by M. E. Hydra
Another warlock, or rather a real warlock—Phil was only a student and a fairly mediocre one at that—was somewhere else in the castle. Hope flared in Phil. If the warlock knew how to get here then he must know how to get back to Earth. This was his chance to escape!
He leant out of the window and tried to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He ignored the wargen snuffling around in the darkness below.
Yes, there it was. Below him and to the left.
Phil rushed to the door and stopped.
He hadn’t actually wandered around the castle unaccompanied before. He thought of the wargen, Verdé’s plants, the bathroom nymphs… What other dangers lay in wait for him?
If you stay here you’re going to die anyway, he thought. It would be a sweet death, but it would still be a death.
Phil pushed the door open and crept out into the corridor. He wished he had something to wear so he didn’t feel so completely naked, even if it was only a dressing gown. He padded down the corridor past the other closed doors. Briefly he wondered what might be behind them before deciding he probably didn’t want to know.
He couldn’t hear the chanting anymore. The castle wasn’t that large; he should be able to rely on his sense of direction to take him to where the sounds were coming from.
Easier said than done in a realm where topology felt more like general guidelines than a concrete set of rules.
Phil crept down the same staircase Rosa and Verdé had led him down on the way to the baths. At the bottom he turned right instead of left. Briefly he wondered where the kitchens were or if they even existed. Food was prepared for him and left outside his door, but he’d never seen any serving staff.
Somehow, he didn’t imagine Rosa slaving away over a hot stove.
He made his way through the lower corridors. The décor in the castle had a strong sexual theme, but in this section there was also a strong sadomasochistic theme as well. The paintings on the walls depicted kinky sex scenes that got steadily worse as Phil walked down the corridor until he was no longer sure whether he was looking at sex or torture.
The change was also reflected in the fixtures. Soft organic curves in gold were replaced by spiky twists of black metal. Phil wasn’t sure whether he wanted to go on. The corridor was completely silent, but his ears conjured up sounds of whips cracking, chains clanking and voices raised in screams. Whether it was his imagination or ghostly echoes of what had once been, he couldn’t tell.
It wasn’t quite complete silence, he realised.
Was that…yes it was.
He could hear the chanting again. It was coming from up ahead. Steeling himself, Phil followed the sounds until the corridor terminated in an ominous, black metal door. An arcane symbol of even darker metal was inlaid into the surface.
Not. Exactly. Promising.
This was where the chanting was coming from. With a degree of trepidation, he approached the door. The metal surface was warm to the touch, but not hot enough to be uncomfortable or dangerous. Phil put his ear against it to try and make out the sounds more clearly.
Giggling from behind him made him aware he was being watched. He turned and saw a girl standing at the corner of the corridor. Her hair was bright blue and stood up in unruly spikes. She wore a little silk dress of the same colour.
“Um…hi?” Phil said.
The girl looked younger and more innocent than the other succubi, but she was still a succubus. An elaborate pair of horns, also blue, curled down behind her ears. Her eyes were deep red and glittered like precious rubies.
“Are you sure you want to go through there?” the girl asked, her eyes twinkling as she smiled.
Phil looked back at the jet-black door.
“Why? Is it not safe?” he asked.
The girl put a hand to her mouth and giggled. She turned and ran around the corner.
“Wait,” Phil said. He ran up to the bend in the corridor, but there was no sign of the girl anywhere.
Who was she?
Yet another mystery, he thought.
He returned his attentions to the door. Carefully, he opened it a crack and slipped through.
The room on the other side was gigantic, far larger than Phil was expecting. He was standing in an enormous hall, like the nave of a large church or cathedral, though he doubted any gods were worshipped here. The floor was polished black obsidian and pillars of the same material flanked a wide, central aisle. Low red flames flickered in brackets of twisted black metal.
The door was a side entrance. The central aisle ran perpendicular to him from the main entrance: an impressive pair of double doors at the far end of the hall. The source of the chanting stood in the centre of the aisle, lit by a beam of red light emanating from a high point at the other end of the hall.
It was another warlock, Phil saw, his features hidden within long, tatty black robes. The warlock stood in the centre of a protective circle. Low purple flames flickered around the circumference.
This could be his freedom, Phil thought. He moved cautiously around a pillar, wondering how he should approach the other man.
What was the warlock doing here?
Phil looked down the hallway and saw…
Nÿte!
Phil quickly ducked back behind the pillar, his heart beating in his throat.
The warlock was here for Nÿte.
Phil peeked out from behind the pillar. He was lucky; he didn’t think she’d seen him. Nÿte sat on a black metal throne surrounded by a pile of human skulls. She was absolutely terrifying—the archetypal daemon. Her black eyes absorbed all light, like a pair of black holes. Leathery black wings were folded behind her. She wore a baroque basque and thigh-length black leather boots. She sat casually on the throne while projecting the authority of a monarch.
Despite her intimidating appearance, Phil couldn’t deny she was also intensely alluring. She had a perfect hourglass figure that swelled out into a pair of sizeable breasts. Her face was flawless, its beauty matched only by its cruelty. And of course her black leather bondage outfit was more than a little kinky.
Phil hoped the other warlock knew what he was doing. The cruel smile on Nÿte’s lips didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. She regarded the chanting man with casual amusement, as if he was on the same level as a court jester or funny little animal. If cats had human faces Phil imagined this was the expression they’d wear while playing with their prey.
The warlock finished his mystical incantations and switched back to conventional English. His real voice was less imposing. It was a little reedy and prone to trembling up into higher octaves.
“I bind thee to me, daemon,” the warlock said. “I am your master. You will obey and serve me.”
Nÿte simply smiled.
“And what is your pleasure…master?” she spoke in a voice like liquid honey.
She leant forward, displaying the soft curves of her cleavage. Her already ample breasts were accentuated by a tight bodice that both squeezed them together and pushed them up. The effect was…quite impressive.
Phil didn’t realise he was walking forward until he was almost out from behind the pillar. He blanched and hurried back into cover. How could something so obviously deadly also be so alluring at the same time.
The warlock in the aisle was hit by the full force. He visibly gulped.
Phil didn’t rate his chances of escape very highly.
“I desire carnal knowledge of your body, succubus,” the warlock said, his voice trembling out of his control. “You will show me pleasures other mere mortals can only dream of.”
Nÿte licked plush black lips.
“As you command…master,” she replied, her voice dripping with the promise of forbidden delights. She slowly got to her feet and walked towards the warlock, her black eyes fixed on his as her hips swayed with seductive grace. She was wanton carnality distilled into physical form.
The warlock could barely contain himself in his excitement. His body trembled with need and his hands stra
yed down to his crotch, as if eager to pull out his cock right away and start stroking.
He doesn’t stand a chance, Phil thought.
Nÿte stepped into the protective circle with no more thought than stepping over a crack in the pavement. She stared intently into the warlock’s eyes and slowly pulled down his cowl.
The man revealed had a face that was gaunt and riddled with blotchy red acne. Phil was surprised at how young he was. Why, he was barely older than Phil himself. He could have been a fellow student at Wargsnouts although Phil couldn’t remember ever seeing him there.
Phil kissed goodbye to any thoughts of escape.
The succubus folded her midnight-black wings around the warlock and pulled him close for a passionate kiss. The man’s eyes widened as her soft lips crushed against his.
The kiss didn’t last very long.
Black corruption ran out across the man’s face in a wave. His skin blistered, blackened and finally disintegrated into ash. In a matter of moments Nÿte was left holding a human skull as the rest of the warlock’s body withered and collapsed into a pile of fine black dust. Still she lingered over the kiss, murmuring with pleasure as she smooched cold white bone while the warlock’s empty robes slowly fluttered down to the floor.
She ended the kiss and smiled as she stared into the skull’s empty eye sockets. She turned her trophy over in her hands, examining it before dismissively tossing it over her shoulder and onto the pile with all the others.
Jesus, Phil thought, a cold shiver travelling down his spine. She hadn’t even given the poor bastard the pleasure of a final fuck.
Nÿte turned and stared directly at Phil with her cold black eyes.
“Did you enjoy that little show, fledgling?” she chuckled.
Phil’s blood froze in his veins.
Fuck.
Smiling, Nÿte reached down to her waist and grasped the handle of a black bullwhip. She threw back her arm and the long whip uncoiled with a loud crack.
Fuck.
Phil turned to run, but even as he was turning the whip cracked again and the end formed a noose around his ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He barely had time to put his hands up to prevent his face smashing into the hard obsidian floor.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Phil’s hands scrabbled, but he couldn’t get any purchase on the smooth black floor as he slid backwards. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop Nÿte reeling him in like an angler with a prize catch.
Her perfume enfolded him first, sweet like poison. A clawed hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him onto his back. He looked up at Nÿte as she stood astride him. Competing emotions crashed in Phil’s mind. He’d seen how deadly she was, he knew he needed to get away from her as fast as possible, but—oh god—what he’d give to have those finely toned thighs wrapped around him.
Nÿte put a hand around his throat and lifted him up off the floor.
All the way up off the floor.
Phil’s toes dangled, barely brushing the smooth obsidian surface.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come and visit me, fledgling,” Nÿte said. “Rosa and Verdé have been greedy keeping you all to themselves.”
Phil gasped and spluttered. Her hand felt like an iron collar around his neck. Behind her he saw a black robe lying on a pitiful pile of black ash, the remains of the other warlock.
Nÿte saw him looking and flashed him a smile that showed off her sharp, pointed fangs.
“Are you frightened, little fledgling?” she asked.
She lowered him until her cold black eyes were level with his.
“That makes me so wet,” she hissed.
Phil didn’t need to be told. He could both smell and see her arousal. A little wet dribble ran down the inside of Nÿte’s thigh.
She pouted her deadly lips for a kiss and brought them closer, closer, close enough to brush his, even as he thrashed desperately to escape. She let them touch, the briefest of pecks, before pulling away with an evil little smile.
“Don’t worry, little fledgling,” she whispered. “I have far more interesting plans for you.”
She swung him around and slammed him into the metal throne with enough force to knock the air from his body. While Phil was winded she snapped metal cuffs into place around his wrists and ankles. He was strapped in like a convict in an electric chair. Nÿte stepped back and watched his fruitless struggles with amusement.
“This is going to be fun,” she purred.
She put a hand down between her legs and ran a long black fingernail between the plush folds of her labia. The air became thick with the overpowering scent of her arousal.
“For me anyway,” she smiled.
Phil thought back to the pictures he’d seen on the walls in this part of the castle. The daemoness in them had looked remarkably similar to Nÿte. And what she was doing to the victims…
Phil blanched. It wasn’t a good idea to dwell on that.
Beads of ice-cold perspiration formed on Phil’s brow. Nÿte sat on the arm of the throne and put her legs across him. She wiped a hand across his forehead and then licked her fingers, savouring the taste.
“Mmm, you really are terrified, aren’t you, little fledgling,” Nÿte said.
She kicked off a leather boot and pushed her naked foot against Phil’s cock. He gasped in surprise at the sudden arousal as she teasingly played with his growing erection. She drew a small whip from her belt and casually spun the fronds.
“What are you going to do to me?” Phil asked.
The whip lashed across the side of his face with a loud crack, leaving a sharp sting in its wake. He hadn’t even seen her move.
“Hurt you,” Nÿte pouted.
Her foot rubbed against his cock.
“Pleasure you.”
The short leather whip cracked against Phil’s other cheek, bringing tears to his eyes.
“Hurt you.”
She frigged herself with her other hand.
“Maybe fuck you…if you’re still alive”
She continued to manipulate his cock with her foot. Her technique was masterful as she stroked her toes up and down his growing erection. Phil didn’t have long to enjoy the pleasure before two sharp cracks jerked his head first one way and then another. His cheeks felt like they’d caught fire.
He yelped in pain.
Nÿte leaned closer, lying against his side. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest.
“Did that hurt?” she asked, her voice comforting. A long fingernail playfully circled his nipple. “Let me kiss it better.”
Her soft lips pressed against his cheek. The stinging sensation was quenched as if by a soothing balm. At first it was a blissful relief, but then the coldness deepened. Phil felt the warmth and life in his tissues leach into her, leaving numbness in its wake. When she broke away, Phil could no longer feel his cheek. It felt like being injected with local anaesthetic at the dentist’s.
“Mmm, delicious,” Nÿte said, running a tongue around her bruise-black lips.
She stopped playing with his cock and swung her leg over him until she straddled his lap. He felt her moistness on his inner thigh. She reached around behind the chair and came back with some objects that rattled with metallic clanks.
“This will hurt,” Nÿte said. She clamped one of the metal objects around Phil’s nipple and screwed it tight, first squeezing and then crushing.
It hurt. A lot.
Phil grimaced and thrashed in the seat. The pain was a white-hot brand pressed against his chest. No matter how he squirmed he couldn’t get away from it. The beginnings of a scream welled up from his lungs and nudged against the back of his gritted teeth.
Nÿte put an elegant finger on his lips and shushed him.
“Pain and pleasure are just sensation,” she said. “If you cry out, I’ll take the pain away, but only by removing sensation. Do you know what a body is without sensation?”
“Dead,” Phil mumbled in reply.
Nÿte smiled, showing off he
r fangs again.
“Good, I’m so glad we understand each other.” She attached the second clamp to his other nipple and screwed it tight.
Fuck. This was not fun. Not fun at all.
She shifted in his lap, pushing the lips of her pussy up against his erection. Teasingly she rubbed up and down him, smearing her warm juices against his shaft. Phil wasn’t really in a position to fully appreciate it, on account of his nipples currently being in a state of crushed agony.
