Impish Behavior

Queen Tenebra, Mistress of the Eternal Dark and Queen of All That Is and Ever Would Be (or so she would be one day; for now she was just trying the title on for size) was in high spirits. She swept through the rough stone passages of her castle with a spring in her step that her aloof, regal bearing couldn't quite hide, her short bob of black hair bouncing girlishly as she went. Kobold armsmen and goblin serving-girls scattered at the sight of her, sketching brief bows and curtsies before skittering back into the shadows. Their queen was a strange woman; fey and unpredictable, her mind seemingly unable to settle on any one thing for long. She treated her subjects well, of course - very well, as those lucky enough to be invited for a personal audience could attest - but stories of the woman's temper hung around her like a cloud. Tenebra was a sorceress of some prodigious power, and only her closest underlings viewed her without a seed of unease in their hearts.

And that, Tenebra thought as a pair of diminutive lizards scuttled out of her way, was as it should be. The duo had been in the process of stripping away last month's decor and replacing it with new trappings more suited to her current tastes. One, wobbling at the top of a stepladder and already overburdened by the vast heap of star-speckled tapestries in its arms, stepped back a hair too quickly and overbalanced. Tenebra clicked her tongue in annoyance, the thin shriek as the Kobold fell cutting into her thoughts like a knife. She turned and snapped her fingers, catching the little creature with a cushion of magic and lowering it gently to the ground.

"Careful now, Tweelik," she said. "I understand that few men can control themselves when faced with my immortal beauty, but perhaps next time, you might," she placed a long, pale finger on the end of the Kobold's snout and gently pushed it down. "Avert your eyes? It would be a shame if I were forced to replace you."

"Y-yes, mistress. Of course, mistress," the Kobold replied, bowing and hurriedly collecting the pile of cloth he had dropped. Behind him, his companion fiddled nervously with his burden - drippy candles in appropriately evil shades of red and black, skulls donated by the local morticians, scrolls etched with appropriately demonic-looking runes and tins of paint to reproduce them with. Two weeks ago, the Queen had been a star-gazing prophetess, but following a rash of attacks and acts of vandalism throughout the castle, she had rediscovered her taste for the infernal. The Kobold sighed quietly. It was going to be hell trying to scrape the paint off next time she changed her mind about something.

"Very good. Carry on, then," Tenebra said. She span on her heel and departed, her long, gossamer-thin black robes swishing through the air in her wake, feeling rather pleased with herself. She had long ago found that the image, the flash and the persona of an evil sorceress was far more enjoyable than the reality, which tended to involve a great deal more slaughter and carnage than she had the stomach for, followed by death at the hands of an angry mob which she had no stomach for at all. That Tweelik thought he would be killed if he stared at her again was good. It meant he wouldn't risk falling and breaking his neck, and Tenebra herself wouldn't have to go through the whole sad process of informing the Kobold's next of kin.

Not that she'd do that sort of thing herself, of course; she had minions for that. But it still disheartened her when one of them died under her watch. Tenebra knew most of them by name, even if she pretended not to. She drew most of her servants from the downtrodden and ignored creatures of darkness, those seen by other nefarious masterminds as too weak or cowardly to be of any use. It was a point of quiet pride that they flourished under her care; her subjects were loyal, despite their queen's eccentricities, and that loyalty put a steel in them that more than made up for their other deficiencies.

It helped that she looked the part. Dress and presentation was all, Tenebra had long thought. If everyone who looks at you sees a queen and acts accordingly, then to all intents and purposes you are a queen, no matter how royal your blood. She was a tall woman, slender and willowy, with skin as smooth and pale as fresh milk. Her face was sharp and classically beautiful, with bright, lively eyes set above high cheekbones, full black-painted lips and a narrow chin. It was a face that could easily have been hard or cruel - and indeed, often masqueraded as such - but when her detached, haughty airs slipped, shone with excitement and curiosity. Tenebra had a lust for the new; new ideas, new servants, new plans to conquer the world and spells to tear down the civilised land...

...and new sensations. She smiled to herself, a little frisson of glee running down her spine. That lust was more than just a metaphor. Evil, as the saying went, was sexy, and the sorceress had never baulked at living up to that aspect of her reputation. Tenebra turned left and descended a flight of stairs, making her way towards the old dungeons. Most of her castle's gaols had been rebuilt some years ago with larger cells, chains which rattled impressively but didn't cut off the blood to one's wrists, and piles of warm, dry hay carefully hidden under thin, rotting blankets for bedding. But a handful had been left to remain as they were in the fortress' lowest reaches, locking away the dusty relics its previous owner had left behind.

For all her flair and love of the dramatic, Tenebra was not entirely blind to practicality. She had little patience for finance or interest in politics, and viewed diplomacy only as a sort of entertaining blend of foreplay and verbal swordplay, but she did have a finely-honed instinct for survival. She was hardly the only tyrannical despot or wicked queen in the badlands beyond civilisation, and defending herself from her rivals was a constant bother. Tenebra had carefully ringed her fortress with magical wards both subtle and overt, designed to detect or trap anyone who tried to enter without being escorted in by the guards. It was in one of the old dungeon cells that she had laid the nexus of her magical defenses, and it was there the intruder had been forced to manifest.

Tenebra found Francis waiting for her as she entered the dungeons. Her majordomo was an orc, albeit a rather stringy specimen compared to the musclebound barbarians that made up the bulk of his kind. He was an odd sight, impeccably groomed and dressed in a close-fitting red and black velvet suit, but try as she might Tenebra had just never been able to make him look good in the traditional furs and animal hides. A splatter of black warpaint carved a diagonal line across his face, the only nod to his wider species Francis bothered to display. He carried a thick sheath of paper and a clipboard to write on, and tapped the top of it with his stylus as she strode past.

"We caught him in the south-western wing," Francis said, quickly falling into step behind her. "The thing was able to unbind the wards protecting the outer defenses, that's how he got in. Greyscale and his men herded him into a dead end and forced him to try fleeing over the walls. Evidently he didn't have time to undo the defenses in his haste to escape."

"Skillful. Put ser Greyscale down for another commendation, will you? I'll have to come up with a new medal to give him."

"Of course, dread one."

"Was there any damage?" Tenebra adjusted the silver half-moon tiara holding her hair in place. "Any injuries amongst the staff?"

Francis checked his papers, flicking through the stack of reports and witness statements. "Nothing we can't replace...or that isn't already being replaced. We think he was trying to get into the library, and vented his frustrations on whatever was to hand when the wards there proved too strong. Tapestries were burned, tables smashed...the fifth wing chandelier was torn down, I'm afraid to say."

"Bah. I never liked it anyway, too...twinkly. What about the men?"

Francis grimaced. That chandelier had been a special commission, less than three months old, the pattern of its hanging crystals modeled on the major constellations. He had been hoping to sell it on once Tenebra inevitably grew bored of the thing, but it had been so thoroughly trashed he doubted it was worth anything now.

"Three spearmen were injured corralling the beast, though the apothecary tells me none of their wounds are serious. A few of the maids were rather startled by his appearance. He is, well." Francis paused for a moment, sucking the end of his stylus. Then he shrugged. He knew that whatever he said was only going to pique the woman's curiosity, not quash it. "Quite horrific."

"Indeed? A terrifying monster of the abyss, then? A warped, hideous ghoul, the very form of evil incarnate?"

"That would be accurate, mistress, yes."

"And you say it's a he? You're very sure of that?"

Francis sighed. "Yes, or at least it looked male to me. I didn't exactly check under its loincloth. Also, I should say that the castle's wards are still breached in several places. Whoever summoned the creature to attack us may well send another entity to..."

"Well then, the matter resolves itself, does it not?" Tenebra said. Her mind was alive with possibilities. How big was it? Bipedal, quadrupedal, or something even stranger? Tentacles, spines, or perhaps a multitude of eyes? "I will meet with the creature, bind him to my will, and draw forth the name of our assailant. It has been rather a while since I dabbled with the infernal, after all. It simply wouldn't do to fall out of practice."

The dungeons took on a grimmer aspect the deeper Tenebra went. Few of the castle's staff had any business here and there was no reason why guests or invaders might see the lowest halls, so they were left bare of the lavish decoration that swaddled the rest of the fortress. The walls were naked stone, the floors bare of any carpet so an escaping prisoner would be given away by their footsteps. Tenebra pursed her lips, suppressing a shiver. Her dress was in truth little more than a number of long, deep blue ribbons of silk speckled with threads of silver, draped around her body in such a way that they revealed more than they hid. And even those hidden areas were left, teasingly, on display; if one concentrated hard enough on the semi-sheer fabric, the small, dark spots of her nipples and carefully maintained tuft of hair upon her mound were just about visible. It looked suitably impressive for a dark oracle, which of course was the most important thing, but it did nothing to keep out the chill.

A demonic mask and the heavy robes of an occultist would have been far more apt, Tenebra thought. She was of half a mind to turn on her heel, march straight back to her chamber, and refuse to allow anyone to look at her until she had an appropriate outfit. But that would mean delaying her audience with the creature that had run roughshod through her castle, and that simply would not do. He was her guest now, and Tenebra was nothing if not a gracious host.

The pair passed several heavy, iron-shod doors lining the corridors. Behind these lay rusting iron maidens, stretching racks, shelves of thumbscrews and branding irons - all terribly ugly instruments of torture that Tenebra had little use for. Sometimes they were dragged out and set around the castle when she was in one of her darker moods, but for the most part they were sealed away and left to rot. One door, though, was different. An angular sigil had been carved into the wood. Normally inert, it now fizzed and cracked with energy, emitting a dull, ruddy glow that filled the stone passage.

"Ah, excellent. The seals still work," Tenebra said. "Ah, not that a sorceress of my might would have any concern otherwise. I merely sought to - "

She glanced sideways at Francis, who politely averted his eyes. "- reassure those of lesser minds."

"Of course, terrible one," the orc sighed. It would have been easy - and terribly dull - to design magical defenses that simply obliterated everything that passed through them, but Tenebra had opted for something much less lethal. A complex system of binding and translocation spells had been worked into the warding charms in such a way that any intruder, be they physical or ethereal, would be instantly transported and restrained within this cell. There was always the lingering worry that with such a delicate weave of differing spells, something would go wrong or fail to trigger. Gloating over a defeated victim was expected behavior from a properly devious evildoer, but it just wasn't any fun if the victim was in fact a corpse. Especially if it was a corpse that had materialised in two different places and absolutely ruined the upholstery.

Tenebra cleared her throat and quickly stepped inside, locking the door after her. The chamber was covered from ceiling to floor with arcane sigils that writhed across the damp stone, filling the space with flickering violet light and a faint warmth that tingled unnaturally - but not unpleasingly - up and down her bare skin. A pair of heavy manacles, similarly inscribed, hung from the ceiling, and it was within these the intruder had been forced to manifest.

It was an imp of some kind, Tenebra knew that much, which meant it was about as low down in the infernal heirarchy as it could be whilst still possessing a sense of self. She walked around the creature in a lazy circle, inspecting it from all angles as the thick, guttural hiss of its breathing filled the chamber. It was perhaps half a head taller than her, discounting the long, sharp horns that swept up from its skull, its lanky body seemingly wrought from nothing but bone and sinewy muscle and clad in nothing more than a ragged loincloth. It shuddered and twitched in the restraints, bulging eyes rolling in their sockets as it followed her around the room.

"Do you have a name, then?" Tenebra asked. "A given name, I mean. Obviously you possess a True Name, and I'll wrangle that out of you in time, but what should I call you for now?"

The imp slurred something. Its head looked like a goat's skull that had been partially flayed; a long, thick tongue lolled from between skeletal jaws held together by dripping tendons. Tenebra cupped a hand over one ear and motioned for the creature to speak again.

"Ixallion," it rasped.

"Ixallion? Hmm, Ixallion...no no, I think Ix will suffice. Something nice, short and punchy," Tenebra said, as much to herself as to the creature. "And do you know who I am?"

"Tenebra. Queen of..." Ix's brow furrowed. "Eternal darkness, herald of...of...lurker-between stars?"

Tenebra tutted and shook her head. "Points for effort, but no. It's 'Mistress of the Eternal Dark and Queen of All That Is and Ever Would Be'. I think. Does it sound too long to you? It's pleasingly grandiose, but it lacks..." she trailed off, clicking her fingers. "Punch, you know? It isn't snappy enough."

Ix stared blankly at her, either unwilling to answer or unsure how to reply. His eyes were milky white, with a thick, horizontal pupil floating in each. "Well, anyway. Introductions aside, I would very much like to know what you thought you were doing in my castle?"

Her voice hardened as she delivered the last three words, and she saw the creature flinch in surprise at the sudden change in her mannerisms. Ix's chains rattled, the magical etchings flaring brightly as the demon tested them. It was an old routine, one that many of Tenebra's more interesting subjects had gone through, and one which had become second nature to the queen herself. Threats came first, veiled or otherwise, impressing both her power and the dire consequences for disobedience upon them. But they were always followed with promises and temptations; an artfully bared thigh, a touch upon the arm that lingered just enough to be suggestive, a coy bat of the eyelashes. Promises which, more often than not, she followed up upon with relish.

"You've trespassed upon my lands, attacked my servants, destroyed my property. There were reports you even attempted to breach the defenses around my library! I should tear your body apart and use whatever noxious essence you have for a soul to make my fortress' wards!"

Tenebra paused for a moment, her eyes flaring with anger. False, of course - she was actually quietly impressed with Ix's nerve - but as with everything else, it was the look of things that mattered. The demon squirmed uncomfortably, its two thin tails lashing across the stone floor.

"At the very least, tell me who sent you. Do this and I will consider sparing your corporeal form, at least."

"Bardur," he hissed. "Summoner and master."

Tenebra let out a short laugh. Bardur was just one of the dozens of wannabe warlords and despots fighting for territory in the badlands. A skilled warrior and diabolist but poor leader - along with being one of the most vulgar and tasteless men Tenebra had ever encountered - his minions were little more than slaves forced into service and suffered an astonishingly high turnover rate.

"Of course he was. He's been sore ever he discovered who's been poaching his servants," Tenebra said. She paused in mid-stride, studying Ix from the rear. A pair of batlike wings hung from his wiry shoulders, but they were ragged, useless things that made her think of damp leaves that had been trodden underfoot. In fact, she thought, Ix's whole body looked unfinished. What skin he possessed was thin and translucent, and stretched too tight over his stringy muscles. A faint frown crossing her delicate features, Tenebra ran her fingers down Ix's back. His spine, shoulder blades, and ribs were all pushing through the surrounding flesh. He looked, she thought with a sudden surge of curiosity, like one of the skinned anatomical models she had purchased when going through her Mad Scientist phase.

"It makes sense. I steal his servants, he steals my books. The brute probably planned on burning them to make a point, or something similarly gauche," Tenebra rolled her eyes in disgust. "He can't have thought much of you, though. Perhaps you were just sent as a warning?"

Ix didn't reply. Tenebra took another few steps, the click of her heels echoing through the chamber. "Perhaps he didn't expect you to return. It would be convenient for him, after all. He wouldn't have to follow through on whatever deal he made to secure your service."

Again, no answer. Tenebra pouted in irritation. If she knew his true name, she could simply compel the creature to tell her everything, then banish him with a forbiddance from ever assailing her home or her people again. She had no doubt that given enough time, she could wring Ix's true name forth by force. But Tenebra had never been a patient woman, and torture was deeply unfashionable anyway. Proper evil queens never had to resort to torture, she thought, unless it was the kind that involved carefully-wound ropes and skillful blows from a riding crop. All the books she had read in her youth made it quite clear that deception and seduction were the rightful tools of a dark sorceress, and so it was these she had come to rely upon.

"What did Bardur offer you anyway?" Tenebra remarked. She ran her hand along Ix's back, cresting his shoulder and stroking down his arm. The creature's body was hot - much hotter than a man's, and faintly slick with a thin slime that oozed from between his bare muscles. "He browbeats his mortal minions into service. I can't imagine his infernal ones are treated any better. I mean, just look at this!"

She plucked at the string that held Ix's loincloth up. "Does he call this a uniform? It's a little pathetic, really. It's not impressive, it's not intimidating, it's just - ugh. And he wonders why his people are defecting. Tell me, when ser Greyscale ran you down, did you happen to see a pair of Minotaurs with him?"

Ix nodded slowly, his eyes wary. Long strings of saliva drooled from his flayed jaws.

"Bardur's men, originally. Those helmets and shields they carried? The cloaks?" Tenebra pressed a hand over her heart. It was the same one she had ran across Ix's shoulder, and when she took it away, it left a patch of glistening wetness on her skin. "A gift from myself. I can be a generous woman, Ixallion, to those who serve me well. They were most...vigorous when I asked them to show their appreciation."

Her eyes never left Ix's, her black-painted lips twisting into a coy smile. Tenebra fancied she could already see the gears turning in the demon's mind.

"Was offered nothing," he said, and Tenebra thought she caught a plaintive note in Ix's voice. "Was offering itself. Was spun from nether at master's behest."

Tenebra felt a spark of pity for the creature. "So Bardur dealt with another demon and had you created? He was that desperate for a unique servant, just to get through my walls?"

Ixallion nodded. A low, glottal rumble oozed from his throat. It took Tenebra a moment before she realised he was laughing, though there was little humour in the sound. "Didn't do much good. Came out broken. Half-finished."

"Well, I wouldn't say broken." Tenebra leaned back on her heel, cradling her chin as she examined the demon. Most of his ilk were monstrous things, inspiring awe and terror in equal measure, but there was something slightly sad about Ixallion. Most would have found him frightening and grotesque, but to Tenebra, he had the air of a badly kicked puppy. It was something about the eyes, she thought, the faintly plaintive way they stared out of his gaunt skull. Like he hoped for a lot but had come to expect little.

"More...abstract. Like a work of art," she said, nodding. Yes, that was it. He was like an demonic artist's impression of a living creature, depicting something described but never seen. Beautiful in its own way; the rich, deep red of his body, the sleek lines of his horned skull, the powerful tension in his raw muscles.  She imagined the way he might move, a low, fluid prowl, like a great stalking beast. Her thoughts drifted, other images flitting through her imagination. Hot, slick flesh and smooth bone against her skin, a thick tongue against her intimacies, the satisfaction of gently teaching him to appease her needs...

Needs which were growing quite real. A familiar restlessness was settling upon her, an irresistible urge to act upon her endless curiosity. Tenebra felt the first pangs of genuine arousal forming inside her, firing her imagination. She saw Ix in her mind's eye, his freakish body hunched over hers, her legs parted as he rutted at her in a union of beauty and horror.

Tenebra found herself drifting closer, caressing Ix's jawbone, her fingers running along the tendons that bound it together. Thin strings of drool stretched from his fangs, pattering against her skin. Even from a distance he felt furnace-hot, and she let out a long, low sigh, her skin tingling as she imagined herself sat in her throne, Ix crouched next to her like a faithful bodyguard, ready to pounce on whichever poor fool next dared to invade her home.

"I suppose you must feel loyal to him," Tenebra murmured. "He had you created, after all, gave you a purpose...but I don't think he really intended on you surviving."

The demon hung, very still, in his restraints. She could feel his eyes on her, running across the subtle curves of her slender body, trying to look past the barely-there strips of silk that hid her most intimate places from his gaze. Tenebra had seen that same look from scores of men in her time. When confusion and suspicion warred with desire and temptation, the latter always won out.

"Bardur isn't the only one who can give you a purpose. I can do that and more." Tenebra's hand slid down Ix's body, over his slick, throbbing musculature. His jaws clacked. She felt the rough weave of his loincloth and kept going, lower, until her fingers came to rest on the lumpen bulge it concealed. Her heart skipped in excitement, though it took all her willpower not to let it show on her face. Definitely male, she thought smugly. And very male for such a strange, skinny creature.

"I can give you a home, somewhere you'll always be welcome. Always be needed. So long as you were willing to serve my needs, of course."

"Needs?"

"Oh, the usual," Tenebra whispered. "Scatter my enemies, terrify their subjects, despoil their homes...all the things one expects a queen to demand from her subjects. And perhaps a little more."

She hooked one of her legs over Ix's thigh and pulled herself closer, her foot playing idly with the demon's lashing tails. Strips of her robes clung to his ghoulish anatomy as they brushed against it, growing wet and sticky with his ichor. And all the while she felt him growing and stiffening, his loincloth first tenting, then being pushed away entirely by the swelling mass of his prick. Tenebra dearly wanted to look down - to see what the creature had with her own eyes, to sate the feverish curiosity that burned in her chest - but forced herself to hold Ix's gaze. Her fingers blindly wandered along the exposed rise of his erection, gliding through the coating of thin slime and caressing the fleshy whorls and ridges beneath.

Ix let out a strange, almost musical note of breath that whistled through his hollow nasal cavity. He shuddered under her touch and rattled his chains, clawed hands flexing and grasping the air.

"Don't understand," the imp croaked. He certainly wasn't short of sexual urge. Tenebra could feel him trembling like a leaf, as though he were fighting down the urge to thrust into her palm. "Why? Could summon incubus. Balor. Tentacle fiend. All more suited than me."

Tenebra smirked and leaned in, her lips brushing the empty pit he had in place of an ear. "Because," she said, "you are strange, and new, and beautiful to me. I want you, and so I will have you."

And that was the truth of it. There was no need to boast or pretend. For once the strange pantomime of her life matched the reality of the situation. She wanted him like a child who wants a new toy, her mind seething with ideas, visions, possibilities, just as her body cried out to experience whatever new pleasures his strange anatomies offered. Ix looked at her, glanced away, then looked back and nodded, all within the space of a second. It was if he expected some bolt of lightning to crash down through the roof and incinerate him for his betrayal. Tenebra smiled demurely, hiding the heavy kick of joy that ran through her behind her usual mask of dignified composure. Then she pressed herself against him, feeling the uneven beat of his heart thudding in his narrow chest, and graced him with a kiss.

It was an awkward gesture, Ix lacking both lips and experience at kissing, and his elongated skull was entirely the wrong shape anyway. Strings of drool ran down her chin and along her neck as his long, thick tongue lolled from between his jaws, writhing against Tenebra's own. But it was the act itself, not the ease, that mattered. It was the perversity, the delicious sin, of kissing the bizarre, half-made creature that set Tenebra's stomach fluttering, that sharpened the pangs of arousal running through her body into something she could not ignore. She drew back with a small gasp of reluctance, her pale skin glistening with the demon's slippery ichor, the silk ribbons of her dress little more than a black film draped across her body.

"Ixallion, I'm going to release your chains," she said. "I think you know what I want, yes? What we both want."

The demon nodded. It was hard to read any kind of expression on Ix's face, but the burning heat of his prick told the sorceress everything she needed to know. She squeezed it gently, feeling it throb in return. Precome drizzled from his tip in long strings.

"But you will not take liberties. You will follow my instructions to the letter, or be hurled back to whatever pit you were spawned in, understand? I have become quite adept at dispatching infernal paramours who sought to...exceed their remit, even during the act itself."

Ix nodded again, his eyes flicking respectfully downwards. ""Yes, mistress," he said, the word sending a shiver of excitement down Tenebra's spine. She allowed herself a small smile. He was a quick learner, this one, and she wanted him see how his subjugation pleased her.

Tenebra concentrated for a second, her eyes growing distant as she brought the weave of spells permeating the chamber into focus. She sketched a number of symbols with her hands, delicately plucking at the magic like a seamstress, until she heard the heavy metal click of Ix's shackles opening. He collapsed forwards onto all fours, tentatively stretching out his long limbs before settling back his haunches like a great, fleshy hound waiting for instruction. Tenebra met his eyes for a moment and gave him the tiniest of nods.

And then he was on her. Ix pounced like a beast, bearing the dark queen to the ground and pinning her down by the shoulders. He was deceptively strong for such a skinny monster, and Tenebra let loose a high, almost girlish shriek of laughter as he landed atop her and began thrusting madly. His uncertainly had vanished as if it had never been in the first place; there was no foreplay, no gentle build-up, just a mad, lustful scramble as he fought to bring his organ to bear. But inexperience undid his enthusiasm. Tenebra felt his cock bang against her thighs, slither over her mound, and for three infuriating strokes, hump the crease where her thigh met her hip. Her body was aflame with need, her anticipation swelling before each thrust only to ebb in frustration as the imp once again missed his target. She squirmed, raising her hips and spreading her long legs invitingly, trying to make it as easy as possible for him.

It would have been simple, of course, to simply order Ix to cease and maneuver him into position, but that would have defeated the point. Tenebra wanted to experience him, and that meant all of him, clumsy or otherwise. Besides, she thought, a teacher could hardly school her pupil without a thorough demonstration of his technique.

But even so, each missed thrust was an agony. Her sex ached, her belly clenched tight, and her mind spun with the need to feel something - anything - inside her. It was almost a surprise when Ix finally found his mark, a sudden, crushing wave of pleasure sweeping through her body as the imp's gnarled prick slipped between her lips and glided home inside her. His throaty hiss was drowned out by Tenebra's own wavering cry, her hips bucking instinctively as she sought to take the throbbing organ as deep as she could. It was as strange and misshapen as the rest of him, thick, pulsing veins and uneven ridges of flesh tucking and teasing her sensitive lips, each rocking her with a sudden jolt of ecstacy. It was like the piercings some of her human partners sported or the nodules of a lizardman's hemipenis, but with no pattern or logic behind their placement to dull the feeling with routine.

"Oh, yes!" she cried, letting her head roll back and laughing passionately. "Oh, by all the dark things, yes!"

If she had expected Ix's thrusts to become smoother and more practiced once they coupled, Tenebra would have been disappointed. But, she realised, it was his inexperience that she most enjoyed. Sometimes he thrust deep, pushing his prick in down to the root and filling her with the wonderful sense of fullness; other times he humped her more shallowly, the strange shapes of his cock battering her most intimate places until her head span and stars exploded across her vision. Every heartbeat brought a new, erratic spike of pleasure. It left her breathless and off-balance, feeling her climax building and receding in time with Ix's rapid, erratic movements.

He was beautiful, she thought, pleased beyond belief that their coupling was face to face. It would have been a tragedy not to see him, an abstract vision of a man stripped down to the bare meat and bone, as he fucked her. Tenebra wrapped her arms around the imp, pulling him closer, feeling his weight upon her and the frenzied pulse of blood and ichor through his flayed muscles. Ix's eyes were wide and crazed, almost glowing with the intensity of his frenzied passions.

"Tongue," Tenebra gasped. She wished she could see herself coupling with him, to see the insane contrast between their bodies as they twined around one another. "Use your tongue."

Mirrors, Tenebra thought vaguely, the thought surfacing in her mind before being swallowed once more by the visceral thrill of the moment. Ix's tongue, as thick as a man's hand and as long as his forearm, lolled from his mouth and slithered over her chest, pushing the soaked ribbons of her garment aside and curling around her pert breasts. It was as rough as his body was slippery, rasping over her sensitive skin and drawing forth a thousand tiny pinpricks of ecstasy. I need to have his cell lined with mirrors.

She was shaken back to reality as Ix began to push her down harder. His thrusts became slower, deeper, more forceful, his prick swelling and throbbing inside her as the imp reached his peak. A moment of frustration, even anger, swept through her. Her climax was there, building on the edge of her consciousness, but he had yet to quite push her into it. Tenebra was on the verge of ordering Ix to halt, but the thought came too late. Ix threw his head back and let out a long, hoarse cry, thrusting into Tenebra so hard she had no choice but to arch her back and buck her hips sharply upwards as he came. And came, and came, and came. He didn't seem to stop, rope after rope of hot, thick seed boiling into her, lapping against her walls and spilling out over her aching lips in long, burning strands.

And then he kept going.

Ix's thrusts faltered for a moment. He and Tenebra made eye contact, heavy breaths whistling through his hollow skull, and then he began to speed his pace again. His prick had lost none of its hardness, and Tenebra once more felt her climax beginning to swell within her. This time, Ix's thrusts were punctuated by the sharp tingle of his come against her nethers, each savage motion of his hips forcing it from Tenebra's body until it formed a warm, spreading pool beneath them.

His stamina was staggering. Tenebra was far from inexperienced when it came to cavorting with beasts of the lower realms, and all but the tentacled horrors of Xar'nlep had needed at least a short break after they came, if nothing else but to boast of their prowess before adopting a new position. But Ix? He fucked her like an animal, like a machine, as if he were convinced Tenebra would never visit him again and sought desperately to make the most of what time he had. The Sorceress' hands caressed his throbbing musculature, her fingernails scratching along his exposed ribs, finally coming to cup his long, bony jaw and hold his skull against her brow as they rutted.

Her legs curled around Ix's narrow hips, thighs tensing to keep him held in place whenever the demon tried to pull too far back. "Harder," Tenebra whispered, her mind swimming with pleasure. "And deeper, see? Like that, oh, mmm...exactly like that..."

It was only the slightest measure of control, and he still bucked uncontrollably as whatever instinct drove him clashed with the urge to obey his mistress' commands, but it proved to be enough. The chamber echoed with the rhythmic slap of their sticky bodies, the imp's gnarled prick stabbing fiercely into Tenebra's aching body, pushing her moment by moment towards her climax. It built and built, the raging fever of her arousal permeating every inch of her body, sweeping away thought and leaving nothing but an empty, desperate yearning in his wake. Ix's eyes bulged and he came a second time, the sudden, sweet rush of heat and pressure finally breaking the dam that held her own climax back.

Tenebra cried out a long, strangled wail of release as she burned with pleasure, instinctively bucking up into Ix's thrusts as he jerked and heaved above her. Every pulse and flood of warmth, every juddering motion of the demon's cock in her depths dragged her orgasm out further. She twisted and writhed, the tension that had build flooding out of her in a great rush of ecstasy, her mind blank to everything but the sweetness and perversity of her union.

Finally, it became too much, the aftershocks of her climax starting to turn sour as Ix continued to rut at her over-sensitive, tired body. She had stamina herself, to be sure, but the Imp's mad ferocity had worn her out, physically and mentally. "Enough!" Tenebra gasped, releasing her death-grip on Ix's thighs and pushing him off her. "Enough. We are done."

Ix scrabbled backwards, his ragged wing-stumps fluttering in apprehension. "Was not good? Did something wrong?"

"No! No, not at all," Tenebra said. She cleared her throat and sat up, tucking her hair back behind her ears and adjusting the sodden remnants of her dress. "It...sufficed. More than sufficed in fact, but I feel the need for a break. Francis!"

The door creaked open. The orc, to his credit, didn't even bat an eyelid at the sight of Tenebra's flushed skin and wide-eyed expression, much less at the spreading pool of thick, pearly come which lay cooling on the floor. Such scenes of debauchery had long since ceased to shock him. Frankly, they didn't even surprise him any more.

"I see you and the creature reached an accord, then," he said. "Shall I prepare you a bath, dark one?"

"That would be delightful, yes. Have hot water and towels brought down for our guest, and see about clearing out one of the larger dungeon chambers. And get him fitted for a uniform!"

"Uniform?" Ix and Francis spoken together, glancing warily at one another.

"Of course, you'll need a uniform. Something in, mmm, a nice, deep crimson. Black edging." Tenebra stuck her tongue out as she thought, new ideas already bubbling away inside her head. "Maybe a cloak? No, it'll get in the way of the wings...maybe just a set of robes, then? We could keep his top half bare, like those fighting monks we saw in Sangri-la. What do you think? Francis? How much money do we have in the treasury right now anyway?"

Francis sighed, tapping his clipboard to hide his frustrations. It was going to be a long, long day.