What if the Primarchs were Women?

The first time the woman who would one day be the Empress of Mankind met the man who would one day be Baren was at a party in Athens, a symposium being held by Perikles, the Populist leader and Strategos of the Delian League in 431 BC, during the Peloponnesian War. Of course, at that time Baren had been calling himself Alkibiades; statesmen, Athenian commander, and adopted son of the Strategos. She still didn't know whether that had been the name he was born with or, like many of their 'peers', he had killed the real Alkibiades and taken his place. It was a practice he would partake in many times in the future.

Whatever the case, she had snuck into the party out of curiosity, wanting to hear the merits of democracy from its so-called father firsthand. Baren was in attendance, naturally. Always hovering near either women, or wine, but never too far from Sokrates. Another of the very few who had somehow earned Baren's respect. Even thousands of years after this event, the lecher never had a bad thing to say about him. He never showed her the same level of reverence. Normally a woman would not have been allowed in to attend such a gathering, at least not in sight of the partygoers. But she had always been clever, and those early years were swept with experimenting with her psychic abilities. With just the right amount of focus, she could… not disappear but be ignored. A shape moving just out the corner of your eye, acknowledged and dismissed in the same breath. Her little perception filter allowed her to maneuver through the symposium unseen by all.

Or so she had thought.

As she dodged and weaved through the drunk aristocrats and arguing statesman, she kept an ear at attention. Despite the festive atmosphere, the mood of the party had been very grim. The war was not going well, Sparta was at the gates of Athens, burning farmland and herding the populace like animals into a cage. At the same time, virulent plague was sweeping through the city, claiming the young and the old alike. Conversation was a whirlwind of arguments, war mongering and political scheming. Every man there either panicking or hoping to scavenge notoriety from Perikles's failures like the vultures they were. Amidst this cavalcade of fear and scheming, a voice stood out to her, low and sultry, and the words caught her off guard.

"Teacher, who is that woman? How did she get in here?"

The man who called himself Alkibiades was the picture of Grecian beauty. A handsome face with full lips, dark eyes that contrasted with blond hair and a broad, athletic body. To her fortune, those dark eyes were not turned towards her, but were facing the man next to him. An older Athenian with dark hair that was already receding, a full beard and bright inquisitive eyes. This man – Sokrates – that father of philosophy and one of the very few who had somehow earned Baren's admiration, turned towards her direction where his pupil was gesturing. The Gadfly did not see her, he couldn't.

So, why could Alkibiades?

Sokrates waved off his student's question. "I see no woman. Perhaps you have let desires and wine cloud you mind and so your eyes create an image to appease it."

The man who would be Baren was silent for a moment and when he tried to look for her again, she slipped away. As she dodged and weaved through drunken politicians, she heard his voice again. "Perhaps you are right, Teacher." He smiled and raised a skin of wine. "Come then, I cannot sate my desires for flesh, so let me sate my desires for drink. Stin ygeía mas!" She had thought the matter had dropped and went back to eavesdropping on the politicians. Eventually, the symposium ended, and she slipped out of the palace alongside the steady trickle of drunk politicians and orators. She had thought herself in the clear as she walked under the olive tree lined road from Perikles's home, only to freeze as a familiar voice called to her from behind.

"That was quite a party trick you pulled back there; I have to admit."

Baren, or rather Alkibiades at the time leaned under the shade of one of the olive trees behind her, an easygoing smile that was betrayed by curious, calculating eyes. She did not answer him just yet, and so he continued talking, that toothy grin still on his handsome face. "You know, not many are able to pull the wool over the Gadfly's eyes. I should know, I'm one of them." His grin widened just a bit, his eyes no longer so coy, but alight with excitement and the thrill of discovery. "You're like me, aren't you?"

Finally, the woman who would be the Empress of Mankind spoke. "Like you in what way?"

Alkibiades chuckled. "Peculiar." He leaned back against the tree languidly. "Sometimes, I can make things happen just by thinking about them." He held an open palm forward and an olive fell into his waiting grasp. "Other times, I can make people agree with me." He de-pitted the olive and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "And when I should be dead…I can walk away without a scratch." He smiled at her again and even she had to admit that it was a very charming smile. "Does any of this sound familiar?"

"Vaguely." She coolly responded.

Again, the man who would be Baren chuckled. "Hmmph. Tell me, what is your name?"

The woman was silent for a moment before answering carefully and deliberately. "Apokálypsi".

That got an actual laugh out of him. "Apokálypsi". He repeated, grinning broadly. "'Revelation'? My, Sokrates would surely get a kick out of you." Alkibiades drew closer and she didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on her curvaceous form. Even back then, he was a shameless lecher. "Perhaps you should not leave so quickly, Apokálypsi." He was even closer now, close enough that her breasts were nearly pressed against his chest. She still remembered the way he looked at her in that moment. It was that same look he had whenever they spoke, hungry and curious. "I'm sure we have much to discuss…"

"Somehow I doubt that." Her response was cold and firm. Another mistake, Baren thought of self-control as a thing to test and taunt. Teasing her became his second favorite pastime later, just behind finding new ways to end up in her bed. Her response here only served to disappoint him rather than discourage.

"Such a shame," he lamented, pouting. "I've never met someone like myself before. I'd thought it would be quite the experience getting to know one another." He was probably even telling the truth. Travel was incredibly slow in those early days and people like them – Perpetuals, those who death had no grasp on – were few and far between. They always found each other in the end, though. Her, Pious, Malcador, Baren, Erda. One way or another, they always ended up finding each other. Baren at least seemed to take the rejection well. Perhaps he was already planning their next meeting. He always seemed so certain of these things. "Until next time, Apokálypsi. We'll have to share a drink. I'm curious to see what your like with your walls down."

There wouldn't be a next time. She had been so certain of that. From one conversation, she was convinced she had his number. Another thoughtless sex-crazed nobleman, just one with immortality and a connection to the Immaterium. What a waste. That was an even greater mistake, she would find out later. Underestimating him. Baren was a lecher, there was no doubt about that, and he never bothered to try and hide it, but he was far from thoughtless. Only two years later, after the death of Perikles and the disaster that was the Sicilian Expedition, Alkibiades would have the ear of Spartan and Persian kings alike, hissing ways to counter the Athenians and sharing Athena's secrets to those who had the most to offer him. And when those relations inevitably soured (he never should have seduced the Queen of Sparta), he returned to Athens not a traitor, but with the strut of a king and they welcomed him back with open arms.

He was good at that, Baren. He made friends, powerful ones. People liked him. They liked to hear him talk. And most of the time, he even liked them back. As long as they could entertain him of course. The second they stopped being amusing, well, that was when the trouble would start. If you were lucky, he would just pack up and leave, usually with a wife or daughter pregnant. If you were unlucky, however? Then Baren would start to make his own entertainment. The Empress would know; she'd experienced it first-hand. And it would seem Slaanesh found a way to turn Baren's boredom in her favor.

The Empress made the mistake of underestimating both Baren and Slaanesh and now her Great Crusade was in danger of slowing down, if not coming to a stop altogether. She couldn't afford to underestimate them again. The Webway Project would have to be put on hold, at least for the time being. It was time for her to alert her daughters.

-

"What do you mean 'she's not here'?"

To the woman's credit, Lotara Sarrin did not flinch in the face of a livid Primarch, let alone the Warmaster herself. The captain of the Conqueror kept her shoulders squared and her face neutral, meeting Isis Lupercal's burning gaze head on, the bloody red hand of Areia proudly stained on her white jacket like a badge of honor. "I mean exactly what I said, Warmaster." She calmly retorted. "Lady Areia is not currently present on the Conqueror."

The Primarch of the Daughters of Isis bit back a snarl. Sarrin's apathy was proving more frustrating than if she was quivering. They were standing aboard the Conqueror, the Gloriana-class battleship that served as the flagship of the World Eaters, the twelfth legion of Astartes and the daughters of Areia. Bodt had proven itself to be a dead end and so far, the Conqueror was proving to be no different. Isis had been trying to find her wayward sister for some time now, yet everywhere she looked, it was as if Areia had vanished off the face of the galaxy. "Then, where is she?" Isis hissed.

"I'm afraid your guess is as good as ours, Warmaster." Came the voice of Khara, First Captain of the World Eaters clad in the white and blue of the twelfth legion. In the absence of their Primarch, Khara was the defacto commander of the World Eaters. Not that it was much different than when Areia actually was present. "It is likely that Areia is on another one of her… walkabouts. It might be best to simply wait until she works it out of her system before going to fetch her."

The Warmaster gave a humorless snort. 'Walkabout', right. What the first captain actually meant was that Areia was throwing another tantrum. The Twelfth daughters…condition was infamous both within their sisterhood and her own legion. It was no secret that Areia hated her life, hated the Empress, the Imperium, even her own supposed daughters. It was why Isis was looking for her after all. If there was any of her sister-Primarchs who would be willing to rebel against the Empress of Mankind in a heartbeat, it would be Areia. This was hardly the first time the Primarch of the World Eaters had all but abandoned both her duties and her legion – Khara's resigned frustration was a testament to that fact – but it was irritating, nonetheless.

Isis sighed. "Very well," she muttered, clenching her power armored fist in frustration. Turning to Khara, she added. "Alert me if you have any updates on my sister's whereabouts, First Captain."

"Rest assured, Warmaster. Lady Areia will return, one way or another." Captain Sarrin assured her. Isis believed her as well. Lotara Sarrin had a reputation of brutal efficiency, being able to cow even Areia, something not even the Empress could claim. As the Captain so often boasted 'No one runs from the Conqueror'. Not even Areia.

Still, Isis knew that it wouldn't be Captain Sarrin or Khara who would find Areia.

-

She didn't know the name of the planet she was on. Some snowy mountainous backwater Death World in the outer limits of Imperial space. She didn't care enough to learn, either way. All that was important was that she was away. Away from the Imperium. Away from her sisters. Away from her daughters. And most importantly, away from her. Just the thought of her made Areia snarl like a feral animal as her chain-axes ripped through the flesh and bone of the beast in front of her. It was some quadrupedal thing with thick wooly fur and a horned head covered in a boney plate. Another thing that Areia did not care enough to learn about. All that mattered was that it provided a fight. That it caused her to bleed. Areia thought clearer when she was bleeding.

It made the pain go away.

When the Primarchs had been in their infancy, they had been cast out from Terra and scattered throughout the galaxy. Some like Guilliman, Hecate, and Dorn had landed on civilized worlds. They studied law and culture, and became senators, queens, and empresses. Others like Sanguinia, Vulkana and Runa had landed on Death Worlds, where every day was a fight for survival in a near inhospitable environment. Out of all of her so-called 'sisters', Areia had gotten the shortest end of the stick. She had landed on the planet of Nuceria in Segmenta Ultima. Nikea was not a death world like Nocturne or Fenris. It had been a technologically advanced world ruled by a powerful, but brutal aristocracy. When Areia had been found, had she been taken by the elite to be raised as a leader like Guilliman or Petra? No. Had she been found and raised in a community by the common folk like Corax or Freya? No. She had been made a slave, forced to fight in the infamous gladiatorial arenas along with the other slaves fighting for their lives for a the scraps the elite would throw down at them, like dogs.

And as if that wasn't humiliating enough. When she refused to fight… When she refused to play by their games… Her grip on her axes tightened as the things in her skull throbbed. The Butcher's Nails, they called them, hanging from her head like artificial dreadlocks. Some old Dark Age of Technology torture device. The elites had drilled the thick, ribbed cables into her skull. They made it so that when she wasn't fighting all she could feel was the pain and the hate. Butcher's Nails. They butchered her alright. Carved at her brain and needled and tweaked until only a broken monster was left.

Areia had rebelled against the elites, freed her slaves, waged war on Nuceria and devoured its cities. She should have died with them, her true brothers and sisters. And she would have too, if not for her. The Empress of Mankind, her so-called 'mother.' No, not a mother. Just another slaver, content to keep Areia on a chain while she was dying from the nails in her skull. The Empress had appeared before her, resplendent in gold and fire and offered her a legion and a place within her Imperium. Areia refused. Hope and Glory was what the Imperium promised, and it was a lie. Areia had no hope and glory was a fool's dream. She'd rather die on Nuceria then live as an Imperial war hound.

The Empress had stolen that death from her.

Areia snarled again, her blood so hot with rage and hate she might die of it. If only. Maybe if she was human – fully, proper human that is - and not the vat-grown mass of flesh and muscle and curves that she was. With a vicious twist, Goremother – one of her twin chain-axes - sank deep into the wooly beast's throat, churning sinew, bone and gore in a spray of red, chunky mist that left Areia's face dripping with red and a coppery taste in her mouth. The beast collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, its monstrous weight causing the snowy ground to shake, its throat a torn open mess of bleeding, mulched pulpy flesh.

For an all too brief moment, the pain was gone from Areia, and she experienced a rare moment of tranquility…

…But it ended all too soon.

"GRAH!" With a pained cry, the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion was brought down to one knee as the all too familiar pain returned to her with a burning vengeance. Goremother and Gorechild fell from her hands as she clutched her head. Her skull was burning, a twisting hideous sensation that left her near-blind in excruciated pain. Her powerful hands gripped the thick, ridged cables that sank deep into her brain and Areia was forced to grapple with the instinctual desire to rip them out. To free herself of her curse and simply bleed out on this forgotten corner of the galaxy. Areia was distantly aware that she was screaming, the dying howls of a rabid animal. It hurt. It hurt. ItHurtItHurtItHurt. IT HURT!  

A sound reached out to her from the distance. Through watering, tightened eyes, Areia saw a humanoid shape approach from a swirling, screaming tear in real-space. She couldn't make out the figures face, she could hardly she through the pain in her mind. Their voice managed to cut through the blinding pain and reach her, however. It was low and soothing and spoke softly in her ears.

"I can make the pain stop, Areia. Just say the word, and I can make it all go away."

"P-please!" Areia begged, her voice hoarse and raw from screaming. Anything. Anything to make it go away. She couldn't take it anymore.

The figure knelt before her and reached forward. For a moment, Areia thought it meant to snap her neck, or even rip out the Butcher's nails from her skull. Instead, the figure gently grabbed the cables in one hand and suddenly the pain was fading away. Areia was left panting, on her hand knees for a brief silent moment of pure tranquility before she collapsed to snow covered ground, completely unconscious.

-

Ariea blearily opened her eyes, flinching at the sudden onslaught of bright pearly light. She closed her eyes again, allowing them to readjust before reopening them. She was no longer collapsed on the snowy ground of that nameless planet. Instead, she was lying atop what might have been the most comfortable bed she had ever felt, sitting in the middle of a grand and richly decorated room made from white and gold marble. A heady, pleasant aroma lingered in the air like incense. Areia clambered off the bed without any grace, her limbs felt heavy like lead and her head was spinning.

As she stood un unsteady feet, she briefly wondered where the draft she felt was coming from, only to realize with mounting horror why she felt somewhat cold. She had been wearing her bronze and white power armor on the snow planet, but now it was gone. Instead, someone had taken the liberty of dressing Areia in the lewdest outfit she had ever seen. It was a two piece ensemble made from a metal brasier that kept her massive chest tightly packed, creating a solid valley of bronzed cleavage, a lace thong that flaunted her firm, bouncy ass and a purple, silky skirt that was so sheer it may as well have bee vapor that hung low on her wide hips.

Just as Areia was wondering just where the hell she was and just where the hell her clothes were, a voice – low and smoky – came from behind her. "Well now, look who's finally up." Areia spun around, the speed of which sent her "assets" bouncing in her outfit. In front of her was a man who even Areia begrudgingly had to admit was very handsome, if strange looking with purple skin, bull like horns, a spade-tipped tail, and a pair of leathery wings. The man smiled at her – it was a playful smirk that sent of shiver of something running up Areia's spine.

Whatever It was, Areia forced herself to ignore it. "Who are you?" She demanded, pointing her chain-axe at the man. Or rather, she would be if she was actually holding either of her chain-axes. They, like her armor, were nowhere to be seen. As it was, Areia was just holding her empty fist at the stranger, much to his amusement. Areia blushed furiously, thoroughly humiliated. He must have thought she looked so…silly. Areia growled and forcefully banished the thought. Who cared what he thought? She was still a Primarch, she didn't need a weapon to take him. "W-where am I? How did I get here?"

The stranger's smile widened, and Areia felt that strange feeling from earlier run down her spine again. "Well, to answer your questions in order…" the stranger drawled. "My name is Baren and this palace; this entire planet is Epithymía. My small oasis in a boring and drab galaxy. As for how you got here." Baren shrugged. "Well, I could hardly leave you to die in the snow, now, could I?"

"You would have done me a favor if you had," Areia bluntly said.

"How could I have?" Baren asked, arms outstretched in a gesture of empathy. "When you were suffering so?" He smiled again and gestured at the Butcher's nails drilled into her skull. "Not that you have to worry about that anymore. Those silly things in your head won't bother you ever again. I made sure of that."

Areia's entire world came to a standstill the second those words left Baren's lips. She shakingly raised her hand up to her head and ran it along the length of the Nails. The pain. She hadn't noticed. How could she not have noticed? The pain was gone. Her face felt wet. Areia wiped a hand across her face only to find she was crying. She looked at Baren, the man staring back at her pensively. "Y-you…" She began, her voice unsteady.

"I told you. I couldn't leave you like that. It was offensive to me, to see someone be denied the full magnificent spectrum of sensation." He wasn't lying. As a Daemon Prince of the Goddess of Pleasure and Excess, Baren has spent several thousand years of his life devoted to the concept of sensation and indulgence. The Butcher's Nails by design were an antithesis of everything he stood for. He continued speaking, his voice furtive and knowing as he stalked closer to Areia. "Of course…I couldn't remove the entirely." Well, he could, but his solution would be more fun. "So, I simply tweaked them a bit."

Areia frowned, unsure of what he was saying. Then, she felt it. It was a sensation entirely different than that of the Butcher's Nails. The Nails kept her in a state of constant agony, a searing, burning pain that could only be relieved through vicious, bloody combat. Whatever Baren had done to the Nails, it changed the pain. Instead of a burning, mouth-frothing pain, a boiling heat burst into Areia's belly and in her nethers. The poor Primarch was left on unsteady legs as this boiling, intense heat left under panting under Baren's cruel gaze.

"W-what did you do to me?" Areia demanded. It should have sounded threatening, but instead it came across like a petulant whine.

The Daemon smirked and slithered behind Areia's shivering, buxom body. Baren was hardly the type of person to keep his hands to himself in the presence of fat rack and Areia's current state of attire meant she really should've seen this coming. The Primarch was startled as Baren's hands slapped onto her breasts, clawed fingers sinking into the flesh and pushing up under her brassiere, forcing it up over her nipples His hands were all over Areia's gigantic Primarch tits, moving them in circles hard enough to calp them together noisily whenever they moved together. "Fuck…" he growled, before he gripped both her nipples at the same time and squeezed them. That sort of lewd touching should have been enough to reduce any girl to a drooling mess, and Areia was no exception: her eyes fluttered upwards as she was touched. "You were wasted as a gladiator, Areia. Anyone with proper eyes would have seen you were born to be a pleasure slave." Baren shrugged and bounced Areia's tits in his hands. "Oh well, their loss. My gain."

She began to protest, but it died in her throat as Areia let out a long and passionate moan, her conscious mind slipping out through the dampening area between her thighs. "You…you…. ungh~!" Her calloused hands moved atop Baren's as her ability to think of anything, but the constant gnawing heat slipped further and further away: her original intention of protecting herself and pushing him away instead became coaxing him to go further, guiding his broad and rough rands across her massive tits. The last words that slipped out of her increasingly bimbo-controlled mind was simply, "…you…please…"

"Hmm? Please what, Areia?" he laughed. He kept on slapping her titties together, really enjoying those bouncy breasts. He yanked them up by her huge pink nipples and then let them slap back onto her chest. "Please make you my little sex slave?"

Areia's mouth hung slightly open as she absentmindedly ground her fat ass against Baren's hardening cock. So hard…. So hard to think. Her words became all the more staggered by shortened breaths and heated gasps for air. "Won't…lose…" Her legs trembled ever so slightly. "Won't be…your slave…" She declared, a statement somewhat subverted by the way she writhed and moaned in Baren's lewd tormenting grasp.

Baren finally released her huge tits and snaked down to her fat, fertile ass and hips, fingers greedily sinking into the bronze flesh of her lower body. He gave her fat fucking ass a firm spank. Baren pressed his lips against Areia's ear, relishing in how she shivered at his closeness. "But if you don't become my slave, how can I help you?" He cooed into her ear. One hand slithered under Areia's panties. In one smooth motion, the Daemon slipped a finger right up her pussy, then hooked her folds and rubbed on her sensitive inner walls! Pleasure pulsed through Areia's body as the Daemon made her see stars! "You must be getting so hot, aren't you, Areia?"

"Hot?" Her voluptuous form pressing against Baren's without a single thought, Areia moans as her addled mind tries to approach anything resembling reason yet only one thought remains: hot. Her arms wrapped around Baren without another thought. "…Hot! So hot! I…I need it to go away…so bad…It…I need it!" In her new desperation, the Primarch ground her burning core against Baren's leg, her reward yet another gasp as her mind slipped even further. "Please! Please, it's too hot!" Begging like the little slut she'd become, Areia's lewd grinding grew more frantic as she gasped, "Please…please!"

"I don't know…" Baren teased, smirking at the whining Primarch. "You might have to convince me." With a snap of his fingers, a portion of the marble floor rose from the ground into a small stage. From this stage, a polished brass pole rose from beneath and stretched up to the ceiling. Baren gave Areia's huge ass a powerful smack! sending the Primarch stumbling forward to the stage. Areia caught herself on the edge, leaning forward in a way that naturally caused her jiggling ass to stick out. "Go on, then." Baren encouraged, sitting down at the edge of his bed. "Convince me."

Areia stared at the pole in captivation as her mind slowly worked out what Baren wanted from her. Blushing, the shivering Primarch clambered onto the stage and reached out towards the pole. H-he wanted her to dance. Just like the concubines of the Nucerian elite. Dance…Areia didn't know how to do that! The feeling of Baren's intense stare on her lewd body, however, spurred Areia into action, desperate for anything that might relieve this burning heat pooling in between her legs. She awkwardly gripped the pole and started to walk around it, gaining a positive stir from her one-person audience as she added a strut that had her wide hips swinging, "Oooh…" Areia cooed, as her hips slowly rocked back and forth against the pole, a leg wrapping around it as she went lower, and lower, squatting before the Daemon as she leaned back, head upside down, uncertainly meeting his hungry gaze. She suddenly pulled herself up, and thrusted her ass towards Baren, shaking her hips in expert figure-eights.

Areia slowly grew more familiar with her impromptu pole dance, taking to it with a grace and agility she had long abandoned as she and her legion descended further and further into single-minded barbarism. Baren's hungry, ever-present stare drove her into greater and lewder acts of agility, as her desperation for his approval grew. She licked her lips and squeezed her breasts around the pole, rubbing her cheek against it as she shook her ass towards the Daemon. She suddenly leapt up onto the pole, spinning around with her legs in the air before landing gently on the stage, spinning upon it so her legs were spread and her ass was in the air, bouncing and jiggling before Baren's eyes. With cat-like grace, Areia fell to her hands and knees, locking eyes with the Daemon. Baren smirked at her appreciatively, and gestured to her to come forward with one beckoning finger. Areia did as she was told, stalking forward on all fours, her ass swinging behind her and her huge tits swaying between her arms,

Upon reaching the edge of the stage, Areia nimbly slipped off the edge and back onto her feet. The Primarch strutted forward towards the bed, her wide hips swinging back and forth. Areia blindly walked forward, reeled in by Baren's powerful gaze until she was poised over him. The second she was, he struck, sinking his hands into her hips and pulling her down. Areia's huge ass ran all over his thighs, sinking over his legs until she was nestled on top, his lap vanishing from existence. The Primarch was left panting from her dance, sweat gleaming on her curvy, bronze body. Areia's massive tits heaved in front of the Daemon's dark eyes, far too tempting to be left undisturbed. Baren slipped an arm around Areia's back, pressing fingers hard against slick skin, her drew her to him effortlessly, and without saying another word, tore her metal brassiere away with his teeth.

"Oooh," Areia gasped, startled by Baren's urgency. His other hand, a paw against her, closed around her breasts, soon joined by his forked tongue. He licked and sucked, tugging her nipple toward him, letting it slip back through his fingers, then tugging again. The Prince's hips gyrated beneath Areia, driving his bulge against the oh-so thin fabric that protected her weeping slit. He was so hard! Areia wondered if his cock might somehow burst through his trousers, unexpectedly entering her. What would it be like to be so swiftly taken by so much male flesh? Would it bring pain or bliss? Suddenly, Baren switched sides, sending in a fresh jolt of pleasure through the Primarch.

But through it all, that damnable heat was still tormenting her. Each teasing grind of Baren's throbbing bulge against her covered slit had Areia's seeing stars, but it just wasn't enough. "Please! Please, Baren!" Areia begged, grinding her soaking wet pussy against him, her tongue hanging out from her panting mouth.

To the Primarch's relief, Baren relented. "You're right," he said, a rough edge creeping into his voice. "Time to break in my new slave." Areia squealed as Baren's roughly seized her by the nails in her head and threw her bodily onto the bed. The Primarch rolled over onto her back, eyes wide, covering her shining breasts with her hands. The Daemon loomed over her and ripped his pants, and her worst fears (hopes?) were confirmed. The burgeoning monster between his legs was larger than any the Primarch had ever seen… and it was slowly getting bigger. He gave her little time to contemplate as he advanced onto the bed, seizing her. Panicking – perhaps briefly regaining her senses at the word 'slave' – Areia fought him, fought him with desperate strength, and they began to wrestle on the bed.

In terms of raw strength, they were roughly even, though Baren may have been purposely holding back to avoid damaging his property. In any case, he was by far the better wrestler. He overpowered her in moments, pinning her. Then he released her and allowed her to fight again, then pinned her again, then let up again, over and over, laughing and relishing the exertion, the power. With each defeat, Areia could feel her traitorous twat moistening, evidence of how much her body desired to be ravaged by this powerful conqueror. Yet still she fought, for she knew that if that giant cock went inside her, she would break. She would become a slut, Baren's slut, for the rest of her life.

But as she was pinned, time and time again, her arousal began to overtake her reluctance. Finally, she just stopped fighting. Areia's broken and defeated gaze met Baren's and she whimpered her surrender. The Daemon growled lustfully, pressing his thick, dripping cockhead to Areia's soaked cunt.

 "You brought this on yourself," the Prince snarled lustfully, and THRASHED his hips forward. Areia'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 Daemon's colossal rod. Her huge tits leapt up to her chin from the sheer force of impact – and then he was thrusting, hammering her sopping pussy with his giant, throbbing monster-cock like he was trying to split her apart!

"F-Fuck!" Areia squealed in pain and pleasure, wrapping her arms tightly around the Prince and digging her nails into his back. "Ah! Ahn! Ahnn!" Her tongue lolled from her open mouth while her eyes lost all focus. The Slaaneshi Daemon was pounding her mind into oblivion, breaking her on his giant cock, warping her into his servile fuckslave…and 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 silver nails shimmer as it shifted on the bed. He fucked her into the mattress, lifting her thighs forcibly around his hips and causing her asscheeks 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 daemoncock into her, Areia bit down on his shoulder.

"I can feel you," Baren whispered in her ear. "You're getting close, trembling." The Daemon was focused on screwing Areia senseless, determined to see the resistance fade from her eyes and be replaced with something entirely different. "You're going to cum so hard." When her legs wrapped all the way around his waist, he smirked and flattened his palms on the ground 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 barn, and could probably be heard throughout the entire palace. He was plunging her cervix with such force that hot cum spurted out around his drilling cock; his precum alone had filled her womb to the brink, leaving no space left inside of her. "Yes," Baren said. His voice was as sweet as wine, as deadly as a serpent. "You're going to cum for me. Cum for your master." He buried his face in her huge bust once again, closing his eyes and exerting himself to the limit, working his thrusts up to an inhuman tempo.

"No," Areia protested. She raised her hands, intending to push him away, but instead found herself stroking his muscular shoulders. The Primarch's resistance had been stripped away, laying bare her lust.

Baren's gaze was intense. He could read her, knew how close she was to release. "Chains will suit you," he said huskily. "Your wrists in cuffs, your delicate neck…"

"Ohhh," The Primarch moaned, half sobbing. She had never been wetter. Areia felt like she was truly losing her mind.

"Oh Master," Baren corrected.

"M…Mast…" Orgasm swept over Areia, consuming her. "Oh, oooh, Master!" The Primarch cried out with ecstasy, her voice echoing through the palace, a wild exultation of bliss and release. She was swallowed, torn by pleasure more potent, more complete than any she had felt before. Her lewd busty body twisted beneath Baren, with only his powerful weight holding her down. He was everything to her now, tormentor and owner alike.

"Huaaaahn!" Areia squeezed her arms and legs around her rutting lover, her over-stretched cunt clenching and squirting all over the wooden loft floor 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 tit, 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 seeped between the cracks of the mosaic. 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. Areia panted where she lay, staring at the ceiling, her tongue flopped out the side of her mouth – totally and utterly destroyed with pleasure. The Mark of Slaanesh burned into being below her eye, a mark of ownership more potent than any chain or brand could ever hope to be. Beside her, Baren grinned victoriously, the snarling jaws of the World Eaters appearing on his left shoulder, the planet between its teeth may well have been Terra itself, caught in the hungry maw of Slaanesh….