The Magician's Bitch Ch. 05

'Mhm. Mumph.'

'Ughn. This is your true nature, boyo,' Archaelaus says, widening his legs. 'I lied, and you reward me for it. You had me change the rules, made sustenance in this place out of my semen. Humph.' He chuckles, groans, and his hulking helmet swells and strains inside my mouth. 'I could send you home in a heartbeat, but you won't go. You won't ever go, because this right here, on your knees, is your true nature. A cocksucker. A cumdump.'

Slurp. Schlap. Schleck.

Yes! He's right, oh God, he's right!

'Mhm-hm. Mumph.'

'Work for that--humph--sperm, sonny. It's all you're good for.'

I bob my head passionately, in total agreement. I'm nothing more than a masturbatory aid, an outlet for his needs, a prized plaything. The way his mighty manhood slides back and forth across my tongue, so bulky and beautiful, finding no resistance, shows the utter truth of it. Shows that I am, at base, nothing more than a bitch, a slut, a seed-guzzler.

Schlup. Schlick.

His penis is profoundly perfect, ideal for sucking. The glans is just so fat, so appealing, that rich shade of purple and the thickness of its firmly-curved crown. Lustrous tissue, spongy yet solid, that brushes against the roof of my mouth, across my tongue, delivering spurt after dribble of his aged salty-bitter pre-ejaculate, a taste I could happily experience forever. A taste I might well experience forever.

'Ugh. Good boy. Worship your master.'

'Mumph. Mhm.'

If he hadn't lied, I'd be back home. I'd not have these unwieldy tits and curves, not be this dick-sucking shadow of the man I was. But no. No, I'd be less than I am. I'd not be the personal suck-slave of Archaelaus the Great, oldest and mightiest mage of this world that's now my home. This tower, that's now my place.

Schlap. Schlurp.

I slide one hand down his pole, using the other to keep its enormity steady while I suckle. Finding a fat testicle, I message its hairy loose sack, fondly fondling the lurid lump beneath with deft and affectionate fingers.

Archaelaus is smiling, and it fills me with pride. Not quite the same pride he's soon to fill my mouth and stomach with, but pride all the same. A sense of purpose, of duty, dirty though it may be. To worship this powerful man, to be his personal bitch, is a fate finer than any I had ever imagined for myself.

Slurp. Schlack.

God, I want to taste his sperm again, ever so badly. I know I will, I know that it won't be long, but even so, it affirms my choice. There's no harm in staying here, in belonging to the perverse old mage, if I can't think of a finer fate. In bobbing my head, in tasting his salty-bitter precum, in filling my mouth with the plump prominence of his ancient purple plum, I know that this is right. That this is just where I need to be, right about now.

'Ughn. That's it, sonny. I'll feed you plenty of--ugh--old-man milk, don't you worry your sweet slutty head about it.'

He musses up my hair and I groan low and lusty, with a mouthful of his mighty male organ. We both know what this is, both know what's coming. Him, soon, ideally. And as his testicle, captive in one of my hands, seems to writhe and ripple with urgency, I realise that it won't be long until I'm tasting him again. Tasting his strong, ancient, profound virility. Tasting the baby batter of a man with a cock and balls much superior to my own.

God, it feels right to be his bitch.

Schleck. Schlurp. Schlap.

'Mhm-hm. Mumph.'

'Oh, sonny. Humph. Ugh.'

Archaelaus's gait naturally widens, and he grits his teeth together. His breathing is quicker, the throbbing of his prodigious pole becoming that much more forceful. As his legs quiver and quake on either side of me, as his testicle shifts and shudders against my palm and fingers, instinct has me ready myself to flatten my tongue beneath the beautiful plum purple of his bulky bell-end.

With that inner eye I stare at it, stare at the opulent organ which dominates my mouth, asserting itself over this dirty domain that belongs to Archaelaus, belongs to his penis, belongs to his rich, creamy, mature seed. To watch as the cum-slit of his glans drools and begins to widen in the most infinitesimal of manners fills me with a gruesome hunger, a pathetic passion for what is most primal and perverse about this whole ordeal. This contended admittance that yes, Archaelaus is a better man than I am, and that yes, I will prove it to him day-in, day-out, by eagerly working his penis for a taste of his semen, and to fill my belly with his superior sperm.

'Humph. It's coming, boyo. Your purpose in life is--ughn--coming. You cocksucking cumdump. You--guh--wretched young man. Here comes the meaning of--argh--life!'

I flatten my tongue low, and inwardly smile. His nut pulsates proudly in my hand, cupped against my palm and between my fingers. The surge of salty-tangy creaminess is on its way, I can feel it. A trillion sperm mixing with the dense ropey stuff produced by his ancient form, ready to spurt out across my hungry slutty tastebuds. The taste of the world's greatest magus, Archaelaus. The taste that has, without any magic or hex, turned me into his personal cocksucking cumslut bitch.

His huge helmet flares, and then spits. A dense squirt of ancient seed splashes forth across the pink blade of my tongue, hot and heavy, richly creamy. 'Mhm-hm.' I moan instantly around his member as the voluminously virile sperm of this older, stronger, wiser, better man than I'll ever be swim about my tastebuds. That he's allowing me the luxury of tasting him is an honour in itself. That I'm going to taste every single fat-headed tadpole produced by his balls, going to be the source of every climax he succumbs to going forwards, and going to be sated only by his rich aged semen, provokes a mad fluttering of my eyes and a perverse madness through my thoughts.

'By Azarlia, boy, you're perfect,' Archaelaus says. 'The perfect--ughn--cocksucker.'

The old man's plump purple bell-end swells and produces another dense deposit of musky man milk, causing me to quake and quiver as it completely covers my tastebuds. A tremble courses through me as it becomes undeniable, that again I am tasting the ejaculate of a man several hundred years older than me. The eyelet of his glans, sat atop my tongue, has a string of seed oozing from it.

With a quiver it expels that residual rope, and shoots a new, fatter spurt of my master's would-be heirs. The way he trembles, moans aloud, venerable and victorious, sends chills down my back. His flavour is exquisite, so erotic, so distinctly dirty. With his magic in full swing, I get glimpses of the contents, the sperm cells, which are both endless in quantity and doubtless of the finest quality.

'Humph. Oh, yes.' Archaelaus lifts his head and looks to me, grinning from ear to hairy ear. I shiver at the strength of his gaze, the smugness, the possessive pride. That I'm tasting his genes is a wonderful thing. That this man can feed me from his loins, can produce such stupidly heavy loads, is insane. 'Some more of your lord and master for you, boyo. Ugh.'

He grunts, thin lips twisting. His helmet strains, swells, delivers a thick string of semen that launches from it and lands among the growing pool upon my tongue, utterly swimming with his lineage. My eyelids flutter, and Archaelaus seems stupendously satisfied. Fuck, I love his cock, and adore his sperm. Feed me, Master! Feed me!

To my surprise, the old mage laughs. 'I will, sonny.' He winks at me. 'You have your place and I have--ugh--mine. So swirl that muck about and get a good proper taste, boyo. You're a cumdump, now. Humph!'

Archaelaus the Great thoroughly explodes, halfway filling my mouth with his recipe. The lower half of his helmet disappears into the sea of swimmers, but continues to erupt, some carnal caldera capable of producing a vigorous volume of virility. My eyes roll back into their sockets and, somehow, I begin to orgasm. Out of the blue, my body, so subservient to this wizened and wicked man, decides to send me over the edge of bliss.

Master chuckles as I cum into my robes, his sperm rolling about in my mouth. 'Good slut. Good cocksucker. Ughn.'

'Mhm-hm. Mhugh.'

His taste is distinct, as ever, but I love it. Crave it. Thick, in some parts knotted, jelly-like, and it all gives way to saltiness, to mature agedness, to richness and buttery creaminess, a faint nuttiness in parts. The taste of an old man's seed, the taste of his genetic payload, the taste of his orgasm in semi-liquid form. And yes, I swirl it about, do my best to get it all around, but ultimately he loads my mouth to the point that swallowing is a necessity.

Archaelaus trembles as I gulp down my first full mouthful, relishing the gooey thickness as it slides down my throat in globules and sticky bursts, warming me throughout its passage towards my belly. Naturally, the aged magician grunts and releases another banquet of perverse proportions, splattering my tastebuds in his marvellous man milk. A second orgasm hits, or perhaps the first simply rises to greater glory, and I squirm about just as his tadpoles do upon my tongue. The sight of his gargantuan glans, so mighty and massive, spewing freely, instils a profound sense of awe. This man so naturally dominates me, and it simply seems right that he should do so.

'By Azarlia, boyo, nothing comes close to the satisfaction you're giving me,' Archaelaus says, as I swirl my tongue about his big batch of baby batter. 'Swallow, sonny. Swallow, and absorb my essence into your body.' He grins at me, cheeks flush, eyes mad with carnal contentment. 'That look on your face, cocksucker. Humph. You look ever so pleased with yourself.'

As his glans dispenses another excessive eruption of jelly-like jism, filling my mouth to the point that I badly need to swallow, I'm sure I look stupidly happy. His helmet is so huge and hot between my lips, against my tongue. His titanic testicles tremble excitingly against one of my hands, just as his throbbing thickness pulsates the other one.

Schlup. Schlurp.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Nothing is so intimate as being fed, fresh from the old man's balls, his most illicit of substances. Every burst of seed, savoured then swallowed, makes my belly that much plumper, some larder of lasciviousness. Archaelaus grunts and groans, and all I can do is watch and relish him, honour him in this most perverse of ways, loving every moment of it.

I'm not sure how long it goes on for, but I am well-fed by the time the last sizeable squirt lurches forth of his helmet. All throughout the old mage strokes my head and plays with my hair, smirking away. He's won, and that's okay. He's won, and I'm rather glad that he did.

'Good boy. Humph. Good cocksucker.'

I meet his eyes as he speaks so dirtily, and accept this fate. Something about the way he touches me, the way he considers me with such dominant affection, makes everything better. I'm in his thrall, in his service, and I don't want to be anywhere else.

Schleck. Slurp.

With every mouthful and swallow, I'm alluringly aware that his sperm are swimming out of him, onto my tongue, into my belly. My gut bulges with his pride, my insides some final resting place for yet another of his large, lurid loads. Even on the fourth mouthful, the seventh, the tenth, his flavour is still so rich and distinctive, so carnal and creamy. Man milk, male essence, a virile vintage fresh out of Archaelaus the Great.

But, of course, sadly, all things must come to an end.

'Ugh. There, sonny. I think that's it for now.'

The ancient mage sighs comfortably as his last mouthful splashes forth, no less dense than those which came before it. To witness the final spurt, to witness as my tongue yet again is clad in his cum, provokes a shiver that suggests I am not in the least used to this. All the better for it, really. If I'm going to get this much pleasure, each and every time I blow him...

I swirl the stuff about, getting a passing glimpse -- via his magic -- of the fat-headed tadpoles swimming across my tastebuds. So much thick baby batter, lineage in distilled form, churning about in my mouth. And this time, at least, I don't swallow straight away. This time, I pull back and leave his proud plum glistening with spit, its last generous gooey gift barely diluting with spit.

'Come, boy,' Archaelaus says, urging me towards him with his hand on my head. 'Come and rest. I'll feed you again, very soon.'

It's a weird sort of intimacy, to be brought forwards. To have my face come to rest against his body, partway between his hairy crotch and his furry pot-belly. His aged flesh is warm, old-man fragrant, and surprisingly comforting. My breathing slows, and I keep tasting his healthy genes, keep relishing the reward delivered hot and heavy from his big balls.

'You stay here for so long as you want, sonny. This is your place, boyo. This is where your life has meaning. You know it to be true.'

I glance up at his gaze and find, despite the smugness and veiled mockery -- albeit of a peculiarly affectionate breed -- something that suggests he, at least, finds his own words to be truthful. That beyond self-interest, I am indeed appreciated here.

And...if I can leave at any time...and if his sperm tastes so good, and is so satisfying to pull out of his clearly potent body...

...then perhaps it won't matter to stay for so long as I want?