The Magician's Bitch Ch. 05

The old man's face shifts, surprise becoming carnal glee, unbearable smugness of a sort that only Archaelaus has ever managed to wear. Nobody else, in all my life, has ever presented such a resolute expression of vulgar arrogance.

His eyes momentarily flare, and he chuckles. 'There, sonny. It's done. Go on, boyo. Suck out that heavy ancient load.'

'Thank you, Master. Thank you!'

He trembles the moment I press my lips to his huge purple helmet, the fat lustrous plum salty-sticky and delicious as it slips inside my mouth to be nursed on, to be suckled, to be worshipped. I take hold of his gnarled stave and begin to stroke him, massaging his wizened pole with lurid intensity.

'Humph. Oh, sonny. Oh, how right this is.'

Archaelaus parts his skinny knees, which tremble periodically as my efforts cause his pendulous testicles to wobble and sway. A powerful throb shudders up his erection, some foreshadowing of the inevitable eruption that is shortly to arrive. And as our eyes meet, his wet with pride, mine doubtless alight with perverse hunger, the old wizard does that thing again, reveals the contents of my mouth to me.

God, his bell-end looks insanely impressive, sat there at the mercy of tongue and cheeks, to be worshipped and tended to and treated like risqué royalty.

Schlup. Slurp.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

I can't believe how much this turns me on, how exciting it is. Any moment now, the old mage is going to ejaculate, and that prodigiously plump penis-head with its noticeable cum-slit is going to shoot out something thick and undeniably delicious. The semen of an older man, a better man than I'll ever be.

And where before this seemed so shameful, now it seems so right. This is the utmost degradation, the utmost humiliation, to be captive in this mage's tower and now having consented to him feeding me his jism in lieu of food.

Schlap. Schlurp.

'Mhm-hm.'

Archaelaus rests a hand atop my head and plays with my hair, looking serene. As pleased as anyone can possibly be. What glory it must imbue in him, to know that I've fallen so far, to know that I'm at this point where I enjoy this act, this loveless but lascivious deed, so thoroughly that I want to be fed from his ancient sagging liver-spotted loins.

'Good boy, sonny. You're such a good--humph--filthy young man. By Azarlia, how I've wanted this. All these years I've--ughn--wanted a servant just like you, who asks only to please me, only to worship me.' His eyes are mad, with arcane fire and unbound perversion. 'And here we are, boyo. Here we are, right where--humph--each of us belongs!'

His pendulous nuts pulse, and his rhythmic bodily convulsions suggest that my filthy feast is rapidly approaching. I stare at his face and stare at his engulfed glans, witnessing with lurid marvel how the latter flares and fattens while I tend to his girth. Something shudders up his length, a bulge real or imagined.

And then the eyelet of his helmet expands, releasing a dense quantity of creamy white.

'Ughn. Sonny!'

Archaelaus's first rope of ejaculate gushes out across my waiting tastebuds, his healthy ancient sperm swimming freely inside my mouth. They bring with them a pungency, an aged flavour. Somewhat salty, somewhat tangy, extremely rich and unmistakeably creamy. Virile and hot, brewed up in the old wizard's loins.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

I swirl his seed around, lavishing in its presence. The mental image of this viscous nut butter churning with billions of fat-headed white tadpoles is quickly made redundant, the mage doing his thing and giving me a good look at the little sperms as they dart about across my tastebuds.

He releases more in spurts and shots, utterly covering my tongue in his pride. And pride is the word, because Archaelaus looks ever so pleased with himself. Knowing that his lineage is slathered across my tastebuds, burning its distinctive old-man flavour into my head. Clearly so virile, so strangely delicious.

'Never going to--humph--go without again, sonny,' Archaelaus says, patting my head. 'I want you on your slutty knees as much as--ugh--possible, from now on. Whatever dreams you had, forget them. Your place is here, boyo. Here, on your knees, consuming what only I can--humph--give you.'

And as I begin to swallow the first heaving mouthful, I find it difficult to doubt him. What have I really done with my life? What have I really achieved? What do I really want?

A girlfriend, a job, a house, kids, retirement, death?

Schlap. Slurp.

I keep sucking on his helmet, and Archaelaus rewards me with three-century-old baby batter, thick and rich and ropey. One shot hits the side of my mouth, covering my teeth. Another completely blasts my tongue, drenching it in carnal custard. A third hits the roof of my mouth at the back, dangling low. All of it's full to the brim with little swimmers, billions of gene carriers, all of them seeming to be right where they belong.

'Ughn. Damn, sonny, you just keep--humph--sucking!'

Is it so wrong, that I find this so satisfying? I'm in a fantasy world, in the presence of a tremendously powerful man, and yet in some strange sense he's at my mercy. Oh, I'm degrading myself, humiliating myself, rendering myself some cocksucking cumdump, but with Archaelaus I'm not just somebody on the street. Somebody a sneaky demon swapped to save itself from ending up here.

I'm Archaelaus's suck-slut bitch, and the apparent centre of the world in the eyes of this great and terrible wizard.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlurp. Schlup.

It gives me no end of pleasure to watch his swimmers tangle and clump across my tastebuds, knowing that they carry his strong and healthy genes. I can't compete with the mighty old mage, I'm a shadow of him.

But fuck, can I eat his loads!

'By Azarlia, sonny, you're perfect,' he says, roughly tussling my hair. 'Dick-guzzling little cretin, that's what--ughn--you are.' The old mage chuckles coarsely, whole body wracked with tantalising tremors. More of his rich elderly man milk is always on its way. 'That demon did us both a favour! Giving you--humph--purpose, and giving me a hungry man-whore. Barely a man as you are, all the same. Fit only to--ugh--gulp down ancient lineage.'

'Mhm. Mhm-hm.'

Slurp. Schlack.

My belly starts to bulge with his endless quantities of seed, and he periodically shows me the interior of my stomach, completely swarming with his fat-headed white soldiers. I'm a toilet for his ejaculate, a dumpster for his loads. And fuck, nothing could be more perfect. No other flavour is so wickedly wonderful, and no other sensation so satisfyingly sordid.

I swallow, and he produces. I swallow, and he produces. I swallow, and he produces. It just keeps coming, and it's so sating. His pendulous hairy testicles keep rising and falling, releasing mouthful after mouthful of satiating sperm, and my belly keeps growing heavier with his richly aged tangy cream.

Yet when at last the old mage is done, and he sighs in pleasant relief, I'm still sucking. Still lavishly applying my attention to his bell-end, the beautiful and intimidating lump of purple cockmeat which so thoroughly fills my mouth. Archaelaus grunts and shivers, sensitive and softening slowly. He pats my head, and chuckles.

'You can have seconds, sonny,' he says, smirking down at me. The smug certainly of the look bristles his nose hair. 'But I don't imagine I'll be getting much work on the spell done today, if any. Is that what you want, boyo? An extra day here, to enjoy my semen?'

With great trepidation -- both wary of what to say, and also not wanting to take his cock from my lips -- I slowly pull backwards, freeing his helmet. It's a little bit hard to look at Archaelaus properly, because it reminds me that I've passingly lost myself. Lost control. If he phrases it like that, it sounds...pretty bad.

It sounds like there's an actual degree of choice, that for some insane reason I could actually choose to service him instead of going home.

Going home to that world where...where I'm nobody.

Leave this world, where I'm Archaelaus's bitch.

'A day wouldn't hurt, Master,' I say, licking my lips. 'Would it?'

'No, sonny.' He gives my head an affectionate pat. 'It wouldn't hurt at all.'

*

Schlup. Schlack.

'Humph. That's it, boyo. That's my--ugh--boy.'

It's the first time I've ever been this high up the tower, to the old mage's bedroom he never uses on account of being -- so far as I know -- sleepless. The round room is large and spacious, with a four-poster bed in the middle, exposed on all sides. The north and sound walls are arcane in nature, open to the elements yet possessing a magical barrier on each that prevents the outside frigidity from creeping in, though the perpetual snowstorm adds a certain aesthetic that I find very pleasing.

Not as pleasing as his ancient liver-spotted testicles, however.

I'm on my knees, as I should be, and Archaelaus is laid across the bed with his legs hanging parted over the edge of it. Slowly but surely I tug on his massive member, keeping it rigidly aroused while lapping at the hairs of his sagging loins and tracing out the wrinkles of that aged sack with my tongue, all the while preparing his body to feed me another enormous bellyful of rich old-man nut butter.

How many has it been now? How long has it been? Archaelaus didn't simply change the rules such that I could consume his cum as sustenance, but he's done something to how my body copes with the sheer quantity of his spooge as well. Like my stomach is now some gastric bag of holding, ensuring that while my belly is distinctly bulging with his endless ejaculate it will grow no larger, despite the interior receiving more and more and more.

'Mhm-hm.'

Schlap. Slurp.

From time to time he'll lift his head and smirk down at me, all perverse with pride, but for the most part he's happy to just lay back and be tended to. It's clearly what he likes, this act of worship, this attendance to his sexual needs without any regard for myself. We both clearly enjoy, in our disparate ways, this idea that I'm an outlet and he's a virile male in need of service.

I simply adore his balls, to the extent that I could suck on either one for hours. The wrinkles, the hairs, the potent old-man mustiness of them, and the suggestion of tremendous masculine might that each of them exudes is altogether wonderful. And so readily do they produce replacement tadpoles for those sent into my belly, which can thankfully hold a seemingly infinite volume of his virility.

'Ughn. Wonderful,' Archaelaus says, trembling. 'Simply wonderful.'

I'm so filthy, so sordidly smitten with this. With this most incredibly illicit of relationships. It feels like such a strange honour to be basking in this old man's body smells, to be tasting his heavy hairy hangers, to be working to please him and to receive his clearly tremendous genes right across my insatiable tongue. Age has clearly done wonders to the quality of his ejaculate, making it perversely perfect, dangerously delicious.

I realise that as much as I enjoy this sublimely sexual act with him, this is as far as it goes. Archaelaus sees me as I am starting to see myself, as a tool, as a pet, as a cocksucker. Not that I'd ever want to love him, not that I'd ever find him conventionally attractive, but...if I stay, then I have to accept that this will be my nourishment, physically and emotionally.

That intimacy, forever more, will consist of slutty oral service.

I'm thinking about it, aren't I? I don't have to go back. Go back to what, after all? Being nothing, being nobody. Not like I am here, clearly valued. Clearly possessing a purpose.

Schlup. Schlurp. 'Mhm.'

As I nurse on his bloated balls, which rhythmically pulse and shudder, his hairy pot-belly rises and falls, and I find myself following it with my gaze. My tugging hands produce a continual schfup, schfup, schfup from the wetness of his foreskin-clad helmet, and the sloppy sounds of my lips and tongue, working hard to pleasure his sagging loins, fills my ears enticingly.

When Archaelaus lifts his head, our eyes meeting again, I don't shy away. I blush beneath his smug smirk, of course, but I don't cower. The old mage chuckles warmly.

'I'm going to miss you, sonny,' he says, going so far as to reach for my scalp and passingly play with my hair. His touch provokes, as it ever does, a low trembling. 'Will you miss me, boyo?'

I pause, leaving his left nut with a kiss, a lick, and a brief suck. 'I'm not going yet, Master.'

'But you will, won't you? You want to return to that world of yours. I bet if I had the spell ready right now, you'd stop what you're doing and leave.'

For some reason, that thought seems an enemy of sorts. Something to reject, and refuse. If I were to leave now, mid-act, I wouldn't get the lurid luxury of fellating the old mage's prodigious penis, experiencing again its heat and hugeness, its salty-bitter precum, and of course, Archaelaus wouldn't flood my mouth with his geriatric sperm.

'I'm...I'm not so sure about that,' I say, leaning forwards, resting my face beside his upright turgidity. His pubes tickle my skin, wiry and wild, silvery grey. 'I don't want to stop, Master.'

The old mage pats the back of my head. 'You really do like it, don't you, boyo? Serving me. Tending to my needs.'

I slowly nod. 'Yes, Master.' Mwah. I dip forwards, kissing his furry mound, inhaling deeply of his rich masculine scents. 'I...really do.'

Pressing my lips against the base of his perverse pole, filling my nose with his smells and wispy curls, I begin smooching my way up. Smack. Mwah. Wet sounds, carnal affection, delivered upon the old mage's gnarled, liver-spotted member. All the while he plays with my hair, all the while I find myself at ease with this situation, at ease with this state of affairs so far away from what I originally hoped for.

And as I near the hooded crown of his gargantuan male organ, the old-man tang of precum and seniority wafting into my senses, I hesitate. Hesitate, and smile like the slut I am, wanting that thing which seemed gruesome before. I behold the old mage, with his pot belly and wrinkles and marks of years, with his salt-and-pepper hairiness, with his wicked smile and yellowing teeth between those thin vicious lips, and I really do want this.

I really do want to taste his body, again, and again, and again. All the better that the altered rules can do something as perverse as make a meal out of what is otherwise considered wholly vulgar. To hold his rod upright with one hand, to fondle his spit-slick balls with the other, invites that illicit insight into the fact that sooner or later, Archaelaus is going to be ejaculating in my mouth again. Sooner or later, I'm going to be swallowing his thick, ancient load. And for my sperm-crazed slutty self, little else is half so arousing.

'Stay,' he says, as I reach the tip. 'Become my apprentice, sonny.'

'What? I thought I was...I thought you just wanted a cocksucker?'

'I do.' Archaelaus grins, ear to hairy ear. 'But we can pretend, can't we? You can pretend that one of these days, I'll release my mana among those big batches of seed you gulp down. It'll never happen, of course...but we can pretend.'

The fact that I'd know, in that fickle human way, doesn't bother me. I could ask him to shift my memory, of course, but the fun would fade. Sometimes, orchestrating a game, creating a situation where the lie is known but treated as truth regardless, is a thousandfold hotter than being genuinely truthful. The crux of so many human endeavours.

'It says a lot about me,' I say, beginning to gently tug on his foreskin, to reveal the perfect plump plum atop his prodigious penis, 'that I'm finding it harder and harder to reject the idea that staying here, living on my knees, is actually a more meaningful existence than whatever I'd find back on Earth.'

As his helmet breaks free of the silken folds of his skin, a rich shade of purple, lustrous and glossy and gargantuan, I lick my lips. If I go, I'll miss this. If I stay, I'll have it in my mouth most of my waking hours. This will be practically the sum total of my affection, my romantic and sexual needs, met by the risqué release of viscous venerable seed from the weighty hairy testicles of a man older than any other.

'What it says about you, boyo, is that you realise the quality of the great man before you, and know that you'll never do better,' Archaelaus says. He cups my chin with wrinkled furry fingers, brushing gently. 'Some men are simply born to service their betters, sonny. You can go back to Earth and try to find a man to worship as you worship me, but I don't imagine you ever will.' Slowly but surely, he lifts his hand to the top of my head. 'That mouth should belong to me, that I might feed your slutty body real male semen. Stay and serve me, apprentice. Stay, and serve a better man than you'll ever be.'

His glans stares at me, for all intents the most powerful presence in my universe. Once it seemed so repulsive, the endpoint of an erection belonging to a very old, and very unappealing man. But to look upon it now, to marvel at its plum-purple prominence, at its broad and noble contours, paired with my appreciation of Archaelaus and his obvious quality as a man...it's more appealing than any woman has ever been.

I could stay, couldn't I? I could stay here, and service him, and never go back.

'Can...can we make a deal?'

Archaelaus smirks. 'A deal, sonny?'

'Finish the spell, and let me go home if at some point decide to, but in return...I'll admit that at this point in time, I don't want to go back. And that the longer I stay here, the less I want to leave.' I lick at my lips, glancing between his wizened face and his aged manhood. 'Is that okay, Master? I'll suck you off as often as you want, and probably more than that. I might never leave. But I want the choice.'

The old man chuckles heartily, grins toothily. 'Sonny, do you really think the most powerful magus of all time can't simply send you back on a whim?'

He clicks his finger and, in the archway leading to the snowy world beyond the tower, a kind of doorway appears. A rift in space and time, looking out upon my house at night. Earth. Home. My old home, at least. Archaelaus even goes so far as to conjure a bird from thin air and let it fly through, disappearing into the vision beyond. It looks so truthful, so accurate, that it's either a vision of the place or an actual portal.

'You...lied,' I say, but without anger. With a kind of humour, actually. How could I be so stupid? This is Archaelaus the Great. I've read all the stories in the library, embellished or otherwise. 'You lied to keep me here.'

The old mage chuckles. 'You don't seem upset, sonny. Don't you think things might've been different, if you hadn't stayed? You might not be about to get another mouthful of ancient tadpoles, for a start.'

I turn from the portal to the wizard, then gaze again upon his glans. 'Thank you,' I say. 'For, lying. It's so much better this way.'

It's strange, how effortless my affection for him comes. Mwah. A kiss, upon his huge helmet. Mlep. A lick, as I roll my tongue about its contours, tasting a fresh glaze of salty-bitter precum. Schlup. And then I spread my lips and take his bell-end into the slutty sanctum of my mouth, belonging to Master.

'Humph. You're welcome, sonny.' Archaelaus dissipates the portal and pats my head, musses up my hair. 'I knew you'd make the right choice. You can spend as much of eternity as you like on those dutiful knees, boyo. There's plenty more--ugh--of my little white wrigglers for you to rehome.'

Schlack. Shlurp. Schlep.

As ever, he shows me my prize, throat "camera" beholding the bulbous bulk of his bell-end as it bathes in the worshipful ministrations of my tongue and cheeks. Archaelaus's member releases a heavy dollop of dick juice, of old-man mouth-basting lubricant, salty and oily and bitter, some appetiser for the viscously virile meal his loins are preparing to load my tastebuds with.