Flintborn Keep is a formidable if not overly-imposing structure, with thick stone walls and a small tower with arrow slits that offers a clear view of the immediate surroundings. The once lush-gardens of the surrounding estate are slowly being reclaimed by the surrounding witchwood forest, though the verdant vines seem to stop just short of the structures walls, seemingly not quite bold enough to dare lay a tendril on the keep itself.
In its heyday the keep would have housed dozens of people; the Flintborn clan, a house of minor nobility, together with all their servants and a small guard force. But poor management and a gambling addiction had diminished the household year after year, until the Flintborns were forced to abandon the property to its fates, and throw their lots in with a wealthier house. A rotating cast of unsavory characters had called Flintborn Keep home since then, until someone or something even more unsavory came along to oust them. The current inhabitants are two humans, neither one native to the area - and currently one of them is naked, bound spread-eagle in the tower bedroom, writhing in sexual frustration.
Raya moans into her gag at the sensation of a series of wet kisses, beginning at her belly button and slowly tracing their way up her abdomen to the valley between her breasts. She gasps as the questing mouth homes in on her right breast, circling her nipple with feather-light butterfly kisses, and she yelps as she feels the sudden bite on her nipple, sending a charge of erotic pain to her core. But as quickly as it came the mouth is gone, giving Raya a few brief moments to catch her breath, before the unseen lover resumes again. A finger this time, ever so slowly tracing the crease of Raya's inner thigh, downwards towards her overheated sex. Raya bucks violently against her bonds, straining to get the playful hands where she needs them most; rubbing on her clit, thrusting into her pussy. But her bondage is too tight and her lover is too skilled to be manipulated, and the fingers tease all around her slit without ever touching her where she demands to be touched, until ultimately withdrawing, leaving Raya thrusting her hips uselessly against empty air.
In her mind's eye, Raya imagines the scene. Her lover is the butcher's apprentice, the cute one who always stammered and blushed when Raya went to make her purchases, and who always gave her more than she'd paid for - but who'd never worked up the courage to try a pass at her. Well, he'd sure enough found his courage since, and was even now gazing in admiration at her helplessly bound and waiting body, his cock fully erect and ready to take her to new heights of ecstasy.
Suddenly, an explosion of sensation. Lips seal themselves around Raya's aching clit, sucking and kissing, even as a pair of strong hands close around her breasts, groping roughly, flicking at her nipples. No, she'd been wrong - this isn't the butcher at all. Surely this is Ralph, the watchman. The tall one with the broad shoulders. He must have caught Raya sneaking looks at him from the flower garden as he ran through his sword exercises, shirtless in the hot summer weather, his muscles gleaming beneath a sheen of sweat. She hadn't been as discreet as she though; Ralph must have noticed how Raya seemed to always find an excuse to be working in the gardens every time Ralph was doing his drills, and he was a brute of a man that only spoke the language of force when it came to taking what he wanted, and had chained her to his bad, his to ravish until his ferocious appetite was fully sated.
In her aroused state, it takes very little time before Raya feels the orgasm start to crest within her. Teasingly, Ralph begins to ease off; his hands are now gently stroking instead of roughly groping; gentle kisses on her crotch take the place of the relentless sucking of a moment earlier. Raya pleads wordlessly into her gag for Ralph to keep going, harder, faster, but Ralph is in complete control, and he sets an achingly slow pace. Still, it's enough. The massive orgasm continues to build, closer and closer with every tweak of her nipple, every caress of Ralph's thrusting tongue, nearer and nearer to an mind-shattering orgasm.
All sensation evaporates in the space of a heartbeat. Raya had known it would, as it had - how many? - at least a dozen times already. But knowing it would happen doesn't help at all when it actually does. Raya can't help but throw herself violently against her restraints, howling her frustration into her gag. All she needs is one touch, one finger, and she'll be able to push herself over the edge. But her manacles, the manacles she locked herself into at Zeff's command, are utterly unbeatable; there is nothing but the night air to rub her clit against, nothing but emptiness for her pussy to clench around. Her orgasm slowly fades away, her climax is denied again.
After a minute or so, Raya has calmed down enough to be able to think. The orgasm is still there of course, simmering within her, ready to surge forward again if anyone would have the decency to give her the fucking she desperately needs. But at least for the moment she has enough self control to still her thrusting hips and gather her thoughts and open her eyes.
The bedchamber is large to begin with, but seems all the more so because of how empty it is. The stone walls are bare and unadorned, the floor is plain wood, slightly warped with age.
The only furniture is an unremarkable wardrobe filled with lingerie for Raya as well as a handful of identical copies of the regulation black robes Zeff wears, and the bed that Raya is tied to. It's a magnificent bed, with a mattress large enough to comfortably fit three sleepers if one was so inclined without any intimacy required, and a wrought iron bedframe, to whose four corners Raya's limbs are bound by unforgiving iron manacles that match the frame.
The iron manacles are of course not necessary, nor is the rubber bit gag in her mouth. Zeff's control over Raya is absolute, and he can achieve the same effect with just a few words of sorcery. But this is an area where Zeff prefers the physicality of real restraints. Coils of magically hardened air could hold Raya every bit as effectively, but there is an attractive realness to the cold bite of iron, to the clicking of metal chains scraping against each other, to the image of a damsel in distress harshly chained to her bed. Raya would never admit it out loud, but the image is one that worked for her as well - her sexual fantasies these days always seem to involve finding herself bound and helpless.
Besides the furniture, the room was empty. The butcher's apprentice had never been there, and neither had any muscle-bound watchman. The hands and tongue that had so recently teased her to distraction belonged to nobody at all, she knew. They were an illusion, conjured by Zeff, when he'd sent Raya to his room with orders to lock herself into the iron restraints. This was Zeff's idea of foreplay - a phantom lover, summoned to keep Raya crazed with lust, so that when he finally decided it was time for bed he'd be greeted by a sex slave who was not just willing, but frantically desperate.
It's all in Raya's mind of course, that's how illusions work, but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier to resist. For all that Raya knows on a logical level that nobody is in the room with her, that the sensations of fingers and mouths and cocks are figments of her imagination, the effect they have on her is very very real. The phantom lover is endlessly patient at teasing her to the very brink of release, and exquisitely talented at bringing her to the very cusp of orgasm time and time again, and knowing the last possible instant to stop sensation - with no possibility of ever erring and accidentally letting her cum, for it is all ultimately happening in her own head.
