The Magician's Bitch Ch. 05

'And I realise, on some level, that the only way I'll ever know what it's like to possess such strong-swimming seed is to receive it from a man like yourself,' I go on, heart racing, cock throbbing, mouth vaguely watering. 'And that could obviously be in many ways, many forms, but...but...'

Archaelaus runs his hand across my scalp. Our eyes meet, his dark devious intelligence on full display. A dominant, ancient, extremely powerful man. 'But what, sonny?'

'The only way that comes to mind, to be as close to experiencing the superior nature of your sperm, would be to taste it,' I say, blushing, trembling. And his smug, dirty, proud smile grows deeper, bolder. 'To taste you, Archaelaus, my Master. To taste your two-hundred-and-ninety-three-years, to taste your successes and failures, to taste your wisdom and cleverness, your cunning and deviance.' I glide my eyes across him, across his saggy parts, his aged form. 'To taste your hairy body and your pot-belly and your liver-spots, to taste your worst qualities and your best, to present my tongue as some welcome mat for your seed to splatter upon and swim freely inside of my mouth where I might taste them, taste you, and then consume your ejaculate, thereby taking your superior semen inside of me, thereby absorbing it into me.'

To say such a dirty thing comes so naturally. Because it's true, isn't it? And it turns me on like nothing else has ever done. This isn't love. This isn't two men, two people, pleasuring one another because of some affection shared or a give-take arrangement. If I want to pleasure him, it's because it feels like it's my place to do so. And if I want to taste him, it's because it feels like it's my place to do so.

And in staring at that immense cock, fifteen inches of gnarled old man-meat, all of those past moments of confusion suddenly make sense.

I didn't enjoy what was happening to me in spite of Archaelaus. The feeling of his cock inside of me, the presence of his musky semen on my face. It wasn't some miraculous thing to enjoy, something that shouldn't have been good yet was.

I enjoyed, and continue to enjoy, my sexual liaisons with this ancient mage because it's Archaelaus. Because it's him. Because this man triggers, in me, some primal urge to submit and debase myself, solely for his enjoyment. And what is more fitting than fellating him, using my mouth like a pussy, willing his body to impregnate my gullet with his seed?

'Good,' he says, clearing his throat. 'Very good.' He pats my head, running gnarled fingers through my hair. 'Wrap your breasts around me, sonny. Nurse on my glans. We want the same thing here. You, to consume my seed. I, to have you consume it. This is how it should be between us, boyo. You're a shadow of the man I am...but you can fill your belly with me, and savour my distinctive taste.'

'Thank you, Master,' I say, moving frantically. 'Thank you.'

I'm licking my lips, starved and slutty, pathetic but pleased. I scramble, resting his weighty erection against my forehead as I bring up my breasts to engulf it as best as I can. All the while Archaelaus watches, smirking with smugness, a low-effort look to bask in the sight between his knees.

It must be an incredible thing, to be him. To know that this youth, a fraction of his years, is clamouring not merely to make him ejaculate but to gorge himself on the ejaculation itself.

'Weak and young,' Archaelaus says, tussling my hair. 'Let us fill you with both strength and years.'

His cock throbs powerfully against my chest when I lift my breasts against it, a thing of iron-rigidity and terrible heat. Its veins bulge, a criss-cross lacing of thick protrusions that pulse with every beat of his ancient heart. It stinks divinely, of old man and mustiness, musky animalistic vigour, and Archaelaus's unique sexual tang.

I wrap my tits around it, squeezing tight around its thickness. The warmth of his body is wonderful, the way his shrouded helmet rests against my chin, just before my lips. Our eyes meet, and I tremble beneath his gaze.

'Please, Master. It would be an honour.'

The ancient mage pats my head, and chuckles. 'Dutiful little slut, aren't you, sonny? Milk me, boyo. Pull out my pride.'

Fup, schl-fup goes the sound of my boobs around his mast, the gnarled bulging monstrosity oozing from its tip a slickness that begins to lubricate the wrinkled folds of his foreskin. Fup, schl-fup every time I lift and lower my breasts, pushing them tight around his massive manhood. It pulses and shudders, pushing back against my soft pillowy chest. Fup, schl-fup, schplup!

I cannot help but marvel as his helmet bursts into view, springing free of its hooded confines. The huge purple crown atop his aged pole is forever wonderful, so fat and bulky, thickly-crested, gooey and slimy with pre-seed, stinking of ancient male mustiness and musky sexual tanginess.

The sight of it, the smell of it, the radiant warmth of it, have me lick my lips. 'Pathetic, sonny. Is it really so appetising, the sight of an old man's cock?'

I nod, stupidly, swiftly. 'Yes, Master. It's...it's incredible.' Mlep. Schlep. He trembles as I stick out my tongue, lapping at his glans. At the cum-slit, oozing stickiness. It's so hot against my tastebuds, with a lustrous spongy texture to it. Firm and fat, rock-solid. And Archaelaus, virile and venerable, tastes good. 'It's better that you're so old, Master. It's right. You have needs, and...I want to take care of them.'

Schlup. Schmack.

'Humph. Sonny.' He strains, presses his hand atop my head. 'By Azarlia, boyo.'

I push my lips over the front of his glans and stuff my mouth with it, all the while continuing the fup-fup-fup of my big bouncy breasts up and down against his turgid shaft. The ancient mage's helmet is a gobstopper thing, straining my capacity to suck on it. Its contours are vast, bulky, pressing up against the roof of my mouth and flattening my tongue, upon which it spits a near-endless quantity of sticky oily salty-tangy precum.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Archaelaus weaves that curious magic, giving me a good view of the process internally. To witness his fat plum-purple prick's bloated bell-end stuffed in my mouth, sitting there upon my tongue and constantly spurting his richly tasty pre-ejaculate, provokes a shiver up my spine. I glance up to find the old man's eyes bright with blue light, and the smuggest smile upon his thin lips.

God, I want nothing more than to suck him off. To taste his semen.

Feed me, is the thought, as I mash my tits against his throbbing titan. Feed me, the urge that is so dirty and so perverse and yet so natural. Feed me, because the act of sucking cock and serving his sexual needs is somehow stupendously more satisfying compared to being fucked by him.

If he fucks me, yes, I get to orgasm.

And if I suck him, only Archaelaus gets to orgasm.

But somehow that's...that's better?

'So young,' he says, tussling my hair. 'So young, when I'm so--humph--old. Azarlia truly is a sweet goddess, to grant me you. To give me a--ugh--bitch to use as I see fit.'

Fup-fup-fup. Schlup-schlick-schlap.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

I bob my head, marvelling at the sight of his helmet slipping closer to my "camera" and then drawing backwards, convulsing faintly, its spongy silkiness straining and swelling with unspeakable need.

'Such a beautiful thing, that my seed is so--humph--craved, boyo. Nothing else is quite so satisfying as having a sweet young--ughn--slut crave my ancient virility. Unenchanted essence, to be savoured and swallow.' Archaelaus pats my scalp. 'Slut. Whore. Cocksucker. An old man's young, cum-crazed cocksucker.'

He applies that hand and pushes, urges at first gently and then forcefully, to deepen the bobbing of my head. The immensely plump purple head of his gnarled wizard's stave threatens to prod at the "camera" in my throat, brushing up against my tonsils each time I complete the back-forth motion.

Fup-fup-fupf. Schlup-schlick-schlap.

I know what he wants. Know what he intends, what he'd hope will come to pass. The ancient wizard wants to use my throat like a cocksleeve, to treat my face like a pussy. And as much as the idea scares me...I'm curious, besides.

'Deeper,' Archaelaus says, pushing, guiding, urging. 'Go on, sonny. Take my--humph--length. Take every inch, you little slut.'

The plum-purple crown fills up the entirety of the inner "camera", preventing me from seeing anything else. And that third eye slides down, pushed aside, descending into my throat ahead of the huge precum-drooling glans that is just on the cusp of pushing into my gullet. Darkness has no impact, for the magical vision reveals all.

But the heat and presence of such a fat lump, so bulbous and grand, has me shiver and writhe. I should gag, shouldn't I? But I don't. The fact that I've got the ancient mage's massive member jammed against my tonsils, the little dangling nub at the entrance to my throat resting against the fat gooey helmet of his gnarled and weathered pole, doesn't seem to provoke the expected response.

I meet his gaze, those darkly intelligent eyes rimmed with a haze of blue magic. Archaelaus smiles at me, smug and proud, knowing that he's going to get what he wants. Knowing that I've fallen so far from my initial rebellious state, and that resistance is an afterthought.

'Go on, sonny. Let me use your mouth.'

He puts both of his hands atop my head, holding the sides of my scalp, thumbs across my forehead. A jilted crown, a twisted honour, to be held by such warm ancient fingers and palms. And when Archaelaus begins to push, to urge, I don't resist. Resistance is something that no longer makes sense, no longer seems rational.

I'm struck by several converging sensations.

First is the incredibly illicit sight of the ancient mage's member pushing past my tonsils and squeezing into the tightness of my throat, where that "camera" descends ahead of it, per Archaelaus's mental command, so as to give me a proper view of what's transpiring here. My gullet sucks upon it, grips down, such that its mushroom tip barges aside the silken pink flesh of my insides as it advances deeper and deeper into my torso.

Second is the physical consequences of this, the intense pressure and vulgar heat of having my throat stuffed by something so hugely fat and throbbing, radiating the powerful warmth of the old man's body. It makes me feel so full, so utterly packed with something foreign. My lips are strained by his bumpy shaft, by the thick veins that run along it, and my tongue is pressed flat against the base of my mouth by his bulging cum-canal on the underside of his tremendous pole.

But thirdly, and most esoterically, is the mental realisation. Because as he penetrates my throat, Archaelaus seems incredibly pleased, and the sight of that pleasure -- his contorted mouth, his widened eyes, his unbearable smugness -- touches upon parts of my head that sorely long to worship him and tend to him and do the unspeakable. To submit, to belong to this old mage, to be nothing more than a toilet for his dick and his loads.

'Humph. Go on, sonny. Swallow the whole damned thing.'

To view his cock as it slides into my gullet, to feel the strain of it, to hear the dirty pleasure in his voice, provokes a lust in me that nothing else ever has. This is right, so wrong as I might think it. Being here, being with him, feels normal. Feels nice.

For the first time in my life, my sexual needs are being met. Not in the way I ever imagined they would, but met all the same.

Glupg. Glugp. Glugp.

My throat produces a sordid sound as he penetrates it, as that thick gnarled length drives itself down into my torso. The captured helmet, its cum-slit wide and forever drooling, looks no less awfully appetising swallowed into my gullet than it did out in the air, though it possesses a distinct eroticism about it that previously was fainted, vaguer.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

I groan around his shaft, half of it now stuffed into me. To look up at the old man, at his pot belly and hairiness, his saggy skin and liver spots, is to be awash with feelings of dirty depravity. Unconventionally attractive, and yet appealing because of his age, his maleness, his dominance.

'Ugh. Good boy. Good cocksucker.'

And Archaelaus's hands atop my head, fingers fondling as his aged grip commands me to bob my head and swallow inch after inch of his turgid throbbing thickness, provoke a sense of being wholly controlled, beaten, ruled over. Like I'm meant to be on my knees for this ancient mage, meant to submit to him, to service him, to belong to his whims.

His musky manliness grows richer, more pungent, as inch by inch my face slides further towards the hairy haven between his thighs. The twin vision of things, of the huge cock boring into me and the old male body ahead of me, provokes carnal wonder and strange appetites.

I want him inside of me. Want to bury my face in his pubes and balls. Long to be truly speared on Archaelaus and his great ancient stave.

Glugp. Schlup. Glugp.

'Mumph. Mhm-hm.'

'Dirty little slut,' the old mage says, mussing up my hair. 'Humph. This whore mouth is fit for--ughn--nothing more than using like a pussy.' He trembles, shudders, but I can no longer look up at his face. His aged gut, growing and shrinking as he breathes, is the limit of my world with my eyes. 'By Azarlia it wants my seed! You're bloody--humph--milking me, sonny. Craving what only I can feed you!'

It's true. Filthy and fantastic and ever so true. I want sperm, want Archaelaus in his most concentrated and sensual form. God, once it seemed so wrong but it's just natural, isn't it? I am submissive, and he is dominant. He is the master, and I am the cocksucking slut. Maybe we'll barely do anal, going forwards. Maybe it'll just be lots and lots of blowjobs.

Maybe I should ask him to change the rules, so I can eat his semen for sustenance.

Glugp. Schlap. Glugp.

My throat produces a continued raucousness and I inch closer and closer to being smothered against his groin, those big virile nuts threatening to bounce against my chin and that musty old-man hair soon to engulf my nose. I put my hands on his hairy thighs for support, massaging them gently as his pubes tickle my skin. His potent manly musk is rich to the point of suffocating me, a perversely welcome fragrance.

And inside my throat, that third eye witnesses it all. The ancient mage's monster member, sliding back and forth, being thoroughly tended to, sucked upon by my hungry gullet, radiates heat and pulses and throbs, and looks at once so enticing and so fearsome.

'Humph. Sonny. Oh, my.'

My lips press against the hairy base of his liver-spotted length, and his warm pleasantly smelly nuts wobble against my chin, their weight and potency undeniable. Archaelaus's balls shudder, rising and falling, taunting me in a fashion. Hinting, in some darkly beautiful way, that they're packed with that thing I so hungrily crave.

The old mage pats my head, and plays with my hair. 'Remarkable, boyo. Truly remarkable.'

His words, his grandfatherly voice, provoke a carnal fuzziness. There's something vulgarly charming about the ancient man, with his peculiar manner of dominance. Roughness isn't needed here, because I'm too far gone. This man could warp reality, could change my mind, but he doesn't have to.

I've naturally, instinctually, succumbed to his powerful lusts.

Exemplified, I'm sure, by nothing greater than the presence of his erection jammed right down my throat. To breathe now is to inhale through the filter of his furry crotch, to smell old man and virile vigour. Any movements of my mouth and face result in a feeling of being overtly stretched, and the warm embrace of those enormous testicles that dance and shift against my chin.

That his little old-man paunch presses against my forehead, more prominently each time he takes a slow and satisfied breath, only enhances the exciting eroticism of the scene. Of this choice I've made, to become a shadow of my former self.

A cocksucking whore for a man aged beyond reason.

'Mumph. Mhm.'

Schlup. Schlap.

I move my mouth and continue to suckle, nursing on that immensely salacious spear that has taken claim of my face and throat. Archaelaus trembles, shivers, all the more so as I begin to slide my hands up his thighs and touch, for the first time, that slight overhanging gut. I'm engulfed by this filthy notion to touch his hairy belly, to play with the old man's form, despite finding him in a sense so straightforwardly unattractive.

'You like my body--humph--don't you, sonny?'

'Mhm-hm.'

He chuckles. 'It's real, isn't it, boyo? If I were some pretty young thing, this wouldn't be so primal. Ughn. So natural.' Archaelaus pats my head. 'But you can't pretend this isn't an ancient male body, can you? You're just a slutty young man, worshipping me. Treating me like a god.'

He's right. God, he's right. It's so weird and so wonderful, praying to him in this fashion. Basking in his smells and his warmth, throat thoroughly stuffed with an enormous wizened male member, aware that this thing turns me on like nothing else on Earth. But...I'm not on Earth, am I?

What a powerful notion. All of that reluctance, ultimately, stems from a place of fearing the judgement of others. But what others? The only person here, the only other mind, is that of Archaelaus, who is at his sheer happiest, is most pleased with me, when I'm on my knees and tending to him.

Schlap. Schlup.

I suck on him as best I can, orally skewered on his prodigious stave. The old man plays with my hair and chuckles lustily as I begin massaging his hairy gut, relishing the aged roughness of his skin and the wiry nature of his iron-grey body hair.

'That's it, sonny. Humph. Enjoy my body as much as I--ugh--enjoy yours.'

'Mhm-hm. Mumph.'

Without that reservation holding me back, I can. I can enjoy the ancient wizard's flabby weathered form, and relish the way it sets my loins aflame and fills my head with the most lurid of possibilities. Soon, Archaelaus is going to produce a big batch of baby batter. Soon, his ancient testicles will release billions of ancient sperm, and so what if I want to taste it?

Of course, I want to taste it! I want to taste him, want to taste this body, want to taste his age and power, his insane virility. I want to affirm him as my master, and myself as his bitch.

And as soon as that thought occurs, Archaelaus releases me.

'We're right where we need to be, sonny,' the old man says. 'Forgive me for intruding on your thoughts, but I don't want to ejaculate into your belly if I can avoid it. I want to see my soldiers on your taste buds, boyo. I want you to taste my lineage now, and later today, and several times each and every day before you leave me.' He sounds almost...severe? Sad? 'I want you to choose, sonny. Do you want to taste the semen of a two-hundred-and-seventy-year-old man again, or do you want it in your belly? Release and intimacy of the highest order, or release and some degree of separation? Take your pick. Be honest, or lie.'

Funny. Just a few minutes ago, I'd have stayed put. But I'm not on Earth, am I?

I'm not on Earth at all!

'I do so love it when you're--humph--bold, boyo.'

There's a wet sound, a schplop, when his huge helmet slips out of my tightly sealed mouth. His entire shaft is glistening with spit, slathered in saliva. Holy shit, I took it all. Holy shit, I had his gut against my forehead and his balls against my chin. Wow.

'Change the rules, Master,' I say, taking hold of his member. Archaelaus looks surprised, bushy eyebrows raising. 'Please, Master. Make it so that you can feed me. I want to enjoy our time together to the fullest, and I want to be fed from your body. I'm your cumdump bitch, Master, so please feed me. Please change the rules.'