The Tale of Licentia the Wife-Doll

In the valley within the mountains, in the kingdom that resides therein, through secret murmurings lived the reputation of a sorceress, so powerful that no scholar nor tactician could outsmart her, nor mage best her, nor scoundrel outwit her. Her influence, subliminal, spread so far and deep throughout the land, that she rivaled the kingship. She lived as a myth, a story told to children in the night, a rumor whispered in the backrooms of taverns and the alleyways behind them. Across the valley, the shadows echoed a name: Lasenia, the Sorceress-King

Such a dominant force she was, that Lasenia's was an existence filled with opulence and comforts to rival those of emperors. And yet even so, sloth had no place in her heart. Her ambitions burned hot as the scorching flames of a battlefield, fueled, as they were, by the coals of megalomania. Nothing granted to her so deep an ecstasy, as that of control. To bend the world round her fingers was orgasmic. To make a bitch of Mother Nature and her laws. To shatter the fragile laws and egos of the world of men. To prove that, should there be a god, it was her.

None but the profoundly unfortunate, gleaned the true location of the sorceress's dwelling-- any that set eyes upon it, had been kidnapped, or would be promptly killed; 'twas an arcane sanctum in the hidden corners of the mountainscape, a secret private palace, altar to witchcraft and power.

From the largest study of the sanctum, Lasenia's melodious, womanly voice echoed out into the corridors like thick honey. "Little servant girl~!" Suddenly, the pattering of cute black shoes clicked upon the polished, elegant tiles, chasing after the call of that beautiful voice. The tall darkwood doors to Lasenia's study creaked open, and onto the hardwood came a petite, blonde-haired young woman, dressed up in wonderfully well-frilled, well-measured, and well-sewn-- not to mention patronizingly cute-- housemaid attire. The servant's golden hair was braided up delicately into a bun, and she wore decorative, prissy little things all about her-- beautifully frilled, white and pink stockings, a precious, little, matching thigh belt; a wonderful satin bow, tying her adorably short little apron on (which itself was no longer than her frilly little skirt, mid-thigh length). Not to mention, the pretty little house-slave collar around her neck. Unlike the iron collars of the kingdom's labor slaves, or the hide and rope collars of the rare cattle slave, house-slaves were given cute felt collars to identify them as such.

"Hello, sweetie~!" Lasenia cooed, as her adorable servant girl entered the room.

"H-hello, Mistress." The girl's response was timid and quick; she was frightened, but she knew not to disobey. She held her hands in front of her, as she stood within the doorway, patiently awaiting direction.

This particular girl, Lasenia had acquired by thieving her away from her wealthy, noble family. Given how well-known and powerful her parents were, the girl could almost be called a princess. So when she disappeared, every noble, and even the commoners, knew and mourned. And yet, from each and every one of their lips, all that was uttered was a complacent lamentation. "Poor girl," they would say. But nothing more. What's more, the day the girl was taken, Lasenia herself had arrived at the doorstep of the noble-father, and without even entering his abode, had told him that he was going to give up his daughter to her. The man was heartbroken, and yet submitted helplessly to her wishes. Without an ounce of resistance. The well-reasoned like him tended to, because they knew that no matter what they did, Lasenia would have her way, and to oppose her, was to court even greater tragedy.

Stolen away to the palace, the noble girl had been terrified at first, like a meek, cornered mouse, and had cried for hours and days. But whilst Lasenia had permitted her grieving, she'd also swiftly instilled a strict obedience into her. Disobedience would not be tolerated, but instead met with strict-- and often indulgently sadistic-- punishment. She would wear whatever frilly attire she was given, and would present herself in a certain deferent way and would address her 'Mistress' as such. It didn't take long until Lasenia's new 'pet' was behaving to perfection--and with a well-behaved pet came pampering, affection, rewards. Though still afraid and meek, the girl had then settled more comfortably into her role, conditioned into submission by these sweet little treats.

Lasenia possessed that erudite curiosity befitting a virtuosa of sorcery like herself. She had disturbing interests she simply needed sated; and her new servant was a wonderful little thing to experiment on. Once she found the girl to be sufficiently housebroken, she had taken to regularly setting her upon a table and performing ceremonious, complex rituals of herbs, incantations, and tattoos. It took little time before she had left upon the servant's bare pubic area a seal of ink; 'twas an experimental, cursed brand to bind the will of the girl to her Mistress's commands.

The girl, herself, hadn't been eager to be a slave when she was captured. However, as a daughter of aristocrats, she had been socialized into that well-known gender-based submission characteristic of a patriarchal society. Unfortunately, as such she had received little practice in the way of defending her own rights and dignity. After all, what use is a snappy mouth to a woman, except to make her untamed and undesirable to prospective suitors? Needless to say, such an overwhelming authority as Lasenia, whom dominated kings and generals, was far too much for the servant girl to have a hope of rebelling against. She didn't like having to wear a maid dress, she didn't like the tattoo Lasenia branded embarrassingly above her crotch, and she especially didn't like that her body moved on its own now, that she had been made into a puppet-doll for the sorceress. But she still allowed it all without resistance. More unnerving was the unannounced pleasure that flowered within her from Lasenia's treatment, from being dominated and sensually tormented by this voluptuous, mature, and powerful woman.

Though this poor house-slave could still think quite freely, the movement of her body was indeed quite entirely dominated by any command Lasenia should whisper. It was in such a state --well-trained, well-behaved, and magically enslaved-- that the formerly noble servant girl entered her Mistress's study chambers, awaiting further orders. Lasenia gazed upon her, like she was a beloved kitten.

"Come here, sweetie~" she beckoned, and patted her thigh. Lasenia's pet quickly scurried towards her and stopped before her, where Lasenia raised her hand and tenderly brushed her pet's cheek. "Are you my sweet little princess?" Though the girl wasn't obligated by her spell to respond to questions in any certain way, she still uttered her sweet and shameful response with obedience. "...Yes, mistress..."

"Good." Lasenia then nonchalantly spun her away and gave her behind two condescending pat pats. "Go fetch your mommy a tall glass of wine, hm?"

And so the girl gave a compliant nod and pattered away, letting the enormous doors fall shut behind her.

'Twas almost an hour later before irritation-turned-vindictive-anger stood Lasenia from her seat; her servant still hadn't returned. Perhaps her spell had failed. Though undesirable, it happened sometimes, even to a spell-wielder as masterful as her.

Lasenia marched impatiently out of her study into the tall and wide, cathedral-esque grandeur of her main corridor. Lasenia's four inch heels lifted her to a height of five feet ten inches, and clicked loudly upon the polished floor, Her wide hips--their curves hugged by the skin tight black and shimmering violet of her sorceress's dress-- swayed seductively behind her. Squinting, Lasenia could make out, at the end of the hallway, a nude figure. Her face had a long and stoic beauty to it as well-- a Grecian nose, sultry feminine eyes, pursed but not too-thin lips. Her complexion was pale but vibrant, mature yet beautiful.

The sorceress's pupils dilated like a hawk's, tightening her visual acuity. To her dismay, she recognized the nude figure to be her servant girl. The lass had a strained and unnatural smile painted 'cross her face; she twirled gracefully like the porcelain ballerina of a music box, suspended immobile upon a single toe. Her motion was uncanny, as if she were kept afloat by some strange force.

"Who DARE," Lasenia scathed. She paced briskly down the corridor, shrewd and cautious with every step. The sorceress neared the lovely ballerina, and soon caught sight of teardrops streaming down her entranced face--which still held a gentle and uncanny smile. Further, she enumerated other less-dignified details-- the stream of honey delicately coating her thighs, trailing their way up to her glistening and naked labia; the manic spasms of her abdomen in concert with the twitching of these lower lips; and a muffled moan coming from behind the smile on the lass's blushing face.

Upon closer inspection, she also noticed, branded upon the princess's back, heretical tattoo designs tracing from the nape of her neck to her tailbone, and which coalesced into a wicked depiction of a spine. Lasenia hadn't put those markings upon her servant. This newfound, pitch-black spine brand seemed like a brute force variation of the obedience seal she had been attempting to perfect on the princess. Her body was being forcibly puppeteered, down to the last muscle, to such a dominating extent that she was even being somewhat suspended in the air.

Lasenia roared furiously. "WHO DID THIS?!"

Suddenly, from inches behind her came a seductively deep, husky, unapologetic growl, so close she could've sworn she could feel its warm breath tingling her earlobes. "I~." The manly purr reverberated, as if behind a mask. She spun on her heel and remorselessly breathed a billow of violet flames in the direction of the intruder. And yet, the incantation seared not a thing, except for an ethereal silhouette-afterimage of smoke and shadow, which dissipated inconsequentially in the heat.

"You've quite an eye for claiming pretty playthings, woman." Lasenia spun again, and there he towered behind the nude princess, with his bare hands running down her curves-- a tall, dark figure. The fingers sported obsidian rings and rough callousing; rugged bandages were wrapped tight round the palms. The brutish man must have been almost seven feet, compared with Lasenia's not-even six. Even from a distance of three or four meters away, she found it necessary to tilt up her head in meeting his gaze.

Upon his face rested a polished white mask. Its eyes were carved slick and feline, and in the black behind them, shone pupils of a dark, golden hue. Ebony steel designs ran at elegant and crooked angles over the white. From afar, the mask vaguely depicted at the same time, a stylized cat's face and a human skull. In a similarly morbid vein, it seemed the dull white base of the visage was made of something perhaps more brutal than porcelain.

Atop the mask overflowed the blackest locks, dry enough to seem smokey, yet soft to the touch. The mane, so full it seemed as if it were a lion's, fell past his shoulders and drifted elegantly around the air as though it were made of smoke.

The man's shoulders were broad, his build intimidating. A heavy leather belt held up thick pants made of what seemed to be black canvas. Over these, tall boots of leather, blackened and held together with thick and rustic golden metals. They appeared worn, as if they had been made and used for trekking through hell. Off his belt, hung vials and beakers, blackened with ash and each filled with a hellish, blood-red sap.

Over his chest, a surcoat of black, heavy canvas which hung down to his thighs, unbuttoned until the sternum; the collar and cuffs were large and folded thick, and the buttons and cufflinks were forged into heretical symbols. Beneath the surcoat was a tunic of the finest silk, a mesmerizing black that shimmered golden with unhallowed life, as if the threads were spun with souls.

"I've got an eye for choosing pretty toys, too, girl." The man roared; she could hear the smile behind his mask. From within the distant sockets of the mask, she saw his golden pupils glaring at her. Lasenia's heart skipped a beat. With rage, she incredulously asked herself, 'Girl?' And did the cretin just now refer to Lasenia as the 'toy' being chosen? Did this brute not comprehend with whom he was speaking? She, in turn, somewhat recognized what this man was, upon seeing the gold symbols garnishing his attire.

"Necromancer." Lasenia seethed 'tween her clenched teeth.

The Necromancer, in his large rough hand, gripped the princess's taut ass, whilst holding firm Lasenia's gaze. He tilted his head to the side. He was mocking her.

"You, MONGREL, dare breach my sanctum? Dare pervert my slave with your unhallowed markings? You dare EVADE my flames, my punishment?"

Lasenia's eyes shined violet with indignant fury, and her large bosom heaved, whilst glowing violet just beneath the skin, from the hostile sorcery swelling within.

"You mewl, woman," the man growled, "like a pathetic child."

The sorceress blushed bright red with anger. The insolent cur; his disrespect would extract a heavy toll. She shrieked a vengeful incantation, making the room tremble, as if with fear. All at once, dozens of empty armored sets lining the cathedral-esque hallway creaked and strained. Violet telekinetic tendrils invaded each set of armor, this kinetic witchcraft shimmering in and out of existence. Each and every limb and joint was constrained, resulting in the armor sets being forcibly animated by the sorceress's will. The hundred metal boots of this Damascus puppet-legion hit the floor, and all at once they bounded violently towards the Necromancer.

But a moment later, it was over. In a sliver of a second, all the iron mannequins had been rent apart and disemboweled. The abyss-black mane of the Necromancer, fluid as a shadow, had morphed into a three-headed silhouette of Cerberus; this feral void beast, in the blink of an eye, engulfed the man, and with the sharpness of a dagger but the force of cannons, the canine torrents of darkness had run through Lasenia's guard like shears against papyrus. The sorceress's confident demeanor cracked. And then before she could even part her lips again, the Necromancer was somehow standing before her, mere inches away. How? She didn't have the slightest clue, nor could she react before a shadow sliced towards her, and everything went black.

Lasenia awoke. As her vision focused, she noticed that the entirety of her sight was tinted slightly violet. Lasenia's conscious soul had been torn out of her body, and now resided, defenseless, within a violet crystalline amulet hanging from the Necromancer's neck. Still more alarming was that the first thing she caught sight of was her own limp body before her. It hovered in the air with its toes just grazing the ground, suspended by some mysterious force. This out-of-body experience imposed upon her was understandably terrifying. Lasenia was a jewel now, worn by the Necromancer, severed from her own body.

And what of said body? The Necromancer approached it; 'twas now nothing more than a vacant husk kept alive by magic. "Mmm..." From beneath the pale mask of the man came this lustful growl whilst his rough hands began to delineate the valleys of her waist, and then the busty curvature of her breasts-- a chest naturally full enough to overflow lewdly out from the open cleavage of the sorceress's skin-tight gown.

Though trapped within the amulet, Lasenia still somehow felt the embarrassed heat of a blush, blossom within her. From within this gemstone, she realized her voice could be channeled outwards to speak; she desperately objected: "CEASE AT ONCE YOU DEGENERATE--" Her voice resonated with a crystalline timbre.

S L A P. Ignoring her demand, or perhaps encouraged by it, the Necromancer had violently struck the cheek of Lasenia's vacant corpse-- hard enough to jerk its head towards the ground, though the body remained suspended. At the shocking sight of the swift and brutal abuse, Lasenia's voice had choked.

C R A C K. He struck the corpse again, the sharp strike against her flawless skin echoing through the corridor. Should the body not have been suspended in the air, a backhand that rough would have toppled her hard onto her ass. The woman's face began to bruise dark red and purple.

The Necromancer then took hold of the re-animated body, wrapping his arm round the waist and pulling it towards him like some mere tavern wench he had decided to claim as his arm candy. His large, rough hand-- the very same that, moments ago, had been groping up the princess-- was now gripping LASENIA'S round and voluptuous ass, whilst his other paw took the liberty of freeing her ample cleavage from the constraint of her attire. Each teat popped out with a lewd jiggle. The cruel heretic proceeded in violently molesting the nude breasts.

"From your corpse, 'Lasenia,'" the man said, scathingly addressing the woman by her name, "I shall create my own wife-doll, devoid of any of your flaws. A perfect woman." Malice seethed through his voice, like the threatening hiss of a dragon's smoke. "Trust me, girl, when I say I shall enjoy its every corner and crevice."

"PARDON?!" A wife-doll? She had never heard of such a thing, but she could infer his intention from the perversity on display. "You will be doing NO such thing."

Yet it became increasingly manifest to her that, at the moment, little could be done to oppose his endeavor. From the amulet, Lasenia could do naught, but watch on in horror as the Necromancer begun. His clawed hand held a single finger just beneath the corpse's neck, and Lasenia's body, though soulless and vacant, suddenly screamed to life with shrill agony. Its back-- from the nape to the tailbone-- began to sizzle as the darkest of plumes fumed off of it; once it subsided, Lasenia's corpse had been left with a beautifully intricate design up her spine, just like that of the princess. It was that same cruel slave-puppet brand, and would permit the Necromancer to puppeteer her former body with ease.

Not wasting a moment, the man snapped his fingers, and Lasenia's magically re-animated corpse fell to its knees. Then suddenly, the doll's eyes opened. Its dainty, possessed hands trailed up its own lewdly feminine body, from its waist to its breasts; it groped these fat teats just as violently as the Necromancer had, gripping and yanking and crushing them mercilessly. The mounds squished and deformed lewdly under the vicious self-ravaging. Each hand then took each nipple between its fingers and pinched down as tight as the muscles of its grip would allow. Within seconds, its nipples were red, swollen and hardened-- forcibly erect, and soon-to-be bruised.

But the pain such brutality would normally inflict, did nothing to discourage the doll. To the contrary, the hands pulled as hard as they could-- downwards, upwards, apart, together. Any and every which way, Lasenia's corpse whorishly puppeteered its own womanly assets for its new owner's sadistic entertainment.

"CEASE AT ONCE!" Lasenia screamed. But she was ignored completely. Lasenia had never felt so powerless before. She wasn't used to being at the mercy of such a cruel and senseless man-- or of any man for that matter-- not to mention a man about whom she knew absolutely nothing. Her thoughts raced desperately, for she had to come up with some solution; and soon enough she did. With a cool confidence now oozing from her voice, which would under normal circumstances sway even the most resolute of diplomats and dictators, she concluded, "Let us bargain."