The Magicians Bitch Ch 05

Would it be so bad, boy? To submit to me?

His words wriggle about my mind just as his sperm wriggles about in my belly, though at least the latter will have dying movements and ultimately cease entirely.

I half-expect some trap, a hex or curse, but there isn't one. What happened tonight, between Archaelaus and I, was purely sexual and not in the least magical. It was me, a twenty-year-old man, getting down on my knees and fellating a two-hundred-and-ninety-three-year-old wizard.

For him to be so ancient, for me to do such a degrading thing -- no love, no affection, only servitude and lust -- defies my self-expectations. I don't quite know who I am, because I'm certainly not the person who arrived in this plane of reality however many weeks ago. That man wouldn't have done this dirty deed, but...I've slowly fallen from who I was, over so short a time period. Slowly been corrupted by this place, by the initially disturbing and now deeply enticing sex acts I've engaged in with Archaelaus.

I'm almost certainly going to give him another blowjob. It might even be tomorrow. Is he going to ask, or command me? I...I want it to happen, I think. As wrong as it is, that most degrading of acts I can picture, the most vulgar of all -- and to consume his semen, the semen of such an ancient man, is the vile icing on a depraved cake -- is the one that is most exciting and weirdly tempting.

Worse, how much it clearly means to him. That his bloated old balls, liver-spotted and hairy, could produce something that I'd actually find pleasant, actually desire, filled his terribly intelligent eyes with a smugness I've never seen equalled anywhere else. It'd be one thing for me to enjoy this act and for him to find it purely a matter of pleasure, because then it would be less dirty, somehow.

It'd be something that would happen and not, in the process, so thoroughly degrade my spirit. But for Archaelaus, there's something incredibly emboldening about having me here, having corroded my sense of self, and having me not just partake of but actually enjoy the extraction of his ancient and virile sperm from within his clearly potent body.

I lick my lips in the dark of my room, remembering and tasting. Isn't cum meant to be awful? It's not like his was strawberry ice cream or the like, but the only gay guy I know, whenever such conversations arise, has always expressed a deep a dramatic dislike of jizz.

So how can Archaelaus, just shy of three centuries old, as clearly ancient as he looks, produce something that I...that I actually appreciate?

I need to sleep. I need to hope that I wake up saner.

I need to wake and up and have this all been a fever dream.

*

In the morning, after washing and clothing myself, I go into the kitchen area to find the old man sat in his dressing gown at the little round table.

Archaelaus smirks at me as I walk through, his bristly eyebrows hinting at subtle mockery. As if today, as a result of yesterday's events, I am less than I was. An object of some humour, in the ancient mage's eyes.

'Sonny,' he says, 'what would you like to eat this morning?'

And before I can reply, he calmy parts his robe, letting his heavy hairy old genitals droops down over the lip of his stool. The sight freezes me in place, familiar though it may be. A large and slightly gnarled penis, hanging low from a thicket of curly grey hairs. Liver-spotted pale flesh, hairy testicles the size of oversized kiwi fruits dangling low.

I run my eyes up his furry pot belly, past his slightly saggy chest, beyond his crooked yellow-toothed smile, to meet his intelligent and rather terrifying gaze.

'That was just yesterday,' I say, glancing away. 'I'm not your on-demand cocksucker.'

'My morning loads are the largest, sonny.' Archaelaus winks at me, wholly ignoring what I said. 'Would it be so wrong, boyo? I was thinking of changing the nutritional rules of the tower, if you want. You'd get all you need from my loins. I am your master, after all.'

Master. I'd forgotten that. A self-degrading other-affirming title. To lower myself beneath him, without actually stating that I am somehow lacking in value. It provokes a shiver, conjures up a chill to the bones of the spine.

It also, unmistakeably, has my cock twitching.

Would it be so bad, boy? To submit to me?

Those words again, echoing through my thoughts. Submission, to the dirty old magus, has a heavy element of oral service. Of kneeling and sucking, of tasting and savouring and swallowing what his fat testicles produce. It says something about how broken I am, how far from my true self, that I find myself tacitly examining the big drooping balls, momentarily forgetting that I'm in his presence.

Archaelaus's eyes flare blue, and for just a moment, I'm gifted the sight of their insides. Billions if not trillions of his sperm, his genes, swimming about in waiting. In waiting to be extracted from within him, milked from his ancient body.

'I can simply change the rules,' the old mage says, 'if such will make you feel better, sonny.'

'W-hat?' I quickly meet his gaze, that smile the height of smugness. 'What rules?'

'You're clearly unable to accept just what it is that you want, boyo. You want to suck my penis, and taste the lineage of my body, just as you did yesterday, but you've all these silly reservations that are holding you back.' Archaelaus lifts a hand, swirling faint blue electricity around its fingers. 'A gesture, and I can make it so that you need my semen to survive, sonny. And then you can give blowjobs to your heart's content, knowing that it's necessary. Knowing that you can hide behind the fact that if you don't, the world ends.'

A twisted concept, and yet...he's right, isn't he? If I had to do it, if I had to blow him, I'd find myself enjoying it. Just like I enjoyed it yesterday.

The contradiction within me, this division of interests, has no easy fix. Archaelaus is old and hairy, distinctively male. Perhaps if he were beautiful, perhaps if he were young, I'd have no issues here. To enjoy sucking the penis of a young, beautiful man, and for that act to be as pleasing as I now know fellating Archaelaus is, would have a dramatically different effect on my thoughts.

'Please don't,' I say, frozen on the spot.

Archaelaus chuckles. 'No more blowjobs then, is it? Just the one?'

And that thought should be a saviour thing, freeing me from this concern.

It doesn't. I don't know how I'm going to wrap my head around the fact that I enjoyed sucking off the old mage, with his liver spots and wrinkles and grey hairs and gnarled crooked cock, but I did. It was an incredibly pleasant, erotic experience.

'No, but...'

The mage smirks, and hides his genitals. 'You know where to find me, boyo. I'll be working on that spell.'

He rises and brushes past me, giving me a pat on the shoulder as he goes. His smell, some mixture of potent maleness, bitter age, and a spark of the arcane, tingles my nostrils in passing. The warmth of his hand, the strength of it, leaves a sensory indent long after he's disappeared.

And in his absence, breakfast -- of the normal sort -- materialises for me to feast on.

But my appetite, as a result of his advances and my concerns, is diminished.

What am I going to do, really? Why am I so hung up on this thing, this doubt, that has no bearing on the future? Nobody's going to know. I'll get home, and nobody will find out. So why care? Why give a damn?

So what if Archaelaus is just shy of three hundred, and looks old enough to be my grandfather? I can guarantee, without a moment of doubt, that if I ever suck a dick again, if I ever swallow sperm again, it won't be from a man who looks anything like him. And I can guarantee, in the very same sense, that I'll never find a cock as big or loads so...so interesting.

Back on Earth, people are just normal. Regular humans. Not ancient world-famous pervert mages with fifteen-inch dicks and balls the size of fat oranges. Old people aren't so vigorous or virile as Archaelaus, and they certainly can't do for me what he does.

Would it...would it be so wrong to just...well...

...make the most of it?

I eye the steps leading upwards. A choice to be made. The stairs here are odd, magical, determining your trip by choice. And when I step on the first one, the journey is set in stone. If I want to go to the library, I'll go to the library. If I want to go to the sitting room, then to the sitting room I'll go.

And if the steps lead me to Archaelaus, in his alchemy quarters, sitting behind that desk and working away on this grand spell...then that's my fate, isn't it? Maybe if I blank my mind, forget everything, the tower's magics can guide me. Can take me to what my heart truly wants.

My heart starts to race a little when I step out into his study, finding the old mage scribbling away with a series of floating quills, sat behind his desk upon which is overlaid the vast return spell scroll.

'Sonny?' Archaelaus says, lifting a bushy eyebrow.

'Master,' I say, beginning to blush, 'I've come to a decision.'

He smothers a smirk, thin mouth hinting at smugness. 'Is that so?'

'What you said, about my time here, about submitting to you, about it not mattering when I get home...' I walk over to him, to the front of his desk. The spell, an immense work of sigils and patterns, to my untrained eye, looks a thing of insane geometrical beauty. '...I really enjoyed servicing you, yesterday. And I think it would be best if I made the most of my time here, for both our sakes.'

His quills fall still, softly coming down atop the desk beside the work-in-progress. Archaelaus leans back into his grand chair, a throne of wood, cushioned exquisitely for long periods of sitting and working, be it reading or scribing.

'What do you want, boyo?' he says. His eyes, light and cunning, eat me up. 'I don't want you to be doing something for the sake of it, so be honest with me, son.'

Honest? Well, the stairs took me here. I went where I wanted, so I must want to see Archaelaus. And if I want to see Archaelaus, then I want to pleasure him. And if I want to pleasure him, I'll do so on my knees. On my knees, with his great old penis tended to by my eager young mouth.

'I want to suck your penis, Master,' I say, cheeks hot as hell. 'I want...I want to pleasure, orally and submissively, the greatest magician in the world.'

The ancient mage sniggers, nose hairs bristling. 'That so, sonny? Quite the change of heart.'

I glance away from him. 'What do you want me to say, Archaelaus? I still think it's weird, still think it's vaguely gross. You're still really, really old. But...I'd be lying, to both of us, if I said that I didn't enjoy yesterday. Every bit of it.' Turning back to him, I faintly wet my lips. 'You have...quite the cock.'

'There's an appeal to it, isn't there?'

His eyes glow, and the room shifts. The desk rises up, out of the way, to reveal him sitting on that big chair. Wooden floor changes, becoming a soft pad before him, perfectly suited for resting my knees on.

'Go on, boyo,' Archaelaus says, gesturing. 'Kneel for your Master.'

There is an appeal. As much as I have my reservations, I go to him, kneel for him, down on the cushioning patch before him. And the desk falls back down, as if to lock me in, as if to ensure that I can't escape, even though I know that I can. I can say the word, and I know that this will cease.

Because I understand this detail, at least, about Archaelaus. This has to be on my terms, or it simply won't be so satisfying for him. The appeal of this, beyond the merely physically pleasurable, is that I am consenting. That I am dropping to my knees and orally worshipping him, ancient liver-spotted him, simply because I want to.

Could he warp my mind, and make me do this? Could he threaten me? Absolutely.

But he doesn't have to.

And that greedy smile, set into those thin lips, speaks volumes. A conqueror's smile, and I am his conquest. I'm going to suck dick again. Suck the dick of a man so old that, were he not a mage, he wouldn't be alive several times over. But I can't pretend that I don't want this. That I won't, and don't, enjoy this.

'Dirty little cocksucker,' Archaelaus says, giving my head a degrading pat. 'You're in the best company, sonny.' His robes part, though they previously lacked a seam. The folds of cloth fall either side of his torso, revealing that grey-furred pot belly and hairy chest, and beneath his paunch is a forest of silvery curls. 'Go on, boy. Serve my penis. Submit to my superiority.'

I inhale the potent muskiness, old-man mustiness, of the aged mage's loins. His cock, so fucking big, dangles across a set of the fattest balls imaginable. All of it is hairy, grey, distinctly wrinkly and liver-spotted and aged. His nuts hang very low, drooping and dangling, the scrotal skin forming noticeable saggy folds where the excess of it pools between them.

And his length itself, gnarled and ancient, a veritable wizard's staff, slightly crooked and bending towards the bulky and bulbous head, despite not yet being erect, is nonetheless eye-catching. I surprise myself with how readily I collect up its warm weight with both hands and bring the tip to my lips, kissing and lapping at the drooping folds of foreskin.

The old-man stink, musty and bitter, tingles my nostrils. His foreskin, silky and interesting, is already moist with dick oils and a faint tinge of precum. Ancient tastes, for an ancient man. I wouldn't have it otherwise.

'It took so little to make you this way,' Archaelaus says, ruffling my hair. 'That reluctant boy, now so eager. So smitten with what he thought before was so vile.'

His words are intended to degrade, spoken in a low and cunningly judgemental tone, but I can't help but appreciate them. I want to be reminded of this, this fall from grace, this twist and change towards such a fate that seemed, not so long ago, unbecoming and undesirable.

'Keep talking,' I say, tugging on his length. 'Tell it like it is, Master.'

Archaelaus chuckles. 'Are you sure, boyo, that you want this spell finished? I don't have to work on it, you know.'

That thought is simply one step too far. Oh, it provokes lusts, enables the filthiest parts of me to rise to the surface, but no. No, I want to go home, I want to leave, but I will make the most of my remaining time here. Be it a day, a month, a year, I'm going home. But I'm going to leave with fond memories of servicing the virile ancient mage.

Schlup. Slurp. I roll my tongue around his foreskin, go so far as to slip the tip past the silky folds and touch upon the lustrous lump within. Archaelaus shivers softly, and his member rewards me with a tongue-tingling spurt of salty-bitter precum. 'You taste so--mhm--slurp--schlap--good, Master.'

'Oh, sonny. Humph.'

I love how he ruffles my hair, applying playful, pseudo-paternal force. It does something for me, his manhandling, feeling those roughly hairy bony old fingers and their surprising strength as they dig about against my scalp, taking control in some low and subtle manner.

He's not working. The dirty old mage is watching, watching the entirety of my degrading performance. I smooch his shrouded glans and descend his shaft, kissing the liver spots and the bumps and the bends of the gnarled ancient penis, which grows harder and harder with every passing moment towards its full and prodigious length. Fifteen inches of two-hundred-and-ninety-three-year-old cock, Archaelaus's cock, and it's all for me.

'Smell so--mhm--schlup--smack--good, Master.'

'Ughn. You're pathetic, boyo,' Archaelaus says, patting my head. 'You're not a--humph--man. Not with this depraved cocksucking attitude of yours.' He chuckles, watching me with those darkly clever eyes. His gaze so readily deepens my blush, sends my lusts spiralling. 'We want the same thing, don't we, sonny? To see this morning's particularly heavy--ugh--load splatter across that slutty little tongue.'

'Y-es, Master.'

The mere thought makes my heart race. What was gruesome is now exciting, enticing. Such an intimate act, to suck somebody off. To smell their body, to taste their skin and the oily juices of their penis. More so, that I press my face against his crotch, all of that old man hair tickling my face, the underside of his pot-belly brushing against my forehead. Archaelaus makes an effort to push out his gut, to rub the mat of grey fur against my skin.

I'm glad nobody can see this. See us. I'd never live it down. Gay doesn't matter, in the end, but the wizard is ancient. And not some fantasy hentai ancient, where he looks young and beautiful, but genuinely, visually-identifiable as wizened, aged.

'Mhm. Schlup.'

It makes it better. Makes tasting his skin and running my tongue through his forest of grey pubes somehow superior to what I imagine it would otherwise be, adding a mental component to the purely physical. It highlights, as well, how cognitive the disagreement is. That the old mage's body is not disgusting, visually unappealing though it may be. Oh, it's clearly old, and he has a distinctive mustiness to him that suggests centuries, but it's a warm and pleasant smell. Weirdly grandfatherly.

Though this man could well have been the father of my five-times great-grandfather.

'Worship my body, sonny,' Archaelaus says, tussling my hair. 'Appreciate me. Appreciate--humph--this wonderful thing between us.'

I never, in a million years, imagined I'd kiss the sagging hairy gut of a three-centuries-old man. To press my face against his body while he strokes my head, to inhale his musty aged tang while stroking his parted thighs. To do all of this and be preparing, in truth, to suck his penis. To suck his penis, and receive a particularly large quantity of his semen, his sperm, his genetic material.

Glancing up, our eyes meet. His clearly never left mine, but I got distracted. Lost in the carnal affection doled out upon his ancient frame. 'I'll do this every day, Master,' I say, my voice surprisingly clear. 'I'll take very good care of you.'

The words come easily, readily. Dirty urges given voice, playful phrases. It's simple, scarily fun, to speak like this. To see the pleasure grip his face, to brighten those venerable eyes. And in pleasing him, somehow, someway, I please myself.

'You will, sonny. It's how this is. How it should be.' The old man chuckles, nose hair bristling. 'I am the better man, boyo. You'll never be a fraction of what I am.'

I nod, lusty, insane. 'Yes, Master. I can't compete.'

His eyes flare blue, and I see what he wants. See those big productive testicles, utterly packed with billions upon billions of his little white tadpoles, thick-tailed virile things, brimming with recipe and lineage. Finer seed, I imagine, cannot be found elsewhere. Archaelaus is one of a kind, and I desperately want to taste him again. To taste that which is undeniably, completely and wholly, him.

'Will you submit, sonny?'

'Yes, Master. I submit. I will do as you command.'

He sniggers. 'You understand, don't you? How submissive an act this is, to fellate me, to pleasure me, to consume what my body produces.'

'I do, Master,' I say.

'Describe it. Tell me why it matters.'

'Because...' I pause, leaning back. His hand still plays with my hair, but the words are slower than I'd like. Not because I don't know, but because to think of it is rather dirty. It relies on those most vulgar parts of my head, those parts that seemed before so embarrassing and now have a great deal more control than I ever thought they would.

'Well, sonny?'

'It's because it's something of an affirmation,' I say, eyes aflutter, cheeks red and hot. 'An admittance, that my own body cannot produce sperm anything like the quality of yours, Master.' My gaze goes down, taking inventory of those titanic testicles, sagging immensely low over the lip of his chair. So much excess scrotum that it forms dense wrinkly folds below and between each of the fist-sized seed factories. 'I'm a man, and you're a man, and this is no act of love...I'm simply in awe of your status, Master, as the superior male. With such a large penis, and such heavy testicles, and such strong and healthy sperm.