What if the Primarchs were Women?

French Countryside, December 1793

The Château de Lacoste had managed to weather the worst effects of the Revolution, a testament that could not be shared by most of the French aristocracy by 1793. With most of Paris burning and the streets running red with noble blood from Monsieur Robespierre, the countryside was perhaps where the remaining nobility was safest. This was particularly true if the noble in question already possessed a long and lurid history of scandal and controversy as the man who would one day be Baren's current host did. Baren smiled and poured wine from an ancient clay amphora into two crystal glasses. "Supposedly," he began. "This was made for during the Pax Romana for one of Nero's bacchanals." Placing the clay pot onto the table, Baren picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. "A finer emperor, I doubt there has ever been." He had certainly enjoyed his time as a senator in Nero's Empire. Using Christians as torches, inspired.

Baren's host smiled weakly and graciously accepted the offered glass. "Giacomo, old friend, I think you are truly the only one who has ever understood me." The Marquis De Sade downed most of his wine in one gulp as the man known largely to the rest of the world as Giacomo Casanova quietly sipped from his own glass.

"You are too kind, Donatien. I am merely an appreciator of fine visionaries such as yourself." The man who would one day be Baren had met the infamous French noblemen during the opening of his play Oxtiern. Baren had found the play to be worthy of rousing applause, even if he found the ending a bit humorous. It was a sentiment the rest of the audience had not shared, if the outraged rioting that proceeded the final curtain had been anything to go by. It had been a good night, especially so considering he had taken the liberty of visiting the former Queen Marie Antoinette in her cell after the play. Lovely young woman, a shame what came later with the whole 'beheading' business. "Still, I must say I was surprised to hear from you so soon, considering this whole 'Reign of Terror' nonsense."

The Marquis De Sade smiled coyly and rose. "Giacomo, do you remember what you said to me when we first met? After the audience scorned my play?"

The man who was soon to be Baren smiled fondly. "I do, as I recall, I told you that you had simply yet to find your audience." Fine art was wasted on the peasantry, after all. "What brought this about?"

The Marquis' grin took a near manic turn as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small leatherbound journal. "Tell me something, Giacomo," The Marquis began as he was rabidly thumbing through the pages of the journal. He finally found the apparent right page and held out the journal for Baren to see. "Does this symbol look familiar to you?" Spread across two pages was a strange sigil, closely resembling some hybrid of the symbols for male and female drawn in some deeply rich purple ink.

The man who was not yet Baren froze at the sign, it stirred something within him, some creeping feeling of dread… and anticipation. "Where have you seen this?" He demanded.

The Marquis's eyes widened. "So you have seen it?"

"…Never when I am awake." Baren admitted, still enraptured by the seemingly innocuous drawing. He wasn't entirely certain that the Marquis was a psyker, not to the same level as he or even Apokálypsi – wherever she was -, but at least of some low-level psychic ability. "But yes, I have seen it. It and… other things." In truth, Baren's dreams found him in strange places, sometimes a garden, sometimes a grand hall. The one constant was that it was in the midst of some great celebration. A party attended to by strange, feminine creatures and overseen by some magnificent, veiled host. The host was always veiled, and Baren always found himself filled with some strange mixture of unrelenting awe and unspeakable dread in their presence. He both desperately wanted to rip the veil away and for it to never be removed, certain that whatever face lied beneath would be more beautiful than he could ever imagine… and more terrible than his greatest nightmares.

The Marquis leaned forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. "My friend… I believe that I have finally found my audience."

-

They moved their meeting to a more private room higher in the castle… and they didn't come alone.

Casanova tightened the rope restraining the mumbling maid's arm to the table, the young woman too drugged to make heads or tails of… well, anything really. The Marquis oversaw the preparation, constantly checking and rechecking his journal and making the small adjustments here and there as necessary. The young woman laid bare and splayed out on the table, her arms and legs bound by leather straps. Her unblemished skin was now coated with ink, painstakingly paintbrushed on her body in delicate swirls and jagged angles forming an intricate network of symbols and iconography. The man who would be Baren stepped back away from the table, standing beside the Marquis. The maid tossed her head this way and that in a dream state, not fully conscious of the world around her. A good thing too, less she'd start caterwauling. Baren frowned, aware that perhaps he shouldn't be so blasé about the atrocity they were about to commit, but at the same time… he found he simply didn't care anymore.

The Marquis closed the book with a sharp snap. He turned to face Casanova; his eyes manic with anticipation. "Its time." Turning away to a side table briefly, the Marquis handed Baren a small dagger.

The man known as Casanova took it silently and approached the maid as the Marquis de Sade began chanting foul proclamations and dedications to debauchery and indulgence in Latin. Even in her intoxicated state, the sight of the killing tool caused the young woman to squirm in sluggish dismay. Baren placed a gentle hand on her cheek, his eyes boring into hers. "Do not fret," he said gently, almost like a lover. "It'll only hurt for a little bit. I promise, I'll be gentle." Combined with the lingering effect of the drugs and his near hypnotic voice, the maid slowly stopped struggling, even craning her neck to lean into his soothing touch. He placed the blade to her jugular with the care of a man putting a necklace around a lady's neck, before slitting her throat in one precise motion. It will never work. The thought came unbidden to the forefront of Baren's mind as a thick, unstoppable river of coppery red poured down the maid's cleanly slit throat. He cannot hope to invite them. It sounded like him, it spoke like him, but it was not him. These thoughts were not his. They whispered to him from the Warp. He gently took the maid's left hand, brushing his thumb over her skin before he cleanly slid the dagger across her wrist. He is hopeless, but not you. You have the means. You have the want. All you have to do is let us in. The intricate ink was mixing with the blood. In the dim light, it might have seemed to glow, but if so, it was a faint, feeble thing and Baren realized what he must do.

As the Marquis de Sade continued his tiresome noise, Baren closed his eyes and echoed his voice into the writhing well that was the Immaterium. I let you in. As soon as he whispered the words into the Warp, the atmosphere of the room shifted. The candles instantly were snuffed out, throwing the room in pitch darkness. After a moment, they seemingly relit themselves with dancing flames of dark purple light. The Marquis did not stop his chanting, he couldn't. His face made that clear, eyes wide in panic as his jaw worked furiously, a puppet becoming aware that its voice was not its own. Baren found he did not care. This was no longer the Marquis's ritual. It was his. The sound of flutes and angelic vocals roared in his mind, nearly deafening him with euphoric symphony. He took the maid's right hand, clasping it with the desperate need of a man returned from war, and jammed the blade tip-first into the maid's wrist flesh, dragging it with slow, hungry deliberation. The flesh tore, thick rivers of dripping red pouring down her arm and between his fingers. The maid was no longer squirming, but writhing in orgasmic revelation, her bones cracked and contorted unnatural, pressing, almost straining against the dewy skin that covered them. Her jaw opened, stretching to the point of dislocation as her moans rose to ecstatic screams.

The music of his mind rose to an ear-bleeding cacophony mixed with the screaming wails of the maid and the Marquis alike. Even Baren could not hope to withstand this overwhelming sensation and collapsed to the floor, the dagger falling from his hands. He might have covered his ears if he had the strength to, or if the idea of being unable to hear this wailing cacophony seemed less horrible than actually hearing it. Through barely opened his eyes, he watched as the Marquis fell to the ground, unconscious and with bleeding ears. On the table the maid's body continued to writhe and twist, the blood from her wounds now floating in the air. As Baren watched, her stomach suddenly was torn open by a pair of black curling horns, followed by a long mane of inky black tresses, and a pair of beetle black eyes peering at him through the curtain of hair as Baren lost consciousness.

-

Giacomo Casanova blearily blinked himself back to consciousness. He could not say how much time had passed, but it could not have been too long as the blood on clothes was still wet. He weakly pulled himself up onto his hands and knees. "Donatien?" He rasped, glancing to where the Marquis De Sade lied, still collapsed on the ground unconscious, dark tracts of drying blood running from his ears. Groaning, Baren struggled to his feet, forced to lean on the table where the dead maid was still strapped down. The room spun with every unsteady movement and his head throbbed, as though he had some horrific hangover.

Baren clenched his eyes in an attempt to will away this throbbing pain, only for a woman's voice, low and sultry, to speak out from behind him. "Rough night?"

Baren spun around, holding back a wince as the act spiked his psychic hangover and his breath was robbed away.

Before him was a woman unlike any he had ever seen in his near 3,000 years of life. Pale purple skin covered a body that was curvaceous to the extreme, with massive, excessively perky breasts and wide hips. Her outfit only served to further enhance her sensuous beauty, wearing a black leather corset that hugged her full breasts and was tied over one shoulder, exposing her slim stomach. Her silk pants ended just below her thighs, tapered so tightly to her legs it seemed she'd been poured into them, and below her pants were needlessly elaborate sandals, that came up high on her legs in bands of gold, much like the spiral bracelet she wore on her right forearm -an outfit of lewd taste, but noble means. Already, Baren liked her. Her face matched her already exotic appearance. Lidded beetle black eyes peered at him over a coy smile filled with razor sharp teeth. There was no denying her beauty, but neither was there any denying just how inhuman she was. Instead of repulsing him however, her uncanny beauty only further entranced Baren. The man was no stranger to the deathless beings that called the Immaterium home, but none of them were like the unearthly beauty in front of him. He had met bloodhungry red skinned warriors with flaming swords, man-beast with blue feathers and stag horns riding screaming organic disks, and cycloptic corpulent shamblers of diseased corpse-flesh, but never had he encountered a sight so tempting as this woman in front of him.

"My god," the Perpetual breathed.

The woman… angel? Demon? - Baren wasn't sure, he didn't know if any word could fully capture the being before him – must have found his declaration amusing. She daintily hid a giggle behind a clawed hand before she spoke again. "No, sorry to disappoint you." Smiling at him, the woman added. "But… I do have a message for you. From my god, the Dark Prince of Pleasure, Slaanesh."

Slaanesh. The name stirred something within Baren. "Your god?" He repeated.

The woman nodded. "That's right, silly." She teased, baring those pearly white teeth at him. The woman approached the frozen Baren, her wide hips swinging hypnotically. "And they're very interested in you, Casanova." The woman giggled as she circled him, tenderly dragging her hand across his shoulders. "Mmm… Giacomo Casanova…Don Juan…Julianus Caelus…. Alkibiades… so many names, so many faces, so many masks. Were any of them the real you?"

"Some…" Baren found himself answering, his voice distant, his eyes never leaving her sensuous body. "They all had a piece anyway…"

"Poor baby," The daemon cooed, almost lovingly. "Always having to hide… always having to play by the rules…" She stopped in front of his, her lithe arms wrapped tenderly around his broad shoulders. His hands found themselves on her hips by instinct. She peered up at him, her onyx eyes shining and intense. "What if I told you that you could be more than this? More than a drifter bouncing from one passable lay to the other as the eras crawl by? You could be more; you could be extraordinary!" The Daemon leaned forward, her face inches from Baren's. "All you need to do is swear loyalty to Slaanesh."

Baren smirked. "I've met more than a few of your Warp gods," he retorted, pressing the daemon's body against his. "What does Slaanesh have to offer that they didn't?"

The Daemonette giggled. "Whatever you want. Your every darkest heart's desire made manifest. You have powerful needs and Chaos has the means to make them a reality. Anything you want…" She leaned in closer, her voice a breathy whisper. "Anyone you want. Serving Slaanesh is an endless celebration led by an immortal host."

"You're very persuasive," Baren remarked. It was quite the offer, he had to admit, but he wasn't one for religion. Apokálypsi hated it, Baren just laughed at it. Still, it was very appealing…

A banging sound from downstairs broke Casanova out of his thoughts. Striding toward the window, he pulled back the curtain to see a large group of constables banging on the doors to the Chateau. Maximillien's men, he realized. It would seem Monsieur Robespierre was no longer willing to tolerate the Marquis's antics.

The Daemonette strutted up beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder affectionately, a self-satisfied smile on her face. "Well, what's it going to be, Alkibiades? You can save your own hide with Slaanesh or… be stuck in prison for a few months until you can fake your death."

Casanova frowned and briefly glanced at the still unconscious Marquis. "What about him?" He asked.

The Daemon rolled her eyes. "What about him?" Gently taking Baren by the chin, she turned his head to look at her. "Listen to me. All that should matter to you is you. People like him? The regular, short lived insignificant mortals? The greatest gift for them is to entertain you. And well, people aren't very entertaining in prison."

The door shattered and Robespierre's mob was rushing the chateau. Baren hesitated… but only for a brief moment before he swept a giggling daemon into his arms. Carrying the Daemonette in a bridal carry, Baren teleported with a thunderous crack to the outskirts of the castle. Turning to the smiling Daemonette, Baren asked. "Can I ask you a question?"

She smirked at him. "You don't have to ask for anything, Alkibiades. Just do what you like."

"What's your name?"

She blinked and her smirk faltered for a brief second. It was clear that whatever she had been expecting him to ask of her, that wasn't it. Still, she gave an answer. "I am called Relaari."

"Relaari." Baren repeated, tasting the name on his lips. He found he liked it. Taking one of the Daemon's lithe arms in his own, he pressed a kiss to her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Relaari. I believe this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership."

As the two Immortals watched on, the Marquis was forcibly carted off, heading for Paris to await trial. Sorry, old friend, but she's right. Baren had powerful needs.

And a need to be powerful.

-

"Let's just recap," Baren stated, pacing in front of Isis, Aurora, Morticia, and Areia. They were standing within his palace on Epithymía and the Daedric Prince was brimming with barely restrained agitation. "Not only did you fail to purge the loyalist members of your legions, but now the Anathema knows that you've rebelled and are sending a force to Istvan IV to purge your legions. Am I getting that right?"

The verbal lashing was met with various reactions by the present primarchs. Isis - belligerent defiance, Aurora – whimpering shame, Morticia – feeble protest, Areia – sheepish chagrin, seeing as it was her World Eaters who had actually messed up the purge when they disobeyed the Warmaster's commands and dropped to the surface for face-to-face combat. The irony of a newly sane Areia now being forced to deal with what she had made her own captains deal with was delicious as far as Relaari was concerned. The Daemonette watched her lord's reprimanding with an ecstatic grin on her face, her beetle black eyes following every agitated step of Baren's march.

Her eyes caught those of the Aurelian and her grin became far more smug. Aurora sullenly crossed her arms over her bust, quietly mouthing 'hate you' at the Daemonette when their shared master wasn't looking. Relaari's grin didn't falter for a moment. Right back at you, you little mortal bitch. Underneath the Daemonette's veneer of sickeningly sweet hospitality was a seething well of utter contempt for the Primarchs. As far as she was concerned, the Anathema's daughters took up far too much of Baren's time, Baren's love, and Baren's cock – all things that Relaari felt were far better spent on her instead. Still, the Daemonette knew why the annoying pests were necessary. Didn't mean that she had to like it though.

Relaari snapped back to attention as the Warmaster finally worked up the nerve to backsass Baren. "And what of you?" Isis demanded, no longer willing to tolerate being chastised by the Daemon Prince.

"Excuse me?" Baren asked coldly. Relaari shivered in delight as menace crept into her master's voice. He wasn't really angry, but there was no reason for the Warmaster to know that just yet.

"You were supposed to sway Sanguinia! Either that, or destroy her! Now, the Empress not only knows of us, but you as well!"

"She already knew about me, Isis." Baren's voice was calm, but as he slowly stalked toward the Warmaster, everyone present knew he was anything but. The Daemon Prince loomed over the Sixteenth Primarch, reality shuddering around the Warp being. "And there was no changing your sister's mind. She has the same deluded sense of self-righteousness that your mother does." When Isis looked as though she was willing to argue still, Baren added. "Of course, I could always… retract my patronage, if you feel as though its no longer wanted, Warmaster."

"No!" Was Isis's immediate response, a desperate outcry that matched the looks of panic shared by her sisters. The Warmaster blushed and refused to meet the gaze of a very smug Baren. "I mean… that will be… unnecessary, Lord Baren."

"I thought as much." The Daemon Prince retorted. "Now if that's everything, I'll leave you to return to Istvan." As soon as the Primarchs were teleported back to their respective ships, Baren strode reclined into his throne with a huff, Relaari bouncing up to him, eager to please. "Irritating things, aren't they?" He asked his right hand as the Daemonette instinctively went to work massaging the Prince's shoulders.

"I agree completely, sir." Relaari eagerly said, more than happy to make the Primarchs look bad if it meant Baren spent less time with them. The Daemonette was hardly as clever as she might have believed however, as the Daemon Prince was quick to pick up on her jealousy.

Smirking, Baren pulled the Daemonette into his lap, pressing kisses to her neck as she shivered in delight. "Mmm… poor Relaari. I haven't made much time for you recently, have I?" He pressed his lips to his lieutenant's ears. "Have you been feeling neglected, pet?"

"…Maybe a little…" Relaari murmured coyly, snuggling into her master's broad chest. It wasn't fair, really. Her master has had many servants over the years, but Relaari was here first. Shouldn't that mean something? Didn't she deserve special treatment?

"Let's fix that, shall we?" Baren said. Taking his servant in his arms in a bridal carry, the Daemon Prince flew her to his bedroom, Relaari giggling eagerly all the while.

-

A minute later, the Daemonette was on her knees before the rugged prince, breathing heavily as he hooked his thumbs under his pants and tugged them down. She couldn't contain her excitement, or the little noises that rose from her throats as the wrist-thick hilt of his cock emerged into the open air. Relaari bit her bottom lip as he fished his monstercock free, tugging it out inches at a time, until the whole thing burst from his pants, straightened in the air, and clapped down on her face. The daemon gave a low moan of bliss as he graced her with his cock's weight, letting her feel his throbbing heat while his monstrous balls churned and pulsed before her eyes.

"Go on," he said. "Suck on it."

Relaari couldn't wait. She grasped the hem of her partly-undone corset and, with a single yank, tore away at the remaining fabric. Her tits spilled into the open air, heaving in and out magnificently as she cupped her lips around the prince's throbbing, precum-drooling cock and started to bob her head – just kissing his shaft at first, before stuffing his cockhead all the way into her cheeks and rippling her tongue along its underside. "Mmn…!"

The prince wrapped a hand in Relaari's hair and RAMMED her down his cock. Her eyes went wide in delight, tears welling at their edges as her neck bloated was stuffed with Baren's cock. GLUARK! The rugged former mortal started to jackhammer her face up and down, up and down, groaning his bliss into the air as he plunged his shaft through the rippling folds of Relaari's throat. He played her throat like an instrument: Gluck, gluck, glurk, gluck, gluck--! Her neck pulsed and danced along to his thrusts, her tits bouncing around on her chest – and all the while, his balls swung closer and closer to her chin. At first, it seemed impossible that Relaari might contain the entire thing inside her, but it just kept ramming and pumping and punching down her throat, and before long, her head was cranked all the way back, her tits jiggling between his thighs as he crammed the last few inches past her lips! His balls smothered her chin and neck, her eyes rolling back in their sockets as she struggled and squirmed, gargling on a throat so stuffed with monstercock that her neck and upper belly bulged out! His other hand joined the first, and suddenly he was pumping Relaari's face with the ferocity of a wild stallion, wrenching her back and forth while rutting his hips at full force! GLULK, GLUCK, GLUCK, SCHLUCK, GLUCK~! Spittle flew from Relaari's squishing lips and flaring nostrils, mixing with the tears that ran so freely down her cheeks and dribbled from her chin. Soon her tits were coated in the lewd mixture, and as they wobbled, they splattered her belly and thighs with the stuff. Baren pitched forwards, barreling his hips hard and fast, refusing to halt until he was good and satisfied.

"Needy…little…slut--!" the prince roared at last, and mashed Relaari's face into his stomach and pelvis as he hit a giant, thunderous orgasm! His cock swelled inside her, pushing her inner walls to an even more intense stretch – and then he exploded, blast after guttering blast of cum slugging into her stomach, pumping her belly to the brink while her eyes blurred out of focus. Glrrrch, splrt, splrt, glrrrtch! He held Relaari tightly to his hilt, milking his orgasm for all it was worth, occasionally tugging her head back only to shove it forwards and down again – each time provoking a multi-directional spurt of jizz from her plump, cocksucking lips.

The Daemon prince dragged her back slowly, gazing into her dazed and wavering eyes, stroking her face with a broad hand as inch after inch of monstercock slrrrched out of her stretched lips. Finally, his cockhead plopped free. The cumblasted Daemonette blinked up at her master… and smiled. "Wanna keep going?"

Relaari spread her legs for the Daemon Prince, panting with absolute need as he angled up with her needy cunt. Her tits were so huge that they spilled partway down around her ribs, rising and falling with each deep breath. She couldn't look away from that throbbing cock, her lips forming an 'o' of awe and delight as it spat ropes of precum across her taut, toned belly. "Mmhn…I've missed this," she softly sighed. "Aahn!" The Daemonette moaned as her lord jerked his hips, thrusting his monstercock forwards over her belly. He kept pushing until his cockhead kissed the bottoms of her tits, and his balls nestled between her thighs. "B-be gentle?" asked Relaari, smiling weakly, but the Prince was already making his cockhead kiss her tight pussylips, pressing harder by the second. The red-hot tingle of pressure made her eyes roll back. Above her, Baren snorted.

"You would hate that," he snarled lustfully, and THRASHED his hips down. Relaari's eyes flicked all the way back in their sockets, her mouth cranking open in a deep HOWL as the biggest cock she'd ever seen barged its way into her cunt. She was immediately stretched wider than she'd ever dreamed possible, her taut belly bulging around the prince's colossal rod. Her tits leapt up to her chin from the sheer force of impact – and then he was thrusting, hammering her sopping pussy with his giant, throat-lubed pillar like he was trying to split her apart!

"F-Fuck!" Relaari squealed in pain and pleasure, wrapping her arms tightly around the ascended mortal and digging her nails into his back. "Ah! Ahn! Ahnn!" Her tongue lolled from her open mouth while her eyes lost all focus. The Daemon Prince was pounding her mind into oblivion, breaking her on his giant cock, reminded her why she his servile sex slave…and why there wasn't a single thing she could do about it! Each thrust drew a fresh yelp out of her, made her tits leap and her belly bulge and her black hair shimmer as it shifted on the hay. He fucked her into the mattress, lifting her thighs forcibly around his hips and causing her feet to jiggle back and forth as he levered all his weight, all his strength, against her helpless cunt. SCHLAP, CLAP, CLAP, PLAP! His balls struck her asscheeks with each powerful thrust, and as he sank every inch of his oversized fuckhammer into her, Relaari bit down on his shoulder.

 "Hrrn…" The Daemon was focused on screwing Relaari senseless, determined to see any bratty disobedience fade from her eyes and be replaced with something entirely different. When her legs wrapped all the way around his waist, he smirked and flattened his palms on the bedding beside her head, getting himself in the perfect position to slam her without mercy. The slaps and claps of their joyous sex rang throughout the palace, and could probably be heard throughout the entire acropolis. He was plunging her cervix with such force that hot goo spurted out around his drilling cock; his precum alone had filled her womb to the brink, leaving no space left inside of her. He buried his face in her hair once again, closing his eyes and exerting himself to the limit, working his thrusts up to an inhuman tempo. Relaari felt like she was truly losing her mind – and when, a moment later, her orgasm burst bright and star-like across her consciousness, she went blind for almost a minute.

"Huaaaahn!" Relaari squeezed her arms and legs around her rutting lover, her over-stretched cunt clenching and squirting all over the vast silk covered bed as his cock continued to ram mercilessly through any and all resistance. His balls clapped brutally down on her asscheeks, making them ripple and wobble like jelly as he pumped towards his own massive orgasm. Just as he was about to reach that point, he dipped his head and bit her left teat, gnawing on it, making her squeal as he mashed her tender, pink nipple under his tongue. And then – at last – he crushed his hips down and bottomed out inside of her, holding his balls against her ass as he dumped a vast, churning load into the back of her womb. Splrrrrch! Glt, glrrrk! Her belly tensed, then pouted slightly outwards from the sheer volume being forced into her. A huge amount more cum simply flooded out around his swelling, fattening cock and spread outwards on the floor, forming a wide puddle that spilled across the mosaics. He held himself inside her, lying on top of her like that for a long time, while low squelching sounds rang out…until, several minutes later, he began to pull out. At last, the Prince rolled off of Relaari; they sprawled side by side, the Prince and the servant, he panting loudly while Relaari simply gazed at the ceiling and massaged her stiff clit in the afterglow, cum oozing copiously from her gaping cunt. Relaari panted where she lay, resting her head on her master's chest – a lewd parody of a lover's embrace, her tongue flopped out the side of her mouth – totally and utterly destroyed with pleasure…

… Just as it was meant to be.