Ancient Magic, Modern Times

Soon, they passed into his tent, the tribe's largest by far. He led her inside and secured the flap behind himself, then gave the leash a tug, drawing her to the center of the comfortable rug that sat in the room's center. Once there, he turned towards her and finally took another moment to drink in her utter perfection. She smiled curiously at him, hands hanging at her sides, seeming perfectly content to just wait and see what would happen next. The Warlord studied her lovely face, then resolved to replace her smile with something far more lewd.

The Warlord slowly stepped closer to her, winding the chain of her leash around his fist as he drew closer and closer to her, until finally he stood looking down at her and she stood smiling up at him. Her brows gave a delicate arch, as though making a casual but silent inquiry as to what came next -- in truth, a taunt, a tease, a challenge. The Warlord rose to his little flower's tiny bait, yanking on the leash and making her stumble a step closer to him with a soft gasp. Her hands quickly rose, catching herself against his chest. His other hand went low, finding the wet heat of her sodden cunt.

The Warlord smiled to himself as she ducked her head in against him, the curve of his lips growing as he slid his fingers into her accepting entrance. When he heard her moan and felt her improbably tight cunt squeeze around his index and middle finger, he let himself grin outright. He already had his every move plotted out in his mind, knowing exactly how he would make her cum; how he would twine his new favourite toy around his fingers so she fell in love with the things he did to her.

By the way the fingers of one of her hands curled and clutched desperately at his shirt, he suspected she would be even easier to win over than he thought. "Remember every moment of this, my little flower," he murmured down to her, resting his jaw against the softness of her hair, inhaling its wondrous scent. It almost made him feel dizzy with giddiness.

"Oh," she moaned out softly, her other hand slowly sliding down his body, "I will. I promise," she whispered against his chest, meek and the very picture of submissive right up until she outright grabbed the stiff shape of his tented cock through his pants. He grunted his surprise. "It isn't every day I let someone like yourself do this to me, 'master'," she said in her throaty purr. "You aren't bad with your fingers... though you could stand to be a bit more delicate," she teased, dislodging his jaw from her head as she leaned back.

The Warlord looked down and blinked at her in confusion, caught flat-footed by her sudden assertiveness and chattiness. In that moment, she said more than she had since he found her. She just smiled back at him, a hint of color across her cheeks from arousal without a hint of embarrassment. The proud arrogance and self-assured confidence behind her indolence was now creeping through the cracks in his little flower's facade, but in his horny state, he didn't recognize what truly stood before him. He just thought she was far more poorly trained than he realized. That was something he would have to rectify. "Did I tell you that you were welcome to touch my cock, woman?" he growled at her, used to getting what he wanted from the implicit threat behind the tone, so sure it would work here.

The would-be slave let her smile widen, showing just a flash of her pearly teeth. "Was I supposed to ask, 'master'?" she asked, beginning to stroke him through the fabric that kept his cock tucked away and restrained. Her eyes widened by several degrees, as though she were an innocent scandalized by a slanderous accusation. "Since I'm so wet for you," she whispered before he collected enough of his wits to interject, "I thought this was free for me to grab, too. It's my fault that you've gotten so hard, isn't it?"

Her attitude hardened his resolve to see her expression twisted with pleasure. By the time he was done with her, she wouldn't even try to breathe without his blessing first. "Yes," he growled in his irritation, his spelunking fingers picking up in speed, fucking her tight cunt recklessly, technique eschewed with his belief that harder was always better. She cut in before he had a chance to continue.

"Well! I'm very sorry," the Warlord's little flower said, her eyes widening just a little more. "Just let me take care of this problem," she said, her voice growing breathy. As he went all the harder at her cunt, she shifted her stance and spread her legs wider, giving him easier access to her slick hole. Her hips gave subtle little rolls in time with his furious assault on her womanhood. As she tightened her grip on his shirt, her other hand crept up from his cock. He didn't notice the amazing feat of dexterity it must have been for her to unbuckle his belt with just one hand; he only noticed a second later that she had yanked his pants down, exposing him.

"I meant-- yes, you need to ask," the Warlord grunted out after a pause, feeling stupid immediately afterwards. Had he lost control of the situation? When he started doing this, women always came quickly on its heels, moaning and screaming their pleasure. His little flower's advice about being more delicate went completely unheeded. She confounded him. Her sexual stamina must have been the thing of legends. What he didn't realize was that unlike the other women who let him furiously fingerfuck their cunts, she didn't fake an orgasm to get him to stop sooner rather than later.

"Oh!" the would-be slave exclaimed, her pouty lips pursing thoughtfully as her eyes narrowed up at him, the fan of her eyelashes betraying her undisguised amusement at his expense. "Right. Well, 'master', may I touch your cock?" she asked, her voice pitching back to that promising purr. She didn't bother waiting for his answer, almost immediately dropping her hand again and curling her fingers around his thick length, stroking and pumping along his hardness. "Of course I may," she whispered, cruel and capricious. "You couldn't stop me if you tried. You're strong but you're not very smart, are you?"

The Warlord finally had enough of his little flower. Nostrils flaring, he yanked up on her leash, intending to pull her up to her tiptoes. "You're going to regret your sass, girl," he sneered at her. The force exerted on her collar made her neck crane painfully back, yet he found she didn't lift even a hair off the ground, her bare feet seemingly rooted to the rug beneath her feet, sturdy as stone pillars. He grunted and did the only thing he could think of when confronted by a problem his strength couldn't immediately solve -- or when his fingers weren't able to drive a woman to a sudden (and almost always faked) orgasm within seconds of entering their cunt. He tried again, but harder, grunting as he put all his strength behind the upward tug.

The would-be slave's smile grew into a grin, her eyes brightening with mirth. She barely rocked despite his show of force, swaying gently with it. For all the Warlord's effort and despite the vast difference in muscle between the two of them, her feet remained firmly planted to the ground. "Is that all you've got, 'master'?" she asked him, all but laughing at him as his face reddened with anger. He abandoned her cunt entirely.

"You bitch," he snapped out, releasing the leash entirely and reaching to grab at her delicate throat with both hands, blinded by his agitation and his lust. As he squeezed at her neck, her grin only grew, wildly humoured and showing none of the fear or deference or submission he needed from her. He sneered at her, not thinking about his intent, about whether he wanted to kill her or just make him stop talking. Anyone else surely would have been cowed by him, but not his little flower.

Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, hissing groan, colored with his surprise. He had only a second to gird himself before his orgasm hit, one far harder and rougher than any he ever experienced before her hands. Rope after rope of his thick white cum shot out of his cock, splattering against her pelvis and belly. "Well," she laughed at him, truly laughing, the noise like pealing bells.

"I guess that is all you've got." All throughout, her fingers continued steadily pumping him, drawing out far more of what laid in his balls than he ever would have thought possible. His fingers slackened, sliding down the sides of her throat to instead grab on to her shoulders, holding them tight for support his legs desperately needed. He panted for breath, struck dumb in an instant by an orgasm he should have felt coming -- but still given a clarity he desperately needed earlier, with his lust disposed of.

This woman was not human.

Her pumping slowed and her fingers slid up along his cock, swiping the last drop of cum off the tip of his dick. As he opened his eyes, he was treated to the sight of her laving his seed off her graceful digit, her eyes lidding and then closing in exaggerated enjoyment at its taste. "Not bad," she purred, tucking it between her lips to suck the taste of him clean off her. "Not bad at all." When her eyes opened, he flinched back from the sight of them. When he first looked into them, they were warm like amber, practically shining with an inner fire.

Now that fire burned forth. The legends always said humans could recognize an ifrit by the fire of their flaming eyes. He thought that was stupid, and that such spirits couldn't possibly exist. If magic were real, wouldn't he have witnessed some by this point of his life? And wouldn't flaming eyes just singe their eyebrows? The Warlord now understood what they meant. Their color warped and danced like an open flame, amber bleeding away into red and back again.

"No," he whispered, almost moaning the word as he began to understand just how badly he had fucked up. He felt her nails -- no, her claws, the demon had claws now -- tear through his shirt and cut into his chest, dragging through his skin with deliberate purpose.

"Yes, yes," she cooed back at his moaning denial of the situation, her smile like a blade now, her canines just slightly more pronounced. The Warlord's would-be slave reached forward and stroked her fingers tenderly along his cheek, her touch blazing hot. He stared at her, mouth open and horrified, feeling those other claws begin to draw bloody little trails across his face. "I think... it might be time someone puts an end to your poor behaviour and teaches you a lasting lesson, boy."

The Warlord squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in deep. Despite how warm her fingers were, he could feel his blood begin to run cold, fear gripping him like a vice. He was dimly aware of his legs beginning to shake and shiver. When he whispered, he knew his voice was nothing like he needed it to be, strong and brave and authoritative. "I'm sorry. Please don't kill me," he begged, sounding just little and scared. He knew that in an instant her caressing and scratching could give way to a fatal display of her demonic strength and her razor sharp claw, and that would be that.

"Why would I do that?" the ifrit whispered, patting his cheek one more time before sliding that hand down to his chest as well, flattening both of her palms against its breadth. "That's not a lesson. That's an end, you foolish boy. And besides... I'd say you owe me a little something before I send you on your way," she added in a far lower purr, taking a step forward. She didn't push him, but he stumbled back anyways, falling back first upon his bed.

"What--" the defeated Warlord tried to ask as he moved to sit up, eyes wide and scared.

Before he could, she pounced forward, on him in an instant and over him, straddling his hips and squeezing the outside of either of his thighs with her knees. The ifrit's hands found his chest again and ripped the rest of his shirt wide open, pushing him flat down. Even with the revelation of what she was, even with her claws and flaming eyes and the nubbed horns sprouting from her forehead, she was impossibly beautiful, and the sight of her above him had his cock quickly hardening again. His libido was at odds with every other instinct he had, to run or beg or at least find a weapon and go down swinging.

"It's no fair if you get to cum and I don't," she purred, her eyelids heavy as she gazed down at him, her claws beginning to trace over his chest again, their motions slow and deliberate as they drew his blood, never criss-crossing any previous cut. Somehow, he knew the scars she was giving him would last a very, very long time. He hissed with pain, his own fingers clawing at the bed beneath him.

And then she lowered her hips. Without looking or reaching for his cock, she somehow managed to align her wet cunt with its eager length, impaling herself to the hilt in one smooth descent. She let out a heady laugh at the feeling of him inside, half a moan and half a giggle. The Warlord hissed out, pressing his head back against the bed. When his fingers were inside her before, he thought she was warm and tight, but now -- now she was molten, suffocating, her muscles twitching and squeezing at him. After a single roll of her hips, she let her walls do all the work, focusing on whatever her claws were doing. Her laughter subsided. She moaned breathily, sounding like a woman while being one in shape alone.

"Almost there," she murmured to him. Some small part of the Warlord was surprised he hadn't already spent himself inside of her, that he didn't empty himself into her cunt the very moment she hilted his cock. "Just another moment... another moment... mrrrm..." Suddenly, she lifted one of her hands and slashed right through all the careful carving she had done, her plush lips parting in a pleased grin. "Finished," she whispered throatily, her orgasm hitting her on the very last syllable, her grin vanishing as she threw her head back and cried out.

The resultant spasm should have resulted in the Warlord hitting his peak as well. His eyes closed in anticipation, but instead of pleasure and the tightness of her otherworldly cunt, he felt... nothing. Not his bed beneath him, not her above him. When he opened them to see what had happened, only darkness surrounded him. Slowly, he picked himself up and looked around, finding himself disorientated and numb, dry-mouthed and confused. One feeling surfaced, a dull ache that left him certain of one thing. He had just been blue balled. Another rose after it, overtaking it as a sharp pain -- the symbols carved into his chest.

Something was very different.

Back in the Warlord's tent, the ifrit laid alone on her would-be conqueror's bed, basking in her afterglow, hand between her legs and rubbing at her clit, lazy and indolent once more. She had nothing better to do but lay there and play with herself, watching and waiting as the new djinn's vessel slowly materialized.

When it finished, she picked it up and left the tent. No one stopped the lovely, naked woman from walking through the camp in her gold and jewels, an ornate brass lamp tucked under the crook of her arms. They could see her for what she was now, and even those that leered at her before now fled her path.

Not a single man of the Warlord after that. They knew they would never see him again.