Wrath of a Woman Scorned

[AnyOtherName]

Closed for stevealex.

"I have been a devoted and loving wife for ten years," the dark haired woman explained calmly to her hand maiden, who no doubt understood mostly what it was that was going on. What puzzled the girl was why she was holding a fine paint brush, shifting between an arcane book an her lady's back, attempting to draw the marks exactly on the woman's flesh as they appeared on the withering pages of the tome. "Thankfully I always understood that I was little more than a household accessory. Nothing more than a bloodline-approved piece of ass to show off to guests."

"Oh, Lady Marysia...surely, it was never like that."

"It was always like that." Marysia turned her head slightly to glance back at the young servant girl. "Never trust anyone but yourself, Alana. Don't allow yourself to be in such a position that you are no longer your own."

The girl tipped her head slightly. Whereas one might fear to speak so plainly to their mistress, Alana was not. "I have never been my own. You speak of your problems."

"Ah! Well, but that is true. Happy for you that you went to a good home, then." Marysia brought her attention forward again, looking at her reflection in a full length mirror. Her arms, legs, and the front of her body were already painted; she had been able to do most of the work for herself. "I won't claim to be in a worse position than your own, I know that I am privileged. But at least you are not a pawn for your family to marry off to a stranger so that you may be shipped to a foreign land and left to run the castle when your husband takes to campaign after campaign. It is my fault that we are childless, of course, so no one blames Kenneth for finding interest elsewhere. With his elven peasant whore." She spit the last three words like venom. "It is as if everything is working against me at once. This rebellion that Kenneth has himself mixed up in...it has granted him absolute freedom. His duties and the law of the King suddenly mean nothing. I'm told he even intends to take this...thing...he is fucking, and make it his bride." Of course, his side would have to win the war, first. As it was, marrying commoners was severely disapproved and legal binding with an elf was forbidden. "Meanwhile, I get to suffer the consequences of his actions? I think not, Alana. I will not tolerate it any longer."

The hand maiden wrinkled her nose. It had been unfair, the occupation of her lady's house over the last several months. The King's men did not mistreat Marysia or any of her staff, but their continued presence was an insult and a burden. Kenneth's activities had been legally placed on the shoulders of his wife, the wife he had effectively already left, and for some reason no one believed that she was not involved and lacked inside knowledge in the treasonous plots. Were she a man, she'd have been thrown in the dungeons with execution arrangements being made. Treason was not handled lightly. But her fair sex, and the circumstances of the guilt that fell on her shoulders, allowed for the lady to be placed in a limbo of captivity. No doubt she'd be dealt with after the rebellion was crushed.

As it would be. Surely.

"How is it that you are going to retaliate?" Alana asked carefully.

"Sweet girl," Marysia started. "Do you not have any recognition of these symbols?"

"I do not."

"As I said, I always knew I had to be my own. So I studied magic, fostered what I could so that I would never be powerless in circumstances such as this."

"...What did you study, exactly?"

"Summoning and necromancy." A cruel half smile pulled at the lady's full lips.

Alana's mouth dropped open and she held the paint brush uselessly in the air for several moments. She studied the arrangement of marks on the other woman's naked body, shocked and appalled that she had unwittingly aided in the preparation such a horrible ritual.

The hand maiden's failure to respond was expected. Marysia smiled and turned to face the woman, gingerly taking the brush from her hand. The lady had waited to feel the last stroke of paint on her flesh before revealing such information, and so was unconcerned with the other's inability or reluctance to continue. "You may leave now." There was no need to threaten the girl, to make it known that she was not to speak to anyone about what she had witnessed. Alana knew. Just as all Marysia's servants knew. It was much better for everyone involved to remain in the woman's good graces; she was a wonderful, caring, and honest lady...but if crossed, she was more spiteful than any vengeful spirit of the dead.

Alana bowed her head and took two steps backwards before turning on her heel to leave. Marysia approached the heavy wooden door that closed in the wake of the retreating servant and secured it with a barricade.

She walked towards the middle of the room, her hands opening in unison as her palms faced the floor. Ethereal flames burst into the air as she lifted her arms and turned her palms skywards, fire forming a circle with approximately a fifteen foot diameter with the woman in the center. Along the perimeter runes matching those painted on her body began to glow softly, sparking a similar reaction from the paired symbols upon her flesh.

It was no small feat for a human aged under 30 to speak demonic. Only a few had attained such knowledge prior to their fifties over the span of history. Those that took to such scorned practices as summoning or necromancy (because either on it's own was bad enough) often studied with such a fervor and devotion that most were found out for what they were. Most well before they were able to foster the ability to defend themselves with their abilities, resulting in an early grave and being burned before witnesses to ward others away from 'dark arts'. It was more likely that those that paced themselves would succeed, though they'd be frail and of limited time when it was they came into their powers.

But as it has been mentioned...Marysia was privileged. Her servants protected her secret as if their lives depended on it - because they did. Even those who were relatively young or new to the household and blissfully unaware of their mistress's talents somehow knew better than to question when strong indications became prevalent. They wouldn't repeat such odd discoveries with anyone, not even among their friends in the servants' quarters.

Her eyes flickered shut and she continued to hold out her arms. In demonic, she spoke:

"I summon thee, demon, and command you to appear before me. I willingly open a portal to allow you access to my realm, taking upon myself full responsibility for your actions while under my contract."

The air before her began to shift, cross-winds forming in a condensed area. Marysia opened her eyes and watched with sparkling wonder as she felt the effect of her spell beckoning to an astral being.

"I offer a barter for my soul and body," she continued. "Though I ask for much in return. Show yourself and tell me your name so that we may come to terms on a pact."

She dropped her arms studied the materializing form that appeared in front of her. Coming into existence in this realm wasn't necessarily an easy task, though it was more time consuming than painful. Or so it would seem to the mortal; there was no real way for the summoner to understand or know what it was like to shift from one realm into another.

The gathering of shadows began to slowly resemble the outline of a man's body, a blurred set of horns evident upon the upper reaches of his forehead. Wings, folded behind his back, gradually appeared and proved to be comprised of raven colored feathers.

As he continued to solidify in reality, the woman placed a hand upon her hip. She stood 5'8" and had a well defined trophy-wife body, her slender waist tapering wonderfully to her wide hips and full double D-cup breasts. She had remained active throughout her life, knowing her appearance to be the basis of her merits in society, and at an age of 28 she remained marvelously supple and tight. Not ever bearing children might have helped in that regard. Her hair was blacker than night, her eyes a shining bright blue, her complexion light olive. Certainly, she was much more attractive than the usual aged mortal that muddled their way to cautiously but successfully perform such a ritual.

 

[stevealex]

The feeling started as a nagging itch. And then a little poking and probing on the outer reaches of the edges of his consciousness. If he ever slept in his plane then he would have turned over in his sensual, all-consuming dreams and gone back to sleep. But he didn’t sleep and so it irritated away at him even if he tried not to think too much about it. But it was there all the same.

Ezirol. A name that hundreds of years past, when the boundaries between worlds and planes of consciousness had been thinner, would still have echoed with dark meaning for many. Days when he was free to punch his own way between worlds and indulge himself, indulge all his desires for power and sex and lust and conquest. Many souls had in the end been consumed by his all encompassing meddling until earthly wizards in wiser days had found ways to seal the boundaries more permanently. And names like Ezirol, Akbat, Lerikaz had past into legend, only stirring in the dreams and nightmares and unaccountably evil thoughts of the susceptible.

For decades. A century or two maybe, he had still wrought mischief by suggestion. Insinuating himself into local stories of ghosts and spirits. Lingering as an uncomfortable feeling in certain attics and cellars. Provoking desires- sometimes evil. To kill at random. To torture someone or something. To be seized by hubris and dreams of entitlement that provoked grabbing at power – before the inevitable fall after being abandoned by the demon that would push them, from beyond, in the right direction. But mostly Ezirol was a demon of desire. And even in dreams he could light lusts and fetishes and adrenaline searing thoughts that would make the purist maiden gush, blood rushing to her cheeks and to her loins and to her nipples, to all her extremities – just by the power of thought.

But such games bored even Ezirol. Thoughts and suggestions and dreams were not the same as actions – and the bonds his plane were too strong for him to break free of all alone.

But that was not to say that some did not here tell of him and decide that they would like to invite him back on to a worldly plane. They would like to control a powerful and lusty demon – make him do their bidding. And such were the ticklings and the probings. It seemed none who tried were strong enough, and inside Ezirol chuckled at their puny efforts. To think they desired to control him! And yet… and yet… part of him longed to enter the corporeal world again, however much he might be restricted. To truly see and feel. To truly touch and taste. Lips. Tongue. Saliva. Breast. Thigh. Cunt.

But the ticklings and probings remained just that. To be honest they weren’t even that uncommon. Always silly girls and silly boys toying with things they didn’t understand and could never hope to master.

The put upon buxom maid, discovering scrolls she shouldn’t but which the master didn’t even think she’d be able to read. She’s spend weeks dreaming, plotting, planning. She would scrabble together the most magical mystical clothing she could manage on her pittance of a wage. She would take off on a moonlit night (full moon of course) to a barn or a church yard or a forest clearing. And she, with deep excited breaths, with a sultry look in her eyes and with heaving chest and excitement coursing away in her core, would begin to intone words she had no hope of understanding. Blonde brunette or red head; wicked or innocent-ish-but wanting not to be; buxom or petite; pert or ripe or beginning to droop a little – they would all try, and they would all fail. Each of the rituals dabbing away, most of the time little more than that tickle, that stroke-like tug.

Would one ever succeed? Yes she (or he) would have control over him. But would that matter really? Humans they were so weak. They would not even know what to do with him if they got him. They would have no idea at all. And he was confident in his own powers of persuasion. Confident in his ability to corrupt. Confident in his ability to overwhelm any weak human mind that tried to summon him. Yes it would be the summoner that would have dominion over the summoned – and it would be amazing how often the summoner would end up directing him to do just exactly what he wanted. Dark things. Wicked things. Beautiful things.

He turned and turned in the fug of his demonic plane. Hwe would watch – the ultimate all seeing voyeur, witnessing every simple act that would keep the fires of his lust, if not burning exactly, keep them alight, glowing coals. But he ached. Ached to be drawn out of his world into the painfully sensual human one.

And so it was that he felt the probing again. Felt the little tickle. Felt the stroke like tug. And he paid it no heed. He did not even gaze out from the astral plane to look upon the summoner and decide if they might be fun to play that dangerous game with. He was sick of only being able to stare lasciviously at beautiful forms and imagining what could be done to them – only to be disappointed in the weakness of the attempted summoner.

But this time was a little different.

This time the probing did not fail and fade to nothing. This time the tickling stroke of a tug from that world into his gradually began to take a firmer grip. This time when he made a blasé motion to wriggle freeof the summoner’s puny grasp he was a little alarmed to realize that the summoner’s grasp was far from puny. And that was when the pain began.

Ezirol let out a piercing scream that if any human heard it would have not only ripped apart their ear drums but would have induced vibrations so fierce in the hearers brain that their eyeballs would have vibrated and vibrated and then popped. But his demonic screams were contained in the astral world – contained there even as he felt himself slipping out of it.

He heard an insistent voice. And it felt amidst all the pain that it was this honey tinged voice that was tugging him, pulling him, dragging him...

He heard the end of her triumphant summoning:

"I offer a barter for my soul and body," she continued. "Though I ask for much in return. Show yourself and tell me your name so that we may come to terms on a pact."

He grimaced. He coughed. Before his eyes the blur formed into the shape of a young woman. And when he saw her beauty, even amidst the pian that remained, a ly grin played a little on his horned features.

"My name? My name... is... Ezirol."

 

[AnyOtherName]

"Ezirol..." the woman repeated, giving a slight tilt of her head. The name was not entirely unknown to her. Deep within the tomes of fanatical cultists there was to be found mention of a few particular demons, one of whom Marysia was a little surprised to find standing before her.

She straightened the inclination of her neck and gave a wicked grin as she dropped her hand from her hip. The lady's posture was that of noble trained in grace and it did not falter in the least with the realization of the challenge Ezirol would present. Rather than concern herself with the possibility of his superiority overwhelming her, she merely felt more than her fair share of self-satisfaction in that she was capable of securing such a demon. It wasn't intimidating to acknowledge that he was greater than her in every aspect: magic, strength, intellect; it didn't matter, so long as she never underestimated him.

Besides, the woman suspected they desired very similar things. Everything was going to be so marvelous.

"The pleasure is mine," she reached out a hand. Palm down, fingers curving elegantly towards the floor, as ladies are known to do when they expect a kiss to find their offered flesh. She observed the demon's reaction to this, not waiting for his action or inaction to continue. "I am Marysia Skarsgard." Given was her maiden - and true - name.

Her hand would retreat with or without the receiving of her gesture, drawing back to assist her other hand in giving a indicative wave of her painted flesh. "My contract," she explained. Lifting her arms away from her body, she gave a slow turn so that he could examine the markings. Or, he could simply glimpse her naked body, as she verbally acknowledged her demands for trade.

"I demand a son of you, though I will not bear him immediately. In a year or two, perhaps... After we have secured political power among the new government. The rest is fairly standard. You will serve my will for the remainder of my mortal life and in my death you may have my soul to do with as you please. My eternal servitude is but a small price for the blink of an eye that is the human lifespan." She finished her spin and took a step towards him. "And nothing underhanded such as allowing for my death through inaction or otherwise. You will protect me and I will live, under guarantee, until such time as natural causes take my life." A pause. "Or until I agree to a contract alteration involving servitude in undeath." Another step, then another. She closed in the distance between them, her hips swaying in a fashion similar to a succubus.

She stopped just inches away, glancing up at his slight height advantage over her. A finger traced lightly over his chest, just beneath his collarbone. "I want to destroy the established world and take it for our son." A soft, sincere smile. "You will never cease to exist in this realm, even in my death, if there is a powerful legacy to provide you access. And I - I would only be so happy as to eternally reward you for allowing me to unleash my wrath upon everything I despise." An additional hand found it's way to his chest. Both appendages rose, fingers curling over the bend of his shoulders, hooking into him desirously and pulling him forward in the same moment as she pressed her body against his. She took a deep inhalation of his scent from the base of his neck, her nipples hardening immediately in response. Her face brushed against the side of his as she raised herself onto her toes to whisper into his elvish shaped ear. "Though I like to think the best benefit is in the short-term." A hand trailed into his hair as she took his earlobe into her mouth, suckling his flesh. When she withdrew, she held the skin between her teeth just long enough to deliver a playful tug. She pulled her upper body away from him.

He didn't have to agree. She could summon him, or any other demon, but there was no certainty that they'd bind to the offered contract. In the meantime, he merely could not leave her circle. At this moment, he was still very much his own; Marysia could not control him, could not stop him if he were to turn against her. A known risk of such rituals as this.

 

[stevealex]

She explained her story to him. The same old story – greed, power, revenge, lust. And there was a frustration, that human-kind could not find a way it seemed… to surprise him. To shock him.

And yet. And yet…

He breathed in the air. Took oxygen into lungs that had not sampled the real world for too long now. Brief forays into the earthly plane drawn by stupid maidens taking stupid risks did not sustain him. The pleasure in tasting flesh in all its wondrous ways was always all to brief as the maidens let the spells they cast consume them, unable to control his presence for long. And so he was always sucked back to the demonic plane.

He gazed at her lips tinged pink with a flush of blood –excitement maybe? – as she told her story. He gazed on her full breasts and the loveliness of her dark, full, gently puffed nipples. He gazed at the soft dark tangle of pubic hair, covering the mound at the apex of the top of her legs. He smelt, faintly, the damp womanly scent emanating from there. And he drank in that scent as he drank in the air. He gazed as she turned slowly round, her fine curves, her beautiful belly, a navel to caress with his tongue, fine rounded buttocks to mount without mercy. And as he felt her draw in, felt her nipples harden against him, felt her teeth nuzzle on his ear lobe he allowed himself to drift on such thoughts, like apiece of wood being buffeted in the surf of a particularly warm yet powerful ocean.

But as she stepped back, he gazed into her eyes – a bright blue that verged on ice grey. The cold calculation in them intrigued him.

He was not one to be fooled by the beauty of a stupid maiden. He knew that the spirit of the maiden was just as important as the initial intoxicating view. He thought back over the simple maidens that had been homely in some way, a little plump maybe, a little calloused, a little pudgy of face, a little overly haired of cunt – and yet so often they had proved more fun, more perverted, took more pleasure as he ravaged their bodies, were more worthy of his lustful ministrations before he destroyed them completely even as their bodies sang with pleasure.

But there was no doubting the complete beauty of the woman that stood before him. Woman. For she was anything but a stupid maiden.

The cold calculation. She knew that in the circle he could still do as he wished. Did she truly trust that he would not consume her just for fun? Just because he could? If she knew anything of demons, and for him to be there now the surely she must, she would know that not for one moment could he be trusted. So maybe she was just one hell of a gambler.

“So how do you envisage my role by your side young Marysia? What form do you think I should take?”

He took a step back from her and the air shimmered around him and where powerful thighs and muscled torso had stood before, there was a lither figure, still athletic and strong, but clothed in ambassadorial garb, fashionable dark blues and purples.

“Or perhaps something a little more ostentatious?”

His cloak turned scarlet; a pointed black goatee sprung from his chin.

“Or more intimidating?”

And he stood in full warrior garb, a mighty broadsword slung across his back.

“Come” he whispered gently, beckoning her too him as he reverted to the subtler, ambassadorial costume. She almost stepped forward.

“Come” he repeated a little more firmly and she took a step towards him. Then another. Her nipples hardened. He reached a slender finger and stroked one languidly.

“I would feed on these, like our babe will. I will suckle gently and enjoy”

Her expression looked puzzled but her stance softened a little.

His other hand came round in a flash and grabbed the other nipple, twisting it suddenly. She could not help but squawk a short, unpleasant scream at his rough treatment and he smiled, relaxing his grip on her nipple only a little.

He drew her into him so her lustrous, olive-skinned face was a mere inch away from his.

“You know the terrible risk you take, do you not?” His voice was cold and steely now with no pretense of playful actor or buffoon overcome with lust.

She nodded a little, and in passing he noted that she yet remained surprisingly calm.

If I want to take you now then there is nothing you could possibly do to stop me. I could fuck you in ways you could not even imagine yet. You may quiver, you may feel that sap of lust rise within you, but do not consider for one moment that I could not make the experience terrible for you – and find it utterly pleasurable myself. From the point of his lower back sprang a thin winding tail that wound down longer and longer. It moved like some searching snake to her kneecaps and up her inner thighs. It ran up over her pubic hair, pressing into her mound, slithering over the top of her moist nether lips. It grew longer and long running up between her buttocks, briefly poking the pink puckering of her arsehole so that she jumped, took a lusty breath and bit her own lip slightly. His tail wound up and then went round and round her hips and her waist, once, twice, three times like a silken rope that pulled her towards him. He forced her face up to his and he kissed her savagely finishing with a playful bite of her tongue, that e’en so drew a spot of salty blood. Oh yes, she really did taste good.

“You imagine that you would enjoy surrendering to me?”

He did not wait for her reply.

“You piteous fool.”

And his body began to swell, faster faster. Muscles exploded outwards ripping through the cloth trousers and tunic. Skin that was pink took on a grey tinge and then a green one even as it expanded outward and outward. Fingers turned into claws, shoulder blades sprouted leathery wings and his human form gradually grew into a draconic one. His human cock swelled and sprung out into a trunk like dragon cock which she found herself bestriding almost despite herself. There was no mistaking the look of fear in her eyes now.

“If I chose to fuck you now, it would feel like you were being ripped apart from the cunt. Or else buggered on to a pole driving up through your body into your brain.”

His voice now was all demon boom, emanating from the dragon’s maw.

“But you would not be ripped apart – it would only feel like you were. Because I would be holding your body together through sheer force of my mind”

He felt her slide a little along the shaft of that giant cock.

“And I could fuck like that for hours and hours and there would be nothing you could do about it no matter how much you wanted the pain to end.”

His dragon body grew larger and larger till it was starting to be crushed against the sides of the circle, being held in as if in some kind of macabre glass jar. And she was being pushed, squeezed and then crushed against the powerful of the circle, squeezed and crushed against the scales of his hide.

“And you would only die when I chose to let you die. No matter how much you begged.”

And then he was human form again, stood in the middle of the circle holding her upright at the shoulders, clothed once again in ambassadorial purple and navy and black. Her fine, naked body felt for a second as if it was about to crumple and collapse. But then, miraculously it seemed to find a resolve all on its own. And she stood before him, shrugged his hands off her shoulders, tossed her hair back and looked him in the eye – eyes still calculating, blue, flint, magnificent.

He smiled to himself, leaned in to her and kissed her, this time surprisingly tenderly. This one… this… woman, was going to be very interesting.

“So then” he spoke calmly – his voice rich and warm and now without demonic menace, “what happens next?”