Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS HEREIN ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. I do not condone any abuse of any kind IRL, and everything herein is just fantasy. Do not attempt to re-enact anything you read here. All BDSM activities should be Safe, Sane and Consensual. What I describe in my stories is varying degrees of abuse which make for wonderful fantasies, but would in reality be awful. To quote the wonderful Gigglinggoblin: Real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story! If you feel inclined, please get in touch, I'd love to talk about my writing or any related kink stuff!
Summary: Roger is off to a magic college, but quickly comes to believe he is lacking in power. The solution? Follow the instructions in an ancient book and summon a demon to make a deal of course! Except this demon seems intent on corrupting him and getting him to surrender to her instead. Also she's a succubus.
Contains: F/m, tickling, feet, Fff/m, succubus, magic, magical chastity.
DARK THEMES: Manipulation, trickery, ominous consequences.
*****
If word had reached Roger of his acceptance earlier in the year he might have had more of a chance to prepare for his upcoming tuition. As it was, upon his arrival he had had scant days to both adjust to his new surroundings and then further ready himself for an education in the mystical arts. At 22 years of age, he had long since left his former studies, and as a young bachelor of a well-situated family there were certain expectations. Thus it had been a blessing in more ways than one to receive the invite. It was a potential escape, from a life of tedium and mediocrity among the merchants and nobility, for what was one of the most prestigious institutes in the world, and he had had little choice but to accept even at such short notice.
The Oclenarry college of sorcery was however secretive in every sense of the word. Within an ancient battlement wall, amidst forests which only a single road led into or out of, lay an arrangement of audacious buildings that had lasted out the years - doubtless in no part due to some mystical aid. Outside of its existence, very little about it was known to those who had never been there outside of rumour, and that seemed precisely how the college preferred it remained. Of course, since his arrival, much of what rumour had been filling in for him over the years had been swiftly replaced by the more grounded facts of reality.
It was, primarily, a college of learning; not too much unlike any other. The dormitories were small, but cosy, with a bed and not much else. The hallways were filled with the blind chatter of eager learners. Paper was, as anywhere else, always both in short supply and yet strewn everywhere. Students wore robes, not too dissimilar to those worn by any prospective natural philosopher on any other campus, albeit a bit more drab. Indeed, were it not for the subject matter being taught, it could be confused for any other institute of higher learning in the lands.
Of course, magical obscurantism had had the effect of convincing some that magic did not exist. To them, the Oclennary college was a charlatan ruse, a place to con rich families out of a healthy tuition fee. Perhaps, some gestured, it may rather be teaching the methods by which to trick others out of their money - a none too flattering rumour that was thankfully rare.
While the rumours of the school had turned out to be fantasy, as it had transpired, sorcery was very real. However the plain truth of it was that while undoubtedly the product of study, ultimately the measure of one's abilities was dictated by one's own potential. While kinder professors would make platitudes about magical power being the measure of one's own heart, the will to change the world, there was no denying that there was an inherent limit set by one's own strength.
Or rather, one's own weakness.
It was that notion that had, despite his struggling studies, led Roger to spend hours poring over ancient texts and scrolls within the library. Not the library most frequented by students, however, but rather the ancient library which lay beneath the College grounds, in a none-too-often visited dungeon. After classes, after a meal, he would be there tracing his way through books, tomes and more. By then most students had returned to their dorms to practise, study or sleep - or as seemed to be more often the case to screw each other senseless, if the noise was anything to go by.
Neither the solace nor lack of involvement in those extra curricular activities had troubled him over much. Indeed Roger had never too keenly felt isolation; perfectly comfortable in his own company. Of course, with regards to the other kind of 'companionship' his fellow young scholars seemingly spent the majority of their free time pursuing, he felt no similar earthly draw. He just didn't feel attraction in the same way most of his peers seemed to.
Not to say he didn't find some of his fellow students beautiful, of course. There were no shortage of girls on campus who he found very pleasing to the eye. Yet even if his desire to greaten his power - or overcome what he saw as his own weaknesses - had not been so all-encompassing, he would not have been similarly inclined. His weakness was not a weakness of the flesh... Well, perhaps it was, just not one of pursuing flesh. He was well aware of the weakness of his own. Forays into the world of sensuality had swiftly made clear his own supreme sensitivity, and a yearning for delicate touch as a result.
Rather then he did not feel much of an interest in the flesh of others, not in the conventional sense. He still had yearnings though. While going to and fro during the day, it was impossible not to notice when some female students would remove their shoes from their feet and relax them in the air. Dangling, tantalisingly, he would try not to stare. As if to taunt him, more and more as the summer wore on fresh and naked feet would cloud his view and occupy a greater proportion of his solitary thoughts.
Despite these dangling distractions, and despite feeling himself falling behind in both his studies and his own mind, he felt the call of something far stronger. Something calling to him, rather, amidst the bookshelves. He had come to feel more comfortable down there in the dungeon library, away from the distractions above. Between dusty tomes and crumbling scrolls, he was certain it was there somewhere... whatever it was.
*****
The stone kept the dungeons cold. Dark. Occasionally he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a shadow in the candlelight that seemed to shift beyond the flicker of the flame. As long nights wore on, he could swear he could smell something on the still air. Something sweet, yet tannic, as if someone had just walked through the area with a vibrant scent about them. At first he had ignored it, but then began to follow it when he caught the scent. Eventually, he would find a book, or a scroll, or sheet of parchment that seemed to hint at something he had not yet discovered.
Something was waiting for him, it seemed, under the cool stonework. Each tome presented only bare clues, and the elusive secret he sought seemed only to taunt him, flaunting the barest hints of... well, he wasn't sure what. The elusive, almost ephemeral promise of great power was all he could discern, enough to overcome any weakness he felt within himself, yet no author gave any idea of how it was to be achieved.
Roger had almost given up hope until, as the candle had burned to almost nothing and he was close to falling asleep in his own arms at an ageing wooden desk - he heard it. A whisper. At first he barely lifted his head, unsure it was anything other than something he had imagined - something from his fast approaching dreams crossing over as he neared unconsciousness.
Then he heard it again, and lifted his head deliberately now.
'Roger'.
"Hello?" he asked, immediately, yet was met with no answer in the dimming light.
Frowning, certain someone was down there trying to play a trick on him, he widened his tiring eyes and opened his ears, tilting his head as if to better hear the delicate voice.
'Roger'.
There was no doubt now, he hadn't imagined it. It was quiet enough, though, that he could gain no bearing on its direction. Hooking a finger through the now warm metal of the candlestick, the wick having worn to a stub, he tilted it forward to gain what little light he could as the flame barely lifted above the rim.
Moving between shelves, he was used to the library being dim and quiet, but never quite like this. The shadows seemed to stretch out, as if reaching for him, and the air seemed colder than usual and awfully still. His breath fogged in front of him as he leaned forward, bringing the sputtering candle a little closer to him for warmth.
As the whisper repeated again, the faintest bit louder now, he rounded one shelf, then another. There was little rhyme nor reason to the dungeon library, its tomes of knowledge and thus their storage having been compiled over centuries. It was more a repository for storage now than any reference. The more well-used literature was kept close to the entrance, yet the further one strayed, the older the woodwork and paper became.
Soon he began to grow concerned that if he strayed too far, past areas he was now overly familiar with, he might get lost and not be able to find his way back for hours. Yet the voice came again... and he felt deep within that this was important. His fears ebbed as his curiosity grew. Somehow, this was what he had been searching for, even if he didn't yet know what it was.
For minutes he stalked, soundlessly, over cobbles and paved stones which had cracked with age. Whenever he paused, unsure where to go, the voice would return.
'Roger'.
Sometimes it came from behind him, and he would double back. On one occasion it sounded quite close, and he sped up a little as if to catch up to it, yet when he reached where he had thought it came from the spot was departed, with no sign of anyone having been there.
"Roger."
