Long-Distance Relationship

	Become a battle mage, they said.  It's fun, you get to see the world, they said.  If a dank tower on a mountain was all the world had to offer, there would be no point in conquering it.  In years gone by, Reginald would have appreciated having so much downtime.  Now, it served only to give him opportunity to bemoan his life choices.  It seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime, becoming the apprentice to a renowned elven mage and learning to harness powers to control or even destroy an entire army.  To a simple farmhand, the lure of power and experience was overwhelming.
	His master, Umsallia – Sally for short – was a force of nature.  It was said that she walked the battlefield like she was the only one on it, a reaper of men beholden to neither fear nor mercy.  He basked in her reputation, almost as feared as she was, despite his relative inexperience.  As a bonus, she was exceptionally beautiful, even by elven standards.  What he did not know when he signed up was that she had a stick the size of his mage's staff lodged in her ass.  He was not allowed outside, not allowed to drink, and most of all, not allowed to make a sex golem in her likeness.  She was very clear from the onset about the first two, but the last was learned from bitter experience.  On the bright side, he now knew that he could outrun her, if he ever needed to.
	Reginald also was not allowed to practice magic without her supervision, which seriously cut in on the quality of his free time.  She had scribed some form of seal on him that prevented him from invoking without her permission.  She claimed that it was for his own safety, but he was pretty sure it was yet another form of torment she heaped on him for her own amusement.  Without any personal effects, he had precious little to occupy his time, outside of exercise.  Hours with nothing else to do, in conjunction with this hell of stairs his master called a tower, had further toned his already athletic body.  He was definitely in far better shape than most real soldiers, much less fellow mages.
	The worst part, however, was the loneliness.  Five years of isolation, separated from all other human contact by a combination of his master's ascetic lifestyle and the common man's entirely rational fear of tower-dwelling battle mages, had nearly driven him mad.  While he yearned for simple conversation with with a stick-free posterior, what he longed for most was more...physical companionship.  He had been taken from his village at the cusp of adolescence and locked in a tower with an ice queen with a body that could arouse the dead.  His repeated attempts at finding his own solution to his needs, most recently the debacle with the golem, had all been crushed to dust –  often literally – by the vicious elf.  Fortunately, providence looked kindly upon him.  A few months ago, he discovered a new toy while moving boxes, something to relieve his frustration.
	He rose from his desk, hardening already in anticipation.  The walk was agonizing, six long flights of stairs standing between him and release.  His pants grew taut as he walked, each step rubbing him gently.  His pants were far tighter than he would have preferred, but his master insisted that all battle mages dressed in a similar fashion (tight pants, tight groupings).  His erection showed clearly through his trousers, a small wet spot now marking the tip.  His heart raced as he ascended the stairs, not from exertion, but from arousal.  He feared being caught, chastised, and deprived of his only source of release, yet could not bring himself to stop.  She was incredible, whoever she was.  Nothing he could do himself, even with magic, could compare to her touch.  In some small part of his brain, Reginald knew he may be addicted, but that voice was easily drowned in a sea of lust and hormones.  He slid the door open slowly, careful not to make a sound as he reached his destination.
	The door led to a small storeroom, long abandoned despite being no more than a few feet from his master's living quarters.  A mess of boxes lay against the back wall, a thick coat of dust covering everything.  With skill born from experience and frustration, Reginald moved the boxes, careful not to disrupt the dust, lest the damnable ice queen discover his secret.  Behind the boxes sat a small hole, no more than a few inches wide.  Even a peasant could sense its magic, the infinite blackness of its depths and the soft heat it produced clearly marking its existence as unnatural.  He approached the curiously waist-level hole, letting his pants fall as he walked.  His member sprung free, a thin line of fluid swaying in the breeze coming from the hole.  The faint current of air made his gasp as it tickled his head, overly sensitive from its recent incarceration.  He closed his eyes, body fraught with need, and thrust into the hole.
	For a time, he simply hung there, waiting.  A mixture of arousal and the soft warmth of the hole kept him hard, despite the lack of stimulation.  He barely noticed the slight tickle of hot breath on his head as the waiting mouth approached.  It lingered before disappearing, only to be replaced by a single gentle lick on the crown, letting him know what was about to happen.  His cock jumped in response, eager to dive in, yet unable.  The mysterious tongue flicked erratically about his glans, testing while it teased.  A small, smooth hand joined in, forming a ring near the base of his shaft and building a slow pace.  He shuddered as she lifted his member, licking it from base to tip with a long, slow stroke across the bottom.  He pushed himself hard into the wall, presenting all he good give to his unknown mistress.  The deathly chill of the stone wall amplified the pleasant warmth of her mouth as she worked her tongue along him, wetting his length as her hand rolled over the tip, lubricated by his own fluids.
	At the top of a stroke, the phantom mouth lingered, taking in his tip and suckling eagerly.  He almost called out in surprise as the tongue pressed lightly inside of him.  A pair of lips squeezed lightly around him as he exited her mouth before being taken in again, only slightly deeper.  Again and again, she worked him deeper with agonizing slowness, each stroke moving scantly past the sheen of saliva left by the last.  He felt himself coming apart, not even noticing as her lips approached his base, too lost in both pleasure and frustration as she worked up and down at a glacial place.  His depth would have gone unnoticed were it not for the sudden grip around his head as he breached her throat.  A soft squelch made its way through the hole, a stirring reminder of the lewd act happening on the other side.  She had never taken him so deep before, and he began to wonder if she was practicing.  As she came off, an unfamiliar pressure gripped around his base, engorging his member with even more blood.  He had half a mind to pull out and see what was constricting him, yet the urge to feel more made him press even more forcefully into the wall, more than willing to tolerate the dull pain in his balls for the opportunity to feel even a fraction of an inch more of this woman's throat.
	Her mouth came down again, nearly kissing the base.  A sputtering sound and a sudden swell of pressure presaged her rapid extraction.  Reginald worried that she would give up, but her lips locked around him once more, sliding to their previous position, and then some.  The grip of her throat felt different, as though she was tilting her neck to better accommodate his length.  With each cycle, her lips ground down further, squeezing tighter, until they pressed through the hole and into his crotch.  For an instant, he felt a tongue reach out and prod his balls.  He felt himself draw tense, approaching his peak rapidly.  He bit back his orgasm, unwilling to part with the incredible sensation of being so fully enveloped in her mouth.  With a squelch, he was again exposed to the air before she engulfed him, working down to the base in mere seconds.  Again and again he felt her work up his shaft and back down, faster and faster with each passing thrust.  She was softly moaning to herself, obviously taking intense pleasure from the act.  He hoped she was pleasuring herself on the other side, her hands working in time her her mouth, as though he were dipping instead into her hot, wet snatch.  As the moaning grew louder, she stopped releasing him fully, barely bothering to extract him from her throat before slamming back down.  A gurgling noise joined the moans with every impact and a sharp breath of air tickled his base every time she let part of him escape her mouth.  He was twitching in her grasp now, his cock exploring more and more of her throat as it grew and hardened in preparation.  He twitched with delight, his head slapping against the top of her throat as he ground himself into the wall, as if trying to force his whole body through the hole.
	The mysterious tightness around his shaft grew, suddenly reminding him of its presence just as he reached his limit.  He shook as his body fought against the pressure to cum.  Even as he moaned and writhed, his mysterious partner would not relent.  If anything, her throating had grown faster, her throat turning into an infinite length of warm, tight wetness.  He continued to pitch and heave, his body knowing it should be cumming, yet faced with the reality that it could not.  His orgasm reached a fevered pitch, his ears ringing with the effort of trying to break though the seal.  With a smack, she throated him fully once more, her tongue undulating along the bottom of his shaft as her throat turned and pulled around his head.  With a sudden jolt, the pressure subsided and he burst.  His head reeled with the force of his release, shot after shot firing with incredible force down her receptive throat.  She moaned as she accepted everything he had to offer, never breaking her seal around him.  His orgasm dragged on, each spurt no less intense than the last, until he had nothing left to give.  Even still, she held him in, holding his member as it jerked and twitched in aftershock.  Finally, she slipped off of him, giving his softening member a playful squeeze before he felt no more.  With a contented sigh, he pulled out of the hole, collapsing into the wall without even bothering to clean himself.  It could wait.

	Reginald woke up with a start, the shock of his sudden return shooting through extremities as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water atop him.  The metaphor fell on its face as he realized that he was, in fact, soaking wet, and a certain elf stood over his bed with a bucket.  She looked agitated and unfocused, as though something weighed heavily on her mind.  Her mouth opened and closed as she looked for words, finding none.  He should probably be patient and hear her out.

	“Freeze that water with your personality?”  Apparently, diplomacy has failed.  She stared at him, mulling over a response.  He was getting more abrasive as of late.  Her training methods were unorthodox, sure, but she did not deserve this kind of back-talk.  Nothing she had done had killed or maimed him (permanently) yet, so he really had very little to complain about.  She was about to give him a piece of her mind before her anger fell flat, replaced by anxiety.  She would have to tell him sooner or later, anyway.  “I am going to be going away for a while, at least a few months.  My services are needed again.  Keep the tower clean.”  She turned on a heel and strode out of the room before he could even react.

	Reginald stared at the door in the aftermath of her sudden exit.  She was usually rater uptight, but this was something new.  Despite being a battle mage, he had never actually seen her services requested before.  Maybe this was just how she usually was when on the job?  He dragged himself out of bed, replacing his sopping bed clothes with something dry.  He wrung out his clothes while replaying the last few minutes in his mind.  If he had not known better, he would have thought she looked scared.  Of course, with her reputation, she couldn't possibly have anything to be afraid of.  Her very presence on the field had brought armies to surrender without coming to blows.  Maybe she was sick?  Nothing he could do about it now, anyway.  He decided to ignore it for the time being and focus on his duties, grabbing a mop and bucket from the storage closet on his way out.  Why did this tower have to be so damn huge?


	Sally shook as she donned her armor.  She had finally gotten her life on track.  She had a nice tower, a handsome, young human apprentice, and enough money to last the rest of her life.  Until now, she had been consistently turning down every request that floated her way, unwilling to risk her life again, regardless of the outrageous sums she was offered.  This particular job, however, was less request than ultimatum.  An army of marauders threatened her ancestral home and her family.  For the first time in her life, she felt as though she had something to lose, forced to choose between her past and her future.  She was conflicted, caught between her obligation to her family and her desire to live a quiet, peaceful life with her apprentice.  After days of contemplation, she chose both.  She would fight this one last time, fulfilling her duty to her family.  She would survive no matter what, fleeing the battle if she had to.  She would come back and confess her love for her apprentice, settle down, raise a family, and- she chided herself for getting carried away.  Considering how she treated him, he probably hated her.  She had never loved anyone or even really had a friend before.  She had been walking the path of the war wizard for as long as she could remember.  She could count her number of acquaintances on one hand.  No one wanted to get close to someone who had once burned down an entire castle with her anger.  She sighed as she tied her hair back, biting back tears.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she told herself.  She composed herself quickly, stepping into the teleportation circle with new determination.  Time to burn shit.