The Youth of the Dark Lord
Chapter Two
by Jennifer Kohl
Maida lay curled up in her bed and stared at the wall. Her mind whirled as she tried to process what had happened.
Some force had take control of her limbs, made her touch herself. It wasn’t her—she was certain of that, at least, because when she touched herself she usually used her other hand—but then what else could it have been? And for all that she was sure it wasn’t her at first... by the end she wasn’t so sure. Had she been participating willingly by the end? She had still been afraid, but... It had rapidly begun to feel very good. Better, even, than when she did it herself.
She curled tighter at the thought. That was the most horrifying part—it had felt good, and she wasn’t sure if part of her might not want it to happen again.
Blearily, she realized the wall was a little more visible than it had been throughout the night. The gray light of dawn was filtering in through her window; she had been up thinking all night.
With a sigh, Maida uncurled and slid out of bed. She was tired and felt a little sick, but there was work to be done. If Vilnus came back and she wasn’t finished with her work, what would she say? That she was distracted because an invisible force made her touch herself?
No, she had to work. Besides, it might take her mind off what had happened. She stifled a yawn as she sat at the little table, then pulled the book of herbs and her own tablet towards herself and began to take notes.
It almost worked. For an entire hour, she didn’t think about anything but how to distinguish between the herbs best for various ailments.
And then her hand jerked. She stared at it in horror, trying to force it back into position, but it wouldn’t budge.
At least not in the direction she wanted it to. Slowly, jerkily, clumsily, it wrote, and Maida paled at the words that emerged from her own hand in janky, unfamiliar letters: “You are mine.”
“No,” she whimpered.
“Yes,” her hand wrote, and she nearly shrieked.
“You can hear me!?”
“Oh yes, Maida,” her hand wrote. “I hear you. I see you. I control you. You are mine.”
She looked around desperately, but she was alone in the room.
“Don’t be absurd,” it wrote. “You cannot see me. Not when I am already inside you.”
Maida whimpered as a chill ran through her. But one part of her was quite warm.
“I feel your desire,” her hand wrote. “That is what called me to you. What gave me power over you.”
Maida shook her head. “No. No, I don’t want this!”
“I feel the heat in you, smell your arousal, taste your desire. Lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.”
Maida’s free hand dropped from the desk to her lap. Without her volition, it began gathering up the hem of her shift, pulling it up to her waist. Then it slipped between her legs, and she felt how wet she was.
“You see?” the force controlling her hand wrote. “Your body knows its Master already. Soon you will give in completely.”
Maida whimpered and tried to resist, but her hand ignored her as it slid one finger slowly into her, then pulled it out. Slowly it raised itself toward her face, the finger glistening slightly.
“Shall I make you taste your desire as well?” her other hand wrote.
Mutely, mouth held tightly shut, Maida shook her head—and found that she could shake her head.
“Then admit your desire.”
“...I’m excited,” Maida admitted. “I can’t deny that part...” Her voice cracked and died away. “...that part of me wants this.”
“Good girl,” her hand wrote, while the other dropped back into her lap. It returned to her slit and once again began feeling inside of her, and she couldn’t help but moan as the pleasure and desire began to mount.
“What are you?” she gasped.
In his own room, Tyryn hesitated. Who or what should he claim to be? He hadn’t really planned much beyond making Maida his puppet—but then an idea struck him, and he smiled coldly.
“Karnath,” he made her write. “Karnath of the Lilim.”
Maida stared in horror at the words. She didn’t recognize the name, but she knew what the Lilim were. “A... a demon.” He probing finger found the most sensitive spot inside her and she gasped as it began to rub, the pleasure flowering and spreading throughout her body. “You’re—oh!—an incubusssssss...” Her words trailed off in a hiss of pleasure.
This was bad. Very, very, very bad. An incubus could manipulate her lust, enflame her desires, and the more she gave in the more control it would get, until finally...
She would belong to it completely, an empty, soulless puppet for it to use however it wished. She had to fight, but how? It already had so much control... Was she really that lustful a person?
Well... she had been looking at some of the youths in the village down the hill, last time she went for supplies. She’d watched them working, stripped to the waist, and then she’d gone home and thought about their bodies that night, while she touched herself.
And the night after that.
And...
“Oh, gods...” she moaned, rising pleasure mingling with mounting despair and horror.
“You are beyond their help,” her hand scribbled. “You are mine, already too far gone to resist.”
“No..!” she whimpered. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt herself getting closer... But that didn’t matter. What she did under its control didn’t matter because it wasn’t her doing it! As long as her words and actions—the ones she chose herself—were defined by resistance, it would gain no further power over her. Even if she was about to climax, so very close, almost there...
And then her finger stopped.
A moment later it started again, bringing her back to the edge... And stopped.
Then it did it again, once again stopping just on the edge and not letting her over. Her free hand wrote a single word: “Beg.” Then the finger inside her resumed its torturous pleasuring.
“No...” she groaned, and the finger once again stopped.
Maida was near tears. She felt so hot, so confused, her need to achieve the orgasm the demon kept denying her crowding out her ability to think clearly. Then the finger started moving again, and she gasped in delight, arching back in her chair and spreading her legs.
But then it stopped, and the word just slipped out. It wasn’t forced—she knew it was her own words, not something the demon was making her say—but at the same time she just couldn’t help herself. “Please...”
The finger resumed immediately, and she cried out in relief. She was getting closer and closer, almost there... and it stopped.
“No!” she pleaded, tears now actually streaming down her face. “Please! Don’t stop!” The finger began to move again, but she didn’t stop begging. “Please, please, oh yes oh please yes, please, please, please yes yes PLEASE!”
She shrieked as she came, hard and long, her curtain of long dark hair flying as she spasmed in pleasure. Then she collapsed, exhausted, slumped over her table.
She felt boneless, unable to move—but one hand did anyway. “And now you are more mine than ever, little slut.”
Maida whimpered, but she knew it was true.
“Strip.”
She didn’t want to—but she knew if she didn’t, it would punish her, torment her, tease her until she did, and she couldn’t face that. Shakily, she stood, grasped the hem of her shift, and pulled it up and over her head. She dropped it on the floor and returned to the desk.
“Good girl. Soon I will permit you to rest. But you have already opened a way for me to manifest physically. I will come for you and claim your body, as we both know you desire.”
Maida moaned again as she felt a rush of arousal sweep through her. “Yes...” she said softly. For the moment, the fight was take out of her—and the demon was right, part of her loved the idea of the demon taking her itself. She couldn’t help, even in her tired, addled state, imagining what it would be like.
“Then rest until then,” it wrote—and with that, she had control of her own body.
She should go to the tower’s little library, she knew. She should research what she could find about demons, maybe go down into the village and find a priest of a helpful god.
But she was so tired, and needed rest so badly, and anyway obeying the demon wasn’t really a problem if she wasn’t doing it out of lust, right..?
She stumbled over to the bed, fell in, and plunged almost immediately into a dark, dreamless sleep.
In his own room, Tyryn plotted. He was going to take Maida for himself, and soon, but at least for now it would have to be via trickery. How, though? How to make Maida think she was being ravaged by a demon, not him?
He looked around the room, and his eye fell on the chest at the foot of his bed, where he stored his heavy winter clothes. He pulled them out—scratchy woolen leggings, a fur-lined leather jerkin, and fur-lined leather gloves. Put on the leggings, turn the jerkin and gloves inside out, and he was man-shaped but hairy and rough-skinned, even his hands covered in fur.
But he could do better. In the cellar, where Vilnus worked on the most serious patients, there were metal hooks of all different sizes for hanging up the tools of the healer’s trade, including some quite small ones. Slipping down there, Tyryn gathered a handful and, with great difficulty, forced them through the fingers of the inside-out gloves. (The trick, as it turned out, was to force them through the fingertips from without, then invert the gloves.)
Now he was ready—at least as far as touch. Sight he could take care of as well. But what about sound? He didn’t want to have to try to stay silent while taking his pleasure... And then he remembered the vicious cold he had the previous winter, and the draft Vilnus had made him drink. Foul-tasting and bubbling, the black liquid had scoured his throat as it went down, leaving it raw and his voice a sepulchral rasp for the better part of a day—but it had cured him. Vilnus had taught him and Maida to make it soon after—he just needed to find his notes!
In all, it was well past noon when he was finally ready—clothed in his demon costume, his throat scorched by a noxious brew he had hastily concocted. One of Maida’s hairs—the last still unconsumed by his manipulation of her—was inside his glove, tied around his thumb, just waiting for him to stretch out and take control—not that he would need much.
He slipped quietly into Maida’s room. She was still asleep, which made it trivial to reach out mentally, trace and tap the flows of energy within her. He sought out the flows that controlled arousal and pleasure first—after playing with his new toy twice, he felt he was close to mastering that part.
His efforts were rewarded. Maida stirred, shifted, and moaned softly. She rolled over onto her back, and he could see her, skin shining golden in the light of the afternoon sun slotting in through her window. Her breasts, small but perfectly formed, rose and fell gently with her breathing, but that motion was becoming more erratic as she grew more aroused. She spread her legs, and droplets glistened dew-like in the tightly curled patch of dark hair at her crotch.
Tyryn licked his suddenly dry lips. It was time. Roughly, he used his control over her to fling her arms wide and spread her legs further, then pin them to the bed. He held her eyes shut as well, and then loudly snarled, “Wake, toy!”
Maida jerked awake at the most horrible sound she’d ever heard, a deep, guttural noise unlike any she could imagine from a human throat. Her motion was little more than a spasm, however—she was pinned, her posture open and helpless, and gods help her, she was intensely aroused.
She tried to open her eyes and found she couldn’t. “K-Karnath?” she stammered. “Why can’t I see?”
“Because I do not wish it,” Karnath replied. “My visage would terrify you into madness, and I prefer other methods to break you. More... pleasurable methods.”
Maida gulped. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t see, couldn’t move—all she could do was scream, and who knew what this creature might do to Tyryn if he came rushing in to save her?
A weight settled onto her bed, and she tried to flinch, but couldn’t. A hand—no, a paw, leathery and furry all at once—gripped her neck and she gasped. Cold, sharp claws touched the delicate skin under her jaw, but went no deeper.
“Good,” rumbled Karnath. “Remain quiet and I will not hurt you. There is great pleasure in store for you, greater than you have ever known... And all you need do is ask.”
Maida took a deep breath. “No,” she said quietly, defiantly. If she couldn’t fight back, couldn’t escape, couldn’t call for help... Then there were only two choices. Surrender to pleasure and lose still more of herself to the demon’s control.. Or refuse. Suffer his torments, endure them, and survive—or die trying. She was determined.
“Fool,” Karnath said calmly. “You already know I can break you. I can bring you to the brink of pure pleasure and hold you there until you beg for release, until you surrender out of sheer need. I have already done it. Do you really think I cannot do it again?”
“I won’t fail again,” she replied firmly, trying to ignore the desire already churning below her stomach.
“We shall see,” replied Karnath, and then she felt those claws tracing slowly down over her collarbone, toward her breasts. Not pressing hard enough to break the skin or draw blood, but hard enough that he was sure they would leave scratches.
Then fur brushed over both her nipple at once and she gasped. Gentler than before, the claws closed in around her breasts, then furry, leathery palms squeezed them and she yelped.
It was like a line of lightning flowed crackling from each nipple down to her dripping slit. She twisted and shook, not sure if she was trying to get away or just writhing in pleasure, but either way, her own limbs fought her to remain firmly against the bed.
Tyryn permitted himself a tight, victorious smile as Maida whimpered and writhed and panted under his touch. Everything was going as planned, with just one annoyance: thanks to the thick gloves, he couldn’t feel her! His whole body was covered in fur and leather and wool, so he couldn’t fully experience or enjoy touching the helpless girl!
Well, there’s one part of me that’s not covered, he thought, then leaned down and ran his tongue over Maida’s hard little brown nipple. She gasped in reaction, and his smile widened. He swirled his tongue around it, then sucked it into his mouth, reveling in the feel and the noises Maida made. He trailed lips and tongue and hook “claws” down her torso, over the taut, yet softy brown skin around her navel, and beyond.
Maida yelped and panted and moaned and pleaded—for him to stop or for him to take her, he couldn’t be sure, and suspected she wasn’t either. He was as hard as he’d ever been, and wanted badly to move on—but no. He needed her to be sure she was begging for more.
Pulling his face away, he lightly raked his claws over her stomach, enjoying the little white trails they left in her flawless skin. “You see?” he asked. “You are helpless, powerless, already mine to play with. But I can make that play very pleasant... All you need do is admit how much you want it.” He again quickened the flow of energy to her arousal and desire. He could see other flows working against his, though they weren’t as strong. Experimentally, he tried weakening them, scattering and disrupting them.
Maida moaned. She had to resist! She felt so empty, so needy, knew it would feel so good to have him fill her... But she had to fight! Because if she didn’t... If she didn’t...
She had to fight because...
Her thoughts felt slow and sticky, but when she tried to focus on them, they skidded away so easily she couldn’t hold them. She had to fight. She knew that. She had to resist the incredible, overwhelming pleasure Karnath offered, because of something very important.
She wanted so badly for him to take her, and he was telling her all she had to do was ask! If only she could ask, beg for relief from the emptiness inside her, plead for the torturous pleasure to rise to a peak and then explode like last night and this morning, but...
What had she been thinking about?
Pleasure. She’d been thinking about pleasure, and thinking about begging for more, and Karnath was saying that she could have more if she begged... “Please... Take me...”
And then he plunged into her. She was so wet, so needy, he slid in easily, and she cried out in ecstasy at the sudden feeling of fullness. She found she could move her limbs but she hardly noticed, opened her eyes but didn’t see. She clung to the monster inside of her, wrapped her limbs around him, buried her face in the fur of his chest, and begged for more.
Very soon, she was on the verge of climax, but she couldn’t quite get over the edge. She pleaded in wordless whimpers, unable to think clearly enough to use language, and thrust her hips up against him, and hooked her legs around his waist and tried to urge him deeper, but still she couldn’t. Still she trembled and shook, quivering on the edge, desperate, pleading, begging, crying—
And then he spurted inside her. As his hot, sticky seed filled her, he finally allowed her release. She threw her head back and screamed, spasming and shaking, thrashing on the bed, before collapsing into a barely conscious heap.
When she finally pieced her wits back together enough to make sense of her surroundings, she was alone in a dark room, naked on the bed, a cooling puddle staining the sheets between her legs.
I am in so much trouble, she thought.