Magicka

It was kind of weird to be honest... the way he liked strapping you to random things, you’d almost think he had some kind of weird fetish for it. Still the bastard had been pretty good to you so far, rescuing your sister, taking you in, teaching you how to teach yourself magic. Really you wanted a piece of THAT action like nothing else. After all magic meant power, and power meant the ability to have revenge, to take out your chunk of the world and live sweet.

“This one is going to sting a bit.” He spoke, weirdly charming even with the roughness and indignities which he visited upon you every day. Sting a bit? He’d done everything short of torture you to actual madness, and even then he’d almost done it with pleasure instead. He’d blown you up, well bits of you… you were still miffed about the hand, he’d fried your mind with pleasure so intense that the only thing it could be compared to was pain, he’d even made you scream, shout, and pledge your allegiances to him.

He must have known those were promises were all fake… even though he kept doing it every night. You’d hardly slept for almost three weeks now, he wouldn’t allow it until you were so blissed out with absolute insane desire, almost right on the edge of breaking that you’d promise him anything at all to have a final release.

“Sting… right.” You snarked back at him, before he flicked your nipple hard, the jolt of pain hitching your breath. “Yeah… like the last one stung. And the one before that. You know when you Blew my freaking Head off…” You grumbled unhappily. Dying like that HURT, and no you didn’t bloody well care that it was all in the name of Science.

Besides being dead sucked balls, and waiting to see if someone would cast revive on your mutilated corpse was at best... worrying. You were, you admitted, starting to lose your fear of it. That was probably not a good thing. And worse yet was that every time you came back the bastard made you kneel and thank him profusely.

Usually with your mouth pressed deep against his balls, sucking and licking your ‘appreciations’.

Always something or the other with Tim... of all the names… Tim. Since he’d bought your sister off that nobleman he’d been rubbing it in, pushing you harder and harder. Sometimes you caught yourself murmuring the platitudes which he’d asked for as you attempted to please him. The little things which he made you beg him for.

You couldn’t so much as go for a drink of water without his permission… or else he’d just leave you to suffer though the horrible itch of pleasure which the dammed belt incited.

You were getting the feeling that the only reason you’d never been ordered to not give him backtalk was cause he enjoyed the interplay. The unsubtle mixture of your desires which frankly were getting out of hand, and his control over such were clearly his thing, but apparently he ALSO liked that you fought him every step of the way, at least verbally.

... come to think of it you couldn’t remember the last time you’d actually refused him an order.

Maybe you should just to shake things up a little? Prove that you were still your own woman despite the piercings, and the belt and the distinctive marks of branding on your skin which served to show that you belonged to him in ways that a collar just could not.

...ok, maybe it was time to call it in... you were starting to get hot just thinking about him putting you on a leash and leading you around. What kind of example were you setting for your sister when you did those kinds of things? Even if it was only pretend and not a real slave collar.

... not that she seemed overly worried when you were ordered to do them infront of her.

“Nihil.” You snap back to your present predicament as fingers snap before your eyes. “Nihil. Focus. I need you to rate this for me. Don’t disappoint.”

You roll your eyes visibly as you spit sarcastically. “Yes ‘Master’.”

“One extra hour.” He pronounced, causing your blood to run a little cold and wince. One extra hour where he’d let you sink into the depths of unholy pleasure, so addled that you couldn’t help but worry that some kind of madness was creeping up upon you with all of the repeated sessions.

“Ah come on… that’s not fair.” You whine. It was kind of telling how much less you cared about the spikes of incredible pain these days, than the uncertain thrum of building pleasure.