I swallow, watching Soven stand across the ritual circle, half wreathed in the precipice of shadow. The room is dark and smoky from the last ritual, and all I can see is within the faint light of the stained glass windows.
Soven approaches, the heavy sound of his footfalls timed with each needy pulse of my cunt. I’ve laid myself bare for this beast, and I think I might give everything of myself to him, I’m sick with want. The magic gives a heady buzz to the air, and I feel like I have to breathe heavier just to stay upright.
He waves, making a gesture that sends vials of tinctures floating across the room to set up a new ritual, but I have no eyes for the inanimate objects doing his bidding.
I sit up to see all of him standing before me. He’s shed his loincloth, and now that I’m directly eye level with his strange cocks, I still don’t really know what to make of them, but the longer I look the more I find myself toying with my bottom lip in interest.
It seems kind of three-pronged. The middle cock seems to be the longest, most actually cock-like of the three, though the head is shaped differently, rounder, with little ridges patterning down the shaft.
The one on top seems to be less of a cock and more like a… something. It too looks different at the tip, a sort of puckered shape, a wet sheen glistening over it. The one at the bottom concerns me a little because it’s almost as long as the middle cock, though not nearly as girthy.
I swallow, dragging my eyes up to his. He’s been watching me, assessing, waiting to see if my plea holds up, now that I can see what I’m in for.
My breath grows ragged as I summon what steadfastness I can, and nod.
Soven huffs a breath, rolling his shoulders in response before he kneels before me. He pulls my knees apart, exposing my cunt to open view.
He takes in the sight of me like that for a long moment, before he drags a finger with its blunted claw carefully up through my folds and I whimper at the touch. I’m not scared that he’s going to hurt me, he’s too precise for that to happen. It’s the anticipation I don’t know if I can live through. My whole body is on edge, tightly wound up in arousal, waiting for how he’ll use me.
He dips his head down, and I can feel his hot breath ghost over my cunt, the graze of his mouth barely against me. The first lick of his tongue is a revelation, textured with little bumps that are a cascade of stimulation, making my back coming up off the dais.
He puts one clawed hand on my ribs, so large it spans up to my breast. He holds me in place, the pad of his thumb teasing my nipple.
His tongue is long and hot dragging through my folds, each tortuously awaited flick over my clit making me quiver.
Every few strokes he snakes that tongue up inside me, lapping greedily at my wetness, filling me blissfully, giving brief relief to my aching walls. It’s all I can do to keep my hips from bucking against his face. My hands bury in his mane to keep him over my clit, and he covers one of my hands with his to encourage me— to guide him, to hold his horns while I grind, and roll my hips against his face.
I squirt before I reach my climax, the liquid scattering around my legs in droplets as he continues to lick me through it, not missing a beat. I make some ungodly noises, and soon his licking slows and he pulls back. I whimper when he stops, wanting more.
“Keep doing that, please,” I beg. He doesn’t even have to fuck me, if he only does that forever, I’ll be happy.
He gives my cunt one last, tortuous lick that leaves me quivering, wanting that release that had begun to build once more, fading with the seconds that slip past, when he stands again, gives his cocks a few readying jerks. It’s then I realize his tongue had been preparing me for this.
He slips the middle cock in my cunt, easing in. He’s thick, stretching me to my limits. He pulls back a couple inches, feeding me little by little. He toys with my folds again, finding my clit, over sensitive from all the licking. I let out a cry of surprise at the feeling of the sucker of his top cock pressing to it.
He chuckles, a deep throaty noise that rumbles through his chest. He shifts his hips, easing into me further, and that’s when I encounter the third cock, the way its thin shaft slides through the narrow gap of my ass cheeks, grazing against my hole. It doesn’t penetrate me, but it teases both the idea and the skin.
I swear, when he pushes in all the way to the hilt, he’s so far up he’s gotta be hitting other organs. At least, that’s what it feels like. His body tenses up, and he lets out a low groan. He takes my hips in his hands, starting to truly thrust. The top cock’s suckers begin working faster, sucking and popping against my clit.
By some miracle I don’t come immediately, and I savor each thrust harder, each suck and near-breech of my asshole, the way he’s licking my tits. Each time he pulls back, I want to whimper at the feeling of how empty it feels, only to have the breath nearly knocked out of my chest when he ruts back into me.
The relentless sweet friction of it builds against the tension curling in me, his thrusting quickening until I cannot feel his absence. There is only him pounding into me, his hands digging into my ass, his mouth dragging against my nipples. I get lost in the sensation of it, losing all semblance of time or space until I come hard.
I’m not sure if the orgasm lasts forever, or if it just feels like it. Every shudder is compounded by his thrusts, the way he keeping fucking me open even after I’m spent, every pleasure-raw nerve being dragged back into another climax.
The second orgasm makes me feel like the first one wasn’t even important. I’m clenching around him, and I languish in the sudden slickness of him coming in me, the way my orgasm coaxes his, dragging out each spurt of come, until he collapses and rolls me over on top of him, his center cock still twitching inside me, the sticky mess dripping out slowly.
Exhaustion lays heavy over my entire body, a sheen of sweat covers my skin. I’m strewn limp, collapsed over Soven’s body, like he’s my own personal mattress instead of me being his fuck toy. His hand is heavy against me, claws caged possessively around my lower half.
I shiver as he runs a claw down the cleft of my ass, half a moan escaping me at the sensation of his probing against the last twitching aftershocks of my orgasm. He gives a low, rumbly chuckle in response, and I can feel the vibrations of it through my chest against his.
“Why do you wear that cloak anyway?” I murmur, tracing patterns through the suede-like feel of his fuzz.
“It’s slimming,” he hums.
“Oh,” I nod, and bite down against a smile. I suppose it is easier to fit through doorways when you have less of a physical form. I can’t imagine him getting on the lift when he’s this size. Perhaps it’s also better for avoiding getting stabbed. It’s strange to think of the office outside this Dark Sanctum, the messages and the stacks of paperwork. All of it seems so mundane compared to the rituals Soven performs in here.
I’ll have to leave him to it, in a little bit, I realize. I have to get dressed and go back out there, and resume my work day. I may have offered up my body to his dark bidding, but that’s not very different from giving him my time and effort, day in and day out.
A quiet lull falls over us. Even as I lay my head on his massive chest, all I can hear is his breath.
“How come I can’t feel a heartbeat?” I ask, tracing circles in the fuzz of his flesh.
“I don’t have a heart. I have a phylactery,” he says simply.
I wrinkle my nose, unsure if I want to know. “A what?”
Soven hesitates, and I wonder if I’ve asked something I shouldn’t have.
“It’s just a type of container,” he shrugs after a moment. “With blood in it. As well as the entirety of my power. Most Liches hide their hearts miles away, at the bottom of impossible dungeons. That way, anyone who attacks you in person cannot kill you.”
He explains it to me in that teacher sort of voice. Sometimes when he does that, I think it’s such a shame he doesn’t have an apprentice. I think it would make him so happy.
“But if they got to the bottom of the dungeon where it’s hidden, they could,” I worry.
“Like I said,” he chuckles. “You want to keep it safe.”
I nodded against him, my hand digging into his chest a little. To me, it sounds like this phylactery thing is basically his heart. I can’t imagine burying my heart or liver or kidneys or anything vital underground in a box.
But he’s buried his heart in some rotten dungeon somewhere, where no one can ever get to it. The thought sort of saddens me.
Insecurity creeps in alongside that thought. He’s the Dark Lord—I can’t have been the first to have stripped in front of him and told him to fuck me into Wednesday.
“Well, um, I should get back to work,” I say, sitting up and looking around for my clothes.
I am still just his secretary, after all.
