Tieflings Prize

Her thick, dark claws tangled deeper into the ashen brown tendrils of his hair, the sensation of just the tugging drawing along his flesh even as his scalp sent jolts of protesting pain down his spine. The grimace on his features was not feigned, but the wave of pain throughout his body was accompanied by a deeper ache in the lower regions of his body that was welcomed with open arms no matter how much tension was apparent in the corded muscles of his arms and in the way his chest strained at the bindings keeping his limbs firmly together. He felt the decorative, spaded tip of her tail lashing over his leather-covered buttocks, swiping and swatting in a manner that was at once both languid in speed yet sharp when she flicked the end.

"Now, let us try again."

Her accented voice held a brassy tone to it, an unnatural quality that was as tantalising yet unnervingly terrifying as the woman herself. But at her statement, a muscle jumped in his jaw before he managed a smirk, his dark eyes narrowed towards her even if she was just out of the range of his vision. Her hand was also still gripping his hair, limiting how much he could move.

"Oh I'm sorry, you wanted me to kiss your boot?" He eyed the foot that was held aloft and placed atop one of the wooden chests beside him. He could kiss it. It was within his range of movement. But obeying her was not why he was there.

"...I wouldn't kiss your lower lips if they were presented right in front of me, sweetheart. Not for all the gold in the world would I touch the flesh of a demonic hell-wretch of a whore like you." No sooner had the words come out of his mouth, did he realise that he had made a mistake. There was a line that he was not supposed to cross, as per the rules laid down before they had met, and he had not just stepped over it but thrown himself over. Her response was fast. His legs were kicked back, and he soon found his chest slammed against the edge of the crate with a force that forced the better part of the air out of his chest. The hand in his hair jerked him forwards, then wrenched his hair back even as he felt her straddle his back, one of her clawed hands resting on then digging sharply into his shoulder. Claws digging in, blood welling up... the coppery tang mingled with the hint of sweat in the air, hedonistically complimenting the heady scent of incense that was burning in the corners.

"I suggest you retract that." The other hand, even as the words came from her mouth, inched towards his throat. The session that the Baron had paid for was now taking a turn that was ever teetering towards dangerous. His reputation on the line he could just about bear to cope with, which was the risk, he accepted visiting the Mistress. But his life, all for a phrase said in the heat of the moment? That was too precious.

"I'm sorry..." He felt the hand at his throat tighten, starting to cut off the vital air that he so needed. Unlike the times before, there was a frisson of true fear running through his mind. If he used the word that had agreed would be spoken at such a time as he wanted the session to cease, would she listen?

"...I'm sorry, what?" Her voice was hard, but he was at least mollified by the fact that his throat was not torn out and his life-blood was not spurting out in time to the rhythm of his hammering heart. He was alive. More the pity. Her long, dark hair brushed over his skin, the strands as fine as the touch of cobwebs as sweat beaded over the breadth of his shoulders in a combination of tantalising sensations that made him shiver.

"I am sorry, Mistress Verite." It was not often that he ever used the name that she had given to him, but now, it felt appropriate. Her nostrils flared slightly, sending twin plumes of slightly heated air against his neck as she considered him.

He was an arrogant bastard, like so many of the other noblemen of the larger cities. Or in general, if she contemplated that idea further. While he was by her standards handsome, his personality was redolent and disgusting. But his gold was as good as that of any other, and he paid well for the mistreatment that he received at her hands. How close he had come then to finding out what her older expertise was.

The hand gripping his hair went from grasping painfully to caressing, soothing even before she moved to seat herself atop the chest that she had forced him against mere moments before. Her claws stroked his cheek, scratching over the rough stubble there before she regarded him thoughtfully.

"Prepare yourself for me."

He knew precisely what she meant. His hands shook slightly as they went to the buckle of his thick belt, but whether it was from a lingering hint of shock and fear from the mistake earlier or from the growing arousal that she could scent in the air and spot beginning to strain the front of his trousers was another matter entirely. But even as his boots were removed and the trousers were folded neatly up to one side, she knew that he was not done yet. She fixed the harness of belts and straps to the pelvic area of her own garment, regarding him with the piercing quality of a hawk even as she busied herself. She had no need to look at what she was doing; her fingers knew what they were doing, and she had done it countless times before. By the time she had affixed the smooth, polished phallus to the front of the harness, had he too finished preparing. Knelt with his back to her, he was leaning on his forearms so then his head almost touched the floor, his long, loose curled hair providing a curtain about his face. His rear end glistened with the lubrication that he had liberally applied. Not that it would be needed. But she knelt behind him, even as one hand set the phallus aside again. He rarely looked, but the precaution was taken regardless. Even as one hand stroked over the defined muscles of his abdomen, she drew on the magic that was at her command. There was no need for words, when she knew the pattern and feel of the spellform without scrolls or books. A dim golden shape began to form in the base of one her free hand, twisting, shaping... forming what she had quietly set down on the floor not even a full pace away.

"Are you ready for the gift from your Mistress?"

"Yes... YES!" His quiet answer quickly became louder, eager and with a delightful hint of pleading.

His breathing was already heightened in anticipation, so when he felt the pushing pressure at his backside, his spine arched as a low groan came from his lips as it teased the nerves surrounding the entrance. The pushing increased, fleetingly bordering on pain, before just as he had been about to start trying to force himself to relax, the pressure was gone and he made no attempt to muffle the low groan of relief and pleasure as the thick, lubricated girth of the phallic object slid in. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back, trying to push down further, but was 'rewarded' with a sharp lashing strike to one of his buttocks with the tip of her tail. What he could not see, was that as much as she was leaning over him, she was not in him - rather, the object she had crafted that was made out of raw mana was. He was magically dead; unable to sense it, unable to learn of it and therefore ignorant to the tingling energy that she felt pulsing through her veins, that even now was being slid in and out of him with a pace that was beginning to match the rocking of his hips.

"Do you want me to bring you to finish...?" She crooned in his ear, before her tongue flicked over the tip as she then bit at it, eliciting a sharp cry of pain before another groan escaped him as she thrust the item in again.

"Yes Mistress... Please... Pl...," His begging was cut off by another groan, as his limbs shook with each coursing wave of pleasure that ran through him, building, his muscles tensing and heart racing. No sooner had his pleading began however, did the source of what he wanted suddenly vanish, and it was the coldness of a boot suddenly kicking at one of his buttocks in a manner that sent him sprawling undignified onto his side. He turned, half-twisting so he could look at her, his erection quivering and jerking upright as he moved before his eyes narrowed.

"...ease.." The word was cut off by her dark lips pressing over his, before her teeth sharply nipped at his lower lip to the point of nearly puncturing and drawing blood. "Bitch." He couldn't help it. But he couldn't help but squirm slightly as she motioned towards his clothing.

"You can get dressed. We are done." She watched as he dressed, before once he exited, she regarded the additional pouch of coins that he had left by way of a tribute. Not that she asked for one in such a manner but, cold hard coinage was rarely declined. Plucking up the goblet of wine that he had left, she took a swig before suddenly spitting it out across the room. Disgusting. Vile and cheap. Not quite as cheap as him but, close enough. With a graceless snort, the goblet was tossed shortly after, before she set to cleaning the dungeon in preparation for her next client.