even to the Empress herself, but its new purpose would surely surpass it. It would be the key to freeing Mankind from its dependency on Warp-travel – and by extension, kill their connection to the Gods of Chaos. Existing within the thin skin between the Material and Immaterial planes was the Webway, a series of tunnels carved into the flesh of reality that could provide safe faster-than-light travel without needing to risk the dangers of the Warp. As of now, it was the domain of the ancient Aeldari, both Asuryani Craftworlders and Drukhari raiders alike, but soon it would be the domain of Mankind as well.

Or it would be, once the Empress found a way to deal with Baren. The Daemon Prince was once more the source of the Empress's ire, her stewing choler causing the Warp itself to shudder as it bled into the Immaterium. Despite her intentions of putting the Webway Project on hold until the Baren situation was dealt with, sudden changes had forced her to stay her hand. Likely predicting the Empress's plan, a horde of Slaaneshi daemons had suddenly began laying siege to the Webway portal located beneath the Imperial Palace. This in itself was nothing unusual, the Webway was where She-Who-Thirsts's grip on the souls of the Aeldari was at its weakest and the Dark Prince often prodded the ancient tunnels' defenses, searching for anyway to breach the Webway and devour the souls of Craftworlds and the dark city of Commoragh alike. It was the fact that they were specifically focusing on the breach under the Imperial Palace that was the problem. The Daemons of the Dark Prince were trying to destabilize the breach, something that would put all of Terra at risk from the Chaotic horde. It was only the Golden Throne – and the psychic might of the Empress powering it – that kept them at bay.

"Damn you, Baren," The Empress hissed, the Atronimican itself briefly flaring as her temper spiked. She could not do as she planned now that the Webway breach was under attack. To do so would leave Terra at the non-existent mercy of Slaanesh and her Daemons. Even now, the Empress could hear the twisted whispering of the Daemonic legions from beyond the Warp. In voices of pure temptation, they made dark threats of what they would do to the population of Terra should the Throne fail, and lewd promises of what Baren was surely doing to her Primarchs. For the foreseeable future, the Empress could not afford to leave Terra to deal with Baren personally. The Webway Project was too important to the Imperium's future and the threat of a daemonic invasion on Terra itself too high.

Nor could she bring her daughters to her. She had no idea how many might be compromised by Baren already. Hopefully, it was only Guilliman, and even that risked the 500 worlds of Ultramar falling to the Dark Prince. Not only that, but the recalling them from the Great Crusade risked allowing xenos like the Orks to rebuild their forces, which put the frontier at risk from being overwhelmed under the Greentide. Not to mention any dangerous questions that might crop up about Chaos as a whole, rather than just Baren and Slaanesh. Though that itself might soon become inevitable. The Empress sighed. "Damn you, Baren." Even after casting him out from her retinue, the man still found ways to pull the rug from under feet. Turning toward her Custodes, the commanding voice of the Anathema rang out in the Imperial Throne room. "Bring me Malcador, I need a message sent to my daughters."

-

From the beating heart of the Imperium that was Terra, eighteen messengers would leave, each carrying a single scroll that bore the seal of Malcador the Sigillite himself, the Imperial-Regent of the Imperium of Mankind, and most trusted advisor the beloved Empress of Man. From knightly Caliban to sunless Nostromo, from the Red Tear to the Iron Blood, these messengers would travel to deliver the words of the Mistress of Mankind to her demi-goddess daughters. One scroll for each daughter, and yet they bore the same message, a written order that was for the eyes of the Primarchs alone, under the threat of death should the seal of the Adeptus Administratum be broken before reaching their hands.

Within the Strategium of the Fist of Iron, the Glorianna-Class Battleship that serves as the flag vessel of the Iron Hands – the Tenth Legion of Astartes – that one such scroll was presented to Ferra Femina, the so-called Gorgon of Medusa. Hands clad in living silver took the scroll from the kneeling messenger, and eyes the shame color peered imperiously as the Seal of the Sigillite before turning to the messenger prostrating before her. "What is the meaning of this?" The Gorgon asked, her voice firm and unyielding, like steel fresh from the crucible.

The messenger kept his head low, not daring to meet the stony silver gaze of the Gorgon. "I do not the scroll's contents, my lady," the messenger said. "Only that it was penned by the Sigillite and dictated by the G-…by the Empress for your eyes only." The slip of the tongue went uncommented, but not unnoticed by Ferra. It irked the Primarch to find that the perversions of false faith managed to infect even the Adeptus Administratum.

Though it was not as if her Iron Hands were safe from such flights of fancy either. The thought caused her infamous choler to rise, and it was only through Ferra's unyielding sense of self control that the scroll was not crushed under her silver-fingered grip. "You are dismissed," she flatly told the envoi. Without waiting for a response, the Gorgon of Medusa turned on her heel and strode away from the Command Deck, retreating towards her private quarters. "I wish to be alone." She coldly informed her Morlock honor-guard, her loyal terminators saluting her with cyber-augmented hands. The sight only caused Ferra's temper to spike once more. As soon as the doors to her private chambers hiss-ed shut, the Primarch of the Tenth Legion let out a long of huff of bottled-up frustration, her silver hands clenching into powerful, gleaming fists.

How she hated them.

When Ferra was a younger woman, a lonesome wanderer travelling amidst the icy planes of Medusa as the feral world's ever-shifting tectonic plates writhed under feet, she had been a figure of legend and story, a slayer of monsters and an accomplisher of near-mythic feats. Most of them were exaggerations of actual events, as such stories tend to be, but the most true of them was also the most famous. Her slaying of the great silver wyrm, Asirnoth. It was her duty to slay the undying beast, for it was her coming to Medusa that stirred it from ancient slumber when her gestation pod crashed into the mountain range. In the molten caverns of the mountains, she had come across the wyrm's lair, a veritable temple of black stone and strange runes that pulsed with some unknown power. There, she and Asirnoth had fought, two legendary beings caught in epic battle. Every wound she inflicted on the serpent's silver hide had healed near-instantly. It was not until she forced the great beast under the molten flow of the magma that finally died. An epic victory, yes, but a costly one. The beast's silver hide clung to her arms as it melted, coating them in an impenetrable skin of living metal. They were powerful yes, but Ferra hated them the same. They were not her real hands after all, and so ever feat they accomplished was one that she could not take full credit for in good conscious.

Unfortunately for her, it was a concept her daughters often struggled with. They would willingly lop off their hands and replace them with metal replicants in a misguided attempt to 'honor' her. And oftentimes, it would not stop there. Eyes, legs, ears, even blood and bone was replaced bit by bit with mechanical simulacrum. To be interred within the unyielding Dreadnought apparatuses was not a solemn duty to her Iron Hands, but a noble honor. Personally, she blamed the Martian Mechanicum, and their twisted 'The Flesh is Weak' rhetoric for poisoning her daughters with their fanaticism. Once the Crusade came to a close, she would have to ween her daughters off of the practice.

Such a time would have to wait, however. For the present, Ferra returned her silver gaze to the scroll in her hands, the Seal of the Sigillite unbroken upon its face. But just as she was about to break the seal and read what her mother had written, a commotion came from just outside her door. Muffled voices made it through several inches of heavily armored door, too obscured to identify who it was. Ferra reached for Forgebreaker, her mighty Thunder Hammer, in the event that whoever was on the other side of the door was foe rather than friend. At last, the doors to her private chamber rumbled open, and a figure stepped inside, stepping over the beaten, but still stirring, forms of her Morlock terminators.

"My, quite the welcome you daughters gave me, Ferra."

Almost immediately, Ferra relaxed, Forgebreaker slacking in her grip. A rare grin spread across the Gorgon's face. "Sister," she said warmly.

Standing in the doorway, looking resplendent in purple chiton, Freya of the Empress's Children, smiled.

"Sister." she acknowledged, an equally warm smile on her face. From the great scabbard resting on her hip, Freya unsheathed a gleaming sword that glowed gold with burning heat, as though still fresh from the forge. With the sword held loftily in her grip, Freya drew it forward and Ferra met the sharpened edge of the Fireblade with the heavy head of Forgebreaker. Freya's grin widened, deep purple eyes twinkling. "I think you should consider giving your daughters a lesson in diplomacy. The nerve of them to try and bar me."

Ferra smiled and shook her head. "Don't disparage them for doing as they were ordered, sister. I simply didn't expect you back on the Fist so soon."

For the past few Terran months, the Iron Hands had been struggling with conquering a humann-xeno alliance called the Diasporax, after the humans refused to forsake their alien allies to join the Imperium. The war had not been going well for the Tenth Legion, and required the timely intervention of Freya and her Empress's Children. Though anyone with any idea of the nature of the daughters of the Empress might think otherwise, the Gorgon of Medusa and the Phoenician of Chemos were incredibly good friends. Ferra's friendship with Freya began when they first met on Terra, where conversation led to a sisterly competition to see who was the better blacksmith. For several days, each Primarch had worked tirelessly to forge the perfect weapon and when they were done, they had presented their creations to each other, both so certain of their own victory. Ferra had made a blade that gleamed like molten gold, where Freya had forged a thunder hammer that could crack mountains underneath its head. Each had been amazed by the other's creation and declared the other the winner. Since then. Ferra had always wielded Forgebreaker, and in turn, Fireblade was never far from Freya's hand.

"How could you not?" Freya asked and – Ferra's silver eyes darted away, flustered, as her sister pulled a familiar looking scroll from her cleavage. "I take it that you received a similar message from the Sigillite?"

Ferra shook off her blush and held up her own scroll. "I have. What could be so important for out mother to send such a letter?" The Empress had not spoken to her daughters for several Terran years now, not since Ullanor. Whatever the matter was, it must be something of great importance.

Freye grinned, her eyes like sparkling amethyst. "Let's find out."

Ferra and Freya both broke the wax seal at the same time, and together they read the words of their mother. And what the contents of the letter were… incredibly strange. It was all very vague, for the most part, but was made explicit was that there was someone stirring trouble in the Imperium, someone that the Empress spoke of as though she was very familiar with them. According to their mother, his name was Baren, an incredibly powerful psyker from ancient Terra. What was strangest of all however, was that their mother wasn't asking them to find and capture or kill him. It was the exact opposite actually, that Ferra, as well as all of the Empress's daughters, were to stay as far away from Baren as possible and under no circumstances were they to try and seek him out. Several contingents of Custodes and the enigmatic Sisters of Silence have been deployed from Terra and were in the process of searching for Baren. They were to not interfere with the search and continue the Great Crusade as previously planned and to await any further updates. What would be their punishment for disobeying and pursuing Baren anyway was not said, but Ferra was not of the mind to find out and potentially join their two missing sisters.

When she had finished reading the letter, Ferra looked up from her copy and glanced at Freya. To the Gorgon's surprise, Freya had a strange look in her eye as she finished reading her own copy. When she too had finished reading the scroll, Freya met her sister's gaze and smiled coquettishly. "My, that was quiet interesting…" Freya turned her coy smile to her sister. "I imagine that your letter said much the same as mine?"

"About whoever this Baren psyker is? If so, then yes." Ferra would be lying if she said she wasn't curious. What kind of man might be dangerous enough to warrant both the Custodes and the Sisters of Silence. He must be a powerful psyker, perhaps Malcador or Hecate's level, or even beyond.

When Ferra suggested such to Freya, her sister surprised her again. "Perhaps, sister." Another coy smile tugged at the Phoenician's plush, cupid-bow lips. "Or perhaps it's something a tad more… sordid." Freya smirked at the Gorgon's baffled expression. "Perhaps the real reason mother wants this all kept quiet is that she doesn't wish for us to find out anything from a past acquaintance." Freya's smile suddenly turned quite cat-like. "Or perhaps… a past lover?"

That little hypothesis managed to catch Ferra off-guard. "You're not serious, are you?" she asked, incredulous. The idea that their mother – the Empress of Mankind – might be trying to cover up an old lover's quarrel was frankly ludicrous.

Freya was insistent, however. "Don't be so quick to dismiss the idea, sister." A flicker of…something passed over the Phoenician's face. "There's quite a lot about our mother we still don't know about, you know." Ferra… could not argue with that, as much as she would like to. There was no ignoring the fact that neither Ferra or Freya were as close to their mother as some of their other sisters. Ferra knew for certain that the Phoenician had been more than a little miffed to learn that Isis was to be Warmaster instead of Freya. "Doesn't it sound a little peculiar? The Custodes are Mother's most trusted companions, they're likely already familiar with him, and who could the Sisters of Silence even tell?"

"It sounds to me like you've been reading that low-brow smut again." Ferra flatly responded, more than familiar with her sister's…questionable taste in reading material.

"It is not smut!" Freya immediately hissed indignantly, her silvery hair billowing around her head. The Phoenician took a moment to calm herself. "It is tastefully lewd artistic literature and, more importantly, not the point. The point is, Mother may be trying to keep us away out of simple embarrassment. Image is everything, you know."

"I don't." Ferra responded honestly. Though Freya gloried herself as one of their mother's favorites, being the only one honored with carrying the Imperial Aquila, Ferra was rather dismissive of the theatrics of politics. To the point that she dreaded the end of the Crusade, and the idea of retiring to the courts of Terra or Medusa. "What makes you certain of this anyway?"

"Experience, sister." Freya said, a self-satisfied smile on her face. "Out of all of us, I'm the only one who's actually been in a romantic relationship."

That was true, as well. Freya had been married at least three times before the Empress found her on Chemos. She didn't talk about them often, and Ferra tried her best to not think of it at all. Thinking of Freya in any kind of romantic light stirred…feelings in Ferra. Confusing, very worrisome feelings that she did her best to ignore for her own sake of mind. Ferra hid her discomfort with snark. "Perhaps that says more about you than you'd like, sister. To be honest, the idea seems quite tedious."

"Sometimes," Freya admitted. Her smile took a sadder, almost wistful appearance. "And other times, you can't imagine doing anything else. Perhaps when the Crusade is over..." The Phoenician perked up suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I might try finding you a partner!"

Ferra made a show of recoiling from the thought. "Please, Freya, if you have any respect for me, you won't do such a thing." The exaggerated grimness of her tone had Freya laughing. "I mean it, Freya. There's no need for you to play matchmaker."

"Oh, but why not?" The Primarch of the Third Legion asked. "I think the experience could do you all some good."

"I doubt that Curze or Areia would agree with you," Ferra responded bluntly. "Or that you could find anyone willing to experience them."

"You'd be surprised how many people find angst to be an attractive quality."

"Perhaps," Ferra acknowledged before adding. "I doubt flaying be seen as attractive though."

Freya blinked, and then nodded her head. "Fair." There was a pause, and the two ended up bursting into laughter. This was why she liked Freya, Ferra acknowledged. She was able to relax around her in a way she just couldn't around her other sisters. She respected Vulkana and Regalia as fellow builders and innovators, and admired Isis and Nala as warriors and generals, but she liked Freya.

The Phoenician left not long after, departing from the Fist of Iron on amiable terms with her sister once more. As the Primarch of the Third felt her personal Stormbird transport – the Firebird – launch into the void, her felt her hand twitch slightly as it rested on the pommel of Fireblade. Freya's mouth twitched, almost in irritation. She had almost grabbed the Laer blade by habit, and now she was wishing she had. The xeno blade would have been a more regal sight as a sign of her Legion's victory over the serpentine Laer. As soon as the thought crossed her mind however, Freya felt sick with herself. She was being ridiculous. The Fireblade was a symbol of her and Ferra's respect and admiration for each other, as Primarchs and sisters alike.

Freya shook her head, clearing her mind of the fog that had temporarily settled over it. Instead, her thoughts turned toward their mother's warning. Despite herself, she found her curiosity piqued. What kind of man would be able to catch their mother's eye. Someone quite impressive, surely. Perhaps impressive enough for Freya as well? A small, strange smile tugged at her lips. Their mother had forbidden them from seeking out Baren, but what if he chose to seek them out instead? He might even be waiting for her on her own ship right now? She did not quite fully believe that, but was held rapt by the idea all the same. The more she thought about being picked off like a dim little animal by a hunter, the more her smile spread across her face, and she soon found herself teasingly pulling down the line of her chiton, letting more of her enormous mounds of soft, bouncy tit-flesh out, her cleavage enough to swallow the length of most men right up!

Let him see his prize, hmm~?

-

Freya would be disappointed that night, however. Baren was not aboard the Third Legion's flagship, for he was hidden aboard the Fist of Iron. Unseen by all, the Daemon Prince of Slaanesh had watched the conversation between the sisters. Freya's wild, but not inaccurate guessing managed to make him grin, but she also made him wary. He could sense the presence of another of the Goddess's daemons lingering over the Phoenician. It would appear that Freya had at some point acquired a hanger-on. That wouldn't do. Baren did not share, especially not with his 'peers'. He would have to keep an eye on Freya in the future.

That would have to wait, however. Tonight, Baren was hunting for a Gorgon. As the Primarch of the Tenth traded her armor for nightwear, Baren slithered out into the open, his form reappearing in Real-Space with a shudder. Ferra did not yet notice him, so Baren took the opportunity to introduce himself.

"What a terrible name your sister has given you," his low, sensual voice purred. The sound made Ferra spin around, silver eyes locking onto Baren's onyx ones. "For I know no Gorgon who could be so fair" Ferra was, like all of her sisters, incredibly beautiful, with dark hair tied practically behind her head, pale and creamy skin that did not seem appropriate for a famed blacksmith and a curvaceous and buxom body more suited for the bedroom than the forge. Luckily for the both of them, Ferra's 'Iron Forge' (she was impressively unoriginal when it came to naming things) worked as both.

"How did you get in here?" The Gorgon of Medusa demanded. Silver eyes glanced at the walls, lined with many weapons handcrafted by her. Anyone of them could be useful in banishing this interloper. Baren must have thought the same, for the Daemon cast a large, razor-clawed hand, a grand sweeping motion that – to Ferra's shock – forced the emergency shudders to close down and lock into place, blocking the armory under several inches of unyielding plasteel. Baren smirked at her.

"Wouldn't want that to get in the way, now would we?" Baren asked, grinning toothily.

Ferra grit her teeth in frustration, before her eyes lit up with an idea. The majority of her armor might be denied to her, but there was still one weapon at her disposal…

With the unnatural speed possessed by all Primarchs, Ferra Femina dashed across the room toward where Forgebreaker stood in its custom stand. The Gorgon hefted the mighty thunderhammer in her grip, energy crackling around its head. With Forgebreaker in hand, Ferra charged the intruder, bringing the hammer down heavily where he stood. The Daemon unfurled his great wings, managing to just barely dodge Ferra's strike, the hammer slicing air where his head just was.

"Do we have to do this?" Baren asked, sounding bored. His apathy only served to infuriate Ferra. The Daemon deftly dodged another strike from the hammer, the blow warping the floor under it. "You know out of all you, Aurora's been my favorite so far. Mostly because I got to skip the fight with he-ARGh!"

As the Daemon was talking, Ferra finally managed to land a blow on him. The heavy head of Forgebreaker ramming into his chest, a strike that would have shattered bones into dust and liquified organs on a mortal creature. But Baren had given up mortality long ago, and to the attack only managed to knock him to the ground. Ferra rushed forward, Forgebreaker's shaft held tight enough to almost break, ready to bury the hammer's head into the intruder's skull…

"ENOUGH!"

…But she would not get the chance.

With a bark that echoed into the Immaterium, Baren forcefully made the Primarch come to a halt. Ferra was left stunned as her body froze without her consent, a brief hesitation that Baren happily exploited. Raising his hand forward, Baren jerked a closed fist back to himself and from Ferra's hands Forgebreaker flew.

The thunderhammer was deftly caught by the Daemon, its mighty head trapped in his grip. Ferra's silver eyes widened in horror as the Daemon's grip began to tighten and Forgebreaker began to give way…

"NO!"

Breaking herself out of her stupor, Ferra rushed forward, charging her shoulder into Baren. The sudden blow forced the Daemon back, but despite her efforts, Forgebreaker did not leave his grip. The Daemon's other hand struck! And seized Ferra by her throat, lifting the Primarch off her feet.

Weakly, Ferra tried to pry the Daemon's powerful fingers from around her throat, but it was of no use. "Who are you?" The Gorgon demanded.

"You know who I am, Ferra." Baren did not face her, instead his gaze was held on Forgebreaker. "An impressive weapon." He complimented, before turning to her, smiling cruelly. "But not a creation of yours? This is Freya's work, isn't it?"

"Do not speak of my sister." Ferra hissed, tugging impotently at the Daemon's steel grip. "She is of no consequence to you."

Baren chuckled darkly. "I'm afraid that you're mistaken in that regard, Primarch Ferra. Freya is of great interest to me… and to my mistress." Casually, the daemon tossed Forgebreaker away and Ferra growled with near-animalistic fury at her beloved hammer being treated so shamefully. "She's got big things in the works, Ferra, and it's my job to make sure Freya's on the right side of those thing."

"You stay away from her," Ferra growled.

Barek smirked. "It's out of my hands, I'm afraid." That smirked widened, showing off every razor-sharp tooth. "But…if you were willing to argue why I should stay away…" The Daemon released his grip and her neck. Ferra felt to her knees, her eyes lining up with Baren's throbbing bulge.

Ferra's face turned red as she put the pieces together. The Gorgon glared up at the Daemon, Baren meeting her burning silver gaze with an easy-going, expectant grin.

Ferra shakily raised her silver-coated hands…and tugged Baren's trousers down.

As Ferra came face to face with the one-eyed beast sprouting forth from Baren' groin, she wondered how she could have failed so spectacularly. She had hoped to cut this Daemon brute down to size, to protect her sister from the man's filthy, perverted influence, only to end up on her knees before him. 

Like a pet… his newest plaything…

Ferra's belly twisted at the thought. Or perhaps her insides were turning because of the smell. Baren's manhood was a large, fat, ugly thing, a thick shaft of swollen flesh extending out towards Ferra's face - damn near prodding against her lips. Already the fat cockhead was leaking, the tip slick with a tiny bead of clear fluid. His scent, his odor was thick and heavy in Ferra's nostrils. It made her head spin, making the Primarch want to gag. She leaned back to get some space, resting her buttocks on her heels, but Baren only urged his cock closer in turn.

The Primarch glared up at the Daemon Prince, the towering wall of muscle that loomed triumphantly over her. Even stripped of his clothes, Baren seemed indomitable - the smirk on his stupid face was so arrogant, so assured, as if he knew things were always going to go his way.

Ferra wanted to flare up her biotics and rend the man limb from limb… but found her strength failing her. The fact that this was all for Freya was Ferra's only source of comfort when the man reached out and grabbed her head… and forced his big, fat cock into her mouth.

The shaft slid over her tongue and for Ferra the taste was salty and heavily bitter - but not putrid like she expected. This was only a small respite, however. The Primarch's stomach still turned in disgust at her own humiliation.

Baren forced himself deeper into her mouth and Ferra could only groan around his invading shaft. He was not gentle, his big hands holding her roughly by her tendrils as he worked himself into her gullet. The Gorgon remained kneeling, her hands clenched into tight fists. With her lips opened wide, stretching around the man's cock, Ferra found her mind split by the sensation - one part of her trying not to gag or otherwise moan in disgust, and another part keeping her anger in check.

"That's it… that's nice… suck it. "

Saliva began to build in her mouth, slathering the man's shaft as he slid it back and forth between her lips. Some of it began to spill out and dribble down her chin, turning the violation of Ferra's mouth into something much more wet and sloppy - and allowing Baren to work himself faster and easier. His pace quickly increased, with Ferra gurgling as his cockhead punched deeper into the back of her throat.

It was not pleasant. The discomfort combined with the shame made the Primarch's eyes well up with tears. The flavor was even saltier now as the taste of Baren' cock mingled with that of his precum - Ferra shivered as she tasted it leaking onto her tongue. Even worse was that his scent had only grown more potent, feeling like a thick musk clouding her nostrils. Ferra shuddered, moaning around the fat prick that wasn't even halfway stuffed into her mouth.

His pleasured grunts fueled the anger she felt deep inside, her frothing rage. But it also fed into her humiliation. Ferra's cheeks were hot, flushed with embarrassment, streamed with tears.

Above her Baren laughed between his grunts, the pace of his thrusts growing faster. He took hold of her head with both hands again, a tight grip upon her hair, and forced his cock deeper. 

Ferra gagged as the thick shaft slid into her throat - the Primarch could only whine, struggling to breathe through only her nose. Tears welled up again, blurring her vision, trickling down her warm cheeks. Baren began to fuck her face, punching his cock into her open throat. 

Ferra choked upon him, the damnable fat length that pummeled her mouth and throat. Spittle welled up inside, dribbling past her lips, down her chin and dripping onto her heaving tits. Cold flecks of own violation raining down on her nude, vulnerable body. 

The Primarch struggled to handle the man's brutish assault, her hands rising to clasp at his firm, muscled thighs, to try and steady herself. Her nails dug into his skin, a vain attempt at revenge. But it did nothing to temper Baren' savage lust. He grunted like an animal, fucking her throat in beastly rhythm.

A shameful sight she must have made then, Ferra knew. But all she could do was endure. 

"Use your tongue." Baren urged.

Ferra hated herself for it, but she obeyed. She began lashing her tongue up against the underside of his shaft, sliding the wet organ against him to the best of her ability. The taste of his flesh deepened, settling firmly upon her tongue. Ferra let out a defeated moan, feeling the flavor glide down her throat and into her belly - right alongside his precum.

"Good girl." The man groaned, softening his grip on her head. He brushed his thumb along one of her dark hair in what Ferra could only take as mock affection. It made her whole body shudder. Then he tipped her head back slightly so that he could stare down into her eyes. "I'm liking the obedience. I'd say you pass inspection."

With a grunt, the Prince slowly began to draw his length from Ferra's lips. The Primarch gagged as she felt his massive tool slide from her throat, over her tongue, and out past her wet lips. Cool air rushed in as the defeated Gorgon sucked in desperate, ragged breaths. 

She fell forward, catching herself upon the Daemon's firm thighs, hacking and retching out the saliva and phlegm that his cock had kept packed in her mouth. 

A bitter groan poured from her throat as she spat out a wad of drool right onto his feet - it was the only way she could think of to show any measure of defiance. But even still, she could not enjoy it. Her throat ached and her chest burned. And the Daemon had gotten his brutish delight in violating her mouth.

"Terra…" Ferra gasped, her trembling only calming somewhat.

Then she felt Baren grabbing her by one arm, easily lifting her up onto her feet. Breathless and still disoriented, Ferra didn't have the strength to stop him - and with the oath she had sworn, she couldn't resist at all. Stumbling on shaky legs, the Primarch let herself be led on by her Daemon master. Baren shoved her forward onto her bed - Ferra let herself fall onto the sheets, finding a small comfort in the softness. Then she felt his hands upon her again, groping as they slid up her thighs to play with her buttocks.

"God, your pussy is perfect." She heard Baren mutter. He chuckled as he felt her up, and Ferra's cheeks burned hot again as she could do nothing but allow her own molestation. Her gut twisted and turned as his thick fingers played upon her soft, vulnerable flesh. He spread her apart then and Ferra let out a tiny gasp as she felt cool air upon her most intimate anatomy. "Hope you don't mind if I sample the goods."

The Primarch looked back at the man, skewering him with a blistering glare. But there was nothing she could do to wipe that infuriating look of triumph off of his face. Baren looked like a man in complete control… because that's what he was. She couldn't challenge him. She had sworn to service him. And as her eyes lowered to his long, thick cock - the ugly, beastly thing twitching with need - she knew he would hold her to that.

The fire of her spirit died down once more, lowering to a simmering rage. In silence, she resigned herself to her new role - and dreaded the looming trial of having to take the man's considerable cock. Gripping the sheets in preparation, Ferra took a deep breath. Even through the haze of humiliation, the Primarch found some calm. She was a Gorgon, she reminded herself. This Daemon may have beaten her… but he would never break her.

"Let's see if you can handle me as well as your sisters…" Baren growled.

"Stop talking… and fucking get it over with."

The words had come out slurred and tired… and more impatient than angry. Ferra chose not to dwell on that, instead awaiting punishment for talking back. She expected a harsh slap to her buttocks, or one of his hands forcing her head down into the mattress. But a punishment never came. Instead, Baren laughed.

She felt him climb up onto the bed right behind her, his weight causing the mattress to creak and groan beneath them. And she too felt his manhood, his thick meat coming to rest upon the curve of her pussy, settling between the soft swells. 

"Well…" Baren started, grinding his hips into Ferra's plump rear-end. "If you're so eager…"

Ferra Femina the Gorgon felt divine around his cock. So warm and tight - even tighter than the matriarch had been! Though aside from the saliva coating his shaft and what he spit onto her puckered hole, Baren wasn't using lubricant on her. But that was part of Ferra's punishment. She needed to learn quickly just who was in charge now. And there was no better way to teach her than to dominate her so completely.

Baren released a low grunt, his whole-body tense as his cock sank another inch into the Primarch's cunt. He watched as it went in, agonizingly slow - for Ferra. He could see the woman trembling, squirming on the mattress, fingers clawing at his bedsheets, unable to resist or fight back as her pussy was claimed, violated by the Daemon's long, fat cock. He could hear her labored breaths, the low hiss passing through her clenched teeth. It was music, as lovely as it was twisted. Feeding into the wicked delight, the triumph that he felt welling up in his chest. 

A potent sense of conquest threw a dark, primal haze over his mind. Ferra was a strong woman, a powerful woman, capable of ripping him to shreds with her biotics. And now he had her in his bed, fucking her deep in her lovely pussy.

Another inch, his shaft sank inside her, swallowed up by her pussy. Ferra let out a shaky gasp, while Baren groaned in pleasure. She still hadn't taken the whole of him, some inches at the base of his cock remaining - but what Baren was able to stuff inside her felt so completely engulfed in the tightness, the blissful heat of the Primarch's most intimate hole. The sensation was driving him mad. The thrill of taking her like this, marking her so savagely… it set his heart ablaze with dark fire. 

Letting out a low grunt, baring his teeth, Baren began to work his hips. Her pussy gripped tight to his cock, squeezing the shaft as it retreated from her. Then he surged forward, sinking his fat tool even deeper into her pussy. 

Ferra went still beneath him, releasing a ragged moan as the air was pushed from her lungs. He could feel her tense up, her pussy tightening around his cock. So tight and so divine . His prick throbbed in return, defiance against its suffocation.

" Unh! Fuck!" Ferra choked out, the words muffled as she pressed her face into the sheets.

Baren huffed, a pleasurable tremble rolling up from his balls and into his gut - then spreading to the rest of his body. Delectable heat coursed through his veins. 

It was a struggle to work his cock back and forth, but the sensation of sliding himself into Ferra was well worth it. The tightness, the warmth, it had touched something deep inside Baren - something dark and primal. An urge that could only be sated through carnal conquest.

Ferra would know what it meant to be his woman.

His pace slowly quickened, his hips, his body moving with purpose. With vigor. There was but one desire in Baren' mind right then - to ruin this Primarch bitch, to make her his completely.

Soon enough, he was fucking her. The pace of his thrusts steadily rose to a rhythm that had Ferra whining and mewling so pathetically, so beautifully. Baren savored the sweet sounds pouring from her lips, basking in the sublime sensations that caressed the length of his dick. He fucked hard into her pussy, finding a wicked delight in the loud clap of his waist against her plump, juicy buttocks.

Sweat dripped from his brow, the tiny beads splashing down upon the sensual lines of Ferra's back. He sank his cock deep into her, all the way down to the root. Completely stuffed up the Gorgon' tight pussy. The Primarch seized up beneath him, a choked cry breaking from her lips. The sound of complete and utter defeat. Baren felt a stirring in his gut, one that sent his blood boiling hot. 

His cock throbbed again, an agonizing, splendid feeling. Baren knew he was a monster. Normal men didn't feel what he felt. He loved the control, the conquest. He felt joy in the violation of this woman. It was exquisite, almost as good as the fucking itself.

But nothing was better than when the women showed some spirit. Even now, flat on her belly, with Baren' fat dick shoved all the way up her poor Primarch pussy, Ferra had enough nerve to spit out a defiant taunt.

"Is… that… all… you've got?" She turned her head, hissing back at him through grit teeth. Baren could see her eyes burning with anger… and a glimmer of something else. It was faint, but enough to make the Daemon smirk.

The challenge was clear and it spoke to something primal within Baren' soul. It drove him to renew his efforts, to work his cock harder and faster into the Primarch pinned beneath him. She gasped, her eyes going wide as he speared her as deep as he could… but the defiance never quite flickered out. 

Good , Baren thought. Victory is sweeter when they're not completely broken.

As the Daemon Prince continued to punch his cock into the Primarch's tight pussy, he took her by the back of the neck, forcing her head down against the mattress. She glared back up at him with one furious eye, what he could see of her elegant, sculpted face twisted into a pained sneer. Every time his cock sunk deep inside, she flinched… and a tiny bit of her fury turned into something equally heated.

Baren knew then that he would win. Eventually, this Primarch would be begging for his cock. And that sort of victory was better than any drug.

But until then, the Daemon would simply enjoy the tightness of her pussy around his cock… and the sound of his balls slapping against her perky, pale cheeks.

Ferra buried her face into the bed again, using a pillow to muffle her wild shrieks. She wouldn't give the Daemon barbarian the pleasure of seeing her come so undone. But she could do nothing about him taking his pleasure with her pussy.

It was a test of her endurance, her iron will, to have her pussy brutalized by this man. Every thrust, every punch deep into her insides, each came like a shock to her body - a bolt of lightning to her nerves. Every thrust lit her body on fire, every inch of her burning with pure sensation.

It hurt … but there was also a growing heat in the pit of her belly. Ferra couldn't ignore it now. The feeling disgusted her.

The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the bedroom, quick, feverish, savage thrusts from the man above making her buttocks clap in a sordid rhythm. It was a twisted symphony of sex, brutish as their fucking was.

Baren' heated words only added to the depravity.

"Yeah, take it!" He snarled above her. Ferra could feel his sweat drip down onto her back, mingling with her own. "Take that cock! Take it deep! Fuck! "

Ferra didn't make any biting retort - she only had the strength to let out a long, wavering moan. A sound of pain, discomfort, defeat… but also one of pleasure. The heat blooming in her belly shamed her. She wasn't a Gorgon. She was Baren's pet.

Baren fucked her even faster, each deep ram into her bowels forcing another moan, another weak squeal from her lips. 

Pathetic. So pathetic.

Her body chose to betray her then. The heat, the feeling of being so full, so stuffed full of cock… it was like a red-hot ember falling into rolling waves of fuel. Her whole body lit up, swallowed and consumed by the flames of passion. Ferra screamed, wailed until there was nothing more her throat could give.

She felt Baren follow her over that edge, descending with her into that lewd abyss. His cock throbbed in her pussy, pulsing into a thickness that threatened to split her apart. That drew another broken shriek from her lips, making her claw at the sheets in aimless desperation. Then came the molten heat of his seed, pouring, shooting into her depths. Rope after rope of scalding hot cum painted her insides with the man's vile, savage offering. 

Her defeat and humiliation was complete… and their bond was solidified. Sanctified.

Ferra weakly moaned, her eyelids suddenly as heavy as Baren' looming mass. The warmth, the pleasure, she felt it pool inside her, soothing the aches away. Then she felt the man's lips on the back of her neck, peppering her hot, damp skin with shockingly gentle kisses. His voice was at her ear, his warm breath feeling nice and welcome. Ferra whined pitifully. She wanted to hate it.

"Goddess… that was good." Baren pressed a soft peck to the edge of her ear. Then another one on her neck, this time lingering. Ferra squirmed beneath him… but not to escape. Her body betrayed her yet again, seeking more of the man's warmth, finding primal delight in the firmness of his musculature. "It's like you Primarchs were made to get fucked."

He gave a tired laugh then, the sound rumbling into Ferra's ear. It was a taunt, such as Baren gave. But Ferra heard little of the bite his words once had. His voice had grown somewhat softer.

Almost… affectionate.

Even when fading, the pleasure brought out by his violation of her body kept seeping in, pouring deep into her bones. But the fear of her new reality remained, cold and heavy in her heart.

Baren' words continued to ring in her head, echoing over and over.

And as Ferra felt the lingering ecstasy pulse through her veins, she realized to her great dread that the daemon bastard may very well be right.

-

That same day, a ship bearing the legend of Eisenstein would appear on the Imperial Throneworld of Terra. It's Captain – Natalia Garro of the Death Guard Legion – abandoned the rest of the fleet to deliver an urgent message to Terra. A warning of war and betrayal, and one that would seal the fate of the Imperium of Mankind.

Warmaster Isis Lupercal was planning to rebel against the Empress.

Notes:Hey, not to sound pissy or anything, but could you guys actually let me write the ending before you start judging it? It might end up surprising you.