The Necromancer's Apprentice

Demyr paged slowly through his apprentice's grimoire, studying the spells she was trying to develop while she worked on preparing some catalysts for the other conjurers and shape-masters of the citadel.  She was nearly an acolyte, and soon would be able to make her own decisions about what magics to work and how to go about them.

At sixteen she was blossoming into a beautiful young woman, her dark curls long and at the moment tied back at the nape of her neck so they would not get in her way.  She was pale of course, a byproduct of their duties.  No magician was tanned, though some wizards were.  Such as Demyr and Kaedra spent too much time reading old tomes, working in dark rooms, and seeking ancient knowledge in the catacombs to develop the warmer tones of the others.

While most referred to them as necromancers, Demyr had explained to the then young girl that they were necroturgists, practitioners of necroturgy.  “It is easier for them to imagine us as harmless diviners, than to imagine us as those who can work the dead to our will,” he explained.  Her bright green eyes had shone with wonder and curiosity, and he'd taken her as his apprentice when she was proven to have a great deal of magical talent.

She was incredibly intelligent, though given at times to deep depressions and severe manias by slow turns of the months.  Her curiosity bloomed into an insatiable desire not merely to know, but to understand, a critical difference in her that he had noticed at once and fed with great pleasure.  Her talents with magic were broader than his, though still closely aligned with his own.  Demyr did not forbid her from studying other magical practices that did not conflict too badly with his own.

Unfortunately, he occasionally came across unusual, somewhat disturbing notes and concepts in her work.  She was young yet, curious and adventurous, and the seeds for the spells she theorized and imagined reflected that.  Of particular concern were those seeking to instill some modicum of intellectual capacity to certain types of the raised corpses.

While zombies were often spontaneously created – there was an entire 'community' of them across the sand basin that separated the cliff-sides from the palace – they were largely slow and harmless, and more importantly mindless.  The spells she was research were meant to impart some level of self determination and possibly restore some memory to them, enabling the zombie to act with some level of intelligence, perhaps that of a small cat or dog.

He had little talent for the mental arts; she had a fair talent for them; he'd had to ask the local Occultation Master to each her the shielding and protections against intrusive thoughts and accidental mental contact for her own safety.  On her own she'd already discovered the principles of telepathy and empathic sensing and sharing, and she'd managed to do fairly well in such studies.  But to craft an intellect...!  Yet her theories were quite sound, and her methodology correct.

Unfortunately.

“Kaedra.”

She looked up from the parchments she was perusing while waiting for the liquids to achieve the desired consistency, quick to pay attention and eager to learn or obey alike.

“Explain this to me,” he asked, frowning slightly.  She did not take offense at the frown, his expression was similar with any unusual or over-appended spell she theorized that was written in a confusing manner.

“Yes, Master Demyr.”  Walking to join him at the study table, she looked over the spell-notes he was perusing in her grimoire.  “Which one, master?”

“This, here.”  He indicated the offending spell.

It took her a moment to begin, and he did not begrudge her that.  Magical workings were often personal, and it could take effort to phrase things properly to explain them to another magician, even one's own master or apprentice.  Still, she was both clever and talented, and more importantly she understood his own magics well enough to shift the terms o those he would understand well.

As he had feared, she had indeed discovered the technique for creating the abominable undead known as ghouls.  Which in and of itself was no great tragedy; the palace used them as guardians for crypts and watchdogs.  It was impressive that she'd figured out the spell on her own.  The issue was that with her more intimate knowledge of the mentalism spells combined with a form of true necromancy, she meant to attach a self-awareness to the monster that was based in the actual past inhabitant of the body's understanding, a limited form of soul-magic to restore a sense of self.  Not just self-awareness, but actual recovery of the memories possessed in the past by the living-and-still-departed soul.

Not for the first time he wondered exactly how talented she was.

“Stop, stop!”  Confused, the pale girl did so, looking down at him as he turned the seat to face her.  “You remember the principle of continuance I taught you, do you not?” he asked, his expression hard.

“Yes, of course.  'That which resembles life attempt to continue as if it is alive.'  That's why zombies and ghouls, seek to consume things, and ephemeral undead that possess human features seek routines and actions that make them seem more human.”  The concept was simple, and the results predictable.

He gestured at the sections of the spell she had crafted above and beyond those of the ghoul.  “These here.  The first parts, the crafting and animation process, those are fine, and in fact they're part of the curriculum that all our kind of magicians are taught.  You did very well there.”  Her heart shape face beamed, and she blushed a little at the praise.  “But these are extraordinarily dangerous!  Above and beyond the danger that animating any corpse or spirit!”

Crestfallen she turned the book and studied the offending sections of the spell.  “But why, master?  The bindings and controls would be well set; the mind would not be particularly strong....”

Demyr's temper flared.  “And that is exactly the problem!  The principle of continuance holds them to activities to feign being alive, and it overwrites and overwhelms all bindings and controls!  You would have a low mind, filled with the need to advance themselves and become more than they are and to gain more than they have, because that is what human minds do!”  The necroturgist slammed his palm on the table, the loud bang making the girl jump.  “This is exactly the sort of interdisciplinary danger I warned you against when I allowed you to study  beyond my teaching!”

Tears welled up in the girl's pale violet eyes, the spell-work and magics she used forever tainting them.  “Please forgive me master.  I understand where I went wrong; I'll rewrite the spells so they-”

“NO!”  His sharp bark was perhaps too vicious, she quailed and her hands clenched at her sides.  “This is a forbidden path for a good reason!  I know that you understand this reasoning....you cannot pursue it.”

“But master, the other arts-”  Suddenly it clicked.  She was envious of the mystic creations the other arts could achieve, the creatures of power that could be conjured, made, or formed and found favor in the eyes of the ruling nobility and the soldiers that protected the Queen.

“Necroturgy is forbidden that avenue of exploration,” he said coolly.  “You know exactly why, I've explained it clearly enough.  This spell is a direct path to that form of necroturgy, and I'd be an idiot to believe you didn't understand that.”  She flushed, and he stood up, pushing the pages and tomes on the table to the side, clearing half of it.  “Take down your breeches.”

Kaedra's flush deepened, her cheeks and ears burning with embarrassment and shame.  She undid the belting of the soft, wide legged pants, meant to protect her legs from the possible splashes of noxious or dangerous chemicals.  Robes were worn by magicians for good reason.  She started to turn, to bend over the table but he interrupted her.  “Pants as well.”  Kaedra looked down, the shame heating her cheeks to nearly cherry redness.  She pulled down the lighter, legless trouser-like covering of her privates, baring her pale derriere entirely.

Despite her shame as she bent over the table, her left wrist clasped by her right hand, there was a gleam in her eye, a clear sign that there was in this a sense of security, a giving over of herself to the punishment that meant more than just pain and humiliation to her.  Her teachings and research did not include the subtle arts of the tantra or the kundala; if they had, she might have recognized her own need for being controlled, the exertion of power over her to show she was cared for.

As it was, Demyr had discovered she responded exceptionally to corporeal punishment.  And she was a beautiful young woman now, just on the cusp of coming of age.  Her hips were rounded as they had not been a few years ago, and her pale, clean skin was soft and supple.  A fine black down crowned the slit of her femininity, but nothing more than that; coral pink edges lined her tightly closed femininity as she awaited her punishment for disobeying the most valuable tenet of necroturgy:  No free willed and sapient construct of the dead could be crafted.  Such an abomination would seek to undermine and control all human life, because humans did the same....but there was no conscience, soul, or fear to prevent it from doing so.

That which was not alive feared nothing.

Demyr stood to one side of her, the flush on the girl's cheeks still dark and shameful.  When he delivered the first open-handed slap, she jumped, but made no noise.  Her skin reddened immediately.  The second blow to her other cheek, make her gasp softly, and her eyes teared up immediately.  Despite that she did not beg for mercy or complain; when he struck the third and fourth times she cried out in pain, and her sobs were audible.  Each blow made her soft bottom quiver, and her pale skin became red, then deeper red, heat blooming as he inflicted the punishment for her disobedience upon her.

But that wasn't the only reddening of her fair skin.  Her nether lips were softening, plump and the coral pinkness of them became a darker pink, as they became flushed with heat.  Demyr could see  shimmer of wetness, though he did his best to ignore it as he gave her eleven more strokes of his hard hand.  By the eighth she was gripping the edges of the table, and by the tenth she was repeating 'no, no please'.  Her master showed no mercy, but when he was done, he placed his hand at the back of her head, holding her in place as he struggled with hot, heavy breaths and the sight before him.

She was trembling, her soft, hot bottom the same color as her shame-filled cheeks had been.  But her sex was full and hot, the lips plump with desire, a trickle of her own need trailing from the edge of her nether lips.  He could now see her swollen inner labia peeking from between the softness of her outer lips.  Demyr licked lips suddenly gone dry, and slapped the soft heat of her sex, not nearly as he had her derriere, but hard enough that she wailed.  The pale flesh reddened quickly, and with another four slaps she was gasping for breath, and squirming for relief alike.

Not in pain, or rather, not only in pain, but in desperate need.

Demyr was hard as he had ever been, and he slapped her tender feminine places again, and again.  Punishing her cruelly....until she shuddered and her hip jerked.  His apprentice's orgasm was utterly inappropriate, and his own part to play equally so.  Demyr's fingers were wet with Kaedra's slick musk, and the girl was trembling, helpless.  He stepped back, letting her rise and she slowly stood, her expression tightening in pin as her tunic brushed the hot flesh he'd abused.  Her derriere was already purple in  in some few places.

Turning, Kaedra's soft, tearful violet eyes gazed up at her master in adoration and humility.  Lowering her head, she whispered softly, “It won't happen again, Mater Demyr.”  As she stood before him half naked, he gazed at the delicate young woman; his heart was thunder in his chest, his manhood was straining against his own pants and robe.

“On your knees,” he whispered huskily, shocking himself as the words slipped out unbidden.  Her beautiful eyes turned up, her cheeks once more flushed....but she obeyed.  Kaedra lowered herself to her knees, and slowly reached for his robes, parting them, opening them.  She carefully lowered his pants, her shame and curiosity at war in her expression.  Freeing his manhood, she looked at it, and lowered her face, even as she took him in hand and slowly stroked the length of him, her other hand coming up to touch the beads of precome that spilled from the tip of him.

Without being told, she pulled back his foreskin, exposing the swollen bulb of his glans.  Gazing sternly down at her, she looked up at him as she opened her mouth....and slowly took him into the wet heat.  Her ears and cheeks were burning still, and she performed upon him, gave him her mouth, even her throat though she nearly gagged upon his thickness and length, neither of which was considered all that threatening by his past lovers.  Still, Kaedra was young and inexperienced with true men, he suspected.

Still, she worked his shaft with no small skill, as talented in this as she was in her magic.  He wrapped his hand in her onyx hair and encouraged her to take more, again and again, despite the trouble it presented her.  Eyes closing, she obeyed, and swallowed around the length of him, her tongue stroking the underside of his length eagerly.

When he came it was sudden and hard, a groan escaping his lips.  Demyr forced her to swallow his seed, her expression pinching, another reminder that this was punishment.  He made her swallow it all, only letting her slide free of his hot, slick manhood when he was finished.  Kaedra's tearful eyes gazed up at him gratefully, as though he'd give her a boon or a gift.

His grip in her hair tightened and he started to pull her up.  The girl grasped his arm and assisted herself; he allowed it, not intending her pain, but using his power over her despite that.  She whimpered as he pushed her hips against the table and moved behind her still hard, still ready.  Demyr slipped his hand under her tunic, gripping her breast roughly as he slipped his fingers inside her sex.   Violet eyes shut tight in pain and Kaedra gasped as his knuckles pressed into the the burning softness of her punished labia majora, but the tightening of her sex about his fingers told him everything he needed to know.

Three, four thrusts and Kaedra was pushing back against his hand, wanting more, wanting deeper.  The pain was minimal....and she whimpered again when he withdrew his fingers.

When he pushed his cock inside her she wailed, because his hips against her tender, burning derriere HURT.  Yet the way her body clenched around his manhood, the slick heat of her sex about his spoke of desire despite that.  His other hand gripped her other breast, nails digging in as he began to use his apprentice, forced himself inside her tightness and caused her pain with each thrust as his hips met her burning backside.  She cried for him, begged him for more.

Demyr gave her everything, his whole body's strength mastered her physically as he had not entirely mastered her training.  His apprentice accepted his power over her, crying and begging, hurting, yet thoroughly needing every iota of pain and pleasure.  She cried out as he used her deeply, her sex clenching, sucking at his, before he spilled inside her.  Kaedra collapsed upon the table and he held her down, continuing his deep hard thrusts in a more slow fashion, pumping his seed into her tight channels, giving her his life force as she begged him to stop.

When he did stop, he pulled out, laying a hand in benediction upon her head as she whimpered softly.  Demyr was shaking with exertion, thoroughly used and exhausted.  He prayed it had been enough to cement her thinking to the real world, to remind her that there was much in life worth seeking and enjoying.  If she remained so ingrained in her studies, so desperate for companionship that she sought it from the dead, he feared where her paths would take her.

It would be after his untimely death that she would prove his fears entirely justified.

~XS