Blood-Magic Slave

His dark eyes glittered.

"Prove it."

This coupling lasted longer than the first, and was even more painful. A small part of her mind not caught up in the swirl of passion and overwhelming sensations realized that he was trying to tame her insatiable lusts. He did everything he could to punish her body for its wicked weakness, to push back her indecent passion. As she groaned at the sensation of her tender body being stretched so full, he alternately pinched each erect nipple and slapped or sharply squeezed her full breast. Her mind would scrabble away from the delight his thrusts produced, and she would cry out, wincing, shuddering as the pain brought a new wave of pleasure in its wake.

"For...give... me, Mas... Mast... Master," she gasped, groaning as he sank all the way into her.

"My little whore," he whispered, his teeth pinching the side of her throat. "You are not proving to me that you have learned any mastery over yourself..."

"I am trying..." she groaned, her body arching and shuddering uncontrollably as his fingers caressed her rose just above the point of their joining. "Oh, Light..."

"You blaspheme," he hissed, tensing above her, and his hand wrapped around her throat, pressing her down into the bed. "You dare call upon Them as you debase yourself this way?"

She gasped, almost choking. "Master... Forgive me..." She reached up and wrapped her small hand around his wrist, instinctively trying to pull his hand away.

"Please... I can't..."

He slammed his hips forward hard enough that had he not been holding her throat, she would have slid up the bed, and her words died in a strangled sound halfway between a groan and a grunt. Her eyelids flickered as he continued to pound mercilessly into her petite body, and the world seemed to blur into dark colors and intense sensations.

Suddenly the pressure on her neck was gone. She gasped in a deep breath, then choked back another sob. He had withdrawn from her entirely, and left her feeling bereft, empty, cold. She sat up, wincing at the ache he movement caused.

"Master?" she whispered.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Come here."

She crawled forward, and he pulled her down over his lap. His hard length pressed into her stomach. "To punish you for your wicked lustfulness, your disobedience."

His hand came down on her bare buttock, and she cried out at the stinging pain. Again and again he spanked her, grunting as he put his not inconsiderable strength into the blows. His other hand pressed her neck down, holding her in place. She began to struggle instinctively, trying to pull away, but her squirms seemed only to enrage him. He hit her harder, then suddenly the pain stopped, and his hand was fondling the petals of her rose, his fingers thrusting deeply within her.

She gasped, moaned, and bit her lip at the extreme wantonness of the sound. She strove for control, and yet his every action seemed only to arouse her passions, inflame her lust. She was truly wicked, and needed all the aid he offered in subduing her tainted magic.

He twisted, lifting her up, then threw her upon the bed, face down. He straddled her again, wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her up to her knees. His hands caressed her reddened backside, eliciting a stifled moan, and he pressed against her.

"Give yourself to me, Gwen," he rasped.

"Yes..." she began, and he thrust into her once more. He raised his hands and stroked her hair away from her face. Gathering the golden tresses into his hands, he pulled back sharply. She arched, the movement driving him deeper into her, farther than he had been before. He tensed sharply, the length of him within her hardening and thickening further, and she groaned, twisting against him, her body begging for release. He pulled her hair back cruelly, arching her body, his other hand holding her hip against him with bruising force. "No," he snapped, and she was reminded how base her desires were, how tainted. She froze, waiting for his next command. He remained immobile for a long moment as his breathing became sharp, then slowed again.

"You are a twisted soul, my Gwen," he breathed into her ear as he began to move once more, stroking in and out of her, one hand holding her hair, the other alternately guiding her hips, squeezing her breasts, playing with the erect pap, and fondling the bud of her rose.

She jerked as his fingers grazed the tender nub, and he hissed reprovingly, "Wanton. You are fortunate that I claimed you when I did, for you would have soon fallen into Darkness. Swear that you are mine, before your soul is damned for your wicked ways."

"I... am... yo... your... yours," she whispered, shaking as the pleasure within her built higher.

Her hair was released and her head dropped forward between her braced arms. His large hand gripped her buttock, squeezing the welts left by his earlier punishment, while the fingers of the other delved between the petals of her rose, soaked now in her spicy juices.

Gwen tried half-heartedly to fight away the pleasure that coiled up and around and through her, knowing that it was sinful and wicked. Despite her efforts, however, the feelings continued to build, unabated. Sensing her approaching climax, her Master became rougher with her, trying to hold back her lusts long enough to attain his own passion. But she was held too strongly in the grip of her weak woman's body. With a cry, she bucked against him, trembling as wave after wave of pleasure cascaded over her. "Master!"

She lay curled up on her side, his body pressed against her back, her head resting under his chin, his arm draped possessively over her. "Master?" she asked softly, sleepily.

"Hmm?"

"What is your name, My Lord?"

"My name?"

"Yes. What do men call you, besides My Lord, or Sir Knight? Where do you come from?"

There was a moment's pause.

"Well, you seem to handle the truth well enough, my Gwen, though you will have to keep this knowledge to yourself, just as with your power. Mekke already knows, but not the others. My name is Diarmyst."

Gwen frowned. The name was of the Ancient Tongue; she remembered hearing it before, from the Glwysllyfr, but not often... Then it came to her, and she stiffened. "Malevolent?" she breathed. "What...? Why would your father name his son...?"

"Because my father was a true Dark Mage. As am I."

She tried to pull away from him, but his arm tightened around her. Twisting in the confining circle of his arms, she planted her hands against his chest and pushed with all her might. He laughed at her attempts at escape. "My dear, you're going to arouse me. Are you already ready for more?"

"You bastard. You... you lying son of a whore. You told me..."

"I told you what you wanted to hear, what would make you surrender to me, first as my slave, then your magic, and lastly, your delicious little body."

Gwen was crying with humiliation and fury. With a scream of rage, she swiped her hooked fingers at his darkly handsome face. He caught her wrists, laughing all the more as he stretched her out on the mattress, his legs forcing hers apart. Ropes slithered out from under the bed and coiled around her wrists, and he sat back, straddling her.

"You liar! I serve the Light; I always have and I always will! You can't make me betray my oaths to Her..." She broke off as he slapped her hard across the face.

"You pathetic fool. You swore your soul to me, bound in blood. I created a working last night, binding you to me with your maiden's blood, and you swore yourself right into my power. The Lady has no control over your destiny now; only I do."

"You blasphemous monster," she shrieked. "You cannot claim such power over me, only the Gods can."

Leaning forward so that his hair tickled her face, he whispered, "I am stronger than your damned Light Gods. But if you think that only Gods can control your fate... I will happily sacrifice you to mine..."

She choked, shaking her head wildly.

"I love this kingdom," he said with a chuckle, watching her struggle against her bonds. "Your twisted morals, your religious fervor... all of it suits my purposes so well. Your laws allow me slaves, from whom I can take blood, power, with no one being the wiser. No one looks for ones like you who go missing."

She sobbed, pulling futilely at the ropes that held her arms.

"And the women..." he closed his eyes, threw his head back, and sighed. "Ahh, the women. Joinings are a necessary evil, one that women should no more than tolerate," he quoted mockingly. "Your body is made to experience pleasure, my sweet little whore, and I know how to bring forth such delicious feelings, even without magic."

His hand crept between her spread thighs, stroking in feather-light brushes toward her core. She shivered, teeth clenched against a moan of mingled pleasure and horror.

"And you are so easy to manipulate... you make this so much more fun. Instead of merely allowing your body to enjoy my attentions, you fight me, try to deny the sensations I elicit. You believe me when I tell you that you are wicked, that your lusts are unnatural. Best of all, you respond delightfully to my... punishments. Violence gives me still more power over you. A willing partner, a participating partner diminishes that power. Your pain feeds me, increases my magic, and fuels my lust."

She cried out again as he roughly pinched her bud, his fingers scraping her raw, dry passage. Her heart ached within her as she realized how truly damned she was.

He pulled away and sat looking down at her through half-lidded eyes. Tendrils of tangible shadow formed, stroking her face, her breasts, her bound arms, coiled around her hips, twisted down her legs. She cried out, struggling to free herself, to pull away from the pain that shadow-touch caused.

"Never have you looked more beautiful, miroslav," he murmured, stroking her tearstained cheek. The coils of Darkness converged before him, hovering above her face. They curled and braided together, forming a ring of blackness that seemed to repel the light. He spoke words of power -- she understood binding, soul, possession, control and mastery -- and the shadows dissipated, leaving him holding a collar of gold, set with semi-precious stones.

Gwen fell still, her eyes fixed on the captivating object. One part of her knew that to be dressed in gold was a great honor for any slave. Another part rebelled at being the slave of a Dark Mage.

Diarmyst said calmly, "By your laws, you are my rightful slave. I have taken you very nearly legally -- and I have already paid off the King, so there is no fear of objection from him on that account -- and your weak Light Gods did nothing to prevent me. Therefore, you are mine under the eyes of the Law and of the Gods... whosesoever they may be...

"If you do not submit, my Gwen, you will be tortured." The hand not holding the collar caressed her throat, skimmed lightly over her breast, then rested on her flank. "I know your strengths, what you can endure... As your Master, it is my place to determine your punishment, and by my blood, I will take great pleasure in reprimanding you. If you submit, however... you will give me no reason to hurt you. Nothing will change... things will go on as they have since you arrived, though you will now know that my use of your power is against your own inclinations. You have a choice, miroslav, a very simple one. Keep your promise, and submit to me, or suffer the consequences."

She turned her face into the blanket, sickened and terrified. Diarmyst was whispering under his breath, too fast for her to follow, and he reached forward and smoothly slipped the collar around her throat. She heard it snick shut, and she suddenly understood the overwhelming despair she'd seen in her Sister's eyes when they'd been similarly bound.

"Miroslav," Diarmyst murmured. "Submit to me, my dear one..."

Once more, his hands began to caress her body, soothing away the earlier touch of his summoned shadow. She felt his presence against her mind, but instead of drawing upon her power, he searched through her mind, at last finding the place that controlled her body's feelings. "This is a small taste of what could happen if you disobey me, or displease me in any way," he murmured against her ear, and he pressed... agony coursed through her, and she screamed. Then the pain was gone, as though it had never been. She blinked up at him, her Dark Master, silhouetted against the light, a figure of shadow with two darkly glowing eyes. "Or, if you please me well, you may be rewarded..." There was only a delicious pleasure coursing through her like a river in spate, brought forth from deep within her own mind, just as the pain had been, pleasure like that she had experienced as she'd neared that pinnacle with him... It built, stronger, more powerful, driving her wild with the need of it.

"But submit to me... Willingly serve me... and you will be rewarded..."

She barely felt him enter her body, too lost was she in the myriad sensations his mind and hands were evoking. Her whole body cried out for release; her mind was awash in a sea of pleasure. It was too powerful... it was too strong... She wanted it never to stop... But she did, she did want it to stop building -- she wanted to crest that ridge and fall... But the wave just kept building... She screamed, Diarmyst laughed, and at long last she fell, as the world shattered around her.