Syrafin
The boy was insatiable. Six hours. The trip from where the gypsies camped to the city should have taken six hours. But when one is dragged off into the bushes every forty-five minutes... Syra had to amend the 'Stay in the tent' clause to 'Only you and I in private' because the little shitstain would happily take the time to reset the tent every hour.
It took them twelve hours to reach the city and then his rinky-dink apartment. Syra wished she could say that was six hours of hard-core sex. But alas, it was mostly, 'I command you to go slower, stop trying to rush me!' as if she were even remotely trying. She couldn't even drain sustenance from him anymore while she was contracted to his service. Just the light, but refreshing cum. No lifeforce at all. Sigh.
And now she was doomed to a day of his petty, childish whims before they would set off for the dungeon at noon tomorrow. If he hadn't secured his safety so early on in their interaction, he would have been dead a dozen times over, just through sheer annoyance. Draining his life essence be damned, she'd happily see him dead through any other means, the overconfident, cocky, sub-par little twerp. It was her happiest daydream to envision herself reuniting with her Master while the fool still lingered in her presence, and bathing in his blood while her Master took her in every way imaginable.
But for the moment, Syra had a contract forcing her to be patient, and at least something mildly different from her everyday life to distract her as she waited for the most recent in a long, exhausting line of commands.
He surprised her again, and once more showed that glimmer of promise as he issued his first command of the evening, "Tell me how I can hurt you while screwing you in a way you will notice, even if you don't enjoy it." A learner? Mmm.
"Have you any toys, tools, or other things that I should take into consideration?"
"Umm... Not that I know of?" He looked confused. So, she could assume he had the basics of an early twenty's adventurer.
Sigh... Improvisation it is, then. "Twine and... eight small pieces of metal?" she held her fingers up to indicate how small, about the size of the first joint of her thumb.
"Umm..." he strode over to his miniscule armory and returned with a bowstring and eight threaded lead pieces of approximately the right size, used to weigh down equipment for training.
Syra got to work, silently bemoaning the wanna-be Dom having nothing to properly dominate anyone with as she meticulously threaded the bowstring through the holes in the metal, tying it off. She repeated the process four times, before pulling a wicked knife from her own gear, severing each of the four sections with some thread to spare. Some more fiddling along with brief sparks of hot fire from her fingers, and she presented him with four identical items, which she declared to be, "Clamps."
They would have to be tied together, and were supremely unsuited for anyone without a high pain tolerance (unless the only desire would be pain for the sake of pain), and had no means for an easy off, leading her to warn him, "Don't fix them too tight, or I'll find someone to hunt you down and kill you for me if you cut my nipples off on accident."
The boy rolled his eyes, displaying an almost interesting level of cockiness as he started really thinking of deals. "Will you agree to never by action or inaction to bring harm or death to me or people you know are positively associated with me in exchange for my word that I will not order you to sacrifice yourself for the duration of this contract?" A question, not a command. Clever enough. Self-sacrifice would be within the bounds of his current contract and would banish Syra for six hundred and sixty-six days before she reappeared on that accursed hilltop. She had lost those two years a few times in the last five hundred and resented every lost moment in her hunt.
Syra rolled her own eyes in turn, "Or you could just agree to not pinch off my nipples, and I can go back to my previous plan of forgetting your existence once our deal is complete." As if he really has enough significance for her to want him dead for any reason besides vengeance.
He grinned and declared, "I agree to not pinch off your nipples!"
The parts in question tingled. Well, it's not like she would really
want
to remember him, anyway. She'd still have to formally agree to seal the deal, and he seemed to be expecting as much as he practiced screwing and unscrewing the bolts, clearly psyching himself up for his upcoming 'diabolical' torture.
"Then we can proceed," Syra answered smoothly, as though the pact was already sealed by his agreement. While she wouldn't mind literally forgetting him, she had no desire for him to come back around and begin the cycle all over. That'd just be embarrassing.
He appeared nearly giddy as the tingle left her nipples. "Lay down and spread your legs. I got this just for you," he pulled a potion from his backpack, this one is a light gray color and in a glass vial. Not one of her Masters, but something more mundane, making Syra arche a brow while obeying the command in a smooth motion, stretching out while her legs open enough for easy access.
The boy grinned wickedly as he drank the potion, surprising Syra again, as she had automatically presumed it to be for her. Then he grew. And grew. Soon he stood nearly ten feet tall. The growing bulge in his trousers indicated everything grew accordingly. Well, well. Now he matched her Master in his assumed size. That, at least, gave him a leg up on the other humans she'd rutted with over the last five centuries and for the first time, her brows rose with actual interest. Clever boy. "There may yet be hope for you," she murmured, the closest thing to a compliment she'd ever given the inferior lifeform.
He still sneered cockily at her, clearly thinking that since his size would be dangerous for a human girl, it should be threatening to her. He climbed into the tiny twin bed, forcing her legs wider, then he handed her two of the clamps. "Tighten these on your nipples until they hurt. Then give them another half turn." Mmm, very nice, as he shoved down his pants, starting to rub the head of his nearly-foot-long member along her moistening slit.
Syra applied the makeshift clamps to his specification, and the pain enhanced her excitement, bringing it from a mild level to more medium. Syra voiced a quiet moan when she twisted the extra half turn and her pleasure spiked enough to make her clit twitch.
"Now..." he started pushing his hips forward, pressing the head of his thick cock into her body. Five centuries since she had taken one of this size, meant her body actually needed to stretch. "If I want you to cum..." Inch by inch, he penetrated her as her body adjusted quickly to the girth that it had desperately missed, "Should I pound you hard and slow. Or hard and fast?" After seven inches he hit her cervix. Then he went and pushed in the other three as well. Juuust right.
"Mmm..." Syra sighed almost happily as he filled her completely, "Hard and fast." This would be where his youthful stamina could finally come in handy, rather than just being an inconvenient annoyance. That is, if he could exercise enough control for it to not end as fast as it began.
